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bosbas · 2 days

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Chapter 7: something gave you the nerve to touch my hand

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pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in Spanish, idiots in love-ish moments (maybe idiots in non-hate?)

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

June 1, 1816 – A few whispers have been floating around about Lord Arthur Barlow’s whereabouts following his escapade with Miss Barrington at the Bridgerton ball, but this author must sadly say that she has no credible information on the subject. The Duke has likely paid his staff handsomely to avoid any news reaching the curious ears of the ton, much to our disappointment. While propriety suggests that his wedding plans to Miss Barrington should be in full swing, Lord Barlow is not particularly known for his propriety, and therefore we cannot assume anything.

Among other Montclair-related news, two of the Count’s children arrived in London yesterday: Lord Philippe Montclair IV and Lady Isabelle de la Torre, accompanied by their respective spouses and children. Is this unexpected gathering somehow linked to Lady Y/N's recent entanglement in scandal, or is it merely a coincidental family reunion?

You wrung your hands nervously in your carriage bound for Hyde Park, not quite able to sit still. Beside you sat Leonor, Philippe's wife, while your sisters, sitting opposite from you, observed your anxious demeanor with growing impatience. Isabelle, in particular, seemed annoyed by your restless gestures, her irritation palpable in the air.

“Y/N, for heaven's sake, it’s not like you’ve been compromised in any way!” said Isabelle, exasperated. “You’ll find someone else, and the Duke’s betrayal will be but a distant memory.”

It was easy for her to say; after all, her own search for a husband had been nothing short of a fairy tale. Unlike the rest of your siblings, Isabelle had had a love match from the beginning, and it only made it easier that Carlos, her now-husband, had strong ties to the royal family. Though her love story had been one for the ages, the fact that it had happened so easily was making her quite unsympathetic to your loss of a Duke you weren’t even properly interested in.

“I might as well have been! Lady Whistledown is still mentioning my involvement in the scandal, and your presence isn’t helping.” You thanked the universe that your mother was on another carriage with Louis, Carlos, and Philippe, and hadn’t heard you being rude toward your sister.

"And why should we care about the musings of this Lady Whistledown?" retorted Isabelle with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“These English people treat that gossip column like gospel,” said Charlotte, crinkling her nose in disdain. “Though I dare say, Y/N, your predicament isn't as dire as you're painting it," she added, casting you a knowing glance.

"You two can afford to be cavalier about it, being safely married," you sighed, feeling defeated, and turned your gaze back out the window.

As your carriage rolled into the park, Leonor leaned in, placing her hand over yours. “No te preocupes, cariño,” she whispered reassuringly, so only you could hear (Don’t worry, sweetheart). “En todo caso, te vienes a España con tu hermano y conmigo” (In any case, you can come to Spain with your brother and me).

You smiled at her, resigned, but grateful for her offer. As you surveyed the bustling crowd outside, predominantly comprised of eligible men, the allure of Spain beckoned. It would certainly have better weather than London. And at least there was no Lady Whistledown in Salamanca. Though with the seemingly endless sources the woman had, you wouldn’t doubt her abilities to follow you there, too.

Stepping down from your carriage and walking toward the crowd of people in the park, you made eye contact with one of the gentlemen who had called on you yesterday. Though his poem had nearly put you to sleep, you smiled politely anyway. Perhaps he would be the first to talk to you today and ask for a turn about the park, and you would be able to finally relax in the knowledge that at least one person was still interested in you.

Though you hadn’t seen or heard from Lord Barlow since the Bridgerton ball, he still lingered in your mind. He ended up being just like any other man, you thought, annoyed. You hadn’t necessarily expected him to be the picture of attentiveness and love, especially not when you had only known each other a little over a month, but it was still disappointing to see how it had all turned out.

"Lady Montclair," a voice interjected, drawing your attention to your right. Startled, you turned to see Colin Bridgerton, sporting an uncharacteristically earnest smile.

“Mr. Bridgerton?” you inquired.

You had thought your dance two nights prior had been a one-time event, a small courtesy on his part, for Eloise, so you didn’t look a complete fool upon your re-entry to society. So why was he here now? Had he come here to resume tormenting you? You weren’t quite sure you had the energy for that today, already feeling the familiar flutter of nerves as you thought about how many men you would have to impress and the intense scrutiny you would face from the rest of the ton.

“Would you care for a promenade?” his voice, a gentle invitation, broke through your thoughts.

“A prom- What?” you said lowly, careful that no one would hear you. “You already danced with me once, and it was more than enough,” you assured him.

Colin was fighting an internal battle. He was torn between still being absolutely enchanted by you after one dance, and the larger part of him that was annoyed that you apparently didn’t want to speak with him today. Yet, true to form, Colin’s more combative side won out.

“Well, I don’t particularly see gentlemen lining up to speak with you today, so I rather think you might need some more help,” he shot back.

You felt your face flush as you gasped in offense. “That is so patronizing. I’ve barely been here three seconds! I hardly think that amount of time is indicative of whether any suitors would like to speak with me today.”

It was true; Colin had rushed to greet you moments after you had stepped down from your carriage. But aside from the fact that he was embarrassed by his eagerness and trying to cover it up, he was not about to let up, not against you.

“Do you think, for once in your life, you could engage with me without throwing a fit?” he asked you, anger seeping into his words.

You were speechless, your eyes wide as you stared at him. Your instinct would have been to get mad at him, but unfortunately, he was right. You were struggling to let yourself be vulnerable with Colin, never mind how good of a time you had had dancing with him. But you were too stubborn to accept his offer to walk with him. You simply stared at him, your eyes swimming with uncertainty, and silently willed him to keep pushing you to accept his help. It was the only way you would allow yourself to do it, and you were relieved when he held out his arm for you to take.

“Come along,” he said, rolling his eyes. “For both our sakes, we should just walk to avoid a scene.”

“Very well, then,” you relented, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow. You were momentarily distracted by the feeling of his arm beneath your touch. It lit a fire inside of you that you weren’t familiar with, and you suddenly found yourself out of breath.

“My sister can chaperone,” he suggested, gently guiding you toward where his family was situated.

You could only nod dumbly in response, the flutters in your lower abdomen only growing stronger when he placed his hand over yours. Vaguely registering Daphne and Simon waving at you, you smiled and greeted them, grateful to have something else to focus on that wasn't Mr. Bridgerton's very well-sculpted arms.

As you began to stroll, the Bassets a few paces behind you, you felt that your voice was stable enough to begin a conversation. “So, Mr. Bridgerton, indulge my curiosity and tell me more about your travels. Have you ever been lost at sea?”

Colin smiled at you, unable to hold back his fondness for you once again, and his breath was stolen from his lips as he made eye contact with you. You looked back eagerly, staring straight into him, and he was momentarily speechless. But you blinked, indicating that you were still awaiting a response, and he realized he had forgotten himself once again in your presence, an alarmingly increasing trend.

After clearing his throat, Colin answered, “A few times, yes. Most unfortunate was the time we became lost in the twilight hours when it was freezing out, but the stars proved an exceptionally useful tool in helping us find our way.”

“The stars?” you asked, curious. Could it be that you and Colin had yet another thing in common? It was hard to parse who he had been with you the past few days with the man you had a rivalry with practically from the moment you arrived in England. Who was the real Colin?

“Yes, indeed,” affirmed Colin, his voice revealing a hint of excitement. “They’re actually quite a useful tool. Regardless of our whereabouts, we look at the same constellations, albeit from differing vantage points. For instance, if you look up at the sky any of these nights, and you see three stars close together arranged in a line, that’s-”

“Orion’s belt,” you finished for him, your voice soft. Then, seeing his amused, and admittedly curious, smile, you explained, “My governess used to take me outside at night, even in the winter, so I could look at the stars. I know a fair few constellations, and I always like to know which ones are visible to me.”

Colin shook his head in wonder. The universe was a cruel thing, to make you so perfectly suited to him and make you hate him more than you hated, apparently, anyone or anything else. But it wasn’t like he liked you any better, he reasoned.

“I’d wager you’d be a wonderful navigator, then,” he said. “I’m certain you’d never get lost in treacherous waters.” He had to physically bite his tongue to keep from suggesting that you go with him on his next trip around the world.

You hummed softly in response. It never quite felt like you had a grip on where you were going. Usually, you just felt like you were groping around in the dark, desperately trying to find the right way to go.

The promenade stretched on longer than anticipated, with both of you engaging in pleasant conversation throughout, and more than a few stolen glances. It was a shock, really, when Daphne cleared her throat politely behind you and Colin. You suddenly realized that you and Colin had been walking together for longer than was typically appropriate.

“It might be time for Lady Montclair to promenade with someone else,” she suggested gently, a sympathetic smile on her face as she looked at Colin's crestfallen face. Turning away from you, she leaned over and whispered something unintelligible to Simon as the pair walked away back toward the rest of the Bridgertons, allowing you and Colin a few moments of privacy.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him, finding yourself slightly disappointed that your time together was ending. “I’m not quite sure I would have needed your saving again, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

Suddenly, you noticed a piece of lint on the lapel of Colin’s jacket. You reached over, almost instinctively, and picked it off. Your fingers barely grazed his chest, and his words caught in his throat as he saw your hand reach toward his chest in slow motion.

The two of you stood still, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, one of your hands still extended toward him. Realizing your actions necessitated an explanation, you hurriedly brought your hand back to your side again and averted your gaze, avoiding eye contact with Colin.

“Lint,” you explained awkwardly. “On your coat.”

Oh, how could you have done something so brash? And in such a public setting, too, you scolded yourself.

“I-Th-Well, I-Thank you, Lady Montclair,” Colin stuttered out, his brain short-circuiting from your intimate gesture. But you were already walking away, fists clenched at your sides as he saw you walking back to your family.

Once more, you were intercepted by what could only be described as a horde of men vying for your favor. But, just like two nights prior, all Colin could feel was a pleasant warmth spreading through him as he watched you walk away, your laughter ringing like music in his ears.

He knew what that was like now. To have you genuinely laugh at something he said. And it was different from how you were with these men. Even different from how you had been with the Duke. His heart warmed when he realized he had something of you that no one else did, and he wanted to bottle up your laugh and keep it in his breast pocket, forever a reminder of you near his heart.

A short distance away, Carlos observed with amusement as Colin stood there, seemingly transfixed by your departure. Standing beside him was Leonor, who had also been privy to the entire spectacle. The two often found themselves together during family outings, enjoying speaking in Spanish for a change.

“La ama,” Carlos said to Leonor, his tone tinged with amusement at Colin's evident infatuation (He loves her).

Suppressing a chuckle, Leonor discreetly cleared her throat. “Y cuanto tiempo crees que será hasta que se de cuenta?” she quipped in response (And how long do you think it'll be until he realizes?).

---

In the late afternoon, you found yourself seated by the pianoforte, the pleasant notes of your scales filling the room. Across from you, your mother quietly engrossed herself in a book, while Isabelle diligently worked on her needlepoint. Suddenly, the tranquil atmosphere of your sitting room was disrupted as your butler made an unexpected entrance.

“Lady Montclair, a visitor,” he said politely, bowing slightly.

Your fingers stopped playing and you looked toward your mother, who had a questioning look on her face.

“I hadn’t been expecting anyone. And at this hour? Is everything alright?” she asked the butler.

His face flushed slightly. “My apologies, I meant Lady Y/N Montclair,” he corrected himself. “It’s the Duke.”

But he barely had time to announce your visitor before Lord Barlow strode into your sitting room, hair disheveled and bags under his eyes. He looked positively ghastly, and you wouldn’t have doubted it if he told you he hadn’t slept in a week.

He was panting and slightly sweaty, clearly having rushed over to your home for some unknown reason, when he took off his hat and crouched next to the pianoforte bench.

“Forgive me,” he addressed the other women in the room. Then, turning back to you, he roughly grasped your hand, placing a wet kiss on the back of it. You slightly cringed in disgust, not particularly wanting this man anywhere near you.

“Y/N, my darling, I am so terribly sorry for what happened at the Bridgerton ball. It was unforgivable. Except that you must forgive me!” he pleaded, voice full of desperation.

You were utterly confused, and more than a little angry. Who did this man think he was, barging into your home at this hour and demanding forgiveness? You shared a look with your mother, who looked equally as scandalized.

“Lord Bar-” you started, but before you could finish, he interrupted you, grasping your hand even tighter.

“No! Not Lord Barlow. Arthur. Your Arthur. It’s me; I’m here. What happened with Miss Barrington was a foolish mistake, and it will never happen again. Marry me, Y/N. Marry me and make me the happiest man in all of Mayfair. In all of England, even. Please,” he begged.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leonor leaving the room quietly, and your stomach churned uncomfortably at the idea of having to face this man on your own. You breathed deeply, calming yourself with the thought that your mother remained in the room before you addressed Lord Barlow.

“I don’t understand,” you said, shaking your head. “What of Miss Barrington? She will be ruined if you do not marry her.”

He scoffed, throwing his head back and shaking his head in annoyance. “What of her? She is not as important to me as you are,” he said lowly. “I do not have with her what I have with you. I need you, Y/N. Please marry me.”

Letting the anger that had been slowly bubbling inside you take over, you snatched your hand out of his grip and stood up, towering over him. “Are you quite finished? You are completely unbelievable. I will not marry you, your Grace, and it is egregious that you would even suggest it. Do you truly have so little respect for Miss Barlow that you would leave her, ruined, as you married someone else? Do you truly think so lowly of me that you thought I would say yes?”

“Barlow, take your leave,” came a commanding voice from the doorway before the Duke could respond to you.

With a surge of relief, you caught sight of Louis and Philippe standing firm with Leonor at their side, their expressions firm and determined, while she was looking anxiously between you and Lord Barlow.

But the Duke was relentless, his desperation palpable as he pleaded his case, his words brimming with urgency. He stood up from where he had been kneeling and turned to face your brothers. "You don’t understand. I must marry your sister. I must!"

“I believe my brother asked you to take your leave, your Grace,” said Philippe, voice cold and cutting. “Louis, if you could be so kind as to escort Lord Barlow out.”

Louis wasted no time, roughly grabbing Barlow’s arm and dragging him away from you as the man protested profusely. But your brother wasn’t going to let him hurt you again. It was bad enough that he had already done it once, but Louis would rather come to blows right now in your home than let the Duke stand in your presence for another second.

As Louis ushered Lord Barlow out of your sitting room, Philippe placed a protective hand in front of Leonor and pulled her behind him. Ensuring his wife’s safety, he turned to you, a concerned expression on his face.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

But you didn’t have time to answer, your father storming into the room with fury in his eyes.

“Was that Barlow I saw in the hall? Can someone give me an explanation?" he demanded, his gaze fixed on your stricken expression.

Your voice trembled as you confessed, still reeling from the shock of the encounter. "He asked me to marry him," you admitted, the words hanging heavily in the air.

“She said no, of course. And put him in his place,” your mother added, eyes wide and fixed on the doorway still. It seemed that Lord Barlow’s unexpected appearance had been an unwelcome shock for her, too.

Your father placed his hands on his hips, staring at the two of you in disbelief. “Well done,” he finally conceded after a few moments of silence.

You nodded meekly in response, not quite feeling anything right at this minute.

“He is not worthy of you, Y/N. A title and fortune are important, of course, but so is honor. And he clearly has none,” said your father, disgust clear in his voice.

You’d heard this speech a million times, but this time the words rang loudly in your ears. A title and fortune are important, his words echoed in your mind. It was what your father always said, but this time you couldn’t help thinking: Colin Bridgerton, whom you had developed an inexplicable fondness for, possessed neither title nor fortune.

But as quickly as the doubt arose, you cast it aside. You reminded yourself firmly that Colin was not the sort of man a Montclair could marry. The reality was stark, and you refused to entertain the notion that such a match could ever be possible. You weren’t even sure that you liked the man, why were you thinking of marrying him?

—

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kennarose1108 · 23 hours

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Anthony Bridgerton x Reader !CHILDHOOD ENIMES! !PART 3!

Y/N'S POV

It was a weird feeling. The feeling you felt when you left Anthony on the dance floor, you didn't know what it was. You've never felt it before, especially not towards him. It felt like there were butterflies in your stomach and your head felt dizzy.

You didn't know what it was and you tossed and turned in bed that night and hardly got any sleep as you fought with your feelings with Anthony.

You probably only got a maximum of three hours of sleep last night before your maid woke you up and got you ready for the day. When you came downstairs it was oddly noisy and when you went into the living room you saw your mother and room full of men.

"Um... What's going on...?" You ask. Your mother beams at you and walks over, "All of these men are here to see you." She says with a grin. You were too tired to hide the disgust on your face before you turned and started walking towards the front door. "Where are you going?!" Your mother called out.

"To the Bridgerton's!" You yelled back before leaving and slamming the door behind you.

You walked over to the Bridgerton's which didn't help your tiredness at all. You knocked on their front door and the butler answered and he quickly allowed you inside. "Is Daphne here?" You asked the butler. "No, only Lord Bridgerton." The butler says while folding his hands behind his back.

You sighed, "Anthony's here?" You murmured, he just nodded. "I'll be in the living room, probably napping." You say and you left before getting any acknowledgement from the butler. But not even five minutes after resting in the living room of the Bridgerton's you heard a voice behind you.

"Why are you here?" You sigh at the voice, it was Anthony's. "I'm hiding from my mother and her room full of men." You say with an annoyed roll of your eyes.

You glance at Anthony when he doesn't say a word and you can see his eyes are narrowed like he was upset. "What...?" You murmured. He cleared his throat and walked over to you, "Nothing. Just thinking." He says. "How would you feel about going to the park with me? I need a breath of fresh air and I would like some company." He says while holding a hand out to you so he could help you stand up.

You narrow your eyes, "And what will I get out of this?" You ask. "A lovely stroll with a handsome man." He teases. You stare up at him and he sighs, "Your mother will come looking for you, will she not? If we are gone then she surely cannot harass you any further." He says with a slight smirk on his face.

You glare up and him before sighing dramatically, "I hate it when you Bridgerton's are right." You murmured before taking his hand and he helped you to your feet. You felt a shockwave go through your body when your hands touched, it was different from last night. You quickly pull your hand away and clear your throat, "We must be on our way then." You say while looking down and quickly walking away.

The carriage ride to the park was silent, which you didn't mind... But you could tell Anthony was getting antsy. He was bouncing his leg up and down and glancing back and forth between outside the carriage and at you.

You let out a deep and annoyed sigh before caving in and asking him, "What's wrong?" You ask. "Nothing, nothing..." He murmurs before glancing out the window again before back at you.

"So um... What did you mean last night when you said 'I'm not interested in anyone'?" Anthony asks. "I don't wish to be married." You say while looking out the window.

"Ever?" He asks. "Well, not ever. Just... Not now." You say while playing with your fingers nervously. "You should understand out of everyone Anthony. Before your fiancé, you never wished to marry unless it was out of convenience." You say, finally looking over at him.

He just simply gives you a nod and looks down, like he is uncomfortable. Finally, the carriage stopped and Anthony was quick to get out. You sigh, thinking what you said scared him off and feeling slightly guilty about it as it was a touchy subject.

You went to leave the carriage but stopped as you saw Anthony holding his hand out to you, waiting to help you. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and took his hand. His touch was delicate but strong, strong enough to keep you up if you fell but delicate of one of a gentlemen.

You stepped out of the carriage and looked up at him, "Thank you... Anthony." You say. You then realized your hands were still holding onto one another's and you pulled your hand away.

You both begin walking in the park. "So... I notice you do not call me 'my lord' or any formalities," Anthony says. "I've known you since we were children Anthony. I will call you as I see fit." You answer with a smirk. He chuckles, "Understood." He nods.

"So... How did you meet Kate?" You ask. "I was courting her sister and our love just... Blossomed." Anthony says. You chuckle, "You were courting her sister? Oh, how typical of you Anthony." He looks at you with a confused look, "'Typical of me'? What does that mean?" He asks. "Just you keeping up your title of a rake." You teased. "A rake?" He says with a small laugh, "I am not a rake... Anymore." He murmured the last part.

You chuckle softly.

You both spent a long time walking, talking, and even sharing a few laughs. You both have never had such a wonderful time with one another. Finally you decided to ask the question you've wanted to ask the entire time...

"What does it feel like to be in love?" You ask. He stops in his tracks and looks at you curiously, "Why are you asking me this?" You stop as well and let out a shaky breath. "I am simply curious..." You lied... You wanted to know if this feeling you had for Anthony was love or just another form of hatred.

He takes in a deep breath and thinks for a moment. "It feels like... Like you can't breathe when they are near." He starts, "Like... You get butterflies whenever you think of them... Butterflies so brutal you can't sleep or eat." He inches closer.

"You long for them. You desire them." Closer... Your breath hitches. "It feels like... The whole world stops spinning when they're there." He was now merely an inch from you. Your breathing was heavy as you stared into his eyes.

"Not to mention the sexual desires you hold for that person..." He whispers and you nearly let out a groan of pleasure. "It's almost suffocating." He murmurs.

You both stand there, your breath heavy and your eyes on each other. "Anthony I..." You start but then a loud crash fills the sky. You both look up and see the sky, just clear and blue a few moments ago, is now grey and cloudy. "I think it's going to-" Anthony was interrupted by another crash and suddenly a downpour of rain pouring on them both.

You gasp sharply, as does Anthony. "Hurry! Under the gazebo!" You yell while pointing across the land. You and Anthony ran to the gazebo and you couldn't help but let out giggles like you were a little girl, so carefree and full of joy. When you both finally made it under the gazebo you can't help but let out a loud laugh. You hunch over slightly and laugh and Anthony watches you in amazement. A big grin appears on his face and he too, starts to laugh.

You both stand there in a fit of laughter before it starts to die down, "Why are we laughing?" Anthony asks. "Because it's so fitting, isn't it? Such a perfect day ruined by lousy weather." You say while shaking off some of the rain off your arms. "I do not think it was ruined. A day such as this one cannot be ruined by such things." He says while getting closer to you.

"It has been a perfect day... Hasn't it?" He asks in a low tone of voice. "Yes... It has." You say with a grin. He slowly reaches forward and tucks some of your wet hair behind your ear, "Even soaked you still look stunning..." He says softly. "Simply stunning..." He whispers.

"Anthony..." You mumble. His hand goes from behind your ear to trailing the side of your jaw. He then cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

"W... What are you doing?" You ask.

"What I should have done years ago..." He says in a low and soft tone of voice.

He then leans closer...

PART 4?

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maybefeelingsss · 2 days

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Room No.165

Chapter Five: Which Side Do You Prefer?

A small snippet:

#polin #bridgerton #polin fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope

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shirly-gallagher · 2 days

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I Shouldn't Hope To Know... But Here I Stand

NEW Polin Fic on Ao3 💛💙

Summery:

He belonged to her...

This was not some girlhood dream or fantasy, this was true. This was not some fable or some wish, it was fact. Colin was her husband, and Penelope was a Bridgerton...

And after all the longing and waiting, after all the tears and uncertainty, he loved her, and she belonged to him...

Or:

Colin and Penelope's Wedding Night...

Read It Here!

#polin #bridgerton #polin fic #polin fanfiction #bridgerton fic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton books #ao3 fic #ao3 fanfic #fan fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3

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fayes-fics · 7 days

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Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers.

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer.

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered.

“Are you sure?”

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him.

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict.

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room.

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby.

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you.

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?”

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later.

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse.

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank.

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours. “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome.

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot.

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is.

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body.

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area.

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.” His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise.

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you.

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time.

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly.

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does.

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone.

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage.

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm.

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world.

Which to you both, they are.

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igotanidea · 4 months

Text

Too much : Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Request: yes! Anthony and his wife having an argument.

***

„My lord.”

One of Bridgertons’ most trusted servant knocked on the door of his office and was bold enough to enter inside without invitation.

„I specifically told everyone to not disturb me.” Anthony muttered, not giving his man more than a grunt of annoyance.

Viscount’s sudden change of attitude has been the talk of the whole house lately. After months of sweetness and caring and love between him and his beloved wife Lady Y/N Bridgerton of house Y/H/N something has switched.

For worse.

Man of the house has became distant (again), leaving his wife to tend to herself. Suddenly, his duties, his visits to the sibling’s, social activities (which was a synonim of spending hours at gentleman’s club) and travels to the other parts of the kingdom (seemingly to inspect the state of assets) took most of, if not whole of his time.

Everyone’s noticed.

And even without the viscount and his wife ending up on lady Whistledown’s latest brochure.

But truthfully with lord Bridgerton’s stubborn nature and finality there wasn’t much anyone could do, even considering all the sympathy for his young wife.

„I’m afraid you have a very important visit my lord.”

„Just tell whoever it is, that I’m not taking visits at the moment.”

„My lord -”

„Thomson, did you not hear what I said?” finally Anthony raised his gaze on the poor servant.

„It’s the viscountess, my lord.” the other man stuttered.

‘My mother?”

„Your wife, sir.”

„Oh, right....” of course, now Y/N was the viscountess, but somehow it was easy to forget she has been holding that title.

„Shall I - shall I tell the lady to come back another-?”

„No. No I’ll see my wife now.” Anthony sighed and since there was no other word from him the butler froze, unsure of how to behave „Well? Let her in, will you?” there was the annoyance again.

The door was opened and there she was.

Y/N. In all her glory, looking beautiful as always, wearing that dress that always took Anthony;s breath away since she nearly glowed while walking. Her smile did not even falter for a second as she nodded to the servant in a silent acknowledgement, but her eyes were cold and sad, uncovering she hasn’t in fact been well lately. Regardless of the rumours, allegations that the viscount stopped loving her after no more than a year since marriage and got himself a lover (please don’t let it be Sienna all over) she held her head high and kept the appearances. No one had to know that the cheerful, graceful viscountess Bridgerton were spending her nights alone in a cold marriage bed, tossing, turning, tormenting herself with thoughts and longing for the embrace of the man she loved with all her heart.

‘Husband.” she said calmly once the door closed behind her, leaving her just standing in front of him awkwardly.

„Wife.”

„I didn’t have the faintest idea I do need to announce my visit in advance. I shall correct that mistake in the future if that’s your wish my lord.”

„Is there any specific reason of why you’re here Y/N?”

„Is my presence here this disturbing to you my lord?”

The scribbling on the paper was the only answer she got and it finally broke all her inhibitions and pretences.

"Anthony!"

"What?" he snapped looking up at her from the pile of documents on his desk.

"Talk to me!"

"I'm busy!"

"And I'm lonely! You've been spending time with Benedict and Colin and Daphne and your siblings and god knows where else but not me!"

"They are my family, Y/N."

"I am your family! This is not what your mother-"

"Don’t you dare-" he stood up abruptly almost tripping the chair, throwing daggers at her. "Don't you dare say a word about my mother!"

Now that's a drama the whole household heard.

„Your mother-” she tried again, this time more sternly taking one step forward „showed me nothing but kindness. Your whole family showed me nothing but kindness. All of them. Except-”

„Don’t finish it.�� he warned but it came much more like a spat.

„-you.”

„Well I didn’t force you to marry me!”

The silence that fell between them after that one sentence was deafening. Nothing has ever hurt Y/N this much in her entire life. Never before Anthony has let himself say such cruel words in the moment of weakness and anger. All because he felt too much, because he needed and loved her too much.

„No.” she said with a tiny voice, her face going as pale as the wall behind her. „no, you didn’t force me. Not sure if you didn't do it to yourself.”

‘Y/N....” Anthony took a step towards her reaching his hand in a poor attempt to form a word that would remedy the situation, help him explain himself and bring her some comfort. „I didn’t mean-”

„I’m sorry I’ve seemingly ruined your life, my lord.”

„That is not-”

„Please accept my deepest condolences and apologies for ruining your blooming love life with that actress you knew. Know. Shall you remind me her name?”

„Y/N!” he shouted in pure desperation.

„Her name, Anthony!” now she was using her noble voice, leaving no word for discussion even to the viscount.

„No.”

„Sienna.” Y/N hissed through clenched teeth, her behaviour far from lady-like. „That’s her name isn’t it? Sienna?”

„You can’t help but remind me of the past mistakes, don’t you, my lady?” her husband growled turning her back to her not wanting to see her face anymore. „You’re the one I vowed to.”

‘Forcefully, apparently. Maybe the only mistake you made was letting me walk the aisle and taking my hand while saying I do.”

„Maybe it was! Maybe I didn’t give enough thought to it! Perhaps I didn’t consider that seeing you every day, walking the rooms of my house, using the title of my wife, naming yourself viscountess Bridgerton will be too much to bare to my heart!”

What Anthony did not consider at that moment was that Y/N would take it way differently than he intended.

He was merely thinking that it was too much too handle cause he was not used to being so attached, so dependant, so - well,forgive me the word - needy. Of her, her touch, her words, her presence, her everything. Hence the distant he put between him and his wife. Perverse nature made him run away before loosing her.

Ironically, causing her to turn away, barely holding back tears, instead of falling into his arms. (such a surprise, right?)

„Forgive me my lord, for keeping your mind occupied with my humble person for too long. I am but nothing if not a modest woman, unworthy of the attention of the viscount.”

Oh god, what did he do...?

„You are -”

„Below you. Obviously. Perhaps I should have considered your coldness and self-isolation as well. I don’t -” she gulped „I don’t understand what happened to you, Anthony.”

„I-” as pathetic as that was her husband was trying to explain himself to her.

„Feelings overwhelm you Anthony.” that was something he could not disagree with „Now, my lord, if you’ll excuse me, I shall leave, since as you said - you’re busy and I clearly bring you this much displeasure. I shall not bother you again any time soon.”

Before he could stop her Y/N bowed to him in a way more formal and distant way Anthony would wish for, and simply walked away. Leaving him frozen, desperate and broken with the urge to run after her, apologise and reason with that fiery woman who always knew how to make his blood boil. He wanted to hold her, love her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear while feeling her in the most intimate way a man and a wife could ever be together.

But did nothing while she disappeared behind the door.

„Prepare my carriage” she commanded the first servant that came her way.

„Yes, my lady, may I ask to what destination?”

„I’m going to visit my sister-in-law.”

„Certainly lady Briderton. It’ll be ready for you.”

„And not a word of it to my husband.”

„But my lady -”

‘Not a single word. This is an order, not a request.”

She needed a word with the only person who could possibly understand.

part 2 possible... (I think ;) )

edit: not enough

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #bridgerton angst

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ghostfacd · 11 months

Text

THE KING AND HIS QUEEN, — king george iii

pairing: king george iii x fem!queen!reader

summary: your new life of being queen has been quite a struggle adjusting to. thankfully, you have the perfect king to stand right by your side.

genre: royal!au, fluff, mentions of arranged marriage, reader said to be a princess from france but ethnicity is not specified, plot kind of differs from queen charlotte: a bridgeton story, talk of wanting children

author’s note: the plot is different from that of the netflix series so don’t come at me ! wanted to write for george because his character is very intriguing to me and also bc the actor for young george is so mighty fine 😋😋 enjoy!

“Are you alright?” The king asked you. His face examined yours, locking his eyes onto your frame.

“Yes my king,” you say, staring down at your plate with a forced smile. In all truths, you were not alright. You had just wedded the week before, and the life of a queen was taking much more of a toll on you than you’d expect.

You remembered like it was just yesterday. Well, technically, it was. It was barely a week ago.

“Will Her Royal Highness, Princess of France, take His Majesty, The King as husband, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part; according to God's holy law?”

“I, Princess of France, in the presence of God make this vow, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law.”

“Very well, you may kiss the bride.”

And just like that, you were proclaimed Queen of Great Britain and Ireland.

“You’re spacing out,” George inquires, face filled with concern. You almost wonder why he cares. The two of you were not inlove. The marriage had been an arranged deal between your father and his since the day you were both born. Your fate had been sealed as soon as you came out your mother’s womb.

“Leave us.” He motions to the guards standing. They obey him like robots, leaving at his command. Now, it was just the two of you alone.

“YN,” for the first time since the two of you met, he had said your first name. No ‘my queen’ but just YN.

“Yes, my king?”

“Please, just George.”

You sigh, finally deciding to look him in the eyes. “Very well. George?”

“You know you can always tell me what is wrong, right?” He looks almost saddened. Or was it pity? You didn’t know him very well—the two of you rarely communicating since the marriage had been finalized.

“Of course my king,”

“George.” He corrects.

“Apologies, it was out of habit.”

He stands up, motioning you to come over to him. With raised eyebrows, you do as he wants, your long gown flowing onto the marble floor beautifully.

“Come with me,” he says, taking your hands into his. “To our chambers.”

You flush up at the feeling of George’s hands holding yours. You hadn’t had a boyfriend before marrying him, your father being very keen on keeping yourself innocent and pure for the King of Great Britain.

When you two arrive at the large tall entrance of the chamber, George waves off the two guards standing in front.

“Marital duties?” One of the dukes asked. “Great job Georgie, knew you had it in ‘ya.”

The King rolls his eyes at this, though he makes sure the duke hadn’t caught it. When you’re both inside the chamber, George finally lets out a breath of relief, situating himself onto the large mattress.

It was even larger than yours back at your palace in France. It was meant for the King and Queen, you and George, to sleep in at night and perform your marital duties.

“Sit, please.” George says, patting the empty space next to him. You sit down awkwardly, not sure where to look.

“Listen, I know it’s hard,” George lifts up your chin with his finger. “Adjusting to your life as my queen. The Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. But I assure you, as long as I live, I will make sure nobody will ever lay their hands on you or our future children, and that I will provide you with my love and support as I do with our country.”

Your eyes softened at his mini speech towards you, and your heart fluttered with joy. You were scared the two of you would end up in a loveless marriage like your Father and Mother had been—only together to provide the next heir of France. The heir ended up being your brother, your parent’s firstborn, King Charles of France. Second in throne was your other brother, Prince Louis, the spare. The only reason your parents had you was because your father had wanted a daughter to spoil, not because they were “inlove”. God no.

“Thank you my king. I appreciate this greatly, you have no idea. The stress of being Queen has taken quite the toll on me, and I was afraid of confiding in you about my worries.”

“You have no reason to be afraid,” George takes your hand, placing a soft kiss on it. “You are my wife, and I am your husband. You should never be afraid to confide in me. We promised that only death can do us part, and that we will love each other in sickness and suffering.”

“You are right my king,” you say, placing a peck on his cheek. For the first time, you were making a move, not him.

The two of you stay in each other’s embrace for the next hour, a comfortable and comforting silence fulfilling you both.

For the first time since you’ve step foot into Britain, you felt safe and loved. Loved by the King himself.

“You mentioned protecting me and our future children?” You tease him as you pull away. He bashfully looks down, letting out a small embarrassed laugh.

“Yes, my queen. The future heir, our lineage.”

“I hope it’s a boy,” you blurt out. You wanted your firstborn to be a boy because you’ve always seen your big brothers as a clear example of well raised princes, and you wanted the same for your future children.

“A boy would be ideal,” George says, pulling you close to him, “but I wouldn’t mind a girl. Spoil her rotten and braid her hair.”

You laugh, nodding along with George’s words. “I suppose a girl wouldn’t be so bad. As long as our future baby will be healthy.”

“Yes.”

The next few hours are spent with you and George mapping out the future, forgetting all your responsibilities for just the moment. George wanted Edward for a boy and Marionette for a girl, Nette for short. He expressed to you how he always dreamed of a normal life, farming and doing astronomy. However, he was grateful for growing up in royalty, never surrounded by poverty.

And just like that, the night you and George connected had flew by and you were expecting your second child in a few weeks time.

“Edward!” You say, giggling at the boy running around your legs. Edward was five, and quite the rowdy one. He took after his father’s handsomeness and had the eyes of George, the same ones that had looked at you with concern 6 years prior on that fateful night.

“Mummy!” Edward shrieks in delight. His eyes brighten when he sees his Father, who picks him up in an instant.

“I hope you’re not giving mummy a hard time,” George says, booping the young prince’s nose. “Are you, Prince Edward of Wales?”

“Course not daddy!” Edward scrambles to be let down on the ground, making George grunt as he sets the boy down. “Just wanted to hang out with mummy, that’s all.”

“Yes, my handsome little prince was doing no harm dear,” you reassure your husband. He rubs your baby bump softly, admiring your beauty.

“Just worried about you and Marionette is all,” he says with a soft smile.

“Me and Nette are fine,” you say, “now Edward, would you like me to tell you the day I became Queen?”

“Yes mummy!” Edward grins excitedly.

George can’t help but admire his little family as you told the story to your son Edward, brushing small strands of his brunette hair out of his face. In a few weeks, little Marionette will be arriving, and he couldn’t wait.

He wouldn’t trade what he had now for anything, not even for the whole wide world.

#king george iii #king george bridgerton #king george iii x reader #king george iii imagines #queen charlotte bridgerton #queen charlotte: a bridgerton story #king george x reader #king george smut #king george iii smut #king george #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction

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bellatrixscurls · 7 months

Text

exquisite weather today, no? | part i

warnings : smut, dom anthony and sub reader, pet names, fluff, ben and colin being little shits, reader is kind of naive given the action takes places sometime in the 1810s.

summary : anthony does not want to corrupt his innocent little wife... but what happens when his brothers lend him a helping hand?

a/n: please enjoy part one of my new series until i am done with the james and sirius fic, thank you! <3

“You are telling me that you have not slept in that way with your wife?” Benedict stops in their way down the halls, looking very much concerned. Anthony hums, checking his clock.

“But you’ve been married for almost a year now!” the younger brother exclaims, looking up at the viscount with a frown.

Anthony smirks and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. “Not that it is any of your concern, but we do things. Together. Alone” his lie is obvious, but still, he leaves Benedict stunned in the middle of the hallway.

When he finally realises that the maids are looking at him funny, Benedict clears his throat and offers them a polite nod, before following Anthony into the drawing room.

Ah, here you are — sitting next to Colin on one of the sofas. With Anthony distracted, speaking to Daphne about the ‘Hearts and Flowers’ ball, he approaches you carefully, sitting beside Colin.

“Exquisite weather today, isn’t it?” he gives you a nod and you mirror his action, smiling, “Indeed it is, Ben.”

Colin looks between the two of you, back and forth, a confused smile gracing his lips. “This is not about the weather, is it?” he whispers through gritted teeth.

Benedict’s smile turns into a grin when the words leave his brother’s mouth. “I am, in fact, glad that you asked, Colin!” he says happily, “I came here because I need some... advice, from Y/n.”

Raising your eyebrows, you look at him in curiosity, “and what could someone such as yourself need advice for?”

Benedict thinks about it for a moment; should he say it? He means no harm but... a little fun won’t hurt... will it?

“Sex” the words leave his mouth and Colin chokes on his tea, eyes wide as he looks back at Benedict. ‘Are you mad?’ he mouths to his brother, but the second-born chooses to ignore him and look back at you. “So. Y/n?”

Benedict finds you looking up at him with wide eyes, lips pursed as you tried to search for that word in your mind, but with no results. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Ben.”

This time, it is Colin looking back at you, a deep frown settling on his face. “Pardon? Anthony is your husband, there is no such thing as not knowing what sex is.. Does he refer to it differently?”

“You know... when you’re alone, naked, and he towers over you. That thing he puts in between your legs” Benedict quips, already very much content of where Colin has taken the conversation.

“He towers over me?”

The two burst out laughing at your cluelessness and, from the other side of the large room, Anthony’s brows furrow in concern.

“His cock, sweetness. What he has between his legs. I’m sure he spoils the crap out of you with it every night” Benedict taunts and Colin laughs breathily, adding on “or maybe he does not, brother. Seeing that Anthony is so busy all the time. He has more important things to take care of, I suppose.”

At this point, your eyes are teary and your hands are shaking as you listen to your brothers-in-law tease you endlessly. You are not aware of the meaning behind it, though.

In a moment, you feel a hand wrap around your waist and pull you up against the warmth of someone’s body; Anthony. As you look up at him, his heart shatters and his jaw clenches. “I do not know what you did, but be sure that I will find out. And when I do, I hope you will be taking a walk far away from here. More walks.”

And with that, he takes you away from his brothers and rest of the family, not bothering to excuse himself or you, his face red with hatred. He doesn’t know what his brothers told you, but he is positive that it managed to hurt you... And Anthony cannot bare seeing you hurt.

His hand grips yours tightly, in a possessive manner, not hurting you. He is always gentle with you, no matter the circumstances.

Once you reach the wooden door, Anthony ushers you into the bedroom with a hand at the small of your back, following closely behind before he closes the door.

“What did they tell you, my love?” his tone is alarmed and so are his hands, twitching at his sides.

When your eyes finally meet his, they are still filled with tears, sadness pulling at your heart. “Am I a burden to you? Am I- not pretty enough?”

Anthony’s heart breaks and he realises that he’s never seen you so sad before, not even when you were merely a couple and you had family issues.

“Angel, you have to tell me what it is that they told you. I need to know” he repeats through gritted teeth, ready to walk down those stairs and strangle Benedict and Colin.

“Sex” you repeat Benedict’s words unsurely, glancing up at Anthony. “Told me you are too busy for that. And I- you have never told me of that.”

At this point, his hands fly to your waist and he positions you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your lower body as he turns you to face him entirely. “My darling- They told you that? I-” he seems at a loss for words, and finally, his lips fall into a straight line and he lets go of your hand for a second, walking away from you, and to the floor mirror in his room. You pout as you lose his warmth, and your brows furrow when you notice him pulling the mirror towards you.

He takes his hand in yours and he helps you to your feet, your bottom lip wobbling when you catch sight of your teary eyes, but Anthony notices immediately, and his hands move to hug you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You are so beautiful” he says softly, placing a kiss on the side of your neck, nosing at your skin as he continues speaking, “Undress for me, my love.”

Breathing having picked up, your eyes widen anxiously as your hands find his. “Anthony-” “I want to show you how good I can make you feel. Trust me. Please” he pleads, his eyes looking helplessly into yours. You give a curt nod, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Your shaky hands move to undress yourself and Anthony helps peel off your dress and chemise, leaving you bare and vulnerable before him.

Anthony lets out one of the most obscene sounds when he presses his clothed body to your bare one, and you can feel his erection pressing into your backside, not that you are aware of what that is. Yet.

“Your hand. Move it down your body” he commands rather softly, watching you through the mirror. Your cheeks heat up but you obey nonetheless, your left hand stopping right above your lower stomach, “Lower. Touch your pussy for me, sweetheart.”

“Alright” you take a deep breath, your hand sliding further down your body, resting at your cunt, your warm touch making you shiver. “Feels odd” you whine, eyes pleading as you find his eyes through the mirror.

He bites his lip, his eyes closing for a moment before he is able to look at you again. “It shall feel good in just a moment... Can- Do you want me to show you?”

“Yes, please” you whisper and his hand instantly reaches to your cunt, using both of his hands to spread you open, your folds damp and spread out for him. “S’pretty” you say absentmindedly, dreamily staring at yourself in the mirror.

“Yes it is” he hums, grinning widely against your shoulder. His middle finger taps your clit twice, and he smirks as your body jolts up. “See this, darling? It’s your clit, your little button... You can rub it whenever you wish to feel good.”

“Whenever I wish?” you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yes, sweetness” he hums, his cock hardening at the thought of you wanting to touch yourself, let alone to the thought of him. “And if you want it to feel even better, you must-” with your hole dripping wet, Anthony manages to slip a digit right inside of you, causing you to gasp in both slight pain and excitement. He is finally giving it to you.

“Anthony- what is this?” you ask curiously, Anthony’s finger still inside of you, leaving you to adjust to the sudden intrusion.

“Bit of stimulation before I can give you my cock, bunny. Or, as my dear brothers wish to call it, have sex” he chuckles lowly and starts pumping his finger into you, your fragile body shaking, your knees ready to give out, but you know that he is here to catch you.

“Great” you reply breathily, one of your hands slipping into his.

“You must relax, my love” he tuts, moving his finger in and out slowly, the feeling leaving you bucking your hips into his hand, eyes rolling back. “Let them enjoy the show” he eyes you intently through the mirror.

You look at him rather confused, but his other hand moves to cup your jaw and gently turn your head to the side, towards the door.

A door cracked open. Benedict and Colin.

#anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x reader #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fanfiction

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d-targaryenshoe · 2 months

Text

Pinkish Clouds - Anthony Bridgerton

Word count: 1515

Summary: It is very precious to watch your husband take responsibility as a father, is it not?

As the first rays of sunlight streamed through the drapes, Y/n Bridgerton, wife of Anthony, stirred in your sumptuous bed.

The soft linens, embroidered with intricate floral patterns, caressed your skin like the gentle touch of a spring breeze. The scent of lavender filled your nostrils, a welcome aroma that signified a new beginning.

You stretched your limbs, the memory of the labor pains you endured the day before still fresh in your mind.

But as you lay there, lost in thought, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment and accomplishment.

You opened your eyes, taking in the familiar surroundings of your chamber.

To your left, a fireplace crackled, its warmth banishing the morning chill. To your right, a large window overlooked the immaculately manicured gardens beyond.

And beside your bed, your sisters-in-law, Eloise and Daphne, sat in quiet conversation, their laughter tinkling like bells.

You felt a pang of affection for the two women who had become such an important part of your life since your marriage to Anthony.

Eloise, the youngest of the two, had always been somewhat of a sympathy to her.

With her smart mind and independent soul, she was a far cry from the demure, obedient society ladies you had grown up with.

Yet, there was no denying the deep bond that existed between them. As for Daphne, she was sweet-natured, charming, and utterly irresistible.

As you sat up in bed, your sisters-in-law turned to you, their faces alight with curiosity and excitement.

"Good morning, y/n," they chorused, beaming at you. "How do you feel?"

You smiled weakly. "A bit exhausted, to be honest. But otherwise, I'm doing well. How are you two?"

Eloise shrugged.

"We're fine. Daphne's been keeping me company while you were asleep. It's been rather dull if I'm being fair." She glanced at her sister, her expression teasing.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush. I've been enjoying myself. Again, we have something rather important to discuss." She leaned in conspiratorially.

"Mother has been pacing the hallway for hours. I think she's tense to see the new addition to the family. I'm sure she'll be in soon."

As if on cue, a knock was heard at the door. "That must be her now," Daphne said, her face lighting up with anticipation.

Eloise rose from her seat and crossed the room to answer the door. You, feeling slightly more awake now, sitting up straighter in bed, wondering what your mother-in-law had in store for you today.

As Eloise swung the door open, a warm, familiar figure filled the entrance.

"Mother!" Daphne cried out, leaping to her feet. "We've been waiting for you."

Violet Bridgerton, the family matriarch, surveyed the scene with a delighted smile.

"My, my," she said, her eyes twinkling. "It seems I've missed quite a bit. A new baby, I hear."

She glanced at you, her expression softening into one of motherly concern. "And how are you feeling, dear? Are you in need of anything?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked at the woman who had become your second mother since marrying Anthony.

Violet was everything a lady should be, gracious, elegant, and utterly devoted to her family.

She was also fiercely protective of them, always making sure they were well cared for and safe.

As you struggled to find the words to express your gratitude, all you could do was manage a small smile. "I'm doing well, thank you. Your presence is all the comfort I need."

Her sisters-in-law exchanged knowing glances, clearly understanding the depth of emotion behind your words.

They each took turns leaning in to kiss Violet's cheek, expressing their own gratitude for her love and support.

As they did so, the room seemed to fill with a palpable sense of warmth and affection.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Violet said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Now, I have a special gift for you and the baby. I've been working on it for months."

She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small, delicately wrapped package, which she placed in your lap. "It's not much, but I hope you'll like it."

Your curiosity piqued, and you gently unwrapped the package, revealing a beautiful, hand-stitched blanket adorned with intricate lacework.

"Oh, Violet, it's lovely!" you exclaimed, your voice breaking with emotion. "I will cherish it always."

Tears began to form in your eyes as you clutched the blanket to your chest. "Thank you, thank you so much."

Eloise and Daphne exchanged knowing smiles. They knew that this gift, more than anything else, symbolized Violet's acceptance of you as one of her own.

It was a symbol of the love and support that you all shared as a family.

As they continued to stand there, the room seemed to fill with a sense of peace and contentment.

Even though there was still so much that needed to be done, for this brief moment, you were all together, united in your love for one another.

"Now, girls," Violet said, her voice soft and gentle, "I've been thinking. Perhaps you would like to help y/n with something?"

Her suggestion was met with nods of agreement from Eloise and Daphne.

They had been itching to help out but had wanted to give their mother time to bond with you first.

"Would you like us to help you get out of bed?" Eloise asked, her tone reassuring. "We could help you down to the sitting room to see Anthony and the baby."

Your face lit up at the thought, and you quickly nodded your consent. The two sisters moved forward, each taking an arm to assist you as you slowly rose from the bed.

Once you were upright, they were beginning to guide you toward the sitting room.

The hallway was long and winding, the walls adorned with paintings that told the story of the family's history.

As you made your way down the hall, you could hear the faint strains of music drifting towards you.

It was the same waltz you had danced to at your wedding, the one that always made your heart skip a beat.

The closer you got, the more the music seemed to swirl around you, pulling you forward with irresistible force.

Finally, you reached the sitting room, its windows overlooking the lush gardens beyond.

The room was lit by soft candlelight, casting a warm glow over the gathered family.

Anthony was dancing slowly with your newborn baby, his eyes never leaving the child's face as he moved in perfect harmony with the music.

Eloise and Daphne guided you to a comfortable chair by the window, where you could watch the scene unfold before you.

As you all watched, you could feel a lump forming in your throat. It was so beautiful to see your husband dancing with your child, their love for each other shining through every movement.

You could see the resemblance between them, both of them with Anthony's dark hair and eyes.

The baby's tiny fingers curled around Anthony's finger as if she were already familiar with the feeling of being held so close.

Your sisters-in-law took seats on either side of you, their hands clasped together in their laps.

They smiled at you, understanding the depth of emotion that you were feeling at that moment.

It was a precious moment, one that you would all cherish for the rest of your lives.

As Anthony finished his dance with the baby, he came over to you all, his face flushed with happiness and exhaustion.

He bent down to kiss your forehead, his touch sending a wave of warmth through your body.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I wanted to be the first one to hold her, and I did not want to wake you."

"It's all right," you replied softly, your eyes never leaving his face. "I know you were with her." Anthony smiled at you, a tear trickling down his cheek.

He reached out and took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I've been thinking," he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "That we should have a naming ceremony for the baby. Something small and intimate, just for our closest friends and family. What do you think?"

Your heart swelled with joy at the thought. You turned to your sisters-in-law, your face alight with excitement.

"That sounds excellent," you said, your voice shaking slightly with emotion. "I would adore that."

"Then it's settled," Anthony declared, his voice strong and sure. "We'll have the ceremony next weekend. Everyone will be here to celebrate with us."

He leaned down to kiss your forehead again before returning to his daughter, who had fallen asleep in his arms.

As you all watched Anthony gently rock the child in his arms, you felt a sense of peace wash over you.

You were home, surrounded by the people she loved most in the world. And despite the challenges that lay ahead, she knew that they would face them together, as a family.

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entitled-fangirl · 2 days

Text

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict finds himself speechless at the model in his art class. The two later meet, and he realizes maybe she's what he wants.

A/N: Give my man Benedict some LOVEEEE

Masterlist

..................................................................

Benedict sat down and readied his canvas for his art class to begin.

His new found friends leaned over leaned over as the Bridgerton sat down, "Teacher said we were studying dresses today."

"Dresses?" Benedict asked with his usual smirk.

"Yeah. Said something about capturing the flow of 'em. Whatever that means."

"The flow of-" Benedict paused as the door opened and out walked a small figure.

A beautiful model in a thin silk dress.

She scanned the room with nervous eyes. After all, the room was full of eager men who wished to picture her frame.

Benedict felt breath leave his lungs.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

The teacher took the model's hand gently and led her to the middle of the room. "Alright, gentlemen," he called loudly. "Today we shall be focusing on the flow of fabric. Really pay attention to the detail. I want to feel like I can reach out and touch the fabric in your sketches."

The teacher then turned to the girl, "Miss Hemmings, are you ready?"

The girl scanned the room one more time in nervousness, before it set on Benedict. Her nervous eyes relaxed for just a moment before moving away from him to look at the other men. Her voice was meek and quiet, "Yes. I… I believe I am."

The man nodded, "Alright. Pick a direction to look, and I'll situate you from there."

She took a deep breath and scanned the room once more. Once her gaze settled on Benedict, as it had done before, she stopped. "I believe here should suffice?"

Benedict gave a smirk and couldn't look away. She was captivating.

The teacher then reached down, fluffed out her dress just barely, and stood. He turned to face his eager students, "Begin."

And there she was, under a spotlight in a room full of men who were now beginning to sketch her.

And she had to stay still.

Now that all eyes were on her, she decided looking towards Benedict was a bad idea.

He was to always be looking at her. He was sketching her, after all.

And the wall above him was too dark to be anything enjoyable to watch for the next few hours. But she did so. For the first hour anyway.

Eventually, she couldn't help but let her gaze fall to the Bridgerton. He was deep in focus now.

So much so, that he didn't feel her gaze until the third time he had glanced up at her.

He paused involuntarily at the eye contact. He felt the smallest of smiles graze his face.

Her cheeks heated to a violent shade of red. And she couldn't hide it.

She broke the eye contact, looking back up at the wall to avoid accidentally moving and messing up all the other sketches.

But every now and then, she would allow herself to take in the sight of the Bridgerton earnest at work.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

…

The second the class was called to a close, Miss Hemmings completely disappeared.

It confused Benedict.

He had been comparing his finished portrait to her, and had looked up and she was gone.

No matter.

She's just a model.

That's what he told himself, at least.

…

Benedict Bridgerton was making his way downtown, eager to purchase more charcoal for his sketching endeavors.

He hardly heard the sound that was coming from the nearby alleyway.

But he did.

He paused in his step and turned his head in its direction.

Sounded like a woman's voice.

He began to cautiously walk down said alleyway with a low voice, "Hello? Anyone there?"

He rounded the corner and stopped at the sight.

A woman was practically pinned against the wall by a man much bigger than her.

His hand was wandering down her dress and began to lift the hem of it.

Tears filled her eyes as she tried to push him away with quiet pleads.

"Hey!" Benedict yelled. "What are you doing?"

The man turned his head in his direction and scoffed, "This Miss was being tempting to the gentlemen that walk these streets. But when I tried to take the temptation…" he grabbed at her jaw and growled in her ear, "… She refuses me."

Benedict took a few more steps closer with his hands out, "Leave the lady be, sir."

The man moved away from the woman and the wall, now interested in Benedict, "And tell me, what will you do about it?"

Benedict took a breath and courageously stepped forward, "I'm Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount you hear of so often. I suggest you step away from the woman and continue your day. Sir." He said through gritted teeth.

The man paused, "Bridgerton?"

Benedict nodded.

"Ah," the man feigned happiness. "Lord Bridgerton, of course. My apologies. I had no idea she was yours, my Lord."

"'Tis alright." Benedict said. "You may correct your mistake now."

The man nodded, "And so I shall. Good day, sir."

And with that, the man left.

Benedict watched him round the corner before immediately rushing to the woman, "Are you well?" He asked in a hushed tone.

The woman looked up.

Benedict let out a breath.

The model.

She looked down again to wipe the tears from her face, "Lord Bridgerton. I apologize. I… I did not… I didn't mean…"

Benedict felt himself smiling, "Please. Please calm yourself. It's alright. You owe me nothing."

She felt herself take a few steady breaths before she looked up again. Her eyes now focused on his and her face morphed into shock, "You?"

He actually let out a chuckle, "Me? Yes. I'm afraid so. Apparently, I just couldn't let you go, huh?"

She smiled and relaxed. "I suppose I truly owe you gratitude."

He shook his head, "No. Please."

"I do, my Lord." She insisted.

He looked off in thought and smiled. His gaze turned back to her, "Tell me your name."

She paused a moment at his request. "Y/N Hemmings, sir."

His smile grew as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "A pleasure, truly. I'm afraid you have occupied all of my thoughts since the last time I saw you."

She smiled, "You're simply an artist who is immersed with his work, my Lord. That is all."

Benedict nodded, "Tell me what you were doing alone out here?"

She sighed, "I… I make runs here for the upper class who don't wish to be seen in such… slums. They pay me to do so."

He feels his jaw go slack just a bit, "You come to dangerous areas to make extra money?"

She nods, "I have a younger brother to take care of, my Lord. He is everything to me."

He shakes his head in disbelief, "You're a mysterious thing, aren't you?"

She lets out a laugh, "Not as mysterious as you, sir. A Viscount taking artistic classes? Don't you have higher duties? I don't imagine they have time for such… fulfilling things?"

He offers his arm to her, "Then perhaps I may tell you something?"

She took his arm with a curious grin, "You may."

He leans down to her ear, "I am not the Viscount."

She tried to pull away in shock, but he held her arm tightly. "You are not Lord Anthony Bridgerton?"

He laughed out, "No. Heavens no."

She cautiously leaned in, "Who are you, then?"

He smiled, "I am Benedict Bridgerton, the second son residing in Aubrey Hall. I didn't completely lie to you. I am indeed a Bridgerton."

She stepped with him down the alleyway now, "I see. I suppose that makes more sense."

Benedict stops walking as they near the road, "May I be frank with you, Miss Hemmings?"

She tilted her head, "Yes, sir."

"You are the most fascinating creature I've ever seen."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, "Oh. I… what a most welcome compliment, Sir."

He smiles, "I do hope there is no man I must fight for the right to your hand."

She felt her mouth dry. "What?"

"Your hand," he smiled. "Do you have a suitor?"

"Me?" She gasped out. "Me? No. I don't… I've never had suitors."

He nods and smiles wider, "Then may I be the first, Miss Hemmings?"

She considers his words. A Bridgerton. A high ranking family with wealth and charm.

But more importantly, a most dashing artist as a potential husband.

"Only if I may see the sketch you designed of me all those days ago."

He lets out a laugh, "Oh, darling, nothing I sketch would be even close enough to capturing your beauty onto the paper. Even the greatest artist can do no such task. It is meant to be enjoyed in the moment."

She nodded in thought, "Then you must call me Y/N. And you must continue to sketch me until you get it right."

He tilts his head, "But I've just claimed it's impossible to do."

She smiled, "Then we have no excuse to not be near each other, it seems."

Benedict grinned brightly and leaned in, "I suppose you're right. But you have to call me by my own name."

She let out a breath, "I shall do so."

"Excellent. Most excellent." Benedict said as they walked out onto the busy street.

A wife of his own? Benedict thought. That's something he always pictured as a boy.

And as he looked down at her, he realized it was a most beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

..............................................................

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction

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imaginecentralworld · 22 hours

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💎A Diamond's Destiny💎

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

𐙚 Anthony Bridgerton x female reader

𐙚 Here's PART 1 - make sure to read it before continuing!

𐙚 Summary: In this captivating story, Lady Bridgerton's plan to win the Queen's favor involves you in unexpected intrigue. Your lessons with the charming Lord Julian Ashford take a complicated turn when Anthony Bridgerton shows subtle jealousy. Anthony's request to escort you to the ball hints at deeper feelings, but the plot thickens when you receive a surprise invitation for a private audience with the Queen. This development promises a night full of potential changes and revelations.

𐙚 Word Count: 394 (words), 2,380 (characters)

𐙚 Warning: Like the last chapter, this one ends with a cliffhanger. Stay tuned for more hehehe.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The following day brought a promise of intrigue and revelation. After a morning filled with the chatter and clatter of the Bridgerton household, Lady Bridgerton summoned you to the drawing room where a surprise awaited—an elegant harp veiled under a cloth. She revealed it with a flourish, announcing that it was the key to capturing the Queen’s favor at the upcoming ball.

"Your surprise, my dear. Nothing charms quite like music," she declared, winking.

"I suppose it’s time I learn then," you responded with a skeptical lift of your eyebrow, secretly hoping your musical talents were less dreadful than you remembered.

As it turned out, your music tutor was not the stern, old master you had envisioned, but a young and rather attractive Lord Julian Ashford, known for his musical prowess and charming demeanor. The lesson was filled with laughter and playful banter, although your ability to coax melody from the harp remained questionable.

During a particularly humorous moment, Anthony Bridgerton walked in, his eyes narrowing slightly upon seeing Lord Ashford's guiding hand close to yours. His arrival brought a subtle chill to the warm room.

"Am I interrupting?" Anthony asked, a hint of steel in his tone.

"Not at all, Mr. Bridgerton. Lady Y/N was just mastering the crescendo," Lord Ashford replied smoothly, stepping away with a knowing smile.

Anthony offered his arm, which you accepted, feeling the firm warmth of his grip. "You play beautifully," he said, though you sensed a measure of restraint.

"I only hope to avoid complete disgrace," you quipped, earning a reluctant smile from him.

Before lunch, Anthony formally asked to escort you to the ball, to which you playfully agreed, provided he spared your toes during the dance. His laughter in response lightened the air between you.

However, as you were about to discuss further, a footman delivered a letter from the Queen, requesting a private audience with you that very afternoon. The surprise caught everyone off guard, including yourself.

"The Queen wishes to see me alone?" you murmured, sharing a puzzled look with Anthony.

What could the Queen want with you? And how would this change the events of the coming ball? As you headed to the royal palace, your heart raced with anticipation, leaving Anthony watching, his expression a mix of concern and hope. The stage was set for a night that could change everything.

#bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagines #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction

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lydiimae · 27 days

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Infatuation

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

MDI!! 18+

Part 2 <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could get used to this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, Mister Bridgerton, it is not.

627 notes · View notes

delehosies · 11 months

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𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 — benedict bridgerton x female reader . in which benedict discovers a lady asleep on his bed after retiring from the annual bridgerton ball for the night.

3200 words | a fluffy mess ! | masterlist | suggest fics ideas

The last thing that Benedict had expected to see when stumbling into his bedchambers after retiring from the ball for the night, still slightly tipsy, was a lady fast asleep on his bed. But Alas — there you were. Fast asleep, chest slowly rising and then falling again, your lips parted and the material of your ballgown draped in a rather messy manner around you.

He rubbed at his eyes harshly, as if doing so would prove that you were indeed a figment of his imagination, that he was coming down with a fever and therefore hallucinating, that a shadow had taken form on his bed and he had simply mistaken it for a girl. But no. You were actually there. On his bed.

Benedict felt his mouth fall open and shut again – bewildered but slowly coming to his senses. He finally closed the door behind him, so as to ensure nobody would see you, that your reputation wouldn’t be ruined over something which wasn’t anything. “Alright… alright.” he mumbled to himself, taking a few steps closer to the bed and kneeling onto the mattress besides you. Hoping that perhaps his weight shifting underneath would wake you up but… no. Instead you just mumbled something incoherent in your sleep, shifting onto your side as you did so.

The annual Bridgerton ball had taken place that night, was still taking place downstairs in fact, and was still running into the early hours of the morning. But Benedict decided that he had had enough of the ton for one day, that he would get a somewhat early night. Instead one of his mother’s guests was napping in his bedchambers. Which he had to admit was something completely new to him, in their many years of hosting balls he had never experienced this.

“Um… Excuse me? Miss?” he half whispered, placing a light hand on the soft skin of your arm and attempting to gently shake you awake. “You really need to wake… You don’t wish to be caught alone together, hm? Especially not in my bedchamber…”

Upon further inspection, Benedict noticed that your hair had been lazily removed from its updo, and instead fell around you, framing your face and complimenting your features perfectly. He brushed a piece away from you, tucking it behind your ear and frowning as he stared down at you. He was entirely unsure of what to do, and far too aware of how the situation would appear to anybody else - your reputation would be completely ruined if you were caught in this situation. Benedict wanted to ask his mother for help, but was frightened to leave you here alone. What if something happened to you? What if something had already happened to you?

Benedict was unaware that just a few hours earlier, you had began to grow incredibly bored of the ball – by the mundanity of it all, the endless stream of men that your mother insisted on parading in front of you, the dances, the meaningless and far too polite conversation. You had instead decided to plant yourself in a corner nearest to the drinks table… where you had been drinking the night away ever since.

You were unsure of how much you had actually drank, but when the entire room began to spin in a rather unpleasant way you had decided that it was probably time to stop. You had managed to stagger out of the ballroom and into a hallway – though you can hardly remember the journey upstairs and through the hallways into Benedict’s bedchamber, nor can you remember falling asleep, but you know that you certainly didn’t intend to fall into such a deep slumber.

“Miss?” your eyes fluttered open to the sound of a concerned voice – a man. You sat yourself up quickly, too quickly. You immediately regretted it as the room began to sway again, the unfamiliar surroundings rocking back and fourth. You soon discovered the source of the voice, sat besides you on the bed with his eyebrows pulled together in concern. A Bridgerton. You weren’t entirely sure which one, but you knew that he was a Bridgerton.

“Oh dear God.” the words fell from you before you could stop them, bringing your hands upwards in an attempt to cover your face. Although you were still very drunk, you had enough sense to be embarrassed, mortified in fact, by the entire situation. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Mr Bridgerton.” you mumbled — refusing to meet his eyes, which were burning through you with an undeniably intense curiosity.

Benedict blinked in surprise, he had never got quite used to the entirety of the ton being aware of who he was — most of the time they cannot tell him apart from his brothers, but they are still aware that he is a Bridgerton, meanwhile he is half asleep when introduced to people by his mother, it can be quite rare that he actually remembers a name.

“Are you quite alright?”

“I’m a little bit...”

“Drunk? I know that. I can smell the alcohol on you. But are you alright? I mean you were hiding in my bedchambers, asleep on my bed. Did something happen? Other than the copious amounts of alcohol.” Underneath his concern, his curiosity, his twenty questions – was amusement. You could tell that he was repressing a smile, perhaps even in a small laugh.

You felt your cheeks begin to warm, feeling completely and utterly embarrassed – he could smell the alcohol on you after all. You stood from the bed as soon as you could get up, an action which ended up being a complete mistake, you began to stagger sideways almost instantly. Benedict having to stand from where he was sitting in order to prevent you from falling. He placed two firm yet gentle hands on your arms, holding you in one place.

“It’s alright… I’m not angry, if anything I’m quite amused…” you were forced to make eye contact with him at that point, and discovered that he was practically gazing at you, smiling as if he was biting back a laugh – he became serious again rather quickly. “But are you alright? Has anybody hurt you? Or was the annual Bridgerton ball just that boring?”

You shook your head quickly. “I’m quite alright… I didn’t mean to fall asleep, do you see? I just needed a rest.” Your excuse didn’t give you any comfort, here you were, apologising to someone who was practically a stranger for falling asleep on his bed because you… needed a rest.

“So you’re fine. Just sleepy, I suppose.”

“Just sleepy.” You confirmed.

“And drunk… Too much of my mother’s famous punch.”

A quiet giggle fell from your lips – he was actually quite amusing. Why couldn’t your mother have paraded him in front of you instead of the magnitudes of bores who she insisted on you at least considering?

“Do you care to tell me your name?” Benedict questioned, his head tilting to one side as his eyes scanned across your features, not making an attempt to hide his curiosity.

“Y/N.” You replied, raising your head in the most confident and self assured manner that you could muster.

“Well… It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Y/N.” He removed his hands from each of your arms, instead taking your hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin, before gently releasing you. “I’m Benedict — You don’t have to bother with the Mr Bridgerton stuff, I’m just Benedict afterall.”

“I must be getting back… Benedict.” You smiled, hesitating at first but ultimately enjoying the way that his name sounded on your tongue. Benedict — you decided that you could get used to it. “I am sure that my mother will be worrying.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow, sitting back on the edge of his mattress. “You can hardly stand, Miss Y/N. I’m not sure that you’re in any fit state to return to the ball just yet.” He stretched his legs out, removing his waistcoat and discarding it somewhere across the room.

“I appreciate the concern but I am perfectly fine.” you crossed your arms across your chest, feining irritation as you stared down at where he now practically laid across the bed. Unbeknown to you, your words were still slurred – very slurred.

He was now laying back, gazing up at the ceiling. “You’ll be the talk of the town! I can picture it now… Do you think that you’ll be the main feature on Lady Whistledown? Or instead one of the more minor segments?” You stayed silent, arms staying tightly crossed. “Miss Y/N…” He held out an arm dramatically above him “drunken disaster…”

“That is very rude! Were you not taught never to speak to a lady in such a manner?” you exclaimed, picking up what was nearest to you and throwing it across the room, where it landed on his chest – luckily, it was quite a small book, and did no damage when it came into contact with him.

Benedict seemed utterly unfazed, laughing quietly to himself and opening the book to a random page – where he seemingly pretended to be utterly engrossed in the chapter. “Apparently not… I have four sisters so I am quite used to bickering with these so called ladies that you speak of.” He paused for a moment. “I will find something to sober you.” he stood, suddenly serious, his gaze turning to where you stood. “But only if you promise to stay here for the time being. If someone sees you leaving my bedchambers it would look most suspicious.”

You nodded quickly, knowing that as much as you wanted to disagree, he was most definitely right. “Just sit.” Benedict pointed to the bed, and you did so without hesitating, being very obedient. “And stay there. I won’t be gone for very long.”

Benedict managed to leave his bedchamber without being spotted – using the servants staircase in order to avoid seeing anybody, and making his way down to the kitchen in order to fetch tea and biscuits for you. Meanwhile, you sat on the edge of Benedict’s bed, inspecting the surroundings the best you could without moving. You noticed an easel in the corner of the room and raised an eyebrow – you wouldn’t have guessed that he was a painter, but then again, you hardly knew him.

The minutes dragged on for what felt like eternity, waiting for Benedict to return to his room, and when he finally did you weren’t expecting him to return carrying a huge tray in a rather clumsily manner. He placed it down on the table besides his bed, shutting the door behind him as quick as he could. “Sorry that took me so long I…” He hesitated for a moment, seeming to carefully think his words over. “If I’m being completely honest I couldn’t work the stove to heat the water… but I got there eventually. Tea and biscuits, for you.” Benedict smiled sheepishly, before beginning to pour you a cup of tea. He handed it to you, and you gratefully took it. “You actually stayed sat there, how obedient!”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to pay no mind to the way that particular comment made you feel – deciding to ignore it completely. “Thank you, Benedict.” Silence fell between the two of you, Benedict pouring a cup for himself before sitting besides you. “You’re an artist?”

He glanced over at the easel in the corner of the room before looking back to you, nodding as he did so. “Something like that… I like to draw, but whether I am an artist or not is most likely up for debate.”

“Are you any good? Would you be able to capture my likeness? Can I see one of your sketchbooks?” You inquired, questions falling from you with zero difficulty. You thought that perhaps you might be speaking too much, but Benedict entertained every question that you asked him.

He paused for a moment, eyes scanning you up and down – you couldn’t help but shiver underneath his gaze. “Hm… I’m certainly not a bad painter, though sometimes I doubt myself – I suppose we all doubt ourselves at times.” He was quiet once again, choosing his words carefully. “I’m unsure whether I’d be able to capture your beauty, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Benedict began to search through his bedside drawers, holding multiple sketchbooks in his hand. “I’m not sure if all of my sketches would be exactly… appropriate for a lady.”

Once again, your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, and you turned your attention quickly to your tea to hide just how flustered his words made you – trying to ignore him as he began to flick through the pages of the filled books, tossing a few aside as he deemed them as being too inappropriate for your eyes. Of course you were curious, but you chose not to press on.

You crossed your legs underneath you in the best way that you could manage whilst still wearing your ballgown, leaning forwards with interest as Benedict opened a sketchbook on the bed in front of you – pointing to the charcoal sketches. “My sisters… Daphne, Eloise, Francesca and Hyacinth.” he pointed to each picture, smiling proudly as he did so – proud more so of his actual sisters than he was of the drawings (although he knew that he had captured them well.)

“They’re beautiful, truly. You’re quite gifted.” You turned the page, smiling as you took in each sketch.

You certainly didn’t miss how Benedict’s cheeks flushed a reddish hue with each compliment, how his lips turned up at the corners into a shy smile. He was clearly passionate about his work, cared more than he wanted to about what others thought of his art, that he valued your opinion. “Thank you… it means a lot. Truly.”

The two of you spent as long as possible, talking, laughing, looking through Benedict’s sketchbooks, discussing books you had read recently – until you had sobered up… at least a little bit. The tea and biscuits soaking up some of the alcohol in your system, though there was nothing wrong with being a little bit merry at an event.

“I suppose you truly should be off now.” Benedict sighed, helping you to your feet. “Most people will be leaving soon… and you don’t want your mother to end up sending out a search party to find you.” You were certainly a lot more steady on your feet this time around, taking a few hesitant steps with the help of Benedict and feeling fine.

You nodded, sighing quietly to yourself – you had had a much more enjoyable night, with better conversations in the short amount of time spent with Benedict than you had had at any other ball. “Thank you, for being so kind… and I’m sorry again.”

Benedict shushed you, pressing a gentle finger to your lips – apparently feeling rather more bold than he usually would. “There’s no need to apologise – as strange as it was, I’ve had a lovely time. A better time than I would had I spent more time actually socialising.”

“Me too.” You admitted, smiling sheepishly at him. Benedict turned from you, creeping to the door of the room and slowly opening it in order to prevent it creaking — he peered out, eyes scanning the hall to ensure that nobody was around. “It’s clear.” He reached out his hand to guide you to the door and you gladly took it, enjoying the warmth of his skin on yours as you were lead from the door. Benedict walked you to the end of the hall, pointing as he gave you directions back to the ballroom.

You couldn’t help but feel a sadness within you as you walked the halls, taking in every tiny piece of detail: the paintings; the wallpaper; the furniture; the flooring – certain that you wouldn’t be returning. “Well… Goodbye.” You whispered shyly, offering a small wave before turning and beginning to descend the grand stairs.

“Wait…” Benedict mumbled, turning and taking your hand in his and spinning you around to face him. You felt your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, watching as he hesitated with his words before finally blurting out the question – “Can I see you again?”

“Of course you can… Mr Bridgerton.” You smiled, and in a feeling of unnatural and rare moment of courage you leaned up to kiss his cheek – pressing your soft lips to his skin before pulling away and watching as his face began to flush to a pretty shade of rosy pink. Unbelievable. You had managed to make Benedict Bridgerton blush.

Before he could speak, you practically ran from the scene, gathering up your skirt in your hands to ensure that you wouldn’t trip. You knew that it was probably quite a dangerous thing to do, considering the fact that you weren’t exactly sober.

Benedict watched as you ran from him until you were completely out of sight, his lips slightly parted in surprise as he struggled to process all of the events from that night — it all felt very much like a fever induced dream.

On returning to his bedchambers, Benedict flipped to a new page in his sketchbook and began to draw – wanting to sketch you to the best of his abilities before his memories began to fade. Despite his previous desire for an early and long night of sleep, he ended up staying awake for most of the night working on the portrait, ensuring that it would be ready before you awoke that morning.

And when you awoke one of the first things that you discovered was a grand bouquet of roses left on the table besides your bed, made up of all sorts of different shades and sizes… alongside a note. Your lady’s maid had brought the flowers into your room whilst you had slept, creeping along the wooden floor so as not to wake you. She was secretly excited for you, having sneakily seen the note which came with the bouquet – she had unfolded it before tucking it back into place.

Hours after the flowers had arrived, you finally awoke. Still in your nightgown, half asleep and still in your nightgown, half asleep and sporting a small alcohol induced headache - you had leaned over to inspect the flowers before reaching for and unfolding the note — discovering a drawing of yourself.

A small gasp escaped you as you took it in. Benedict. He had made you look beautiful, so beautiful – he had captured you perfectly, all of you, seeming to even capture the soul behind your eyes. You just seemed so alive. His signature was at the bottom of the portrait, alongside the words “Sketched with love and care for Miss Y/N. – Benedict Bridgerton.”

You ran your finger gently across the words, careful not to smudge any of it – the words repeating in your head again and again. A contented sigh falling from your lips, you fell back onto your mattress, holding the drawing close to your chest as the night’s events really sunk into you. It was hard to believe – yet the words on the page were there as proof — sketched with love and care for Miss Y/N. Benedict Bridgerton.

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leviathanspain · 1 month

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🐈‍⬛ hiii! what do you think of benedict bridgerton x reader, where reader is daphne’s long time friend who’s always been close with the family and has always had a crush on benedict, she doesn’t make it obvious but even he knows and before her big debut she overhears him talking with his brothers about her and how he’d never marry her because he’d never have feelings for you even though you have feelings for him, reader quickly moves on because why would she care about what a man thinks right? so obviously she has to go to the balls looking real good and dance with lots of guys making him jealous (perk but not the goal) and he eventually realizes his feelings and makes it all up to her after finding out she heard what he said

like someone in love

benedict bridgerton x reader

synopsis: you’ve come to terms with the fact that he would never see you romantically, and so you have to find a way to move on

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you audibly gasped, hand clutching at your corset, that your lady’s maid was strapping to your body. she looked over your shoulder and you shook your head, “i am fine, tighter!” you shrieked shrilly, feeling the air constrict in your lungs.

you heard the quick ties of the ribbon and inhaled slowly, “i have to look perfect for tea with daphne.” you admired yourself in the mirror, “if i happen to run into mr. bridgerton, i want to look perfect.” you held your head high, watching your hair fall back loosely, “use the blue ribbon, will you?”

“of course, my lady.” anne, your lady’s maid, always had a small smile on her face whenever she helped you with your visits to the bridgerton household; ever since you became taken with the middle brother, benedict.

you tried to be modest with your attraction, especially since he was daphne’s older brother, and she was your dearest friend. but sometimes, you felt as if the entire ton could see right through you.

“this is the last he’ll see of me before i’m game to the rest of london.” you rolled your eyes, “with whatever my mother has planned- i can only expect a surprise.” your mother, constance, had wonderful success in marrying off your three older sisters, to members of high european society.

“i don’t want her to choose my husband, i know who he is,” you inhaled again, “he just has to choose me.” you smoothed down your skirt, and walked over to your vanity, anne following quickly behind.

“oh, y/n!” daphne still felt like a girl whenever you appeared in her doorway. the drawing room had been empty except for her, looking beautiful as ever.

you looked around before greeting her back, smiling brightly as you sat across from her, “where is everyone?” you couldn’t help but feel disappointed that benedict wasn’t sketching away by the window.

daphne exhaled, “mama took everyone out for promenade. i’m rather nervous about tomorrow, and well,” she shrugged, smiling.

you nodded, “i most definitely am nervous. a pit in my stomach.” you admitted, “i understand, daph. that is why when i received your invite for tea, i knew i had to come.”

daphne’s attention shifted to the bustling bodies that were shoving each other through the drawing room doorway. it was all her brothers, with eloise.

eloise smiled at you, and moved over to the seat beside her sister. benedict, colin and anthony all greeted you politely, indulging in small conversation with daphne before excusing themselves to the study.

as they left, you couldn’t help but let your eyes hang on benedict, not bothering to hide your feelings. daphne smiled, “y/n, i do hope my brother marries you, you’d be my sister.” you blushed, laughing off her comment as eloise raised her eyebrows.

your tea with daphne had turned into a private dinner, and it had gotten late. “this was lovely, daph.” you had stopped on your walk by the study with daphne, “i’ll see you tomorrow, be perfect.” you wished her luck, and waved her off as she dashed back up the stairs.

the bridgerton house grew quiet as you took your time exiting. you had hoped you’d accidentally bump into benedict on your way out, but as you passed the last room, you lost hope.

“no!” you heard some shouting, a rancorous laughter followed and you paused by the wall of the last room. it was the three brothers, indulging in conversation. “i would never marry y/n. she’s-“ you heart dropped just as the voice paused, “there’s nothing there. no.” he, benedict, how could you not recognize that voice, had unknowingly shattered your heart with muffled conversation.

you inhaled sharply, and dashed out of the home, walking fast to your carriage as your tears threatened to fall.

your father had been a great man. your mother loved him passionately that even she cried when he died. you cried, but you were a child who knew her father fleetingly. your mother made you promise on his grave that no man would ever make you hurt like this again.

benedict breaking your heart was no different, and you knew you couldn’t dwell. your mother would not let you, you would not let yourself cry for him anymore.

the debut had been the easy part, the hard part was standing out. your first ball and already you couldn’t qualm your nerves. you knew that daphne and her entire family would be attending, you would have to see benedict, have to see him knowing what he said.

your mother had revealed to you that there was a duke and a prince in the waters, and you had to reach for the highest of stars.

your dance card had been filled to the brim, not even an hour had passed before there was a line of eligible suitors waiting for a dance. you were speechless, never did you think you’d get a reaction like that. not when there was daphne in the same pool of ladies.

everyone but the man you wanted had lined up for a dance, even his brother colin, but it was friendly more than anything.

benedict watched you carefully, smiling politely as you and colin danced. you indulged his ramblings about his wishes to travel, your father had been quite the explorer before settling down, so you were as worldly as he had been.

benedict tugged at his collar. seeing his brother with you had left him feeling odd, upset.

“ben, are you okay?” anthony had surprised his brother, and benedict nodded, “ye-yes. i just need a breath.” he spotted the nearest double doors, leading off to a balcony of some sort, he rushed away, his hand clutching into a fist nervously.

his skin felt hot, and he exhaled a breath. you had an affect on him that he had tried to ignore for months now.

when he was confronted about it by his brothers, he denied it fiercely, you were young, beautiful and wildly too good for him. not with your sisters’ husbands being who they were, benedict knew your mother wouldn’t even consider him as a thought.

but he couldn’t ignore the rage he felt at colin, watching his hands on your body, guiding you as you danced.

he knew you had an affection for him, he could see it in your eyes, but you didn’t know him, you couldn’t see why he was the wrong man for you. anthony had claimed that look in your eyes was of someone in love. he encouraged his brother, but benedict grew more reserved about his decision.

you wanted him to see. five balls of trying to capture a glance from benedict bridgerton, and five balls of failure. you had danced with nearly all of the eligible men, many handsome and as rich as you could imagine, but none left you with desire.

benedict was slowly becoming nothing but a dream, an unfulfilled desire that only kept you up at night.

on the night of the last ball of the season, you knew you had to get benedict alone. you had grown restless through the season, upset and frustrated. this was your last chance, because your mother refused to have her daughter end her first season unmarried.

you would be someone’s wife soon, and you had to be his.

benedict needed this. the drag of the smuggled cigarette in his lungs, the exhaling into the pitch black sky. knowing you were inside, dancing your way into someone else’s arms.

he refused to watch it happen, and he refused to admit how much he hated all of the men of the ton. he loathed every single one for having danced with you.

“mr. bridgerton.” he had only heard you address him a few times. not in a long while, and he had made sure of that.

he turned, shocked to see you standing behind him. you were wearing a baby blue dress, cheeks flushed. “miss heathfield.” he seemed breathless, and he dropped the cigarette that had been between his fingers, brushing his hand on his coat, holding it behind his back.

“it is chilly out here, perhaps you would be more comfortable inside?” no one else was outside, and it was inappropriate for you to be out here with him, alone.

you didn’t move, “benedict,” you spoke informally and sighed, “i will be someone’s wife before the month ends, and i just want to know.” he blinked, “why do you not want me to be yours?” you exhaled, feeling a relief off your chest.

benedict watched as you walked closer to him, “i have wished for that since the beginning of the season, y/n.” he looked at you, “you are beautiful, talented, wondrous and intriguing woman, and i absolutely do not deserve you.” his lips went tight, “i’ve seen your sisters’ husbands. they’re dukes and earls, i’m not even the viscount.” he whispered, “you deserve to be loved like a queen, a princess, anything but a mrs.”

you grew emotional, tears brimmed in your eyes and you stomped, “stop it this instance, benedict bridgerton!” you were now face to face with him, you could smell the cigarette smoke more clearly now, “i can see you feel strongly about me, and i want nothing more in this moment than for you to kiss me.”

benedict looked at you, glancing at the parted doorway, light and laughter floated down to his ears before he rushed in to kiss you.

your knees went weak at the kiss, and he gripped you, holding you against him. he pulled away, panting, “i-“ he was utterly speechless.

“i know.” you whispered, knowing the look in his eyes all too well.

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