#benedict

[renegadesstuff]

IT'S OFFICIAL, SEASON 4's LEAD IS ✨️ BENEDICT ✨️

[sophiekarim]

YERIN HA as SOPHIE BECKETT BAEK

Bridgerton Season 4

[lovableapocalypse]

birds of a feather

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

wc- 900ish

warnings- none, i think!

a/n- season three fueled this lolol. i love benedict he's the best bridgerton and i stand by that. anywayyy here's a cute short fic. i hope you guys like. love u all. send any request you want! i need to start writing again. (also this is the first fic ive written/published in like 7 months so sorry if im rusty lolol.) also title inspired by billie's new song. ok bye love u.

Benedict was uncomfortable. He was trying his best to avoid the bustling mamas and crowded dance floor, but seemed to be swept in the middle of it all. He sought comfort in the refreshments table but even there his luck was thin. 

Tired of making horribly awkward eye contact with debutantes and failing to find any more of his siblings to hide behind, he shifted quickly out of the ball and into the quiet anteroom. Glancing over his shoulder and turning a corner, he bumped into a figure with an “Oomph.”

He recovered and caught the mysterious figure before they fell. 

“My apologies.” He spoke, helping who he now recognized to be a lady stand upright. 

You turned to face him more fully, caught off guard. “That’s alright.” You were partly breathless from the unexpected run in. 

It was just the two of you in the secluded room. “Hiding as well, I presume?” You spoke. 

Benedict laughed, “Yes.” 

You smiled in return. “It’s refreshing to know someone shares a similar distaste for these things at times.”

“Very much so.” He sighed and raised his brows, his hands finding his hips. 

You went to speak again, but heard heavy footsteps approaching from the crowded party. You looked to Benedict who seemed to read your mind, quickly grabbing your arm and shoving you two around the corner, flush against the wall. His hand stayed attached to your arm as you panted and tried your best to stay unnoticed. 

The footsteps faded and you glanced sideways at the Bridgerton as they did. Holding in your amusement was difficult and when you were sure it was safe to, you let out a laugh. Benedict, despite becoming somewhat flustered in your hasty escape, joined in your laughter. 

You sighed and rolled your head to glance at the man again. His smile was contagious and you were happy to have a moment alone with him. Even if it was improper in society’s eyes. 

Sighing you spoke, “I should probably return soon. Before my absence becomes anymore obvious.” 

“Is your attendance of great importance?” Benedict questioned. 

“Partly.” 

“I see.”

You smirked as he took in your appearance. “If you find your way back, I’d be happy to keep you company. Maybe everyone will keep their distance if we seem engaged thoroughly with one another.”

You watched his face as he contemplated your offer. He nodded slightly, agreeing. 

Only then did you realize he was still holding onto your arm. He glanced down as well, gently releasing you from his grasp. You peeled yourself off the wall and made your way back to the ball, but not before looking back once more and meeting his eyes. 

You felt your face flush as you reentered the extravagant event. It was nice to have shared a moment away from everyone. You greeted more people and quickly became engaged in dull conversation with guests, thrown right back into the chaos of the function. 

Benedict was still loitering in your previous hiding spot. He needed a moment. He was surprised to have found someone else avoiding the party as well. Especially a beautiful woman like yourself. 

Taking a deep breath and putting on a brave face, he made his return to the ball. His eyes cast around the room searching for you. He was happy to take you up on your offer and stick by your side for the rest of the night. He located you near the balcony and made his way. 

You were nodding your head along in distracted agreement when he interrupted. 

“I’m sorry to intrude,” he started, “but I’m afraid I owe the miss a dance.”

You smiled as you took Benedict’s outstretched hand, sending a half-hearted apology to the interrupted guest. He led you to the dance floor as a new song poured out of the ensemble’s strings. 

You followed his lead in a content silence, merely enjoying each other’s presence. He smiled down at you, leaning close in a whisper. “Where have you been all night? We could have avoided hiding all together if I had found you sooner.”

“I’m afraid more people wanted to converse with me than necessary. A bit annoying, truly.”

“Understandable. I was avoiding conversation myself when I snuck off.”

You smiled and he pulled you closer, enjoying the movement of your bodies. The song came to an end and you were disappointed in having to face the crowd again. Benedict held his arm out for you and you graciously accepted. 

“There you are!” 

You turned together and came face to face with Violet Bridgerton. 

“I was wondering where you two ran off to. Almost sent Anthony to find you until I spotted you on the dance floor.” 

“Ah, yes Mother.” Benedict answered. “We just needed a moment.”

She nodded in understanding before stepping closer, “Do I need to remind you this ball was thrown in your honor? I understand you two are newlywed, but please refrain from ditching your own party.”

You blushed and hid your face in Benedict’s shoulder.

“Yes, Mother.” He laughed. 

“Thank you.” She smiled and sent you her undeniable look of understanding. 

“We were not as sly as I hoped.” You mumbled. 

“Next time warn me before you run off so we can go together.” He added.  

Laughing, you faced him and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Of course, husband.” 

[multi-fandom-imagine]

could I request one for Benedict where he prepares a special date for reader after she has a difficult birth?

A/n: Benedict would, literally the sweetest.

You were everything to Benedict, the love of his life, his soul mate and now you gave him a child.

It was a difficult birth, one that scared him, one that made him think he was going to lose you, lose his child but you both made it.

You both were fine and he was going to spoil you because you deserved this and more.

Benedict gave you a soft smile, his fingers brushing your cheek then tucking a strand of your hair out of your face. You gave your husband a smile eyeing him for a moment. "Benedict you don't have too."

A scoff left his lips as he brought your hand to his lips kissing it as he then lifted you into his arms to carry you. "Nonsense...No protests,” he interrupted with a playful smile, but his eyes were filled with concern. “Let me spoil my wife...I promise, it is nothing strenuous. Just…let me do this for you.”

And so you did.

He carried you to the garden, where the warm glow of lanterns illuminated a small, intimate setting. A table was set beneath the canopy of wisteria, the delicate flowers swaying in the evening breeze. Soft cushions adorned the chairs, and a warm blanket was draped over one, waiting for you. Candlelight flickered against the silverware, casting a golden hue over the scene.

“Oh, Benedict…” Your breath hitched as you took it all in.

Walking towards a small comfortable chair he placed you down and placed a kiss on top of your head, his hand then found yours, fingers lacing together.

“You’ve been through so much, my love. You have given me the most precious gift in the world, and yet I feel as though I haven’t done enough for you in return.” His voice was quiet, filled with sincerity. “So tonight is just for you. No responsibilities, no demands—only comfort.”

Making sure you were warm and settled, Benedict settled down next to you. The meal was simple yet decadent, your favorite dishes prepared with care. He watched you with soft amusement as you took slow bites, ensuring you were eating properly, but not in a way that felt overbearing. A sigh leaving your lips, body visibly relaxing.

As the evening went on, the conversation flowed effortlessly—lighthearted at times, sentimental at others. The weight of the past weeks seemed to lift, even if just for a while. And when your exhaustion inevitably caught up with you, Benedict was at your side in an instant. Your eyes dropping for a moment, you did your best to keep them open but your exhaustion was clearing hitting you.

Without hesitation, before you even had a chance to even blink he pulled you into his arms, guiding your head to rest against his chest, your body now settled in his lap, and as you sat together his fingers traced gentle patterns along your back, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

“You are extraordinary,” he murmured against your hair. “I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

Tears pricked at your eyes—not from sadness, but from the sheer depth of love in his voice. You curled closer, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing soothe you. Your head tucking into the crook of his neck a soft chuckle leaving your lips. "I love you, I do hope you know that Benedict."

For the first time in weeks, you felt truly cherished.

[latenighttalking00]

A Work of Art

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a Marchioness from france and your mother is adamant that you wed. She is a very close friend of the Dowager Vicountess Bridgerton who has so generously agreed to be your sponsor for the season. Perhaps in doing this, she has unknowingly found her son's perfect match as well.

Warnings: slow-ish burn, friends to lovers, smut, 18+, minors dni, hair pulling, possessive/dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving). This is just porn with a plot.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: Hi! def not proof read, apologies if it's a bit rough. Hopefully, you all absolutely drool over Benedict the same way I do. enjoy!

Once the social season had begun its approach, you and your family make haste on your return from france. Due to your newly given title, you are projected to be quite the diamond this season indeed.

As a close friend of the family, the Dowager Viscountess, Violet Bridgerton kindly offers to sponsor your debut this season, meaning that it is now of the utmost importance to arrive promptly at the Bridgerton home in London before the season is to begin.

As you sit in the drawing room, awaiting the next potential suitors you will inevitably send on their way, the clear and evident dread in your expression does not go unnoticed by your mother. A quick swat to your knee from her fan catches your attention, a visible look of warning on her face as your eyes meet hers.

"I do hope that attitude of yours is quick to dissipate." She sighs, "Men will find you quite inadequate to wed if you are to continue this ridiculous behavior. It is quite unladylike." Your mother's words cut right through you as if she had taken a hot paring knife to both of your ears. Not being able to withstand it any longer, you quickly stand from your seat and interrupt her.

"Mother, this gown and the line of men outside the door are quite suffocating enough; no need for your incessant nagging as well." You take a moment to pause, regaining your composure.

"I believe I am feeling quite faint; perhaps I've seen enough suitors today." You threaten rather than suggest, "I will return to my chambers and perhaps get a bit of rest seeing as the sun has already began it’s departure from the sky."

You bow and quickly excuse yourself before making haste out the door, walking as fast as your feet can take you, right past the men who are practically begging for just a minute of your attention.

You race directly to your bedroom, entering quickly and not even fully shutting the door before you are pulling down the zipper of your gown and letting it fall to the floor. "This retched thing must come off immediately," you mumble to yourself as you pull at the laces of your corset, loosening them just enough to slide off your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you slip off your stays and slip on a beautiful white nightgown you purchased from one of the most talented modiste in france.

Shortly after the maids come to collect your gown, you are quick to wander down the halls in search of a cure to your relentless boredom. you find what appears to be an art studio and you are instantly overjoyed. you quietly sneak in through the door left ajar.

Art was your pride and joy; your sketches and the ability to produce beautiful works on canvas were the only things keeping you from becoming a mad woman.

Unbeknownst to you, Violet's second-eldest son and the owner of said art studio had just returned home from the gentleman's club. As he makes his way down the hall, prepared to return to his studio and peacefully finish up some things he started the night prior, he is met with complete and udder surprise at the sight of a woman flipping through his sketchbooks.

He feels as if the air has been knocked right from his lungs. Never once has a woman looked so real, raw, and simply ethereal to him in nothing but a simple yet elegant night gown, the pages in between your delicate fingers, the way in which you sit, your effortless and beautiful features, and the way they change and turn to show your focus, the true and utter intrigue at the charcoal etched on the paper is more than enough to bring a man directly to his knees.

He watches as you adjust your position, your nightgown sliding up your thighs as you cross a leg over the other. He feels as if he might faint.

“those are from my time traveling.” he points, making his way in to the room.

So lost in thought, you are quickly brought back by the sound of the deep and sultry voice coming from the hallway, it sends chills down your body, you are unable to fight the butterflies in your stomach and are completely unprepared for what you’re eyes are met with the second they dare to leave the pages in front of you. He is perhaps one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen, the way his features darken in the dim candle light could cause scandal merely on its own.

As he makes his way over to you, you scramble to find any sort of words to not appear as a complete and udder fool. “désolée, my Lord. All this beautiful artwork caught my eye and i could not help myself.” your voice only making his new found attraction grow even stronger.

“Benedict Bridgerton..” he says just loud enough for you to hear. He is quick to take your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss y/n y/l/n” you respond, a blush creeps over your cheeks as your eyes meet his. Your name and accent are both very quick explanations as to why a very random beautiful woman was wondering in

his family home.

“Ah yes, the Marchioness from France. My mother has done quite a bit of boasting upon your arrival, i can now see why she was so keen on you being the diamond of this social season” he chuckled lightly “merci, Lord Bridgerton.” you offer him a warm smile as you place the sketch book in his hands.

Your hand grazes his and you feel as if your body is set aflame. You quickly fumble to stand, attempting to leave before any further scandal is to happen. he is quick to catch you by the arm, his light grasp more than enough to keep you in place.

“Please, stay as long as you’d like.” He offers, taking a step towards you, but you are quick to shake your head, knowing staying any longer may very well affect your title and rank during this very precious season.

“You are more than kind.” you place a hand over his and squeeze lightly. He leans even closer, your face mere inches from his. his scent fills your nose and you cannot control the heat that consumes your body, the sheer need you have for him in this very moment. “I must- i uh-..” he raises an eyebrow at your words. though his proximity fogs your brain, you attempt to compose yourself. “Perhaps i can show you some of my art in the duration of my stay here.“ he smirks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he nods “if what you create is half as beautiful as you, my art will never hold a candle to yours.” he compliments.

Your breathe catches in your throat as his words. “..Benedict- Apologies, Lord Bridgerton..” you quickly correct yourself, the use of his first name not going unnoticed by him. “I’m sure both your and my Mother will have quite the earful if i am found in here, i must go.” Before he is even able to protest, you are gone.

As the days pass, You begin to consume his every waking thought, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your skin on his is burned in to his memory and he cannot shake his want for you.

Anthony is quick to notice his admiration, the wandering stares and close proximity immediately become apparent in Anthony’s eyes. As the family settles in the drawing room, Anthony is quick to pull His younger brother aside “You’ve grown quite close with Marchioness” Anthony offers his younger brother a warning glance and Benedict simply smirks in return “Brother, are you suggesting that i’ve compromised Miss y/l/n?” he laughs. Anthony in no way finds this amusing “See to it that your intentions are well thought out and you are thinking with your brain rather than something else. She is a Marchioness, toying with oversea affairs may be more than risky, even for a Bridgerton.” Anthony notes, the clear and evident weariness in his voice wipes the smile right off Benedict’s face

“Brother, do remind me. Did you not ask for one Sharma’s hand in marriage and then proceed to marry the other? You need not inform me on scandal for i am more than well aware of what i am doing.” he place a hand on Anthony shoulder and squeezes light before walking away.

time skip

Benedict does everything in his power to gain every fraction of your attention when it is available. The two of you spending more time together than any of the men attempting to court you. This new grown fondness blossoms quickly and Benedict soon becomes one of your most trusted friends. Spending late nights in his art studio, promenades in the garden, pall mall with his family. You’ve never felt more at home than with your dear Benedict and his lovely family. This fondness grows very quickly to something much stronger. Knowing Benedict’s stance on courting and marriage in general, you shake the thought. Knowing your dear friend will never see you as anything but.

While enjoying another late night in his studio, you can’t help but feel different. You both are well aware your time together is coming to end. Suitors begin growing impatient and proposals begin rolling in faster than the tide.

“I quite like Lord Lumley, he is handsome and he finds interest in poetry.” Benedict is quick to laugh “Lord Lumley is a dimwit after nothing but your title.” you wince at his words “Clearly he’s much more of a gentleman than you.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” he asks, the change in his tone sending heat right between your thighs. He rises from his place on the stool and saunters over to you, his large frame towering over yours.

“Repeat what you said.” he orders

“Ben i was merely kidding i-“ you stutter, his proximity making your skin feel as if it were on fire.

“Do not make me ask you again.” he warns, a smirk on his face

You are a bit taken a back by his demeanor but the insatiable desire in your body fills you with a sudden surge of confidence. “Lord Lumley is more of a gentleman than you, Lord Bridgerton.”

Benedict lets out a low chuckle before leaning down, his mouth right by your ear.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Lord Lumley isn’t plagued by the same un-gentleman like thoughts that fill my head the moment you step into a room.” he sighs, his breath on your skin only making matters worse.

Your hands find his half buttoned shirt and you press your hands lightly to his chest “Benedict.” you warn.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes with his own. Your noses practically grazing as he speaks. “Tell me now that you do not desire me.” His hands rest on either side of your face “Simply speak the words and i will respectfully withdraw and allow you to be with whomever you like but first you must tell me you do not desire me and you wish for me to leave you alone.”

“Ben.” You mumble quitely. Every feeling or emotion that the second eldest Bridgerton has ever caused immediately rises to the surface. At a complete loss for words, you do what you feel is right in the very moment and you bring your lips to his.

The kiss quickly fills with passion, weeks of hidden adoration and care comes bubbling over the surface.

“Marry me.” he say breathlessly as he breaks from the kiss. “You have shown me what is it truly like to admire a woman. To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much so that all of her defenses crumble and that you would willingly take on any pain or burden for her. To honor her being with your deeds and words. You make me feel what only a true poet describes." his works nearly bring you to your knees as tears threaten to escape your eyes. “I would move the heavens down to earth for you if i knew it would make you smile.”

“Benedict.. Je vous aime.” you reassure him “I love you mon chéri, more than the moon loves the night sky. You are my everything, my best-friend. I would give anything to be your wife.” He pulls you back in for another kiss which very quickly becomes heated.

He trails hot kisses all over your jaw, neck and bosom. “My beautiful Fiancée.” he mumbles, his wandering hands sliding their way up your thighs, threatening to breach the hem of your nightgown. You are immediately reminded of your current location and you push the dark haired boy back “Ben.. not here” you breathe out, The second Bridgerton son just smirks before kneeling down in front of you.

Unsure of what he’s planning, you remain silent, eyes trained on his as he begins trailing kisses up from your ankle to your inner thigh. His hands trail up the back of your legs, giving your ass a playful squeeze as he reaches it, causing a gasp to escape from your lips.

The mere sight of him like this sends heat directly between your thighs, all logical thinking thrown out the window as he begins to tug your panties down your thighs. A blush creeps over your cheeks and your hands find his hair, tugging lightly. Benedict continues with no hesitation, pressing light kisses all over your inner thighs, leading right up to your aching core. You’re unable to fight back the sounds that leave your lips as you feel his tongue pressed against your clit. “Christ Benedict… you’re going to be the death of me.”

He wastes no time, lapping, kissing and sucking at your soaked heat as strong hands grip on to your thighs, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You lean against his desk to keep yourself upright while quiet moans and whimpers escape your lips, your hands pulling and tugging at his messy black hair, only encouraging him more. He pulls back only for a moment to look up at you “You taste fucking divine, my beautiful work of art.”

He is quick to return to your soaked heat. As his tongue works relentlessly on your clit, he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust before slowly thrusting them in and out. Shortly after, you feel an unfamiliar knot form in the pit of your stomach and Benedict is aware immediately due to your incoherent mumbles and the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s my girl..” he says breathlessly “just like that..” After hearing his words, you completely unravel, shaky moans escape your lips as one hand grips on to the table and the other with a tight hold on your Fiancées hair.

Once your body has relaxed, he gently pulls your panties back up before standing to face you. You watch as he brings his fingers to your mouth “Open.” he commands and you immediately oblige, opening your mouth as he slides his fingers past your lips. The unfamiliar taste and the sheer sight in front of you causes a blush to fall over your face. He removes his fingers with a groan and offers your a smirk “You, my dear Fiancée are going to be the death of Me.”

A/N: Hi guys! I really hope every likes this :) if you have any request, feel free to send them to me :)

[afirewiel]

I think one thing about Much Ado About Nothing that I don't see talked about that I appreciate is Benedict and Beatrice's reactions to the planted conversations that they unknowingly were meant to hear. Both conversations basically go "Beatrice/Benedict is in love with Benedict/Beatrice and is wonderful person worthy of being loved, but Beatrice/Benedict is too flawed to notice or care." This is great because a) most people, while perfectly willing to criticize their friends behind their backs, would not dare do it in a conversation that they intend to be overheard. So Benedict and Beatrice have some brave friends. b) Most people overhearing themselves being "badmouthed" by friends behind their backs would simply go, "That's it! The friendship is over!" But neither Benedict nor Beatrice do that. Instead they both go, "You know what? They're right. I do have this flaw and I do need to work on that. And Beatrice/Benedict is totally worthy of my love and affection and I will give them that." And I think that is great that both of these characters are not afraid to take criticism, even if not give directly to their faces, and decide they need to work on their flaws. Beautiful.

[winterxfrost]

It's frustrating when people argue that Benedict asking Sophie to be his mistress is a bad plot point that should be removed. If we take that moment out, we lose the significant character growth he experiences. Benedict, having been raised in the ton, inevitably internalized some of its values and ethics, even if he holds different ideals. Given the constraints of society, the best option he saw to protect Sophie was by making her his mistress. Marrying her would have meant a lifetime of scrutiny and exclusion for her, something the ton would never let her forget.

Yes, he did consider marrying the "lady in silver" because she was part of the ton, but it's important to remember that Sophie and the lady in silver were the only two women he ever seriously thought about marrying.

Benedict’s character development is key here. He transitions from believing that making Sophie his mistress was the only way to keep her safe to publicly declaring her as his fiancée in front of the magistrate. That powerful growth wouldn’t exist without the mistakes he made early on.

By removing Benedict's mistakes, we'd strip him of his complexity, making him a far less interesting character. His internal battles shape him into someone strong enough to stand by the woman he loves, despite societal pressures.

that's just what I think

[michwritesstuff]

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.

check out the rest of my work ⤑ here!

[auroracalisto]

i was made for lovin' you

fem!plus size!reader, 2.4k words summary: the reader loves benedict bridgerton. when he dances the night away with her dear sister, she wonders if her love is perhaps... unrequited. a/n: my initial note for this fic was: i was the chubby unpopular insecure girl in school. i'm still the chubby girl. and i need fluff today. so that's what's gonna happen. i initially started writing this... last year. it's been over six months ago since i've touched this. the title is totally from the kiss song. tw: bodily description, vague description of anxiety, momentary insecurity, but it's brief!!

Curves adorned your body in a way that remained otherwise unknown to so many others. Thick thighs hid beneath layers of clothing. Your stomach pressed against the fabric of your top, threatening to squeeze the very essence of life out of you. But you stood there, discomfort climbing its way up your spine, threatening to call you out for being a fraud. You lived in peril, awaiting the blossoming of the flower of insecurity and fear.

No gentleman would ever look your way, even with the most expensive of clothing. Liquid gold could be dripping from your fingertips, and not one of the men in the 'ton would give you the time of day.

At least, that is what you told yourself. That is what you had believed since the time you could register the fact that you were the thicker girl.

And it's not that you hated your body. No, that was far from the truth. You had come to love yourself in your own way, trying your best to live with what the world had given you. But you knew men, and you knew the gentlemen of the 'ton. You were treated differently, just because of your size.

You were different.

But he never treated you as if there was something wrong with you. No, Benedict Bridgerton was your dearest friend, but you couldn't help but feel as if he never truly cared for you in the way that you cared for him.

The way that you loved him.

You had yet to properly talk to him, knowing his elder brother hosted the ball of the evening. It wouldn't surprise you if Benedict was busy entertaining other gentlemen—entertaining your sister, perhaps.

The clothing you wore that night was flattering, for the most part. You couldn't deny that. Your mother had chosen well for the ball, keeping your mind at bay. She had impeccable taste, regardless of the crude comments that so often left her rouge lips. But despite the clothing, despite the restricting fabric, you couldn't help but watch and feel less than others around you.

Especially when you knew the man you favored was out there, fawning over your sister (not even liquid gold would work in her favor—she merely needed to raise a finger, and men would fall to her feet, begging for a chance to be hers).

The beautiful women who danced passed you, hand in hand with a suitor or with a dear gentleman. Their dance cards were nearly filled at this point. The stunning men wore beautifully tailored suits, sending smiles and small nods to those they spoke with. Well-rounded pencils would need to be sharpened before too long.

You stuck out like a sore thumb in the corner of the ballroom, drawing imaginary attention right to your very soul.

Your dance card rested in the palm of your hand, not a single gentleman's name residing on it. Like many balls before, suitors avoided you—or perhaps, you avoided them. Staying in your safety corner seemed to be the best bet, but you knew it would catch up to you (eventually).

There wasn’t a possibility for a suitor to come to you, unless he wanted whispers to be spread. You were an outcast.

You made yourself an outcast. But perhaps our worst enemy came from our very own minds, taunting us and keeping those we love far, far away.

Had you been your elegant sister, dancing the night away with the handsome Bridgerton boy amongst many other men, maybe you would have felt more comfortable.

Her card was completely filled, and now, she milled around with her friends, looking for a gentleman to speak with. The season wouldn't last forever.

And you knew it.

The season would be over in a heartbeat, and you would be left without a single name on your dance card.

How incredibly frustrating. You knew you were beautiful. You knew you had a grand personality, fit for that of a gentleman. You were smart and intelligent and you knew how to do so many things.

But standing here, you felt as if your clothing was choking you to the point of no return. It didn't matter that you could read a book in a day, or recite your favorite poetry. It didn't matter that you learned to cook from your favorite maid, or that you could write a piece of prose so beautifully it brought tears to your delicate sister's eyes.

Warmth flooded throughout your body. You hesitantly pulled up the fabric of your skirts and made your way to the crowd, finding the cool night in an instant. The chill of the breeze cooled you down the best it could, but it could only do so much for the roaring fire in your mind.

Your mother would surely have yet another snide comment about the fact that she did all this work just for you to avoid the crowd. Your father would listen silently, but you knew he agreed. He always did.

Your sister would yet again set on a suitor, her beauty and gracefulness the only blessing upon your family. She would be set for life while you die a lowly spinster.

Maybe she would bless you with a quaint cottage of your own. She'd be able to marry the richest man in the 'ton, if she was so pleased to say yes.

You walked closer to the fountain that sat in the middle of the courtyard, eyes closing as you came to a stop. The chatter and music from the manor wafted in the air, and the smell of freshly trimmed grass plagued your nose. Goosebumps appeared on your skin as the air around you only seemed to get cooler. Perhaps outside wasn't your best decision, but anything was better than the scrutiny of roaming eyes.

Solitude found you best, creativity striking you when you were all alone—most of the time. Today, it only brought you a fraction of the comfort you sought.

Despite your indiscretion, you weren't alone for very long.

"Lady L/n?" a voice came from behind you.

Your eyes shot open and you looked over your shoulder.

Benedict Bridgerton.

He had danced with your sister nearly three dances ago—you hadn't seen him since then.

He sent you a soft smile, relaxing when he saw you.

"May I ask what you're doing out here all alone?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you said. "Sir Bridgerton."

His smile only grew.

The two of you had known each other far longer than you would ever admit, and every time you saw him reminded you of why you fell for him to begin with. But he belonged with someone else—he would be good for them, and marrying into a family of money would secure the safety of the woman's future and her family's future.

You would take what you could get, even if it meant waiting until your father made you a match… if even he could manage such a feat. He quite hated the idea of society. It was your mother who pushed him into the world, making him do good by the ‘ton and his family name.

Benedict deserved someone good—someone who would boost his status in society, and always be there to love and care for him.

Many weren't so lucky with their marriages (your mother and father, for example).

"That's no way to talk to a gentleman, now is it? Whatever would your dear mother say if she were to find out how you speak to me?" he asked, feigning offense as he placed a hand over his chest.

"Trust me," you said, turning to face him with a soft smile. "I promise she will find little problem with it when she knows you are on Katherine's card."

"Hm," he tilted his head as he watched you. "And who have you danced with, Lady Y/n? I have yet to see you out on the dance floor tonight, and now I find you all alone. It feels as if autumn is already upon us. Surely you don't want to catch a cold as well?"

"I have danced with no one," you said, looking back at the fountain. "And you surely shouldn't be here with me, alone. Quite a scandal you'd create for your sister to cover up."

"Is that not why she is the Duchess? So I can create whatever scandal I dream of?"

You could practically hear the smug smile on his face, but you didn't turn to face him. Your arms hesitantly wrapped around your torso as you continued to stare at the flowing water.

"Y/n?" he softly spoke, coming to stand beside you. "Are you alright?"

His hand touched your cold arm and you immediately pulled away.

"Should you not be back inside with Katherine?" you asked. "It will be quite a scandal if you were to be out here with me."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "What is with you and scandals? Nothing of the sort will happen. I'd much rather spend the rest of the evening with you."

You frowned. "If you must, perhaps we should return inside. You should sign my dance card to keep my mother from asking questions."

"I would do so, gladly, Y/n, but I did not think you wanted me to do so," he said, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke.

"Why wouldn't I want you to?" you began, averting your gaze. "You know me better than I know myself."

He tilted his head curiously. "I do believe there are things I've yet to acquire," he said, gently taking your hand as he spoke. This time, you didn't pull away. "Whatever is the matter?"

"You are a dear friend, Benedict," you said. "I would never want to do something to put our friendship in jeopardy."

"Perhaps you will if you continue alluding me so. I asked you a question, my Lady."

A beat passes, the music coming from inside becoming light and jovial for the newest dance. Your sister was already dancing with another, enjoying herself and smiling all the while. Not that you could see.

"Y/n, please," he said, voice barely above a whisper—defeated, one could safely say.

"I care for you," you said. "If—if my sister is what you want, if she will make you happy, then by all means, you have my blessing."

He blinked slowly at you, lips parting to speak, but you speak first.

"I understand why you care for her so. She is beautiful, and she will be an excellent wife. She is so unlike me. She... she will make you so unbelievably happy, Benedict."

"Wait."

His fingers laced with your gloved hand as he gently pressed his other to the side of your face, making you look at him.

"Where is this coming from?" he asked, allowing his hand to drop. "Who said... who said I was interested in her?"

"No one. Nothing needed to be said for me to assume. Did I assume correctly, Lord Bridgerton?"

He chuckled softly, tilting his head as he watched you. "Not at all, my dear," he said. "You are so far from the truth that it is quite... comical."

"Comical?" you blurted, looking up at him in disbelief.

"Your sister was... helping me. I had planned to ask you in such a grand manner that I needed some assistance. Perhaps her planning skills would be far superior to mine when it comes to an event such as... well..."

"An event? What—what have you been planning, Benedict?"

His eyes softened. Were you blind? Or had he been so secretive with his feelings for you that you remained oblivious to the fact that he loved you more than life itself?

"Benedict, please," you said. "We do not have all night. They will notice we have left the party, soon enough."

"I wanted to know what would be best to ask you," he said.

"Ask me what?"

"To marry me, Y/n."

Time stood still. Big eyes stared up at him in disbelief, lips parted as you swam in an ocean of words, but nothing broke the surface. Was he serious?

"Benedict—"

"—will you marry me, Y/n?"

"I—"

"—I had planned on asking you soon, with flowers and a ring, and perhaps a grand occasion so the gentlemen knew you were taken, but—"

"—Benedict..."

He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed. You were going to say no. He could see it in your eyes.

"You want to marry me?" you asked, hand holding onto his. "You... do you... I care for you, deeply, Benedict."

"And I, you, Y/n."

You searched his eyes for a sign—for an answer, perhaps. You had dreamed of this night for so long, and here it was, front and center. He cared for you. He wanted to marry you.

"I will," you said.

He released a breath, suddenly pulling you into his arms. You said you would. Yes. The answer was yes. Benedict would marry his best friend.

Benedict fought the urge to kiss you, despite knowing you would allow him.

“Let us return,” he softly said. “Perhaps you should inform your mother of your latest rendezvous.”

Your eyes widened a bit.

“Of course, I will be with you. Wouldn’t she enjoy seeing that?”

Your lips spread into a soft smile. “Yes. She would.”

Benedict took your hand and led you back to the porch. No one else stood outside.

“I will return first,” he softly said. “I will find your sister, and then, I will come and find you.”

“Oh, you do not want a scandal, dear Benedict?” you asked, a grin forming.

His eyes hardened as he looked back at you. “Would you like a scandal, Lady Y/n?” His voice betrayed the look he gave you, and instantly, his hard look dissolved into a smile. “Allow me to return. We will have enough gossip to go around once the news has broke in the ‘ton.” He took your hand again and pressed a kiss to your gloved knuckles. “Until we meet again.”

“I will see you inside,” you said, smiling all the while.

Benedict left you, and you waited merely a few minutes before you returned. You remained blissfully ignored, and for once, you appreciated the fact. You found your mother in an instant, and only when Benedict found you again did you tell her the news.

[profeyandere]

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓 𝐁. ─── ☾ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ʙʀɪᴅɢᴇʀᴛᴏɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.5ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʙᴇɴᴇᴅɪᴄᴛ ʙʀɪᴅɢᴇʀᴛᴏɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ꜰᴇᴀʀ, ʙɪꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ/ᴘᴀɴꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ, ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ 𝟥 ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ, ʙᴇɴᴇᴅɪᴄᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ, ᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ.

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

As much as Benedict Bridgerton had tried to lie to his entire family, his friends, and even you, you had been able to notice something different about him. No, it wasn’t his hair—what nonsense. It was growing by the moment and seemed darker and more abundant, but no. The color of his eyes? In a way, yes. They didn’t seem as bright as usual, and they definitely didn’t look around with that curious and witty air that you liked so much and that had caught your attention. His suits and posture remained the same, but at the same time, they weren’t; his back became stiffer when you were close, and you had been able to notice how the artery in his neck stood out when you touched his hand to wake him from his thoughts.

While your eyes scanned his posture, his entire being, as it was illuminated by the afternoon sun, you noticed that small frown that now decorated his face more habitually, that small wrinkle that perhaps wasn’t entirely noticeable to the rest of society or the entire world, but it was noticeable to you. You knew him well. You had memorized where each little mole was on his arms and hands, the number of freckles that decorated the top of his cheeks, and the number of charming wrinkles that appeared on his face when he laughed or simply showed one of his smiles. You loved Benedict Bridgerton, and, in the same way that you loved him, he loved you. For that reason, both of you were in that phase of dating in which everything was really decided—to know if the couple that was engaged at that moment was or was not ready for a future marriage together.

To no one’s surprise, you were obviously still together. You loved reading, and Benedict loved painting. Both of you loved two different ways of making art, and you took advantage of the silence that the other provided to enjoy those beloved hobbies that gave you all the happiness you needed. You would go to the Bridgerton family home to have tea with Violet, and then, almost immediately after she finished the last drop in her small porcelain cup, you would run—not literally—upstairs to head to the small office that Benedict had christened his own, finding the two of you in a tight embrace that would subsequently lead to a flurry of kisses that had you blushing for the rest of the afternoon.

But now, as you slowly closed the reading book, your novel, you couldn’t help but continue to think that there was something wrong with him. Not specifically that he was sick or that there was something physically different about him, but it seemed like a matter that was seriously bothering him. There was something else that he seemed to be keeping to himself, something he wasn’t sharing with anyone out of fear or because it was private enough not to share with you or his own family. How bad must it be to not talk about it with anyone?

“What are you painting?” you asked in a low tone. But even that low tone seemed to be heard as if someone were shouting at him. He flinched—it was the first time he shuddered at your voice. “Are you okay?”

Benedict’s eyes, as previously mentioned, lively and cheerful, now showed doubt and a bit of nervousness. You had taken him by surprise, and it had caused him to get nervous—but not in a good way. Not the kind of nervousness about seeing or hearing the person you wanted, but the same kind of nervousness a little kid had when he knew he had done something wrong. That only managed to get your attention a little more; he had never looked at you like that, and he had definitely never flinched like that.

“Yeah, I was just…” he stated, muttering afterward in a hesitant tone as if he didn’t know exactly what to answer or how to do it in the correct or conventional way. “Painting.”

Benedict didn’t slap himself because you were standing there; otherwise, he definitely would have. How foolish he had been to answer something so obvious.

“Yeah, I know that,” you answered back, frowning this time as you began to bite your lower lip, specifically that little bit of skin you used to gnaw on when you were thinking. It was a bad habit that Benedict stopped with soft kisses on that lip, specifically in the area where you were biting. “I asked you what you were painting, but you didn’t react as I expected.”

Your answer seemed to have alerted him. Whatever he was waiting for you to say, it was definitely not what came from your lips. His shoulders tensed even more, and his eyes moved away from you to somewhere other than you. It was at that moment that you knew something: that problem had to do with you. He was worried about something about you, something you had done or said. You didn’t think you had done anything to make him angry, to make him question something, much less to make him as weird as he was at that moment. You were confused, and you only received silence—not a verbal response—and not only did you hate that, but it also made you nervous and worried you even more.

“Is it because of the courtship?” you asked directly. “If that’s the case, it’s okay. We can come to an agreement not to make a fuss about the situation,” you continued, but that only caused Benedict to look at you again in an alarming way as if you had hit the nail on the head with your assumption. “We can talk to my father and Anthony; something will occur to us. Who is the other woman?”

Before Benedict’s eyes, your question shattered his soul.

How could you think that he would abandon you for someone else? No one could replace your role in his life. He could have courted countless women, he could have had girlfriends galore, and he could have even continued to have his libertine activities without necessarily being married to a woman. But meeting you was the greatest miracle that could ever happen to him in life after all the heartbreaks he had had and his commitment to not really be in a formal and cordial relationship with any lady. If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have had someone who could hug him when she saw him because of the joy that person felt. He wouldn’t have gone back to painting and drawing like he had done a couple of seasons before, and he definitely wouldn’t have experienced what true love was again. You gave him the greatest joy when you accepted his courtship after meeting him at Colin and Penelope’s wedding, not long after he had cut ties with the widow with whom he had been involved in a strange friendship with consensual sexual relations. You were an old friend of the lovely Miss Featherington, an old friend who had been travelling back and forth thanks to your father’s work, an old friend who was finally going to settle in London to be present at the wedding.

He was sincerely grateful that Penelope had taken you into account, that you still kept in touch, and that he had been able to meet you on that beautiful day. You hit it off with Eloise straight away; you only had to mention books before she dragged you around until she introduced you both. She wanted to show off her new friend and show her whole family that there were people with slightly similar thoughts and tastes to hers. He could never forget your smile, the way your eyes sparkled with joy even if it wasn’t your wedding, and how you expressed yourself. It was obvious that you had travelled a lot, all over the world as you mentioned, because you had very distinctive mannerisms that in England, or at least in London, were not common.

“No,” he quickly denied your question. Even if it took him a second to answer you, it actually took him a couple of minutes to do so, which worried you even more. “There is no other woman; there will never be another woman. Why do you ask if there is another woman?”

His repeated denials and his question alarmed you. He had never been so nervous or spoken in a rush; clearly, something was going on.

“All I want is to know if there is something that is worrying or bothering you because there is something that is clearly going around in your mind, and I am worried about what it could be,” you answered, in an attempt to relieve him, but you knew it would have no effect. “I may have expressed myself in the wrong way at some point, and I didn’t realize it, which I would understand, but I would appreciate it if you told me,” you continued. “We are in this together; I thought we both understood that.”

Of course, how could you forget it? When he asked your father for permission to court you, he had first asked you about the idea of the two of you having a romantic relationship, something that surprised you given his reputation as a womanizer. But you made it clear from the beginning that the only thing you expected from that union, whether it was for love or not, was commitment and sincerity. If at any time he felt overwhelmed by society’s expectations, he could perfectly talk to you about it so you could reach an agreement—perhaps cancelling the courtship and each of you continuing with your lives, or a marriage proposal that would lead to the two of you being in a relationship as married friends in which each of you would have a separate life. However, there was also the option that he had met someone whom he had learned to truly love and wanted to cancel the courtship as soon as possible—hence your question. You only wanted sincerity; a thousand things could go through his head, but he wanted to start ruling out options before you yourself began to torture yourself trying to find out what was happening to him.

“Yes, we are in this together,” he agreed, sighing softly before his eyes met the grey canvas he had been painting for the last half hour. He had been painting only a background, a background that was becoming darker and darker.

As dark as his secret, that secret he had tried to keep away from you.

His heart was pounding. It was something he knew he was going to have to talk to you about because it would be impossible to put it aside. At least, he had to talk to you about it so you would know the situation he was in, and what kind of person you were going to be with for the rest of your life as soon as he proposed to you. What he discovered with the widow Lady Arnold was an experience beyond what he had previously thought. She was a woman who had great experience, who knew what she was doing, who knew how to please a man and how to play with him to give him what he believed or seemed to need. But she also knew how to test people’s limits, and with her, Benedict discovered a facet of himself that he would never have considered before with anyone else. At some point, he had questioned it, but it had never been so real until he was with her.

When he turned his gaze to you, he knew it was time to tell you everything. He just hoped that you would be able to forgive him.

You watched intently as Benedict placed his palette and brush on the high table next to his easel. That action let you know that you were going to talk about something serious, so you settled into your seat and placed your half-read book on the table, but not before placing a small piece of paper sticking out so you could mark where you had left off in your reading. Benedict grabbed one of the chairs that were around the table where you had sat that afternoon—a table that was already occupied by a couple of cups, a few cookies, and a teapot with half-finished and cold tea—and placed the aforementioned chair next to yours. He positioned it in such a way that he could look at you, and his body was oriented toward you, so you moved yours so you could be in the same position as him and be able to converse more directly, without evasions. You saw how his greenish and greyish eyes stopped on yours, and you only managed to grab one of his hands when you noticed the strong grip he had on one of his knees, intending to calm him down. His palm was sweaty, and his skin was cold; he was nervous, more than ever.

“You are aware of my habits—my old habits,” he corrected himself, wanting to emphasize the adjective. “You know that I have had encounters with other women, not women of high society—well, a little yes—but not women whose reputation I can tarnish or something similar.”

You just nodded; you didn’t say anything. You didn’t think it was necessary.

“Among those encounters, there was one person who was not…” he murmured, not knowing very well how to explain the situation.

Again, the hand you weren’t holding began to tighten as before. The hand on his other knee exerted so much force that for a moment you thought it would break your hand, while the one you were holding remained soft. All the strength in his hand went to the other one, and, without a moment’s hesitation, you grabbed it as well. You knew he needed a way to relieve his stress, but you didn’t want it to be through a physical means of hurting himself.

“Take your time.”

Your words caused Benedict to be able to breathe, feeling his chest swell and then deflate. It was as if he had been holding his breath for much longer than he had originally planned. He wanted to tell you suddenly, to let it out, without fear.

“There was one person before you—well, several,” he began, trying to find the right words. “There were women, obviously. Women of the night, those of the brothels, and there were others who were not,” he continued, looking into your eyes, taking a breath before letting it out again. “And there was… a man.”

His statement made you blink a couple of times rapidly before leaning forward a little in an attempt to clear your thoughts a little at his sudden statement, to know if you had heard him right or not. But seeing his look full of fear, of dread, made you know that it was true. You had heard right.

A man.

Benedict nodded. You had said it out loud.

“When I met Lady Arnold, a new world opened up for me, a world that I would never have closed if it weren’t for you,” he explained, a little more emboldened when he noticed how you still hadn’t taken your hands away from his. He wanted to try to explain everything in the best way possible. “And I won’t open it again; I won’t go back to that. I’ll be with you; I swear I’ll be with you.”

His promise surprised you—that oath that wanted to let you know that he wouldn’t walk away from you, that he wouldn’t break your relationship, that he wouldn’t leave your side ever. But it was a way that your reaction, whatever it was, didn’t have to be as cruel as expected.

“And, within that world, he taught me that love or attraction doesn’t have to be based specifically on what’s already normative in society,” he continued, clearing his throat a little before lowering his gaze to your joined hands, observing the way your smaller hands wrapped around his and your thumbs slowly caressed his. “And that it was okay if not… if maybe my tendency was different or… or deviant.”

You tilted your head curiously. You listened to him and understood him, but you didn’t say anything.

“Do you like men, Ben?”

Your question, so direct, made his eyes fill with tears in a matter of seconds, and, with shame as if he had committed the worst crime in the universe, he just lowered his head and nodded slightly. His heart was broken, shattered. He felt ashamed of himself and only wished he could make up for that mistake, tear out that part of himself, and put it in a trunk from which he could never get out. His tears fell not long after, directly onto his jacket. You couldn’t see his face; he wouldn’t let you. But you could see the small drops soaking his light jacket, forming small circles of a slightly darker shade. He never cried like a child throwing a tantrum; Benedict cried silently because he was afraid of you, of losing you, of you leaving, of you feeling disgusted by him, repugnance.

You could never have the heart to hate in any way the man who had always brought you happiness.

“It’s okay; calm down,” you murmured before gently squeezing his hands and releasing one of them to extend it to his face—not to force him to look at you but to dry his tears and prevent his crying. “Oh, honey, you don’t have to cry.”

The way you spoke, your soft and tender murmur, caught his attention, and, instead of lifting his head, he allowed you to touch him with the tenderness that characterized you, feeling the soft tips of your fingers caress his cheek as a few more tears came out of his eyes.

“When I told you I wanted you to court me, it was because I wanted you, not another man,” you confessed, blushing softly, thinking about how you were initially hesitant about the proposal you accepted. “I knew your past—part of it, from what I see now—but even with that, I accepted our commitment, this commitment of love and respect for each other because I saw in you something more than the number of women you were with or the number of men. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Not everyone cares,” he whispered in a softer tone, raising his head slowly, looking at you as if he were a small, fearful child. “It shouldn’t matter to you.”

“I don’t care about the gender, Ben, and imagine how little I care about the number,” you repeated. “What’s the point of me noticing? There could have been fewer, and there could have been more, but that doesn’t matter to me because, in the end, you chose me. Because you found in me what you were missing with others, just as I saw in you what I needed. That is our relationship; that is what a relationship should be—complementing the other, not the number of people you have met, regardless of their gender.”

His grey eyes stared at you, and you, as his girlfriend, could not help but smile at him. Because that was his effect on you—the smile.

“Men, women—it doesn’t matter,” you continued. “It’s you who I love now and who I’ll love in the future. You’ll be the one I rock to sleep with at night, the one I’ll kiss every day, the one I want to marry,” you confessed, seeing how he looked at you in surprise. “I love you, every part of you, and nothing will make me think otherwise.”

Benedict remained silent, a couple of tears still coming out of his eyes, but not many. Your caresses continued, both on his cheek and on his thumb, and, even though he didn’t say anything, you knew he said it all with the sparkle in his eyes.

Suddenly, you saw how he rose slightly from the chair and kissed you tenderly on the lips—a soft kiss, a little demanding, but just as tender as the first one he gave you—which caused you to blush and look at him with an eyebrow raised as a question.

“You were biting your lip again.”

His answer made you laugh, a laugh that was followed by your own.

Benedict might be a man who liked everyone, but he loved you, and that was more than enough for you.

[sophiekarim]

CLAUDIA JESSIE as ELOISE BRIDGERTON

Bridgerton Season 4 BTS Sneak Peek

[multi-fandom-imagine]

hi !! I don't know if you are taking any Bridgerton request at the moment but if you are could you write one where Benedict and reader were courting but he started to spend less time with her so she wears a revenge dress to one of the balls and gets a lot of attention so Benedict gets a bit jealous? with a happy ending please

A/n: Man I cannot remember the last time I've written for Bridgerton.

It hurt, seeing someone you cared about slowly pull away from you so when it was announced a ball be thrown you'd decided to set your own plan into motion and you'll make him see.

The ballroom was alive with music and laughter, the chandeliers were casting a golden glow over the swirling mass of dancers. Benedict Bridgerton had barely stepped through the grand entrance when he spotted you.

And he almost forgot how to breathe.

You were stunning...no that wasn't the correct word, you were devastating. The deep sapphire gown you wore clung to you in a way that left nothing to the imagination yet remained utterly tasteful. The delicate lace along the bodice highlighted the graceful curve of your collarbone, and the rich color made your eyes shine brighter than any star in the sky.

He swore you stole his breath away.

But it wasn’t just the dress—it was you. The confidence in the way you held herself, the way you smiled just enough but never too much, and the way every gentleman in the room seemed to gravitate towards you as if drawn by some invisible force.

Benedict clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the glass of champagne in his hand as he watched another man—a Lord he didn’t even recognize—lean in closer, his gaze lingering far too long.

Your laugh ringing in his ears as you turned your head away shyly.

He hadn’t meant to let things slip between them. Between his art, his family obligations, and the pressures of society, he had let the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into something dangerously close to neglect. You had been patient, always so understanding, but now… now he saw the consequences of his absence. No...that was a lie, those weren't the reasons.

You were his best friend, more than his best friend and when Benedict realized that he started to pull away, he started to pull away because it scared the ever loving shit out of him.

And now you weren't waiting for him anymore.

He should have known better. Should have seen that you wouldn’t sit idly by while he withdrew into himself. You had always been too brilliant for that, you didn't deserve any of that.

And now, every man in the room knew it too.

Benedict downed the rest of his drink, barely tasting it, before setting the glass aside and moving through the crowd. He wasn’t reckless like Anthony, nor as effortlessly charming as Colin, but what he lacked in their methods, he made up for in quiet determination.

You still laughing when he reached you, a soft, melodic sound that sent another wave of jealousy coursing through him. That made his heart beat a bit faster, sent his pulse racing.

“May I have this dance?” His voice was smooth, but there was a weight to it—a claim beneath the polite words.

You turned, the laughter in your eyes flickering when you met his gaze. “Oh? I thought you were otherwise occupied this evening.”

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep his composure. “I was a fool.”

Your brow arched. “I won’t argue with that.”

A smirk tugged at his lips despite himself. “Then let me prove to you that I am your fool.”

For a moment, yoi studied him, as if weighing whether or not to make him suffer just a little longer. But then, with a small sigh, you placed your hand in his.

“Try to keep up, Bridgerton.”

And as he led you to the dance floor, the rest of the room faded away—because there, in his arms, was the only world that had ever truly mattered.

[mjmikaelson]

hear me out…THESE TWO IN A ROMCOM!!! 🤭

[auntphibian]

Nex Benedict

A 16 year old Owasso student who died after being beaten in the head by three other students. They were nonbinary and a citizen of the Choctaw nation. They lived in the Cherokee reservation of Oklahoma. They had complained of bullying about their identity prior to being assaulted. Police are claiming their death was unrelated to the assault they experienced just a day prior.

Nex enjoyed nature, minecraft, drawing, and reading. They had a cat named Zeus.

I grew up near this region. I have identified as nonbinary since freshman year of high school. I'm a citizen of the Muskogee tribe. I was bullied in high school. My sister is much the same as me in most of this. I hate to think either of us could have been this poor child. They didn't deserve this. I can say from first-hand experience that the handling of bullying in Oklahoma schools is pretty much non-existent. This situation makes me so incredibly sad. This did not need to happen.

I hope Nex rests peacefully. Hopefully, something good can come from this tragedy. Hopefully, we will see change.

[fantasydreamland]

Benedict Bridgerton