#him in bridgerton for the plot and plot only

[bleulone]

JONAH HAUER-KING as MAX MALLOWAN in AGATHA AND THE CURSE OF ISHTAR (2019).

[suitsusboth]

Great snippet of chapter 19. Can’t wait to see what Kate decides!

siri, play speak now by taylor swift

[kylopen]

Yes, My lord?

18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: Brain rotting SMUT, barely any plot, reader is 1 month pregnant (you could probs imagine she is not if you really wanted to) Mentions of body insecurities, super fluffy, Anthony is so whipped for Y/N. Borderline pregnancy/breeding kink? switch reader, switch Anthony. unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it guys.

Summary: Since finding out you are pregnant Anthony simply cannot keep his hands to himself, and when you turn the tables his arousal runs wild.

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton X Reader

Masterlist

Length: 1.8k words

Note: I could NOT get this scenario out of my head, i had to get this written and published *sobs*

----

"That was a rather delightful evening"

You smile as you and Anthony ascend to your bedchamber for the night. The two of you had planned a ball to tell your family and friends the news of your pregnancy. The night was filled with laughs and joy from the family, excited about Anthony's first child with you.

The two of you approach the door and Anthony opens it for you, ushering you inside.

"Indeed, dear wife."

Anthony's eyes crinkle lightly at the sides as he smiles at you, approaching you from behind, fingers expertly undoing your corset. You sigh in relief, goosebumps on your skin at the feeling of release from your day clothes. Turning to face him you also begin to help Anthony from his clothes as he laughs lightly at your eagerness to help him.

Now nude in the middle of the room, Anthony looks you over in the faint candle light, his hand softly moving along the curves of your body. He follows closely behind as you perch yourself at your vanity, ready to take out your elaborate hairstyle. Anthony's hand gently pushes yours away from your head as he begins to take it out for you, looking at you through the mirror. His gaze was intense but loving, his eyes trained thoroughly on your flustered response to the intimate gesture.

"Look at me"

The sentence was commanding but gentle. You lift your eyes and he reaches for the hairbrush just beside you on the table. he begins slowly brushing your hair, gently getting rid of any knots or tangles. Anthony was always a gentle lover, but immediately after finding out you were carrying his child he became dead set on helping you with what he could. His tender nature shining through as he aids you in your bedtime grooming process. The feeling of his hands softly grazing your neck as he brushes has you in a trance, the soothing feeling of knowing you are safe and well taken care of my a man that loves you.

He begins massaging your scalp carefully as you let out a hum of approval. Anthony lets out a quiet laugh as he watches the bliss form on your face.

"I love you, Mr Bridgerton" you tease his formal name.

"Likewise, Mrs Bridgerton, I will love you for the rest of my life"

Butterflies flutter around in your stomach as you realise just how exposed the two of you are. Then it dawns on you, looking down at your puffy stomach, feeling as though you have already gained some baby weight. It had only been a month and you weren't even really showing yet. A flash of insecurity dances across your features at the thought of getting bigger. At this point, the Viscount could read you like a book and he stops his movements in your hair to lean down and kiss your head.

"Speak what is on your mind, my love"

You think for a second before answering.

"...My... Body..." you trail off.

"You are the most beautiful woman i have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. Even more so now you are carrying our child."

You look down and pinch your widened hips, and in response Anthony moves your hand away, caressing you. He then grabs your hand, pulling you up to stand with his chest touching your back.

"There is nothing more appealing to me than my beautiful wife swelling with my seed..." his eyes darken at the thought as he begins to pepper kisses along your jawline and neck, lightly nipping and sucking and you shiver in his arms.

Heat rushes straight to your cheeks and in between your legs as you feel a solid length press against your lower back. You breath out shakily as he presses it harder against your backside.

"Anthony..." You moan softly, bordering a whimper.

The second he hears his name from your lips in such a tone he struggles to hold back, the heat in the room thickening with lust. He pushes you gently onto the bed and settles himself behind you, spooning you. His slightly rough hand glides slowly up and down your side, upper thigh to hip to shoulders. He caresses every part of your body paying extra attention to the parts you were most conscious about. You let out more whimpers from the intimacy of it all, your face feeling incredibly hot and you squirm under the touch. Your thighs squeeze together to relieve yourself in some way, only making Anthony smirk and his touches becoming more daring. His fingertips ghost along your nipples, but fall back down elsewhere on your body.

"Anthony... I am already-" you shudder as he passes by a particularly sensitive spot. "I am already pregnant..."

His laugh rumbles against your back.

"I am aware. That does not mean we cannot enjoy each others bodies hm, dear?" His tone was devilish as his touches become more bold. You flip onto your back and slightly part your legs with a pleading look to Anthony.

"So needy and impatient Viscountess Bridgerton" He tuts with a smirk.

Deciding to take matters into your own hands you launch up, planting yourself on top of him with heated cheeks. If he will be so cruel and tease you even in his aroused state, you would use him yourself. A look of surprise flashes across his face before it grows into an incredibly cocky looking grin. His body betrays him, as his chest rises and falls at a fast pace.

"What is this? darling wife." he cocks his head to the side, the same grin on his face. His eyes hold a fiery hunger.

"It seems, dear husband-" you adjust yourself just enough to tease his length and he softly moans, "That you enjoy your Lady wife taking control" you smirk, a new found confidence flowing through you at the look of your husband from above him.

He grabs your hips with both hands and grinds your core against him.

"My Lord" you moan, breathless, aware of what the title does to him.

"Y/N... I am warning you-" he begins to speak, using your name but you cut him off, pinning his hands above his head.

"Yes, My Lord?" You smirk at him as you lean in close, your lips ghosting his, only to pull away when he goes in for a kiss. You keep one hand holding his up as your other hand begins exploring your husbands chest, teasing him the way he was teasing you. Your finger lightly brushes against his groin before going up to his nipple, softly pinching the bud and a guttural moan escapes his mouth.

"How improper my Lord" you feign a gasp and he lets out a soft chuckle at your words, enjoying the confidence from his beautiful wife. The thrill and excitement from you pinning his hands above his head is almost too much to bare as he gets impossibly harder against your core. He couldn't dare say it aloud but the feeling of being at your mercy, a simple toy to you made his body weak. He could very easily remove his hands from your grasp and the two of you know it, and yet he does not move.

You plant hot, open mouth kisses on his chiseled chest, your arousal already coating his groin. he shudders under your touch and the wet feeling on his lower torso.

"You seem excited my Lord... Has something got you so?" you cock your head to the side, feigning an innocence and he groans at the sight of the same woman he gave her first orgasm to have him completely at her mercy.

"I could ask you the same thing, My dear" His tease came across in gravelly voice that screamed he was ready to take you here and now.

His cock sandwiched firmly between his abdomen and your wet pussy, you begin to rock your hips back and forward, sliding easily. The pressure on your clit had you whimpering and had him moaning in a deep voice.

"You are going to be the death of me" he looks deep into your eyes as you slide him inside you, the two of you moaning at the feeling. The teasing you both had endured was very clearly affecting you both, being incredibly sensitive.

He watches with hooded eyes as you bring your hand to your clit and begin to stimulate yourself. He could have sworn he died that very moment at the sight. It was not long at all until you came, and he relished in the feeling of your cunt throbbing around him.

"Y/N" He moans, moving his hands to your hips, squeezing the soft flesh.

"Do you wish to finish my Lord?" You smile sweetly.

"Yes I do, my dear" His reply full of lust, and a hint of neediness.

"Beg" The sweetness was immediately replaced with cockiness.

The command was simple but powerful as you look into his eyes, holding his jaw with your hand. He felt a shock wave of pleasure shoot through his body.

"Please..." his flustered face was incredibly cute.

"You can do better than that" you move slightly, to tease the feeling.

"Please! Oh god please" you almost came at the sound of his begs.

"You are free to do so... My Lor-"

Before you could finish your sentence, he sat up, you still on his lap and inside him. His hands grasped at your hips as he bucked up into you, his moans coming out as grunts mixed with whines. Hitting up into your g-spot mixed with his needy grunts and thrusts you came again, causing his orgasm to reach its peak, he continues to bounce you on top of him as he spills his seed deep inside of you.

Anthony falls back, his face delirious and euphoric, yours looking similar as you flop down onto his chest, his cock still buried inside you, slowly softening.

Within minutes he snaps out of it, gently pulling you off him, and onto the bed, approaching a second later with a wet towel he opens your legs and cleans you up, slightly smirking at the mess and your flustered face. after cleaning you up he places a soft kiss to your inner thigh and crawls back into bed with you.

He wraps his arm around your shoulders and you move your head onto his chest, feeling exhausted. The room was filled with your soft snores in no time at all and he places a kiss on top of your head, a smile on his face as he looks at you.

"I am incredibly lucky to have you, my beautiful wife" he whispers before softly touching your stomach.

"And you too, my beautiful baby"

~End~

[eufezco]

THE MUSE

Benedict needs to practice female form. Naked female form. And who better to help him than his lifelong friend?

Benedict x fem!reader (smut with plot, friends to lovers) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!)

Benedict didn't know how to ask you.

You had been friends for a long time, your families were practically one. Always so united, your mamas took walks every afternoon, gossiping about the ton and your fathers had been friends since childhood. You and Benedict were bound to meet.

You and he grew up together. You were friends with his siblings, you had held sleepovers with his sisters and won cricket matches against his brothers. Lady Violet Bridgerton loved you like a daughter and your mother loved Benedict like a son.

But your friendship with him had always been special.

When you were twelve, you ran away together to camp on the riverbank, just because Benedict wanted to draw the moon reflecting in the water at night. The following year, despite the scolding you received for your river adventure, you and Benedict sneaked onto private land just to pluck a few petals from the summer sunflowers to get him the perfect shade of yellow.

You and Benedict were very close. Of course, there had always been rumors about what kind of relationship you two had and that Lady Whistledown had only added more fuel to the fire writing about you two in her pamphlets. You and him never cared about that, and neither your families but it was true that you two have had to face some uncomfortable conversations with them about it.

That's why Benedict didn't know how to ask you. You had a lot of trust in each other, you had always supported his artistic vocation but perhaps this was too much.

—Oh, thank God you've come. I am in need of a model —. It was the first thing Benedict said to you when you entered his studio. The maid closed the door behind you, leaving you alone with him. Thank goodness the Bridgertons' service was very discreet, if anyone found out that you and him were alone in a room it would cause quite a scandal.

—Good evening to you too, Benedict.

—My apologies. Good evening —. He leaned to kiss your cheek.— I need a model —. He let you know one more time.

—How have you been? Very stressed from what I can tell —. You tried to have a normal conversation with him before you paid attention to what he required.

—Indeed.

You sighed. —Well, what is it? I thought we were going for a walk.

He nodded. —We can go outside later. But I need to get this done by tomorrow and I feel like I'm losing my mind.

—And...?

—I need practice female form.

You slowly nodded. You were aware that Benedict had been recently attending this art academy, you were happy that he was finally able to pursue his passion and you couldn't deny that within the characteristic desperation of the artists, he looked very attractive. Benedict's hair was a mess, his white shirt was half-open, his sleeves were rolled up. He would never have allowed himself be seen in society like that and you were grateful because otherwise he would have all the girls after him.

—And you want me to...?

—Pose for me.

You weren't quite sure how to do it but it seemed easy and fun. All the times he had drawn you, he had done it when you were distracted, reading, having tea with his sisters... The pencil moved effortlessly across the paper when he saw you laughing with Daphne or playing with the cards that Colin had brought back from his trip to Spain. He was already too embarrassed to admit each time he drew you and Anthony teased him by saying that if he didn't propose to you, he would show you his drawings, and Benedict's heart skipped a beat because he knew that his older brother was not known for being a joker.

Benedict still didn't know how he was going to ask you, maybe it was better to just let it out.

—And what shall I do? Just stand here? Like this? —You laughed and made a dramatic pose like the ones you saw in the paintings in the gallery you visited together.

—I need you to ...

Benedict swallowed nervously. He looked down at your dress and then directly into your eyes. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to finish. You also looked at your dress to see if there was something wrong with it.

—Benedict I don't think I understand what you are trying to say—

—I need to practice naked female form.

Benedict immediately noticed your horrified face. He wanted to go back seconds ago when he hadn't even asked but if it wasn't you, who would it be? —I will not draw your face. No one will know it is you. It will be purely professional, I just need a few minutes.

You bit the inside of your cheeks and decided to trust him when he said that it would be for professional purposes only. The unfinished nude sketches that made your cheeks burn when you saw them as you entered his studio showed you that Benedict found no inspiration in the bodies of the academy models. After a nervous swallowing, you nodded and Benedict's face lit up. He hugged you but you didn't have time to hug him back because he quickly went to prepare the canvas.

—Is the door locked? —You asked him as you shed the little jacket that covered your shoulders along with your gloves. Benedict rushed off to lock it and before he returned to his position behind the canvas. You called his name and gulped, your hands failing in their attempts to unzip your own dress. —May I please get some help?

—Oh, yes, of course. My apologies.

Benedict stood behind you, his fingers brushing the skin on your back as he began to slowly unzip it until the dress slid down your body and fell at your feet. Benedict felt like he had to look away, as if in a few seconds you would not be completely exposed to his eyes. He offered you his hand to help you get up on a small pedestal that he had in his studio. Once you got rid of your underwear, you felt vulnerable but not as vulnerable as when Benedict ran his eyes over your body from his position and with the paintbrush already in his hand.

He let out all the air he had in his lungs, he couldn't take his eyes off you. Benedict could not deny that he had imagined it on many occasions, but reality far surpassed his imagination.

—What... What should I do, Benedict? —You hugged yourself.

—Put your arms down and stand like that. You look perfect, darling.

Your cheeks burned after that. You did as he said. His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration as his eyes went from the canvas to you and back to the canvas. Benedict asked you to turn around and he squeezed his eyes tightly after seeing your bare ass. Purely professional, this was purely professional, he had to remind himself.

Benedict grabbed a wooden chair and walked over to you. Your heart skipped a beat once he was so close to your naked body and he felt the exact same. He placed the chair next to you and invited you to sit on it. He nodded slowly when you did, focusing on the new position of your body. Benedict went back behind the canvas and made a few sketches.

He cleared his throat. —Would it be possible if you... Could you spread your legs?

Your cheeks grew hot and you squeezed your thighs together.

The knot you had in your stomach got tighter and you felt your chest rise and fall slowly thanks to your deep breathing. You straightened your back in the chair and you did as Benedict asked. You felt the air of the room caressing you in that warm and wet area and he held his breath, his chest puffing out as your legs slowly opened for him.

—You are beautiful, darling. Do not be ashamed —. Every new inch he discovered of your body made you look more perfect in his eyes. It was as nice to see you as it was to paint you.

Your cheeks grew even hotter but this time it wasn't just your cheeks, your whole body was in flames starting with the area between your legs that was so exposed to his eyes.

—Could we try another position?

You nodded, relieved, you were sure it was painfully obvious the way you had gotten wet and you just hoped he was busy enough to not notice.

He dropped the paintbrush and got up from the stool on which he was sitting. Benedict felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter with each step he took closer to your naked body. You moved in the chair out of nervousness. Benedict leaned slightly over you. —May I? —He asked before touching your leg. His voice made you shiver, he was so close, you felt his hand brush against the skin of your thigh. You nodded and looked up at him while he repositioned your leg. Benedict's eyes meet yours, so helpless, his lifelong friend, was that innocence in your eyes, or was that...?

Lust.

Your hand grabbed the back of Benedict's head and pressed his lips against yours. His eyes widened in surprise but immediately after, his hands went to cup your cheeks as he fell to his knees in front of you. You opened your legs so he could place himself between them and be closer to you. The shameless hands of your friend traveled down your neck until they reached your breasts. You moaned against his mouth once he gave them a gentle squeeze, the soft palm of his hand brushing against your nipples.

Benedict left a trail of soft kisses from your cheeks to your collarbones and your breasts. He took one in his mouth as his hand played with the other, his tongue moving in circles around your nipple and sucking on it at the same time. Your breathing quickened and your lips parted to let out soft moans when Benedict's teeth brushed your sensitive nipple.

He let go with a pop sound and watched you gasp for air. Benedict placed his hands on the inside of your thighs and caressed your skin there before he slowly pushed them to open even further. His hands prepared you for him, his eyes asked for your permission. You nodded and Benedict flashed you a smile, that was all he needed. He peppered your thighs with kisses, taking small bites and kissing your sore skin afterwards. Your breathing deepened as his mouth got closer to where you needed him the most. He was so close he could smell you and oh Lord, his dick got hard as a rock at that moment.

You took a sharp breath when he licked from your entrance to your clit and savored your juices in his mouth. The image was completely sinful, his blue eyes were locked on you while his lips sucked on your bundle of nerves, his hands forced your legs to stay open for him. Your head was thrown back, your mouth was open in a perfect "O" form, your fingers digging into his scalp. Once he noticed the desperation in the way your hips rolled against his mouth, two of his fingers entered you easily. You stifled a loud moan, throwing a hand over your mouth.

Benedict hummed, sending vibrations to your clit.

—Talk to me. How does this feel? —He required.

—So good. It feels... —You bit down your lower lip, his fingers sank deeper. —It feels like heaven.

He was satisfied with your answer.

Benedict fucked you with his fingers until you had to grab his wrist to get him to stop, it was too much. Your legs closed around his head but his lips were still attached to your clit and he didn't stop until he heard how your moans turned into whines and cries, not until he noticed how your back arched off the chair and your chest rose and fell uncontrolled thanks to your panting. Benedict didn't stop, not until he felt how your pussy was clenching so hard that almost pushed his fingers out of you and he heard you moan his name one last time as your grip on his hair tightened.

He gave you all the time you needed to catch your breath, kissing your legs and intertwining his fingers with yours while you came down from your high. Benedict's blue eyes were locked on you making every effort to later recall every single part of you.

—How are you feeling, darling? —Benedict stood on his feet and held your hands so that you would stand up as well. Before you could answer his question, you both realized how your legs were shaking and laughed. At the same time, you felt Benedict's grip on your hands grow stronger to keep you from falling.

Benedict leaned in and kissed your lips in the sweetest possible way. The tickling sensation in your body that you felt when you were naked in front of him had turned into a different kind of tickling, now focused on your stomach. It was so familiar, you had felt it so many times when you looked at him but now, with his lips on yours and his hands treating you with so much affection and care, it was different.

You could confirm that it was not only lust but also love.

You hummed against his lips. —Wait, did you finish your drawing?

Benedict shook his head. —But, please, do not worry about that. I will help you get dressed —. You frowned confused and he gave a quick kiss to your lips so, as he had told you, you would not worry. —I can finish later. There's no way I'm forgetting your body, my dear.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

following in our footsteps {benedict bridgerton}

plot: as the wife of benedict bridgerton, you're always fixing his clothes and readjusting his collar and as your husband, he's always smoothing your dress down when you get out of the carriage... you don't realise but these traits get passed onto your children.

requested by anon

"Remember," you said as you took Benedict's hand as he helped you out of the carriage, "it's Colin's birthday, not yours, so please... let him enjoy his day without you and Anthony winding him up."

Benedict smiled at you widely, "Me? Annoy Colin? Well, I never." You rolled your eyes. Your husband, being the wonderfully kind man he was, then proceeded to circle you, smoothing your dress down if it had hitched up or gotten a little crumpled. Once finished, he stood in front of you and you straightened his lapel and his collar.

This had been a ritual for the two of you since your courting days. It started when Benedict had came to you with a bunch of flowers when he was calling on you one morning and you brushed off some petals from his shoulder and then in that same morning, he had wiped the tiniest speck of jam from your dress. Since then, the two of you had a routine in place of helping the other sort themselves out.

"Beautiful," Benedict smiled before placing a soft kiss on your knuckles where your wedding ring sat, "Right," he straightened and clapped, "come along children!"

One by one, your four children clamber out of the carriage. Charles comes first, holding his hand to help his sister Alexandra, then waits for William and lastly, the three help Violet as she was the youngest and also the clumsiest.

As the children are climbing out, you and Benedict find yourself in conversation about something else entirely and it is only when you hear the words, "Oh, honestly, Violet! You always seem to get yourself into such a muddle!" that you turn your attention to your children.

Your face stretches into a wide smile, "Ben, look."

William and Charles stood facing each other, straightening their collars, "Is that good?" They each nod before they look to Alexandra. Charles smooths down an unruly wisp of hair, tucking it behind her ear, while William smooths down the ruffles on her shoulder. Lastly, they all help their youngest sister, Violet. Charles wipes crumbs from her cheeks, Alexandra readjusts the hairband in her hair and William brushes her dress so it sits nicely.

They turn back to their parents who are... crying?

"Mama," Charles frowns, "are you well?"

You sniff, wiping your eyes with Benedict's handkerchief he handed you, "All is well, my love," you smiled, "It is just so nice to see you all looking out for each other."

"You fight like cat and dog but like your mother said, it is spectacular watching you look out for each other," Benedict smiles, clapping Charles on the shoulder.

The children don't understand the big deal, they glance at one another before Charles shrugs, "It is what we see you and Mama do each and every day. You make sure that you are both presentable and attractive, it is nice to look out for each other, is it not?"

You nod quickly, giving each of your children a kiss on the forehead, "Mama," William groans, "now we all have lipstick on our foreheads!" You laugh and hand Charles Benedict's handkerchief and one by one, they each wipe the lipstick off of each other's foreheads.

"Oh, we did good, did we not?" You ask quietly, melting into your husband's embrace.

"We certainly did." He presses a kiss to your forehead, "We really did."

[ithebookhoarder]

Truth or Dare (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

Summary: Married only a few months, you are very much one of the Bridgerton brood - something that often drives your poor husband mad, especially when you happen to be every bit as chaotic and unruly as his siblings... Also known as, you, Benedict and Eloise take a game of ‘truth or dare’ a bit too far. 

A/N: What can I say? It’s well and truly fluff-tober over here on my blog 😅

Warnings: Alcohol, mild smut, swearing, Anthony losing his mind, typical Bridgerton sibling shenanigans 

Masterlist

There weren’t many nights Anthony spent away from your side.

They were few and far between, but that didn’t lessen how irksome you found them when the odd occasion called for him to leave you over night. You didn’t know what it was exactly, but you never truly slept well without your husband there to hold you.

Of course, it had to be one of those nights that you truly found yourself in a spot of mischief. Though, in fairness, it had all started rather innocently.

Un-beknowst to you at the time, it was Benedict that had been first outside on the garden swing, sipping from a stolen bottle of whiskey he’d pilfered from the kitchens. He’d been sat there perhaps ten minutes by himself, staring at the stars and lamenting about some problem or other.

Then Eloise had come along.

As was her habit - you later discovered - she had been swift to follow her brother’s example, sneaking out of the house in her nightgown for a reprieve in the night air… and a cigarette or two. Apparently her second-eldest brother was something of a soft touch when it came to her, not that you could blame him for it. You doted on Eloise too.

Then, finally, completing the eclectic cast of characters, there had been you.

Now, in your defence, you hadn’t intended on going out into the garden that night, but had found no other alternative suitable given the blasted summer heat. It was worse tonight that it had been all week, and without Anthony in bed beside you, you saw little point in enduring with the effort of trying to get any rest.

So, you’d decided to make your way quietly through the house and sit outside a while, and pray for a breeze. You hadn’t, however, expected to find both Bridgerton siblings already sat there, having had a similar idea.

“My, what do we have here? Another night owl?”

It was Benedict who spoke first, smiling warmly at the sight of you appearing out of the darkness. He was quick to rise, offering you his swing as a perch to rest upon, beside Eloise.

You were about to protest that it wasn’t necessary and that you could find somewhere else to sit, but a warning glare from Eloise was enough to silence you.

She was all too eager to pat the seat next to her in invitation, looking remarkably pleased to have another addition to their little party.

“Come. Sit,” she ordered. “We were simply discussing how tedious Lady Tremaine’s luncheon will be tomorrow and how we could possibly avoid the whole thing. Now that you’re here, you can help us plot our escape. Benedict’s only suggestion thus far has been some kind of contagious summer cold.”

“I think I actually said that I would use such an excuse, sister,” Benedict corrected with a teasing grin. “Not that we would share it.”

“Traitor.”

“Hardly. It is every man - or woman - for themselves. Right, Y/N?”

“Alas, I think your mother would be rather suspicious at all three of us suddenly being absent,” you sighed by way of explanation as both their eyes turned to you. “Besides, I only came outside because of this heat, not to join some conspiracy.”

“Hardly,” Eloise chuckled. “We simply had the same idea, but I am rather glad you came to join us. Perhaps we should form some secret kind of club - Bridgertons against boredom?”

“And do what? Constantly find excuses not to attend social events we deem too tedious or odious to be dragged along to?”

“Sounds like a marvellous idea to me.”

“It would, sister dear,” Benedict teased. “You always have a talent for causing chaos and anarchy. You’d suit the cause perfectly, even if we both know our mother would never stand for it. She somehow sees through even our best efforts.”

“In which case, it’s time I take a leaf out of your book, Benedict. After all, you always say social events become far more bearable after a good drink or two,” Eloise smirked, gesturing towards the bottle of whiskey Benedict had been steadily nursing. “Perhaps I should follow my brothers  example and learn to hold a drink, maybe then things will be more fun.”

“Oh no.” Benedict was quick to shut down that idea, holding the bottle possessively to his chest and shaking his head. “No. I am not allowing you to start drinking. Mother would have my head if she caught you, not to mention Anthony would have all ours heads on a platter in no time.”

The thought of it made you laugh. Your husband was hardly a tyrant, even if he’d been known to have a temper but he was easy enough to handle. A few soft words in his ear or a kiss on the cheek and he was putty in your hands, helplessly and completely in love with you. Just as you were in love with him.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of Anthony, Benedict?” you giggled, causing Eloise to join you. “I assure you, he’s more a kitten than a lion and he’d probably prefer you to allow Eloise to sample alcohol here, under your supervision, than when she inevitably decides to rebel and has her first drink later on, in the middle of some public ball…”

The warning was clear and you all knew very likely true. Still, Eloise was beaming in victory as Benedict cursed to himself, muttering about Bridgerton women and the likely death he’d receive should Anthony ever find out he had allowed Eloise to sample whiskey. “Just a few sips, El. I mean it.”

“Oh hush,” she snorted, taking the bottle before he could change his mind. She was quick to throw back her head and down a rather brave mouthful, causing you to laugh even harder as she scrunched her face up in disgust. “Oh! That is revolting.”

“I told you.”

“Now you, Y/N,” Eloise grinned, turning and offering the offending item towards you. “Go on. Join us trouble makers - I won’t say a word about it if you don’t.”

“Oh, for goodness sake… Give me that then,” you sighed, earning a cheer from them both, knowing it was better to simply surrender rather than try and fight their mischievous whims. It only increased as you took an ambitious swig from the bottle, wincing at the acrid burning sensation it left in your throat.

If only Anthony could have seen you. He’d have probably had some kind of seizure - especially as you took another quick swig before handing the bottle back.

“There. Your turn again, brother dearest.”

“My my. You really are quite surprising,” Benedict sniggered, before winking up at you in admiration. “Who knew it? You can hold your drink better than Colin. He seems cursed to choke any time he drinks anything stronger than a brandy.”

“Well, it is your sex that falsely deemed us the weaker,” Eloise quipped. “It’s not our fault you were ignorant.”

“I’d like to remind you I wasn’t part of that decision and you also looked ready to choke a moment ago, El.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re still one of the enemy,” she giggled, earning another raucous laugh from you. Oh, you loved her. If you’d ever been so blessed to have had a sister, you hoped she’d have been just like her. “Now, it is your turn again, brother.”

“Oh … joy.”

“Else we shall have to have some kind of forfeit.”

“A forfeit?” you scoffed, finding the idea absurd. “Like what?”

“How about… truth or dare?”

Benedict froze. “Oh no. Not again. Pall Mall is one thing but we swore we would never play that game in this family again-“

“But Benedict-“

“What’s truth or dare?”

Your innocent question ceased their bickering instantly. Their eyes widened as they turned to you, a knowing and nervous look passing between them. Somehow, you knew this evening was about to get wildly out of hand.

Sometime later, you’d been fully apprised of the rules of ‘truth or dare’. In fact, you’d been something of a natural at it, even if you knew the copious amounts of whiskey you’d all consumed was more than likely the responsible culprit. Else, you’d probably have known better and snuck back off inside before you could make a fool of yourself.

By the end of the night, Benedict had climbed a tree, confessed to being oddly scared of spiders, and been forced to sing the national anthem in French.

Eloise had also made an admirable effort, despite her obviously lower tolerance for drink. She still permitted Benedict to try and arrange her hair, before daring to steal a sock from Colin’s room whilst he’d slept. Then she’d loosened a leg on a dining chair. (Alas, none of you could remember which one but that somehow made it even funnier - even if it would not be come morning when you were forced to sit at the table for breakfast in some kind of roulette.)

You could only pray you didn’t choose said seat.

You could also only pray neither of your conspirators shared your contributions with your husband. You weren’t exactly sure how Anthony would feel at the fact you gone for a midnight paddle in the pond, nor that you’d mixed up the papers on his desk, all before finishing the night with a final dare that involved stealing several cakes from the kitchens… you still swore Mrs Reynolds would notice, come morning, that there were no longer twelve perfect cakes.

That, and Benedict had somehow knocked flour all over the counter, causing you all to erupt in drunken laughter as you’d bolted back outside.  

Needless to say, you all looked a sorry sight as you lay in the grass together, staring at the approaching dawn. Had you not been so tired, or drunk, you may have suggested retiring back to your rooms before the house awoke shortly.

“Now that… was fun.”

“Fun? That was more than fun. I haven’t laughed like that in ages.”

“Told you it was a good idea.”

You hummed in agreement with your sister in law.

“I can see why you all favoured this game so much,” you sniggered, winking at Eloise as she sat in the grass beside you. “I can also see why you all agreed to stop playing it… I don’t know what Anthony would say if he saw what we’d been up to.”

“Something sensible and disapproving most likely,” Benedict sniggered. “Our brother, and your husband, can be a right prig, no offence.”

“Oh hush. At least I didn’t let my sister dress me up in her petticoat when she was five.”

Benedict’s jaw dropped.

“Who told you about that?” he demanded indignantly.

“I have my sources.”

Benedict’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head to glare at his younger sister. “Well, you can tell your source that she’s going to have to find someone else to fetch her lemonade at the Cowper’s ball tomorrow night unless she apologises. You can also tell her that I’ll accept either a verbal or a written apology as long as it’s suitably abject. And that means very, very abject,” he added darkly.

“Tell me, Benedict, was it a lacy petticoat?”

With a wordless grunt of annoyance, Benedict groaned, but it was hard to hear over the laughter echoing from you and Eloise. You resembled more a pack of hyenas than two noble ladies - you probably looked just as feral after your night of mischief.

And of course, as was always your luck, that was exactly how your husband found you mere seconds later.

How Anthony had arrived without any of you hearing a carriage pulling up to the house at this time of the night - morning? You couldn’t be sure - was a mystery. Yet, there he was, hands on hips and looking thunderous as he stormed towards the three of you with all the fury of an exasperated headmaster.  

“What in God’s name are you all playing at?”

You all froze.

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over you as your eyes widened, and you all turned to stare sheepishly at him.

“Oh, darling. You’re home?”

“Don’t ‘oh darling’ me,” Anthony sighed, attempting to scold you but without much success. His attempt at seriousness was somewhat undermined by his brother’s heckling, singing ‘here comes mother’ and that ‘someone’s in trouble’. That, and with the way you were lying, he was upside down. “What are you doing up at this god forsaken hour? And why are you … is that flour? And why are you soaking wet?”

“I went for a swim.”

“A - you went for a -“

“And Benedict did my hair,” Eloise interjected suddenly, waving her arms about as she gestured to the tangle of hair upon her head. “Isn’t it marvellous?”

Anthony’s expression very much said that he did not think it was marvellous. Nor did he find any of this vaguely amusing.

In fact, by the way he took a long deep breath, you knew he was doing his best not to lose his temper and wake the entirety of the household. His brow always creased like that when he was faced with dealing with his family, but the expression only made him seem more adorable and handsome to you, rather than authoritative. However, you’d never told him so, knowing it would hardly be deemed a compliment in his eyes.

You also doubted he’d appreciate your usual response right now, which was normally to kiss said brow until it eased back into its relaxed form.

“We were just playing a game to escape the heat, darling,” you soothed. “We couldn’t sleep and all had the same idea to seek refuge outdoors… we simply got carried away passing the time.”

“What game?”

“Pardon?”

“I said, what was the game you were all playing?” Anthony suddenly quipped, the warning clear in his tone. That, and his eyes landed squarely on his two siblings, who at least had the decency to look sheepish… and afraid. “Because there is but one game I can think of that would result in a mess like this one, and I’m confused, because I know for a fact that we banned that game under this roof, and any other roof that houses the Bridgertons.”

No one moved.

No one even breathed.

It was as if you were all too scared to risk answering Anthony, even if the empty bottle of whiskey did most of the talking by itself.

“I don’t recall the name,” you blinked. “Right, Benedict?”

“Oh, uh… we… we were just- Eloise?”

Eloise froze, the guilt written all too clearly on her face for her to even try and salvage the situation - though that could also be down to the whisky she had consumed… it was honestly hard to be sure at this point.

“Well, dear brother,” she began, only to trail off as Anthony lifted his hand.

The silence was instantaneous. 

No one dared to say another word, let alone move. 

You’d never seen Eloise or Benedict so still in your entire life. Hell, you weren’t even sure they were breathing - probably out of fear Anthony would decide to inform their mother about their mischievous exploits. 

If Anthony Bridgerton was scary when vexed, then Violet Bridgerton was a nightmare brought to life in human form. After all, as the matriarch of a family of eight children, she had learned a long time ago how to keep her unruly children in line - a harrowing experience you had only had occasion to witness once or twice since your marriage into the Bridgerton family. Once had been when Colin and Gregory had broken a priceless vase when racing around the house, despite being explicitly banned from doing so. The other had been when she had caught Eloise and Benedict smoking outside on the terrace one night. 

It was easy to say where your husband had inherited it from. 

“Not. Another. Word,” your husband growled, bending down and sweeping you up into his arms in a move that made you squeal in surprise. “Right now, I am taking my wife to bed and I suggest you two do the same - after you clean up your mess. I’ll deal with the lot of you in the morning.” 

A laugh escaped you as you tried not to look like you were enjoying the sudden turn of events too much. After all, you doubted he’d be too happy once you were more sober and he discovered the true extent of your nightly activities. 

It was why you were only too happy to let him put you to bed, grumbling all the while about letting his siblings run wild. He really was most handsome when he was flushed - a fact you were reminded of as he hastily changed for bed, flashing you a tempting glimpse of his bare torso in the process. 

You could tell without asking he was tired from his journey home, as well as fighting the urge to rip his hair out over the chaos he had found upon his return. 

Thankfully, his need to be in your arms outweighed the need to scold you over letting yourself be drawn into his siblings’ schemes. All it took was you pulling him down onto the mattress, and climbing into his lap to turn him into a needy, lovestruck puddle. 

You’d equally missed having him in your arms, but you’d be lying if you said that your sudden forwardness wasn't also due to a mixture of the whiskey you’d drunk, and the residual giddiness from a night of mischief. A confidence radiated from you as you began to run your hands over his bare chest, taking care to graze the areas you knew made him groan. 

“You’re lucky I love you so much,” he teased breathlessly, visibly unable to refuse your advances. 

“Is that so?”

Anthony chuckled, nodding as he surged his lips towards yours. “Yes, so come here, my delinquent drunken wife, and let me kiss you before you and those doe-eyes of yours drive me insane. Now.”

Your laughter and surrender was immediate. “As you wish.” 

Alas, for poor Anthony, that was not the end of the ordeal. 

In fact, it was the next morning as you made your way into breakfast that you faced the final consequences of your delinquency. 

Despite wishing to remain abed for the entire day, you’d been granted no such reprieve as your maid had entered your room at the usual appointed time and proceeded to open the curtains with no regard for the fact that you had slept a mere handful of hours. Whereas you would normally greet the day with a reluctant smile, you were in no state to manage much more than a groan as you were harshly ripped from your slumber.

If you had somehow not yet come to the conclusion that last night had been a bad idea, then the sudden flare of pain in your head at the bright intrusion was all the proof you needed. That, and the sudden churning in your stomach. 

You would never let Benedict or Eloise coax you into drinking with them again. 

You had not realised, despite how the idiom went, that what went up was sure to come down again - and you had come crashing down. 

Hard.

“If you’re ready to dress, my lady, then breakfast will be served shortly,” your maid chirped, a dress already picked out for you to wear. She either couldn't detect your fragile state, or didn't seem to care as she continued speaking at a painfully loud volume. “My Lord sent me to wake you as he is finishing business in the study. He was up frightfully early, I could scarce believe it went the housemaids told me they’d already found him awake when they went to start the fires this morning. Gave young Samantha a right fright he did, scribbling away at his desk.” 

“Oh?” you croaked. 

You hadn’t even noticed the empty space in the bed bedside you until then. 

Clearly Anthony had risen early, if he’d even gone to sleep at all. Why were you not surprised? Your husband was perpetually in motion, always claiming there was something or someone that needed his urgent attention as the head of the Bridgerton clan. It was just one of the things that made you love him so much.

“Is he still there?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the young girl continued, breezing about your room. “And that’s not the only strange incident this morning. It will tickle you rotten when I tell you the latest drama, but you see, Mrs Reynolds was ranting and raving about how she swore she had made three trays of fruit tarts last night, yet this morning, there were only two. The youngest kitchen maid, Betsy, is convinced it must be a ghost but my money is on Carter - the groom’s boy - he’s always snooping about the kitchen...” 

You winced. Ah. Maybe you hadn't been as stealthy last night as you’d hoped after all...

With as much enthusiasm as you could muster, you began to peel yourself from the mattress, trying to appear as if you were listening to your maid’s theories as she dressed you for the day. It then took all your resolve to make it downstairs and to the breakfast table without tripping over your own feet, or emptying the non-existent contents of your stomach. 

To your relief, only Eloise and Benedict had so far taken a seat at the breakfast table - and both looked about as miserable as you felt.  

“Good morning,” you mumbled, taking your usual chair next to the head of the table. You were quick to accept the steaming cup of coffee Benedict handed you, shooting him a thankful look. “Dare I ask how we feel?” 

“I think better than you and my dear sister here,” Benedict chirped, gesturing at a miserable looking Eloise. She had her head in her hands and was desperately trying to look at the plate of food in front of her with something other than repulsion. “Then again, I must admit I am somewhat more experienced in the art of late-night mischief than you both. I also did not have to deal with my brother before going to bed - thank you, again, for that noble sacrifice.”

“Your welcome,” you chuckled, a faint heat rising in your cheeks as you remembered the exact events after you and Anthony had gone to bed. “I just feel bad that you both got left to clean up the mess.” 

“Don’t be. I think we got it all.”

“You say that but I can’t remember anything after you started singing in French,” Eloise groaned, massaging her forehead once more. “I have the oddest feeling we may have forgotten something.”

You paused. You could only hope for your sake she was wrong. 

However, you were saved from such discussion by the arrival of the rest of the Bridgerton bunch. All conversation about your night-time escapades were quickly forgotten as Colin, Hyacinth and Gregory entered the room, bickering about something you couldn’t quite make out. They were swiftly followed by Violet and Francesca, who both looked unfairly cheerful for so early in the morning. 

You could only wish to look so fresh and composed before your first cup of whatever caffeinated beverage you could get your hands on. 

Then, finally, came your husband.��Entering the room last, he turned and shot you a warm smile. Clearly, your shenanigans had been forgotten - for now - replaced instead by the memory of your other activities, much to the relief of you and your co-conspirators. 

In fact, you swore you saw Eloise exhale a breath of relief when Anthony didn't immediately launch into one of his lectures. Instead, he chose to join the rest of his family in helping himself to the awaiting breakfast spread, laid out on the sideboard for them, listening to some ongoing debate between his mother and youngest brother. 

“-but you said we could visit the park this afternoon.”

“I know, sweetheart, but I have to take Francesca and Eloise for their final fittings at the modiste. We shouldn’t be too long, and we can go after? Unless, perhaps your brothers will take you. Colin? Benedict? Anthony?”

Benedict looked physically pained at the idea of an afternoon at the park, what with his current delicate constitution and all. You honestly couldn't blame him. “Well, I uh - have a drawing class, this afternoon. Very last minute. Sorry.” 

“And I... um, have a meeting at the club?” Colin stammered hastily. “Anthony?” 

“Please, Anthony?” Gregory begged, all but pouting at his older brother as the pair made their way to the table. “I promise I’ll do all my lessons this week without complaining if you say yes. I’ll even let you have my pudding tonight.”

“As you asked so nicely, brother, I don’t see how an hour or so at the park could do any harm -” Anthony began, pulling out the chair next to you and lowering himself onto the seat in a moment that felt like it lasted forever as a horrifying sensation swept over you. 

You remembered what you’d forgotten. 

The chair.

“Anthony, wait-!”

The sudden crash was startling, as was the sight of your husband being sent flying backwards as the chair collapsed beneath him. 

No one moved. 

No one said a word. 

Benedict looked across at you and Eloise, the horror clear in his eyes as he choked the word you felt on the tip of your tongue: “Run!”

[writtenfangirl]

Madness

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

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

In which Benedict Bridgerton finally reveals the truth.

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

It was utterly maddening.

She was utterly maddening.

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

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

Maddening.

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

But not Y/N.

Never Y/N.

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

A queen holding court, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We are familiar with one another.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Penelope ducked her head to suppress a giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She caught you?”

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

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

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

He bristled at her words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What gave you the impression that I would like to speak to her?” He tried to do his best nonchalant impression but not even Benedict was convinced of his own performance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To apologize.”

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

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

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

Oh.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mama, please leave it well enough alone.”

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

“I never said anything that would imply otherwise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always so distracting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Benedict did no such thing.

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

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

“Begging you for forgiveness.”

“What? Benedict, get up.”

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

“Benedict, get up. This is madness—“

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

[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! This is my first time writing, so apologies if it's a bit rough; English isn't my native language. Hopefully, you all absolutely drool over Benedict the same way I do. enjoy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his family home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

time skip

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

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

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

“Repeat what you said.” he orders

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[missingpolinseason]

I don't know who needs to hear it, but Julia Quinn doesn't pitch women against each other. Shondaland's writers do.

Daphne and Cressida never competed because of man - in fact, in the "The Duke and I" book it's actually one of Colin's friends who sees Daphne and Simon in the garden. Penelope and Cressida never competed for a man.

Kate and Edwina (and Mary) have one of the healthiest family relationships I've ever seen. There's no fights, and definitely no quarrel because of Anthony. Edwina is so happy for Kate and Anthony when they are forced to marry and always stays by her sister side as she never had real fealings for him. Not to mention that Kate and Pen became really good friends as both are wallflowers at the sideways of the ballrooms. Book Kate even confess she falls in love with Anthony when he stands up for Pen after Cressida's bullying.

Sophie becames friends with her stepsister Posy (who is treated by her mother similar to the way Portia treats Penelope). Posy even ends up living with the Bridgertons before marrying a vicar.

Lady Danbury is Penelope's friend and number one supporter. Polin names their first daughter - in the books - Agatha after her.

Pen and Eloise never fight (nor break their friendship) and Eloise is so proud of Penelope for being Lady Whistledown. Their friendship is so strong that Pen is the one to find out El's whereabouts when she runnaways to Phillip's house in her book. Eloise and Phillip's first daughter is named Penelope.

In the show, every female relationship is destroyed by some fight (most of the times related to a man) or doesn't exist at all. Pen and Kate barely meet or talk. Edwina is in love with Anthony. Mary puts to much pressure in Kate. Pen and Lady Danbury's friendiship was never explored... Now Rosamound (Sophie's stepsister) is supposed to be interest in Benedict when in the books her mother, Araminta, mentions once that she should go for a Bridgerton - most likely because they're a rich and influential family rather than a desire for her daughter to marry an actual Bridgerton).

But somehow, the only actual mean girl in Julia Quiss' books, Cressida Cowper, gets her actions justifyed because of her family situation . She get's to have a friend in Eloise and get's to share some of Pen's spotlight in the one that was supposed her season. Seems unfair, when even Marina - that we only know post mortem in the books - got a plot with unplaned pregnace; planed entrapment and lies*....

*This is not a critic to Marina's character, I am barely pointing what the show did to her in the list with everything else.

[bleulone]

JONAH HAUER-KING as MAX MALLOWAN in AGATHA AND THE CURSE OF ISHTAR (2019).

[inlovewithpandora]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — Summers Of Pandora ᝰ Day Three - Angry Sex

Artists — Lo’ak x fem!Omatikaya!reader

Lyrics — Tension has been filled within your household and while an argument unfolds and frustration arise, somehow along the way it all dissolves and turns into something sexual.

Music Advisory — nsfw content (18+), porn w/ plot, aged!up Lo’ak, mates (married couple), p in v, fingering, nipple/breast play, multiple positions, implied aftercare, slight angst (but not really) ᝰ this fic does contain aged!up character smut so if you don’t like that type of content please don’t interact and continue scrolling!!

Duration — 2.1k words

Index — skxawng - moron

Words from Artist — I know it’s been a long time since I posted so I’m happy to be releasing this! This fic was so fun for me to write, especially since it was inspired from a scene in my favorite Netflix series, Queen Charolette: A Bridgerton Story! As always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions! I hope you enjoy!!

Current Platforms — event m.list・main m.list・event taglist ・prompt list

You’re currently sitting across the table from Lo’ak, eating the dinner you prepared for the two of you, feeling annoyed just by his presence. There has been tension in your household between you and your mate for the past week, both of you have been arguing about various topics, no matter how big or small the issue is, it became an argument. You both have been barely speaking to each other, only communicating when necessary or when an argument sparks. While you’re eating the food that’s on your plate, chewing with bottled up anger, you watch Lo’ak sip his drink out of his wooden cup while trying his best to ignore you.

“Will you please no longer breathe so loudly?” You state in annoyance, fidgeting in your seat, wanting this shared dinner to be over quickly so you don’t have to be in close proximity with him.

“And will you please not talk?” He rebuttals, placing his arm on the table and running his hand over his forehead, taking a deep breath and trying not to allow himself to get irritated.

“Oh, I will talk if I wish to talk.” You scoff with an attitude while putting your food down, anticipating what he’s about to say next so you can already have a smart remark in mind.

“What’s your problem, y/n? You’ve been acting like this all week and I’m sick—”

You interrupt him mid sentence, standing abruptly from your seat and palming your hands against the table, causing the items that are placed on the table to cling together. “You’ve been breathing in my rooms, sucking the life out of everything!”

The Sully boy quickly matches your energy, pushing his seat back and allowing it to scrape across the floor, before pounding his fists down on the table. When you see Lo’ak walking around the table towards you your head slightly moves back in confusion while your heart slightly flutters within your chest with each step closer he gets. He stands directly in front of you, slightly towering over you while his eyes flicker between your eyes and lips, not knowing where to focus his attention.

Your ears slightly flatten when you realize how close his body is to yours, if you look close enough you can see a few beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck from the nerves you’re feeling. His eyes finally rest on your lips and he brings his pointer finger to your chin, lifting your head a few inches and bringing your lips together but not enough for them to touch. “Should I leave?” He whispers, wanting to know if you truly want his presence or not.

“Yes, leave now.” You reply stubbornly with the same hushed tone as him, not wanting him to think you would just welcome his attention at the drop of a dime. Both of you look each other up and down before you take the first move and step back from him, making him throw his hand up in defeat before stepping away from where you are. While you watch him walk away from where you are you instantly regret telling him to leave so before you let him get too far you reach out and grab his wrist to stop him, just for him to snatch away from your hold, irritation written all over his face.

Even though he acts as if he’s annoyed the moment his eyes meet yours he reaches for you, placing his hand on the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss and you reciprocate by placing your hands on each side of his face and kiss him back. That first kiss you both share awakens something within both of you, before you share another Lo’ak pulls away. “It’s been a while hasn’t it?” He refers to the fact it’s been a while since both of you were intimate, with all the arguments and tension between you two neither of you even thought about initiating or even having sex.

“It has, we should change that.” You say to him before bringing his lips back to yours, wanting to feel his touch again. The kiss is electric, it sends a few waves of electricity down your spine, feeling like your body is tingling all over. Lo’ak loves your lips but he wants— no needs more. He quickly spins you around, wrapping his hand around your waist and making you face the table and your backside to face him. He begins to kiss your neck, a moan or two slipping out while you throw your head back onto his shoulder.

Lo’ak grasps your hand and slams it on the table, leaning you forward before he starts hiking up your woven skirt so he can get access to what he wants the most right now. While he’s ruffling up the material to your hips you hurriedly take your hand and push everything off the table onto the floor, causing items to meet the ground with a loud crash. He turns you around and lifts you on the table, pushing the thin material that covers your pussy to the side before his fingers spread your glistening folds, gathering your arousal to lubricate your clit, circling the pads of his fingers on your bundle of nerves, making you throw your head back in pleasure. “Oh, Lo’ak!” You whine, your back arching as two of his fingers slip into your right hole. You reach out to grab something, needing to hold onto something to balance out the pressure you’re feeling but you only knock over the vase that’s sitting in the center of your table, causing another loud bang.

“Wanna see you, take this off.” He tugs at your bra top that’s clinging to your breasts, your hardened nipples poking through the thin fabric they're being covered with. You quickly start doing as he asked, pulling the strings that are tied behind your back, allowing the top to fall instantly and free your breasts from their restraints. Lo’ak cups one of your breasts, running his thumb over your nipple a few times before attaching his lips to it, running his wet tongue over the sensitive area, eliciting more sweet moans from you that just make his chest swell with pride.

“Lo’ give it to me already, please.” His fingers aren’t enough anymore, you want to feel him in you, it’s been so long since he’s filled you with his cock you can hardly remember what it feels like plunging inside you anymore so currently you're more desperate for him than you ever have. Since he’s not moving with efficiency you take matters into your own hands and untie his loincloth, pulling the strings that hold the material together until it falls onto the floor and reveals his cock, springing upward while pre-cum leaks from his tip.

Lo’ak knows how impatient you can be, it’s one of the many reasons both of you have been arguing but today he’s actually enjoying this quality, especially when it means he gets to feel the warmth of your delicious pussy around him. “Naughty girl.” He chastises with a smirk on his face as pulls his fingers out of your hole that are covered in your slick and wraps his hand around his cock and gives it a few strokes, using your arousal as lubricant. “Just couldn’t wait huh? You just love doing whatever you want.” He grabs your waist with his free hand and holds the base of his cock with the other, lining himself up with you before pushing his way into you without any warning, not giving any time to brace yourself and adjust to his size. “Since you want it so bad, take it.”

“Fuck, Lo’ak!” You hiss with a moan not too far behind when you feel his tip touching you deep within your core, hitting directly against the part that can make your coil snap in seconds. His cock is thrusting in and out of you without any hesitation to stop anytime soon, just watching how he deliciously fills you, seeing the creamy ring that’s forming around the base of him makes you that much more horny and takes you further to your peak.

“You’re about to come aren’t you baby?” He asks rhetorically while his hand glides from your hips and works its way up to your breast, squeezing it gently before twirling your nipple between his fingers. He can feel your cunt pulsating around him, he knows that you're close and he wants to make your orgasm ripple through you, he only wants to make you feel good, it’s his way of apologizing for everything that’s been going on the past week.

Without pulling out Lo’ak gently picks you up, carrying your beautiful body over to the wooden chair he was sitting in earlier and sitting down with you in his lap, forcing you to now straddle him. This new position gives him the perfect leverage to reach the depths of your insides, forcing you to cry out in pleasure as his hands are so tightly wrapped around your waist you know you’ll have his prints marked on you for the next few days. Tears begin to fill your eyes and slowly flow over your waterline and stream down your cheeks. “Lo, I’m gonna come!” You warn him, even though he already knows how your body works. His cock pounds against your sweet spot a few times before the pressure that’s been building up within your stomach finally releases.

Your mate throws his head back and lets out a loud grunt when he feels your sweet pussy tighten around him, feeling himself about to explode inside you. “Fuck, make a mess on this cock.” He says in a breathy tone while grabbing a handful of your soft flush and sending a smack to your ass, enjoying the way your body molds to him as you continue to ride him at the perfect pace. It only takes a couple more filthy thrusts and Lo’ak’s hands to wander your warm body before you’re creaming all over his precious cock, legs spasming and body trembling on top of his while the peak of your orgasm washes over you. A few moments after your sweet release Lo’ak is cumming right behind you, lewd sounds slide through his parted lips and he spills his load into your cunt, lines of his cum covering every inch of your velvet like walls.

Once Lo’ak is sure his seed has reached the depths of your womb he loosens his grip on your skin and begins to softly massage the areas of your body that have become slightly reddened by his tight grip. You wrap your arms around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder while gently pressing your breast against his chest, trying to gather yourself after the venereal act you just committed with your awfully attractive husband. It feels nice being close with Lo’ak again, not only in a sexual way but also in a physical sense, being able to just lay lovingly in his arms without a care in the world. You missed this dynamic between you two, you missed him even though your words over the past week have been saying the opposite. “I’m sorry, Lo’ak. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

“m’sorry too baby. If I wasn't being such a skxawng we could’ve been back on good terms.” Lo’ak further expresses his feelings of being apologetic by pressing his lips against your neck, not enough to cause a reddened mark but just enough to elicit a moan from you. It was clear both of you still had a little energy and horniness bottled up inside so you and him went another round before going to the small river a few feet away from home to clean yourselves. After both of you felt clean instead of just leaving, the two of you decided to stay for a while and gaze at the pretty night sky above you, allowing the moon to shine against your skin.

For the rest of the night you and Lo’ak emotionally reconnect, getting your relationship back to where it was before. It seems like all you two needed was a good fuck to get things back on track.

Fanbase — @eme1hyst @o-kingston @erenjaegerwifee @Kaydoux @biaaaaaaaa1 @hikotaru @thisaintredwine @lexieeeeeeeei @that-gurl25 @simpingforbelphegor @Peanut713521 @anemonelovesfiction @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @makaylalovessmut @lustforlana4 @Anita @neteyamyawne @myh3artttt @savagemickey03 @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @headsincloud9 @buble787635 @normspellmann @em-x0 @sliqeramx @lexasaurs634 @deadgirlrin @lina @merlinbtch @morisim @btsiguess-kpop @sussybaka10 @galactict3a @shima @laylasbunbunny @rae @bigdikzaddy @3xclusive-kylani @Bubbles787@Bubble787635@Perfectwitchdinosuar@casualmilkshakecupcake @ninaa @greatsstuffposts

— all rights reserved © INLOVEWITHPANDORA 2024. all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend on tiktok any of the works seen here.

[weirdmorefics]

Could you pls do a fake dating fic with Colin bridgerton? Tysm xx

A Life Long Scheme

A/N- Sorry for the delay! I really do have the fanfiction writer curse! I say that every time but I mean it! I got my appendix out and rode in an ambulance. They don't even play music in them FYI.

Readers Pronouns- She/Her

Word Count- 2,512

Summary- You convince Colin to fake court you to gain the attention of other suitors but jealousy consumes Colin.

I knew I would have a hard time finding a suitor from a young age. My family may be wealthy enough to attend balls but certainly not enough for a sizable dowry for each of their children. I grew up competitive trying to prove myself worthy even if I came with a small dowry. My siblings relied on their looks but I was determined to be the best at everything. I will treat coming out like I do life competitively. As the eldest, I must set an example.

I was lined up with the others coming out into society this year. They all nervously played with their clothes and looked to the floor. I too felt like doing that but I kept my emotions bottled tightly in my chest and held my head high. We all took our turns bowing in front of the Queen she looked completely unbothered by us, dare I say bored.

I was last in line she looked me up and down and said, "I am unsure if anyone qualifies as a diamond this season."

I can't fight back the sharp inhale I take, I can physically feel my heart launch its way into my throat. I feel as if I may hurl as she gets up and walks away escorted by her guards. I look around at others visible shock. I can't help but feel the Queen just left because of me. I mean I was the last one. I need to do something! I can't fail already I just came out into society!

My night was filled with pacing and plotting. There has to be a way to impress Her Majesty. My Mama tried to comfort me but Father quickly told her there was no point in speaking to me when I was like this. I hate to admit but he is unfortunately correct. Once I am in a thought spiral there is no getting out. I thought of other seasons for most of the night as I lay in bed. What did they do to gain the Queen's attention? The most notable season of late would have to be Daphne's. I can't recall the last time The Ton has seen a marriage done with such haste before. She had a massive amount of suitors after her though that was only after The Duke's appearance.

The idea hit me suddenly I launched out of bed, put my carpet slippers on, and ran out of the house. I am lucky my family sleeps so soundly because I am sure I sounded like a horse trotting as I ran through the house. The Bridgerton manor is right next to ours, so close in fact that I grew up playing games with all the Bridgertons. Colin has always been my dearest friend (even though Mama always told me a male friend was improper). I knew Colin would go along with my plan, we have been scheming and pranking since we were children. This should be no different! It unfortunately hit me how late it was when I stood in the darkness of the Bridgerton Garden. I was here now I refused to backtrack just because it was an untimely hour.

I used the bushes to help guide me to Colin's familiar window. Once there I gathered tiny pebbles and started ricocheting them off his window. It did not take him long to wake and open the window with a messy bedhead and a lit lantern. His face instantly flushes at the sight of me.

"My god Y/n what are you doing out here in this state!" He shouts

I follow his gaze to my clothes and feel my face heat. My god, I did not think this through as I stood in front of Colin Bridgerton's window in the dark, in my silk nightgown. I will see this through the damage is done. "I have a plan," I smile.

He sighs and rubs his forehead, "Oh no… you are lucky my sleeping schedule is still askew from traveling abroad. Now get inside before someone sees you!"

I met him in the drawing room and he refused to look me in the eye, "So what is so important that you have decided to grace the house with your presence at this ungodly hour."

"I am here to present you with a proposition," I clasp my hands as he finally looks at my face suspiciously.

"And what might this proposition be? I can assume nothing good," he questions.

I roll my eyes and pace as I recite my plan."As you know Daphne was utterly suitorless during her season courtesy of Anthony. However, the moment a Duke entered the picture she had men competing for hand. They could not care less about Anthony's interventions."

Colin nodded confused, "Your point?"

"My point is I need competition! So I propose that you pretend to court me! If you will? I know you are aware of my Papa's financial situation… I mean the whole ton is after Lady Whistledown published his unfortunate business decisions and his one-too-many daughters for a dowry. None of this will matter if I can get a suitor who loves me and will help my family but that can't be done if I can't attract a suitor!" I continue to pace as Colin looks entirely unsure of what to make of this situation. I take a deep breath, "So what do you say?"

Colin looks at me with puppy dog eyes, "Of course Y/n. You are my dearest friend. I must know why you decided to discuss this so late at night in your…" he flushes again and looks to the ground. "In your nightgown."

I suddenly became all too aware of my attire and became a stuttering mess, "the conversation was of utmost importance the time of day and clothing choices have nothing to do with it!"

Colin smirks, "I see."

"I must save my Papa's business if not for him but for the chance my sisters will get to marry for true love and not for financial gain," I sigh. Colin's eyes which were once teasing turn to sadness, "Do not look at me like that Colin. I don't need your pity, I need your help."

He nods and straightens his posture, "Of course Y/n. Of course, I will help."

I quietly snuck back into the house after speaking to Colin. The plan was set in stone he would be the first dance on my dance card and we would round up potential suitors together. We were joined at the hip for every event and I purposely chose the busiest times to promenade so the most amount of suitors would see us.

I soon began to gain the attention of many suitors and even had many coming to my house to call on me! Mama was so proud I was so happy to take her mind off the situation with Papa.

Mama pulled me to the side of the drawing room, "Maybe hanging out with the Bridgerton boy will help you! Maybe their fortune will rub off on us!" I was proud to inform her I was to promenade in the park today with Colin. It was odd to see her smile with excitement instead of pale at the thought of her daughter spending her time with a man who never planned to court her. I wish she wasn't only proud of me when I wasn't doing something that benefited me in finding a wealthy suitor. It's no matter though, I will do anything to make her proud, and it feels like I'm finally doing it. She spent the whole morning with me to find a suitable dress for my outing.

Colin arrived promptly at the time we set previously and accompanied me to the park. As we promenaded I felt many eyes on us they truly believed Colin would court the daughter of a family barely escaping financial ruin. It is truly almost humorous how easily we have swayed the ton.

"It is truly working Colin! Mother is so proud that I will be the one to save my family's reputation. Such a shame she picked such a layered gown for one of the warmest days of the season," I whisper and fiddle with the seams of my dress.

Colin sighs, "How many suitors are you getting from this Y/n? They can't all have honorable intentions given your beauty and your family's standing."

I roll my eyes, " Why Colin Bridgerton are you jealous? I would not think you are the type. Do not worry you will always be my dearest friend. No husband could replace you."

His face turns serious, "I am just worried. I hope you are doing this for the right reasons and not for the sake of your Mama… and I am most certainly not jealous."

For someone who said he is certainly not jealous he didn't sound quite certain. That, however, is not what distracted me. "You think I want to marry a man not for love but purely for financial gain? It is every woman's dream to marry for love! We can't all have the privilege to do so! Especially one born into a family with a gambling addict for a father and a mother too frail to defend herself. My mother has been preparing me for coming out since I was a child! This is my job as the eldest! To secure a good future for my siblings so perhaps they get the opportunity to marry for love as I will never get to!" I back up as if I may burn from Colin's shocking gaze but I still point a finger at him, "And the fact that you don't already know this Bridgerton is having me question if we ever truly were friends! Perhaps all those travel stories in your head leave not much room for anything else."

I storm away from the Bridgerton, I think after his initial shock he calls for me but my rage prevents me from looking back to see if it was true or a cruel trick of my ears. It was perhaps not the greatest idea to run off from a suitor with no chaperone. Maybe I wouldn't have found myself in such a precarious situation if I had chaperone. I find myself cursing my father in my head for his terrible gambling habits that prevent anyone from wanting to associate with the likes of us. Therefore getting me into this mess in the first place.

"Y/N L/N, we have been watching you for quite some time. Your father never described your intense beauty but how could one put it into words?" The seedy man approached me.

I smiled politely, "Thank you! May I inquire how you know my father?"

"Oh darling I think you know why we are here. I mean the whole ton knows about your father's habits shall we say." He smiles menaceingly and I think to myself of course this has to do with his damn gambling habits.

I back up in case I have to make a quick escape and he unfortunately catches on. He grabs my wrist to keep me in place, "We have been very patient with your father. Given his position in the ton, we thought we could be lenient with his payment schedule. However, it turns out we were mistaken. What is more shocking is the fact that his daughter thinks she has a chance of finding a suitor with no dowry."

"Sir please unhand me," I try to pull away from his grasp.

"You think being in the company of the Bridgertons will help your family situation? Perhaps we could take you as payment? You do draw a lot of attention despite your social ruin. We could use you to bring more men to the establishment," he smiles sinisterly.

I yank my hand away even harder out of fear but his strength still outmatches mine, "Why would I ever help you put more families in financial ruin!"

He laughs, "Darling you think you have a choice?"

His eyes narrow at something behind me and I hear Colin's voice, "I believe the lady asked you to unhand her."

"This does not involve you, sir," he growled.

"You see it is my business when you have your hands on my betrothed, Colin growls back.

My eyes furrowed in confusion. He had been fake courting me of course but we certainly did not discuss a fake betrothal.

The man laughs yet again, "I read in Lady Whistledown that you were courting her but the fact a Bridgerton would sink to the likes of the L/N family."

I took in a shallow breath and Colin growled in response. This situation was going quickly downhill.

"You will not besmirch the lady's name! Now I won't ask again unhand her!" Colin shouts.

"Whatever you say," he smirks and tosses me to the ground. Colin's grimace seems to only encourage the man more, "I'd honestly prefer to use her to replace her father's debt but if you want to drag your family name down with her so be it." He walks away with a peppy jaunt in his step and I glare at him from the ground.

Colin quickly helps me to my feet, "I would have dueled him right here and now if I was not in the presence of a lady."

I brush the dirt off my gown, "It's fine. I'm fine. I will handle it."

"No, you will not! you will not take a step towards that insipid man," he yells.

"Well, Colin you don't really have any choice in that matter! Do you? You are just fake courting me. Or fake betrothing me now? I don't know. I have lost track honestly!" I rant.

His face turns serious, "Y/n I care for you! I would forsake my whole family name for you! You think I do not burn with rage every time I see a new man attempt to call on you after I started court you! I noticed your beauty and your smarts before any of these men did! The fact that they only noticed you once another gentleman entered the picture is disgraceful! I will always notice you Y/n! I will never let your family go through this! I hope to be a love match for you and help your family."

Tears collect in my eyes. As the oldest sibling I've never been the one that was cared for but the one that does the caring. Colin's words made me feel full. I try to tease but it comes more out as a sob, "Mr. Bridgerton are you proposing to me."

He smiles, "I think it is about time I finally proposed to you after you always proposed your schemes to me. So what do you say Ms. L/N? Would you like to continue proposing schemes to me for the rest of our lives?"

I nod aggressively smiling. There was no stopping the happy tears now.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Event Of Games - Benedict Bridgerton

Word Count: 1673

Summary: When one plays a game with their family, their children are rather happy to join, are they not? 

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the lush grounds of Aubrey Hall, the Bridgerton family estate.

Summer was in full swing, and the garden was abuzz with the laughter and chatter of the Bridgerton clan.

The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the vibrant green of the lawns stretched out, a perfect stage for the day’s entertainment, a game of Pall Mall.

Benedict Bridgerton, the artistic and ever-charming second son, stood beside you.

You had been married for several years, and your bond had only grown stronger with time.

Today, you were preparing to engage in one of your favorite pastimes.

Pall Mall, a game known for its competitive spirit and the potential for light-hearted mischief, had been a staple of your gatherings for as long as anyone could remember.

Your children, however, had never played before.

As Benedict adjusted the mallet in his hands, his eyes sparkled with the thrill of introducing them to the game.

Your eldest, Samuel, a boy of eight with his father's dark hair and your lively eyes, bounced on the balls of his feet, his excitement barely contained.

Beside him stood seven-year-old Eliza, her hair shimmering in the sunlight.

She clutched a mallet that was nearly as tall as she was, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Papa, when do we start?” Samuel asked, his voice ringing with eagerness.

Benedict chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. “Patience, my boy. First, we need to make sure everyone knows the rules.”

You were standing beside Benedict with an affectionate smile. “And that means everyone. No sneaky maneuvers, Benedict.”

Benedict feigned innocence, placing a hand over his heart. “Why, my dear, I would never.”

You arched an eyebrow, your expression skeptical but amused. “Of course not.”

As you spoke, the rest of the Bridgerton siblings began to gather.

Anthony, the eldest, was already striding across the lawn, his authoritative presence as commanding as ever.

Kate, followed, her eyes twinkling with the promise of competition.

Next came Colin, the third brother, his roguish grin a clear sign that he was ready for some fun.

As Penelope, walked beside him, her red hair catching the light as she whispered something that made him laugh.

Daphne, the eldest sister, arrived with her husband, Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings.

Their children ran ahead, joining Samuel and Eliza, the new generation of Bridgertons blending seamlessly with the old.

Eloise, ever the independent spirit, sauntered over with her characteristic nonchalance, while Francesca joined.

Gregory and Hyacinth, the youngest of the Bridgerton siblings, were already by the makeshift Pall Mall course, inspecting the mallets and balls with a mixture of curiosity and mischief.

Gregory, in particular, had a glint in his eye that suggested he was already plotting his strategy.

Anthony clapped his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “All right, everyone. Gather round. It’s time for a quick refresher on the rules.”

You all formed a loose circle, the children pushing their way to the front to get a better view.

“First and foremost,” Anthony began, “Pall Mall is about skill, precision, and a healthy dose of cunning.”

“Not to mention the occasional bit of sabotage,” Colin interjected with a wink.

Penelope nudged him playfully. “No sabotaging the children, Colin.”

Anthony continued, ignoring his brother’s interruption. “The objective is simple, to get your ball through the wickets and to the final stake with as few strokes as possible.”

You took over, addressing the children. “You’ll each take turns hitting your ball with the mallet. The trick is to aim carefully and not use too much force.”

“Or too little,” Benedict added. “You don’t want your ball to stop short.”

Eliza raised her hand, her brow furrowed in concentration. “What if someone’s ball is in the way?”

Kate grinned, her competitive spirit flaring. “Ah, that’s where the fun begins. You can use your ball to knock others out of the way.”

Samuel’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “You mean we can hit each other’s ball?”

“Yes, but within reason,” Daphne interjected, her tone motherly. “We don’t want any injuries.”

“Or broken mallets,” Simon added dryly.

With the rules explained, you all moved to the starting point.

The course was laid out across the lawn, with wickets placed at strategic intervals and the final stake positioned near a large oak tree at the far end.

Benedict and you took your positions at the front, ready to demonstrate the first strokes for your children.

“Watch closely,” Benedict said, positioning his ball. “It’s all about a smooth, controlled swing.”

He drew back the mallet and swung, sending the ball rolling smoothly through the first wicket.

You followed suit, your ball taking a slightly different angle but achieving the same result.

“Your turn, Samuel,” Benedict said, handing his son a mallet.

Samuel stepped up, his face a mask of determination.

He swung with a bit too much enthusiasm, and his ball careened off course, missing the wicket by a wide margin.

He looked up, crestfallen.

“It’s okay,” Benedict reassured him. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Eliza was next.

She took a deep breath, her small hands gripping the mallet tightly. Her swing was more controlled, and while her ball didn’t go through the wicket, it was closer than Samuel’s had been.

“Well done, Eliza,” you praised. “Just a little more practice.”

As the children took turns, you all began your own game, the competitive banter starting almost immediately.

“Remember the last time we played, Colin?” Anthony said with a sly smile. “I believe I won by a rather large margin.”

Colin scoffed. “Only because you ‘accidentally’ knocked my ball into the rose bushes.”

“I recall that quite differently,” Anthony retorted, lining up his shot. “Skill and strategy, brother.”

Kate laughed, stepping up to take her shot. “If we’re talking strategy, I think we all know who the real mastermind is.”

“Me?” Gregory said, feigning surprise. “I’m flattered.”

Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “You wish, Gregory.”

The game continued, your competitive spirits tempered by the joy of being together.

The children quickly improved under the watchful eyes and encouraging words of you, Benedict, and their aunts and uncles.

Samuel’s frustration melted away as he started to get the hang of it, his swings becoming more precise.

Eliza’s confidence grew with each successful hit, her laughter ringing out whenever she managed to get her ball through a wicket.

As the sun began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the lawn, the game grew more intense.

The final wickets and the last stake loomed ahead, and the older Bridgertons’ playful teasing turned into more serious strategies.

Anthony, ever the leader, was ahead, his strokes measured and deliberate.

Kate was close behind, her competitive nature driving her to match her husband’s skill.

Colin and Penelope were locked in a friendly rivalry, each trying to outdo the other with clever shots and strategic positioning.

Daphne and Simon, always a formidable team, played with a synergy that came from years of understanding each other’s moves.

Eloise, and Francesca, had their competitive spirits shining through.

Benedict and you, however, were more focused on your children.

You took turns guiding Samuel and Eliza, offering tips and cheering their successes.

The children’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon the entire family was rooting for them, their rivalries momentarily forgotten.

“Come on, Samuel, you’ve got this!” Colin called out as Samuel lined up his shot for the final wicket.

“Just a gentle tap,” Benedict advised. “You don’t need much force.”

Samuel nodded, taking a deep breath. He swung the mallet, and the ball rolled forward, wobbling slightly before it passed cleanly through the wicket.

A cheer went up from the family, and Samuel beamed with pride.

Eliza was next, her eyes fixed on the final stake. “I can do it, Mama,” she said with determination.

“I know you can, sweetheart,” you replied, giving your daughter an encouraging nod.

Eliza took her time, carefully positioning her ball.

Her swing was gentle yet precise, and the ball rolled steadily towards the stake, tapping it lightly.

Another round of cheers erupted, and Eliza jumped up and down with joy.

As the game drew to a close, you all gathered around the final stake, your competitive spirits giving way to a sense of camaraderie and family pride.

Anthony and Kate, still neck and neck, decided to call it a draw, their laughter mingling with the cheers and applause.

“Well done, everyone,” Anthony said, his authoritative tone softened by a smile. “Especially you two,” he added, looking at Samuel and Eliza. “You played brilliantly.”

You wrapped her arms around your children, hugging them tightly. “We’re so proud of you.”

Benedict joined in the embrace, his heart swelling with love and happiness. “Today was perfect,” he said softly, kissing the top of Eliza’s head.

The family began to disperse, some heading towards the house while others lingered on the lawn, enjoying the last moments of the day.

Colin and Penelope sat on a nearby bench, their hands intertwined as they watched their children chase each other around.

Daphne and Simon strolled towards the garden, their heads close together in quiet conversation.

Gregory and Hyacinth were already planning the next game, their animated discussion drawing smiles from those nearby.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over Aubrey Hall, Benedict and you stood together, watching your children play with their cousins.

The day had been filled with laughter, love, and the joy of family, a perfect reminder of what truly mattered.

Benedict turned to you, his eyes reflecting the contentment he felt. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “Neither could I.”

With the sound of your children’s laughter echoing around you and the promise of many more games and gatherings to come, you knew that no matter where life took you, you would always have each other.

And that, more than anything, was what made your family so special.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free - Chapter 10: Hymne à L'amour

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Oral sex (m to f), a smidge of edging, handjob, vaginal sex, woman on top, orgasms.

Word Count: 4.1k. Who is surprised the sex chapter is my longest? Yeah me neither

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the smutty goodness people. Please heed the warning change. if you want your story chaste, please skip this chapter. There is no plot, just porn. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Portsmouth, UK, September 1939

As soon as your lips meet his, he grabs your face and kisses you back harder than he ever has, a faintly panted growl that makes something turn molten inside. Kissing you like his life depends on it, an urgency in his tongue and lips that stun you.

You go to say his name, but he swallows it and hushes you, his lips never leaving yours as he does so. One hand slides down your front as you kiss, a teasing trail of fingers over your clavicle that makes all your senses fire. He pulls back and stares intently into your eyes as the hand slides lower and cups your breast through your dress.

“Benedict,” you gasp, and the look of victory on his face is devastatingly handsome. He doesn't break eye contact as his thumb swipes gently over your nipple, and your breath hitches a rasping inhale.

“There it is,” he smiles crookedly, “that sound I love to hear.” 

His thumb swipes with a little more pressure but still maddeningly slow. You already feel on tenterhooks, heart hammering, body rioting—part of you wants him to be fast, maybe even a little rough, for him to be impatient from the same boiling passion that you feel simmering in your bones. Another part of you wants him to go so slow that you are clawing at him, broken and wrecked, pleading for him to take pity on you as you tremble and teeter so close to something mind-blowing. 

Neither of those extremes is anything you have experienced yet, and you want him to be the one to give you both more than you want to breathe—a passion only he can evoke. You have seen glimpses of him untamed, especially last night in the cottage when he sent you away, his whole being seemingly shaking with need; you want to inspire that in him again, now, tomorrow, maybe always. 

“Undress me….” a hushed plea you exhale shakily, desperation for him to touch your flesh.

He pulls back a fraction, eyes glittering, hand still upon your breast. 

“Like this?” his voice like butter as that hand moves to the top pearl button over your sternum, a teasing crooked smile on his lips as you breathe heavily and stare up at him.  

The air feels charged as his fingertips brush featherlight down the sliver of skin he reveals, with each button popping open, leaving a little trail of fire all the way to your navel. The buttons continue to the hem at your knees, and you want to groan as he slips to his knees before you and continues the unfastening at a steady but unrushed pace, staring up to catalogue your face as you look down at him.

You quake as his fingers pass close over the front of your underwear but do not touch, and you want to whimper. He keeps going, deft fingers undoing each button over your thighs, goosebumps raising as you feel his warm breath ghosting between the fabric as he works. When the last is undone, he leans back on his haunches and looks up at you again, eyes blazing. 

“Take it off.” 

It’s halfway between a plea and an order, maybe both and your body blossoms all over, tangy want metallic on your tongue. The pure desire writ large on his face gives you the confidence to reach up and push the fabric off your shoulders, allowing the dress to part and fall to the floor behind you, hitting the carpet with a soft whump. Your knees almost buckle at the noise he strangles in the back of his throat as you tower above him in bra, underwear and stockings. 

“Touch me… please,” it’s a quiet but imploring request.

Almost reverential, his hands raise and ghost over your knees then thighs, not yet touching, almost as if there is too much choice, and he has no idea where to begin. Then they land heavily on the outer flare of your hips, a grip that is strong but not harsh and his face pitches forward, burying his warm nose into your navel and inhaling deeply before dropping a tender kiss right on the sensitive spot at the top of your belly button. You want to curl forward over him, the breath swept from your lungs at this simple gesture. Your hands grip his warm, broad shoulders as he nuzzles into you.

“You smell so sweet,” he almost sounds pained, wistful, his hands sliding around to cup the globes of your button and propel you further into his arms. 

He is clinging to you, strong arms wrapped around your hips, his knees on either side of your feet. He drops a line of kisses across your belly that has your abdominals rippling and a shiver running all over you as his fingers deftly unhook your stockings and pull them gently down your legs. Kneeling before you as if worshipping your body. Clinging to you like his very life depended upon it, looking up at you with devoted, blown pupils. It's a potent elixir and makes you want to strip bare for him.

As you step out of your stockings, you let go of his shoulders to reach behind and unhook your bra before the spell is broken, boldly throwing it aside as he makes a joyous noise and pushes up onto his knees, latching onto your nipple with a suction that has you calling out his name. It makes him feral, almost snarling, hands kneading your lace-clad bottom as he sucks harder, and you flood your underwear, the need for him making you shudder.

“Don't stop…” your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, your tooth snagging your lip, eyes fluttering shut as he swaps to your other breast and your fingers card into his thick, luscious head of hair, massaging his scalp with little swirling motions that match the wet tongue circling your areola.

“Please look at me….” he calls, and your eyes reopen to see him looking up at you as he flattens his tongue and licks over your puckered nipple, his eyes flashing fire, wanting you to watch him do this to you, watch your body physically change under his ministrations, your skin flushing darker.

Just as time seems to slow like molasses, he suddenly stands up. A complete change of pace as you are hauled high into his arms, like in the kitchen this morning, your legs twine around his waist on instinct, feeling something hard on your damp knickers as his lips crash into yours, urgent, hot, passionate. Then he is moving, slim hips flexing against your inner thighs and your back is pressed into the wall, the velvet wallpaper tickling your spine, the pictures rattling in their frames as he takes your hands and pins them above your head, fingers sinking between yours, so your hands form a tight fist together, your wedding rings clinking together. 

“You make me wild, wreckless, wanton…” he murmurs, breaking the kiss, his being racked with that same trembling you felt before he sent you away last night.

“The feeling is mutual,” you assure, panting lightly, the slightly rough treatment such a contrast to the slow reverence he knelt before you in.

It’s a compulsion, a magnetic pull, something in your chemistry pulling you to each other even though you met barely days ago. Putting aside the added complication of marriage from your mind as you concentrate on the physical. He makes you bold in ways you never expected and awakens things within you you didn't know even existed. You want him to act on every instinct he has, want him not to hold back. It feels at once ethereal and rooted deeply in something physical—primaeval, dark, damp and earthy, like soil.

Rather than speak words, you tilt your hips where they wrap around his body and rub yourself shamelessly over the hard mass you can feel through his pyjama bottoms. His grip on your hands slackens, and his face buries into your neck, almost biting with intensity as he sucks the cord of your neck and you repeat your move, your swollen nub mashed deliciously onto his hardness, the lace of your underwear just heightening the heady sensation.

“I want to hear you beg...” he confesses, sounding guilty but compelled to utter it, his lips still on your neck. “But I also want to indulge your every whim before you even know you have it.”

That he has the capacity to articulate all the same feelings swirling in your head impresses. You feel you can barely string a sentence together, need overwhelming your usually razor-sharp mind. 

“Please….” 

It's all you can say in response, but it seems enough. With another untamed noise, you are on the move again, and within seconds, he is lowering you onto the bed, hovering over you in a way that fills your whole field of vision.

“I need to be the best you have ever had…” confessions tumbling from him as he lowers his weight onto you, heat and muscle pinning you down in a way that has you instantly clawing at his t-shirt, fabric straining over the lithe muscles of his upper back. 

“You already are….” you admit breathily, letting his legs sink between yours and his knees push yours out wide, his hard quad muscle under soft cotton. The pace slowing again to something decadent, rich like dark chocolate.

He leans up onto his knuckles, the mattress dipping on either side of your body as he does so.

“Do not return to him,” he beseeches, earnest vulnerability clouding his expression. “Even if you do not remain with me, he is unworthy of you…”

Something in your chest cracks at his sincerity. “I will never return to him,” you vow over a shaky breath, too afraid to confirm he is the only place you want to be. 

Instead, you do what compels you, curling a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him back down into a kiss. Feeling overwhelmed by him caging you, hands gripping your waist as your tongues tangle, your pelvis mashed to his, wanting him to be as naked as you are.

“Take this off,” you almost whine, plucking at the sleeves of his t-shirt as you surface for breath.

He chuckles at that and sits up slightly to whip it off, a glimpse of a toned torso before the heat of his chest is lowered over yours, and you lose all power of thought. Fingers tracing the contours of tendons you feel flexing on his shoulders as his hands wander, sending a current shimmering over your body until he hooks his fingers into your underwear and starts to tug them down your hips. Shuffling lower, his mouth is again hot on your breasts as your underwear slips further, somehow untangling from you just long enough to discard them. You are utterly naked under him, knowing he can scent your arousal as he drops lower, lingering close to your belly button again, kissing, always kissing.

When he slips lower still something clenches low in your gut.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, a thread of alarm that he is muscling your legs over his shoulders.

He smirks at first then his face falls to one filled with concern. “No one has ever done this to you?” his ask laced with incredulity.

You stare down the plane of your body to his handsome face framed by your own thighs. “N-no,” you stumble out, always unable to lie to him, even now.

“A man cannot claim to love a woman and not do this,” he seems to seethe with an indignation on your behalf - that you have not experienced this before.

“What are you going to do?” you whisper.

His expression changes again - like an entirely different man inhabits him, a seductive look that has your face flushing. Without answering, he lowers his jaw between your legs and ploughs his tongue into the gathered, dewy wetness. You are on a cliff edge, a complete tumult as you inhale - sharp, ragged - the warm muscular swipe of his tongue in a place so intimate. Your hands grasp his forearm on instinct, needing something to hold onto as he does the same again. You swear out loud and writhe, the intensity making your body want to buck hard. A strong hand curling around your pelvis and locking you down to the bed. The static over your skin buzzes, a thrill zipping up your spine as you are held down and, well, devoured. 

He is not gentle, using his whole face to wring a medley of novel sensations. The stubble of his face rasping the delicate skin between your legs, his lips suctioning hard on your folds, his tongue roughly lapping at the hardened pearl hiding there, a shock running high up into your pelvis from how he does so, you can feel yourself swelling and throbbing harder under his attentions. Drawing uneven gulped breaths, occasionally feeling a twinge so strong your abdomen clenches, your head raising off the pillow, a jolt so hard that your whole body seems to contract with a wave of pleasure.

Your hands grasp his hair, steering your pleasure, licking your dry lips. Now you understand why women talk in hushed tones about sex. This makes you want to scream and thrash and never stop. Just as you feel yourself spiralling somewhere truly heady, breath quickening, body boiling, he stops and sits back, looking triumphantly down upon your rippling body, his handsome face glistening in the lamplight with your arousal.

“Why did you stop?” Each word feels an effort to grit out, a large hand holding you down on your lower belly, his middle finger hooked into your belly button as you undulate under his hold.

“Because I want to see you like this,” his voice rich, decadent, sonorous, the tone bordering on smug as his eyes rake over your flushed torso, peaked, puffy nipples, swollen weeping slit, admiring his handiwork.

Even as you are in upheaval, your eyes fall from his victorious face to the bulge in his pyjamas, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine. A desire to take him to the edge and then sit back and observe, watch him writhe and flex. Unable to resist, you grab him with a force that makes him startle, his hold on you slackening in surprise. He is so hot and hard, and your fingers wrap around the outline and rub up and down his length. His eyes flash fire as your other hand moves to the drawstring to untie the bow. He doesn't stop you; he assists, climbing out of them as you stare covetously.

You didn't realise men could look so different until now, did not know what you have been missing, almost an apprehension about the scale of what you see. He guides your hand back to his flesh once his clothing is discarded. Velvet smooth and warm, you wrap your hand around him, noting the difference from the only other one you have touched. The noises he makes are different, too; needier, leaking over your knuckle as you squeeze in an upwards motion, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily, and his eyes closing as you glance at his face. So very different and so appealing.

“I have never….” you begin but feel unable to say it.

“You don't have to,” he replies rapidly, eyes popping open.

“But I want to…” you admit tacitly, an urge you have never felt before.

A wolfish grin claims his face, and he gently removes your hand, crawling over you, cupping your face and kissing you deeply, your naked bodies pressed together, his cock branding hot against your belly.

“Another time,” he asserts over your lips, and something inside you vaults that this isn't a momentary, fleeting opportunity. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he is almost hesitant, a benevolence that makes your heart skip, the moment turning tender, loving almost.

“I've never been more certain of anything,” you whisper, heartfelt, genuine, your hands running his sides, stopping to grasp the belt of muscle low around his middle, pushing yourself off the bed and into his warmth to emphasise your point.

With a soft smile and a sotto voce request to let him prepare, he rolls away and gathers a tin from his nightbag. Your stomach flutters with butterflies as you realise he is reaching for latex protection. You watch the play of muscles in his back as he does so, unseen, and you reach out and run a soothing hand over his spine on instinct, wanting to touch him any moment you can. He twists and smiles at you, grabbing your hand and kissing your fingers before turning back and crawling over you, a caring streak running through his evident desire.

Then he is upon you again, kissing with fiery intent, caressing your breasts and stomach, sweeping you back into a state where your blood runs hot, your skin glowing with want, that lantern behind your ribs that seems to burn just for him fully ablaze as he nudges your hips open gently with his, a hand guiding himself close to your body now.

“Look at me,” his request silky, and you cannot do anything but - his pupils a sea of inky glass blackness you can see a mirage of yourself in as he pushes into your body.

You thought time stopped when he first kissed you a few days ago. But that was nothing compared to this. A searing stretch so slow but so much more than you have experienced before, your toes curling into the sheets, your fingers digging hard into the rope of muscle pulled taut between his shoulder blades. Still, your eyes do not stray from each other as he keeps going, you holding your breath until he bottoms out, the feeling of fullness overwhelming. He holds still to allow you to adjust, even as you can see how much he is holding back, almost a shake in his being. 

“I’m not made of glass,” you entreat.

His thumb sweeps your bottom lip, his wedding ring cool against your jaw where he cradles your face. 

“But you are precious to me,” he counters, and the swell of emotions those words cause almost knock the wind from your lungs.

But then he starts to move, and you can barely breathe, regardless. He withdraws and then surges back in a wave. The tug deep inside makes you gasp, grab onto him, wrap your legs around his calves, toes tickled by the downy hair there. It is so wholly other than anything you have experienced; the past pales. This is what intimacy truly is. A wash of emotion that you could have gone through life and not known something like this.

“Are you alright?” his face creased with a tender concern as he moves slowly.

“I never knew what I was missing…” nothing but truthful.

His whole demeanour softens, his eyes soft and down-sloped, holding still buried within you; his words seem to echo through your body from where you are joined as he answers.

“You deserve the world, y/n.” 

Emotion bubbles behind your ribs and blooms into sheer want - an impetuous need to channel the words you want to say but daren’t into action. Screwing your eyes shut and biting the edge of your tongue to tamp the urge to ask him to fuck you thoroughly, carnally, take you somewhere no one has before. But it's like he can sense it, for when he starts to move again, it's a snap of his hips that drives him deeper than before, making you moan loudly and rise off the bed, curving bowlike into his body.

You hiss your approval and he does it again, watching you carefully, cataloguing when you open your eyes again and meet his stare challengingly. Telegraphing silently that you want him to be merciless. The bed squeaks in protest as you start to move together, you pushing down as he thrusts up, your right and flying to the headboard to provide leverage, as his teeth scrap down your neck, over your clavicle, suckling hard on your breast as you speed up.

The sharp zing of sensation right down to your core makes you swear under your breath, spurring him on, his shower-damp hair an array of curls shaken loose as you go faster, his gaze like a thick veil you wear, sweeping your face, your body, glancing down to where you are joined, his breath hitched hard at what he glimpses You look too, drawn to the sight like never before, a want to see your body being invaded by him, somehow making it seem real rather than a fevered, lustful dream.

His right hand hooks behind your neck and tangles in your hair, hauling you up to meet his greedy lips, kissing artlessly but full of open-mouthed sighs and moans as you move yet faster, a sheen breaking out over both of your bodies.  Your left hands clasp together on instinct, wedding bands clinking quietly, your eyes drifting to the sound, then back to each other. As if you had almost forgotten what you have done to allow yourself to get to this very moment.

It makes you fearless, so with a flick of your hips that surprises him, you are able to flip him over while he stays inside you, a need to ride, to take control of your own pleasure, something you have never done before. The flash of admiration on his face is priceless, his hands immediately grasping your waist and encouraging you to rise and fall on his cock, finding a whole new world of pleasure, angling to hit your swollen pearl on his pelvis when you sink.

He watches you with hooded eyes, whispering encouraging words, the slight burn in your thighs worth it for the looped call and response of his body and yours, moving faster now, letting him fuck up into you, again meeting each other halfway, as enthused as the other to wring all the pleasure you can from each second.

Then with a lopsided smile, his large hand spans downwards from your hip, his thumb sliding between your legs and hooking over the hood of your clit. The jolt makes you cry out and shudder, his resounding groan loud as you clamp hard around him. 

“Don't you dare stop this time,” it’s almost a command through gritted teeth, and he looks surprised and so aroused you feel him ripple inside you. 

He does as bidden, his blunt thumbnail catching perfectly around the side of your clit, the pad mashed against you as you ride hard now, muscles protesting, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine from your hairline. You are climbing again, just as he had you when his tongue was there; the memory of it drives you harder. Until you feel that dam breaking, your whole body wound tight and suddenly snapping with a violent release, a technicolour explosion behind your eyelids. Slamming down on Benedict, who calls out roughly as you come around him, gripped upon him tight as you flutter, his cock feeling so huge you swear you will still feel its imprint tomorrow. It never seems to end the sensation racing down your limbs to fizzle in your toes and fingers, a true livewire. Underneath you, Benedict grips your hips with a curse and a long, low groan; you feel him breaking, too, a pulsing ripple travelling up his length as he spills into the latex between you.

You slump forward onto his chest, heaving gulps of air, feeling so many contradictions - sated but still hungry, energised but exhausted, aching but ready to go again just to chase that intangible high. Benedict's lips are hot on your damp forehead, and you push off him slightly, a hitch in his breath as you do, your lips meeting in a prolonged kiss, an endnote to this symphony.

“I've never done that before,” you confess over a gratified giggle.

His smile is warm, his hands running up and down your back in soothing strokes. “Which part?”

“Both being on top and that…” suddenly shy to state the word.

He looks momentarily shocked. “Then I am so glad you got scammed,” he says with a conviction that makes you frown fleetingly. “I could not allow a world where you would go back to America and never have an orgasm…”

He is sincere, but something in the way he says it makes you break out into happy, carefree peals of laughter that has him joining in as he slips from inside your body.

This lighthearted moment seems to break any tension there may be about words you could say; it means you are still giggling together as he rolls you aside and, after discarding the condom, pulls you into his arms, both of you suddenly bone tired from the rollercoaster of a day.

“I am so glad I got scammed too,” you offer sleepily; he huffs a laugh, matching smiles as sleep claims you both almost instantly. 

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[mrscolinbridgerton96]

Complete Surrender (18+) | a POLIN fic

Plot: Colin and Penelope leave the ball early to go home. On this night, they finally consummate their marriage.

⚠️ WARNING: contains some sexual content including fingering, oral sex (f receiving), d*ck riding and penetration ⚠️

[brief author’s note: this is my first time writing smut so.. please go easy on me with any and all criticism. thank you!.. and enjoy!]

~

Penelope and Colin decide to leave her sisters’ ball early so that her and Colin could have some time alone together. He took off his jacket and boots then sat on the settee and waited as Rae helped Penelope. Once Rae closed the door, Penelope decided to take off the nightgown and wear only the robe.

Moments after Rae briefly spoke to him then went downstairs, Colin opened the door and saw Penelope standing by the bed. His heart suddenly began to race when he realized that she was naked under her robe. He closed the door behind him.. walked up to her.. pulled her close to him.. and crashed his lips onto hers. They pulled apart for just a brief moment as she noticed a slight shakiness in his breathing.

Penelope: “Colin, why are you trembling?”

Colin: “You are.. so beautiful. The goddess Venus herself would be envious.”

Penelope: “So, you would not.. change anything about me?”

His eyes softened at the realization that a part of her still could not see the beauty that he sees.

Colin: “You are perfect just as you are, Pen.”

He then turns her around to face the mirror. She sees Colin stand behind her and kiss on her cheek.

Colin: “Even the looking glass does not lie. Inside and out, you are beautiful. Your eyes are luminous, your mind is exceptional, your soul is magnetic and.. your body.. is like a sacred temple; one I have yet to FULLY discover. If you wish it, my lips will touch the parts of you that they have not touched before.”

Penelope could hear his heart beating in tandem with hers as he whispered in her ear.

Colin: “Do you wish me to worship your body in the way that it deserves to be worshipped?”

She responded with an aroused glance and one single word.

Penelope: “Yes.”

Colin moves Penelope’s hair and begins kissing on her neck. She puts a hand on the back of his head and moans his name as his tongue touches her skin and his hands grab her breasts. He puts her hair back into place as Penelope turns around to face him and helps him unbutton his shirt.

Her hands were on his waist as he proceeded to take off his pants. As soon as his pants dropped to the floor, he watched her slowly sit down on the bed.

Colin: “Lie down.. Mrs. Bridgerton.”

Penelope: “As you wish.. Mr. Bridgerton.”

Penelope laid down on the bed and Colin climbed on top of her and kissed her. He untied her robe as his hand slowly glided down her thigh and made its way in between her legs. The moment his fingers were inside her, a wave of pleasure hit her like a tidal wave crashing onto the nearest shore. Her moans were like music to his ears. As she was about to reach a climax, he stopped and looked into her eyes.

Colin: “I, um.. would like to.. try something. If at any point you do not like it, you let me know.”

Penelope: “Colin, you could never do anything that I do not like.”

Colin looked down towards the area between her thighs then looked back up at her again. He marveled at how beautiful she looked in this moment and kissed her lips again.

He untied the robe then kissed down her waistline. She started trembling as he opened her legs wide. His lips touched the inner folds of her thighs and he looked up at her one more time.

Penelope watched as he started sucking on her clit. Her eyes rolled back and she could hear her heart rate rising. Another massive wave of pleasure came flooding in faster than the speed of light. One hand gripped onto his hair and the other held onto the blanket.

Penelope: “Oh my. Colin. I.. yes. Oh yes. Oh!”

She gasped as she felt his tongue go in and out of her. Her moans got louder and her body slowly began to spasm in response to yet another orgasm. She gripped tighter onto the blanket as his tongue began moving in a circular motion. Right when she reached the end of it, she shouted out his name in pleasure. Her knees buckled just as Colin’s lips found their way back to hers. He stared into her eyes and she started to tremble again. They sat up simultaneously then Colin turned Penelope around and coiled her legs around him like a snake as his lips were kissing on her neck. She could feel his tongue touch her skin.

Penelope: “Colin.”

Colin: “Yes, my love?”

Penelope kissed Colin on his neck and whispered two words in his ear.

Penelope: “Lie down.”

His pupils dilated in both shock and delight. Her eagerness to please him put his head in a total spin, as if the Earth was quickly rotating on its axis- making him dizzy. She gently put her hands on him as his head slowly went down on the pillow. He watched her hands slowly move down his chest. She weighed one hand against his chest and began riding him.

Colin Bridgerton had never before been on this sort of sexual high. Prior to making love to Penelope for the very first time- even before his lips touched hers the night of their first kiss- he felt that this particular kind of passion wasn’t in his reach.. but it IS. It exists in the woman he loves; it exists in Penelope.

As his hands moved up to her waist, she pulled him up and kissed him fervently. He wrapped his arms around her body from under her robe- he wanted to feel her skin.

Colin: “May I.. take this robe off of you?”

Penelope: “You may.”

Colin slowly removed the silk robe from Penelope’s body and placed them on the floor where his clothes were. He was kissing and sucking on her breasts while she continued moving back and forth in a slow motion.

They both gave each other a seductive grin in response to the arousal they were currently experiencing. With his hands still on her hips, they began to move back and forth in a much quicker motion. Their moans were in sync with each other’s. His hands moved from her waist to her lower back. They stared into each other’s eyes and came at the same time.

Colin: “Oh yes.”

He laid down next to her and they kissed until both their lips grew exhausted.

~

Time passed and the dawn was just starting to break.

Penelope: “Colin?”

Colin: “Yes, Beauty.”

Penelope: “I can hear your heart beating.”

Colin: “I can hear yours too.”

Penelope: “Tell me something, do you truly think I’m beautiful and.. clever?”

Colin: “Of course I do, Brains.”

Penelope: “ ‘Beauty��? ‘Brains’?”

Colin: “My grandfather used to refer my mother as both Beauty AND Brains. He said to her that her beauty comes from her mother and her wit comes from him. I never met him, but she always told me he was a good man.”

Penelope: “He would have loved you, Colin- just as much as your family does.. and just as much as I do.”

Colin: “You love me more, right?”

Penelope: “Obviously.”

They both looked out the window and saw that the light of the coming dawn was beginning to illuminate the sky.

Penelope: “Wow. It is practically morning already.”

Colin: “I intend to simply just stay in this bed the whole day through. Care to join me?”

Penelope: “Sounds perfect. I love you.. Colin Bridgerton.”

Colin: “I love you too.. Penelope Bridgerton.”

They both laughed and kissed once more before Penelope fell asleep in his arms. He looked at her as her eyes gave into the tiredness and finally closed. All Colin could do was smile at her and kiss her on her forehead.

He stared at the ceiling and began thinking- thinking about how THIS was what he was missing when he emotionally distanced himself from Penelope. Sure, it was with reason, but he longed for this kind of intimate and truly honest connection her. Now, at last, he has it.. and Colin Bridgerton would rather be damned than to ever let it go- to ever let HER go. He slowly got up.. blew out the candles.. then crawled back into bed and fell asleep next to the woman he knew that could NEVER live without.

[dreamscribee]

💎A Diamond's Destiny💎

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𐙚 Anthony Bridgerton x female reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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