#Benedict Bridgerton x fem reader
Text
Choice - Benedict Bridgerton
Masterlist
Speak Now TV Masterlist
Summary : You are in love with Benedict but you have to marry another man.
Warning : angst, happy ending, feeling trapped, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.
Word count : 4.3k
French version
Song inspiration : Speak Now (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift
Your wide open eyes on the ring in front of you, you’re speechless. You knew this day would come. This dreadful day where Duke William Edmonstone would put a knee down and would ask you the question that sounds like a death sentence. You raise your gaze and look around you in the ballroom. All the guests of the Duke’s family are waiting for your answer impatiently. It looks like everyone knew this ball was for this specific event.
Setting your eyes on your right, you find your mother. She nods with strength. You look down on the man in front of you and force a smile.
“I would be honoured to be your wife.”
At your sentence, everyone cheers. Glad, William stands up and puts the ring on your finger. He kisses your left hand, knowing it’s the only proper physical contact he can give you.
Your fiancé abandons you to talk with his friends while you stay put, paralysed. You can’t believe you just pronounce your own condemn. You only want one thing : to run away from here as fast as possible. However, the arrival of young women of the ton prevents you from it. They start talking about weddings, decorations, vows and even babies ! You listen to them without giving your full attention and answer from time to time to be polite. The ring on your ring finger weighs more as the second goes by.
During the whole night, you stay in this numb feeling, not knowing how to act. You should be happy to have secured a match yet, you can’t help but feel sad. You wish there had been another man at the end of the ring.
When you come home from the ball, you keep acting like a puppet until you get in your bedroom. As soon as your door is closed, you let go of a sigh. You get closer to your dressing table when your maid enters your room. She invites you to sit down in front of your mirror to undo your hair. She takes two pins off then your mother makes an apparition and she dismisses your maid. Your mom gets behind you and keeps undoing your hair. You don’t know the reason why she came to see you but you know she’s going to tell you in a few minutes. When your hair is finally loose, your mom puts her hands on your shoulders and looks at you through the mirror.
“You do not seem happy, my child.”
“I am, mama. I just cannot believe I am finally getting married.” you say with a fake happy tone.
“You have doubts. No need to deny it. I used to be at your place before. Tell me what the matter is.” your mom tells you with a soft voice.
“I am not sure I am made for the Duke.” you admit, avoiding her gaze.
“What do you mean ? You have been raised all your life to marry a man of his rank.”
“Is his rank that important ?”
“Of course, it is !” your mom answers as if it was obvious, “You cannot marry a man whose rank is inferior to ours. The Duke is perfect. Furthermore, he is a nice man and he will give you a decent life.”
“But, I do not love him, mama.”
“Love !” she exclaims, rolling her eyes. “Love is not important when it comes to marriage. You must choose your survival before thinking of something as futile as love.”
“I wish I could have a marriage of love.” you insist, looking down.
Your mother puts a finger under your chin to make you raise your head to her.
“Do not worry about love, you will discover it when you will have children.”
“Do you not love papa ?”
“I care about your father dearly. And one day, so will you with the Duke. Y/N, finding love in a marriage is something rare. The small portion of people who do are lucky.”
“The Bridgertons seem like a lucky family then.” you mutter.
“All of these doubts are because of the second born Bridgerton, is it not ?” your mother questions, arching a brow. “No matter if they are a respectable family, he is a second son and even if he was the first born, he would only be a Viscount. You cannot keep having what you two share.”
“I do not know what you are talking about.” you deny, clearing your throat.
“My child, I see the glances you give to each other.”
“Mama, I promise you-”
“I know nothing happened.” she cuts you off with a smile. “I haven’t said anything because I trust you. I knew when the moment would come, you would make the right choice, in other words : marrying the Duke. However, you must stop talking to him.” she orders with a firm voice. “I noticed it quickly and you should be grateful I was the only one. If Lady Whistledown were to write about it, it could ruin your marriage. Have I made myself clear, Y/N ?”
“Yes, mama.” you sigh.
Satisfied by your reaction, your mom kisses your cheek and leaves the room. Your eyes fill with tears and you quickly make them disappear when your maid comes back to help you out of your ball dress.
Since your proposal, you can’t sleep. Your nights are busy with your thoughts. Your fears are taking over, despites your mother’s attempts to reassure you. Like she confirmed to you several times, you did the right thing by accepting the betrothal, the Duke Edmonstone is a good catch and only three years older than you. He’s also a good looking man and cultured. You should feel fortunate. You could have found yourself with an old and disrespectful man. Yes, the Duke will give you a decent life. Notwithstanding, the Duke is not the only matter in your mind ; you don’t want your life to change. You don’t want to have to leave your childhood home for an unknown place with a man who doesn’t care for your mind. Above all, you don’t want to say goodbye to Benedict.
You two met a few months ago and you bonded instantly. You’ve never felt this before. You feel like someone finally understands you. Your passion for the art has helped your relationship a lot. It’s not rare for you two to sneak out to a more discreet location during social events. Nothing scandalous ever happened, like you promised your mother, unless falling in love is considered as such. Benedict didn't officially court you because your father is always saying his daughter will never marry a man who isn't, at least, an Earl, let alone if he’s not a first born. In other words, your relationship was doomed before it even started but it didn’t stop you from getting closer. Now that you have to marry, you have to leave Benedict behind. Your mom hasn’t stopped reminding you to do it several times. You thought about the way you’re going to tell him ; you ended up deciding it’s better to go straight to the point. You don’t want to make yourself suffer even more so it’s useless to make a tragic speech to bid farewell.
The next vernissage seems the perfect moment to do it. You’re sure he’ll be there. Generally, Benedict avoids balls. He, sometimes, makes an apparition only to see you in a beautiful dress and sneak out with you to discuss your ambitions in life. Consequently, the events regarding art are the only occasions where you know you’ll find him.
Once you’re at the gallery, you walk slowly, admiring the paintings carefully. Your mother is not really far away, even if she keeps a distance to allow Benedict to talk with you.
You enter the second room where there aren’t a lot of people. You stare at the painting depicting a forest during a summer day when Benedict appears next to you. Seeing him, you play with your gloves, needing a way to evacuate your stress. By your side, Benedict smiles as he looks at the tableau in front of him. You turn your head and from afar, your mother gives you a sign to hurry. You sigh before clearing your throat and avoid his gaze.
“Benedict, we should stop seeing each other.”
“Because of your wedding ?” Benedict asks after a long second of silence.
“I cannot risk a scandal now.”
“Of course. Congratulations on your engagements.” he states emotionlessly.
Without holding forth, Benedict doesn’t glance at the other paintings and goes to another room. Your eyes sting however you pay no mind to it. You did the hardest part. You can’t cry now or people will wonder why you’re in such a state after exchanging a few words with Benedict. You quickly blink and when you’re sure you’re not going to cry, you go to your mom. She locks her arms in yours to comfort you.
Benedict is officially a part of your younger self's past. You, now, have to focus on your future newly-wed life.
The next month is rythmed by the wedding preparations. The Duke insisted on having a marriage quickly. You got asked for your opinion for the reception but you let your mother handle everything. You don’t want this wedding so what does it matter if you like it or not ?
You haven’t seen Benedict since then and this hasn't helped with your gloominess. You wish you could leave everything behind and go find him, unfortunately you can’t make this choice so you keep getting ready for your new life. All your life, you have been raised to be the perfect wife but now your mom is taking things to another level. Given that you’re a future Duchess, she wants to ensure you won’t make a single mistake. She wants you to be perfect. If she lets you have one flaw, she’s worried your future husband will decide to abandon you. Lately, the pressure is more suffocating than your corset. You can’t breathe anymore and you feel like you’ve passed out and no one is paying attention to you.
Your last day as a maiden goes by at the speed of light. In a blink, the night has fallen and you’re in your bed staring at your wedding dress. You glare at it, knowing everything it represents. It’s a prison embellished by a white fabric. Objectivally, the dress is beautiful, Madame Delacroix has outdone herself, but you hate it. You keep looking at the object of your fear until you hear something hitting your window. You frown yet don’t move. When you hear the same noise again, you leave your bed, glaring one last time at the dress and open your window. On the ground floor, in your garden, you find Benedict. His tie is untied, the first buttons of his shirt are undone and his hair is messy because of the numerous times he runs his hand through it.
“Benedict, what are you doing here ? You need to go.” you order, trying to not speak too loud.
“Please, I need to talk to you.”
“You cannot be seen here. If Lady Whistledown-”
“Give me five minutes.” he cuts you off with begging eyes.
You stare at him, weighing the pros and cons. You miss him, though talking to him would be a mistake. However, your feelings for Benedict are stronger than your morale.
“Don’t move.”
You close your window and take your dressing gown. Before leaving your bedroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. You put back in place some strands of your hair and open your door. You glance right and left before leaving the room, walking on tiptoe. The light of the moon gives you enough visibility to walk down the stairs without falling.
Once you’re in your garden, you find Benedict pacing back and forth. When he sees you, he moves to hold you in his arms and right away, you take a step back. Noticing your movement, Benedict keeps his distance and his arms fall on his legs.
“You cannot stay here, Benedict. I am to be married tomorrow.” you remind him, crossing your arms on your chest.
“I know but tomorrow, I will not be there and I needed to see you.”
“Why are you not coming ? Your family has been invited.” you question, eyebrows furrowed.
“Your lovely mama paid me a visit and she got me to understand I was to stay away from you.”
Hearing your information, you wish you could feel anger for your mother however you’re grateful. You know if Benedict was here, you wouldn’t be able to marry the Duke. Notwithstanding, having Benedict in your garden the night before your wedding is surely no better.
“Nevertheless, I could not let you marry the Duke without talking to you one last time.” he adds.
“What do you wish to talk about ?”
“Y/N, do not marry him.” he announces point blank. “Tomorrow, do not say ��yes’ or say a single vow. You deserve to marry another man than him.”
“How dare you say that ? The Duke is a gentleman. He will treat me right.” you get mad.
“But do you love him ?”
“I care about him.” you answer him after a silence.
“So you do not love him.” Benedict specifies, seeing right through you, “You cannot marry a man you do not love. You deserve to be with someone you love and who loves you back.”
“Love is not important. I need to think about what's best for me and the Duke is the best option.” you argue, your mother’s words resonating in your mind.
“The best option according to whom ?”
“I do not have another choice, Benedict. I cannot afford to be picky. I do not have the luxury to tell my mama I want to wait before getting married or to focus on my art. I cannot afford to make that choice, contrary to you.”
“It is not too late to make another one.”
“You are being insensitive right now. You cannot come here, the night before my wedding, and tell me to not marry the Duke.” you retort with teary eyes.
“If you loved him, I would not have uttered a word, but it is not the case.”
“And what do you propose instead ? Because if I leave the Duke at the altar, I will be without an option.”
“I will be here for you.” he promises as if it was a magic remedy.
“You cannot be serious.” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “Did you think about the scandal it would cause ? Your family’s reputation would be destroyed and your sisters need to marry as well.”
“It would be worth it. I love you, Y/N and I know you love me, too.”
“The fact is, it does not change anything about my situation. Tomorrow, I will be married and I will finally be what I have been raised for all my life : a faithful wife.”
“Faithful !” Benedict laughs humorlessly, “And you think your dear future husband had the same education as you ? The Duke might act as a gentleman but he keeps seeing other women and he will keep on doing so after you are married. He does not have any regard for you. He just wants a wife. He cannot give you what you truly want.”
“And you think I do not know that ? I am well aware of this fact. Except the world is like this and I cannot change it.” you affirm, desperately.
“Is there not a thing I could say to convince you ?”
“My destiny has been written for a long time. You need to leave me alone.”
“Very well, but before this,” he starts, getting closer to you and you let him do it, “would you allow me to kiss you ? I have wanted to do it since we first talked.” he adds putting his hand on your cheek, “And I wish to do it before you’re someone else’s.”
“Benedict, it is improper.” you object, without moving.
“If your future husband can currently be with another woman, I think you deserve to make the choice of kissing someone you really love before it is too late.” Benedict mutters but you stay sceptical. “No matter if you accept to give me this honour, just know you will not hear from me ever again, I promise you.”
You stare in Benedict’s blue eyes, trying to resist the temptation of tasting his lips. Your mother’s words and the fear of finding yourself on the first page of Lady Whistledown’t next issue are the only things holding you back. However, when Benedict's second hand touches yours, your mind doesn’t think of these things anymore so you hold your hand before whispering.
“You may kiss me.”
With a smile, Benedict leans in and softly presses his lips on yours. You kiss him back in an instant. You wish you could kiss him since the moment your eyes met his. Like you expected, his lips are soft and fit perfectly with yours. You kiss lovingly, enjoying this moment, this last choice you made.
Without adding something else, you leave Benedict alone and get back home while he leaves your grounds.
The guilt isn’t eating you alive, only joy is exploding in yourself. You will always keep this moment in your mind and you know it will nourish a lot of your nights when you’ll be next to your husband. You don’t regret kissing Benedict because, for the first time in your life, you finally put yourself first. Arriving in your bedroom, your wedding dress seems to judge you but you pay it no mind and lay down on your bed. At the same time, the joy leaves your body, not for remorse, but for sadness ; you will never live this moment again. You will never feel this feeling again.
When the sun rises in the sky the next morning, your stomach twists. Meanwhile you’re getting ready, you live an out of body experience. Your body's here and dressed up however your mind is lost in the memory of the night before. This memory is nicer than your reality.
When you’re at the door of the chapel, you gain consciousness again. You know this is your last moment as Y/N Y/L/N. You take a deep breath whilst your father comes next to you. He gives you a comforting smile, seeing your state.
“Do not be afraid, my dearest. You are ready. Your whole life has been made for this moment.”
You cannot count how many times you've been hearing this since you're out in society. It's supposed to make you feel better and yet, it only makes you feel even more trapped.
You don’t answer your father, fearing you might throw up on him due to the stress. Your father makes sure your veil is set correctly on your head then he locks his arms with yours and guides you through to the chapel. The music starts playing and for you, it doesn’t sound like a wedding song but more like a death march. You walk down the aisle, your heart beating loudly in your ears and your flowers are practically strangled by your grip. While walking, you take notice of the guests, wanting to avert your attention from your future husband. When you glance on the right side of the aisle, you find the Bridgerton family. Violet Bridgerton’s eyes are filled with softness that helps you to feel more at ease, despite the fact you’d still like to run away. Taking a closer look at the Bridgerton family, your eyes find Benedict. You do your best to not show your confusion. He wasn’t supposed to be here. You don’t understand what he’s doing here. He cannot be here. You have to go through with this wedding. Not wanting to be more disturbed, you finally dare to watch your future husband. He looks good in his suit yet, you can’t help but think Benedict is more handsome.
When you’re at the altar, your father kisses your forehead before letting you go to the Duke. Once your father lets go of your arm, you want to catch him and beg him to not let you go. You don’t do it. Tightening your grip on your bouquet, you give a forced smile at the Duke. The music stops and the Archbishop announces to the guests they can sit down. When they did and the ceremony has finally started, tears form in your eyes.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony ” he states solemnly.
The word ‘matrimony’ echoes in your mind and you can’t listen to the Archbishop’s voice anymore. You can only watch the scene unfold in front of you until you willingly press a finger on a thorn from your bouquet to bring you back to reality. You can’t dwell in your own world anymore, you have to face your truth. In spite of yourself, you look furtively at Benedict before landing your gaze on the man in front of you again. At the same time you get back in the chapel, you hear the Archbishop exclaim :
“If anyone thinks this man and this woman shall not be joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
After the Archbishop's sentence, there is a silence for a second and you’re afraid your fast heartbeats can be heard. You wouldn’t be surprised to find your heart out of your chest.
As there is no protest, the Archbishop opens his mouth again to finish the wedding when your name echoes in the chapel. Every pair of eyes, yours included, land on the same spot, on Benedict, standing on his feet with a broken but determined gaze.
“Y/N, I know I told you I would leave you alone but I cannot.” he starts with trembling hands. “You need to hear me out, do not marry him ! You should not be obliged to marry a man you do not love… I love you too much to let you make this mistake.” he adds and at these words, Anthony tries to make him sit again in vain. “If you become his wife, you will not be happy, you will be miserable. We both know it. You should not be marrying the wrong man. You have always told me you wanted to marry a man you love dearly and who supports you in everything. And this man is not the Duke.” Benedict carries on and you feel the heat in your cheek. “I am not saying you should marry me, if this is not what you wish for, even if I would be honoured to be your husband. Just please, do not become his wife.”
Following his tirade, Benedict takes a deep breath. The room is filled with horrified looks, especially Anthony’s and your parents. No one knows how to react, not expecting this interruption. Benedict doesn’t pay attention to the others, he is only looking at you as if you were alone in the chapel. You can see all the tenderness and love he has for you.
As for you, your eyes are wide open in shock. Benedict’s intervention cut your growing anxiety off and you stay on your feet, not moving an inch. You don’t dare to say a word, not knowing what is going to happen next. The moment stays frozen in time for a whole minute before Anthony stands up and forces his brother to leave the chapel. Your eyes follow the two Bridgerton brothers until they’re out of sight.
Once everything is calm again, the Duke takes your hand to bring back your attention to him. He asks if they can resume and to answer him, you let your bouquet fall at your feet. You mutter a quick apology and walk up the aisle while your father is ordering you to come back.
As soon as you’re outside, you find Anthony reprimanding Benedict. Without paying a mind to it, you throw yourself at the man you love. Taken aback by your gesture, Anthony takes a step back. Understanding the situation, the Bridgerton first born knows he has to handle a delicate situation so he goes back to the chapel. You keep embracing Benedict in your arms for several seconds before putting your hands on his cheeks and kissing him with passion. Benedict stumbles, surprised by your action, before deepening the kiss. You keep kissing until you’re out of air. When you break the embrace, you keep your hands on both sides of his face, joyful tears in your eyes.
“You are right. I cannot marry him. I know what we have just done will have consequences but I do not care. I want to be with you. I want to be able to choose and I choose you. It is you I want by my side. I love you, Benedict.” you confess with a genuine smile, the first one in a month.
“I love you so much.” he answers, pecking your lips.
“I am so glad you were around when they said ‘speak now’. Had you not intervened, I never would have had the strength to run away.”
“I told you I would be here for you.” Benedict reminds you, stroking your cheeks. “We should leave while they are still in shock.”
You agree and Benedict takes your hand. You look at each other with love and without wasting another second, you run out of the place, you undo your veil and let it fall down on the ground. You know you’re in a complicated situation but it doesn't matter to you. You love each other and you will get married and even if it means going to another city and suffer the wrath of your parents once you’re back. You chose each other, it’s all that matters.
Masterlist
Speak Now TV Masterlist
{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}
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Do You Want to Know a Secret?
Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton/ Plus size!fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton/ Kate Sharma
Characters: Plus size!fem!reader (Massington), Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Margaret Massington (reader’s mama), Albert Massington (reader’s papa), Ida (maid), Henry (reader’s driver), Penelope Featherington, Kate Sharma, Burrow (Benedict’s horse), White Lily (reader’s horse), Lillian Bridgerton (reader and Benedict’s baby)
Warnings: Secret courting (scandalous), fluff, Benedict and reader are a simp for one another, drama, Eloise is dramatic
Word Count: 12,123
Answers to DYWTKAS
A/N: Did I make another song imagine? Yes. Did I have a lot of fun with it? Also, yes.
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You'll never know how much I really love you
Fall (1816)
Benedict glances over in your direction, for what seems to be the umpteenth time this evening.
It never ceases to annoy his sister’s (more so Eloise than the Daphne, Francesca, and Hyacinth).
“You could at least pretend you’re looking elsewhere,” Eloise comments, reaching for a glass of champagne on the nearest table.
He slightly jumps, technically more of a flinch but he was still startled none the less. He begins smoothing down the fabric of his jacket to calm himself before he makes a fool of himself (even more so than he already is, according to Eloise). “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
“Well then, please enlighten me.”
“You’re staring at someone I happen to like very much and consider a close friend.”
“It seems to me that you should look again because I was merely studying the art.”
“Is that what you call her now?”
“It seems I am being called elsewhere. Do try to enjoy the rest of your evening, sister.” He walks through the crowd of people closest to the edge of the dance floor, clearly heading towards you.
She shakes her head, watching as he asks you to dance. She sighs, setting her glass down. ‘When will he admit his true feelings?’ Eloise searches for Penelope, needing to talk to a friend and distract herself from potentially interfering.
If only she knew…
You'll never know how much I really care
With no one (other than Benedict) attempting to dance you and, no potential courters trying to woo you this evening, your parents decide to leave the ball earlier than normal.
As soon as you enter the door, you bid your parents good night and briskly walk to your room.
You’re quick to finish with your nightly routine, asking your maid, Ida, to go to bed so you can be alone (and for her to make sure Benedict finds his way into the library safely quietly).
With no one else around, you remove your ball gown and place it elsewhere to be washed and put away tomorrow.
You sit in front of the vanity mirror and brush your soft, long locks before you reach for the empty candle holder. You open the closest drawer and pull out a new candle along with a small box of matches hidden in the back of the vanity drawer.
After placing the candle in the candle holder, you pull out a match and lit the candle before blowing it out, placing it in a random bowl you keep for such occasions.
You carry the candle with a gentle touch as you make your way towards your bedroom door. You hurry to close the door and walk along the length of the hallway wall, down one staircase, careful not to step on the creakiest wooden plank that most step on as they turn the corner, instead you choose to lightly hop over it.
You glance around the hallway, searching to see if anyone else is around; they’re not. You enter the library with as much stealth as you did leave your room.
The only light in the room, besides the candle in your grasp, being the moonlight, which hits the chair facing the window.
“Eloise is going to catch on soon,” you say, knowing he’s settled himself in the aforementioned chair.
Listen
A light, boyish smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he turns. His eyes soften at the sight of you in such a… scandalous state.
Benedict stands up and reaches for the shawl you had forgotten at his family home, the night before. He stands before you; reaching for the candle, setting it on the table beside the chair, letting the light illuminate the two of you in your quiet corner.
His arms settle on either side of you as he wraps the item around your shoulders. He pulls away; you reach for him, placing your hands on his upper forearm. His heart suddenly feels warm and heavy, as it always does when he’s with you.
Benedict tilts his head down, looking you in your beautiful eyes (something that never fails to send him in an art spiral. When he finally returns home, he ALWAYS sketches your eyes... and may also have two sketch books full of your eyes… among other things).
With his head angled closer to you, you take a step and invade his personal space which he welcomes seeing as he does the same whenever he sees you.
He can see the worry in those precious eyes of yours. “She hasn’t caught onto to us. Maybe she never will? That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” He jokes, hoping to ease you.
“Ben-”
He shushes you as he raises his hand to cup your cheek. “Let’s enjoy this moment before you have to run back to bed.”
Do you want to know a secret?
Do you promise not tell?
The next day you decided to visit knowing it would be best if you left the house before your parents could try and talk to you about future courtships for this season.
If only they knew there is only one man, you would happily agree to marry.
You sigh at the thought while walking out the door.
The carriage already waiting, the only thing missing is you.
Your driver, Henry, says his usual phrase, “good morning, miss.”
“Good morning to you as well, Henry.”
“To the Bridgerton’s?”
“Yes, please.”
“Of course, miss.” He shuts the door before heading towards the front, grabbing the horse’s reins so, that the two of you may go on your short adventure.
-
The moment you arrived, it was chaotic, to say the least.
The youngest three siblings from the family had been running around and at one point, almost into you. They continue playing, doing things children normally do during the day after giving a short apology for the almost incident.
The older siblings were around just “hiding” (or so you assume).
The youngest trio can be harsh when it comes to playing games so, it doesn’t surprise you all that much to not find the older siblings.
And still, as you walk down one of their many hallways, glancing around hoping to find Eloise or one of the older siblings but you’re unsuccessful, you don’t find or hear Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, or Eloise.
It makes sense for two of the five, Daphne is most likely at home taking care of little Augie and preparing to come over for another visit.
Anthony could be out trying to find a lady he can call “wife” and may not find one (which you and Eloise will gossip talk about later).
Colin is- you don’t know where, nor do you care, the two of you don’t have a friendship like you do with the second eldest boy and girl of his family.
Now that you think about it, Eloise is most likely reading in the main family room since it has the “best lighting”.
And Benedict, well- he could be in a number of places, but you can’t think about him right now- you need to find his sister.
-
As you expected, she’s in the main room, reading her latest book.
You smile, prepared to walk towards her so that the two of you can enjoy your day doing whatever seems fit.
That was until the doors behind you close; a familiar heat lingers behind you. The scent of Benedict cologne invades your mind, deleting any thought in your mind prior to his arrival.
He adjusts his grasp on his (new) sketch book before walking past you. His shoulder and elbow brush against yours.
You can feel his pinky briefly touch yours as your breath escapes you. All you feel like you can do is stare at his back- his handsomely dressed back… broad shoulders… and... He did it on purpose and you know it.
He is so close to- to exposing your (secret) courtship. Benedict continues to become slightly more and more reckless when the two of you are out in public surrounded by his siblings.
“Shouldn’t she, I don’t know- confess or something?” Eloise finishes rambling.
You glance away from the window, giving your dearest friend all of your attention. “Who?” You glance down at the work in your hand.
Eloise may not enjoy or want to participate in the same activities as yourself but it’s fun to have a friend to talk to while you continue with your embroidery.
The corner of his mouth, that isn’t visible to you, tugs upwards, his lips form into a smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s one step closer than he was before (his plan is coming together).
“You know, if you paid more attention to your surroundings, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself nearly as often as I do.”
“Maybe if you had a slightly more interesting topics to discuss then I’d be more likely to listen.”
She leans forward, lowering her voice, “are we sure it isn’t because of a certain figure being in the room?”
You stiffen at the implied acquisition, pausing as the tip of the needle pokes through the fabric tucked inside the embroidery hoop. You gulp, pushing the needle further through until it falls, landing on the fabric before you reach for it, pulling the needle, forcing the thread through the puncture hole.
Your arm hangs in the air, preparing to repeat the process again, “I don’t know what you mean.” You poke the needle through the fabric once more. Eloise smirks, “I think you do.”
“Perhaps you’ll need to explain what you’re implying.”
“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
“You could never do such a thing.”
“Oh, trust me. I could but,” she says, extending the “U”. “I wouldn’t want to do that here. I mean unless you want me to say a few things that my dear brother would be more than happy to listen to.” She smiles, closing her book before pushing herself off the couch, exiting the room.
Whoa, oh, oh
Closer
Benedict changes his position in the chair, his feet now planted on the floor. He places his sketch book on the table next to him. He pushes himself out of the chair and makes his towards the couch his sister sat on, across from you. His expression tells you everything you need to know.
You sigh, setting the needle down on the fabric before setting your craft project down on the pristine table placed between the two couches. “Benedict-”
He chuckles, “what?”
“We can’t.”
“Can’t what?” He tilts his head.
“You know what.”
“No, I don’t think I do. Please, tell me.”
“We can’t tell, not yet.”
“Why not?”
You say nothing.
“I think it would solve all of our problems. We could finally walk around without a worry. We wouldn’t have to constantly be careful about the way we act when we’re in public. No gossip.” He pushes himself off the couch, taking two steps before he sits beside you. “We can be ourselves. We can be free.” Benedict reaches for you; he holds your hands with such a gentle touch, it almost makes you shudder. “I want to tell the world how I feel about you.”
You close your eyes, “I would love nothing more than for that to happen-”
“Why can’t it?”
“I don’t think my parents would allow it.”
“Why not?”
“You know how my parents feel about you, Benny.”
“I can change their minds.”
“It wouldn’t work.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“I’m not going to give up on you.”
You turn your head, looking him his charming eyes, “even if my parents prefer for another to court me?”
“Is that why you wouldn’t look my way at the ball until I made my way to you?”
“I am telling you of the potential obstacles that may enter our path.”
“And I am telling you that I will stay by your side no matter what challenge we may have to face. I am not going to lose you.” He uses his free hand to reach up and cup your cheek, leaning in so he can feel your warmth.
Your forehead touches his, your noses brush against each other, breathing in one another.
The two of you stay like this for a few minutes longer until the creak of the door hinges alerts the two of you.
Gregory and Hyacinth run in, searching for a place to hide (at least that’s what you assume). The two were a bit rude when you asked.
Then Francesca, Eloise, and Daphne walk in; the eldest and third eldest sisters make their way towards the piano and begin playing a familiar tune.
The seat and space beside you suddenly feel cold. You glance over to the side to find Benedict in the chair; legs hanging over the arm of the chair, his sketchbook in his lap.
His mood no longer happy as his brows pull together in a frown.
You avert your gaze with sad eyes as you reach for your embroidery project.
Eloise’s brows furrow, wondering what could have happened for you to look so sad and still put a smile on your face when she sits across from you once more.
Violet soon enters the room with little Augie in her arms when she sees you, the smile on her face widens.
You and Eloise are caught up in your own conversation that you don’t hear her mother ask you a question.
You turn, tilting your head, “yes?”
Violet lets out a quiet chuckle and smiles, “would you like to stay for dinner?”
“I would-”
The doors burst open; all of you turn your heads to find Henry, panting and out of breath. It takes him a few moments but after getting enough air in his lungs, he pushes his hands off his knees and answers for you. “I’m afraid we can’t this evening. The lady is being called home.”
You smile politely and set your embroidery on the table before pushing yourself off the couch, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “Thank you all for having me but, I’m afraid it seems that I cannot stay.”
“That’s alright. We can have dinner together another night,” Violet assures you.
You nod, making your way towards Henry who looks frightened.
Let me whisper in your ear
Once the two of you are out of the room, he whispers to you, “they know.”
“They know?”
He raises a brow, using his eyes to gesture towards the room you’ve just left.
Your face loses its natural color, you feel sick. “How did they find out?”
“I don’t know. I only received a letter informing me to bring you home immediately.”
“What do you think is going to happen?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can you say anything to help make me feel better?” You ask but your voice comes out as a whisper.
“I don’t think there is anything I can say that can help you.”
You take a deep breath and exhale. “Thank you for being honest with me, at least.”
“Always happy to do so, miss.”
The two of you exit the Bridgerton home.
-
Henry holds his hand out for you to use as you use the single step to enter the carriage.
You believe whole heartedly that this “talk” you’re going to have with your parents is not going to end the way you want it to.
On a daily basis, they ask if there has been someone interested in courting you and you always give them the same short simple answer, “no”.
You don’t want to think about it, about how this could be the end of your relationship with the second born Bridgerton, who’s come to know more about you than most do. ‘I’m going to lose him.’
The carriage stops.
The number of bad possibilities continue to rattle your mind; a wave of nausea makes you close your eyes and take a deep breath.
You have to put on a brave face, you can’t let them know you’ve been meeting Benedict in private; your parents would not be happy with either of you.
And it may sound selfish but, you’re not ready to give him up. No, situation be damned- you aren’t ready to give him up lose him.
Say the words you long to hear
I'm in love with you
“We know what you’ve been doing after we go to bed. Do you want to explain yourself?” Your papa, Albert asks.
You don’t move, you don’t say anything; you focus on the ground not ready to see the judging looks.
“I expect you to answer me- answer us. We are your parents. If you tell us the truth, then we can figure out how the two of you can marry without it coming out of nowhere. We don’t our reputation to be tarnished. You know how those gossips are,” your mama, Margaret glances over at your papa. “They’ll eat the two alive.”
He shakes his head, “no, no. I don’t want that Bridgerton boy anywhere near her-”
“But, darling-”
“I don’t like him before, and I certainly don’t trust him after everything he’s done.”
“He hasn’t done anything,” you whisper.
“What?” You glance up, staring your papa in his eyes, “he didn’t do anything wrong. He hasn’t done anything neither of us didn’t want.”
His nostrils flare, “did you two-”
You furrow your brows, “no! We haven’t done anything besides,” you lower your voice. “Hold hands and talk. He wants us to have a proper courtship but, I didn’t know how-”
Your mother dreamily sighs, clapping her hands together. “Isn’t this exciting?”
Albert sighs, “why is this exciting?”
“Our family is going to grow and- oh, darling,” your mama sits beside you, pulling your hands into her lap. “Your children will be absolutely beautiful. Oh, I can see it now.”
You owlishly blink once. Twice. “What?”
“Oh, please marry him.”
“You two are okay with me and Benny?”
Your father grimaces, “Benny.”
Margaret pouts, glancing over her shoulder, “don’t be mean, Albert.”
“I don’t want my only child- only daughter to marry some boy she’s met recently.”
“She didn’t meet him recently. They’ve known each other since they were children.”
“And that adds onto my unease.”
Your mama lets go of your hands and stands in front of your father, fixing the collar of his jacket. “You have to admit, if she were to marry one of the Bridgerton boys, you would be happy to know it’s the artist. He’s a nice, respectable gentleman-”
“Who has snuck into my home to do- God knows what with my little girl.”
“She’s not a little girl anymore. She is a woman, a woman ready to start a life of her own.”
You can’t believe what your hearing, honestly you can’t believe it. “You two are okay with Benedict and I-”
“Of course, we are,” Margaret interrupts.
“We expect the two of you to make your relationship public,” Albert advises you with a stern expression. “We do not need our business to be in a Lady Whistledown gossip column for all to read.”
You nod, “yes, papa.”
Your mama glares at your father. “What your father means to say is, we don’t want there to be false rumors being said about the two of you. We want you two to be able to enjoy your lives without the gossip or judgment.”
You nod.
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ooh
Benedict sighs, pacing the floor of his art room.
After you were whisked away, he had decided to go to his art room… and over think things. His mind soon became consumed with numerous crazy thoughts, but he couldn’t stop them from coming. He worries you were called away because your parents found out about your (secret) courtship.
No, no, that couldn’t be it- unless… He refuses to believe it until he gets all the information (luckily for him, that’ll be soon). To occupy his mind and distract himself, he tries to sit down and sketch; he hadn’t finished before realizing it was you.
He’s slowly losing his mind, more so now.
The sun is barely begging to set, providing him with enough light to make his way to your home.
He realizes he’s been up here for too long; he has to leave and see you now. His mind will keep him up all night if he doesn’t talk to you before the sun rises again.
He easily manages to make his way out the door and to his room, finding the jacket he had ripped off earlier; he grabs it, throwing it over his shoulders before making his way out of the room.
He walks down the hallway and stairs until he reaches the back door of the house. Benedict walks at a fast pace, his arms in a straight position before bending his arms as he breaks off into a sprint, aiming for the stables.
He has hardly enough time to notice that there’s one person still working.
The stable boy is quick to prepare his horse, Burrow.
He hops on the horse and grabs the reins, rolling his wrist, the same way a person would do when they’re mimicking a wave.
Burrow always holds a special place in his heart, not just because you had a helping hand in choosing the horse and naming him, but he’s fast and that’s exactly what Benedict needs right now.
He can’t let your parents find a suitor for you; he refuses to think about it. He can’t let this happen; he won’t let this happen. He cracks the reins once more.
Listen
It was awkward, sitting at the dinner table with no one talking, only the sounds of forks hitting the dinner plate echoes throughout the room.
You almost take another bit of your meal when the sound of rapid knocking on the front door stops you all. You furrow your brows, confused as to who this may be because no sane person would even begin to think about interrupting you and your family at this hour of the day.
But there’s something in you that tells you to go see who it is. You push yourself out of the chair and turn the corner. You’re a few feet away from the now open, front door when you call out his name, “Benedict!” You rush towards him with a panicked look on your face. “Are you alright? What are you doing here?”
He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it to catch his breath. He pants, his chest puffing in and out with every breath he takes.
You turn to your family’s butler, Harold. “Would you be so kind as to get our guest a glass of water?”
He nods, gesturing for Benedict to step inside; he closes the door before hurrying to the kitchen.
You check over him, focusing on how his hair sticks to his forehead. You stand close enough for it be considered scandalous as you brush the sweaty hair off his forehead. You then reach into his jacket pocket; you pull out a handkerchief and pat his face dry. “Benny, why are you here right now?” You ask with a hushed tone.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, smiling when he sees your eyes filled with concern. It helps remind him of what it is he is willing to fight for. “I came over here to ask what had occurred between you and your parents.”
You blink once and furrow your brows, “you wanted to know what happened? You couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
“I would have preferred later tonight but, I didn’t know if it was going to be safe for me to do so.”
You smirk, “and yet, you’re here now.”
He huffs, “I know, I know. I- I couldn’t stand to think that you wouldn’t visit us- visit me anymore. Or, if you’re parents had decided it was time to find you a suitor- a proper suitor and not someone who has often snuck into their home just to get a glimpse at their daughter.” He removes the handkerchief from your hand and places it in his pocket, never letting go of your hand. He holds it as if you could disappear before he could tell you what he needs to admit.
Your expression softens, you can feel your brows become more relaxed. “Ben-”
Do you want to know a secret?
Do you promise not to tell?
Your parents stand there watching you for a moment before your mother lets out a joyous squeal.
You jump and pull away from him. Your hand falls at your side and you can only assume the same happens to him.
Your heart beats faster, not only because the two of you (an unmarried man and woman) got caught standing so close to one another but, because your hand feels cold. You lower your head, focusing on the ground.
“Oh, darling, look. This is perfect,” your mama claps her hands with an excited smile stretching her lips.
Your papa’s expression doesn’t change. “Yes. Benedict?”
The man in questions turns, a nervous smile tugs at his lips, “good- uh- good evening, Lord Massington. How,” he gulps. “How are you? You look lovely this evening, Lady Massington.”
Margaret smiles, “not as nice as my daughter.”
He turns to you and his gaze doesn’t move from your blushing rosy, red cheeks; his lips twitch before the soft, boyish smile (that’s only reserved for you) dances across his lips. “Yes,” Benedict agrees with your mother, neither of you seem to notice.
You don’t remove your gaze from the ground, finding it to be nicer than being a part of this conversation. If you look up- you don’t want Benedict to have ammunition (even though you’re sure he does) to make fun of your red face in the near future.
“Young man, follow me,” says Albert as he starts walking down the hallway, heading towards his private study.
Benedict’s face pales, he doesn’t exactly know what your father wants to talk to him about; he’s half tempted to run away and take you with him while the other half wants to follow the older man and hear what he has to say.
You dare to look up and the sight of him like this, brings a small smile across your lips because you have an idea about what your papa is going to talk to him about. You continue to hope and pray it will end the way you and Benedict want it to.
Let’s just say it’s going to be a chaotic season for more than one male Bridgerton.
Whoa, oh, oh
Closer
Margaret walks closer to you, standing beside you, observing the way you watch the now empty hallway. “I’m happy your father has finally come to his sense’s.”
You turn, “what?”
Your mother wraps her arm around your shoulders, guiding you away from the closed front door.
The two of you sit down on the small couch closest to the hallway leading to your father’s study. “Your father has- how do I say this without coming off as mean. Your father,” she pauses, squinting her eyes as she thinks of the right word to use. “Knew he was going to have to see you grow up, get married and have a family of your own, he just- he didn’t want his little girl to get married. He also didn’t want you to marry that Bridgerton boy you’ve always adored. Even though I’ve told him, more than once might I add,” she glances over at you, taking note of your raised brow and impatient expression. “Anyway, I always told him that this was going to happen. The two of you were always close as children and I knew the two of you would find your way towards one another.”
You’re surprised, “Oh.”
“I do wish you would have told us before we found out ourselves but it’s in the past because you, my dear,” she cups your cheeks. “Are going to get married. Don’t try to deny it, I know you are, and I hope you know, the two of you have our blessing.”
You see the tears welling up in her eyes. “Are you alright?”
She chuckles, removing her hands from your face to wipe away the fear stray tears that trickle down her cheek, “of course I am. I’ve only begun to realize how grown up you are and how little I will be seeing you now.”
“It’s not as if I’m moving elsewhere.”
“You might as well be.”
“Even if we do, we’ll make sure to visit.”
“I would certainly hope so. Your father will be hurt if you don’t.”
You two chuckle.
Let me whisper in your ear
Albert doesn’t speak for a few moments, allowing Benedict to squirm in his seat. He clears his throat, “I assume you know why you’re here?”
“I have an idea,” answers Benedict.
“Did you plan on asking my wife and I before asking for my daughter’s hand?”
The words get caught in the back of the Bridgerton man’s throat. He stutters to give a response. “Of- of course, I did. I planned on doing so tonight.”
“Really? Didn’t look that way to me.”
“I swear to you, I was going to-”
Your papa waves his hand, “I understand. Take a seat, calm yourself. You needn’t be so frightened, son.”
In Benedict’s fogged up mind, he lightly perks up in his seat, at the last word. “Why is it that you want to marry my daughter? Is it because of her dowry? Perhaps, the fact that she is a well-educated girl, and you plan to use that to your advantage? Or maybe-”
Benedict pushes himself out of the chair, standing directly in front of your papa. “If I may interrupt. I can promise you that I do not plan to “use” your daughter for anything. I admire her and her ability to talk with my siblings and mother, more specifically when she is able to calm down and comfort the younger ones,” a gentle smile tugs at his lips. He remembers the first time he saw you watch out and comfort Gregory and Hyacinth when they were younger.
Say the words you long to hear
He watches as you rush over towards the thorny bush that Gregory’s maid has explicitly told him not to play nearby.
You bend down and pick him little Gregory, setting him down in front of you.
Benedict can see you kneel before him and place your hand on his cheek, most likely asking him if he’s okay before you pick up both, him and Hyacinth. He glances back, seeing his mother rush down the stairs, making her way towards you.
Violet takes Hyacinth from you, rocking the toddler in her arms. He sees you shake your head and lift his arm, waving to his sister.
Gregory didn’t seem to be having it but was no longer crying.
Violet smiles and you return the gesture.
You nod your head towards their home and his mother nods. You and his brother disappear into the house.
Violet places a hand on his arm, “she’s taken your brother inside to wait for the doctor. You watch over your siblings out here.”
“Yes, mother.” He turns to face his mama.
She has a smile stretching across her lips, “she’ll be out here, before you realize she is gone.”
‘Too late.’ He turns back around, watching as Eloise and Daphne whisper to one another, clearly plotting on who to take out when it’s their turn in pall mall.
I'm in love with you
“- Bridgerton! Benedict!” Benedict blinks a few times, trying to refocus on the situation. “If you’re going to keep spacing out, I don’t think it would be wise of you to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage.” Your papa prepares to leave the room when Benedict stops him.
“No- no. Please.”
The older man sits down, gesturing for him to continue.
Benedict sits down, frantically reaching in his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, unfolding it before flattening it on the empty space in front of Albert. He sits back down on the edge of the chair. “I know this isn’t a proper ring but- but don’t let this fool you. I want to make the young Lady Massington my wife and I will do anything to do so.”
Your papa picks up drawing of proposal, glancing up between the piece of paper and the young man sitting before him. “And if I say no?”
“No?”
“Yes. What would you do if I said no? If I said the words, “no, you cannot marry my daughter”. What would you do then?”
He says nothing for a moment, trying to figure out how he wants to say what’s in his heart without overstepping any boundaries. “I would continue to fight for her. I am not going to give up on her. I know, I cannot stand the idea of another asking for her hand when I believe it should be me. There is no other man out there who knows who she truly is. They won’t know what lies behind her wonderful and caring heart. I’m sure you would want to know that your one and only child is marrying someone who would cherish them and every moment they spend together. If you say I cannot marry your daughter just know, you made the biggest mistake you could have.”
The married man breaks out into a hearty chuckle, a wide smile stretching across his lips. “I hope you understand why I did this.”
“What?”
“She chose an idiot,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.
Albert opens the drawer closest to his hand and pulls out a small box, placing it in front of the frozen Bridgerton man. “I am giving you my blessing, Benedict. This was my mother’s ring, I planned on giving it to my first-born daughter but when the doctor informed us that there could be complications if Margaret had any more children, I knew this would be hers ring from the day she was born.” He sighs, “I wish you luck, son. You certainly have your hands full with that one.” Benedict’s posture isn’t as stiff as it was before, he breaks into a wide elated smile.
“Thank you, Lord Massington. Thank you.”
“I assume you will stay for the rest of the evening so that the two of you may return to your family home and inform the others tomorrow?” Benedict nods, glancing back at the ring. “Take the ring, keep it with you until you return home and put it in a safe place.”
“Of course.”
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh
“Get up,” Margaret whispers.
“Why?”
“Your father and your future husband are exiting the study and we have to make it seem like weren’t trying to listen in on them.”
You allow your mother to drag you off the couch and into the dining room. “We weren’t trying to listen in on their conversation.”
“We weren’t?”
“I certainly wasn’t.”
“Well, now you know more about your mother. Sit. Sit.” She pushes you towards your usual seat as she rushes to her own. Margaret asks one of the butlers standing beside the door over to her, asking if he can bring in another chair and set it across from you.
He does as he’s asked. The two men enter, nodding to the servants before making their way towards the unoccupied seats. Benedict catches your gaze, offering you a small smile which never fails to make you smile. Another course is brought out, each of plates in front of you all containing the foods you enjoy (and giving a certain soon to be wed couple, a little extra of your favorites). Margaret takes a sip of her drink, sets the cups down and asks, “when will I be expecting grandchildren?”
Benedict nearly spills the wine in his glass and almost chokes on what’s in his mouth.
Your eyes widen, “mama!”
“What?”
“We aren’t even married. You cannot ask that kind of thing and pretend it’s normal.”
“I didn’t realize it was wrong of me to ask such an innocent question.”
“It is anything but innocent,” you mumble under your breath, raising your hand to have another bite of your food.
Once Benedict sees that no one will continue speaking, he takes a final sip of his drink and sets the glass down. His eyes wander over to you, hoping to capture your attention, and see your rosy cheeks (something he deeply adores).
You know he’s looking at you but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of looking up.
Once you all finish your dinner, your mama asks a maid (and of course, it’s Ida) to make up a room for your soon-to-be husband.
The maid returns letting you and Benedict know the room is ready for him.
The two of you say your good nights to your parents before they exit the dining room.
Ida walks ahead of the two, turns the corner and whispers to capture your attention, “Psst! Psst!”
You glance over at Benedict, who shrugs. “Ida?”
“Of course, it’s me. Who else would be calling for you?”
You struggle to give her a response.
“No time for that now. I will let you two talk for a moment before you retire to your bedrooms for the evening.” Ida turns around, “follow me.”
You glance over at Benedict.
He shrugs with a smile on his face as he holds his hand out for you to take.
You take a step forward and latch onto him, one hand slides under his arm, resting on the crease of his elbow and the other reaches for his hand.
The two of you follow after her after giving a comforting hand squeeze.
I've known a secret for a week or two
Nobody knows, just we two
“Like I said, you won’t have long but, I will let the two of you talk before you go to bed this one time.”
You nod, letting go of Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Ida.”
“Yes, yes. I know you two are grateful. Now, I will be right outside this door, do you two understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” the two of you respond.
“No funny business, you hear.” She walks away, the door is almost closed before she pops her head in the narrow doorway, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks… again. “Ida!” You whine.
“I’m closing the door. I’m closing the door.” You purse your lips, cross your arms, and stare at the floor. ‘Why must they feel the need to embarrass me?’
He struggles to pretend that he’s not smirking. He takes a step closer, “can you look up at me?” Benedict asks.
You pout, shaking your head, “no.”
“Please?”
You know he’s pouting his lips in an exaggerate way (and he knows it can will make you crumble in an instant).
“No, you’re going to reach for my cheeks and see how much redder you can make them.”
“I think you’re mistaken. I would never do that to someone so precious to me.”
You glance up at him through your lashes.
“There we are,” he cups one of your cheeks.
“You always poke fun at me.”
“I would never do that,” he disagrees with a shake of his head.
“You’ve done it before,” you point out.
“You know I wasn’t being serious.”
“Do I though?” He chuckles, “where is this attitude coming from? You’ve never been this bold before.” He uses his free hand, bringing your hand closer to him as he kisses the back of your hand. “I like it. And while we’re on the topic of things I like, I must admit, I’m happy we’re doing this.”
You tilt your head, “doing what?"
Listen
“Having a proper courtship, getting married,” he leans in, “letting the world know I’m with the woman I love.”
Your eyes trail up from the collar of his tailcoat, until you reach his eyes. Your eyes widen for a moment, the corners of your lips twitch, you suppress the urge to smile. “You love me?”
He rolls his eyes as a playful smile stretches across his lips, “I would certainly hope I’ve been making it clear. It’s not as if I hide what I feel for you.”
You smile, biting your bottom lip. “Say it to me again,” you whisper.
“Lady Massington- soon to be Lady Bridgerton,” he slips his hand out of yours to wrap his arm around your waist; the other still rests your cheek, “I love…” he pauses, torturing you.
You’re about ready to burst. “Oh, say it already!” You giggle.
“You. I love you. Of course, I love you.”
You cup his cheek, stand on your tippy toes as you pull him closer to whisper in his ear, “and, I love you, Lord Bridgerton.”
He hums, leaning into your touch, “I like the sound of that.”
You lean back, no longer your tippy toes, “I’ll bet you do.”
Ida pokes her head in the doorway to say, “it’s time for bed.”
He sighs, closing his eyes.
“Come on. We should go before she interrupts us again,” you reach for Benedict’s hand, removing it from your cheek.
He takes a deep breath and sighs, “if we must.”
“Don’t be like that,” you glance over your shoulder, staring at him while you start walking down the hallway. You prepare to take your leave and walk down a different path than Benedict.
He stops you, his fingers wrap around your forearm, pulling you back towards him. He studies you for a moment, never one to admire art less than the appropriate time it should take for a person study and see its true beauty.
You open your mouth as if to say something, he beats you to it. “Let me walk you to your room.”
You raise a brow, “and what will you say if my parents find us?” you take a step closer to him, not quite ready to part from him (even if you two are to wed soon).
His lips tug into that mischievous boyish grin he only has when he’s going to say something potentially scandalous (if the wrong ears heard it) mixed with his flirty wit. He leans in, moving closer and closer to you. Benedict stares into your eyes, the warmth emanating from his hand makes your heart feel fuzzy. He watches your expression for any discomfort and finds none. He continues to tease you, “persuade them into letting me marry their daughter sooner.”
You shake your head, turning around to hide the smile dancing across your lips. You can’t let him see just how excited you are to marry him, yet. You slip your hand into his and march towards the door.
He lets you lead him to your room, unable to contain the joy and fluttering inside his heart and stomach. How can he not be happy? His plan worked! He’s going to marry the woman he loves, honestly, the only one who’s managed to steal his heart.
You stop in front of your door, reluctant to let him go but, you do. It’s better if the two of you get some sleep, even the tiniest amount than none at all.
You both know you need as much energy as you can get because tomorrow is going to be a hectic day; his family will know of the truth regarding your relationship.
Do you want to know a secret
Do you promise not to tell
He stops before your door, gulping with his hand hovering over your door. Now, he wouldn’t outright admit it but, truthfully, he’s scared to tell his family of your pending engagement. Benedict knows without a doubt that his family will be nothing more than supportive and few will bombard him with questions about things the two of you have yet to discuss. It’s just- the gnawing sensation in his belly racks his brain with worry.
Then, you open the door and all that flies out the window. “Good morning, Ben.”
He doesn’t respond, staring at you with his innocent, loving expression.
You place a hand on his arm and push him back, closing the door to your room. You look up at him and say, “good morning, Benedict.”
His brain seems to have recognized the phrase as he automatically replies, “Good morning.”
“Should we have breakfast before we meet with your family?” He owlishly blinks, his mouth agape.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Benedict,” you call out again.
He shakes his head, pulling himself out of his gawking, “we should wait to have breakfast. Everyone is home today. I know they’ll be happy to hear of our news plus Anthony and Eloise can choke on their tea.”
You furrow your brows, “wait- what?”
He brings a hand up to hide his snickers. “If the two find out that I finally confessed to you, they’ll be surprised and ask if it’s true then they’ll give their congratulations.”
You nod, “okay, yes that all sounds perfectly normal.” You take a deep breath, “are you ready?”
He pauses, thinking carefully about his answer. “Truthfully? No.”
You reach for his hand, “that’s okay because I will be by your side, no matter what, you know this.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, he leans in, bringing your hand up to his lips, “good because my sisters are going to ask us far too many questions that we won’t have the answers to, and I don’t want them to scare you off.”
You guffaw, “you doubt my abilities.” You release his hand and start walking down the hallway.
He rushes after you, interlocking your arm with his, “I don’t doubt you, my darling. I fear they will ask too many questions and scare you, that’s all.”
“You know that would never happen… Eloise cares about me far too much.”
He scoffs through his nose, “yes, Eloise is the only one who wouldn’t let you leave when your parents called for you.”
“She is also the one who continuously pushed you into my direction.”
Benedict glances over at you, “only because you wouldn’t stop looking over at me at every ball we were invited to.”
You turn your head to look at him and scoff, “I believe there is another guilty member you are forgetting.”
“Yes, I admit, my mama and Daphne would make us dance partners.”
You shake your head with a gentle smile gracing your lips, “is this how it’ll be when we marry?”
“Oh, believe me, I’ll become more unbearable as time goes on.”
“That I can believe.”
He shakes his head, a genuine smile tugs at his lips.
He can’t wait to marry you.
Whoa, oh, oh
Your mama stops in front of the two of you when you reach the end of the hallway. “Will you two be joining us for breakfast this morning?”
You shake your head, “I’m afraid not. We wish to inform Benedict’s family of the-”
“Joyous news!” She claps her hands, “of course. Of course. Your father and I understand.”
“I don’t like this,” your papa adds, standing beside his happy bride (of twenty and seven years).
“Stop it, Albert.” Margaret smacks Albert’s arm.
“I don’t want to see my daughter married so soon-”
“You are just excited as I am that they are matched and fit to be married. Do not use that tone with our future son-in-law. Oh, it sounds so dreamy. You, my dear,” Margaret cups your cheeks, “are a lucky girl- no, no woman. Yes, you are a lucky woman.”
You say, placing your hands on top of hers for her to stop holding your face in her hands. “Thank you, mama.”
“Now, if you’d excuse us. We should try to arrive to my family home before my siblings disappear into their adventures,” Benedict chimes in, seeing how uncomfortable you are.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Margaret smiles, taking a step back, observing the soon-to-be married couple.
You two offer one last smile to your parents and bid them a farewell.
-
“Are we riding?” You ask him.
“Unless you’d prefer a carriage?” Benedict offers, although he knows the answer.
“Never,” you grin at him.
“I know, I felt I should ask anyway.” He takes a step back, walking behind you; he nuzzles his nose into your cheek.
You giggle and nudge him back, turning around to hold his chin between your thumb and index finger, “just because we are to marry, doesn’t mean you get to act like a deranged man.”
He shakes his head, “I’m not, I only act the way you make me feel, giddy and alive.”
You release his chin and look away.
“Is my soon-to-be wife blushing again?”
“No,” you deny, walking two steps ahead of him.
He shakes his head as if you’re a child getting caught in the library after dark. “It’s not good to start a marriage with a lie.” He stands beside you with furrowed brows, watching your side profile.
You stare at the land with no emotion visible on your face as you think about- “And what would you call hiding our courtship?”
Now he understands. “It isn’t a lie if no one asked and,” he takes a step closer, standing behind you, his breath fans across your cheek. “I didn’t want to share you. You are the one I want to have a life with. I want to share my accomplishments with you. You may not know of this but, you are the one who continues to inspire me every day, with my art, my family, and myself. I can’t imagine a life without you because you make me feel complete. You own me, my body, my mind, and my spirit. I was scared if others knew about us, other suitors would come to try and steal you from me. I couldn’t let that happen. I’m sorry if you felt anything other than the love and kindness I have for you, but if you must know, I was scared to lose you. I still am. That is why I wanted to tell others about us. I had to let others know you weren’t available. I couldn’t- I still can’t think of you with another because you are mine just as I am yours.”
You let out a shuddered breath.
The stable boys show up with yours and Benedict’s horses.
“Come on,” he slips his hand into yours.
You stand before your horse, his hands grip your hips as he helps you onto your horse, White Lily.
Benedict mounts his own horse and the two of you are off.
You say nothing, his words continuously run around your head. You have known for some time that he cares for you, loves you (seeing as he declared so just hours ago) but, for him to put it into words so easily.
It’s- you don’t know how you can respond or put what you feel for him into words- “Bastard,” you mutter under your breath.
“What was that?” He asks, amusement evident in his tone. He knows his confession as gotten under your skin and embedded itself within you and he loves it because finally, he could say something so beautiful and leave you speechless.
You briefly glance over your shoulder, “nothing.”
The corner of hips lips tugs upwards.
You brush him off and squeeze your thighs, White Lily begins to gallop faster.
Benedict takes note of this and tries to match your speed, it doesn’t take long for him to do so.
You turn to look at him and laugh.
The two of you enjoy yourselves (with a minor competition) as you ride to his family’s home. Neither of you can wait till you get to share this joyous news.
Closer
Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca are the only ones in the family room.
The former and latter sit at the piano, practicing their shared favorite song while Eloise reads another book to distract herself from thinking about how she could get her brother to confess what truly lies in his heart (all while trying to figure out to stop him from looking at you with love in his eyes).
She removes her book from her face and sets it in her lap. She glances around the room, seeing if her sisters are affected by it.
They weren’t.
“Are those horses?” Eloise questions, getting up from the couch. Her book rests closed on one of the cushions as she moves closer to the window, aiming to find the source of the noise.
Horse hooves galloping across the ground and neighing travels up to the room, making all three more curious as ever.
“What else could it be?” Daphne asks, glancing back to her sister who backs away from the window.
The second eldest daughter ignores her oldest sister and ventures down the hallway and staircases.
The butler opens the door, she raises a brow at her brothers and your cheery attitude.
-
Benedict places his hands on your waist and helps you off your horse.
You offer him a small, nervous smile and he does the same to you. Your hands still rest on his shoulders, it feels as though you two are the only one’s present.
-
“Are you two alright?” Eloise asks with a raised brow. She’s never known either you or her brother to be so bold and part of her wonders if she needs to actually give you two (another) gentle nudge in each other’s direction.
You turn, glancing over your shoulder, smiling at her, “of course we are. Why wouldn’t we?”
She shrugs, “oh, I don’t know besides the fact that my brother is pale and looks as if he’s seen a ghost, everything is perfectly fine.”
You tilt your head with a frown and find that his once happy and nervous expression has left and been replaced with the same look he had when you met him outside your room earlier today. You take a step closer, slipping one hand off his shoulder and into one of his sweaty and clammy hands, “Benedict? Ben?”
His, now, wide, frantic eyes meet yours.
The sight of him being nervous puts you at ease. You know the two of you have got this. You offer him a true smile and a gentle hand squeeze, “everything will be fine. We’re here together.”
The young Bridgerton girl raises a brow before both brows are raised in surprise, she knows.
“Let’s go inside and see if everyone is here. We can figure it out as we go,” you assure him.
“How do you know?” He asks, but it comes out quieter than a whisper.
“Because I believe in you- I believe in us.”
He looks into your eyes and finds that you truly mean it. “Okay,” he nods, squeezing your hand three times.
You return the gesture while trying to ignore the incessant staring you feel directed at the two of you.
Let me whisper in your ear
“Where are the others?” Benedict asks his sister, staring at her after one of the servants closes the door.
Eloise can’t focus, the two of you are together, something she’s been trying to work on for so long finally happened but, with the way you two are so close, it almost seems like this- your relationship with her brother, has been going on longer than she realized. “Why didn’t either one of you tell me?” She blurts out.
You stare at her, mouth agape, unsure of how to respond.
“We weren’t ready for you and the others to ask questions,” Benedict answers her.
She scoffs, “we wouldn’t have-” Eloise sees the look her brother is giving her and begins thinking about it, he’s right. She sighs out, “fine. You are… potentially right, but it is what family is supposed to do, is it not?”
“Not when it means you could scare off my future bride.”
“Oh, please,” she stands in front of you, interlocking her arm with yours. “You have nothing to fear, brother. We would never scare her off besides, she likes it here.”
And that is how the second eldest male Bridgerton lost his (future) wife to one of his family members once today. He watches how easily you fall into conversation with her and how well you’ll fit in (he’s known this for years but, it always nice to see especially now that he can call you his).
-
“Anthony is in office, trying to drown himself in whatever it is he has in there. Kate- you remember her, right?”
You nod.
“There was an incident and she fell off her horse.”
Your brows raise in surprise, you would have never expected someone with so much education and fire to have an “incident” as Eloise calls it.
She leans closer to you, whispering, “he planned to court and propose to her before the fall.”
You gasp, covering your mouth. “You mean to tell me, your brother the RAKE plans to actually marry? Am I dreaming?”
“We all thought the same but, you know how he looks at her is the same as you and my brother.”
The corner of your lips tugs upward, “we don’t-”
“You do. Do not fight me on this, trust me when I say I’m right.”
“Alright.” You glance over your shoulder and find him staring at you with, said, lovestruck expression.
“I’m always right.”
You shush her.
-
You two stand in one of the large ballrooms.
“I shall call for my siblings, wait one- EVERYBODY MAKE HASTE! BENEDICT HAS NEWS OF HIS AND LADY MASSINGTON’S FUTURE!”
You sigh, “thank you, little El for that oh so nice announcement. Tell me, are my ears bleeding? I feel as if I’ve lost my hearing.”
She waves you off, “dramatic.”
There’s newfound warmth behind you, you know Benedict managed to sneak behind you.
You turn, offering him a smile. You look as radiant as ever and he wants nothing more than to make you his bride, here and now, but sadly, he must wait.
Hyacinth and Gregory look over the railing.
“Are you two going to marry?” Hyacinth asks.
The two of you nod.
The children glance at one another and take off running.
You have a feeling they are going to be run down the stairs and straight into you, so you begin to brace yourself. You squeal and let out an oof, wrapping your arms around the two.
“Finally!” Hyacinth pulls back with a wide smile showing off her pearly whites.
“We didn’t think you two were ever going to get married,” says Gregory.
“Don’t say that,” Hyacinth smacks his shoulder.
The youngest boy whines, rubbing the soon to be sore spot.
You place a hand on their shoulders, “no fighting.”
They lower their heads and say, “sorry.”
“It’s alright because now, we must find the others and let them know.”
They immediately perk up.
“What is this I hear of weddings?” You turn to see Daphne standing a few feet away, Francesca by her side.
You can’t contain it. “We are to marry.”
“Why would you want to torture yourself with him?” Francesca asks.
“That’s why I’ve been wondering myself,” Eloise adds.
“Hush up, you two,” says you.
Daphne runs to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, leaving enough room for you to hug her back.
Three other body’s join in on the hug.
“That’s enough. Let go- I still need her if we are to marry.”
“I see a congratulations are in order,” says Colin.
Anthony and their mother stand beside him.
The four siblings’ part from you, looking up to catch their families’ backs.
“Now that everyone is here, we can officially announce our courtship and future wedding,” announces Benedict.
His siblings and mother nods.
“Is that all?” Colin asks.
“Is that- yes, that’s all. I would have preferred if you were all here on time-”
You take a step forward, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, isn’t it?”
He reluctantly nods.
“We are just happy to be able to tell everyone while you were all here,” you say.
Music begins to play, all of you glance over to find Ida standing there, pretending to look innocent.
You tilt your head, confused as to why she’s here and then your parents walk in.
“Let us dance,” announces your mama.
Anthony turns to Hyacinth, “may I have this dance?”
She agrees and the two begin to waltz around you all.
You turn back to find Benedict’s hand in front of your face. “May I be the one you dance all your dances with?”
You pull off your gloves and toss them to the side, gently placing your hand in his. “As if you have to ask.”
He pulls you closer and you lean up, the two of you are lost in one another’s gaze that is- until the petals of white littles fall down.
You turn to see your mother and Ida tossing them at you.
The sounds of the Bridgerton’s having fun and chattering amongst one another is all you need to end this perfect night.
Benedict pulls away and spins you.
Spring (1817)
You’re spun around again and find yourself back in the arms of your husband. Neither one of you feel as if you’ve stopped smiling all day, your cheeks are beginning to ache, or maybe your cheeks have felt like this for hours and you’ve only just begun to realize it.
Either way, there’s plenty of reason for you to be smiling like a lovesick fool.
Benedict pulls you away from the dance floor and down a familiar hallway, leading you into your favorite library in your parents’ house, also used as a secret meeting place for the two of you used during your courtship.
-
“This seems familiar,” you comment, staring out the window.
He closes the door and walks closer to you, standing behind you, his arms find themselves wrapped around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours.
You two look into the window, catching each other’s gazes. You find a precious moment, something you hope to never forget, a newly married man and woman so deeply in love as they bask in each other’s company; the comfort of their quiet corner providing them with protection as they hide away from all the chaos.
“What are you two doing?” asks Eloise.
“Hiding.”
“If I can’t hide in a library, neither can the two of you.”
Let me whisper in your ear
Summer (1818)
“How is she?” Eloise asks Benedict.
He looks up from his sketch book, sitting crookedly in his chair, “why?”
“I’m concerned about her well-being.”
He nods, “again, why?”
She sighs, “she’s married to you. It’s my duty as her sister to make sure she is still levelheaded.” She observes the way you enter the room, smirking. She’s feeling witty. “Who knows what you’ve persuaded her into doing?”
You chuckle, throwing a wink in her direction, you know she saw you entering and felt the need to be dramatic. You rest your hands on your husband’s shoulders, “always so kind, Eloise.” You bend down, pecking Benedict’s cheek, “good morning, husband,” you whisper in his ear. You pull away but, find yourself staring into his eyes when he turns his head to look at you.
“Good morning, wife,” he smiles, reaching for you, pecking the palm of your hand.
You wrap your other arm around his shoulders, leaning into him. He keeps his gaze on you as he angles your head in his direction.
The two of you smile into the kiss before the sound of your dear sister-in-law clearing her throat, interrupts the two of you.
You hesitantly pull back.
“I hoped you two wouldn’t be so- that, in front of me. You wouldn’t want to deal with me sick, would you?”
“Dramatic as ever, Eloise,” you say, walking towards the couch opposite of her.
Benedict almost falls as he pushes himself out of the chair, following you. He sprawls out on the couch, laying his head on your lap.
“You’ve made him into a fool.”
You blink once, giving her a deadpan expression. “I did nothing. This was all him,” your thumb brushes against his cheek.
He closes his eyes, enjoying everything he’s feeling. Your light and gentle touches send him and his heart soaring.
She shakes her head, “how are you feeling?” She asks, only because she wants to know if you’ve told her brother of the life changing news.
“Better,” you answer with your jaw clenched.
She uses her eyes to gesture at her brother.
You shake your head.
She sighs.
“Are you sick?” asks your husband.
You glare at your sister-in-law, who merely shrugs. “I have news that I was hoping to tell you in private, possibly later tonight- maybe after dinner?”
He pushes himself off the couch, sitting so close beside you that your knees are touching. He reaches for you, pulling you closer by your hands, “what is it? Should I be concerned?”
You stare into his eyes, his fearful and curious. It begins to make you wonder- “Do you think our child will have your eyes?”
Much like Eloise, he chokes on air and his own spit. ‘That wasn’t how I thought she was going to tell him,’ Eloise thinks to herself.
“W-” He clears his throat, “what? Our children- we don’t- child, you said our child-”
You shake your head, “no, I didn’t.”
“Yes. Yes, you did.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” you avoid his gaze.
“Not when it comes to you.”
You sigh, your shoulders sag, “fine, you heard correctly. I am with child- oh!” You feel like you can’t breathe but, then again, you always feel that way when Benedict kisses you.
“And I’m leaving.”
You want to say you’ll see her later; you do but it’s your husband, he’s intoxicating.
He pulls away. “I hope she has your smile.”
“She?”
You subconsciously begin rubbing your stomach.
“I want our daughter to be just like her mother.”
“Who’s to say we will have a girl first?”
“We don’t follow society’s rules.”
You hum with a small smile stretching across your lips.
He glances down before his eyes drift back up to you.
You reach for him and place his hand on top of yours.
Say the words you long to hear
Seven months later
Anthony and Colin stole your husband from you earlier (more like you begged them to get him out of the house for the afternoon).
The two sip their drinks as they lounge in Anthony’s private chambers (at his and Kate’s shared home, only a few feet away from Aubrey Hall).
“How did you feel?” Benedict blurts out, staring into his liquor filled cup.
“How did I feel about what?” asks Anthony.
“Perhaps he means your first year of marriage,” Colin adds with a shrug.
“Or maybe celebrating one’s name day?” Anthony questions.
“Your first child,” Benedict mumbles into his cup.
The eldest nods, “Ah. I was fine- happy- I was happy.”
Colin snorts, “that’s not what Kate told me.”
Anthony turns, staring at the third born son with furrowed brows, “since when do you talk to my wife?”
“Oh, you don’t know. We meet up every week for tea.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am,” Colin admits. “We meet up for lunch. Ow!” He rubs the sore spot on his arm. “I’m not wrong though, am I?”
Anthony shakes his head, “no.”
Benedict sobers up ever so slightly, sitting up in his chair, “you were scared?”
“I couldn’t admit when I realized I loved her. What made you think I was prepared for a child?”
He shrugs, “I don’t know what to do.” Benedict moans, covering his face with his hands, “I can’t take care of a child.”
“You’ll do fine,” the two assure him.
“I can hardly take care of myself.”
“Then it’s a good thing there are two of you,” says Colin.
“You’re going to be a wonderful father,” Anthony adds.
“Wonderful father?” asks Benedict.
“Maybe not wonderful but, better than most,” says Colin.
“Neither one of you are helping,” Benedict mutters.
“Well-”
Henry slams the door open, panting with his face flushed red. “It’s- lot of stairs around here… it’s time.”
“It’s time?” The three ask.
“We must make haste. You two grab him,” orders Henry.
Anthony and Colin wrap Benedict’s arms around the back of their necks and walk as fast as they can out of the room.
Henry and Benedict were lucky they were able to make it back in time.
The two try to help their brother into their family home but he pushes them away from him.
“I can walk on my own,” he missteps and almost falls but is able to make a quick recovery.
-
He marches towards the room and finds Daphne standing in front of door.
She places a hand on his arm, “she needs you. She’s been calling for you.”
Your screams tear him away from her and are more than enough to sober him up.
He doesn’t respond as he barges into the room.
His mother and yours sit beside you, patting your forehead and holding your hand.
Both part from you when he steps closer to the bed.
You pant, your eyes are half closed, half opened.
He slips into the spot his mother sat in and automatically reaches for your hand. His hand touches the top of your head, brushing away the hair that sticks your forehead. “Hey,” the corner of his mouth tugs upwards.
“Have I told you how much I love it when you look at me like that.”
He shakes his head.
You groan, closing your eyes; you clench the sheets underneath your other hand and squeeze Benedict’s hand.
The doctor tells you to push and you do.
Benedict takes the rag from your mother and pats your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”
“I don’t- ugh- I don’t think I- ugh- am.”
He shakes his head, rest his forehead on yours. “You’re doing so so good. Our daughter is being born. Her strong mother is helping her come into the world so that we can hold her in our arms.”
You tear up and are more than determined to bring your child into the world.
-
The cries, other than your own, are the most wonderful sounds anyone has heard today.
Benedict cries as he stares down at her. It seems another has stolen the love in his heart. He smiles, staring down at the tiny, chubby hand grasping his finger tightly. “She has your cheeks,” he mutters, sitting beside you.
“Really?” You ask, leaning closer to the two, curious if he’s telling the truth or still drunk.
“They’re extremely red and there’s only one of us who’s cheeks become red quickly,” he points out.
You purse your lips. That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. “I have just given birth to our child, and you want to make fun of me?”
“I never tease you.” “I didn’t say tease.”
He glances up at you, “it’s the same thing.”
You close your eyes for a second before flinching awake.
“Why don’t you try to sleep?” He asks.
“I can’t sleep knowing she may cry, and you have had more than a drink or two.”
He scoffs, resting your daughter, Lillian on your chest to prove his point. “See, I can-”
You cringe, staring into your daughter curious eyes. “I know. I’m sorry he’s your father as well.”
His hand pops up with his index finger pointed up, “I heard that.”
“Good.”
A knock interrupts him.
“Are you up for any visitors?” Eloise asks.
You smile, “of course. I just need someone to clean the drunk man off my floor.”
Everyone enters, Anthony and Colin help him off the ground (since they’re the ones who “made” him this way), they groaned when you told them.
“She’s adorable,” Daphne and your mama coo.
“What’s her name?” asks Eloise.
“Lillian Bridgerton. Lily for short.”
She scoffs, “of course. Did he think of it?” Eloise points to your husband.
You confirm, “he did.”
“I guess I can see it.”
“She’s going to grow into a beautiful young lady,” Margaret says, everyone else agrees.
-
Benedict sits beside you once more, wrapping his arm around the back of your shoulders, “I love you.”
You smile and peck his lips, “I love you, Ben.”
You two look over at the crib and whisper, “and we love you, Lillian.”
I'm in love with you
#Bridgerton#bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x plus size!fem reader#benedict bridgerton x plus size! reader#benedict bridgerton x plus size reader#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict bridgerton x fem reader#crazyk-imagine
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b.b. | With child
Summary: He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours.
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader
Warnings: angst ('cause I can't write anything else), alluding to sex (no description whatsoever), discussions around pregnancy, pregnancy, mention of alcohol.
Words Count: 2.1k
Author's Notes: Had this in the work for the longest time. I was actually thinking to publish it for his season (#4 I hope!). But we got new stills of Season 3 and it's nearly Valentine's Day so... Enjoy!
“Are you-” you asked when you noticed your sister-in-law had let her glass of wine and her plate untouched.
Your words stayed lost on your tongue, yet Daphne, sat in front of Benedict and next to you, knew exactly what you were about and nodded slightly, tears in her eyes. You let out a small cry of excitement and leant in to hug her. While you wore the most delighted expression, Benedict’s heart sunk a little at the news.
His sister was with child. Again. She was the second women of his family to be expecting this year, while he had yet an exciting news to share himself.
You both had wed a little over than a year and a half ago now and were yet to be blessed with a child. You were doing your best, of course, but none your efforts had been fruitful so far. Benedict did not mind; he had waited his whole life to meet you, he definitely could wait a little bit longer.
He did not mind, or so he thought…
Tonight, he thought life was particularly unfair to him. Every pregnancy announcement was only nourishing this harrowing feeling in his chest. All he could feel was his siblings’ bliss and it made him sick to the stomach. Yes, he was sick with jealousy - and ultimately selfish. He just couldn’t wait to feel your belly growing, to hold your children, to watch them playing around with their cousins, for them to grow older and become adults themselves. Just this simple thought made his very own heart felt extremely heavy.
Politely and quietly, he raised his glass wishing his sister a healthy pregnancy, before drinking away his sorrow.
The ride home that night was particularly quiet.
Silence had never been a thing between the two of you. Benedict was usually the most talkative, telling you about his days, about whatever painting he was going to paint, about that book he had been reading. You would listen, looking back at him with your big bright eyes and a soft smile onto your lips. Other times, he would watch you pacing back and forth in his study while passionately debating about politics. He would be drawing imaginary circles on your soft skin as you were lying in bed, you telling him about another one of your days chaperoning one of his sisters. He would listen to your laugh at one of his jokes. Even your fights would be followed by soft apologies, quiet words, whimpers, and love.
On the contrary, that night, the air was thick with something he couldn’t quite describe, and the coach was wrapped up in dark clouds, a genuine storm in the awakening. Sat on the opposite side, you were looking through the window, your face only light up by the few shines of the full moon. Benedict was so focused on his own thought that he didn’t realize you hadn’t had a word for the rest of the night.
He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours. It only made him angrier at the entire world. Why couldn’t they let you live this as well?
He would have liked to discuss this with you - his regrets, his hope - but he was too afraid you would realize what a failure he was. How disappointed with him you were. How you would hate him for not being able to offer you this. So, he sat back in his seat and watched out of his own window.
When the coach stopped in front of your residence, Benedict got out first, offering his hand to help you getting down the small step like he always did. You smiled at him, thanking him politely, and let go of his hand as soon as your two feet were on the ground. It didn’t mean anything, he tried to reassure himself, you needed both of your hands to grab the tissue of your dress to prevent the hem from getting wet and dirty. Yet, he couldn’t help the sharp pain in his chest.
Silently, he followed you inside, hat in his hands, jaw locked. You were welcomed as usual by your housemaid, who got both of your coats and stayed there, in the uncomfortable silence, arms full, waiting for one of you to dismiss her. As you took off your gloves and didn’t dare look at Benedict, he nodded sharply to let her know she could go and watched her somehow disappear in an instant.
Suddenly, it was only the two of you again and it was all too much for him. He couldn’t breathe properly; his chest being crushed by the invisible weight of his sorrow. He couldn’t bare staying with you one more second. He needed to get out of here.
“Good night,” he said firmly, before walking to his study.
Would he have looked back he would have seen you watching him disappear in the corridor. You, all alone in the middle of the hall, arms dangling. He would have seen the frown on your face and the hurt in your eyes. Would he have looked back he would have run back to your side. Instead, he did none of that. He continued marching, head up high, trying to escape his own misery.
You sighed before turning in the opposite direction and to your shared bedroom.
Benedict went to bed less than an hour after you.
He had been haunted by guilt as soon as he had reached his study, sadness evaporating once he had stepped inside the room. Instead of turning back and chasing after you, he had tried to put his head in order. He then had tried painting whatever he was feeling, but he could only stay in front of his white canvas, terrified of laying his brush on the cotton. He had tried writing it, but he couldn’t concentrate enough; his thoughts always drifting to you, alone in your bedroom. He had then settled on having a drink to wait long enough for you to fall asleep before he could go to bed - his other option would have been to sleep in his study if he got too drunk, which he did not.
He had thought long about the whole situation. It wasn’t like you were not trying. Sometimes, even with doing the right things, it didn’t happen. He would need to accept this. And he couldn’t continue being a terrible husband. It wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anybody’s fault actually. What he knew more than anything though was that he loved you. Whatever would happen, he could not afford to lose you.
He had decided he would come clean tomorrow, but for now, he only wanted to sleep with you by his side.
In the dark of your room, Benedict undressed and lied besides you as silently as possible.
All he could hear was your uneven breathing; whatever dream you were having did not seem to be pleasant. He reached out to your arm, hoping that you could feel his presence through his touch and know he would always be there for you.
It wasn’t until your body was rocked by a hiccup that he understood that you were not having a bad dream, you were crying.
“Y/N?” he asked, lying on his side to face your back.
“I am so sorry,” your voice was only a whisper.
He gently made you roll on your side. Even in the dark, his right hand was able to find your face and his thumb to rub the tears away. Before he could ask what was wrong, you spoke:
“I am so-” You chocked on – yet – another sob and it took you a couple of seconds to even out your breathing so you could speak properly: “So sorry- for not being able to get you- get you what you ever wanted.”
“My love,” he sighed, grabbing the back of your neck to bring you closer. Instinctively, you hide your face in his chest, and he started stroking your hair to try and calm you. “My love, do not ever feel guilty on this.”
“I have tried every tea, every method that is supposed to help,” you cried some more.
It broke his heart to realize the burden on your heart - of course, if he was feeling it, you would have too. He finally understood how selfish he had been, how centred on his own pain he was and so oblivious to yours. It had never been a subject between the two of you, but it was slowly crushing you both.
“My love, this is not your fault.”
“You don’t see the pity in their eyes. You don’t hear them whisper.” You sniffled against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. “We are even blessed Lady Whistletown has not written about us.” He heard the frustration in your voice and the ton of it made him understand how you had tried to suppress the guilt but failed. It pained him that out of all of this, it was you who were the one being charged guilty by everyone - you included. As if you couldn’t imagine it being his own fault. As if you couldn’t imagine it being anyone’s fault but yours.
“Perhaps, I-” he stopped, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “I drink loads of Colin’s stupid tea; I paint with all sorts of chemicals substance. Perhaps, I can’t-”
“Ben, of course, no!”
“Perhaps we won’t ever-” he confessed, but he couldn’t even say it out loud. It was all too much.
You moved against him, and he felt both of your hands grabbing his face, your forehead resting again his. He felt your hot breath against his skin, and he hugged you tighter, crushing your bones, making sure you were close.
He had you, he kept repeating himself. It was all that mattered. Of course, it was a dear wish of his to see mini versions of yourselves running around, but not at all costs. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice what you both had, right here, right now.
“We are both healthy, it is more than all I could ever wish for.”
“Will this ever be enough for you, though?” you asked so quietly he nearly did not hear you.
Benedict frowned. Was it really what you thought? That he would leave you? That your own self was not enough for him? He had been an even more terrible husband he had thought to lead you thinking this. He had failed you on so many levels.
“I was so absorbed by my own desire of having my own family,” he whispered back like he was telling you a secret, “I never asked if you also desire to have children of your own.”
“Ben, of course, I want your children!”
Benedict wanted to express how grateful he was to have you in his life, but no words came to his mind at that moment. He only reached out to your lips, trying to express how much he loved you.
If he could not tell you, he could still show you…
Hours later, while you were lying in bed, your head on Benedict’s chest, his left hand drawing invisible love words on your back and the other holding you close, he thought that there was nothing else he would like to do than stay with you, like this, forever.
“We should just take some time away from here.”
“What do you mean? The season only began-”
“To hell with worldliness. Some time away, just the two of us.” The sun was slowly peeking through the blinds, its yellow light was painting on your naked skin a glowy spectrum. “I heard South of France is particularly beautiful, this time of the year.”
Your chin on his chest, you looked back at him, eyes bright. He was looking at you the same way you had catch him do a million time: a soft smile on his lips, his eyes filled of this spark, shinning only for you. You didn’t care how beautiful France would be, he was the most beautiful view you had ever laid eyes on.
His hand brushed some hair out of your face, and you grabbed it to kiss his knuckles.
“France, it is then.”
Little did you know, you would be coming back home a few months later, bearing your own little miracle.
One of the many to come.
#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x female reader#lea's writing#benedict bridgerton fanfiction
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the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)
summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?
pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader
word count: 4k
warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender
a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3
• • • • • •
“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.”
Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens.
You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”
Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”
Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too.
You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it.
Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.
You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to.
“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist.
Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.
Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband.
Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children.
You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington.
You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.
“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?”
“How will you get it to her?” He questions.
A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”
• ж • ж • ж • ж •
The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it.
You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered.
According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her.
The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation.
Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way.
Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in.
“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you.
“I never do.” Is your instant reply.
Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested.
But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”
You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion.
Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through.
“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”
“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”
You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.”
Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”
You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you.
And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.
You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.”
Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”
You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.
“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”
“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that.
“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.”
“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”
Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge.
You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak.
You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”
Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won.
“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”
Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”
Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”
“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot.
Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”
“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”
Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.
“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.”
Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong.
“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you.
“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”
If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.
Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.
• ж • ж • ж • ж •
“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column.
Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say.
You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain.
You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:
Dearest Gentle Reader,
It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym.
By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to.
This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?
And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.
And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n).
As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.
May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross.
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown
Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling.
“What am I going to do?”
Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you.
Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?
• ж • ж • ж • ж •
The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.
As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.
Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has.
You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so.
“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”
You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you.
“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now.
“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions.
She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well.
We need to talk.
Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”
“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.
If anything good can come of this, it might just be that.
Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”
The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her.
“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”
But that only leaves one person…
“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”
Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”
This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”
A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?
“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.
Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you.
“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”
You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”
“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”
You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?
Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”
“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.
“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”
Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”
“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”
Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”
“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.
“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too.
“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”
In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.”
“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm.
“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”
Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor.
Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing.
However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all.
“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”
She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”
Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…
#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x female reader
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Jealousy
A.N: OMG I am finally starting this blog. I am so so excited. This is a Benedict Bridgerton fic ofc. The true loml. I'm still debating if I will write only Bridgerton orrrrrr others? I dunno... but for now, here is a lovely, smutty, cutie, Ben fic hehe <3
Warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, vaginal sex, drinking, dirty talk, heavy praise, talk of public heavy petting ;)
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Minors DNI!! 18+
He sighs from beside Eloise, shifting on the picnic blanket for what has to be the millionth time. "Brother, you worry too much about that woman." She mutters with an amused glint in her eye, taking a bite of one of the strawberry tarts the family maids had made for the occasion.
A family picnic was not a rarity during the social season, especially for the Bridgerton's. What was a rarity is that Benedict had invited a woman along, an incredibly important woman at that. Y/N L/N, a daughter of an influential Viscount. The woman he found himself to be head over heels in love with.
"I am not worried. I am merely observing so our brother does not make a fool of himself in front of her." He replies with a huff, taking a sip from his flask before tucking it back into his pocket.
You were merely speaking with his brother. His happily married older brother. He has no reason to be jealous, really, but something in him still tugs painfully at the sight of you speaking to another man. It is only when Kate comes to steal her husband away that you scootch back over to him, a bright smile on your face.
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You move back over to Benedict and look up at his cute pouty expression, smiling at the warmth that blooms in your chest as a result.
You wished to get to know his family before the inevitable happens. Marriage. You know, as well as he does, that you were both going to tie the knot as soon as it was acceptable to do so. You also know that he would scoop you up and marry you tomorrow if he had his way.
At the very first ball of the season, Lady Danbury insisted that she had someone for you to meet. Someone who enjoyed painting just as much as you did. So, she took your arm and led you away from your father to the Bridgerton family. You were confused, at first, when the already happily married Viscount, Anthony, turned to greet you. And then, as if the sea was parting, he appeared. A crooked grin on his face as he moved to see you. Benedict Bridgerton, although he is a second son, stole your heart as soon as you saw him.
From then on you waited with bated breath for every dance you would share, dreamt of him in your bedroom when you got home, and thought of nothing but him in between. You shared stolen glances at every event and even snuck off to any hidden corner or garden you could find for breathless kisses and entirely impolite words that sent your mind into a whirlwind you could not explain.
Soon enough, he started inviting you on promanades and even sooner he wished for you to dine with his family. Get to know his life outside of the stuffy ballroom, to which you found yourself falling even deeper in love than you could've ever imagined.
"You're pouting, Ben." You hum, taking a sip of your lemonade with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Indeed. Perhaps if you were not so caught up with my brother I would not have a reason to pout, hm?" He returns, moving to take another sip from his flask.
He was jealous? Of his married brother? You sigh and move your hand over his, shaking your head slightly. You hand him a glass of lemonade. If he truly is jealous, the last thing he needs is whiskey.
"If you truly wish to hear what we were talking about, I shall tell you." You return as he takes a sip of the lemonade you gave him. He moves his hand over yours, just out of sight of his family. A possessive gesture that makes your heart flutter.
"Yes, in fact, do enlighten me." He grumbles with a sigh. "His wife, Benedict. He was talking about his lovely wife, which if you have forgotten, happens to be my dear friend." You sigh, running your thumb over his knuckles.
He looks over at you, his green eyes sweeping down to your lips, then your chest, before finally looking back up. "I care not of what you were speaking about, I should like you to speak with me when it is I who invited you." He practically growls, the tone of his voice making the place between your legs heat up and dampen instantly. A feeling that only happened with him, something he had explained as both desire and arousal.
"You know that I-" You begin, but are cut off by him pulling you to your feet. The glasses of lemonade are now completely forgotten. "Mother, I should like to promenade with Lady Y/N." He fibs.
What he would really like to do is rip the skirt of your dress open, spread your legs wide, and plunge his cock so deep inside of your soaked cunt that you forget everything else. He wants to paint your insides with his seed right here, in front of the whole ton, so that every man can get a glimpse of who you truly belong to.
"Of course, dear. We shall not keep you." Violet replies with a smile before delving back into conversation with Eloise, who also looks up with a confused expression but quickly rolls her eyes and continues to speak to her mother.
You shoot him a questioning look to which he just raises an eyebrow and offers his arm. You take it and he begins to lead you away from the picnic canopies that many families have set up to dine under.
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"Where are we going?" You question after a moment, realizing that you are not following the path around the lake but rather the path to the carriages.
He stops and tugs you behind a tree, pushing you up against the trunk. The bark bites into the little exposed skin the back of your dress grants you and your cunt flutters when you see his expression.
Desire is different for men, he taught you. You can see it in the way his trousers tighten at the front and in the way his eyes haze over. His hands move to your waist and he bends down, pressing kisses all the way up your neck until he reaches your ear.
"Agree to marry me and I shall show you." He whispers, biting the soft flesh beneath your ear causing you to shiver and whine. He grins and licks over the tender skin, soothing the sting.
"You already know very well that I would say yes to any proposal you give me." You breathe, leaning your head back as your eyes flutter shut. His hand skates over your stomach, running up the smooth fabric of your dress until he meets your breast. He cups one and swipes his thumb over your hardened nipple through the fabric.
He pulls away, swiping the saliva off his bottom lip with his thumb before picking you up. You squeal and he chuckles, paying the driver of his carriage off before tucking you inside. He closes the door and the curtains on the window, darkness enclosing the both of you.
"Benedict." You whisper as he lays you back on the velvety bench. "Hush, my love. I shall not do anything before asking I swear it." The title makes your heart almost burst out of your chest. He dips down once more, pressing his lips to yours briefly.
You pull him back down before he gets very far, chasing one of those open-mouthed kisses he gave you at the last ball. He groans, his tongue swiping over yours. He grins over your lips at the sound that escapes, moving his hands to yours where they rest on his chest before breaking the kiss.
"Ben please." You whine, wanting him to continue so desperately. He only smiles, taking off your gloves. "You must have patience, my sweet girl. I am going to ravish you in due time." He assures, pressing soft kisses from your palm all the way up to your shoulder as he takes off his gloves as well.
He reaches your neck, to which he takes a deep breath. Taking in your scent of lavender and citrus, making him groan as it always does. "Do you remember when I taught you to ride my thigh?" He whispers, running his tongue down to your collarbone, nipping the skin.
The memory makes you flood your underwear. You remember well, how could you not? He had lead you to the garden at one of Lady Danbury's balls and sat you down on his lap on the edge of the fountain. He hiked up your skirt and led your hips back and forth until something inside of you snapped so hard you saw stars and stained his trousers. That is where he taught you about his arousal, about yours.
"Yes." You breathe, your eyes fluttering shut as one of his hands moves under your skirt. His slender fingers skating teasingly up your thigh. "Good girl." He praises. He cups your cunt without warning and you cry out, your hips canting.
"Fuck. You are absolutely drenched." He whispers, relishing in the moans he draws from your body just from keeping a hand over your cunt. "And I told you about sex, do you remember that darling?" He murmurs, watching your eyes flutter.
He slowly pushes your skirt up so he can slide off your panties. He tucks them into his pocket, smiling to himself. "Yesss." You moan as the air hits your bare sex. "You told me it happens when we get married." You whisper between whines as his hand comes back, his fingers curling into your pubic hair.
"Such a good listener. So good for me." He praises, sliding two of his fingers along your drenched slit before finding your clit with expert touch. He rubs a slow circle on your button and you moan loudly, throwing your head back. "Now, when a man has honor he waits to take a woman's innocence. But my honor disappeared when I saw you with my brother," You try and protest but he pinches your clit and you cry out before you can get so much as a whisper out.
"So I will take you now. In this damn carriage." He growls, moving his free hand to your hips to hold you down. You whine when his fingers move down. "Fuck you are perfect," He breathes. "I'm going to slide one of my fingers inside now, darling, alright?" He murmurs, the switch from possessive to sweet sending your mind reeling. So overwhelmed, so mindless Just how he likes you.
You nod tentatively, your heart rate spiking which he picks up on. He shifts so he is over you, and kisses the crown of your head. "I'll go slow, hm? Nice and slow. All you need to do is pat my arm twice and I'll stop." He assures, calming your heart. You nod and nuzzle his neck.
He slowly plunges a long finger into your weeping cunt and you whine at the invasion. "Good girl, fuck you are so tight." You gasp and writhe as he curls his finger, the feeling sending a shock straight to your clit. He slowly adds another finger and you moan loudly, your eyes rolling back.
"Ben... so good. Feels...." You cry out when his fingers curl into a spot that sends waves of pleasure through you. He grins and begins to rock his fingers, drawing heavenly noises from your soaked cunt. The carriage filled with the sound of your moans and the squelching of your pussy.
He licks a stripe up your neck, beginning to suck as he rocks his fingers. You curl a hand in his thick curls and tug, your hips desperately trying to move against the palm of his hand.
He kisses your jaw, and then your chin, before finally capturing your lips. His tongue immediately sliding past your swollen lips and tangling with yours. You moan into his mouth as his thumb presses down on your swollen clit, moving clockwise as he rocks his fingers into your body.
He breaks the kiss and pulls out his fingers, much to your dismay, before unbuttoning his trousers. "Benedict... why did you stop? It felt so very nice..." You whine, grinding on nothing to try and gain some sort of feeling.
He groans at the sight, bending down and pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek. "My harlot of a fiancee. So needy for something she does not even know the half of." He praises as he slowly frees his cock, the sight along with his filthy words making you gasp.
He pulls back and strokes himself with the help of your delicious wetness, before looking back at your sweet face. All flushed and wide-eyed. He moves his free hand to your chin, running his thumb over your bottom lip.
"It will not fit, Benny." You whisper, suddenly frightened. His eyes soften and he moves down pressing a swift kiss to your lips. "It will, my love. We will go slow, I promise. Remember what I told you, two pats on my arm and we will stop." He hums, peppering your face with kisses which causes you to giggle and calm a bit. "Perhaps one pat for apprehension, hm?" He murmurs with a smile, pulling back. You nod.
"Good girl." He hums. He leans in and runs his length through your soaked folds drawing moans from the both of you. "Fuck. God, I love you." He grunts and you smile, draping your arms over your eyes to cover your blush. "I love you too, Benedict." You whisper back.
He slowly pushes into your body, throwing his head back at how tight your pretty pussy is. You cry out at the invasion, your hands shooting down to grasp at the edges of the carriage bench. The feeling is a strange mix of pain and something different. A tart taste on your tongue paired with a tingly feeling in your already hot womb. "Fucking hell." He groans before tucking his face in the crook of your neck, stopping halfway so you can adjust.
You whine and wrap your arms around his neck after a moment. "P-Please..... more. I need more, Benedict." You gasp after the pain subsides. God, he almost comes right there. He wants you like this all the time, mindless for his cock. Begging him to fuck you.
"Good fucking girl, Y/N." He grunts before bottoming out inside of you. You moan and toss your head back into the seat cushion and he groans at the feeling. "You feel so good, my love. So ripe, so wet. God, so very tight just for me." He praises.
He begins to move slowly, the slap of thighs meeting thighs filling the carriage. The feeling is so foreign but fuck you never want it to stop. Moans and whines slip past your lips before you can even begin to try and stop them, and you cry out as he speeds up. The noises he is drawing from your body would embarrass you if you didn't adore the way he feels inside of you to the point that you can think of nothing else. You wish to be like this as much as you can, full to the brim with his cock.
"Benedict." You moan and he stalls, gritting his teeth. "Never ever stop moaning my name, you vixen. God, I am a lucky man. The luckiest man in the world." He praises you as he begins to slam into you.
You grip his coat so hard you are surprised the velvety fabric hasn't torn. You cry out when his thumb finds your clit, the feeling sending you up to the clouds. "Come for me, my love." He grunts from above you with a slight slap on your thigh. That sends you over, your vision going white as you scream his name.
He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and pumping himself. He releases with a groan onto your stocking-covered thigh before collapsing on top of you.
After a moment he lifts his head to look at you, brushing your fallen hair out of your face. You smile, almost drunkenly, as you look at him. "That was heavenly." You whisper and he smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips.
"Just wait until we are married. I cannot wait to fill you with my seed and see you plump with my child." He murmurs. resting his head back on your shoulder. Your hand absentmindedly finds his hair, running through his messy curls.
"We have to go back." You whisper to which he shakes his head. "Not yet. I paid off the driver. We have as much time to rest as we wish, dearest." He hums, his eyes closed. You grin and close yours as well, slowly dozing off with him.
You are the luckiest woman in the world.
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Hi, how are you? Could you make a request for Anthony Bridgerton 🙈 please.
I was thinking something along the lines of Penelope and Colin. When Colin says he would never court Penelope. But in this case Anthony tells Benedict that he would never court reader. And Benedict tells him that he will be the one to woo her. Sad ending or happy ending. I leave it in your hands 🤗✨.
Have a good week ✨ thank you.
i love this, and benedict bridgerton <3
nothing better
pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x fem!reader (platonic)
summary: benedict has loved you for so long, but he always assumed you’d want anthony and he wanted you. but when the opportunity presents itself to be with you he dives headfirst.
warnings: swearing, kisses??
a/n: hope you like itttt, it might be a little short but quality over quantity???: i love benedict ugh can’t wait for his season
the party was insufferable.
benedict wanted nothing more than to be at home, drawing, you specifically.
the day you learned of his talent you’d praised him every day for it. and you’d been pestering him for oh so long to draw your portrait but he always politely declined. believing a professional to be more accurate than himself but he honestly believed that he, nor any other, could incorporate all of your beauty in one sketch.
and he was scared of messing it up, and he also wondered what his brother would think.
anthony. smart, handsome, eligible, viscount anthony bridgerton.
the one you’d marry.
or so it seemed to everyone as the two of you danced hand in hand. everyone’s eyes were on the two of you as you practically glided across the floor. as the music slowed and the couples dispersed he found himself holding his breath as you came towards him.
“anthony is terrible to dance with, he keeps blaming me for stepping on his feet but he moves so slow at times, he’s always looking off into the distance.” you laughed as benedict smiled, “i promise you y/n, a dance with me will leave you more than well satisfied.” benedict teased as you gasped, “benedict bridgerton! the scandalous man you are.” as you laughed he couldn’t help but admire you. your hair was up with only two strands in the front, curled. a sweet tiara in the middle of your head, a gorgeous baby pink dress and and equally gorgeous owner.
“you look-”
“like a cake? a biscuit? a rose perhaps?” you joked.
“i was going to say breathtaking. you look, breathtaking, y/n. no one else here can compare.” he spoke in awe.
your eyes flickered to his, god he looked amazing. but he was probably only saying this to be nice right? his sisters friend, daphnes other half. nothing more, he grew up with you, saw you as a sister.
he wondered if you’d return the compliment, or thank him, or just smile and nod. god he said wanted more than a nod. you looked untouchable. and the way you looked at him, benedict was lost. not only in your eyes but in his head and heart. he sees you dance and talk to numerous respectable men every day. you smile and laugh, completely polite. but then you look at him, with those beautiful brown eyes and he looses all trains of thought. and as respectful as those other men are, he could never put himself in the same category as them.
because the thoughts that he didn’t loose, were truly inappropriate.
the heavy footsteps from behind you snapped the two of you out of the trance as anthony approached. “brother, lady y/n.” he smiled as you smiled back. “i’ll leave you two be.”
“are you alright brother?”
he didn’t mean to snap. the words just spilled out.
“are you going to court her or not?”
anthony’s brows furrowed as he was taken aback by his brothers direct manner, all sense of the usual playfulness was lost. “who? y/n? no of course not. i would never dream of courting y/n l/n. she’s like a sister to me.”
“then why do you dance with her so? take her out so often, promenade with her? for what? my god everyone thinks the two you are courting.” anthony released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
he’d only been having fun with a friend. it was so refreshing to be able to talk to someone who didn’t wonder what the viscount was up to, who he was with, when he was going to marry. y/n eased his tensions and she the best friend he’d never had, she made him feel like a young boy again, which anthony had all but forgotten the feeling of.
“benedict, it was not my intention this i promise you brother. i know how much you love and if i led you or anyone else to believe our relationship was anything besides familial love and companionship than i truly apologise. you need to let her know before it’s too late.”
benedict felt his heart lurch at the idea of finally being with you. and with anthony’s blessing and urging him along he was off to find you.
the air was cold, but anything was better than that stuffy ballroom inside. gods you couldn’t wait for the season to be over. it was only your first, same as the diamond of the season, also known as your best friend daphne bridgerton but all the cakes, gossip, drama and fake smiles? you’d had enough to last forever. the only problem with the season being over was that you’d most likely be travelling to your country estate. which meant that you’d be spending time with your extended family rather than the family besides your own that you wanted to be with.
the person you wanted to be with.
“y/n! there you are.” benedict shouted as he bent over, catching his breath. even slightly sweaty and disheveled benedict was a god in your eyes, no one inside could even come close.
“ben, come sit!” you patted the swing next to you as he gladly sat down, the air was a refreshing after the long night he’d had, and your smiling face was enough for his heart to race again.
“y/n, as much as i’d like to sit and swing with you i have to tell you something, it’s urgent.” he spoke softly. the moon was bright, the air cold and benedict had a soft glow of light on his right side. his voice could so easily lull you to sleep out here as it had done so many times before but his eyes were alert, so you smiled again and nodded, “continue.”
“y/n, i’ve known you for so long. and i’ve- i’ve never been able to tell you how i truly feel about you. i always thought anthony had your eye and”
“anthony?!” you screeched as benedict hushed you with a hand over your mouth. “sweetheart you can’t be so loud out here, wouldn’t want someone to come across us now would we?” he joked as his eyes crinkled at the edges, now there’s the benedict you knew. “ben, i’ve never had romantic feelings for anthony, hes always been a brother to me. besides i’ve had my eye on another bridgerton for a long time.”
“oh? and who could that be?” benedict was praying to every god he could conjure in his head. me. me. me. let it be me please.
“you.”
he couldn’t help himself as he kissed you, he’d waited far too long for it.
and it was so worth it.
everything he couldn’t even begin to express with words, he put into the kiss, your first of many. “i love you. i love you y/n l/n and i can only pray you love me a quarter as much. you are everything i’ve ever wanted, and i have you now. you were family before but now? youre officially a bridgerton, we should throw a parade.” benedict laughed as you smacked his arm, “finally! my plan to marry daphne has been thrown into motion!”
“excuse me?” daphne shouted as yourself and benedict leaned into eachother, laughing up a storm.
there was nothing that could compare to the man infront of you.
nothing better.
#benedict bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict bridgerton x y/n
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i was made for lovin' you
fem!plus size!reader, 2.4k words
summary: the reader loves benedict bridgerton. when he dances the night away with her dear sister, she wonders if her love is perhaps... unrequited.
a/n: my initial note for this fic was: i was the chubby unpopular insecure girl in school. i'm still the chubby girl. and i need fluff today. so that's what's gonna happen.
i initially started writing this... last year. it's been over six months ago since i've touched this. the title is totally from the kiss song.
tw: bodily description, vague description of anxiety, momentary insecurity, but it's brief!!
Curves adorned your body in a way that remained otherwise unknown to so many others. Thick thighs hid beneath layers of clothing. Your stomach pressed against the fabric of your top, threatening to squeeze the very essence of life out of you. But you stood there, discomfort climbing its way up your spine, threatening to call you out for being a fraud. You lived in peril, awaiting the blossoming of the flower of insecurity and fear.
No gentleman would ever look your way, even with the most expensive of clothing. Liquid gold could be dripping from your fingertips, and not one of the men in the 'ton would give you the time of day.
At least, that is what you told yourself. That is what you had believed since the time you could register the fact that you were the thicker girl.
And it's not that you hated your body. No, that was far from the truth. You had come to love yourself in your own way, trying your best to live with what the world had given you. But you knew men, and you knew the gentlemen of the 'ton. You were treated differently, just because of your size.
You were different.
But he never treated you as if there was something wrong with you. No, Benedict Bridgerton was your dearest friend, but you couldn't help but feel as if he never truly cared for you in the way that you cared for him.
The way that you loved him.
You had yet to properly talk to him, knowing his elder brother hosted the ball of the evening. It wouldn't surprise you if Benedict was busy entertaining other gentlemen—entertaining your sister, perhaps.
The clothing you wore that night was flattering, for the most part. You couldn't deny that. Your mother had chosen well for the ball, keeping your mind at bay. She had impeccable taste, regardless of the crude comments that so often left her rouge lips. But despite the clothing, despite the restricting fabric, you couldn't help but watch and feel less than others around you.
Especially when you knew the man you favored was out there, fawning over your sister (not even liquid gold would work in her favor—she merely needed to raise a finger, and men would fall to her feet, begging for a chance to be hers).
The beautiful women who danced passed you, hand in hand with a suitor or with a dear gentleman. Their dance cards were nearly filled at this point. The stunning men wore beautifully tailored suits, sending smiles and small nods to those they spoke with. Well-rounded pencils would need to be sharpened before too long.
You stuck out like a sore thumb in the corner of the ballroom, drawing imaginary attention right to your very soul.
Your dance card rested in the palm of your hand, not a single gentleman's name residing on it. Like many balls before, suitors avoided you—or perhaps, you avoided them. Staying in your safety corner seemed to be the best bet, but you knew it would catch up to you (eventually).
There wasn’t a possibility for a suitor to come to you, unless he wanted whispers to be spread. You were an outcast.
You made yourself an outcast. But perhaps our worst enemy came from our very own minds, taunting us and keeping those we love far, far away.
Had you been your elegant sister, dancing the night away with the handsome Bridgerton boy amongst many other men, maybe you would have felt more comfortable.
Her card was completely filled, and now, she milled around with her friends, looking for a gentleman to speak with. The season wouldn't last forever.
And you knew it.
The season would be over in a heartbeat, and you would be left without a single name on your dance card.
How incredibly frustrating. You knew you were beautiful. You knew you had a grand personality, fit for that of a gentleman. You were smart and intelligent and you knew how to do so many things.
But standing here, you felt as if your clothing was choking you to the point of no return. It didn't matter that you could read a book in a day, or recite your favorite poetry. It didn't matter that you learned to cook from your favorite maid, or that you could write a piece of prose so beautifully it brought tears to your delicate sister's eyes.
Warmth flooded throughout your body. You hesitantly pulled up the fabric of your skirts and made your way to the crowd, finding the cool night in an instant. The chill of the breeze cooled you down the best it could, but it could only do so much for the roaring fire in your mind.
Your mother would surely have yet another snide comment about the fact that she did all this work just for you to avoid the crowd. Your father would listen silently, but you knew he agreed. He always did.
Your sister would yet again set on a suitor, her beauty and gracefulness the only blessing upon your family. She would be set for life while you die a lowly spinster.
Maybe she would bless you with a quaint cottage of your own. She'd be able to marry the richest man in the 'ton, if she was so pleased to say yes.
You walked closer to the fountain that sat in the middle of the courtyard, eyes closing as you came to a stop. The chatter and music from the manor wafted in the air, and the smell of freshly trimmed grass plagued your nose. Goosebumps appeared on your skin as the air around you only seemed to get cooler. Perhaps outside wasn't your best decision, but anything was better than the scrutiny of roaming eyes.
Solitude found you best, creativity striking you when you were all alone—most of the time. Today, it only brought you a fraction of the comfort you sought.
Despite your indiscretion, you weren't alone for very long.
"Lady L/n?" a voice came from behind you.
Your eyes shot open and you looked over your shoulder.
Benedict Bridgerton.
He had danced with your sister nearly three dances ago—you hadn't seen him since then.
He sent you a soft smile, relaxing when he saw you.
"May I ask what you're doing out here all alone?"
"I could ask you the same thing," you said. "Sir Bridgerton."
His smile only grew.
The two of you had known each other far longer than you would ever admit, and every time you saw him reminded you of why you fell for him to begin with. But he belonged with someone else—he would be good for them, and marrying into a family of money would secure the safety of the woman's future and her family's future.
You would take what you could get, even if it meant waiting until your father made you a match… if even he could manage such a feat. He quite hated the idea of society. It was your mother who pushed him into the world, making him do good by the ‘ton and his family name.
Benedict deserved someone good—someone who would boost his status in society, and always be there to love and care for him.
Many weren't so lucky with their marriages (your mother and father, for example).
"That's no way to talk to a gentleman, now is it? Whatever would your dear mother say if she were to find out how you speak to me?" he asked, feigning offense as he placed a hand over his chest.
"Trust me," you said, turning to face him with a soft smile. "I promise she will find little problem with it when she knows you are on Katherine's card."
"Hm," he tilted his head as he watched you. "And who have you danced with, Lady Y/n? I have yet to see you out on the dance floor tonight, and now I find you all alone. It feels as if autumn is already upon us. Surely you don't want to catch a cold as well?"
"I have danced with no one," you said, looking back at the fountain. "And you surely shouldn't be here with me, alone. Quite a scandal you'd create for your sister to cover up."
"Is that not why she is the Duchess? So I can create whatever scandal I dream of?"
You could practically hear the smug smile on his face, but you didn't turn to face him. Your arms hesitantly wrapped around your torso as you continued to stare at the flowing water.
"Y/n?" he softly spoke, coming to stand beside you. "Are you alright?"
His hand touched your cold arm and you immediately pulled away.
"Should you not be back inside with Katherine?" you asked. "It will be quite a scandal if you were to be out here with me."
He furrowed his eyebrows. "What is with you and scandals? Nothing of the sort will happen. I'd much rather spend the rest of the evening with you."
You frowned. "If you must, perhaps we should return inside. You should sign my dance card to keep my mother from asking questions."
"I would do so, gladly, Y/n, but I did not think you wanted me to do so," he said, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke.
"Why wouldn't I want you to?" you began, averting your gaze. "You know me better than I know myself."
He tilted his head curiously. "I do believe there are things I've yet to acquire," he said, gently taking your hand as he spoke. This time, you didn't pull away. "Whatever is the matter?"
"You are a dear friend, Benedict," you said. "I would never want to do something to put our friendship in jeopardy."
"Perhaps you will if you continue alluding me so. I asked you a question, my Lady."
A beat passes, the music coming from inside becoming light and jovial for the newest dance. Your sister was already dancing with another, enjoying herself and smiling all the while. Not that you could see.
"Y/n, please," he said, voice barely above a whisper—defeated, one could safely say.
"I care for you," you said. "If—if my sister is what you want, if she will make you happy, then by all means, you have my blessing."
He blinked slowly at you, lips parting to speak, but you speak first.
"I understand why you care for her so. She is beautiful, and she will be an excellent wife. She is so unlike me. She... she will make you so unbelievably happy, Benedict."
"Wait."
His fingers laced with your gloved hand as he gently pressed his other to the side of your face, making you look at him.
"Where is this coming from?" he asked, allowing his hand to drop. "Who said... who said I was interested in her?"
"No one. Nothing needed to be said for me to assume. Did I assume correctly, Lord Bridgerton?"
He chuckled softly, tilting his head as he watched you. "Not at all, my dear," he said. "You are so far from the truth that it is quite... comical."
"Comical?" you blurted, looking up at him in disbelief.
"Your sister was... helping me. I had planned to ask you in such a grand manner that I needed some assistance. Perhaps her planning skills would be far superior to mine when it comes to an event such as... well..."
"An event? What—what have you been planning, Benedict?"
His eyes softened. Were you blind? Or had he been so secretive with his feelings for you that you remained oblivious to the fact that he loved you more than life itself?
"Benedict, please," you said. "We do not have all night. They will notice we have left the party, soon enough."
"I wanted to know what would be best to ask you," he said.
"Ask me what?"
"To marry me, Y/n."
Time stood still. Big eyes stared up at him in disbelief, lips parted as you swam in an ocean of words, but nothing broke the surface. Was he serious?
"Benedict—"
"—will you marry me, Y/n?"
"I—"
"—I had planned on asking you soon, with flowers and a ring, and perhaps a grand occasion so the gentlemen knew you were taken, but—"
"—Benedict..."
He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed. You were going to say no. He could see it in your eyes.
"You want to marry me?" you asked, hand holding onto his. "You... do you... I care for you, deeply, Benedict."
"And I, you, Y/n."
You searched his eyes for a sign—for an answer, perhaps. You had dreamed of this night for so long, and here it was, front and center. He cared for you. He wanted to marry you.
"I will," you said.
He released a breath, suddenly pulling you into his arms. You said you would. Yes. The answer was yes. Benedict would marry his best friend.
Benedict fought the urge to kiss you, despite knowing you would allow him.
“Let us return,” he softly said. “Perhaps you should inform your mother of your latest rendezvous.”
Your eyes widened a bit.
“Of course, I will be with you. Wouldn’t she enjoy seeing that?”
Your lips spread into a soft smile. “Yes. She would.”
Benedict took your hand and led you back to the porch. No one else stood outside.
“I will return first,” he softly said. “I will find your sister, and then, I will come and find you.”
“Oh, you do not want a scandal, dear Benedict?” you asked, a grin forming.
His eyes hardened as he looked back at you. “Would you like a scandal, Lady Y/n?” His voice betrayed the look he gave you, and instantly, his hard look dissolved into a smile. “Allow me to return. We will have enough gossip to go around once the news has broke in the ‘ton.” He took your hand again and pressed a kiss to your gloved knuckles. “Until we meet again.”
“I will see you inside,” you said, smiling all the while.
Benedict left you, and you waited merely a few minutes before you returned. You remained blissfully ignored, and for once, you appreciated the fact. You found your mother in an instant, and only when Benedict found you again did you tell her the news.
#benedict#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#chubby reader#fem!reader#x reader#reader insert#y/n#use of y/n#bridgerton#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton fanfiction
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A Work of Art
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader
Summary: You are a Marchioness from france and your mother is adamant that you wed. She is a very close friend of the Dowager Vicountess Bridgerton who has so generously agreed to be your sponsor for the season. Perhaps in doing this, she has unknowingly found her son's perfect match as well.
Warnings: slow-ish burn, friends to lovers, smut, 18+, minors dni, hair pulling, possessive/dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving). This is just porn with a plot.
Word Count: 2k
Author's Note: Hi! This is my first time writing, so apologies if it's a bit rough; English isn't my native language. Hopefully, you all absolutely drool over Benedict the same way I do. enjoy!
Once the social season had begun its approach, you and your family make haste on your return from france. Due to your newly given title, you are projected to be quite the diamond this season indeed.
As a close friend of the family, the Dowager Viscountess, Violet Bridgerton kindly offers to sponsor your debut this season, meaning that it is now of the utmost importance to arrive promptly at the Bridgerton home in London before the season is to begin.
As you sit in the drawing room, awaiting the next potential suitors you will inevitably send on their way, the clear and evident dread in your expression does not go unnoticed by your mother. A quick swat to your knee from her fan catches your attention, a visible look of warning on her face as your eyes meet hers.
"I do hope that attitude of yours is quick to dissipate." She sighs, "Men will find you quite inadequate to wed if you are to continue this ridiculous behavior. It is quite unladylike." Your mother's words cut right through you as if she had taken a hot paring knife to both of your ears. Not being able to withstand it any longer, you quickly stand from your seat and interrupt her.
"Mother, this gown and the line of men outside the door are quite suffocating enough; no need for your incessant nagging as well." You take a moment to pause, regaining your composure.
"I believe I am feeling quite faint; perhaps I've seen enough suitors today." You threaten rather than suggest, "I will return to my chambers and perhaps get a bit of rest seeing as the sun has already began it’s departure from the sky."
You bow and quickly excuse yourself before making haste out the door, walking as fast as your feet can take you, right past the men who are practically begging for just a minute of your attention.
You race directly to your bedroom, entering quickly and not even fully shutting the door before you are pulling down the zipper of your gown and letting it fall to the floor. "This retched thing must come off immediately," you mumble to yourself as you pull at the laces of your corset, loosening them just enough to slide off your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you slip off your stays and slip on a beautiful white nightgown you purchased from one of the most talented modiste in france.
Shortly after the maids come to collect your gown, you are quick to wander down the halls in search of a cure to your relentless boredom. you find what appears to be an art studio and you are instantly overjoyed. you quietly sneak in through the door left ajar.
Art was your pride and joy; your sketches and the ability to produce beautiful works on canvas were the only things keeping you from becoming a mad woman.
Unbeknownst to you, Violet's second-eldest son and the owner of said art studio had just returned home from the gentleman's club. As he makes his way down the hall, prepared to return to his studio and peacefully finish up some things he started the night prior, he is met with complete and udder surprise at the sight of a woman flipping through his sketchbooks.
He feels as if the air has been knocked right from his lungs. Never once has a woman looked so real, raw, and simply ethereal to him in nothing but a simple yet elegant night gown, the pages in between your delicate fingers, the way in which you sit, your effortless and beautiful features, and the way they change and turn to show your focus, the true and utter intrigue at the charcoal etched on the paper is more than enough to bring a man directly to his knees.
He watches as you adjust your position, your nightgown sliding up your thighs as you cross a leg over the other. He feels as if he might faint.
“those are from my time traveling.” he points, making his way in to the room.
So lost in thought, you are quickly brought back by the sound of the deep and sultry voice coming from the hallway, it sends chills down your body, you are unable to fight the butterflies in your stomach and are completely unprepared for what you’re eyes are met with the second they dare to leave the pages in front of you. He is perhaps one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen, the way his features darken in the dim candle light could cause scandal merely on its own.
As he makes his way over to you, you scramble to find any sort of words to not appear as a complete and udder fool. “désolée, my Lord. All this beautiful artwork caught my eye and i could not help myself.” your voice only making his new found attraction grow even stronger.
“Benedict Bridgerton..” he says just loud enough for you to hear. He is quick to take your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
“Miss y/n y/l/n” you respond, a blush creeps over your cheeks as your eyes meet his. Your name and accent are both very quick explanations as to why a very random beautiful woman was wondering in
his family home.
“Ah yes, the Marchioness from France. My mother has done quite a bit of boasting upon your arrival, i can now see why she was so keen on you being the diamond of this social season” he chuckled lightly “merci, Lord Bridgerton.” you offer him a warm smile as you place the sketch book in his hands.
Your hand grazes his and you feel as if your body is set aflame. You quickly fumble to stand, attempting to leave before any further scandal is to happen. he is quick to catch you by the arm, his light grasp more than enough to keep you in place.
“Please, stay as long as you’d like.” He offers, taking a step towards you, but you are quick to shake your head, knowing staying any longer may very well affect your title and rank during this very precious season.
“You are more than kind.” you place a hand over his and squeeze lightly. He leans even closer, your face mere inches from his. his scent fills your nose and you cannot control the heat that consumes your body, the sheer need you have for him in this very moment. “I must- i uh-..” he raises an eyebrow at your words. though his proximity fogs your brain, you attempt to compose yourself. “Perhaps i can show you some of my art in the duration of my stay here.“ he smirks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he nods “if what you create is half as beautiful as you, my art will never hold a candle to yours.” he compliments.
Your breathe catches in your throat as his words. “..Benedict- Apologies, Lord Bridgerton..” you quickly correct yourself, the use of his first name not going unnoticed by him. “I’m sure both your and my Mother will have quite the earful if i am found in here, i must go.” Before he is even able to protest, you are gone.
As the days pass, You begin to consume his every waking thought, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your skin on his is burned in to his memory and he cannot shake his want for you.
Anthony is quick to notice his admiration, the wandering stares and close proximity immediately become apparent in Anthony’s eyes. As the family settles in the drawing room, Anthony is quick to pull His younger brother aside “You’ve grown quite close with Marchioness” Anthony offers his younger brother a warning glance and Benedict simply smirks in return “Brother, are you suggesting that i’ve compromised Miss y/l/n?” he laughs. Anthony in no way finds this amusing “See to it that your intentions are well thought out and you are thinking with your brain rather than something else. She is a Marchioness, toying with oversea affairs may be more than risky, even for a Bridgerton.” Anthony notes, the clear and evident weariness in his voice wipes the smile right off Benedict’s face
“Brother, do remind me. Did you not ask for one Sharma’s hand in marriage and then proceed to marry the other? You need not inform me on scandal for i am more than well aware of what i am doing.” he place a hand on Anthony shoulder and squeezes light before walking away.
time skip
Benedict does everything in his power to gain every fraction of your attention when it is available. The two of you spending more time together than any of the men attempting to court you. This new grown fondness blossoms quickly and Benedict soon becomes one of your most trusted friends. Spending late nights in his art studio, promenades in the garden, pall mall with his family. You’ve never felt more at home than with your dear Benedict and his lovely family. This fondness grows very quickly to something much stronger. Knowing Benedict’s stance on courting and marriage in general, you shake the thought. Knowing your dear friend will never see you as anything but.
While enjoying another late night in his studio, you can’t help but feel different. You both are well aware your time together is coming to end. Suitors begin growing impatient and proposals begin rolling in faster than the tide.
“I quite like Lord Lumley, he is handsome and he finds interest in poetry.” Benedict is quick to laugh “Lord Lumley is a dimwit after nothing but your title.” you wince at his words “Clearly he’s much more of a gentleman than you.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” he asks, the change in his tone sending heat right between your thighs. He rises from his place on the stool and saunters over to you, his large frame towering over yours.
“Repeat what you said.” he orders
“Ben i was merely kidding i-“ you stutter, his proximity making your skin feel as if it were on fire.
“Do not make me ask you again.” he warns, a smirk on his face
You are a bit taken a back by his demeanor but the insatiable desire in your body fills you with a sudden surge of confidence. “Lord Lumley is more of a gentleman than you, Lord Bridgerton.”
Benedict lets out a low chuckle before leaning down, his mouth right by your ear.
“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Lord Lumley isn’t plagued by the same un-gentleman like thoughts that fill my head the moment you step into a room.” he sighs, his breath on your skin only making matters worse.
Your hands find his half buttoned shirt and you press your hands lightly to his chest “Benedict.” you warn.
he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes with his own. Your noses practically grazing as he speaks. “Tell me now that you do not desire me.” His hands rest on either side of your face “Simply speak the words and i will respectfully withdraw and allow you to be with whomever you like but first you must tell me you do not desire me and you wish for me to leave you alone.”
“Ben.” You mumble quitely. Every feeling or emotion that the second eldest Bridgerton has ever caused immediately rises to the surface. At a complete loss for words, you do what you feel is right in the very moment and you bring your lips to his.
The kiss quickly fills with passion, weeks of hidden adoration and care comes bubbling over the surface.
“Marry me.” he say breathlessly as he breaks from the kiss. “You have shown me what is it truly like to admire a woman. To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much so that all of her defenses crumble and that you would willingly take on any pain or burden for her. To honor her being with your deeds and words. You make me feel what only a true poet describes." his works nearly bring you to your knees as tears threaten to escape your eyes. “I would move the heavens down to earth for you if i knew it would make you smile.”
“Benedict.. Je vous aime.” you reassure him “I love you mon chéri, more than the moon loves the night sky. You are my everything, my best-friend. I would give anything to be your wife.” He pulls you back in for another kiss which very quickly becomes heated.
He trails hot kisses all over your jaw, neck and bosom. “My beautiful Fiancée.” he mumbles, his wandering hands sliding their way up your thighs, threatening to breach the hem of your nightgown. You are immediately reminded of your current location and you push the dark haired boy back “Ben.. not here” you breathe out, The second Bridgerton son just smirks before kneeling down in front of you.
Unsure of what he’s planning, you remain silent, eyes trained on his as he begins trailing kisses up from your ankle to your inner thigh. His hands trail up the back of your legs, giving your ass a playful squeeze as he reaches it, causing a gasp to escape from your lips.
The mere sight of him like this sends heat directly between your thighs, all logical thinking thrown out the window as he begins to tug your panties down your thighs. A blush creeps over your cheeks and your hands find his hair, tugging lightly. Benedict continues with no hesitation, pressing light kisses all over your inner thighs, leading right up to your aching core. You’re unable to fight back the sounds that leave your lips as you feel his tongue pressed against your clit. “Christ Benedict… you’re going to be the death of me.”
He wastes no time, lapping, kissing and sucking at your soaked heat as strong hands grip on to your thighs, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You lean against his desk to keep yourself upright while quiet moans and whimpers escape your lips, your hands pulling and tugging at his messy black hair, only encouraging him more. He pulls back only for a moment to look up at you “You taste fucking divine, my beautiful work of art.”
He is quick to return to your soaked heat. As his tongue works relentlessly on your clit, he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust before slowly thrusting them in and out. Shortly after, you feel an unfamiliar knot form in the pit of your stomach and Benedict is aware immediately due to your incoherent mumbles and the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s my girl..” he says breathlessly “just like that..” After hearing his words, you completely unravel, shaky moans escape your lips as one hand grips on to the table and the other with a tight hold on your Fiancées hair.
Once your body has relaxed, he gently pulls your panties back up before standing to face you. You watch as he brings his fingers to your mouth “Open.” he commands and you immediately oblige, opening your mouth as he slides his fingers past your lips. The unfamiliar taste and the sheer sight in front of you causes a blush to fall over your face. He removes his fingers with a groan and offers your a smirk “You, my dear Fiancée are going to be the death of Me.”
A/N: Hi guys! I really hope every likes this :) if you have any request, feel free to send them to me :)
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x fem! reader#benedict#bridgerton#smut#anthony bridgerton#benedict smut#benedict bridgerton smut
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Hi lovely!
Could I ask for a Benedict fic where him and reader get pretty messy with the his paints? 💕🥹
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+ mdni, nudity, sensual touching, kissing, implied sex (1k words)
Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3
You had met Benedict at a social event this past season and the two of you got on very well, any time you saw each other in passing you had to stop and make conversation. You felt at ease with him, he was so down to Earth unlike most of the uptight socialites of the city. You were very fond of him in general and it seemed he felt the same about you. Not to mention the fact you were also very attracted to him. He often spoke to you about his art and his passion for finding the beauty in life, he showed you his work book of sketches, all of random things he found beautiful even if most people don't.
Today on a casual stroll in the park, Benedict casually asked you if you would like to be the subject of one of his paintings, you had never thought of modeling before but it intrigued you. You were always curious on how people viewed you and this would show you his perspective of you, so you agreed. He brought you back to his studio and showed you some of paintings he had hanging around by artists that inspired him, then he lead you over to the center of the room where he had a large sheet of white paper spread across the floor. You assumed it was to protect his floors from any paint drippings but you were quite wrong.
"This is our canvas for today, my lady" Benedict smiles
You chuckle and furrow your brows a bit "I'm sorry what? Are you going to draw a life size version of me?"
"No, dear" he laughs softly "I'm going to paint with you. I want to use your body as a brush, if that's okay with you of course" he adds that last part in quickly to reassure you can pull out at any time. There's a sparkle in his eyes as he explains how he wants to cover your nude bodies in paint and roll around making an abstract design. "So, what do you say?" His voice is filled with hope, he desperately wants you to say yes.
You think about his offer for a moment, the thought of being naked with him excites you but also makes you very nervous. You have only known him a short amount of time but you trust him a lot, you nod with a soft smile "okay, I'm in."
"Excellent" he grins and claps his hands together once "you can get undressed while I prepare the paints." he gives you a comforting smile then turns around and walks to the back of his studio where he keeps his paint. You slowly start to undress, you feel the butterflies in your stomach intensifying as you shed each piece of clothing. Finally naked, you fold your clothes neatly and set them on a small sofa nearby. The window of the studio is cracked out letting in a soft breeze, you feel goosebumps grow on your bare skin and your nipples become erect.
A few moments later, Benedict came back carrying a tray with small cans full of paint "alright here we are-" he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, his eyes wide in surprise as he takes all of you in "wow... you're absolutely breathtaking" his voice is so soft it's almost a whisper
You chuckle nervously, you feel your whole body start to heat up "um, thank you, sir" you wrap your arms around your body, very aware of how exposed you are. He steps closer to you and sets the tray on a small table, he picks up a can filled with red paint and holds it up to you.
"May I?" He asks for permission, you nod slightly giving him full access to your body. He dips two fingers into the paint and slowly runs them along your collar bone, it slowly starts to drip down your front as your body temperature melts the paint. He works his way down your body, streaking the red all over you, his fingertips ever so slightly graze your nipples sending a shiver down your spine. "Beautiful" he whispers softly before setting the paint canister down and began to strip his clothes off.
You watched him closely as each article of clothing flew from his body leaving him bare in front of you. He gripped your arm softly and turned you around, he slowly poured some of the paint down your back letting it cascade down your back. He presses himself against your back slightly, you can feel his breath tickling your neck as he began to place soft hot kisses along the side. He used one hand to rub the red all over your back, a gasp caught in your throat as his larges hands rubbed soft circles on your ass.
When he finished he turned you around to face him, he picked up a can of blue paint and handed it to you "now you do me" his voice soft but laced with something more sensual. You take the can and start to smear blue all over his body, trying desperately to avoid his intimate areas as best as possible even if it was staring right at you. Once he was blue from the neck down he gently took your hand and brought you down to the paper on the floor. "Lay back, darling," he instructed playfully "we're gonna roll around a bit" he chuckles before rolling on top of you, his arms wrapped around your body as he goes in for a kiss.
Things escalated quickly from there, paint began to adorn the paper as you two made love. Shades of blue and red mixed together leaving streaks of purple behind, hand prints of different colors could be seen throughout the paper. Moans filled the studio, there was also the occasional sound of paper ripping when things became too intense. When it was all said and done, Benedict framed the work and even put it up in a gallery. People always asked how he created such an abstract piece of art, he came up with a story of how he just started throwing paint at the canvas. Only you and him ever knew the truth.
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The Only One For You - Benedict Bridgerton
Masterlist
Summary : You've always been insecured about Benedict's past as he's been with a lot of women before you and knowing he still has to watch naked women for his art doesn't help your fears to go away.
Warnings : reader is insecure and a little bit jealous, sexual innuendos, mention of nude paintings, fluffy ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some and if I missed any warnings.
Word count : 2.4k
French version on Wattpad
French version on Tumblr
Song Inspiration : All Your Exes by Julia Michaels
Your reading is interrupted by the arrival of Benedict who just got back from the Academy. You close your book and find him at the entrance of your home while he’s taking his jacket off. You chastely kiss your husband to greet him. He smiles at you and picks up a painting wrapped in paper.
“Is it another one of your masterpieces ?” You ask him, smiling.
“Yes, I was finally allowed to bring it home. Come, I want to show it to you.”
Benedict takes your hand and brings you to the room dedicated to his passion. He orders you to close your eyes while he unwraps the paper and put his painting on his easel.
“You can open them.”
When your eyes find the painting, you can’t help but be surprised when you see the nude female body in front of you. You feel your cheeks getting a little heated. You try to force a smile before talking.
“Oh ! It’s another nude.”
“Well, we have to learn how to paint the human anatomy.” He laughs.
“That’s what I understood. Your painting is beautiful, Benedict.” You genuinely compliment. “You’re getting better with each new painting. Despite my lack of art knowledge, I can still notice your skill is improving every single day. You perfectly capture… the beauty of the female body.” You state, trying to keep a calm voice.
“Am I hearing some jealousy in your voice ?” Benedict asks with a mocking smile.
“What ? Of course not ! That’s ridiculous.”
“I thought.”
You roll your eyes, pretending to be annoyed after his last remark. You try to hide your emotions as best as you can, but Benedict can see right through you. He puts his hands on your hips and gets you closer to him while his eyes are full of love.
“You know that no matter how many women there might be at the Academy, you are the one I could admire all day without getting weary. You are the only woman I see.” He clarifies while insisting on the first word.
“I hope so.”
Benedict holds you closer against him while he delicately strokes your shoulder. Your head rests on his torso and you remember you’re the only one who can be against him.
“And you”, he adds, mischievous, “you are the only one who has the privilege of admiring this beautiful body from every point of view.”
“Benedict !”
You break the embrace, flustered by his innuendo while he laughs loudly. You hit his shoulder, making him chuckle harder. You hide your face in your hands. He always has the ability to embarrass you in an instant. You know he just wants to ease the atmosphere with his last sentence, but you can’t help but have a part of you who is upset. You know observing naked women is only for his art and nothing else, but your fears grow at every new painting.
During the weekend, you go to an art exhibition. Benedict has been talking about it for the past month. He was waiting for it impatiently. Even if art is still an unknown subject to you, you’re always curious to see the different pieces. You, especially, love listening to Benedict’s comments. Generally, he doesn’t hold his word back, but when it comes to a piece of art, it’s worse. He doesn’t even wait to create a full thought before talking. He explains what he feels as soon as his eyes lay on the art.
At the art gallery, you and Benedict look at the paintings and statues at your own pace. Your arm hooked on his, you listen to Benedict rambling as you try to find every detail he points out. While he’s in the middle of a reflection about a painting representing a forest and a lake made by an anonymous artist, you let your eyes go from the painting to his face. You watch as he frowns before his eyes go wide. His face goes through so many emotions in an instant, making his thoughts even more alive. Benedict feels your gaze on him so he stops his comments and turns his head towards you with a crooked smile.
“You do know the painting is in front of you ?”
“I know.”
“I talked too much again, didn’t I ?”
“Indeed”, you confirm and he looks embarrassed for a second, “but I like it. Without you, I would not be able to understand what I am looking at so keep going.”
“You are the only person who is so eager to listen to me. Even Eloise becomes fatigued from listening to me rambling”
“I am your wife for a reason. So, do you have anything else to add about this painting ?”
“I have nothing else to say, but I think I am still going to look at it a little bit. You can go on, I will catch you up in a few minutes.”
“Great.”
Benedict kisses the back of your hand, making you smile. You walk away toward the next wall where you find a portrait of a woman with a child. You start looking at the characters, waiting for Benedict’s presence to come next to you at any given moment. But ten minutes later, he’s still not next to you. You turn your head to where you left him, frown and see him talking with a woman. At first, you don’t know who she is and you guess they’re having a friendly conversation. As you pay more attention to the woman’s face, you realise you might know her, but you can’t put your finger on it. You mentally debate before deciding to join them with a polite smile.
“Oh, dear !” Benedict starts when he sees you. “Sorry, I was about to come to you.”
“Good afternoon.” The woman says.
“Y/N, this is Miss Tessa Brown. She was at the Academy.”
“The Academy ? I thought women were not allowed to study there.” You ask her, confused.
“It is correct. I was working as a model to be able to listen to the lessons.”
“I see.” You state, understanding where you know her from, before looking her up and down, despite yourself. “Pardon, I have not introduced myself yet. I am Y/N Bridgerton, his wife.” You add, insisting on the last word.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Miss Brown was telling me she is the artist of this painting.” Benedict informs you as he brings your attention back to the art.
“Really ?”
“Yes, I finally mustered up my courage to present my art. I am very proud of it.”
“You can be, your art is beautiful. I hope one day you will be able to claim it.” You say, genuinely.
“I hope so, too. I apologise, I must make haste. Have a good day, Lord and Lady Bridgerton.”
“Goodbye, Miss Brown.”
You can’t help but let your gaze follow her while you try to understand the nature of her relationship with Benedict. You know you’re being ridiculous, but Benedict has seen her body from every angle for his art and that’s enough for your brain to imagine the worst scenarios. Suddenly, you remember Anthony mentioned her in a discussion with his brother, discussion he stopped when he saw you entering the room. You never questioned Benedict about it, knowing you weren’t supposed to hear the conversation in the first place. But after meeting Tessa Brown, your curiosity is coming back.
For the remainder of the exhibition until your trip back home, you stay silent. You try to act normal but your thoughts are being too loud for you to talk. Fortunately, when you arrive, you have the perfect excuse to run away and think calmly as you claim you want to read. You keep staring at the same page while you hear Benedict drawing with his charcoal. Your anxiety grows at every one of your thoughts. Your rational side can’t find a way to your mind so you keep panicking. You quickly shake your head, trying to erase all of these thoughts. You really try to read this time when Benedict puts his sketchbook aside and comes in front of you.
“What is the matter ?”
“What do you mean ?” You ask, pretending to not understand.
“You almost have not said anything since we left the exhibition and you have been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes.”
“I have not…”
“I know you, Y/N”, he cuts you off, worried, “something is wrong, I know it.”
“It is nothing.” You reassure him.
You close your book and stand up from the sofa. You’re about to leave the room when he delicately puts his hand on your arm, stopping you.
“Are you upset ?” Benedict questions genuinely.
“Why would I be upset ?”
“Do not think I did not see your face when you met Tessa Brown.”
“What has this to do with it ?”
“You stared at her and you were a little bit cutting with her.” He clarifies, offending you instantly.
“I literally complimented her work.”
“Do I have to remind you the way you introduce yourself to her ? You emphasised on the word ‘wife’, not that I do not like it, I love when you specify it, especially if you are jealous.”
“I am not jealous.” You argue. “I have no reason to be, like you said last time, I am the only one who has the privilege to admire you from every angle, right ?”
“It is true. So, tell me what is wrong then.” He insists and you lower your eyes.
“It is ridiculous.”
“Y/N, talk to me.”
He puts a hand on your cheek, forcing you to look up to him.
“It is just that… I know you painted her before and I feel like you knew her pretty well. Was there something between you and her, before us ?” You ask, breaking the embrace a little.
“Yes, I have to admit we had an affair, but it meant nothing !”
“I am not blaming you, Benedict”, you assure him, “It would be stupid of me to do so. You had told me you had many women before me. I know it and I am not angry with you. And I know our society is not as strict with men having affairs as it is with us, women. I know it.” You insist, overwhelmed. “But I can’t help but think about it. I wish we were on an equal footing.”
“What do you mean precisely ?” He wants to know, curious.
“Benedict, you had a whole life before me”, you start, exposing your fears, “You danced with a lot of women, you kissed even more women and shared numerous nights with them and there are others you’ve seen naked for your art and you had feelings for some of them. It is not the same for me. I danced with a few men, you are the only one I kissed, the only one I shared my nights with and have feelings for. I can not help but think that, on that matter, we are so far away. And I know it was before me and meeting this women are now a part of who you are, but I wish they did not exist. I wish I was the only for you like you are the only one for me.” You admit, vulnerable. “I know, sometimes, there are parts that your brothers leave out to be considerate of me, but it would be so much easier if we were on the same level playing field. I would not have to worry anymore, wondering if you were once close with the woman you’re talking to and if you were, how much. Again, I know these fears are ridiculous. I know you love me and you would never hurt me. I trust you, but I want to live in a world where you do not have all of these memories with these women, a world where they would not have had an affair with you.”
Your monologue over, you take a breath. You hadn’t noticed you were talking fast. You don’t dare to look at Benedict, fearing he might judge you, even though you know he would never.
“Y/N, I feel bad knowing I am the cause of such worry, even if it is unwillingly. I wish you were the first woman I had met, because if it was the case, I would not have waited a second before putting a ring on your finger.” Benedict states as he takes your hand. “No matter what I had with these women before, what I might once have felt for them is nothing compared to what I currently feel for you. You are the only person I have ever truly loved and I will always love you until death do us part. You are the only woman that matters to me. If I can do something to ease all these fears, I will do it because I love you. I hate knowing you are torturing yourself, especially if I am the reason.”
You look at him lovingly, grateful to have such a considerate husband. You take his other hand in yours and smile at him.
“I just need to fully accept that you have known other women. Like I said before, I trust you. It is just my insecurities talking. I will overcome them. But I am glad we talked about it. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”
“I am delighted to hear it. I love you, Y/N. You are and you will always be the only person in my heart, don't you forget it.”
Benedict gets closer to your face before kissing you softly. Your kiss only lasts for a few seconds but it’s full of love and passion. When you break apart, you plunge your eyes in his with a smile.
“I love you, Benedict.”
You put your head on his torso, listening to his heartbeats while he holds you close to him. He kisses the top of your head before pressing his cheek on it. The more you stay in your embrace, the more your fears vanish. You finally let go of a sigh while he delicately strokes your arm. You close your eyes, cherishing this moment until Benedict brings his mouth close to your ear with a mischievous smile.
“We can go to our room and I will prove to you you are the only one in my eyes.”
“Benedict !” You scream, mortified while he bursts out laughing.
“Seeing you embarrassed is the thing I love most about you.” Benedict states as he presses his lips on yours and you melt at his touch.
Masterlist
{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}
#Spotify#marie swriting in english#benedict bridgerton x fem reader#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton one shot#bridgerton#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton fanfiction
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The moment I knew // part 8 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)
Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine,
@panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cayt0123,
@powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @omgsuperstarg, @helen06dreamer, @misscaller06, @l4venderia, @dracoflaco, @loliakeoghan23, @emotionaldamageemotionaldamage, @reallysparklychaos, @ok-boke, @the-fifth-marauder7, @asgards-princess-of-mischief, @cherrysxuya, @lol6sposts, @cierrajhill, @heheyhey
Summary: During a ball sneaks Tewkesbury his presence more onto you. Almost desperate to be near you. Even so desperate he calls upon your house yet he isn't the only one. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3& part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 9 & part 10 ]
Candles were dazzling in the bright room. The walls warmed with the comfort of people. The ton bustled together in a room of delight. Chattering chippering up yet not too loud for the music to be overwhelmed. In a corner was the orchestra. The piano forte, violins, cello’s, enough to make the room dance. In the centre ladies and gents were waltzing. Graceful and delicately.
Each in their own world of slowly falling in love or hoping to be. Benedict appeared from between the crowd holding two lemonade glasses up so they wouldn’t get knocked over. He approached with a heavy exhale. Francesca and you turned more towards him. – “Your drinks sisters.” – he said lowering his hands to offer the glasses. Francesca and you took yours.
Benedict joined Colin’s side behind the two of you. Colin looked at Benedict half disappointed. – “What about me dear brother?” – he asked with pouted lips. – “Go fetch it yourself!” – Benedict replied with a sneer. Colin raised his eyebrows playfully at you when you had turned around to listen in to their conversation. – “I’ll fetch mine all by myself than.” – he exaggerated making Benedict roll his eyes.
The dancers came to a stop as the dance had ended. The room emptied as the orchestra began their next song. The first few notes shot up like a rush. Playful tunes that made you supress a squeal out of excitement. You hastily pushed your glass in Colin’s hands. Startled he nearly spilled some lemonade on his gloves.
“Y/n!” – he groaned out as you grabbed Benedict’s wrist. – “Come brother dance with me!” – you called out. Benedict got pulled with you swept amongst the crowd of joining the dance. Francesca came standing at Colin’s side. – “Now you have your drink.” – she said before taking a serious sip. You came to a stop as Benedict nearly stumbled. You positioned him before you and dove right into the dance that had already begun.
Benedict was a bit slower watching those beside him to what he needed to do. He held his hands up as you clapped your hand against his diagonally. You then clasped your hands together and spun around. Benedict started to catch on clapping his hands against yours at the same time making you laugh. You heard laughter from all around you as this dance was not so stiff.
A pleasant folklore dance with lot’s of spins, hops and fun. Tewkesbury’s eyes widened seeing you amidst them dance with your brother. He knew what kind of dance it was. Gulping nervously he very much wanted to join. Looking quickly around he grabbed the first girl’s wrist he saw near him and pulled her without a word into the dance. He forced his way to be beside you.
The couple that were already dancing near you got stopped in their movement, leaving them confused for a brief moment. They cleared the way as Tewkesbury dove right into the dance. He took the girl’s hands facing your back as he followed the dancers go in a circle forwards.
“What an honour my lord.” – the girl said breathlessly. – “Quiet!” – Tewkesbury said to her trying to focus on you. They came to a stop, changed hands and went back the other way. You furrowed your brows looking at the suspicious back of the person hopping before you. – “Is that?” – you muttered before Benedict pulled you to a halt. Clapping your hands against his again. Benedict let you spin under his arm. Benedict then walked over to you to come at your side.
Tewkesbury’s eyes widened as he hastened himself at your side. Taking your hand before the girl he was with could do so. Feeling the sudden warm grip on your hand made you look up. – “My …” – you wanted to address his presence but got pulled to the centre by your brother and Tewkesbury. Each holding your hands as you had formed a circle with the other dancers. Coming together in the middle to then part back to a full circle.
In a confused haze they pulled at you needing you to follow the direction they were going. The full circle going to the left. There was a brief pause before you were pulled in the other direction. There was another stop as you stood lost when Tewkesbury stood before your brother and you before the girl he danced with. – “What are you doing?” – Benedict shout-whispered, clapping his hands against Tewkesbury’s. – “May I dance with your sister?” – Tewkesbury asked before taking a spin as did Benedict.
You and the girl did the steps in silence and confused as to why you were suddenly dancing with each other. – “Please.” – Tewkesbury pleaded as Benedict sighed deep. Tewkesbury took it as an agreement turning his posture away from Benedict and giving the girl a gentle nudge to get her out of the way. You took each other’s hands hopping to the side and back.
You watched Benedict leave the dance returning to your siblings. – “You scared my brother away.” – you teased. – “I asked.” – Tewkesbury responded taking you by the waist. You did the same twirling around with him. – “This is more fun isn’t it?” – he said. – “I’ll decide that.” – you responded trying to supress a smile. Tewkesbury saw the mischief in your eyes knowing you weren’t serious.
He let you twirl under his arm before he pressed his hand on your back and pulled you to his chest. He was a bit too eager making you fall against his chest, needed to have pressed your hand to escape a hard bump. – “Where’s your partner?” – you asked glancing to the side. Tewkesbury pulled you back in by your chin, wanting you to look at him. – “Right here.” – he whispered making you look bashful away. – “Don’t be silly.” – you slapped him against his chest. Tewkesbury took a hold of you dancing around with you. Hastened and energetic that you were out of breath. The music slowed, fading out as the two of you were panting.
Tewkesbury bowed before you as you took a hold of your dress and curtsied. The two of you moved to the side allowing other dancers to join the next dance. – “May I see your hand?” – Tewkesbury asked. – “Wha--- why?” – you responded confused. Cheeks flushed from the heat. – “May I see it?” – he pressed on. You moved your hand up with a taunting smile. Your dance card dangled on the cord around your wrist. – “Perfect.” – He mumbled pulling at the cord. – “Hey!” – you called out as it snapped, dance card now in his hands. – “That’s mine!” – you called out wanting to grab for it. Yet he was faster pulling it back out of your reach. – “I’ll keep this.” – he showed you the card with a smirk.
“If you think you are being charming, you are wrong silly boy.” – you answered crossing your arms. Tewkesbury shrugged his shoulders. – “You can have it back when I’ve claimed all my dances.” – he replied finding it cute how angry you were trying to look. – “You see it has my name on it.” – he continued as you puffed loud. – “Where? I don’t see your name.” – you said tauntingly back looking closer at your dance card just for the dramatics. – “Right here.” – he began moving his gloved finger down your entire card. – “Tewkesbury.” – he spoke slowly as his finger went down.
“It’s in invisible ink.” – he added jokingly. You punched him in the armpit just to stop him from laughing at his own smoothness. – “Au!” – he called out, rubbing the pain area. You stuck your tongue out to him as Tewkesbury did the same just to play with you. He dangled your dance card happily up to tease you even more. – “Stealing girl’s dance cards are we now?” – you heard as Tewkesbury stiffened. He turned, dropping down into a bow at the presence of his grandmother. – “I…I was just…” – Tewkesbury began as his grandmother shushed him.
“Who are you girl?” – she asked narrowing her eyes at you. You dropped into a curtsy. – “Miss Y/n Bridgerton, My lady.” – you introduced yourself. She only hummed intrigued. – “I hope my grandson has his manners.” – she shot him a glare making him swallow nervously. You stepped up, coming a bit in between him and his grandmother. – “He has been more than polite, My lady. A dream as to say.” – you spoke to her. His grandmother hummed intriguingly again before taking her leave. Tewkesbury exhaled relieved once she had gone. The dance card was for your plucking as you took it from him. – “I’ll have this back now.” – you laughed out backing up.
Tewkesbury smiled widely following you trying to take it back from you. You kept backing up till you bumped against someone. It made you gasp, turning round quickly to apologize. – “Enola!” – you blurted out upon seeing it was her you had bumped into. She furrowed her brows. – “You know my name?” – she then looked beyond you putting on a smile to Tewkesbury. – “Viscount.” – she addressed as Tewkesbury smiled nervously back at her. Then the two dots connected. – “Ah you must be the girl.” - she spoke with a giggle at Tewkesbury.
“I can see why he likes you.” – she spoke as Tewkesbury was waving his arms across behind you. - “What was I not to say that?” – Enola said dumbfound just to tease him more. Tewkesbury slapped his palm against his face in agony. You looked back to Tewkesbury who nervously rubbed his hand to the back of his head. – “Y/n!” – you heard, drawing your attention away from him. Francesca appeared from between the crowd making her way over to you. She eyed Enola and Tewkesbury before coming to take you away from them.
You brushed past Tewkesbury letting your hand brush against his. His eyes slightly widened feeling the card being forced into his hand. He closed his hand keeping the dance card by him. Enola came at his side as they watched you leave. Tewkesbury opened his hand and held the dance card up. Letting it twirl in the air by it’s snapped cord. – “You are so in on her.” – Enola teased with a comforting pat on his shoulder. Tewkesbury looked from the dance card to where you had gone.
The next day you were in the Parlor with mama, Francesca, Hyacinth and Gregory. Your brothers had gone out. Just a boring midday. Mama was knitting. Francesca reading a book with less interest. Hyacinth and Gregory playing a game of cards. You sat near your sister, head laid back to stare bored at the ceiling. These calling hours could be so dreadfully boring someday. The time of the day where anyone without an invitation could announce themselves at the house.
Mama had let her calling card known with who would be at home. The door opened as it barely made any of you move. – “Is that how you all spend the day?” – your eyes widened at the voice of your sister. – “Daphne!” – Hyacinth shouted loud dropping her cards immediately. All of you jumped awake getting up to greet your sister. You were hugging her when the duke dropped in with Augie. Augie now at the age of three he held Simon’s hand.
“Ladies.” – Simon greeted. Hyacinth and Gregory rushed up to him to hug him. Simon let go of Augie’s hand and hugged them tightly back. Francesca picked Augie up to play with him. You hugged your sister tightly as you had missed her dearly. – “You must come more often.” – you told her. – “I know.” – Daphne responded giving you a tight squeeze.
Daphne took your hand and led you to the armchairs. – “Now you must tell me all.” – she spoke. – “There is not much to say.” – you told her. – “Now that is a lie.” – Francesca pitched in as Augie bounced on her knee. – “Is that so?” – Daphne asked intrigued. – “There’s this Viscount.” – Francesca went on. – “Viscount? What Viscount?” – Daphne wanted to know looking curiously and eagerly at you. – “It’s… it’s… not like that…” – you told her a bit unsure of what was happening between the two of you.
Would this simply grow into a friendship or was there room for more from both sides. To be honest Tewkesbury have been giving you mixed signals. All with the whole Enola thing going on. – “Then what is it like?” – Daphne wanted to know more. The door opened once more, this time the doorman entered. He cleared his throat before speaking. – “A visitor for Miss Y/n Bridgerton.” – he called out. – “Me?” – you said confused getting up. – “Well who is it?” – Daphne asked. The doorman cleared his throat again. – “He said Miss Y/n Bridgerton could guess.”
You already had a clue so you left the Parlor to head into the hallway. Your idea had been right. Tewkesbury stood by the door waiting for you. – “Miss Y/n.” – he spoke dropping into a bow. – “What are you doing here?” – you shout-whispered at him. Tewkesbury got startled a bit by the tone of your voice. – “I…I came for you.” – he said. – “My sister is inside.” – you told him a bit panicking. – “Francesca?” – he guessed. – “Daphne!” – you told him. – “I…I just wanted to see you.” – he responded as you kept looking frantically over your shoulder.
“I hope my grandmother had not scared you away.” – he asked when you gave him a gentle nudge back towards the door. You stopped furrowing your brows. – “I…you needn’t be frightened of her. She’s all bark but no bite.” – he told you taking a hold of your hand. – “I promise you.” – he continued as you got lost in his eyes.
Forgetting about your surroundings and only thinking of him. You were so deep into his eyes that you didn’t hear the door open. Till you heard a voice. – “You must be the Viscount?” – Daphne spoke. You jumped out of your skin, pushing Tewkesbury behind you.
“I am.” – Tewkesbury replied politely, moving a bit from behind you. – “And he is just leaving.” – you said pushing him back. – “Wha…no… no Miss Y/n.” – Tewkesbury whispered at you holding you by your wrist as you pushed him back. – “Come back another time.” – you whispered back to him. Desperate to get him away from Daphne yet he stood his ground, not moving quick enough. – “I still have your dance card.” – he whispered back making you look panicking over your shoulder.
Daphne watching the whole display. Tewkesbury holding you by the wrist trying to stay close as you tried to push him out of the house. She tilted her head with an intriguing hum. – “A cup of tea Viscount?” – Daphne called out. – “Yes!” – Tewkesbury called out letting go of you and stepping to the side. Daphne gestured to the Parlor. Tewkesbury went in as you followed behind. In the door opening plucked Daphne at your cheek with one of her glances. The one you feared the most. The one that stated that she knew more than you could see.
“The Viscount!” – Francesca pointed out teasingly. Simon turned his head looking the boy up and down. – “Isn’t it wonderful that he came to visit.” – Daphne said. Tewkesbury glanced over to you, catching your gaze. You held it still for a moment, for a longing moment where you stared into his eyes. Daphne looking between the two of you. – “Y/n tea!” – Francesca called out making you hum loud. You took your leave to set some tea.
Tewkesbury came to sit down in the armchair as Daphne had offered to him to sit. Both Simon and Gregory got up, coming to sit at each his side. Tewkesbury swallowed nervously at the stare Simon was giving him. Gregory smiled rather teasingly at him yet it uneased him a bit. – “You were at the opera.” – Gregory stated. – “I…I was…” – he replied. You returned to give him his tea. Taking a seat by your sisters across from him.
Tewkesbury drank his tea nervously hoping his hands weren’t shaking too much. – “Are you nervous boy?” – Simon asked. – “Simon!” – Daphne hissed at him for trying to intimidate him. Tewkesbury nearly spilled some tea. – “No…no your grace.” – Tewkesbury answered. You smiled sheepishly at Tewkesbury feeling a bit embarrassed by your own family.
“He’s very handsome.” – Hyacinth sitting on the ground in front of him. Staring dreamingly at him. Tewkesbury smiled. – “If you do not marry him then I want to marry him.” – Hyacinth said to you. – “Hyacinth!” – you shout-whispered at her to stop embarrassing you. Francesca snorted loud. – “Alright I believe calling hours are ending.” – you had jumped up, wanting to end the attention on you. – “Are you perhaps feeling shy sister?” – Francesca asked as you slapped a pillow at her head.
You gestured for the door as Tewkesbury followed. In the hallway you waited with him as the doorman opened the door. – “Have a good day my lord.” – you told him pushing him a bit to the door. Tewkesbury stood in the door opening turning back to you. – “Your family is lovely… please do not fear mine.” – he said almost desperately. As if he wanted you to know his rather cold grandmother could do you no harm.
You leaned against the door with your head, curling up a smile. – “I am not afraid.” – you answered. Tewkesbury took your hand and kissed the back of your hand. – “Till our next meeting.” – he told you taking his leave with a bow. – “For that I cannot wait.” – you spoke out of reach for his ears, watching him get in the carriage.
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#imagine#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#bridgerton#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton fic#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton#francesca bridgerton#hyacinth bridgerton#gregory bridgerton#colin bridgerton#lord tewkesbury#viscount tewkesbury#tewkesbury x reader#tewksbury#tewkesbury x you#tewkesbury x y/n#enola holmes#viscount tewkesbury of basilwether#tewkesbury imagine#tewkesbury fanfic#tewkesbury fic#tewkesbury fanfiction#enola holmes x bridgerton#regency era#louis partridge#tewkesbury x fem reader#tewkesbury x bridgerton
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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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perfectly flawed
benedict bridgerton x princess!reader
word count: 2.7k
warning: hurt without comfort, it might be suggestive but there's nothing inappropriate about it (friends with benefits but without any details)
summary: Finding love as a princess comes with its challenges, but becoming a mistress was never part of the plan.
a/n: two things; one, over these few months i forgot what it's like to write something that isn't an academic paper. two, in the process of writing it i forgot that i was supposed to write it based on a song. i suppose i'm already a different person than i was just the week ago when i asked you for your opinion, but regardless, feel welcome to read this,, thing<33
pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for
Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers
London, 18th April 1814
Dearest Readers,
The Season has barely begun, yet the glittering ballrooms of London are already abuzz with whispers and speculation. The cause of this fervour? None other than the captivating niece of Her Majesty. The fairy-like young lady, whose arrival in London coincided with the Season’s beginning, has ignited a flurry of theories.
Is she a princess, a countess, or perhaps a secret agent on a mission? The whispers echo through the salons, each speculation more imaginative than the last. Her regal bearing and the way she holds her fan hint at noble lineage, but her eyes hold secrets that defy easy classification. Could she be a pawn in a political game, or does her purpose lie closer to matters of the heart? Suitors line up, eager to claim her hand, but our debutante remains an unknown figure, casting doubt upon the intentions behind her smile.
Gentlemen of distinction have flocked to her side, vying for her attention. Lord Pembroke, the dashing heir to a vast estate, has been seen trailing her like a devoted puppy. The Duke of Ashford, brooding and aloof, has deigned to engage her in conversation. And then there is Captain Sinclair, whose sea-green eyes promise both danger and adventure.
At Lady Featherington's soirée, our young lady engaged in spirited conversation with none other than Miss Eloise Bridgerton. Their conversation delved into matters of politics—a most unconventional choice. Is our French princess a revolutionary sympathizer, or does she simply relish the thrill of intellectual sparring?
Rest assured, dear readers, that Lady Whistledown shall be your faithful guide through the twists and turns of this unfolding narrative. Prepare your fans and polish your silver spoons, for the London Season has just begun, and in the shadow of the Queen's niece, our world is poised to be turned upside down. Society must brace itself for a whirlwind of speculation, as we stand on the brink of a most intriguing chapter.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown
At the very core of the French Empire, you were raised as the epitome of grace and subtlety. With royal blood coursing through your veins, you were groomed to be the perfect lady, the jewel of the imperial court. Every step you took, every word you said, was a careful composition, painting the portrait of an eminent lineage.
From a young age, you were taught the art of etiquette, your days filled with lessons on poise, embroidery, and the subtle language of the fan. Your attire, always impeccable, was the evidence of your status and breeding. The world perceived you as the embodiment of perfection, a delicate blossom requiring protection from the harsh realities beyond the palace walls.
Yet, behind the facade of the devoted princess, a secreted truth blossomed. Beneath the tangled layers of silk and lace, your spirit, unyielding and untamed, stood in defiance of the expectations of courtly life. The allure of royal grandeur held little sway over you, and the burden of societal obligations felt like a daily donning of a suffocating corset.
The shimmering balls and elaborate rituals became stifling, making your heart to ache for those fleeting moments of genuine connection, uncontrolled laughter, and a subtle taste of the forbidden. Although French suitors eagerly fought for your attention and the allure of your family's wealth, your soul yearned for a partner who would daringly challenge the scripted norms, infusing romance with a breath of spontaneous authenticity.
And thus, to address your reluctance to accept the prearranged path, your mother came up with a plan. Sending you to the splendour of London under the watchful eye of the Queen, your beloved aunt, she hoped this change of scenery would guide you towards a dutiful marriage, in line with the expectations befitting your royal lineage. What slipped out of her seemingly perfect idea, however, was the playful nature of fate, particularly when guided by those who avoid predictability. So, your journey to the bustling heart of British metropolis grew with an outcome greatly different from your mother's expectations.
Your aunt, holding the most esteemed position in the United Kingdom, was admired for her wisdom and understanding. But the hours of lessons imparted to you from an early age, combined with your ability to conceal your rebellious nature from the public eye, had transformed you into a pretty great actress. And your performance, crafted over the years, was so convincing that even someone as sharp as the Queen herself failed to see through the carefully constructed act.
But perhaps, this time, you've got too close to the edge, because in the blink of an eye, you found yourself entangled in a situation that, if exposed, would not only scandalize all of England but also cast a shadow over France, where your family hopefully awaited news of your impending marriage.
And how did it all start?
The beginning of your tale remains in the memories of that fateful debutante ball, where a single innocent look changed the course of your luck. It was a brief moment, a shared exchange of glimpse between you and Benedict Bridgerton, that seemed to stretch time itself. In the glimmer of that ballroom, his bright eyes locked onto yours from across the room, and the world around you seemed to slow, as if giving space for something beyond a mere glance.
You had no idea what captivated you about the man who didn't really stand out among the other attendees, but most likely it was this quiet strength of his gaze. The gaze without the typical fascination you'd grown used to as a princess of the French Empire or the usual envy that flickered in the eyes of those desperate to secure a partner who determined their life's worth. Benedict's gaze was just different. It held no trace of the thought that you were merely a silly princess with a title. It carried the feeling that you were a masterpiece, a creation worthy of admiration. And it stirred a yearning within you, an insatiable thirst for freedom and authenticity that your heart had craved for so long.
A brief exchange of words with Benedict at the ball opened your eyes, making you believe that not every man who sought your company was doing so only for your family's wealth. As you danced together, his touch ignited a spark, a fleeting moment of intimacy that lingered long after the music faded into the night, and each stolen glance exchanged across the crowded ballroom carried the weight of unspoken desires. It felt as though the connection that binds soulmates was about to disappear when your paths crossed, signalling that you had, finally, found one another.
And so, it began. A secret affair that grew under the cloak of darkness, far from the prying eyes of nosy socialites waiting to catch a glimpse of scandal. In the hidden corners of London, where shadows whispered secrets and the night sky painted a canvas of stars, you found comfort in the arms of Benedict, a man not necessarily burdened by the weight of societal expectations, yet bound by his own hesitation to commit to anything beyond the present moment.
As the inappropriate meetings became routine, you assumed the role of a mistress, a position you never imagined yourself in, and the only rule you committed to follow during your secret dates was the lack of romantic feelings. Yet, despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of emotional distance, your heart had a way of defying logic. With each stolen moment spent in Benedict's company, you found yourself drawn deeper into the labyrinth of emotions, a labyrinth fraught with longing and desire. What started as a simple agreement, devoid of romantic sentiments, soon evolved into something far more sincere.
And it genuinely scared you.
You walked nervously around the place of your every rendezvous with Benedict, your fingers nervously picking the cuticles near your nail—a gesture unsuitable for the lady you were expected to be. But in the fuss of events that have happened in London so far, such a thing seemed a minor violation. Not only did the task of slipping unnoticed from the royal palace grew increasingly difficult, but the relentless fluttering in your heart at the mere thought of Bridgerton haunted your sleepless nights.
Throughout your life, you had yearned for a love different from the one you had observed in French society. And now, when the opportunity to live your fairy tale presented itself, reality proved to be just an unrequited feeling. While you were happy to see Benedict and yearned for his presence, it seemed he may only crave your body, not the depths of your soul.
You wanted today's meeting to be the last one, a meeting where nothing would happen. Or so you convinced yourself. The purpose was clear: to say goodbye to Benedict and to draw the curtain on a relationship built on fleeting glances and secret meetings. And even though probably the best choice would have been to just stop showing up on these encounters and withdrawing from public spaces where you might cross paths, you didn't want to just pretend that nothing had ever happened between you two. The social season was still around you, and avoiding the consequences of your actions would only complicate everything. Maybe not for Benedict, but for you, for sure.
And then, the silence broken every second by your anxious heartbeat was completely shattered by the sound of footsteps. Turning, you were met with the sight of Benedict Bridgerton approaching with firm strides, and his presence seemed to overshadow your plans to say goodbye when, for a moment, the world seemed to pause as you lost yourself in the intensity of his gaze.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and his touch sent pleasant shivers down your spine. The warmth of his embrace, coupled with the subtle brush of his breath against your skin, stirred conflicting emotions within you. Your heart quickened its pace, betraying the reason you came for this final meeting.
“I've been thinking about you all day,” Benedict whispered, and his breath caressed your delicate skin. But as much as the desire for intimacy flickered within, you held steadfast to the resolution you had set for this meeting.
With a gentle pull, you extricated yourself from his embrace, creating a safe distance between the two of you. The tingling sensation stayed on your skin, as a remaining echo of his touch that resonated through every fibre of your being. “We need to talk,” you said, your voice steadier than your racing heart. Benedict's eyes, once filled with a yearning, now searched yours for an answer to an as yet unspoken question.
“Talk?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of playful intrigue as he arched one of his eyebrows with his signature smile dancing upon his lips. “About what?” he pressed, and with an air of casual confidence, he crossed his arms over his chest as he ambled a few steps to the side. “You're not going to tell me you've fallen in love, are you, princess?”
A nervous laugh bubbled up from within, escaping between your lips before you could hold it back. In an attempt to mirror Benedict's movements, you crossed your arms over your chest, your head shaking with feigned amusement. “Fall in love?” you repeated his words, adopting a tone of playful dismissal. “Don't be ridiculous, of course not,” you declared, adding a scoff at the end, as if to fortify the illusion of light-hearted banter. Hoping to shield your true feelings, now concealed beneath a facade of amusement, you met Benedict's gaze with a look of mock disbelief.
“We should end this relationship,” the words spilled from your lips, hoping your voice wouldn't betray how fast your heart was beating at that moment. “I did not come to London to become just another woman in the arms of the Viscount's son. If my mother were to find out, she'd blame herself for raising me poorly, and that's not the truth,” you began to rationalize, your words flowing as an attempt to justify the decision you had set before both of you. “I have obligations to fulfil, a path to follow, and I won't achieve that by sleeping with you.”
Benedict watched you in silence, not knowing if you were serious. His gaze bore into you, seeking answers within the depths of your eyes.
“Now you're the one being ridiculous,” he retorted, his tone carrying a gentle scolding. Leaning against a nearby counter, he looked at you with a combination of disbelief. “Since when have you cared so deeply about living up to your mother's expectations?”
“I've come to understand that my mother wants what she believes is best for me. As a princess of the French Empire, there are certain expectations I must meet, whether I appreciate them or not,” you said, closing the physical distance between yourself and Benedict. Self-control was what kept your hands from reaching out as you stopped just in front of him. “Think about what would happen if our secret were to be exposed. It would be the end for both of us, and the scandal would echo across the entire continent. The Queen herself would likely seek our demise.” You emphasized your words by pointing a finger at yourself. “I cannot ruin the honour of the entire royal family for a fleeting moment of pleasure.”
Benedict met your gaze with a silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words, yet beneath the veneer of understanding, a flicker of defiance danced in his eyes. “So, what are you saying? You're suddenly prepared to sacrifice your entire life for the expectations of your family that would see you married and bearing children with some man who would likely make you miserable?” he asked, a trace of frustration evident in his voice.
A moment of silence ensued as you fixed your gaze on Benedict. Finally, a disbelieving scoff escaped your lips, and you shook your head. Taking a few steps away, you placed your hands on your hips, a gesture mirroring the internal conflict within you. “Perhaps you haven't noticed yet, Benedict, but I am a woman. And in a world dictated by the whims of men, the role assigned to women is often reduced to that of an obedient wife, tasked with bringing some affluent man's heir into the world. It's not about what I want; it's about what everyone else around me expects.”
As Benedict made a move to step closer, a surge of urgency propelled you to speak before he could interject. “I should be going now. The palace servants are growing increasingly suspicious.”
Despite the assertiveness in your tone, Benedict, keen to the nuances of unspoken emotions, closed the physical gap between you, and his touch went through the delicate fabric of your glove as he gently took your hand. “We can at least end this in a better way,” he suggested, his voice tinged with a suggestive undertone as he met your gaze.
A resolute “No” escaped your lips, infused with an overt firmness born out of the fear that another moment in his gaze might make you give in to your heart's desires. You couldn't afford the risk of surrendering to the tempting pull of his lips once again, the very lips you yearned for. “That's all I wanted to tell you today,” you continued, gently squeezing his hand as if to punctuate your resolve. Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you added, “It's over, but know that every meeting with you has been a pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton. Goodbye.” Articulated so, you withdrew your hand from Benedict's grasp, leaving only the delicate glove in his hold.
With a swift spin, you turned away and your hurried footsteps carrying you out into the rain-soaked streets of London. A quick glance confirmed the absence of prying eyes, making you hasten your pace, putting distance between yourself and the building that housed your shattered heart. As you took each step, the words exchanged at that moment of parting reverberated in your mind. The relation between you and Benedict had ignited sparks of passion and left a sweet ache of longing. Now, the path ahead led you towards the marriage your family desired, a hopeful step to fill the void left by thoughts of Bridgerton.
#not proofread#friends w/ benefits#hurt without comfort#bridgerton#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton headcanon#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton headcanon#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#anthony bridgerton#anthony bridgerton fanfiction#anthony bridgerton x reader#colin bridgerton#colin bridgerton fanfiction#colin bridgerton x reader#lady whistledown#princess!reader#x reader#x female reader#x fem!reader#x f!reader#luke thompson#luke thompson fanfiction#luke thompson x reader
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🎨The muse
Benedict Bridgerton x fem reader
Synopsis: Benedict asks his maid to be his muse...
Warning: Slight smut and English is not my first language.
The day was rainy, though the sun persisted in the sky. The room echoed with the pitter-patter of rain against the windowpane and the soft brush of the brush against the canvas. Benedict held his breath as his eyes glided between the painting and his model.
"Could you stay still for a moment?" he raised an eyebrow.
"My apologies. It's the first time I've posed for such a purpose," the model responded.
"I understand."
The night before, Benedict ventured into the servants' quarters and requested the youngest and most beautiful, Emily, to be his muse. Though she initially refused, she eventually agreed to the offer of generous remuneration. Now, she sat on an elegant sofa, clad in a dress she could never own… All hidden from the Bridgerton family and society to avoid any scandal.
Benedict's eyes roamed over Emily, from her reddish hair to her pale shoulders, and back again. Her attire, too revealing for his taste; but the canvas would not judge.
Benedict dipped his brush into a jar of paint and began to apply colors to the canvas with swift strokes, a faint smile dancing on his lips as he worked.
He continued painting, his brush moving skillfully to capture the essence of his model. He paused for a moment, furrowing his brow slightly.
-"Miss Emily, could I request a few minutes of your time after our session concludes?" There was a pause, then he continued. "I mean, after I've finished my representation of you?"
She frowned, not understanding the implication.
-"Oh, yes, of course."
-"Thank you, Miss Emily." Benedict's eyes returned to the canvas, his concentration unwavering. After a few more minutes, he finally set down his brush and took a step back to admire his work. "Would you mind observing my progress so far, Emily?" he inquired.
-"Yes, may I move now?"
Benedict smiled.
-"Of course, you may move now." He reclined on a table, waiting for Emily to leave the sofa. He couldn't wait to show her how he had captured her beauty on canvas.
She rose and approached the canvas to gaze upon it. Upon seeing it, she was astonished.
-"Is it me?" she whispered.
Benedict nodded.
-"Yes, it is," he replied, with a slight blush on his cheeks. "I think it looks… lovely," he added. "I've tried to portray you as you are, as you appear before my eyes."
Her cheeks colored, and she thanked him in a whisper, while nervously toying with the fabric of her dress.
Benedict smiled gently but remained silent. He noticed how Emily's dress had caught his attention, and he couldn't deny that it had a similar effect on him.
Clearing his throat, Benedict resumed the conversation: "Miss Emily… you are an extraordinary woman; I truly enjoyed this session… But I also must complete this portrait. Would you be willing to pose for me again?"
She nodded, though some doubts lingered in her mind.
"Let me ask you a question," Emily said.
"Of course," Benedict responded, intrigued to know where her question was leading.
"Why did you choose me, a maid, as your model when there are high society ladies who would be willing to do so?"
A gentle smile appeared on Benedict's face.
"Ah, of course," he replied slowly. "It's because I'm an artist, Emily, and I see you as you are. High society ladies have been pampered all their lives, so their appearances are somewhat artificial, and their minds often lack substance," he explained. "But a maid like you, a simple and hardworking woman, possesses an authenticity in your beauty and personality that I find inspiring."
She didn't know what to respond, and they both fell silent, creating an atmosphere between them until she asked:
"May I ask another question?"
Benedict nodded and encouraged her to continue.
"Of course, ask, Emily," he said, with a slight smile on his lips as he looked at her.
"Where does this beautiful dress come from?"
Benedict chuckled softly as he watched Emily, the picture of innocence and wonder.
"This dress," he said, walking to the dresser behind her. "It belongs to my lovely sister, Daphne…" he said casually.
Emily looked at him in disbelief, unable to believe it.
"If your sister found out I borrowed one of her dresses, she would dismiss me."
Benedict put a finger to his lips, asking Emily to keep the secret.
"No one needs to find out, alright, Emily?" he asked, looking at her as if his life depended on her answer. She nodded, and Benedict let out a deep sigh, releasing the tension that had been building up unnoticed. "Thank you, Emily," he said, with gratitude in his tone. I assure you I won't allow anything to happen to you. Now, shall we continue working on this portrait?" he asked, approaching the easel to resume painting.
She settled on the sofa, and Benedict began painting again, adding shadows and lights to the canvas. He had grown accustomed to seeing Emily on the sofa, in her dress.
After a few minutes of intense concentration, Benedict reclined again on the table and stared fixedly at the canvas, with Emily's figure in front of him.
"Emily," he began, addressing her. "May I ask you a question?"
"Yes."
"Would you be willing to be my muse… not just today, but for… a long time?" he said, shifting his gaze back to Emily's eyes once more.
His words hinted at something more, something that transcended the simple request to be a muse. However, perhaps Emily didn't care about what lay behind this proposal. After all, Emily was quite delighted with the dress she was wearing…
"I… your muse?"
"Yes, Emily," Benedict began, his tone becoming more confident with each word. "I want you to be my muse for all my paintings, as long as you allow me," he said, looking deeply into Emily's eyes. "Your beauty is extraordinary and inspiring, Emily, and I want to capture it in every work I do. And if you permit me, I'll paint you every day," he added, waiting for her response.
"I don't know what to say."
"Just say 'Yes,'" Benedict whispered, taking slow steps towards her.
As the wind howled outside and the rain beat against the windows, Benedict's eyes met Emily's, while he held his breath, awaiting her response.
"Yes…"
When Emily's voice broke the silence that had settled in the room, Benedict's heart beat fast. He took another step towards Emily. He couldn't believe that she had agreed to pose for him day after day. The idea excited him tremendously.
"I'll paint you with all my heart," he promised finally, with his eyes fixed on Emily's.
She smiled softly.
Benedict sat beside her, and a hand rested on her cheek. He leaned in slowly and kissed her lips. Benedict's fingers slid to the buttons of Emily's dress as he moved closer. He unbuttoned one, then another button, before allowing the soft folds of the dress to slide off her body, setting her free.
Benedict's eyes continued to admire Emily's body as he bit his lower
lip. He wouldn't stop exploring until he had seen every inch of that body, and then… he would paint it, over and over again…
Benedict's hand moved to Emily's arm, his fingers tracing lines along her skin. She looked away, her cheeks flushed.
"Look at me," he said, gently stroking her chin.
The heat between them was palpable.
Benedict's finger traced the line of Emily's bare shoulder, smiling as he saw how the light made her skin glow. His eyes traveled every inch of her body.
Benedict's hands returned to Emily's chin, forcing her to look at him.
She couldn't believe what was happening between them, and a feeling of desire took hold of her.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered, with his eyes fixed on Emily's lips as he spoke.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Emily…" Benedict whispered. "I want to hear something more than your 'thank yous'…" he said, his eyes fixed on her lips. As he spoke, his fingers moved to the button of her corset and began to unfasten it.
Benedict watched as Emily's cheeks flushed, while her body slowly became exposed to him. As the corset fell, he allowed his hands to gently return to her cheeks, her hair now falling on both sides of her face.
"You're breathing so fast," Benedict whispered, running his fingers gently along her collarbone. "Let me calm your heartbeat, Emily…"
He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, he emitted a soft sigh.
Benedict smiled as he used his hands to gently push Emily back onto the sofa. With her bare back against the sofa, Benedict leaned forward and began to kiss her neck softly, before moving his lips to kiss the soft part of her shoulder.
He could feel Emily's heart beating between his fingers. "I believe…" he whispered, taking a second, before speaking again. "I believe I enjoy making you feel this way, Emily."
Emily's breath became heavier the longer they spent together, and a slight blush covered her body, as the heat between them was enough to fill the room.
He continued to trace his fingers along Emily's body, while kissing every part of it. Slowly, but surely, they were heading where both minds were thinking.
As the sound of the rain outside faded away in the midst of the pleasure between them, their breaths became one.
Emily's arms wrapped around Benedict as their lips met once more. And when they finished, Benedict's chest rose and fell at a rapid pace.
Benedict's eyes filled with amazement as he stared at her. He hadn't realized he could desire something more than just her body; he wanted her mind, her soul. Was it possible what the poets wrote? Was it possible to fall in love in a day?
#fanfic#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton smut#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict x you#benedict x reader#benedict bridgerton fic#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x you#bridgerton netflix#benedict bridgerton x maid#x reader#fem reader#reader fanfiction#female
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Infatuation
pairing: simon basset x fem!reader
warnings: darkish simon? a kiss, young reader (16ish!!) pushy and possessive simon, implied fem!reader and poc!reader, not proof read
notes: idk what to do so i just rambled 😭 this is just a two parter i think. and the storyline is a bit scrambled :) WHAT THE HELL IDK WHY I GOT SO MUCH ENERGY TO WRITE THIS BUT HERES ALL THE PARTS IN ONE DAY!!!! hope you enjoyed <3
PART I
Lady Whistledown: Dearest reader, the time has come to place our bets for the upcoming social season. Consider the household of the Baron Featherington. Three misses foisted upon the marriage market like sorrowful sows by their tasteless, tactless, mama.
Far better odds might exist in the household of the widowed Viscountess Bridgerton. A shockingly prolific family, noted for its bounty of perfectly handsome sons and perfectly beautiful daughters.
Or perhaps in the loving household of the Marquess of Anderton, Lord and Lady Y/L/N? With their two eldest sons, known not only for their intelligent selves and gorgeous faces, but for their stunningly bright younger sister, who is not just a pretty face.
Not only are the two families extremely close, but practically family, how very perfect, indeed!
It is only the queen's eye that matters today. A glimmer of displeasure, and a young lady's value plummets to unthinkable depths.
It has been said that, “Of all bitches dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine." If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth.
My name is Lady Whistledown.
You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. But be forewarned, dear reader, I certainly know you.
how on earth had you not yet read this?
one of the things you’d looked forward to besides meeting everyone had been the scandal sheets and you’d missed out on receiving one yesterday.
“this woman seems quite powerful. you know how easily words can ruin someone’s image. it’s interesting to see a lone woman hold so much sway in just her writing. i truly do wonder who she is. any guesses?” you asked pen, daphne and el as the three of you waited for your mothers and pens sisters to catch up as you made your way to the park.
eloise smiled, “it has to be a widow! no married woman would have time for this, she’d have an estate to care for and children pulling on her every day. a widow with her own home and responsibilities. perhaps lady danbury?”
you had to giggle at the guess, knowing whistledown herself was right with you. you’d managed to meet penelope at least, so that was one person of your list. lady danbury would be next with her ball tonight, and perhaps simon as well.
“what’s so funny? i haven’t heard a guess from you!” eloise groaned as you smiled, “i have no guesses besides, pen?” penelope’s head shot up straight away from the ground, “what?” “i was going to ask if you had any.” you could see her cheeks flushing, and her breathing quicken at the idea of being caught out.
and as you all walked together through the park, you’d mistakenly enthralled yourself in conversations, going so far as to walk with your back facing others. walking backwards as to face the girls.
“look out!”
before you’d fallen you were caught, by simon.
“i, i am so sorry. i was not looking-” simon smiled, “well that’s obvious no?” he joked as he lifted you up. you straightened your dress out and smiled, “of course. forgive me your grace.” you curtsied, in the presence of the person you’d been most excited to meet, you’d forgotten all about your friends behind.
as they all met him you couldn’t even take your eyes off of him, and neither could he for you. and once lady featherington came around she wasted no time to throw her eldest daughters upon him. the misery in his eyes hurt your soul so you took it upon yourself to rectify the situation.
“your grace!” simon turned towards you, as did everyone else. “yes, lady y/n?” you smiled, “would you like to accompany me, to promenade?” simon tilted his head, pondering your question.
he couldn’t help but be taken aback, usually many girls weren’t so forward. and god were you beautiful. rather than dealing with annoying girls who wanted a title the second they saw him, he could walk with someone he actually found interesting.
“i- would love to.” he smiled as he took a step back, allowing you to walk with him. you could hear the chatter from the girls behind you as well as your mother and violet.
you’d spent so long together, walked for so long your feet ached afterwards. and you didn’t miss the longing stares from other men around, and the women for him.
and even if it had taken so much energy of yours to keep walking, you wouldn’t have given up the chance. everything he said, you replied to. every joke sent laughter rippling through you and you could not help but feel content. he was, even better then the show. and as you got to know him you felt unbelievably happy.
and so did he.
he went home with all his thoughts containing you. he found himself smiling at every memory of his time with you that day. your smiles, your laughter, your beauty, you. and he had no clue why. he’d never been this taken with someone and he found himself struggling with why.
over the season you found yourself taken with him, your family allowed you to attend balls and do as you wish but you were under no obligation to dance or do anything you did not wish to.
yet you found yourself undeniably enthusiastic every time you realised you were going to a ball because you’d see simon. you’d dance, you’d laugh and everything else because he always gave you something to look forwards to, as did you for him, he was truly an amazing friend.
and he was completely besotted with you.
much to not only anthony’s surprise but danbury as well.
and simon was so intent upon being with you.
as much as you liked him you could not help but love how you were. your family was amazing and so happy. you had amazing friends within daphne, penelope and eloise. marriage seemed so far away in your mind and your life was sweet and favourable.
lady trowbridge’s ball was, scandalous, to say the least. you couldn’t believe your eyes when you walked in, half naked dancers spinning around, and quite uptempo music for a woman in mourning.
“lady y/n, may i-” lord wellington was promptly cut off in his endeavour to dance with you by the person you’d been looking for.
“y/n?” simon called out as he made his way to you. “simon! there you are, i was wondering where you’d gone off to.” you smiled at your bestfriend as he made his way to you, nodding in acknowledgement to his friend lord wellington. you thought they were friends at least.
and so did simon, until he saw him coming after you for a dance.
“come along now.” he smiled as you also nodded at the lord, “it was nice to see you my lord.” you curtsied as simon dragged you away.
“oh my god, i thought he would never leave! he tries to dance with me every single ball yet he doesn’t take notice of my indifference towards him!” you snorted as simon laughed louder, “i did not know such an unbecoming sound could originate from such a lovely women!” you scoffed, “that is no way to talk to your best friend!” you fake cried as you wiped literal tears from your eyes, the paintings in-front taking your eye.
simons breath hitched, best friend? best friend?
is that what you thought of him as? he thought the world of you, over the time he’s gotten to know you, he held you in the highest esteem. you were everything to him and he was a mere friend for you. no, he would not have it. who else loved you as he did? wanted you as he did?
“best friend?” simon questioned as your laughter died down at his seriousness, “what?” you giggled as you tried to compose yourself. “you named me your best friend. am i nothing more to you? just a friend? you see me as an acquaintance, as a brother?”
“no i do not see you as a brother, my dear simon.” you smiled, “you are amazing. every day i wake and think of seeing you, for the time i have known you, you have been nothing short of my favourite person. i look forward to seeing you, speaking with you and dancing. arguing over who’s literature is better, who’s right and who’s wrong. i have never known someone’s company besides daphnes to never annoy me. i love you, i do but-”
“but nothing. we love each other, that is all that matters. y/n not a day goes by where i do not wish to be in your presence, to see your gorgeous face. to hear you say my name, to feel you hit me when i say something utterly scandalous. i cannot and will not imagine myself spending my life with no other women but you. you are my other half, you are the air i breathe and the only person whom i’ve ever loved as much as i do. there are not enough words to describe my love for you y/n/n. it is you who i wish to wake up with everyday, it is you who i wish to be with, you who i would start a family with. your laughter that shall echo through my halls for as long as we live. i cannot and will not fathom the idea of you not being here for me, you are made for me.” simons grip encircled your wrists as he pulled you close, his face drawing near as he met your lips.
you never imagined yourself here with simon especially. he’d been nothing short of amazing in your time here, your best friend. but here you were, kissing him.
kissing him?!
you immediately detached from him as you retained your senses and drew your hands to cover your face in shock. “i’m so- so sorry. i do not know what that was your grace.” you rambled as your heart quickened, had someone seen? how could you be so stupid!?
his eyes furrowed at your words, your grace? what was with the formalities, you were to be wed, to be together. and here you were reverting to old habits. “my love there is no need to use such proper titles.”
your head whipped up the second he stopped speaking, “simon do not say such things! endearing terms as such are for, married couples. we are not.” you whispered as you made your way towards the party, but not before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him as you collided with his chest.
he couldn’t let you go, everything, his head and his heart were screeching at him to ‘hold on tight’, to not let you go. so he did what he thought best,
lie.
“someone saw us.”
your eyes widened to the heavens as your breathing quickened again, “no. no they didn’t- they didn’t.” you shook your head as he placed his hand on your cheek to have you look at him. your eyes began to water and he felt himself tense, he hated it. he hated the idea of you being upset, but he was so close to having what he wanted so he continued.
“my dear y/n, i will treat you better then anyone ever could, deep down you know you are better off with me then any other. i love you, we will be together.” simon explained as you buried your head in his chest, you were so young, you hadn’t even properly debuted and now you were to be wed. how did you let this happen?
but a little voice piped up in your head, ‘it’s simon, your simon. the one who is always there for you. marrying him will give you a life of happiness and peace. marrying your best friend is the best thing you could ask for. you loved him when you didn’t know him truly, and now you do. be happy.’
and you wanted to be, simon was so good to you.
but you knew you weren’t ready. with marriage people would expect a child, a family. and your real life, the one back home? what would happen? would you ever go back? or would marrying him cement you in this world, forever.
“shh, you’ll be okay. i’m here, right here my love. you are my love, my heart, my infatuation.”
and you didn’t know it but you were right, the second you allowed him into your life, you were never going to go back home.
#simon basset x reader#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton x reader#daphne bridgerton#dark!simon basset x reader#simon hastings x reader#simon basset x fem!reader#bridgerton x fem!reader
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busted | benedict bridgerton
summary: benedict is sure he knows you, he only doesn’t know from where. and he probably shouldn’t know.
warnings: none actually!
It’s the curve on your lips when you drink from your cup, Benedict has solved the case. Or the wrinkles around your eyes when you start to laugh, it might be it too. But there’s something in you that seems to hold his attention longer than he imagined and it has been like this the whole night.
Now he knows every and each small thing you do when you react to something, he caught you blinking to a couple of men, making it look way more innocent than it was to them. Benedict saw your eyes twinkle under the lights while dancing and couldn’t stop thinking about how soft your hands might be under your gloves.
He couldn’t help himself. There was something about you that seemed so known to him that it itched a certain part of his brain trying to remember why he was so mesmerized by you. Why were you so intriguing to him when he’s absolutely sure he never saw you before.
“Here, let me help you.” Eloise says, holding Benedict’s chin with both her hands “I think your chin will fall anytime soon.”
Benedict’s eyes go from you to his sister, surprised by her sudden appearance next to him. Eloise lets out a laugh, taking her hands away from her brother and crossing her arms in front of her chest, glancing in your direction too.
“Who is she and why are you so endearing looking at her?” Eloise squints, trying to analyze you “I don’t think I know her…”
“Me neither.” The sound falls from Benedict’s mouth more like a whisper and he sighs afterwards “And I’m not endearing looking at her.”
“Brother,” Eloise almost rolls her eyes at Benedict, but controls herself from doing so in front of so many people. If the circumstances were different, she would do it one hundred percent “your eyes are on her the whole night. I have no clue how I managed to get your attention, actually.”
Eloise continues to talk and talk and talk, but you start to dance again. Benedict watches you spin in your ankles while smiling to your dance partner, your hands smoothly moving while you dance. Your hair flows around your face, framing it with curls. You probably smell good, floral and sweet with a spicy hint to it. Your skin glows and looks soft to the touch.
“Jesus Christ,” Eloise almost shouts, catching her brother’s attention again “ask her to dance, or you will start drooling any time soon and someone might slip on it.”
For once, Eloise is right. Benedict should ask to dance with you. There’s nothing telling him he shouldn’t, and a dance won’t hurt no one.
He makes the path between you two, taking his time to gather his thoughts correctly and think about what he should say to you. What kind of subjects are you interested in? You could be into arts, writing or even singing. You have beautiful lips, and even if Benedict couldn’t listen to your voice from where he was standing, he's sure your voice is soothing as it seems from afar.
Benedict bows in front of you and notices the corners of your lips going up in a small smile “Would you conceive me a dance with you, my lady?”
You bow in his direction too, but gracefully looking at him with your chin up “Of course, sir.” You place your hand on his, waiting for him to hold it “Lead me, please.”
Benedict holds your hand, almost squeezing it with too much strength, but he desperately wants to feel the skin underneath your glove. Your thumb rubs the back of his hand smoothly and the gentle touch makes Benedict want more caresses from you. Perhaps you didn’t even notice you were doing that little thing with your thumb, but Benedict feels feverish with just this small thing.
He takes you in his arms and starts dancing.
“May I ask you if you’re new here?” Benedict starts, really wanting to say something to you and make some conversation.
“Probably.” You smile, not giving away if you’re telling the truth or not.
Benedict scrunchies his nose “I’m curious, because I’ve never seen you before, but I feel as if I already know you.”
You let out a giggle and Benedict is completely lost, has he said anything funny?
“Is this your way of courting me?” Your expression has an amused smile and Benedict can’t help but find it funny too. It indeed sounded different than he wanted it too “Perhaps you’ve seen me in your dreams, right?”
“N-No… That’s not what I was trying to say.” He stutters trying to hold a laugh and not sound as dumb as he probably does at the moment “I mean it, you look familiar but I can’t tell from where exactly.”
“Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I’ve never crossed paths with you before.” You give up and say it seriously “I’ve been in town for a couple of days visiting my aunt for the season.”
“And may I ask who your aunt is?” Benedict is fast with his words, not leaving any time for you to end your conversation.
Benedict tries to notice something in you that might give it away who your aunt is, but it doesn’t work. Your accent is a bit different than what he’s used to, but he can’t tell exactly from where you are. Your eyes are beautiful, as are your skin, lips, nose, body… Benedict can’t think of anyone anyway as attractive to him as you.
“It seems that you’re having fun trying to solve my mystery. I think we should keep it for longer.”
“My mom knows everyone, every family, and she probably has her eyes on you, anyways. You seem like a good match for one of her sons.” Benedict spins you while speaking.
It’s already the end of the dance, the final move and Benedict wonders if he could ask you for another dance, or maybe he could walk with you to get something to drink. He wanted to speak more with you, to look deep inside your eyes, to listen to your voice and watch your lips move gracefully.
When you finish your spin, you look right back at Benedict “So let’s see if you can discover who I am, Mr. Bridgerton.”
You grin in his direction, so close he can see every line in your face. And it hits him – your grin. He indeed saw it before, not in his dreams, but in a place where a lady shouldn’t be, somewhere he’s not even sure women are allowed to enter when they’re not in the company of a man. But you were there, he’s sure of it now.
Benedict’s memory is foggy, probably because he was way drunker than normal that night, but there’s no doubt it was you.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Benedict asks when you touch his arm calling for his attention “In the bar?”
There’s a frown that grows in your forehead and you almost open your mouth, surprised, but keep control of your expression. Benedict continues to stare in your direction and catches your arm before you could run away from him. You felt like running away, but instead you gave him a sweet smile.
“Sir, I don’t know what you mean.”
Your voice shakes a bit and Benedict can notice that you’re not telling the truth, because even if you don’t sound nervous, you obviously look like you’re about to have a nervous wreck right there. Your hands are moving, making Benedict hold your arm and start to lead him out of the middle of the room. Your fingers are restless around his arm and he could feel you tapping his forearm with them.
“I know it was you, now I’m sure of it.” Benedict can say, trying to grab other memories inside his mind from that night “I could recognize this grin of yours within millions of smiles.”
It happened the week before. Benedict decided to go to the bar alone, after a long day of boring things and a couple of drinks with his gentleman friends, he didn’t want to go home yet. It was breezy, but not cold, so the perfect night to spend in the bar with unknown people he will never exchange a word with again.
When he’s near the bar, he can hear people singing inside and instruments are being played. He enters the room and everyone is singing together, some at their own tables, others hugged next to the musicians. But there’s two young adults, probably a few years younger than Benedict, singing on top of the balcony leading the rest.
One of them is wearing a white shirt, trousers and really shining and beautiful boots. The other is wearing the same thing, but with a dark blue cape on top, covering most part of their face. Benedict sits at a table in one corner of the bar, he pretends to go unnoticed and enjoys the joyful singing from the others. He orders a beer and continues to drink, even if he already feels drunk enough after drinking with his friends.
The light inside the bar isn’t good, but when the person wearing the cape spins while singing, Benedict can see a grin on their lips, the curves softly matching the rest of the person’s expression, and when Benedict watches more carefully, the grinning person is a girl. He can see the soft hair under the hood, the pretty features in her face and the beautiful silhouette.
Benedict can’t take his eyes from her, the way she sings is mesmerizing, the way she drinks the beer from the mug and continues to move around the balcony with her partner. Benedict tries not to focus on the questions that are surfacing his mind, about why there is a girl there and who is the man singing with her. Benedict wants to enjoy the view, his members already feeling numb from drinking but he can’t help having fun.
“Sir, please, stop talking about this.” You ask, now almost running with Benedict hooked with your arm “At least not in the middle of everyone.”
You search for someone in the middle of the people, your eyes wandering through every corner of the room. Benedict wanted to ask you again who you are in the end. Why were in a bar being a lady? Who was the guy with you that night? Why hasn't he seen you before?
One of the questions was answered before Benedict could even say them out loud.
“Mr. Bridgerton, this is my brother.” You almost fly to the man standing in front of you two and hold his arm instead of Benedict’s. It’s the guy you were with in the bar “Brother, this is Benedict Bridgerton, he just danced with me.”
Your brother looks at you, noticing your breathless voice as you introduce Benedict to him. He looks back at Benedict and smiles, greeting him. As soon as Benedict said nice to meet you, you both disappeared in the middle of the other guests. How was it possible for two grown people to just vanish in front of his eyes? But you two were nowhere to be seen.
Benedict felt empty for the first time that night. He spent most of the night watching you, trying to guess where he saw you before and now he knows where, but you’re gone and he has nothing else to do there. He wanted to speak to you more, maybe the bar issue wasn’t the only conversation he wanted to have with you, his curiosity about you being bigger than he imagined.
He wanted to know things about you.
Well, now he knows you can sing. And drink.
And there’s nothing he can’t try to discover in the next ball of the season.
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton fanfic#bridgerton#bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x reader#not very historically accurate#just a wip i guess#fem!reader
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