#writers-hes bridgerton ball
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will chapter 5 of protection be angstier?
hmmmmmmm…. depends on what you think angst is!! is it angsty because it’s the personal struggles of the reader or is it angsty because there’s conflict with tommy??
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She’s Gonna Save Me (Bridgerton: Benedict Bridgerton)
this is my first ever bridgerton fic! i’ve had such a writer’s block and post grad has been so difficult but listening to music and reading other writers’ works has me feeling inspired! so enjoy my first story in months and first of the new year :)
pairing: female reader (she/her) x Benedict Bridgerton reader x Colin Bridgerton (platonic!)
summary: Benedict contemplates a life pursuing art and living outside the expectations of his family and society. Does he find a wife and settle down or live freely? What happens when he meets someone who can offer him the best of both worlds?
notes/warnings: mention of nudity, alcohol consumption, activities that can be witnessed at Sir Granville’s scandalous studio saoirees…
word count: 2.4k
As the second eldest Bridgerton boy, Benedict never found himself extremely pressured by the standards and expectations of society. Those responsibilities were entrusted upon his brother, Anthony, the Viscount.
Benedict reserved himself to a more romantic life, preoccupied by his love and interest for art.
Attending every event of the season was merely a ploy to keep his mother happy and distracted from the fact that he had no true intention of courting any ladies.
He would drink, laugh, and dance the season away without ever calling on anyone.
Benedict believed that this season wouldn’t be any different.
******
When you first agreed to join your family friends across the Atlantic in London, you didn’t expect that you would be taking part in the ton’s social season.
As the youngest daughter, your brothers married with children and sisters off tending to their new husbands, your father didn’t feel the need to arrange a marriage for social or monetary gain.
Your family was well off in the states, your parents often described as ‘free spirits.’ They had always impressed upon you the importance of appreciating the beauty around you and romanticizing life.
With your mother’s passing, you decided to stay at home with your father, choosing to enjoy a quiet life in the country studying English literature.
Staying with Sir Henry Granville was beyond exciting and allowed you to interact and mingle with the more eclectic members of British society.
You had lasted all but a week before you were called upon by a Miss Lady Danbury.
She had stressed the importance of participating in the social season and the impending judgment of the ton and Queen if you did not participate.
While you never cared much for the opinion of others, you didn’t fancy the idea of being ogled every time you ventured into town.
******
“I heard she was rejected by every suitor.”
“She’s so ugly and unpleasant, a dowry wouldn’t even be worth it.”
“Apparently she’s slightly deformed.”
You couldn’t begin to believe the rumors circulating about you, the American.
You swore that the descriptions were ripped out of a storybook, describing some gremlin crawling from the depths of the earth.
Men and women alike had no problem spreading stories about the young lady joining them for the season.
Worst of all, none of them had even seen you yet. The modiste had made personal house calls, as requested by Lady Danbury.
Now you stood, in front of the carriage, at the first ball of the season, your debut.
You followed behind Sir Henry and Mary Granville, head held high and eyes straight forward as you waded through the ballroom towards Lady Danbury and the Queen.
You heard the whispers and felt the stares as you stood before the queen.
With one leg behind the other and your arms laid at your side, you gently bent your knee and curtsied before her.
She gave you a once over before bowing her head back, a silent approval.
Moving out of the way, you stood at the edge of the dance floor as Lady Danbury approached.
“Miss y/l/n, I do hope you don’t mind that I have taken the liberty of securing you a few gentlemen to fill out your dance card.”
“I expect nothing less from you, Lady Danbury” you smiled back, a teasing tone in your voice.
Your sarcasm and apprehension towards the season had not gone unnoticed by Lady Danbury.
She quite admired your wit and sharp mind, and more than anything, enjoyed the challenge.
******
You were now on your 4th dance of the night; your feet were hurting, and you wanted nothing more than to be curled up with a book.
Fortunately, your current dance partner was not completely awful and was actually quite charming.
Colin Bridgerton.
You had met him once before, in passing, when Lady Danbury had brought you to meet his mother, Violet, and sister, Daphne.
Apparently, Daphne had been named the Diamond of the season in her first season out on society and married a Duke.
His younger sister, Eloise, was preparing for her first season as well.
However, through your brief encounter with Eloise she did not seem as happy with the matter as her sister and mother were.
You had a feeling she would be a good person to befriend.
“Tell me about yourself Miss y/l/n” Colin inquired.
“Y/N,” you quickly corrected.
“Just Y/N is fine,” you smiled slightly.
“Well Y/N, how are you finding London and the beginning of the season?”
“London, well its quite beautiful. There is so much art, and history, and the architecture is amazing. Truly, I wouldn’t mind getting lost here. And well…this—” you paused, glancing around the ball at all the young women around you.
“May I be frank?” you asked, Colin’s eyebrows raising in surprise.
“Of course, Miss Y/N”
“I slightly detest all of this, my feet hurt, and I’ve been dancing for quite too long. Why would I want to marry someone I’ve met one time?”
Colin was slightly taken aback before grinning wildly.
“You remind me of my sister Eloise,” he stated.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, I quite liked her,” you grinned back.
As the dance ended you curtsied before Colin as he bowed before you.
“I hope you find the person you’re looking for Y/N, but I have a feeling you don’t need all of this to do so.”
You smiled widely and slightly nodded before following him off the dance floor.
“I’ll grab us a drink,” he said before walking away. Your eyes followed his back for a few seconds before scanning the room.
They quickly landed on two men whispering in the corner.
The slightly shorter one had massive sideburns and a quizzical look that seemed as if it must be permanently etched onto his face. The other man had a certain air about him.
Even from across the room his light-colored eyes had a shine in them.
Colin returned; you thanked him before looking to the corner again. This time the slightly taller one had caught your gaze and lifted his eyes to meet yours. You felt your face flush and quickly turned your head.
“Colin?”
“Yes?”
“Who are those two men in the corner?”
Colin looked up to see his brothers in the corner looking at him inquisitively.
“Oh, those two? You don’t want to be near the likes of them. Poorly mannered and when they were younger, they would wet the bed for years well beyond what was normal.”
You were following along for a while until that last part.
You gave Colin a quick look to see if he was being serious.
His mouth remained flat and tight-lipped for a few mere seconds before letting through a boisterous laugh.
“My apologies Y/N, those are my brothers.”
Your eyes widened at the confession.
“Your brothers?”
“Yes, lets introduce you,” he stated, beginning to pull you across the ballroom.
“Colin, No I—"
“Brothers, this is Miss y/l/n, Anthony, Benedict,” he pointed out.
You curtsied before both of them before speaking up.
“I told you, just Y/N is fine Colin.”
You weren’t sure what his brothers would say about your slight improperness. It was clear that the Bridgerton’s were a well-respected family in the ton.
You glanced at the eldest brother who you learned was named Anthony who gave you a curt nod before excusing himself to sneak off from an inquiring Lady Danbury.
You smiled at him before turning your gaze to the second eldest Bridgerton.
“Y/N here was telling me about her studies in the states. She is well-read and well-traveled.”
You rolled your eyes, playfully pushing Colin slightly.
“You flatter me, Colin. Unfortunately, I am not perfect. For example, I am about done with all of this and was just about to call a carriage.”
“Oh, but you must stay for one more dance Y/N. Poor Benedict here has not waltzed once.”
Benedict tried to sneakily hit his brother for his clear meddling.
“While that may be true, I do not need my younger brother imposing on such a lovely lady.” Benedict states.
“Nonsense, everyone must waltz at least once,” you laughed, pulling Benedict towards the center of the room.
His eyes widened at your forwardness as he shot Colin a disapproving brotherly look, to which Colin gave him a grin and thumbs up.
As the music began you moved around the room with Benedict.
“So, Mr. Bridgerton, tell me what exactly it is you do.”
“Just Benedict is fine,” he stated, mirroring your words from earlier.
“Besides, aren’t I the one who should be questioning you about your skills?”
“That’s awfully backwards thinking, I hope you don’t get stuck that way” you replied sarcastically before being spun around.
When you returned facing Benedict, a knowing grin was stuck on his face. You were witty. He liked witty.
“I suppose that is fair. I’m an artist, well…I’m trying to be an artist. It’s a little complicated.”
You nodded understandingly, while the arts were enjoyed by many, it wasn’t exactly a noble pursuit, especially for you as a woman.
“You should come by Sir Granville’s studio, it’s quite…”
You couldn’t think of a proper word to describe the soirees Granville hosted. It was taboo and scandalous to most respectable members of society. However, if Benedict was an artist as he was claiming, he should fit right in.
“…inspiring,” you finished.
Benedict gave you an interesting look.
Little did you know, he had been to Granville’s studio, several times.
He hadn’t been in a while since his family had just returned from Aubrey Hall and the preparation for Eloise’s season had been quite hectic for his mother.
But you, picturing you at Granville’s studio was not something Benedict had imagined.
Women who were married or of low social standing was something else, but you, a young lady in her first official season stalking down the halls in such a disreputable manner. It didn’t fit the picture of the beautiful woman before him.
Benedict was quickly learning not to try and categorize you into one box.
“What do you know of Granville’s studio?” he asked seriously.
“Well, for one, I’m staying there. Two, I feel more comfortable among that community than here, if you understand what I mean…” you trail off.
Benedict gives you a small smile of understanding.
As the song ends Benedict lifted your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently before sightly lowering it back down, fingers brushing softly as he pulls away.
“Until next time Y/N”
“I look forward to it Benedict.”
******
Two months had passed since Lady Danbury’s first ball of the season. In that time you had befriended Eloise and Colin Bridgerton, often sitting in the parlor room of their home during the daytime, chatting the day away.
As such, you had also grown closer to Penelope Featherington who also came over often. You always considered yourself to be quite perceptive, so it was evidently clear that Penelope was fond of Colin. You thought about mentioning something, but it didn’t seem like your place.
Throughout your time at the Bridgerton’s household you had seen Benedict a handful of times. Unfortunately, your encounters were reduced to small greetings, stolen glances and light brushes as you walked past each other.
Until today.
You were sitting in the empty parlor room as Eloise ran to her room to fetch some ‘evidence’ and ‘clues’ about Lady Whistledown.
“Good Afternoon Y/N” Benedict greeted as he walked in, taking a quick look around the room to find the two of you alone.
“Afternoon Mr. Bridgerton,” you greeted back, a slight teasing tone to contrast your seemingly formality.
He gave you a knowing look before continuing.
“I hope I’m not being too forward, but I plan on attending Sir Granville’s tonight, I was wondering if I would see you there?”
You gave him a teasing smile before your face fell into a serious and hurt look.
“Mr. Bridgerton, I’m appalled, would a respectable young woman such as myself be caught there? Imagine the horror if the rest of the ton were to find out.”
He let out a loud laugh at your remark, in the short time that he had known you, you never failed to make him laugh.
“Yes Benedict, I’ll see you there,” you smiled.
“Good,” he replied.
******
That night you had a few drinks to help you take the edge off before guests started coming over. There was something about interacting with Benedict that made you nervous.
You were walking around the art studio observing the nude model and the artists renditions when you felt someone lay their hand on your shoulder.
“OH! Oh my, Benedict, you scared me.”
“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to startle you.”
You continued walking around the circle, admiring the art around you.
“She’s stunning, is she not?” you questioned.
“She is,” he answered quickly.
However, when you turned to look at him his eyes were already trained on yours.
You smiled widely, walking out of the studio as Benedict followed like a lost puppy.
“Will I ever get to see your art?” you asked him.
He smiled sheepishly as his arm reached back to scratch the back of his neck.
“I certainly would let you, if there was any.”
“Practicing here for a few months and you still have nothing to show?” you teased.
Benedict gave you a look.
“I may have asked around about you,” you confessed.
“And?” he asks.
From what you have heard, both from his siblings and other people around you. Benedict was a kind and creative soul, with a great appreciation for the beauty around him.
“Your family and friends speak highly of you, that’s important.”
“What about you? What do you speak of me?”
“Besides being a tortured artist? I think highly of you.”
He nodded his head again, before responding.
“I think highly of you as well,” he whispered quietly, leaning down slightly so he was more at eye level.
You blamed the alcohol in your system for what you did next.
Yanking him down by his collar, you pulled him close and reached up until your lips were flush against his, pushing with all your might as if you would never kiss him again.
“Y/N—” he pulled away, his senses flooding back.
“This is…no, I’ve dishonored you I—”
“Oh hush Benedict, I do not care about those rules. I want you.”
He looked down at you, holding your face in his hands as he searched your eyes for confirmation.
Biting your lip and grinning up at him, Benedict couldn’t help but pull you back in, one hand sinking to your waist to pull you closer, the other rested on your cheek.
“You know this means we have to get married now?” Benedict teases.
“That means you presume I would say yes,” you teased back.
His smile grew impossibly bigger as he pulled you back in for a tender kiss.
“Let’s just see how you perform tonight before we think about marriage” you joked.
Benedict pulled back with a smirk and look in his eye you haven’t seen yet as he looked you over.
“Art is all about practicing and perfecting, we might need to practice a few times before you make your final judgement” he teased back.
You threw your head back in surprise, a large laugh leaving your lips before you smiled sweetly at him.
This was not how you imagined the social season going.
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Bridgerton shade of blue
Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader
Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.
{Masterlist}
{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}
Season one
Chapter Eight - Sparkling diamond
♡♡♡
Benedict joined his sister, Eloise, out in the garden again long after the other had gone to bed. She was smoking on the swing like last time.
As Benedict takes a seat on the opposite swing, she passes him the cigarette. He takes it.
"I found bits of your sketchbook in the fireplace," Eloise says.
"Are you spying on me now?"
"You'd actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you," she chuckles.
"The drawings in that sketchbook were abominable," he says firmly. "I could not stand to look at them."
"I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook." Eloise looks at them. "I write in my diary, which is not the same as wiring in my novel."
Benedict chuckles.
"It must be very difficult to want something and not be able to get it."
"Eloise..."
"If you enjoy drawing but need practise, then practise," she goes on. "Hire a drawing master. Find a young lady to act impressed."
You cross his mind. However, he doesn't want you to act impressed. He wants you to be impressed by his work. Genuinely so.
"If you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. Some of us cannot.
"Look no further than Lady Whistledown. She possesses a huge talent for writing, and yet she must hide away and publish under a false name."
"Yes, because if anyone knew who Whistledown truly was, she'd be strung up for what she said," Benedict states.
"That is not my point. Whistledown is a woman, therefore she has nothing, and still she writes. You're a man, therefore you have everything. You are able to do whatever you want. So do it. Be bold."
Eloise envies her brothers.
"At least that way I can live vicariously through you." She rises to leave.
"Eloise... are you Lady Whistledown?" Benedict asks.
Eloise laughs.
"You're an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else's business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London. You would have my full support and admiration either way, sister."
Elosie laughs again.
"So... is it you?"
"No." She looks at him. "Though if it were... do you honestly think that I'd admit it?"
Elosie heads back inside.
Benedict is left with his thoughts.
♡♡♡
The ballroom was elegantly designed. Soft shades to light up the room. You find yourself without a dance partner, however.
Prince Friedrich was in the middle of a dance with Cressida Cowper.
The duke was standing sternly off to the side with Lady Danbury. They appeared to be talking quietly, though judging by the stern faces, it was not a pleasant conversation.
You find yourself gently, and you admire the room. Benedict wasn't here. You couldn't see him at all.
That is not to say you had gone unnoticed. You glance to your left and find a perfectly suitable gentleman looking your way. You smile softly and turn your gaze away.
Tactics of flirtation were not completely out of your power.
Before anyone could make a move, however, the doors at the top of the stairs opened. It wasn't so much the doors that caught everyones attention, more like who had come through them.
You swear you all breath left you when your eyes landed on Daphne coming down the stairs with her mother. She was wearing the most beautiful silver gown you had ever seen, and her hair was beautifully done. She looked like, well, a princess.
In her hand was a feather fan. It went beautifully with her attire. She began to descend the stairs.
All eyes were on her.
Prince Friedrich was at the bottom of the stairs. Not once did he look away. You watch with interest as Daphne gets closer, closer, and closer to him.
The prince leaves Cressida's side to meet Daphne at the bottom stair.
The duke does not move.
Daphne stops.
"Miss Bridgerton, I simply musylt have your first dance." He speaks to her softly.
"It would be an honour, your highness." She curtsies.
A moment passes between them, and then you watch as Daphne drops her fan. Just like that, the prince kneels down to pick it up.
The prince kneeled.
You don't even realise the soft gasp you let out as you watch.
Prince Friedrich offers her the fan, and she takes it. She smiles at him and then gives the fun to her mother as she takes the prince hand.
They dance.
The duke leaves. Though he turns back to look at Daphne before he goes.
In the words of Lady Whistledown, why settle for a duke when one can have a prince?
♡♡♡
The invitation to attend the boxing match came from Anthony Bridgerton. You were rather pleasantly surprised by his invitation.
Anthony apparently needed some help to keep his mother quiet about finding a wife for himself.
You laughed.
You follow the siblings until they reach the prince. He approaches Daphne, but greets you, also. You curtsy.
Anthony then offers you his arm. "Shall we?"
You chuckle and take it, allowing him to lead you over to some seats. As you settle, you turn to the eldest Bridgerton.
"Where are you brothers?" You ask.
"My brothers? Currently talking to one of the fighters." He gestures to the edge of the ring where you spot Colin and Benedict.
You don't even notice you're smiling.
"You and my brother seem to have grown rather close." Anthony points out, looking at you.
"I can assure you there is nothing untoward. Your brother is my friend, as are you all now." You smile at him.
Anthony chuckles.
"Benedict seems to have a lot on his mind at the moment. I am not one to get in the way of someone's business."
"Smart woman," Anthony chuckles.
You nudge his arm lightly and wait for the fight to begin.
As the match is announced to begin, the other brothers find their way to you and Anthony. Benedict looks rather surprised to see you. "I had no idea you were attending."
"Your brother invited me to keep your mother off his back. It seems that is all I'm good for." You chuckle.
"No true, but appreciated none the less," Benedict comments.
You smile, and he takes the empty seat beside you. It does not go unnoticed that you keep your arm looped with Anthony's. He doesn't comment on it.
The fight is intense. You gasp with every hard punch. The men around you cheer on their victor.
You had never witnessed such a match before, and you would be lying if you said you were not somewhat into it.
As the crowd stands, you stand with them and cheer along with the Bridgerton brothers. William Mondrich was their friend, and he was putting up hell of a good fight.
Benedict finds it amusing how excited you seem to be.
Mondrich wins!
You cheer along with the brothers. You laugh at the excitement. It was a thrilling match, indeed.
Anthony helps you down from your seat and speaks close to your ear so you can hear him. "We're off to collect our winnings. I shall see to it you get home right after."
You nod and thank him. As he leaves to fetch his earrings, Benedict turns to you.
"Did you enjoy that?"
You chuckle. "I did. Surprisingly."
"I must say, I did not expect to see you in attendance."
"I am full of surprises."
Benedict looks at you quietly for a moment. "Yes. You are."
You smile and look away. However, his gaze lingers on you for a bit.
Later, the Bridgertons see to it that you get home safely before they head off to the club. A place for the gentlemen only.
Anthony helps you up into the carriage and thanks you for humouring him today. Yo return the gesture and wave as the carriage leaves.
Colin has to nudge Benedict out of his thoughts.
♡♡♡
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The Writer and The Illustrator (Part 03)
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Miss [y/n]
Summary: (Part 01 / Part 02) In the carriage en route to Lady Danbury's ball, tension crackles between Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] and Mr Benedict Bridgerton. Beneath their bickering lies an undeniable attraction that they both need to take care of before it's too late.
Age rating: 18+.
Author’s note: It's the end of age! No, I'm kidding, but it is the end of this story.
To read Anthony’s fic, click here! For other stories, click here.Enjoy
An air of tension hung heavy within the plush confines of the velvety blue carriage.
True to his word, Mr Benedict Bridgerton stood promptly outside the [y/l/n] residence at seven o'clock, resplendent in his finest attire, ready to escort Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] to Lady Danbury's ball. The initial exchange, with Mr [y/l/n]'s presence in the periphery, was pleasant enough—gentlemanly handshakes and cordial smiles exchanged between the men, with Benedict embodying the epitome of a refined gentleman, at least in the eyes of the [y/l/n] household.
But such commendation found little favour with Miss [y/n] [y/l/n].
Seated across from Benedict, [y/n] regarded him with a fiery intensity in her gaze. She couldn't shake the feeling of indignation at Benedict's earlier remarks, his unwitting perpetuation of the sexism she fought against. Who was he, she seethed inwardly, to lecture her on the perils of being a woman author in the 19th century?
[y/n] was well aware of the risks and well acquainted with the challenges she faced as a woman pursuing her literary aspirations. She wouldn't have embarked on this daunting journey if she weren't driven by an unwavering determination to realise her dreams. And yet, Benedict's condescension rankled her—his first foray into illustrating a book hardly qualified him to lecture her on the intricacies of the publishing world. He was a newcomer to her domain, ignorant of the trials she endured.
Still, despite her righteous anger, [y/n] begrudgingly acknowledged Benedict's artistic prowess. She may have bristled at his presumptions, but she couldn't deny his talent as a painter. His not-so-recent exhibition at the Bridgerton house, for the family's closest friends, had been a testament to his skill. Though she had been present under the [y/l/n]'s invitation, Benedict's work ultimately swayed her decision to enlist his talents for her project.
Benedict's voice, though barely above a whisper, resonated within the confines of the carriage, imbued with an unexpected intensity by the close quarters.
"You won't say anything?" he queried, his gaze fixed firmly on [y/n].
She unwaveringly met his gaze, her voice collected as she responded, "And what would you have me say, Mr. Bridgerton?"
A sharp exhale escaped Benedict, frustration seeping into his tone. "Am I now merely 'Mr Bridgerton'? No longer 'Ben'?"
[y/n]'s eyes rolled in exasperation. "Well, forgive me if the current circumstances don't exactly evoke the camaraderie of our long-time friendship," she retorted sharply. "Ben was the amiable fellow who praised my boldness in my talents as he delicately illustrated them. At present, however, it feels like he's nowhere to be found."
That woman threatened to drive him to madness.
Benedict's hand rose instinctively, gripping his own chin firmly as if to silence the words he yearned to express. The action seemed to quell the words on his tongue, preventing him from affirming that he remained the same Ben who marvelled at her talents and considered her utterly unique.
Somehow, Benedict couldn't bring himself to offer [y/n] the praise she might have expected at that moment.
"I have all the illustrations with me in the carriage," he declared, nodding towards the briefcase nestled beside him, unseen until now in the dim light of the carriage. "Before the ball concludes, we shall escape, and I shall escort us directly to your editor."
"Oh, why, Mr Bridgerton!" She exclaimed with exaggerated surprise, her eyes widening playfully. "It appears you've managed to summon your inner gentleman at last. Quite a departure from the sexist pig you were earlier in my library."
She was maddening. Utterly maddening.
For a myriad of reasons, unfortunately.
Benedict wanted to attribute his discomfort solely to her condescension, which tempted him to respond, assert his dominance and put her back in her place. A firm swat on her behind might remind her she must be a pleasant, nice girl.
Heavens! He nearly exclaimed aloud, reining in his thoughts just in time. Benedict found himself entertaining the notion of [y/n]'s posterior, a territory over which he had neither jurisdiction nor entitlement.
Clearing his throat, Benedict offered, "I apologise if that's how it came across. It was never my intention to diminish you because of your gender."
"It wasn't that," she responded, her gaze penetrating his. This time, he noticed, there was no anger in her eyes. [y/n] simply wanted to clarify her perspective. "You said I shouldn't go alone."
"Yes, and I stand by that," Benedict affirmed.
[y/n] paused, realising she needed to elaborate further for him to grasp her viewpoint.
"I understand your concern," she conceded. "But you didn't offer to accompany me. You only criticised me."
Benedict felt a chill run through him at [y/n]'s revelation. He had argued with her under the assumption that his willingness to accompany her was implicit. Not merely because she was a young, unmarried woman venturing into a dangerous part of London at an ungodly hour but because it was their joint endeavour she intended to pursue solo.
Now that he knew her secret identity and understood that this tenth book would not be her last, Benedict was determined to accompany her to the publisher's office on all future occasions. It would be against his principles as a gentleman—principles instilled in him by both his father and mother—to allow a lady to undertake such journeys alone, especially now that he was aware.
Suddenly, he realised, with a softening expression toward [y/n], that he'd be accompanying her to the ends of the earth from then on. He recognised the truth in his revelation. He couldn't envision himself being apart from her.
But the carriage stopped before Benedict could articulate his newfound determination to [y/n] or even offer an apology for any misunderstanding. They had arrived at Lady Danbury's residence.
As [y/n] began to prepare to disembark, ensuring her hairstyle was intact and smoothing her satin skirt, Benedict peered out the window, a heavy groan escaping him.
"No."
Startled, [y/n] looked up from her lap to find Benedict wearing a determined expression. He lightly tapped the carriage roof swiftly—a clear signal for the coachman to continue the journey. Almost instantly, [y/n] felt the carriage lurch forward as the horses resumed their pace.
"What are you doing?" she inquired, still adjusting her hair, the sudden movement causing her to worry about her appearance.
At that moment, she realised—quite abruptly—that lately, she had been increasingly concerned about her appearance. After her second failed season, during which she remained unmarried, Miss [y/n] had abandoned many of the formalities of fashion. She seldom wore corsets and paid little heed to the latest dress designs, opting instead for simplicity. Her hair, usually secured in a tight bun resembling that of a governess, was styled by her own hands, as her brother had also tasked her maid with attending to her sister-in-law.
But something had changed.
Benedict frequently selected her as his dance partner at parties where they unexpectedly crossed paths. They often rendezvoused in Hyde Park to discuss their book. Almost every afternoon, [y/n] found herself at the Bridgerton residence, although she couldn't quite fathom why she felt an unspoken obligation to maintain a polished appearance.
She wasn't oblivious to the rumours circulating about them. Many speculated that the two were courting, and why wouldn't they? What other reason could a single gentleman have for associating with an unmarried lady?
Still, [y/n] dismissed such notions as ludicrous. She felt like the most withered flower in the garden—what bee would alight on a flower with almost no pollen?
She consumed Benedict Bridgerton's thoughts. He couldn't help but gaze at her, taking in every detail. Only then did he realise he had instructed the carriage to continue, bypassing Lady Danbury's residence entirely.
Good Lord, he mused, in just fifteen minutes in her presence, [y/n] had managed to drive him insane, as he had assumed she would.
And, of course, he wanted to blame himself but blast it all; why did she have to wear the most exquisite dress in all of British fashion? Why did she have to wear a corset that not only accentuated her waist but also elevated her bosom?
Benedict, a gentleman with little interest in women's fashion, found himself fixated on it that particular evening.
"Mr. Bridgerton!" she exclaimed, breaking through his reverie.
Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] was, without a doubt, the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Suddenly, he regretted not having his drawing chalks with him so he could capture her likeness right then and there in the soft glow filtering through the carriage windows.
"[y/n]," he whispered her name like a plea as he wet his lips, "what's going on between us?"
She averted her gaze, feeling the weight of his intensity. "What do you mean, Ben? We're simply working partners."
He grinned like a mischievous imp. "No, we're not."
"Ben," she began, intending to distance herself. No, that would be a lie. His fervour drew her in like a moth to a flame, even as she knew she shouldn't respond. It didn't matter that she'd heard whispers about the longing looks he cast her way across the room; it didn't matter that her brother had overheard Benedict defending her at the men's club just two days prior. "We're just the writer and the illustrator. That's all."
"The writer and her illustrator," he echoed, but she barely noticed the subtle pronoun shift.
"Yes," she nodded, swallowing hard. "The writer and her illustrator."
A smile of pure delight graced his lips.
"I am yours, I'm afraid," he confessed, taking her aback. She, a writer, was powerless against his words. Involuntarily, she leaned in closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. "Could you say it again?" he pleaded, inching nearer, breaching the space between them.
They were mere inches apart.
"What? 'My illustrator'?" she repeated, her confusion mingling with the intoxicating atmosphere.
"My writer," he responded, mirroring her phrase. "Mine."
He was marking her with words. She liked it.
"I'm also afraid I have to kiss you," he said, leaving her confused. Benedict couldn't need permission, could he? She thought she was being very obvious when she prompted forward, her cleavage at his disposal.
She might have been a virgin, but she wasn't naive.
With a swift, decisive movement, [y/n] closed the gap between them, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss. Ben's initial surprise melted away as he responded eagerly, his body instinctively leaning to hold her in an embrace. The tension between them for so long ignited into a blaze of passion, consuming them both.
Their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate, as the carriage rocked gently beneath them. Benedict's hands roamed over [y/n]'s body, tracing the curves of her silhouette with a reverence that bordered on worship. [y/n]'s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she surrendered to the heady rush of desire coursing through her veins.
At that moment, the confines of the carriage faded away, leaving only the two of them wrapped up in each other's arms. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the heat of their passion, their bodies moving together in a sensual dance that spoke volumes without the need for words.
Amidst their embrace's perfection and delectable allure, [y/n] sensed an unspoken yearning deep within her soul. Despite the exquisite intimacy they shared, she couldn't shake the conviction that there was something more she craved from Benedict—something she couldn't quite articulate or request. Each time she drew near to him, although he didn't push her away, she felt him place his own hips away from hers.
Yet, after countless attempts to bridge the distance between them, Benedict could no longer deny the fervour burning within him.
"[y/n]," he murmured her name with a weighty sigh, attempting to extricate himself gently with one final kiss, but the lady refused to relent, meeting his lips once more. "I must escort you home."
His words sent a tremor of apprehension through [y/n], causing her to withdraw instinctively. She had barely noticed that she wasn't even in her seat anymore: she was trying to jump into his lap, but as he kept moving away, she seemed to crouch in the carriage. Oh, the shame that flooded her being, her gaze lowered in embarrassment.
Her reaction tugged at Benedict's heartstrings, stirring a tumult of emotions within him as he swiftly reconsidered his course of action.
"Do not feel ashamed," he implored, his tone pleading. The thought of [y/n] bearing any semblance of shame was unbearable to him. "I must release you now, for I could easily succumb to temptation in this carriage, and such a fate is ill-suited for a lady of your stature. You deserve far better."
Though every fibre of her being yearned for more at that moment, [y/n] knew deep down that he spoke the truth. She deserved better. He hadn't said he liked her, for instance. He hadn't proposed. She supposed that, to be deflowered, she at least deserved that.
"You're right," she conceded, her gaze drifting to the window as she pondered their proximity to her home. "I've never done this before, you know?"
Benedict stifled a sudden urge to utter a remark that hovered at the tip of his tongue, granting her the space to share her thoughts freely. He trusted her to confide in him, as she always had.
"I've never been kissed," she admitted with such earnestness that Benedict was taken aback.
Never been kissed? The notion perplexed him. After all, hadn't she just demonstrated such fervour and skill with her lips in the confines of the carriage? How could someone as captivating as [y/n] [y/l/n] have never experienced the simple act of a kiss? Surely, no shortage of suitors had come calling at her door.
"No, you can't be serious," he interjected, his incredulity evident as he leaned closer, their proximity becoming increasingly intimate. It seemed he had lost all semblance of restraint in her presence.
"But I am," she insisted, a hint of defensiveness colouring her tone as she addressed her innocence. "I am a spinster, Ben. Gentlemen typically pursue the young and bright diamonds of the seasons."
"You are young, and you are bright," he countered, his brow furrowing in response to her apparent self-deprecation. "You may not have been dubbed the diamond of the season, but that designation would have hardly done you justice."
[y/n] found herself unable to muster the strength to protest. Further, a realization soon dawned on Benedict as he observed her resigned demeanour. Yet, despite her acquiescence, he sensed a lingering doubt in her eyes.
"[y/n]," he began, his voice softening with sincerity, "these debutantes are hailed as diamonds because they are transparent and colourless. You, my dear, are nothing like them. By God, you are the most brilliant writer I have ever met; your scenes are so well described that I had no difficulty drawing them. If only I had dedicated our time together to capturing your likeness, I would have employed every hue in my palette to convey the sheer beauty that I behold in you—the most exquisite woman I have ever beheld," he confessed, his heart swelling with emotion as he laid bare his sentiments. "And look, I'm older than you."
"Only by a few years," she countered, a flicker of warmth igniting within her, a profound longing to smile once more gracing her features.
"Wait," Benedict interjected; his movements stilled as realization dawned upon him, connecting the dots between her confession, observations, and the vivid scenes in W. Jabber's novels. "[y/n], if you've never experienced a kiss, how is it that you wrote such erotically charged passages?"
Her eyes widened in alarm, akin to a child caught red-handed in mischief.
"'The Flowers of Our Garden,' despite its intricate political narrative, contains some rather passionate scenes," he remarked astutely, drawing upon his recollection of the four novels by W. Jabber that he had perused.
"Nothing overly explicit, Ben," she countered defensively. "Nothing I couldn't have imagined."
"Did you imagine being kissed?" he pressed, his gaze piercing.
[y/n] swallowed hard, her mind racing. Of course, she had—what woman hadn't entertained such fantasies? In the past month alone, while toiling alongside Mr Bridgerton day in and day out, [y/n] had conjured more scenarios of tender embraces than she had penned words.
"And what of the intimate caresses described in 'Flowers'? Did you envision someone touching you in those places as the protagonist did with his wife?"
"Ben," she uttered his name with a cautionary tone. "Yes, I am no stranger to worldly matters, having witnessed much within the confines of party gardens. Do not judge me for it. After all, no one judges Mr. Jabber for his prose."
"[y/n]," he started again, rephrasing. "I didn't ask how you know those things in your novels. One doesn't need to have died to know death," he offered through analogy. "But I'm curious if you desired those experiences for yourself. The kisses, the touches...?"
She cast her gaze downward, contemplating her response. "Yes," she admitted quietly.
"Oh, dear," he murmured tenderly, his words a gentle caress. [y/n] lifted her eyes to meet his, finding herself lost in the depths of his caring gaze.
He wanted her as the protagonist of his stories.
Benedict realized that to fulfil her desires, he first needed to address their current situation. And that solution seemed clear: he longed to give a name to their connection.
"Will you marry me?" he implored, drawing closer in the soft glow of the carriage.
"What?" she exclaimed, taken aback. Surely, Benedict must be jesting, she thought.
"I desire your hand in marriage," he persisted. "Please, say you'll marry me. Say you'll be mine, [y/n], and I will support you. I want nothing more than to cherish you. To experience the passion depicted in your novels and beyond. To capture the moments in my paintings. To immortalize you, now and for all eternity, bathed in candlelight."
"Benedict Bridgerton!" she gasped, feeling a flutter in her chest akin to a young maiden's.
"Ben," he gently corrected her. "I'm your illustrator, remember? Your Ben."
He yearned for her affirmation, yet she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. Determined, he leaned in to kiss her, pulling her onto his lap, his desire for her no longer a concern.
"Say yes," he whispered against her skin, trailing kisses along her neck. "Say it, [y/n]."
"Yes," she breathed, succumbing to the intoxicating allure of his touch. "Yes, I am yours."
"You are mine," he declared, his lips trailing lower to the curve of her bosom. With a playful smile, he pressed a kiss before meeting her gaze again. "You are mine."
"I am yours," she affirmed, feeling a shiver of anticipation. And as he bit her there, tenderly, she surrendered to the promise of more—a promise that seemed boundless in the arms of Benedict Bridgerton.
Benedict left a trail of kisses all over her that night in the cramped carriage. He began with tender kisses upon the lady's bosom—no, upon his bride's bosom!—before trailing lower, his hands deftly undoing the fastenings of her dress until it lay in disarray. Though not entirely bared, she was more exposed to him than ever.
"I... I..." she attempted to speak, to offer some form of explanation or apology. Was it due to her appearance? But she felt anything but unattractive under his hungry gaze, beneath his fervent touch upon her curves. Perhaps that's why the words eluded her.
He scarcely afforded her a chance to articulate further.
Ben persisted in his passionate assault, his bites and caresses a testament to his desire to taste her, to consume her completely.
"I need you to sit back... no, that won't do," he pondered the spatial constraints of the carriage. "I want you to go back to your seat."
She arched an eyebrow, bemused.
"I will kneel before you."
A soft laugh escaped her lips. "No need to worship me."
He knew she teased him, relishing her playful spirit. "I shall indulge in that too. It's been my practice since our journey began."
A smile of pure delight graced her features.
"But for now, my dear, I simply long to savour you, and that I can only achieve if you recline in your seat."
[y/n]'s initial confusion morphed into a swirl of emotions as Benedict delicately guided her back into her seat within the carriage, positioned her to face him, and divested her of the remaining layers of her attire. Fully exposed now, she stood vulnerable before him, her naked form laid bare. Yet, as she observed Ben's reaction, his evident pleasure at the sight of her, she couldn't suppress the smile that graced her lips.
At that moment, her confusion ebbed away, replaced by a sensation akin to pleasure.
With his bride before him, Benedict ventured where none had dared. [y/n] had never fathomed such intimacy possible. Though she had witnessed many clandestine trysts in the moonlit gardens of ballrooms and countless exchanges of affection, she had not anticipated the sheer ecstasy of feeling his touch in places even she hesitated to explore. It was an exquisite revelation, one she wished to prolong indefinitely.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he inquired, his gaze fixed upon his task. [y/n] responded with a breathy affirmation, amusing him, yet he longed to hear her voice her pleasure. "Speak to me."
"I want you, Ben," she said suddenly, surprising them both by her boldness. "I want… oh!" Her words trailed off as a surge of sensation overwhelmed her. The intensity mounted with each passing moment, threatening to consume her, but Benedict halted before she could reach the brink of release.
"I want you too, dear," he declared, rising from kneeling. "And now, I shall claim you as mine, forever marking you as mine."
She regarded him with eyes ablaze with passion.
"You're ready, more than that," he continued, his words trailing off as he became lost in the depths of his declaration.
A smile graced her lips. "I'm eager."
He grinned; a devilish twinkle in his eyes caused her cheeks to flush crimson.
"It might hurt, I must tell you," he cautioned as he began to undo his trousers. At that moment, as he moved, [y/n] realized she stood alone in her nakedness.
"You must remove your shirt," she insisted, emboldened by her desire. Knowing Ben's yearning for her, she felt empowered to act upon her longing.
"I suppose I must, mustn't I?" he teased.
"I shall assist," she declared, reaching forward to disrobe him, stripping away each garment until he stood as bare as she. With gentle strokes, she trailed her fingers over the expanse of his chest; her curiosity piqued until her touch encountered something far more masculine than the smooth contours of his torso.
"Oh," she gasped, biting her lip in surprise.
"You may explore at your leisure later, my dear," he murmured, covering her hand with his own. "For now, I fear I may lose control if you continue."
Enchanted by his words, she acquiesced, allowing him to guide her hand away from his sensitive skin.
It had felt soft to the touch, yet beneath her gaze, she found it firm, rigid, and elongated. It was not what she had envisioned, but somehow, it was better.
She liked his use of words, so she let him take her fingers away from the delicate skin.
The air thickened with anticipation as their desire reached its crescendo. Benedict's gaze met [y/n]'s, a silent exchange of longing and need that spoke volumes without a single word.
With a shared understanding, they closed the distance between them. Benedict's hands roamed over [y/n]'s naked form, igniting sparks of pleasure that danced along her skin. She gasped as his lips found hers, their kiss a fiery union of passion and urgency.
As their embrace deepened, Benedict guided himself inside her, their bodies becoming one in a primal dance of ecstasy. [y/n] moaned in pleasure, her nails digging into Benedict's back as he moved with a steady rhythm, each thrust driving them closer to the edge of oblivion.
In the throes of passion, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, their cries of ecstasy mingling with the rhythmic creaking of the carriage.
It was only them, lost in the blissful oblivion of their shared desire.
And as they reached the peak of their pleasure, they clung to each other with a fierce intensity, their bodies trembling with the force of their release.
As they lay entwined in each other's arms, their breath coming in ragged gasps, Benedict pressed a tender kiss to [y/n]'s forehead, his heart overflowing with love and adoration.
"You're mine, now," she said before he could say it first. For an unknown reason, she felt possessive over him. "I think I... I do love you, Benedict Bridgerton, you must know."
Before she could register the astonishment in his eyes, Benedict silenced his own smile with a fervent kiss, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that spoke volumes.
"I'm yours, without a doubt, and I love you more," he confessed with a smile, though his expression soon shifted to one of realization. "I'll have to procure a special license for our wedding. It will entail some effort... but it will be worth it."
"Can't endure being my fiancé any longer? They say being my husband will be even worse," she teased, her fingers trailing through the dark waves of his hair, tucking them back from his forehead.
"I would gladly remain your fiancé for a lifetime to become your husband for as many lifetimes as we have," he replied charmingly. "However, having a bride who is... with child might raise some eyebrows."
"Oh, Lord," she gasped, her eyes widening in alarm as she pulled back from him. "You don't think...?"
"It's a possibility," he confirmed, his tone laced with both excitement and apprehension.
He felt her tense, her body hardening over his. But he ran his hands over her curves and, smiling, said, "Don't worry about the child, my dear. I heard that a great writer is about to release a beautifully illustrated children's book..."
At his words, their laughter mingled with kisses, at their secret and the promise of a marriage that was not only passionate but also very, very artistic.
#benedict bridgerton x yn#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton fic#bridgerton#bridgerton fic#benedict x reader#mr bridgerton#polin#anthony bridgerton
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Bliss - Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Content : smut, 18+, f receiving oral, penetration, slight praise, jealousy, mentions of virginity
Summary : Anthony is jealous of a friend that dances with you at your wedding. He decides to offer to make you feel just how much he loves you.
Word Count : 1.5k
A/N : hi everyone! this is part 2 to Come Away With Me. I hope you enjoy and pls reblog if you enjoy, it is one of the best ways to support your favorite writers!
Read Part 1 here
You twirled on the dance floor effortlessly, the music pounding in your ears as your dance partner sailed across the floor with you. Your white, pearled veil was buttoned at your delicate wrist and there has been a smile plastered on your face since the moment you woke up. Anthony Bridgerton and yourself, married at last.
At this particular moment, you were not quite sure where your husband was, and you were dancing with an old family friend, Horace. He has always had a bit of a crush on you, but you made it quite clear that friends are all you would ever be. Still, he seemed genuinely delighted at your marriage and was letting nothing but praise about Anthony fall on your ears. You were smiling so much that your cheeks hurt, and as you curtsied at the end of the band’s song, you glanced around for Anthony, finding him looking absolutely furious standing with the Duke of Hastings. You frown slightly, and start to make your way towards him when you are apprehended by Eloise and Penelope.
“So.” Eloise says.
“So.” You reply, smiling at her.
“Welcome to the family Bridgerton, where all we care about is status and looks.” Anthony’s younger sister quips. Penelope grimaces, leaning forward in front of Eloise to grasp your hands affectionately.
“You look absolutely lovely, y/n. Anthony is lucky to have as stable and respectable a woman as you.”
You smile at Penelope and give her a hug before moving on. Suddenly, Anthony is by your side, pulling you to the dance floor. You follow happily, happy to have him hold you in his arms. His arm encircles your waist and he pulls you so close. The tips of your noses touch and he speaks through gritted teeth.
“Does Horace truly think that he can dance with my wife all night? He should not even be touching you, let alone thinking of you.” He says bitterly, the jealous tone seeping through prominently.
You blink. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am quite serious.”
“It was just a dance, Anthony.”
He spins you once before pulling you in again, leaning his head down to brush his lips against your ear, causing you to shiver at the unexpected sensation.
“I am the only one who should be touching you. I want to sink myself into you so badly, this ball cannot be over soon enough.” He whispers gruffly, nipping at your ear lightly.
You blush a deep crimson, your panties becoming wet at the thought. You had never been with a man, but you could not wait to explore Anthony, and more importantly, let him explore you. “Behave, Anthony, or I myself will not make it through the whole night.”
Pulling back from you slightly, Anthony studies your face, a glint in his eye. You did not know what this look from him meant, but you supposed you could guess. Anthony leans down to whisper in your ear again. “Mingle a while longer, darling, then meet me in the powder room where you dressed before the ceremony.” You blush again, nodding against him. He holds you at arm’s length and bows, kissing your knuckles while looking directly into your eyes.You hold his gaze, the heat at your center threatening to boil over if he continues to look you over in such a way.
You turn away from him, letting your fingers slip through his as you move along the crowd, mingling with the guests. You were blissfully happy, excited to have your closest friend as your husband, enamored that he truly had never looked at another since that night in the garden when he confessed his love for you. Smiling to yourself, you glance around slowly, watching your loved ones dance, drink, and speak to one another. You lock eyes with Anthony again, and you notice he had already been watching you. He raises his glass to his lips, quirking an eyebrow at you over the crystal rim. You smirk at him, looking around you before confidently leaving the room to go to the powder room. The chaise lounge was just as you left it, the light floral blue fabric inviting you to sit.
You sat, nervously patting your hair, using the looking glass to your right to ensure that your makeup was still intact.
“Thought you could run away from me, hm, Mrs. Bridgerton?” You startle, turning to see Anthony leaning against the door, looking at you hungrily. Your ass bumps into the vanity, the look in his eyes exciting you and making you slightly nervous. “I’m sure Horace wishes he was here in this room with you instead of me.” Anthony scoffs, and you frown.
“I do not care what Horaces wishes.”
Anthony approached you, curling a finger under your chin to tilt your head up to look at him. “Good girl.” He says, and you feel that tingling at your sex again, this time more intensely. He seems to notice the change in your mood, because he lifts you up and sets you on the chaise lounge and sinks to his knees in front of you, capturing your lips in a kiss as he does so.
Smiling into the kiss, you sigh slightly in disappointment as he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. He looked so ready to give at that moment, sat on the floor between your knees. “Are you quite alright with this, darling?”
You nod, looking into his eyes. “I trust no one more than you, Anthony.” He presses a kiss to your temple before reaching behind you to unbutton your dress. He stands you carefully, helping you out of the pristine white material, and pushes you into a sitting position, even more gently. You were shaking in anticipation, wondering what it would feel like, how Anthony would feel against you and inside you.
Anthony lays you back gently, spreading your knees apart and looking at you. He stares at your pussy, and you start to wonder if something was wrong. “Is everything alright?” you ask worriedly, and Anthony looks up at the sound of your voice.
“More than alright. You just have such a pretty little pussy.” He drawls, kissing up your thighs. You squirm, the wetness between your thighs growing. You hear Anthony snicker to himself, and then his mouth is on your cunt, licking gently. You gasp, your hands immediately going to his hair, and Anthony takes this as his signal to lick and suckle more quickly and more firmly.
“Oh, my god, Anthony.” you moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy.
Anthony keeps licking, his fingers reaching out to stroke your bud, making your breathing become heavy. He inserts one long digit inside your cunt, looking up to watch your face as he curls his finger inside you, becoming hard at the sight of the ecstasy written across your face. He pulls his finger out of you and you open your eyes, watching as he unsheathes his cock from his pants. You stare, then roam your eyes up as Anthony draws closer, settling himself above you.
He peppers your face in kisses, sucking at your neck lightly. You writhe a bit and hum, reaching up to run your hands through his hair, but you could not take it anymore, you leaned your head up and captured him in a nasty, tongue and teeth clashing kiss. Your breathing became heavy as you kissed your husband, and you could feel him stroking the head of his throbbing cock along your folds, and the heat and wetness still grew inside you.
Finally, finally Anthony pushed himself into you, his long fingers grabbing at one of your hips, hard. He gasps slightly, giving you time to adjust before sinking into you entirely, slowly dragging his thick cock in and out, hitting the rough patch inside in an agonizingly slow pace that was making your head swim. Your eyes start to roll to the back of your head, and then Anthony picks up pace, pushing into you a bit harder than before. It feels so good that you can’t help but whimper quietly and moan his name over and over again.
“Viscountess,” he purrs, “I am going to make you feel so good that you will be doing more than just whimpering.” He starts to slam into your hips, and instinctively you buck and roll into him, your pussy clenching tighter and tighter as he continues to pound into your cunt. He had said he was going to sink into you and he had, and you could not be happier about it. You gasp sharply as your core tightens again, and Anthony speeds up, capturing your lips in a kiss.
“Anthony, I-I…” you stutter, unable to put words to how you were feeling.
“I know darling, just let go and I will join you.” he whispers, burying his face in the crook of your neck as your eyes explode with stars and you come off of the chaise lounge with an arch in your back. Anthony rides your high with you, pumping into you until he stills, muttering “Fuck, fuck, you feel so good, darling.”
At last, the two of you are breathlessly lying on the chaise, and Anthony lifts his head, stroking your cheek. “I am honored to have satisfied you, my love. I want nothing more than to make you happy.”
You smile at him, brushing a piece of hair off of his forehead. “I am blissfully happy.”
#anthony bridgerton x reader#bridgerton smut#anthony bridgerton smut#jealousy#love#lust#wedding#anthony bridgerton
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If you decide to write for Bridgerton, can you write something for Benedict? Maybe like friends to lovers or something x
The Muse
Requested: By anon
Warnings: nothing just pining
Painting: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!reader
Request: If you decide to write for Bridgerton, can you write something for Benedict? Maybe friends to lovers or something
Authors Note: I beg for forgiveness that it has taken me so long to get to this. I had insane writers block, then university hit like a truck and had to put writing on hold. But I have returned and I loved this request. I am currently rewatching Brigderton after watching Queen Charlotte so I hope this to your liking. So sorry again, love <3
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You had grow up beside the Bridgerton Household your entire life—to the estate beside theirs at least. Your father’s had been quite good friends, and as your parents began with their families the relationship between the two had grown. This has allowed you to have direct access to the household since you could even remember. Your were at the young age of four and twenty, just a few years older than the eldest Bridgerton daughter, but still a few years younger than the second eldest Bridgerton who also just so happened to be your closest companion.
You remembered the first time you had met the boy, or at least remembered meeting him. You were but about six years of age, and Benedict was ten. Your mother had dragged you over to the house as she more often did to have tea with the Viscountess Bridgerton as they did more often than not. It was in their tea room where you were interacting with Colin when Benedict had come in rather excitedly to show his mother a drawing he had made. You could remember her cooing her second eldest son, praising his rather interesting art piece. Curiously you had glanced over, interested with all the paint colors and such. Benedict had noticed your curiosity and offered for you to have a closer look. From then on whenever you had come over you had eagerly awaited to see what Benedict had created next.
This little routine continued as you all got older. Of course after the passing of their Father, there was more comfort and reassurance whenever you had visited. Though, even in a time of such great sorrow, Benedict had portrayed that emotion within his paintings and drawings. You had been the one to support him and aid him in any such way possible.
As time continued, the two of your had grown closer. Of course you had grown closer with all the Bridgerton siblings, Benedict was the one you were closest with. The one you could also scope out at balls if you needed to escape another dreadfully boring dance partner, or an attempted suitor that was twice your age. Of course your father was there to ensure nothing of the sort would occur, but there would be times where Benedict was simply closer and much better at conversation.
Often Lady Whistledown commented on the you both, sometimes a bit too often. There would be whispers about you both, how often you dance with each other at balls or are seen giggling a bit tipsy with each other in the corners. Most of the time it had not bother you—when you were younger at least. Though as you blossomed and grew into yourself, you also were able to recognize your feelings. You believed it was around ten and six when you had realized you were doomed. That you had fallen completely in love with Benedict. It was not something you liked to think about nor dwell on for too long. Why would he, a Bridgerton, a most handsome, talented, funny, charming man like himself even think about courting you?
It was not that you felt like you were unattractive in some sort of way, you were rather pretty. But it was the fact that you were best friends with Benedict that caused you to think this way. There was a chance of him not returning those feelings. There was a chance that he would laugh in your face assuming it was a joke. There was a chance of him scoffing in your face and cutting you and your friendship off completely.
There was no chance that you would even consider taking that risk—no matter how often Daphne or hell, even Elouise would reassure you that he had returned those feelings to you.
Though one afternoon, you sat with him in the Bridgerton’s drawing room. You had been having some tea that Rose had gotten for you while Benedict drew. He drew with his charcoaled that made his long fingers turning an odd shade of black within his drawing pad. You had always admired the way he looked to serious when he drew. His eyebrows furrowed, causing wrinkles to cover his forehead. He also had this habit of tilting his head; you assumed it was to get a different angle on whatever his latest creations was. But your most favorite thing was when he would be stuck on something. Maybe it was because he could not draw it correctly, or the art was not coming out the way he wanted it to. But once he figures it out, or it comes out the way that he had wanted and the ways his eyes lit up with pride and eureka was your absolute favorite.
“what is it you are drawing today?” You asked, lifting the fragile porcelain to your lips as you take a small sip of the warm tea. Your eyes flicker from your cup to the Bridgerton across from you. And just in time too because was already looking at you. His body tensed slightly before he attempted to play it off.
“Nothing you must worry your head about,” he said in a teasing tone, as he most often did. But he was just trying to play it off when in reality it was you. He was drawing you, in your beautiful soft green dress, your hair done up into a neat braid to keep from your beautiful face. You looked stunning and he wanted to capture it like he had done many time before.
It was always you that he drew, especially when you plagued his thoughts in the late. Hours. Oh if you only knew that you were his muse. The very figure and image of you filled pages and pages of his work. Two of the things he loves most wrapped into one. But what if you were to find out? You would never return and that would break his heart. He was so in love with you it ached to not be able to hold you, kiss you when he wanted. He felt this especially at balls and suitors would come up to your constantly, it made his blood boil. But he had hoped he kept it well hidden. Well, enough to keep it from you. His family on the other hand seemed to know or notice it for quite sometime. According to his mother, both of your mother’s knew of it. Everyone seem to know. Everyone but you.
Too busy in his thoughts, he did not feel the dip in the sofa until it was too late. You had seated yourself right next to him with a small huff as you tried to peak at this new creation before he was able to hide it. But he managed, which caused you to pout slightly. Of those lips…he wanted nothing more to cup your face and kiss you right then and there.
“Benedict. You always show me your drawings,” you had insisted, which just caused the other to shake his head.
“Nonsense. There are plenty of work that you have not seen. Besides it is no good anyways, there is no point in showing it off if it is no good.” He said, giving his best friend a look. This only made you want to see more. “you always saw your work is no good and it is always beautiful. Let me see, please?” You pleaded as you took hold of a part of his drawing pad. There was some back and forth, some ‘no’s’ and ‘oh please’ as you both struggled to take proper hold of the pad.
Eventually his hands slipped and lost its grip on the pad, landing it right into your smaller grasp. “ha! I have got it now. Now, let us see what you have been working so hard on,” you tease before looking at the drawing Benedict had been working so hard on. It was a lady, a rather beautiful one. But the longer you looked, the more you realized that this lady in the charcoal had the same features as you. the same face shape, body type, hair—even the little scar that was right on the bridge of your nose that you had gotten as a child. And you face began to redden as you slowly looked towards Benedict. “Are…is this of me?” You ask in wonder, amazement and without a single sound of disgust or hated—this reassures Benedict a bit more at least.
He nods and before he could utter another word, you flip through pages; more drawings of you. “You make me look beautiful..” you say in wonder and this causes Benedict to furrow his eyebrows once more but not in concentration but confusion.
“Because you are beautiful. I draw what I see and what I see from you is…” he stopped himself from speaking another word, too afraid to come across as too forward. He took a breath, figuring now is a better time than ever. The Bridgerton boy took the drawing pad from your hands and placed it next to him before giving you his full attention. Your face is covered with blush, flustered from this whole thing.
“I suppose now I must explain myself before it comes across strangely. But I do draw you. More times than not because you plague my every waking moment, you have since we were children. You have captured my heart from years and you have refused to return it to me. My dearest friend…..my feelings for you grow into one where I want you by my side forever, not just in my drawings. You are my muse for everything I do and I cannot bear it being another nor you being with anyone else..” he said, “So I suppose-“
You cut him off by leaning forward and giving him a kiss. Your soft ones pressed against his own. It was bold and improper. But his words were moving and your heart would not stop its fluttering. So you had kissed him, hoping no one would see. The kiss was everything you both had imagined it would be like and more.
So once you had pulled away to his surprised but smug reaction, you simply nodded, “Of course, it would be delighted to court you, my dearest. I have been waiting so long for this moment.” You say, still almost not believing that your love was also your best friend.
“I suppose we both were a bit too blind and afraid to admit it, hm?” He chuckled, taking your hands in his, getting a bit of the charcoal onto your hands. You giggle and nod,
“Yes I suppose so. But I also would love to see these other drawings of me that you have mentioned,” you teased him, now making it his turn to blush as he realized what he had admitted.
“Perhaps another time…?” He asked hopefully and you grin mischievously, almost impishly.
“Or perhaps we can give you something else to draw,” you said suggestively continuing to tease him about such thing.
“Oh I quite like the sound of that,” Benedict grinned as he pulled you in for another quick kiss. Perhaps it was a good thing you had seen the drawings after all.
#bridgerton imagines#onlybeeewrites#bridgerton#Benedict#benedict bridgerton#Ben Bridgerton#Benedict Bridgerton x reader#Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!reader#anon post#send anons#friends to lovers#cute imagine#onlybeeeanswers#onlybeewrites#open asks
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Garden of Secrets [6] - Hibiscus
A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback and support my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤
Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!
Summary: Whispers are made for midnights.
Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of possibility of physical abuse, past trauma and violence.
Word Count: 5600
Series Masterlist
No matter what anyone else thought or assumed, you weren’t jealous.
That would have been ridiculous. Getting jealous of someone like him, someone who was the complete opposite of you with his silly fixation of love was out of question, so at best you were merely annoyed by this whole…
Charade.
That was what it was. It was an absolute charade, and you still found it hard to believe that you were somehow caught in the middle of it.
“Clover my dear, you’re not going to believe this,” your aunt’s voice made your head snap up from the geraniums you were currently tending to in the garden.
“Good morning to you too auntie,” you said, wiping the sweat off your brow before taking your gardening gloves off. “What’s happened?”
She waved what looked to be the newest issue of Whistledown at you.
“Look at this!”
“What?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat. “Don’t tell me she wrote about me again. I didn’t even attend the last ball, there’s nothing to write about.”
“Well, you were not there but Kitty Morris was,” she said, still waving the paper. “And she has made use of your absence, if you don’t mind me saying. Look at the first paragraph.”
You frowned and reached out to take the paper from her, then skimmed the lines.
Dear Readers,
It seems that the ton’s favorite artist Benedict Bridgerton’s attention is quite easy to sway. As if it was not enough that Charlotte Harlowe’s hopes for a matrimony with him has been shut down quite brutally with Miss Y/N’s sudden raise to suitors’ demand, it certainly looks like Kitty Morris might have just gotten what she has been trying to get since the beginning of the season. The guests of the Phillips ball couldn’t help but notice how happy Miss Morris was during her dance with Mr. Bridgerton whose eyes kept searching the crowd. This writer can only assume that his dance partners, as pleasant as they were, were not very entertaining seeing that he left the ballroom quite early, and was seen returning home in the early hours of the morning.
The rest of it was about Daphne and Duke Hastings along with Mr. Phillips’ dance with Lady Anne at the said ball, and you tried your hardest to ignore the way your stomach sunk, that bitter taste climbing up your throat but when you raised your head to look at your aunt, your expression was completely blank.
“Good for Kitty Morris.”
“Clover.”
“What?” you asked as you gave her the paper back, then put your gloves on again. “I gather they’d make a good couple.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m not doing anything,” you said through your teeth as you dug the small shovel into the soil and accidentally hitting the big rock underneath. “I have better things to think about than Benedict Bridgerton’s many romantic dalliances.”
“It’s alright if you just told me if it bothers you,” she insisted. “It’s just me my dear, and I know you have a soft spot for him—”
“I do not have a soft spot for him auntie,” you cut her off. “I barely know him.”
“You do not have to know everything about him to have certain…feelings for him.”
“The only feeling I have for him is annoyance,” you said, now forgoing the shovel to dig your fingers into the soil, trying to pull out the rock but it didn’t budge. “And who he dances with does not bother me at all.”
“Why didn’t you go to the ball?”
You stopped trying to pull out the rock, huffing out a breath. You had planned to go to that ball at first, in fact, you had even picked your dress and such the day before, and then…
And then that dream had happened.
Even remembering what it was like was enough to send a fire over your face. You could still taste his kiss on your lips, both of you tangled in each other’s arms in your bed, his mouth swallowing your gasp as he—
You shook your head slightly to snap yourself out of your thoughts and bit inside your cheek.
“I told you,” you managed to say. “I had a stomachache.”
She tilted her head, giving you a knowing look.
“Nervousness?”
“…Lemonade,” you ended up saying. “Why would I be nervous?”
“Because you like his presence?”
“No, I—” You were cut off when you pulled out the stone so fast that it accidentally hit the wood of the small fence around the geraniums with a loud crack and you cleared your throat, then put the stone aside. “I barely notice his presence if I’m honest.”
“Oh is that right?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Whistledown is right for once, his attention seems to be easily swayed as all other artists. I couldn’t possibly like his presence if I tried.”
“Regardless,” she said. “You’re still coming to the poetry recital?”
You clicked your tongue. “Will he be there?”
“I think so,” she said. “But it shouldn’t bother you at all. After all, you barely notice his presence, do you not?”
You paused only for a moment before you took a deep breath and smiled.
“Precisely,” you said. “Should be easy enough.”
“Y/N!” Teddy’s voice echoed through the garden and he ran up to you. “A really pretty lady came to visit you!”
You pulled your brows together and took off the gloves again. “What?”
Teddy pointed at the house and you turned your head to see Charlotte entering the garden. Your aunt was as surprised as you were but she managed to cover that much faster than you did.
“Miss Harlowe!” she said, “What a lovely surprise!”
“Lady Thorne,” Charlotte said with a quick curtsy. “Hello Y/N!”
“Hello?”
“Teddy dear, come with me, let’s go back to the house,” your aunt said as he took his hand and Teddy stole a look at Charlotte before looking up at your aunt.
“She’s so pretty auntie,” he said with a very loud whisper, making you smile and Charlotte pressed a hand over her chest.
“Aw you’re the sweetest, Teddy!” she said and Teddy bowed in an exaggerated manner, no doubt mimicking older lords he had seen before and took your aunt’s hand before going back to the house with him.
“Your brother is adorable,” Charlotte said as she sat beside you on the ground. “Are these geraniums? I love geraniums!”
You blinked a couple of times. “Lottie, what are you doing here?”
“I came to spend time with you of course,” she said. “I was thinking perhaps after this, we could go to the bookshop? I’d like to get familiar with the poetry that will be read this evening beforehand.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Well I don’t like it when they read it and I hear it for the first time,” she said. “That’s also why I always read the ending of the novels first before starting on them, I like knowing what happens beforehand.”
“Lottie—”
“Anyway, I know it’s not the same with poetry but it’s still nice to know the themes. I heard the theme will be longing, that should be interesting! I don’t really understand why people do that though, it cannot be that difficult to talk of one’s feelings, especially if you’re in love.”
“Lottie, did we make plans before and I forgot?” you asked and she shrugged her shoulders.
“No,” she said. “I just did not have anything to do today, so I figured we could spend some time together.”
“Because…?”
“Because we’re friends!” she said as if that was all the explanation you needed, but that explanation just made you even more confused. Her smile widened at the surprised look on your face and she clapped her hands together.
“So,” she said. “Tell me more about geraniums and after we’re done here, I’ll tell you about my favorite poems.”
You thought for a second, then shook your head slightly and pulled the gardening gloves off your hands.
“Alright then,” you muttered, trying to repress a smile. “Why not?”
*
Spending time with Lottie was genuinely entertaining. It was as if she was raised in a perfect world where everyone was happy and had no problems other than picking what book to read next. After your visit to the bookshop, you had gotten back home, written your sister a letter talking about Lottie and put it on the small desk to make sure it would be sent tomorrow, then started getting ready for the evening.
You were going to attend a poetry reading on longing and if this was not a sign that the universe had decided to give you a hard time personally, you didn’t know what it was.
“At least the garden is pretty,” you commented to your aunt as you both walked through it to approach the big house and your aunt looked around.
“Oh it really is,” she commented. “Not prettier than yours though.”
“You’re such a master at lying auntie, has anyone ever told you that?” you joked as you linked your arm with hers and she let out a laugh.
“I only say what I see,” she said. “For example, now I see Lord Shaw making his way to us with a hopeful look on his face.”
You repressed a groan and came to a slow stop with your aunt as Lord Shaw more or less threw himself your way.
“Lady Thorne,” he greeted your aunt. “Miss Y/N.”
“Lord Shaw.”
“You look so beautiful my lady.”
You tried not to roll your eyes. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t aware you liked poetry.”
“I do not,” you said and your aunt discreetly poked you on the ribs, making you clear your throat. “I mean…I have yet to find one that is appealing to me, so my search continues.”
“Perhaps tonight your search will be over and you will be taken by one of the poems.”
“I doubt it,” you muttered and he tilted his head.
“Pardon?”
“I hope I will,” you answered him and turned your head when you heard your name being called, your eyes falling on Daphne who was waving at you.
“Oh my goodness, I see my dear friend over there,” you said. “I hope you enjoy the evening Lord Shaw. Auntie.”
Your aunt repressed a smile and shook her head slightly but didn’t comment on it as you walked away from them to approach Daphne
“I swear to God the next man who tries to make small talk with me…” you grumbled and she let out a laugh.
“I could tell,” she said. “You looked truly tormented.”
“I am tormented.”
“Because you have suitors?”
“Yeah,” you said. “I can only be so intimidating when I’m in front of my aunt. Have you seen Charlotte?”
“She’s not here yet,” she said. “I heard some of them were intimidated by the way.”
“Not enough of them,” you said. “How about you? Where’s your favorite suitor?”
“The Duke will not attend as I’ve been told by Lady Danbury,” she said. “Which means I will be approached by less….favored suitors as soon as I’m alone.”
“You could be mean to them?”
“The same way you could be nice to them?” Daphne asked with a grin, then held her breath as if a thought struck her, her eyes stopping somewhere over your shoulder for a moment. “Y/N, I would like to make a deal with you for tonight.”
You pulled your brows. “What is it?”
“I shall be mean to the first person who talks to me, and you shall be nice to the first person who talks to you.”
“I’m unable to be nice Daph.”
“As nice as you can be,” she insisted and you rolled your eyes, heaving a dramatic sigh.
“Fine,” you grumbled, “I guess I will be nice to the first man who starts a conversation—”
“Miss Y/N,” Benedict’s voice cut through your sentence as he entered your sight, almost out of breath. “Hello.”
You frowned, looking around. “…Did you just materialize out of thin air?”
“How are you?”
“No I swear to God you weren’t anywhere near here a moment ago—”
“This is a conversation that I’m starting,” he said as if he didn’t hear you and you threw your head back to look up at the sky, then turned to him.
“Of course it is,” you said and turned to Daphne. “I take it back, you can be mean.”
“I have no idea what you speak of,” she told you with a grin. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go talk to mama until a suitor comes along that I can be mean to. That’s the deal after all.”
“You will pay for this Daphne.”
“I’m not intimidated at all,” she called back as she walked away from you and Benedict, and you crossed your arms, turning to look up at him, willing to push the memory of the dream to the back of your mind.
“What do you want?”
He tilted his head. “This is you being nice?”
“Yes,” you deadpanned. “Can’t you tell?”
Benedict shot you that playful smile of his and despite your better judgement, your heart skipped a beat.
“I thought you’d hate poetry.”
“I don’t know why you would think that,” you said as you grabbed a lemonade from the tray a maid was holding. “I happen to be a lover of poetry.”
A surprised look crossed his face. “Really?”
“No!” you grimaced. “Obviously not. I find it incredibly vexing when people talk about their feelings, what makes you think I’d read about them willingly?”
Benedict’s smile widened. “Right, of course.”
“You love it, I gather,” you said before you took a sip. “As artists do. I heard you’ve been getting quite the inspiration lately.”
He was smart enough to understand the double innuendo, no doubt thinking back to the last time you had snapped at him at the ballroom and he bit down a smile.
“I don’t know where you’ve heard it from Miss Y/N,” he said. “And I know better than to assume anything about you or how you feel—”
“That’s a welcomed surprise.”
“But a simple listener would think you’re jealous.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, your stomach doing a flip.
“Jealous?” you repeated with a scoff. “Of you being—being inspired?”
He shot you a mischievous smirk. “Seems that way, would you not say?”
“Not at all.”
“No?”
“No because I doubt the outcome would be worth much if inspiration is that easy to be at anyone’s service,” you pointed out, your voice like a silk and then let an innocent smile pull at your lips. “And that enthusiastic to sate their desire for…art.”
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was impressed as he raised his brows, letting out a breath of disbelief.
“Well played.”
“Why thank you,” you said as you sipped your lemonade again but both of you turned your heads as a giggle reached you. Kitty Morris stole a look at you before turning to talk to her friends and you repressed a laugh.
“That’s your cue,” you said and he tilted his head.
“What?”
“Your dance partner is giggling in your direction, what more of a sign do you need?”
“My dance partner?” he asked, then heaved a sigh as the thought hit him. “Lady Whistledown.”
“Mm hm. Off you go.”
“I’m not going,” he insisted. “If only you were there at the ball, you—”
“Mr. Bridgerton,” Kitty’s voice reached you two as she approached you and you arched a brow. “And Miss Y/N. Good evening.”
“Miss Morris,” Benedict said and a smile lit up her face.
“I was just telling my friend how excited I am for tonight’s poems,” she said. “I’m such an admirer of every aspect of art you see.”
“With no inspiration, apparently,” you muttered under your breath and Benedict managed to stop the small chuckle threatening to leave his lips by clearing his throat.
“That’s lovely to hear Miss Morris.”
“And what is your favorite poem that will be read tonight?”
You could feel the fire of the anger bubbling at the pit of your stomach as Kitty shot him a glance from under her lashes and you clicked your tongue.
“I’d better leave the poetry admirers such as you to your conversation,” you said and Benedict shook his head fervently.
“No we’re just—”
“No it’s alright,” you said. “Enjoy your evening Mr. Bridgerton. Miss Morris.”
She shot you a forced smile before turning to Benedict who looked genuinely disappointed that you were leaving but you refused to let it make you linger there any longer. You turned around and made your way to your aunt, still trying to repress that unfamiliar anger threatening to take over you.
*
But for some reason, trying to repress that did not work.
You had zero idea what the poems were really about or what their overall themes were; apparently tonight had to test your patience since Kitty had sat right behind you with her sisters. They hadn’t stopped whispering for the last hour and it was only when the person at the front row asked a question about a line that their whispering became clear enough for you to hear.
“Mark my words, he will ask me for a dance at the next ball as well.”
“Perhaps you are his muse!”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if I was. He is very fond of talking with me as you can see.”
“Oh Kitty!”
“Perhaps he will propose to you by the end of the season!”
You could taste the bitterness climbing up your throat and you gritted your teeth, pressing a hand over your bodice before reaching out to touch your aunt’s hand.
“Y/N?”
“I will go to the washroom and be back,” you whispered and walked out of the room, but instead of going down the hallway, you descended the stairs and stepped out of the house. The cool fresh air was a great remedy to the bitter fire in your chest so you took a deep breath, then stood on your tiptoes to get a better look at the garden. The flowers were as expected from any rich house, rows and rows of roses and tulips and looked around to see whether there was anything different, but it was a bit hard in the moonlight. You approached the flower beds, inspecting the roses closer but you turned around when someone cleared their throat, your heart climbing up to your throat as soon as you saw Benedict.
“What are you doing here?”
Benedict put his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “This is the one night you will be nice to me, I’m not wasting it sitting in a room where I can’t even talk to you.”
You repressed a smile and crossed your arms.
“And you decided to risk my reputation?”
“No one will be leaving that room for a while, they just started on Byron.”
“Of course they did,” you muttered and turned to the flowers. “Whose house is this again?”
“Lord and Lady Lowell.”
“Who told them to spare the whole garden to tulips and roses and nothing more?”
“It’s not just tulips and roses.”
You motioned around. “Do you see anything else?”
Benedict tilted his head, giving you a mischievous grin. “I’m guessing that means you haven’t seen the greenhouse yet?”
Your head shot up. “There’s a greenhouse?”
“Mm hm,” he said. “There’s mostly fruit and vegetables and some herbs though. Do you want to see it?”
“It’s probably locked.”
“They don’t keep it locked.”
You raised your brows. “And you know that how?”
He looked a bit taken aback and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…I—I heard it from…someone.”
You scoffed. “Oh I’m sure,” you said. “You remember that I carry a knife, right?”
“Trust me, that knowledge refuses to leave my mind.”
“Even if I go there with you, the moment you think you can try something I would not hesitate to cut you.”
He held up his hands. “I swear on my honor,” he said. “I just…haven’t seen you for a while, that’s all. I was hoping we could talk, I do not expect or ask for anything more.”
“What makes you think I want to talk to you?”
“You haven’t walked away from me yet.”
You pulled your brows together and rolled your eyes.
“Fine,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “Lead the way.”
The greenhouse was on the other side of the garden, away from anyone else’s gaze. Benedict opened the door and stepped aside so that you could slip into the greenhouse before him and your eyes searched the place, and you tilted your head.
It looked more like a food garden than a greenhouse.
This was what you didn’t understand about the people owning greenhouses. They didn’t appreciate it, if one day in the future you had a greenhouse, you were going to fill it with all kinds of rare plants and flowers rather than growing only vegetables and fruits.
“You were not jesting,” you muttered as you walked in the greenhouse slowly and he leaned back to the glass wall.
“No flowers though.”
“No,” you said as you approached to look at the tiny strawberries, then ripped one out to toss it at Benedict. He caught it mid-air and shot you an exaggerated look of shock.
“Scandal, Miss Y/N,” he said. “Where are your manners?”
You shrugged your shoulders and popped a strawberry into your mouth.
“Do you honestly think Lady Lowell steps a foot here?” you asked. “Most probably her gardener does, and something tells me he would not mind. Besides, I thought you wanted me to be nice to you.”
“It does make a lovely change now that you mention it,” he commented as he sat back on one of the narrow wooden counters, keeping his gaze on you while you made your way around the greenhouse. “Why did you leave me with Kitty Morris of all people?”
You looked at him over your shoulder before taking a look at the hibiscus flower in front of you.
For tea, probably.
“I merely assumed you two had much to talk about.”
“Y/N.”
“She likes poetry too,” you said, trying to repress the smile threatening to pull at your lips as you approached the rosemary plant in the pot. “And art.”
“Can you be nice to a person for only half a minute? I will not judge, I just wish to know.”
“I am being nice to you, I haven’t even insulted you yet,” you played along before you turned to glare at him. “That being said, if you ever told about this to anyone—”
He grinned. “No worries. The rest of the ton shall remain intimidated by you. It does not leave here.”
“Good,” you commented and ran your palm over the rosemary, then went to the next potted plant to take a closer look at it.
Mint. It was mint.
“Well this brings back memories,” you muttered as you ripped a leaf to chew on it and Benedict hummed.
“How come?”
“Me and my sister used to play this game…” you trailed off before you stopped yourself. “Never mind, it’s foolish.”
“No I want to know,” he said. “What game?”
You shrugged your shoulders. “There wasn’t much of entertainment back in the countryside so us and some of her friends, we would go to a garden, and we would ask each other questions and point at a plant or whatever was there. You had to either answer the question truthfully or eat whatever the others pointed at.”
Benedict clapped his hands together and pushed himself off the wall, rolling his shoulders back as if he was getting ready for some sort of a sport.
“Let’s do it then.”
You blinked a couple of times. “What?”
“Come on. Unless of course you’d rather go back to that room to hear more about Byron’s feelings when he wrote She Walks in Beauty.”
You arched a brow. “Is that bitterness I hear?”
“I do not like his lines,” he said curtly. “Let’s play.”
“You cannot beat me at that game.”
“That’s not what I’m after,” he said. “Will you ask first or shall I?”
You heaved a deep sigh and walked among the counters, then ripped a tiny tomato and tossed it his way. He caught it and shrugged his shoulders.
“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you’re going easy on me.”
“It’s just the start,” you said. “Will you propose to Kitty Morris by the end of the season?”
His eyes widened and he shook his head fervently.
“What?” he asked. “No! Who told you that?”
“She hopes for it,” you said with a small grin and he scoffed.
“No thank you. I would never,” he tossed you back the tomato. “My turn. Why did you not come to the last ball?”
You wiped the tomato with the skirts of your dress and popped it into your mouth, shooting him a smile.
“Fair enough,” he commented and you looked around, then grabbed the small green pepper off the plant and threw it for him to catch.
“What did you do after you left the ballroom until the morning?”
He held up the pepper as if toasting you and popped it into his mouth, then started coughing.
“Jesus Christ…” he said as he swallowed it and hit his chest with his fist, grimacing. “My compliments to Lady Lowell’s gardener, this is extremely hot.”
“That one is going to be even worse,” you nodded at the red pepper and he heaved a sigh.
“Of course it will,” he muttered and ripped an asparagus before tossing it your way. “Are you still angry at me because I was late to the ball that one time?”
You bit off the asparagus and chewed on it, making him frown.
“Jesus, is there anything you don’t eat?”
“Told you that you couldn’t beat me at this,” you said. “Josie once made me eat a whole radish with the soil and everything on it on a dare, this is nothing.”
“Josie?”
“My sister,” you said. “Josephine. My turn.”
You reached out for the tiny red pepper this time, making him let out a groan that somehow made a spark of lightning shoot through you but you bit inside your cheek and tossed it at him.
“Here.”
“Please ask me something I can actually answer.”
You raised your brows. “Is there really nothing between you and Lottie or are you two just keeping it a secret?”
“There’s nothing going on between me and her,” he said, his voice completely clear as he shook his head in a determined manner. “We have never seen each other that way, nor will we ever. Charlie is one of the best people I’ve ever known in my life and whoever she marries will be the luckiest man in the world.”
“But not you?”
“Not me,” he said. “She’d tell you the same if you asked her. It’s just… we’re friends.”
You hummed and shrugged your shoulders.
“Very well,” you said. “Your turn.”
He looked around, then walked to rip a stem of grapes, causing you to scrunch up your face.
“Pick something else.”
His jaw dropped before he shot you a smug smile and tossed the stem your way.
“Not a chance, I pick this one.”
“Come on,” you whined as you turned the grapes in your hand. “I hate grapes, and these aren’t even ripe!”
“You know everything you say convinces me not to pick anything else, right?”
“I hate you so much.”
“Mm hm.”
“Fine,” you murmured, still glaring at the grapes in your hand before raising your glances to meet his eyes. “Go on. Ask me something.”
“What of your many suitors?”
“They’re annoying,” you said with a grimace, “What of them?”
“There’s no one among them that you…?”
“What?”
“That you like?” he asked. “Lord Shaw seems quite persistent.”
“Oh I would never marry Lord Shaw,” you brushed him off. “He’s too young.”
“He’s in his early thirties,” he reminded you. “He’s older than you.”
“Not enough,” you pointed out. “I have a clear idea of what I require in matrimony. My husband will be much older, in his fifties or sixties, and a widow if possible.”
He scoffed a laugh. “You’re supposed to answer truthfully.”
“I am answering truthfully,” you said and Benedict’s eyes flickered across your face as if trying to find a tell that you were dishonest.
“…Why?”
“Many reasons,” you said. “I don’t want to wait for years and years for him to die to gain my freedom, I’d like it to be fast. I do not even have to like him, I just need him to die fast.”
His jaw was slightly slack as he gawked at you. “You’re jesting.”
“No I’m not.”
“You’re willing to marry someone you don’t even like to…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Do you even know what happens when you get married?”
“Do you?” you asked back. “Just because we’re talking about different aspects of marriage does not invalidate either one of them.”
“So you’re willing to go through that with someone who you don’t even like just because he might die faster?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this Benedict, but the majority of wives in the ton go through that with their husbands whom they don’t like,” you pointed out bluntly, the back of your eyes stinging before you blinked back the tears, surprised at yourself but thankfully managing to remain completely calm. “And it happens again and again, and I refuse to be subjected to that any longer than I must.”
His jaw clenched upon hearing the unpleasant truth and he swallowed thickly.
“Y/N it doesn’t have to be like that—”
“I can assure you it is not going to be so sad for me,” you cut him off. “When my future husband dies, I’ll have…” you trailed off. “I’ll have…”
“Solitude.”
“Solitude is not the threat you think it is for me,” you stated. “The way I see it, marriage is debtor’s prison. I will spend some time waiting for it to be over until I’m free, that’s all. Until I’ve paid the price I’m expected to pay.”
“And love?”
You let out a dry laugh. “Don’t you find it ironic that only artists have the luxury of looking for love, or believing in it for that matter?”
“Don’t give me that,” he said as if he was too impatient to argue with you on that. “What of your heart?”
“I told you,” you forced yourself to say as you shot him a bitter smile. “I don’t have one.”
“What of your desires?” he asked and with the worst timing possible, your dream from the night before flashed before your eyes, with him kissing you, and touching you, and—
“I don’t have those either,” you managed to lie through your teeth as you played with the grapes in your hand, wiping at the dust over them and he took a step towards you.
“That cannot be your plan for your future,” he insisted, breathing fast as if you were going to run away at any moment. “What if he doesn’t die fast? A lot of old people live long lives.”
“It’s the safest bet,” you pointed out. “It would still prove to be useful.”
“How?”
“Old husbands move slower,” you said as you rubbed at your wrist and shrugged your shoulders again. “I will have to be faster than him for when he tries to hit me.”
A stunned silence fell upon the greenhouse and you lifted your glances from your wrist to find him completely frozen in shock in his place.
“What?” you asked and he frowned as if the mere idea was so unthinkable that it confused him.
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
You tossed a grape in the air and caught it again. “I will have to be faster than him for when he tries to—”
“No one will hit you.”
“Precisely,” you said. “I’m making sure of it. We’re talking about the same thing here, honestly.”
“No, even if…” he trailed off and for the first time since you had met, a darkness crossed his eyes, something dangerous, something that was more than enough to raise goosebumps on your arms even if you somehow knew that it was not directed at you. “If somebody so much as touches a hair on your head, I—”
“Wouldn’t be able to do a thing,” you finished his sentence for him. “No one would, you know how it goes. Once I’m married it’s over, there’s no one that can stop anything. Not my family, not the law, not the ton. So I’m going to protect myself because if I don’t do it, no one else will.”
He looked at a loss for words as he stared at you and you threw the grape stem aside as if your heart didn’t feel like it weighed a ton, then cleared your throat.
“I won by the way,” you told him, wiping your hands on your skirts. “I’m going back to the house before my aunt sends Queen’s guards after me.”
“Y/N—”
“Oh cheer up, will you?” you forced your voice to come out completely nonchalant as you opened the glass door. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure you will find love. Shouldn’t be that hard if you believe in that nonsense.”
You walked out of the greenhouse without so much as a glance back, leaving him there frozen. You took a deep breath, gritting your teeth and rubbed at your arms, the sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather rushing through you.
“Pull yourself together,” you muttered to yourself and made your way back to the house, digging your fingernails into your palms in an attempt to focus on anything but the tears burning your eyes.
Chapter 7
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But can you imagine an au where Penelope uses lady Whistledown to troll the ton's couples with the worst romantic writing ever. Just for fun.
Dear Reader
I'll have you know that last night at the Danbury ball Miss Kate Sharma was seen heaving a tragic sigh with her bubbling bossom, as Mr Dorset told her that her beauty and beautiful songbird voice had driven him to forsake his vows to his beloved Joanna who currently laid dying of consumption in an insane asylum and here he was confessing his love to her. But Miss Kate knew it could never be, because Mr Dorset was secretly her long lost third cousin twice removed and she could never truly love him back. Meanwhile Miss Edwina and Viscount Bridgerton continued their torrid race to ruin as Viscount Bridgerton jiggled his manly hips and hipnotized Edwina into accepting his advances but that very same night Miss Kate Sharma and the Viscount ended up doing something that would shatter their lives and...... to read more of this story subscribe to Lady Whistledown column every Tuesday and Friday for 5 guineas a piece "
Cue Penelope writing the most torrid real person fanfiction about Kanthony and the rest of the Bridgertons because she figured that badly written romance serials sold well among nobility and that's where the money is at.
And of course Kate and Anthony want to find the writer who is exaggerating their lives and turning it into a telenovela. So Anthony assigns Colin to catch LW. All while Penelope is happily writing the worst romantic sickeningly sweet maiden fanfiction and enjoying herself as she describes him as possessing 'manly thighs that flexed with the strength of a elephant' and enjoying herself inmensly. Cue Colin being absolutely ready to kill Lady Whistledown and making it his mission to take her down
Bonus if Penelope's serials become very popular with young debutantes like Edwina, Felicity and Hyacinth who will absolutely defend their favorite novelist! Because they really need to know what happens next in 'the saga of the giggling pectorals' so Colin ends up finding out that there's nothing scarier than teenage girls obsessed with a work of fiction.
Of course, he stumbles upon Penelope's secret entirely by accident, because he thinks she's being led astray by LW meeting with a Fabio eske lover
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Little things that point to Penelope for anyone paying close enough attention from the beginning of Whistledown to notice. Let’s recap some:
Whistledown’s first column quotes Lord Byron, who wrote, “Of all bitches, dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine.” Then Penelope mentions Lord Byron the first time she’s speaking with Colin.
Whistledown insults Lady Featherington, and likens herself and her sisters to sorrowful sows (female pigs or bears) in her first issue which deflects from the author being a Featherington purposely.
Lord Berbrooke tries to force Daphne into marriage and the Bridgerton’s are desperate to protect her from him but they have no way to get rid of him because he’s threatening to ruin them. But Lady Whistledown just happens to save the day by outing him for not only forcing himself on a maid, but abandoning and not supporting the child that resulted from his horrible and dishonorable behavior.
Whistledown is complementary towards Marina the entire season calling her a diamond just like Daphne and even when we know that Penelope was pleading with Marina to rethink her decision to trap Colin and she tried to get Colin to question Marina’s intentions without success, Pen tells Marina she would never bring scandal on her or their family until she finds Marina’s bags are packed and realizes she’s about to run off & elope with him and the next day Whistledown reveals her deception. And Penelope hates herself for it, she’s inconsolable and goes to Eloise for comfort, later remarking to Eloise that that particular column was personal to Whistledown.
At Eloise’s first ball entering society she’s approached by two gentlemen and Penelope makes a plant pun which is completely ignored by Eloise and both men the day before she uses a plant pun in Whistledown which Mr. Finch calls clever the while reading her latest issue.
After Eloise complains to Penelope about how women are more than the accomplishments they have acquired to attract men, Whistledown makes similar comments.
Penelope asks Cressida about her dress at dinner before her mother tells her to stop talking. The next issue Whistledown insults Cressida’s gown and praises Madame Delacroix.
Penelope is treated with kindness by Edwina when they first meet, and Whistledown never says an unkind word about the season’s diamond even when the wedding is a failure, Whistledown does not make it worse, she reports on it because she has to but she does not print negative speculation or any implications about Kate and Anthony who were definitely seen by several members of the ton going into the same closet together.
Eloise tells Penelope she’s going to lie to the Queen and confess that she’s Whistledown and Penelope insists she should wait to see if Lady Whistledown prints something that proves she is innocent and that she’s not the gossip writer. Then Whistledown does exactly that but it’s ruinous.
#quotergirl random thoughts#bridgerton#lady whistledown#Penelope Featherington#netflix bridgerton#shondaland
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Polin Fic Ideas: Part 1
Royalty AU where the Bridgerton and Featherington kingdoms have a long standing relationship. To affirm this relationship, Colin and Penelope have been betrothed to one another (third son and third daughter). They are not pleased about it, but not for the same reasons.
Modern AU where Colin and Pen got married young. 2020 happened, the pandemic fucked with their marriage and they're now separated but miserable. They find their way back to each other.
Canon Divergence arranged marriage au. Initially, Colin is bitter and awful about it. Penelope tries to make the best out of the situation, but grows tired when Colin doesn't get his act together. When Colin realises that Pen is pulling away, he starts feeling guilty and starts trying harder, but Pen is determined to keep her distance. Six months after they get married, Colin finds Pen trying to run away in the middle of the night, leaving him with just a note.
Colin and Pen have married, but he needs to leave to help Anthony with some issue with the Bridgerton properties in the country. When the season starts, a new gentleman in town starts taking a shining to Pen because she still looks like a debutante (cuz nic never ages). Pen doesn't realise because she's oblivious.
Canon divergence where Colin comes to the Featherington House to court Marina, sees that she has loads of suitors and Pen has none, and becomes offended on her behalf when he sees her smiling a bit wistfully at Marina's long line of suitors. He then changes his mind and decides to court Pen, initially just to try and make more gentleman pay attention to her, but then more seriously when he realises he quite likes courting Pen.
S2 canon divergence where Anthony is trying to find his Viscountess. When he's talking to his friends outside the ball about how the women of London are not up to par, both Kate and Colin hear him and they're both less than pleased when he ends up struggling to decide between Penelope and Edwina.
Modern AU where Pen is a struggling writer and Colin offers to be her sugar daddy.
#polin#polin fic#polin fanfiction#bridgerton au#colin bridgerton#penelope featherington#colin x penelope
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theory on the new stills
so based on some of the metadata pulled for these stills - it seems that Polin at the Ball and Angry Colin take place in the same episode!
so heres my take on the chain of events!
After episode 1 which I am guessing will include Pen and Colin coming back to town, Colin and Pen running into each other at the market(not so sure about this) and potentially the first ball of the season, the scene with Pen at the window and Colin and Pen in what look like a dark garden maybe standing super close, Pen failing spectacularly on the marriage mart and Colin offering his help - Whatever the included scenes my guess is they would set up the lessons and have the first episode end with Colin and Pen being on friendly terms.
As with every episode, EPISODE 2 will start with a LW monologue and potentially cover some of the EP 1 stuff. This leads me to think that Pen would probably have written something not too kind about herself and Colin would be pissed about it.
This anger would then boil over in the famous Letter Opener Scene from RMB. I don't want to spoil it but the still of the 2 of them together later in the episode and Colin's bandaged hand has me convinced we are getting it.
Colin being angry at LW would boil over in his conversation with Penelope who I think he's staring down in this scene. Note - there are no other bridgerton's around while Colin looks pretty unruffled and definitely angry. I personally dont see why the writers would choose to make Colin angry twice in the same episode for 2 similar reasons. It flows better if its all compounded into 1 scene especially since we as the audience know Penelope is LW.
BONUS - Penelope sees Colin looking like THIS and they also share a super-close-pretty-angsty-eye-contact-heavy moment.
Following this if Pen does storm out and Colin realises he needs to apologise, he finds Pen at the ball to talk to her and this scene happens.
Pen and Colin ignoring propriety and standing so close together... LIKE THEY ARE LITERALLY TOUCHING?! ZERO PERSONAL SPACE BABIES! The Lord and Lady Whistledown vibes are so strong with this one... like i cant wait for scenes with these two just gossiping away in the corner of a ball and sharing barbs and making each other laugh😭
#polin#polin bridgerton#colin bridgerton#bridgerton s3#bridgerton#colin x penelope#penelope featherington
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i’m currently updating my tags. click the tags on this post to immediately go to some of my faves!
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Writer!Penelope
Photographer!Colin Writer!Colin
So photography was invented in the late 1820s?
In the heart of London’s bustling city, amidst the clatter of horse-drawn carriages and the whispers of the Regency era’s elite, there lived two souls, seemingly worlds apart yet bound by a thread of destiny. Penelope Featherington, a writer of wit and charm, spent her days weaving tales that captured the hearts of many. Her words danced across the pages of her novels, bringing to life stories of love and adventure that resonated with the yearning hearts of her readers.
Colin Bridgerton, a travel writer and photographer with a thirst for the unknown, roamed the farthest corners of the globe, capturing moments of breathtaking beauty through his lens. His travel journals were a tapestry of cultures and landscapes. Each posted a window into the vibrant tapestry of the world.
Their paths crossed one fateful evening at a ball hosted by the esteemed Lady Danbury. Colin, home from his latest expedition, was the talk of the ton, his tales of exotic lands enchanting every ear. Penelope, a wallflower often overlooked, found herself entranced by his vivid descriptions and the passion that lit his eyes.
******
Penelope looked up in surprise with a book in hand. “Oh! I didn't expect anyone else to be here.”
“I could say the same. I needed a break from the crowd.” Colin said, leaning on a bookshelf.
“I find the same escape in words. This library is a haven.” Penelope smile looking around the candlelit room.
“It seems we both appreciate stories, albeit in different forms.”
“Yes. Paris must be a dream through your lens. I often set my stories there.” Penelope remembered one of his travel tales.
“It's a city that looks back at you, almost like it's telling its own tale. What do you write about?”
Penelope blushed. It was not often that someone was interested in her hobbies. “Romance, mostly. The kind that makes you believe in unexpected connections.”
“Then we're in the business of crafting dreams, aren't we?” Colin half smiled.
Penelope nodded. “Dreams that sometimes speak a truth louder than reality.”
Colin walked over to the settee and sat across from Penelope. “Have you ever been to Paris?”
“No, but my characters have. Through them, I've walked along the Seine a thousand times.”
Colin’s heart warmed at the sentiment. “Maybe it's time you write your own story there. I could show you the city beyond the postcards.”
“That would be a story worth telling. And you, have you ever written about your travels?”
“I capture moments through photographs and I've tried putting them into words. However, I doubt my writing would impart the splendor of the places I've toured.”
“Perhaps we could teach each other. I'll write the words for your pictures.” Her voice playful and hopeful.
“And we can exhibit my photograps along side the moments you conjure with your pen.”
Penelope extended her hand. “It's a deal, Mr. Bridgerton.”
Colin shook her hand, feeling an unexpected jolt run up his spine.
“And a pleasure, Miss Featherington. Shall we start with the first chapter tonight?”
Penelope laughed in surprise. “Let's. But first, tell me, which part of the world is your favorite?”
Colin leaned forward.
“Right now, this library in London seems to be a strong contender.”
******
As the night wore on, they found themselves in the quiet sanctuary of the manor’s library. Surrounded by leather-bound tomes and the soft glow of candlelight, they spoke of their dreams and aspirations. Penelope confessed her longing to see the world beyond the pages of her books, while Colin admitted his desire to find a story that would stir his soul as much as his travels did.
In the weeks that followed, their friendship blossomed. Colin began to see the world through Penelope’s eyes, finding beauty in the simplicity of everyday life. Penelope, inspired by Colin’s photographs, started to infuse her writing with the colors and textures of the places he had seen. They were two artists, painting a canvas of shared experiences, each stroke bringing them closer together.
One afternoon, as they strolled through the verdant gardens of Hyde Park, Colin turned to Penelope with a sparkle in his eye. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness, “about a new journey. But this time, I don’t want to go alone. Would you… would you join me?”
Penelope’s heart skipped a beat. The prospect of exploring the world with Colin, of seeing the places she had only ever dreamed of, was exhilarating. “Yes,” she whispered. Her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. “I would love nothing more.”
And so, they set off together. Their love story unfolding across continents and oceans. With every sunset they watched and every mountain they climbed, their bond deepened. Penelope’s writing flourished. Each word a testament to the love that grew between them. Colin’s photographs, once solitary snapshots of the world, now had a constant, radiant subject – Penelope, the woman who had become his muse.
Years passed, and their adventures became the stuff of legend. The Bridgerton-Featherington expedition, as it came to be known, was a symbol of love’s power to bridge distances and differences. They had found in each other a kindred spirit, a partner in both life and art.
As they sat together, old and gray, in the very library where their love had first sparked, they knew that their greatest adventure had been the journey of their hearts. For in the end, it was not the places they had seen or the accolades they had received that mattered most, but the love that had guided them through it all.
And so, the story of Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington became a timeless tale. A reminder that sometimes, the most extraordinary journeys are those that lead us to love.
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Love to Spare - Part 5 (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)
Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader
Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader
Fluffy, friendship, angsty feelings!
GIF by me
Word count: 2k
Part 4 Part 6
Masterpost
Author's Note: Am I the terrible person that wrote Part 5 to be so long that I had to split it in half and now this will be 7 parts? Yes, I am that person. But it's all written - it's done. For real. 7 parts.
Summary: A season of suitors and a night at the opera.
You were an hour late in meeting Sir Edgar, having lost yourself in conversation with Benedict. You told him about your plans to teach and write and how they had been dashed by your family’s financial situation. He was sympathetic and supportive, his kind eyes sparkling as you spoke. When you asked him about his dreams in turn, he told you of his love for art, his penchant for sketching, and his hopes to distinguish himself with some kind of career. He was funny and inquisitive, listening so attentively that it was easy to open up to him despite barely knowing him. Where Anthony listened to you with all the insights of a clever colleague, Benedict seemed to listen with his whole heart.
Your subsequent conversation with Sir Edgar while strolling through the park was comparatively less stimulating. You spoke about your mutual acquaintances and the latest gossip of the ton, but neither of you turned inward to speak about yourselves in any meaningful way. You had the impression he was not the sort to even think to ask. Everything seemed very simple about him; simply pleasant, simply adequate, friendly and polite but lacking in passion. You convinced yourself that this could be a good quality in a husband. Someone who was quietly dependable, stable and calm, not prone to anger or jealousy or strong opinions.
Two days later you received a parcel containing a small note and scroll of canvas tied with a blue ribbon. The note read:
I’m sure your home is filled with bouquets from suitors, but here is something to enjoy once they all wilt.
It was unsigned. Unfurling the canvas, you saw it was an oil painting of blue hydrangeas, bursting with color. Lining one stem were small, squiggled initials, ‘BB’. You displayed it beside Sir Edgar’s bouquet of roses, which were already turning black and shriveled, and felt something odd in your stomach each day when you admired it. But you didn’t send any reply, or acknowledge the gift when you later saw Benedict. You didn’t want to entertain any advance he may have intended with it.
Over the next several weeks, your parade through the ton and its annual events continued. You were guided through balls and garden parties, concerts and promenades, steered by Anthony into the company of Sir Edgar whenever he was present. You danced and chatted with other gentlemen who showed interest. Three of them even called upon you at home and left trinkets of affection, but Sir Edgar remained the least objectionable. You surmised that there wasn’t much objection because there wasn’t much of anything really. When a man said so little, there was little to take issue with.
Always on the fringes of your outings were Anthony’s brothers, Benedict and Colin. As your acquaintance deepened, you found that despite their similar appearance, their personas were very distinct. If Anthony was strength, Benedict was beauty. He always found ways to inject moments of joy into boring affairs; sneaking you glasses of champagne, or pulling you away from Sir Edgar to show you a vivid painting around a corner, or introducing you to acquainted academics, writers, and artists. You noticed that Colin often preceded him, calling Anthony away on some urgent matter just before Benedict appeared. You followed along in good humor, laughing on the edges of ballrooms, joining the Bridgertons at their picnic spot in the park, and debating artistic license with Benedict at each gallery opening.
You consistently had to remind yourself that this was a friendship, just like the one you had with Anthony. But you couldn’t deny that each time you saw Benedict, something tugged within you, like a magnet within your chest pulling you in his direction. Try as you might to ignore such feelings, they could overwhelm you when your guard was down. Sometimes at night when you were falling asleep, hovering on the edge of consciousness, you would find yourself saying his name. You savored it on your tongue like a sweet you had stolen just for yourself to enjoy. Then in the morning you would chastise yourself, reminding yourself of all Sir Edgar’s good qualities and how he met your and Anthony’s criteria for a practical choice of husband.
Things progressed this way through the first half of the season. You knew matters with Sir Edgar were escalating when he insisted on holding your hand throughout an entire performance at the opera. It was the greatest affection he had yet shown and though perhaps a bit awkward, you supposed it was sweet in its own way. But you were distracted by the fact that the singer on stage was Anthony’s paramour, and you had a clear view of him in his family’s box above, looking as if he wanted to eat her alive. Whether that was passion or anger you couldn’t be sure, they were so entangled with those two. Just before the show ended, you saw him slip out of the box and disappear.
When crowds began to mingle in the foyer, Sir Edgar gave you a wide smile and stepped away to speak with your mother. You knew, without a doubt, that a proposal was imminent. Even though this was the intended outcome of your courtship, you suddenly felt yourself gripped with nerves. You wanted to speak with Anthony while your mother and suitor were planning your future nearby. His reassurance would put you at ease. You began to search for him in the hallways leading back toward the stage.
You heard Anthony before you saw him, one of three shouting voices echoing around a corner. Turning, you saw that he and the singer were yelling at each other over the shoulders of a large stagehand positioned between the two of them like a wall. The giant of a man was barking at Anthony to leave and looked about ready to trounce him. You felt certain that your presence was the only thing that stopped him because once the group saw you, they fell quiet. With a snarl, Anthony turned on his heel and began marching back toward you, nostrils flaring as he heaved with anger.
“Anthony,” you chased after him.
“Not now, dammit!” He snapped. You both rounded the corner into an empty hall and he paused, looking at you with remorse though he was still panting with frustration. “I’m sorry.” His voice was anguished. “Y/f/n, I’m sorry.”
He was in no state to counsel you about your engagement, that was clear. You hated seeing him like this. You hated that his dalliance caused such maelstroms of emotions within him. But you had grown used to these moods, and you knew how to treat them.
“Anthony,” You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Take a breath and take yourself home. And don’t open a bottle until you get there.”
Exhaling heavily, he nodded in gratitude. “Will you come and join me, once you leave here?”
You almost reflexively said yes, but stopped yourself. The consequences of being seen alone with him at his home were significantly greater now that you could no longer be dismissed as just his solicitor’s daughter. You were a lady in society, and you had a serious suitor no less. A suitor who was waiting for you in the next room. You just then began to consider the impact your marriage would have upon your friendship with Anthony. Your meetings for brandy and banter would have to decrease if not stop altogether, as your time would be devoted to your husband. You didn’t know how you could continue to seek the comfort from each other that had become so reliable over the years. Now you felt even more conflicted about a proposal, a layer of sadness added to your nerves.
“I don’t know that it would be appropriate now, my lord.” You said sadly, reminding him of your stations. “I am spending the evening with Sir Edgar.”
He looked up at you, all of the same realizations clearly sinking in as his eyes grew somber. He nodded tightly. “Of course.”
“I will see you at tomorrow’s ball. Please take care of yourself.” You released him with a weak smile. His eyes full of pain, he returned a small bow, then walked briskly to a side door.
You wanted to stay with him. To try to convince him, once again, to find a new mistress and leave the drama of the opera singer behind, even knowing he wouldn’t do it. But your own love life and future were taking precedence that night. You each had your own feelings to sort, and could not do so together. You knew you’d have the opportunity to speak with him the next day.
Crossing the foyer back to your mother, Benedict suddenly emerged beside you.
“Miss y/l/n! Have you seen my brother? Our mother is looking for him and naturally I am the one dispatched to retrieve him.” He flashed his tireless smirk.
You fought the little jolt within that you felt every time you saw him. “He has left for the night. I believe you’ll find him at his apartments.”
He frowned as he read your expression. “Is something wrong?”
You knew he was asking about Anthony, but you wanted to divulge all of your own feelings. You knew he would have listened. But with him being part of the reason you felt so odd about an impending engagement, you couldn’t say anything. “It’s not for me to say. But you should go to him.” If you could not be with Anthony, at least he could. “Be gentle with him, Mr. Bridgerton. Brandy and indirect questions should do the trick.”
His brows arched playfully. “Ah, you know the formula.” His grin brought one to your lips too. Then his face screwed up with confusion. “Wait, does that mean you visit him at his apartments?”
“Sometimes. Perhaps not anymore.” You sighed. “Why do you ask?”
His eyes grew intense, deeper somehow. “It’s just…I can’t believe our paths haven’t crossed before now. Or that he never said anything about you.” He was looking at you as if you were a precious artifact, something to marvel at. It rooted you to the spot, something buzzing down your spine. He stepped closer, and you looked up to hold his gaze as he towered over you.
“Remarkable.” He whispered, so close that you could feel his breath on your skin. Then he murmured, almost as if to himself, “Can’t believe it’s taken so long…”
It was the warmth of his fingertips brushing yours that snapped you out of the spell and you all but jumped. “I must go.” You squeaked, then marched into the nearest cluster of people without a look back.
You barely managed to catch your breath by the time you rejoined your mother and Sir Edgar. Your suitor smiled at you knowingly for the rest of the evening as you mingled with the theatergoers and slowly made your way home, walking under the lamplight. He deposited you at your doorstep and dropped a kiss on your hand before taking his leave. Your mother, eyes full of both hope and relief, confided that he had indeed declared his intentions to propose to you at the next night’s ball.
It was settled then. In one day’s time, you would have a fiance, and your family’s future would be secure. You should have felt happy. You should have felt relieved. But all you could think about that night were Anthony and Benedict's eyes. Anthony’s so full of sorrow, a sorrow your marriage wouldn’t let you soothe any longer; and Benedict’s, glittering with some odd fascination. Surely you were reading too much into it with your silly infatuated emotions. You were an overeducated, undersocialized, secret friend of his brother and that made you an anomaly. It was time to stop thinking about him altogether. It was time to start distancing yourself from the Bridgerton brothers. You needed to prepare for the next chapter of your life as Lady Graham. That night, you stowed away the painting of the blue hydrangeas.
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Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | 20
Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings: none
Author’s Note: I’m not back but I’m back ya feel
Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!
Dearest readers,
There seems to be nothing but scandal surrounding the Bridgerton family these days. It is this author’s duty to tell you all that rumor has it Miss Eloise Bridgerton has been seen —entirely unchaperoned —amidst political radicals in town. While she may not have any prospects this season, she certainly won’t have any next either.
With the Bridgerton and Sharma families seemingly mending their burned bridges, this author supposes she must let you all know they intend to host a ball. While I am usually very interested in anything the Bridgerton’s do, it seems that no one else in the ton is. What a shame, really.
Speaking of shame, the Everly family has been roped into it all. Lord Everly, ever the gentleman, does not seem to mind the stares –though he is no stranger to scandal himself. But one can only wonder how his daughter is feeling. With the wedding of Benedict Bridgerton and his lovely bride only days away, one can only hope that the Viscount’s luck does not rub off on his younger brother. Or will the lovely Miss Everly also run back down the aisle?
Only time will tell.
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown
Miss Everly had read the scandal column several times that day before really processing that Eloise was in more trouble than ever. While the future Bridgerton couldn’t and wouldn’t judge Eloise for going anywhere unchaperoned, she could worry that her future sister was ruined. What a terrible thing to happen to Eloise’s reputation; to be ruined not because she was sneaking about with a lover but conspiring against the government?
It was not unsurprising, truthfully. Eloise was a strong, highly opinionated young woman. But getting caught probably wasn’t in her plans…
The ball was going to be an experience tonight.
On top of Eloise’s scandal, she couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at the implication that she’d leave Benedict at the altar. It would certainly take a lot for her to do that —and she was already accused of being the gossip writer by the Queen because of his sister. If that didn’t make her want to leave, she wasn’t sure anything else could.
Setting the scandal sheet down on her vanity, Miss Everly took a moment to look herself over in the mirror. There would be a party soon, and while she had a rather dreadful feeling that no one would come, she had to get ready. Anna tried to reassure her that it would be fine; even if it was just the three families that attended, it would be fun.
“You never did get a dance with Mr. Bridgerton,” she had reminded Miss Everly while laying out her gown earlier. “It’ll be nice to dance with him prior to the wedding.”
A few weeks ago, dancing would have been the most intimate experience between Benedict and her. However, one thing had led to another, and dancing was certainly the last thing on her mind when it came to intimacy. She didn’t say this to Anna, of course. There were a few things that the maid didn’t need to know right away.
She hummed for a moment, looking herself over in the mirror. Her dress was rather pretty; a darker teal than she usually chose but it was still nice. The skirt was littered with matching lace stars, which blended so well into it that they were almost unnoticeable at first glance. A narrow, bejeweled belt accented the dress, with silk gloves that sat on her vanity waiting.
The only thing left to do was to pin her mother’s comb into her hair and touch up the rouge on her cheeks. Then she would be ready to face whatever was waiting at the Bridgerton family home. And besides her fiancé, heaven only knew what was awaiting her there.
*****
“It could be worse,” Eloise murmured, standing awkwardly at the edge of the ballroom. “It could be full, with everyone gossiping about me.”
Miss Everly stood beside her, hands behind her back as she watched Benedict comfort his mother. “I suppose that is true.”
No one had attended. With the revealing of Eloise’s escapades, it seemed any chance of returning to normal had been shattered. Lady Bridgerton was distraught, trying to make excuses for why people hadn’t arrived yet. And Benedict, bless his heart, was simply agreeing with her to keep his mother from being upset. Anthony was whispering to Collin, who was trying his best to remain optimistic.
Someone had to.
Lady Mary and the Sharma sisters stood in their own cluster, looking terribly uncomfortable. And Lady Danbury was sitting down, looking more frustrated than anything. Everyone just seemed…despondent. The Bridgerton family was no stranger to scandal, but they always found themselves on the right side of it. This time, however, felt different.
Lord Everly stepped inside from the gardens, having taken a moment outside. He took his side next to his daughter, looking around the room much like she had been doing.
“Well, this just won’t do,” he announced, loud enough to garner the attention of everyone in the room.
She looked up at her father, brow furrowed in confusion. “Father, what do you mean?”
“We are at a ball, are we not? There is no music.”
Lord Everly strode over to the quartet that had been hired, who had been sitting there in an awkward silence for quite some time. He leaned in and whispered something to the lead, smiling charmingly at the musician, before pulling away. The quartet lifted their instruments then and music filled the hall.
He stepped back and moved across the room once more, holding his hand out to Eloise, who gave him an incredulous look.
“Well come now, Miss Bridgerton. A ball must have dancing —allow me to be your first dance of the evening.”
Eloise hesitated, turning red as she looked at Miss Everly. She shrugged in response, giving her future sister a reassuring smile. “He won’t take no for an answer, I’m afraid.”
Finally, Eloise caved and took the older man’s hand and allowed him to pull her onto the ballroom floor. Miss Everly stood at the side, watching with an amused smile on her face. Everyone was watching as Lord Everly led Eloise around the dance floor, and even Eloise couldn’t help but smile.
Without too much prodding, Lady Bridgerton joined the two with Benedict, both laughing happily despite themselves. She couldn’t help but enjoy the moment, leaning back into the wall. However, she could not be a wallflower tonight.
“I do believe I owe you a dance, Miss Everly,” Anthony offered, holding out his hand to her with a friendly smile.
“You know,” she mused as she took her future brother-in-law’s hand and followed him to the floor, “I was quite grateful you never danced with me. You terrified me before I met you.”
Anthony couldn’t help but scoff. “I cannot be that intimidating.”
“I overheard you talking to several ladies about everything they intended to have in a marriage. I was certainly not prepared to be interrogated.”
Anthony laughed at that, nodding some as he led her around the floor. “I do suppose that’s fair, Miss Everly.”
“I have to thank you however,” she continued, stepping in time with him. “Because if you had not disappeared that night, I never would have spent the evening with Benedict.”
“Perhaps that was my plan all along.”
“Then it was a truly remarkable one.”
The two shared laughter for a moment, slowing down as the music did. As their amusement died off, they danced in a comfortable silence before she made eye contact with Kate, who was dancing with Lady Mary.
“Can I offer you a bit of advice, as your future sister?” She finally asked, looking up at him. Anthony’s grip on her tightened, though when she glanced over his shoulder, she knew it was because he had made eye contact with Kate.
“If you are half the woman I think you are, then you’re going to give it to me whether I want it or not,” he offered as his attention returned to her.
“Stop being an idiot.”
“I beg your pardon?” He demanded, a bit too loudly.
Benedict tried to pull away from Lady Bridgerton but Miss Everly waved him off with a reassuring smile. Then she looked back at Anthony. “I said, you should stop being an idiot.”
“I heard you quite well; however, I’m afraid I do not know what you mean.”
“Anthony Bridgerton, I have spent the last month watching you practically foam at the mouth for Kate Sharma,” she pointed out, a smug smirk on her face. “I like to think I knew it before even you did.”
Anthony turned a bit red in the face, looking down at her with surprise. She continued. “You love her. The whole world knows —now you just need to man up and confess. Were you not the one that told Benedict to make a grand gesture to win me back?” He nodded once. “Then take your own advice, my lord. Go ask Kate to dance.”
“I can see why Benedict fell so hard for you,” Anthony admitted, stopping as the music did. He stared down at her with an appreciative smile. “You make him happy, you know.”
It was her turn to get a bit flustered, unable to help herself as she smiled softly. “He makes me quite happy as well. I cannot wait to marry him.”
“And I cannot wait for you to be family —then I can get back at you for being such a know-it-all.”
She couldn’t help it as she laughed, pushing his shoulder gently. It was a lovely feeling, knowing Anthony liked her enough to tease her so. She had always wanted a brother.
“May I cut in?”
The two looked to Benedict, who stood with his crooked grin on his face. Anthony nodded, stepping away but Miss Everly pushed him towards Kate with a knowing grin. He pointed at her, eyes narrowed. Then he took his leave —going straight to Kate. Benedict watched his brother for a second before turning to her now, brow raised. She had a rather triumphant grin on her face.
“You are no worse than our parents, trying to marry everyone off,” he teased as he took her in his arms. The music was soft and slow as they danced.
“I am simply trying to bring a little bit of joy into an otherwise terrible situation.”
“All will be well,” he promised before he carefully dipped her. “We get married in three days after all.”
Her grin turned into a full smile that reached her eyes. The thought of marrying Benedict in three days was thrilling and overwhelming.
“I will be Mrs. Bridgerton in three days.”
“I love the sound of that.” He repeated her full name now, whispering it to her softly. It was truly music to her ears.
“How upset do you think your mother would be if I kissed you right now?” She mused, a teasing glint in her eyes.
Benedict mirrored her expression, leaning in. “Certainly no angrier than she currently is I imagine.”
She couldn’t help it as she leaned in as well, smiling up at him. Their foreheads pressed together, far closer to one another than appropriate in proper society. But scandal had surrounded the Bridgerton family; and she was set to marry in three days time. Miss Everly couldn’t bring herself to care as she pressed her lips to Benedict’s softly. He didn’t hesitate to kiss her back, hands leaving their appropriate place for dancing to cup her cheeks. She melted into his touch, sighing into the kiss as a rather shocked gasp echoed through the ballroom.
“Benedict Bridgerton!”
The two pulled away from one another, lovesick smiles on their faces as they kept their eyes on one another. Her name was yelled next, and finally they had to face Lady Bridgerton’s disapproving glare. Lord Everly, however, was giving them an approving grin from behind her. Neither of them pulled away more than a few inches however.
“Lord Everly, please, say something!”
“They are quite happy, aren’t they?” He offered as a response, holding his hands behind his back with a sly smile. Lady Bridgerton gave him an exasperated look, throwing her hands in the air. “Come now, Violet –we cannot expect them to not want to be close. They marry in three days and we are among friends and family.”
“It is highly inappropriate!” She argued, crossing her arms.
“Not nearly as inappropriate as your daughter running around unchaperoned with radicals,” Eloise argued, grinning now at her mother.
“Or your son ruining his own wedding,” Collin added, earning a rather hard elbow from Anthony.
Lady Bridgerton looked between her children, Lady Danbury (who was trying to hide her laughter), the Sharma’s and the Everly’s. Then she threw her hands in the air.
“Oh, I suppose if we are going to ruin our family name, we should be happy while we do it.”
“That’s the spirit, Violet!”
———
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#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton#Bridgerton
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Hi!!! I hope you had a good extended break!! As a writer myself I totally get the need. 😊 I love your writing!! Can’t wait to see what inspiration takes you on your journey next
As for a request, can I suggest prompt number three on the meaningful gestures list you linked with either Eddie Munson or Benedict Bridgerton (my two current obsessions 😂🤭)
Have fun writing lovely!!!
Ames 💜
this is a gorgeously sweet ask, so i hope you enjoy some sweet benedict fluff! thank you so much for being lovely <3 | 0.6k words, gn!reader
When Benedict invited you over to his house, you were imagining an afternoon of tea and pleasant chatter with him and his mother who more than once had insisted you call her Violet. There would be longing looks passed between you in moments of quiet, perhaps, and you even dared to dream of a moment in which the two of you reached for the teapot at the same time and your hands would brush for just a moment.
You had not expected Violet to be busying herself with preparations for Daphne’s next ball of the season, nor for your reluctant stand-in chaperone to be Eloise. You certainly hadn’t expected said chaperone to put a hand on your shoulder five minutes into your visit, murmur something about a book she had to get back to before leaving the room moments later.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I never thought that Eloise would just-” he cut himself off before he disparaged his sister too much in your presence, “If you no longer want to spend the remainder of the day together, I’ll completely understand.”
You tilted your head at him to work out his meaning. Benedict was far from being a shy man, and the two of you had spent many a ball away from prying eyes when you found a corner to yourselves to talk. He’d also made his feelings on the unspoken rules of society quite plain from the night that you’d met, so it couldn't have been that. Taking this into account, his questioning could only be driven by his concern for your own comfort and the thought made you shiver.
“Do you want me to leave, Benedict? Only because you did promise that you’d show me your latest masterpiece and I am ever so keen to see how you’ve immortalised me in oil paint,” you said, eyes bright with gentle teasing. He hadn’t noticed the amusement in your face, if the pink tinge dusting across his cheeks was any indication.
“I’m worried I’ve given you the wrong impression,” he began tentatively, and you bit your lip to stop yourself from chuckling at his delicacy, “I’m afraid my newest work is not of your likeness, though I would, of course, be honoured to someday paint you, if you’d allow me. It is only that I do my best work when somebody sits for me, you see, and I would hate nothing more than to do your beauty an injustice by simply attempting to recreate it from memory, rather than-”
He was rambling and hardly thinking about his words and they were still so utterly complimentary. It was too much, and you didn’t want to stop yourself. You shuffled over towards him on the sofa slightly to accommodate it, then reached out two careful hands to the sides of his face and simply held him. It stopped him in his tracks.
“Benedict?” you murmured softly, thumbing tiny brushstrokes onto his freckles. He stared, jaw a little slack, in response, hands stuck at his sides, “I was teasing. You make it rather easy for me, actually.”
He let out a breathy chuckle that sounded more strained than he had intended. Finally able to move again after the brief spell you had placed upon him, one hand circled your wrist in a cautious embrace.
“And you make everything very, very difficult,” he eventually whispered in return, though you knew he was simply trying to join in the teasing.
“You’d like me to stop, then?”
You knew the answer. He knew that you knew. It was clear in the way his eyes flickered across every feature of your face, in the way they bounced away quickly when he glanced downward. In the restraint that only showed in the tick at the back of his jaw.
“No, I don’t think that would do,” he admitted, hand sliding up, up, up your wrist and flattening itself against the back of your hand when you grinned. He leaned into it, “I should think, if it would make you happy, you could continue at least a little longer.”
There were words at the back of your throat that you might have swallowed down if it weren’t for the way he was looking at you and the fact he wouldn't allow you to pull your hands from his face. You looked down at your lap and spoke them.
“I would like to be in the business of doing things that make you happy, Benedict. If you’d let me.”
Like the restraint had snapped, just for a brief second, he turned his head and pressed a featherlight kiss to your palm. It had been so light you barely felt it, but your sharp inhaled gasp echoed in the space left between you. He smiled like he had done nothing of the sort.
“Only if I am allowed, by some miracle, to make you happy every day of our lives, from today on. Does that sound favourable, my love?”
The term of endearment was enough to break your own resolve. Using the hand that wasn’t caught in his, you lightly traced his brow bone, cheek bone, jaw bone, one finger sliding along the planes of his face to keep the sunlight from bursting out of your abdomen right there. His eyes were alight and the warmth found there was worth drowning in.
“Favourable indeed, Lord Bridgerton.”
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#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict x reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton#bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton imagine
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