#y/n bridgerton Tumblr posts

[frost-queen]

First birthday (Baby!Reader & Bridgerton Siblings)

Requested by: @winter-solstice24 Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @alex--awesome--22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @markive-m

“Is everything in order?” – Violet asked looking nervously around. One hand on her stomach, as her other hand was close to her mouth. Muttering out numbers as she was counting the decorations. The drawing room in festivities. Francesca and Daphne were folding napkins to present something celebrating. Colin entered the drawing room carrying a pot with yellow flowers.

“Oh no!” – Violet called out, startling everyone. – “No! no God no!” – She started waving her hand across, making Colin furrow his brows. – “Out! Out with it!” – Violet insisted on. – “But I thought…” – Colin spoke. – “Out.” – she repeated as Colin picked up the pot once more. With a loud groan, he left once more.

Violet moved her thumb to her lips. – “Where are the blue flowers?” – she mumbled in wonder. Eloise and Benedict called out for her to duck as she went down quickly. Over her head they moved the decorative garland to hang above the fireplace.

Hyacinth and Gregory sat by the cakes, whispering to each other which one they would eat first. Anthony neared them, slapping Gregory on his hand as he saw a curious finger go towards the cakes. Gregory whined looking up to his brother. – “No.” – Anthony said with a simple scowl. Colin entered again holding another pot. – “These one’s then?” – he asked.

Violet let out a loud ‘yes’ out of excitement. – “By the window.” – she pointed out. Colin following her instructions. Anthony came by his mother’s side, placing a hand against her lower back. – “It is lovely mama.” – he said bringing a smile on her. Eloise had her arms up as Benedict was trying to pin the garland up.

“I find it an awfully big fuss for a birthday.” – she spoke, puffing some hair out of her face. – “It is her first.” – Daphne replied with a soft glare. – “It is not like she would remember it.” – Eloise answered sticking her tongue out afterwards. Daphne groaned, turning her posture away from her as she felt ridiculed.

Violet looked around the room once more, counting the heads of her children. One, two, three, four…by the time she was nearing the full number she gasped loud. – “Who’s watching Y/n?” – she shouted in full panic. The Bridgerton Siblings all turned to look in shock at mama and each other. Eyes wide with fear as they thought for sure one of them was watching you. – “Y/n! “- Anthony called out expecting you to speak back.

He lowered himself looking low by the floor for you. – “Y/n!” – Colin shouted getting on his knees to go through the room swiftly. Gregory and Hyacinth ducked, pulling the tablecloth up to see if you were underneath it. Daphne got up, searching through the pillows as it annoyed Eloise.

“Truly sister do you think our baby sister would be underneath the pillows? She is small but not that small.” – Eloise commented, receiving another glare from Daphne. – “Y/n!” – Anthony shouted again, going to the second part of the drawing room. Panting loud with worry as he hastened himself to find you.

Violet started to worry as Francesca gave her comfort by rubbing her hand up Violet’s arm. Benedict started searching in all areas where you could hide. Making half a mess of it. Violet yelped loud as he was wrecking her decorations. – “Do you want to find Y/n or not?” – Benedict said loud, holding some decorations in his hand. Violet nodded as Benedict threw the decorations on the ground, continuing his search.

Violet felt a sting of pain seeing her celebration be wrecked. The door opened. A maid entering, holding a baby. – “Look who I found.” – she said happily. All their heads turned in her direction. You smiled, slapping your hand up and down. Anthony sighed relieved, rushing over to her. Benedict pushed Eloise aside to reach you first.

Colin got pushed back to the ground as he tried to get up by Gregory. He was laughing loud as it might be deliberately. Benedict took you from the maid, holding you in his arms. – “Oh Y/n.” – he breathed out, holding your head against his cheek. 

He started bouncing you in his grip, sussing you. Anthony took you from his brother. He held you at arm’s length. – “Don’t do that again.”  - he said sternly. Your reaction was to make some baby sounds and laugh. Anthony’s eyes widened, immediately melting at your sweetness.

He brought you close, to hug. – “You’ll squash her!” – Hyacinth called out. Anthony gave you to Violet. – “You had me worried there birthday girl.” – she spoke moving around the drawing room to sit. All of your siblings followed her, coming to sit as well. Violet sat you down on her lap, laying your dress neatly.

Francesca came over holding a paper crown in her hand. Violet laughed at that, placing it on top of your head. It was too big of course as it fell down, blinding you half. Violet kept laughing removing it from your head as you were already grabbing for it.

Daphne and Colin started giving out cake for everyone. Violet held your plate. – “Happy birthday Y/n!” – they all cheered raising their plate with cake. Your eyes twinkled at the sight of cake. With your eager hands, you grabbed for it. Tearing a piece from it to stuff in your mouth. Cheeks dirty with sugar and cake crumbs.

Violet gave your plate to Gregory beside her to clean your mouth. There were presents that Violet opened for you. After a while you got placed on the ground. Gregory and Hyacinth sitting with you playing with some of the dolls for you. Your elder siblings chatting away. Gregory and Hyacinth started to give more attention to their own game as they had little eye for you.

You looked up to the big world around you. Something catching your eye. Reaching for the sofa, you rose your hands up. Taking a hold of the sofa as you started pulling yourself up with every might. It was nothing new. Something you could do for almost a month now. Pull yourself up and stand. You squealed loud, smiling at your siblings.

Benedict caught your eye as you started opening and closing your hand at him. Benedict who was going for a third piece of cake, noticed it. With his mouth stuffed, he waved back at you. It made you giggle loud with a sharp squeal. Out of excitement you started thumping your foot on the ground. Bouncing with your body. Holding your hand out, you slowly opened and closed it.

Your lips trying to form something. – “MMM.” – was the first thing that came out. – “Ma!” – you squealed out as it sounded almost as your usual squeals. – “Mama.” – you finally formed as barely anyone heard it. – “Mama.” – you repeated once more as Anthony seemed to have heard it. He immediately silenced his siblings to be sure if he had heard it right.

“Did… did you just speak Y/n?” – he asked as all eyes turned to you. You kept grabbing with your hand at him, slowly letting go of the sofa with your other hand. – “Mama.” – you said balancing on your feet without holding anything. Your siblings all gasped in surprise, cheering for your first words. You got caught up with their excitement, moving your foot forwards. Like catching yourself, your feet stumbled forwards, making you stumble for balance right towards Anthony.

“Mama.” – you called out stumbling over to Anthony. Anthony had lowered himself, arms open to welcome you. A wide smile on his lips, proud of his baby sister taking her first steps. Violet and your siblings were going feral that you were making such a big progress. You stumbled into Anthony’s arms as he moved his arms around you, picking you up.

“Look at you Y/n.” – he said proudly with swelled up eyes. – “To me now, to me!” – Hyacinth called out wanting you to walk up to her. Anthony set you down in the right direction towards Hyacinth. Hyacinth sat down, arms open to welcome you. Laughing loud, you started walking stumbly towards her. You paused, looking around. Changing course, you stumbled over to Violet, wanting your mama.

Hyacinth looked bummed when you wouldn’t walk up to her. Violet picked you up, giving you a big kiss against your cheek. – “My sweet little girl.” – she whispered. Proud of you and all that you had achieved on such a celebrating day.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[tulipatheticee]

Hi! I had an idea of Eloise x fem reader, reader being Queen Charlotte’s daughter. They get caught together, and readers mother suggests marriage. With that Eloise and reader start the acceptance of the same sex love/marriage.

love story e.b

eloise bridgerton x queen charlottes daughter! reader

synopsis; In the heart of Regency London, Princess Y/N, daughter of Queen Charlotte, and Eloise Bridgerton find themselves entangled in a clandestine romance amidst the glittering balls and gossip of high society. Their love defies conventions and faces scrutiny, ultimately prompting Queen Charlotte to propose a marriage that could change society's perception of same-sex love forever.

word count; 5.3k

master list

a/n; i went a little ham on this one, i was not joking when i said wlw unlocks something inside of me

as always, kinda proof read, kinda not :p

So I sneak out to the garden to see you

We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew

So close your eyes

Escape this town for a little while, oh oh

In the bustling midst of London’s social season, Queen Charlotte's daughter, Princess y/n, found herself at the centre of attention. Raised amidst the pomp and protocol of high society, she was no stranger to the expectations placed upon her. Attending debutante events was simply another facet of her role as the queen's daughter—a duty performed with grace and an impeccably polished facade.

It was at one such event, a gathering of debutantes adorned in their finest, where y/n first noticed her. Eloise Bridgerton, amidst the sea of hopefuls vying for attention, stood out not just for her striking beauty but for an air of defiance that seemed to hover around her like an invisible shield. Eloise, with her quick wit and sharp tongue, had garnered a reputation as the most outspoken and unconventional of the Bridgerton siblings—a title she wore proudly, much to her mother Violet's simultaneous exasperation and admiration.

From across the room, y/n observed as Eloise engaged in animated conversation with other debutantes. There was a sparkle in her eye and a hint of mischief in her smile that drew y/n's attention irresistibly. Eloise's laughter, free and unbridled, cut through the polite chatter of the event like a breath of fresh air in a stuffy room. For a moment, y/n found herself captivated, her gaze lingering longer than was strictly polite.

Meanwhile, Eloise, amidst the whirl of introductions and compliments, couldn't help but notice the queen's daughter. Elegant and composed, y/n exuded a quiet confidence that commanded attention without demanding it. Unlike the other debutantes who fluttered around Eloise, y/n stood apart, observing with an intensity that hinted at a keen intellect beneath her composed exterior.

Their eyes met briefly across the room—a fleeting moment charged with unspoken curiosity and intrigue. It was a simple exchange, unnoticed by the swirling crowd around them but leaving an indelible impression on both Eloise and y/n. In that brief encounter, something stirred, a silent recognition that hinted at possibilities yet unexplored.

The grand presentation at the Palace was a spectacle to behold. The ballroom was adorned with glittering chandeliers and opulent decorations, filled with the crème de la crème of London society. Eloise stood in line, fidgeting with her gloves as she prepared to be introduced. Her mother gave her a reassuring smile.

“Stand tall, Eloise,” Violet whispered. “This is your moment.”

As Eloise stepped forward, she caught a clearer sight of Princess Y/N, standing beside her mother. Their eyes met once again across the room, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Y/N’s gaze was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the intimidating grandeur of the palace. Eloise felt an inexplicable pull towards her, something she couldn’t quite understand.

Just as Eloise was about to be presented, the attention of the room shifted abruptly. The queens guards charging through the doors, whispers of “Lady Whistledown '' spread like wildfire, next thing you know, the queen is declaring she's seen enough and everyone is dismissed and Eloise found herself relieved of the spotlight as gossip overtook the ceremony. The mysterious writer had once again stolen the show, and Eloise couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the diversion.

'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"

But you were everything to me

I was beggin' you, "Please don't go, " and I said

The opulent ballroom of Lady Danbury's estate shimmered with the flicker of candlelight and the murmur of polite conversation. Eloise Bridgerton, dressed in an exquisite gown of deep emerald silk that Lady Danbury had insisted upon, moved gracefully amidst the crowd, her gaze sweeping over the assembly of London's elite.

The event was a dazzling affair, attended by the highest echelons of society, each guest meticulously adorned in their finest attire. Yet amidst the glittering array of guests, Eloise's eyes sought out a familiar figure—Princess y/n, who stood with Queen Charlotte, radiating an air of quiet elegance that set her apart from the throng of debutantes.

Eloise couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in her chest as she made her way towards y/n, navigating the maze of guests with practiced ease. Her heart raced with a mixture of nerves and excitement, unsure of how their conversation at Queen Charlotte's debutante event would influence their interaction tonight.

Meanwhile, y/n observed the revelry with a regal composure, her gaze occasionally drifting towards Eloise amidst the swirl of dancers and the lilting strains of the orchestra. The princess was acutely aware of the scrutiny she faced as Queen Charlotte’s daughter—the expectations of duty and decorum that shadowed her every move. Yet amidst the splendour of the ballroom, y/n found herself drawn to Eloise’s spirited presence and unguarded authenticity. 

Violet Bridgerton, determined to secure another diamond among her brood, guided Eloise through the throng of guests towards the queen and y/n. Eloise, begrudgingly adorned in an elegant gown befitting her station, maintained a facade of polite disinterest as Violet introduced her to the queen and her daughter.

"Your Majestys, may I present my daughter, Eloise Bridgerton," Violet announced with practised grace.

Y/n, acknowledging the introduction with a nod, offered a polite smile that barely concealed her curiosity. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bridgerton," she greeted eloquently, her voice carrying a warmth that belied her royal stature.

Eloise, though outwardly composed, felt a rush of nerves mingled with an unexpected flutter of excitement. She had anticipated the formality of the introduction, yet y/n's presence seemed to alter the air around her, making her acutely aware of every gesture and fleeting expression.

"Likewise, Your Highness," Eloise replied with a hint of her trademark wit, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Though I must admit, I am more accustomed to lively debates than royal audiences."

Y/n's smile widened subtly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I look forward to those debates, Miss Bridgerton," she replied in kind, a gentle challenge underlying her words.

The exchange, though brief, left an impression on both women. For Eloise, accustomed to the constraints of societal expectations, y/n represented a refreshing departure—an enigma wrapped in regal poise and quiet strength. And for y/n, intrigued by Eloise's spirited demeanor and quick intellect, the encounter ignited a curiosity that lingered long after the ball had ended.

Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone

I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run

You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

As the evening progressed, Eloise and y/n’s paths collided again near the elaborate dessert table adorned with crystal bowls of sugared fruits and delicate pastries. Eloise, emboldened by Lady Danbury’s encouraging nod from across the room, approached y/n with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, nerves tingling beneath her skin.

“Your Highness,” Eloise greeted warmly, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness despite her best efforts to appear composed.

y/n turned towards Eloise with a gracious smile, her eyes alight with genuine interest. “Miss Bridgerton,” y/n replied with a nod of acknowledgment, noting the subtle tension in Eloise’s stance.

Their conversation flowed with the ease of familiarity yet tinged with the underlying currents of unspoken desire and mutual intrigue. They exchanged pleasantries about the music, the decorations, and the latest society gossip, each word carrying a weight of unspoken meaning that hung between them like an invisible thread.

Eloise, ever the conversationalist, couldn’t resist steering the discussion towards a topic that had intrigued her since their first meeting. “Your Highness, I must admit, I found your observations on the latest literary sensation quite captivating,” she remarked, her tone light yet tinged with curiosity.

y/n chuckled softly, appreciating Eloise’s intellect and the genuine interest she showed in their previous conversation. “Ah, but Miss Bridgerton, I fear my views on literature may not always align with conventional wisdom,” y/n replied with a playful glint in her eyes.

Eloise leaned in slightly, her gaze locking with y/n’s in a moment of shared understanding. “Isn’t that the beauty of literature, Your Highness? It allows us to explore different perspectives and challenge our own beliefs,” she countered, her voice laced with a mixture of admiration and genuine curiosity.

Their banter continued late into the night, punctuated by shared laughter and stolen glances that hinted at a connection deeper than mere friendship. For Eloise, y/n represented a kindred spirit—a beacon of hope amidst the rigid expectations of London society. She found herself drawn to y/n’s quiet strength and unwavering authenticity, traits that resonated deeply with Eloise’s own aspirations and struggles.

In those stolen moments between dances, y/n found herself captivated by Eloise’s infectious enthusiasm and fierce determination. She admired Eloise’s courage to challenge societal norms and speak her mind, qualities that set her apart from the polished facades of London’s debutantes.

As the evening drew to a close, Eloise reluctantly bid y/n farewell with a promise to meet again soon. Their parting left y/n with a lingering warmth in her heart—a feeling that defied the constraints of duty and hinted at the possibility of something more.

Romeo, save me, they're tryna tell me how to feel

This love is difficult, but it's real

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

Eloise and y/n found themselves entangled in a web of conflicting emotions and societal expectations. Despite the undeniable chemistry that sparked between them at Lady Danbury's grand ball, both struggled to come to terms with their growing attraction.

In the days that followed the ball, Eloise couldn't shake the memory of y/n's enchanting smile and the way her eyes lit up with intelligence and charm. She found herself stealing glances at y/n across crowded ballrooms, each stolen glance fueling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Meanwhile, y/n wrestled with her own tumultuous emotions. As Queen Charlotte's daughter, she was keenly aware of the scrutiny her actions faced. The prospect of scandal and disgrace haunted her thoughts, casting a shadow over her budding friendship with Eloise.

Their paths crossed again at another glittering social event, where Violet Bridgerton, ever the matchmaker, introduced Eloise to y/n in hopes of sparking a connection. Eloise's heart raced as she exchanged pleasantries with y/n, their conversation laced with a subtle undercurrent of tension and curiosity.

Later that evening, as they found themselves alone in a quiet corner of the ballroom, y/n couldn't help but voice her uncertainties. "Miss Bridgerton, do you ever feel... conflicted?" she asked tentatively, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

Eloise hesitated, her mind racing with unspoken thoughts. "I... I suppose I do," she admitted softly, her gaze searching y/n's face for any sign of understanding. "This world we live in—it's so... unforgiving."

y/n nodded in silent agreement, her fingers nervously toying with the fabric of her gown. "Sometimes I wonder if... if we're meant to feel this way," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eloise reached out, her touch gentle yet reassuring. "I don't have all the answers, Princess," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I know that when I'm with you, everything feels... different."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Danbury, who swept y/n away to greet other guests. Eloise watched as Lady Danbury whisked y/n away, her heart sinking with each step that carried them farther apart. Alone in the bustling ballroom, she found herself drawn to a quiet alcove, seeking refuge from the swirl of conversations and glittering chandeliers.

Leaning against a draped curtain, Eloise closed her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. Thoughts of y/n consumed her mind, their unfinished conversation lingering like an unspoken promise in the air.

She traced the intricate pattern of her gown absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting back to y/n's earnest question. Do you ever feel... conflicted? And back to her own comment before the conversation ended, when I'm with you, everything feels... different. How would y/n have responded to that? Did she feel the same way, or was Eloise's heart leading her down a path fraught with uncertainty?

The memory of y/n's smile flickered in her mind—the way it lit up the room, reaching out to Eloise like a beacon in the darkness of societal expectations. They had danced around the edges of something profound, something that could alter the course of their lives forever.

Lost in her reverie, Eloise was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to find Benedict Bridgerton, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Sister, are you all right?" he asked gently, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

Eloise managed a faint smile, though her heart still raced with unanswered questions. "I'm fine, Benedict," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Just... lost in thought."

Benedict studied her for a moment, his gaze searching. "Is it about the Princess?" he ventured cautiously, knowing his sister well enough to sense when something weighed heavily on her mind.

Eloise nodded slowly, unable to suppress a sigh. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "We were... talking. About feelings, I suppose."

Benedict arched an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Feelings?" he echoed, prompting Eloise to elaborate.

"I told her... how I feel when I'm with her," Eloise confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then Lady Danbury interrupted us, and I never got to find out how she feels."

Understanding dawned in Benedict's eyes as he took in Eloise's words. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Eloise, you know what they say about the young Princess," he said gently. "She's smart, perceptive. She'll understand."

Eloise managed a weak smile, grateful for her brother's reassurance. "I hope so," she murmured, her thoughts still lingering on y/n's last words to her.

As the ballroom bustled around them, Benedict offered his arm to Eloise. "Shall we join the others?" he suggested, his tone lightening with an attempt to lift her spirits.

Eloise nodded, drawing a deep breath to steady herself. "Yes, let's," she agreed, linking her arm with Benedict's. Together, they returned to the lively gathering, though Eloise's thoughts remained with y/n—wondering, hoping, and silently yearning for their next conversation.

I got tired of waiting

Wondering' if you were ever comin' around

My faith in you was fading

When I met you on the outskirts of town, and I said

Days passed after the interrupted conversation at Lady Danbury's ball, each one stretching with anticipation and uncertainty for Eloise. She found herself eagerly attending every social event in hopes of catching another glimpse of y/n, her heart skipping a beat whenever their paths crossed across the crowded rooms.

It was at a smaller, more intimate gathering hosted by the Featheringtons that Eloise finally saw y/n again. The evening was alive with music and laughter, the air fragrant with the scent of gardenias and the promise of summer.

Eloise stood near the refreshment table, feigning interest in the punch bowl as she discreetly watched y/n across the room. y/n was engaged in conversation with Dowager Violet Bridgerton, their laughter mingling with the tinkling of crystal glasses.

Summoning her courage, Eloise took a deep breath and approached them. "Excuse me, Mama,  may I steal the Princess away for a moment?" she asked politely, her voice betraying none of the nervousness fluttering in her chest.

Violets eyes flickered mischievously as she glanced knowingly between Eloise and y/n. "Of course, Eloise," she replied with a knowing smile. "Take her—though I warn you, Her Royal Highness has been entertaining us all evening with her wit."

Eloise felt a rush of relief and gratitude towards her mother as y/n turned towards her, her expression lighting up with surprise and delight. "Miss Bridgerton," y/n greeted warmly, setting down her glass to face her fully. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Eloise swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling the weight of her confession at Lady Danbury's ball. But still she continued to escort the Princess through the crowd until they were outside in the garden, under the nights sky, completely alone.

 "I wanted to apologise for our conversation being cut short," she began earnestly, meeting y/n's gaze with sincerity. "I... I meant what I said. About how I feel when I'm with you."

y/n's smile softened, her eyes holding a hint of something that made Eloise's heart skip a beat. "Miss Bridgerton,,," y/n replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper amidst the lively chatter around them. "I've been thinking about that conversation too."

Relief flooded through Eloise as she took a step closer to y/n, their proximity sparking a warmth that spread through her veins. "Really?" she asked, unable to contain the hope in her voice.

y/n nodded, her expression gentle yet filled with a quiet intensity that mirrored Eloise's own feelings. "Yes, really," she confirmed, her hand reaching out to gently touch Eloise's arm. "I didn't get to answer then, but... I feel something too."

Eloise's heart soared at y/n's words, her fears and uncertainties momentarily forgotten in the rush of emotions. "I'm glad," she murmured softly, her gaze locked with y/n's. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel, or... if we could even..."

Before she could finish, y/n leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Eloise's cheek in a tender gesture that sent a shiver down Eloise's spine. "I want to find out," y/n whispered, her breath warm against Eloise's ear. "If we could be something more."

Eloise's breath caught in her throat as she gazed into y/n's eyes, seeing her own hopes reflected back at her. Without hesitation, she reached up to cup y/n's cheek, her thumb caressing the soft skin beneath her touch. "I want that too, Your Highness" Eloise admitted softly, her voice filled with newfound courage and longing.

Y/N smilied, her eyes lighting up. “Please, call me Y/N. Titles are so tiresome, don’t you think?”

Eloise laughed softly. “Very much so. I find this entire season tiresome.”

In that stolen moment amidst the music and the soft glow of candlelight, Eloise and y/n leaned closer together, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken promises and the beginning of a love that dared to defy convention.

As they pulled away, breathless and smiling, Eloise felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Here, in the embrace of y/n's presence, she found not only acceptance but also the beginning of a journey she never dared to imagine—a journey of love, bravery, and the courage to be true to oneself.

They walked together in the garden, the conversation flowing easily. Eloise was captivated by Y/N’s intelligence and wit, and Y/N found Eloise’s rebellious spirit refreshing. As days turned into weeks, their friendship deepened, but so did the confusion. Can this go on forever?

Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Is this in my head? I don't know what to think

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the gardens of Bridgerton House. Eloise and y/n sat side by side on the swings, their feet lightly touching the ground, pushing back and forth in a gentle rhythm. The air was filled with the scent of blooming roses and the distant hum of London’s bustle, now just a distant murmur.

"I never imagined finding such peace in the heart of London," y/n remarked softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she swayed back and forth. Her eyes wandered over the garden, where vibrant blooms danced in the gentle breeze, their colours vivid against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Eloise, her legs stretched out in front of her, kicked lightly against the earth to keep the swing moving. "It's my favourite place to escape," she said, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced at y/n. "Thank you for visiting me here."

Y/n turned to Eloise, her gaze filled with an unspoken tenderness. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. She reached out, her hand finding Eloise’s, their fingers intertwining effortlessly. The simple touch sent a jolt of warmth through them, grounding them in their shared moment.

A comfortable silence settled over them, the only sounds the creak of the swings and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Eloise closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the serenity of the garden and the presence of y/n beside her.

"Do you ever wonder what the future holds for us?" y/n asked softly, her voice filled with curiosity as she turned to Eloise, who was still lost in the quiet of the moment.

Eloise opened her eyes, her gaze drifting towards the horizon where the sun was painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. "I used to worry about it," she admitted, her fingers absently tracing patterns on y/n’s palm. "But now... I like to think that as long as we're together, we can face anything."

Y/n's smile was gentle, her eyes reflecting the twilight’s colours as she leaned her head against Eloise’s shoulder. "I believe that too," she murmured, her voice steady with a quiet confidence. "We'll navigate this world together, Eloise."

In the tranquil embrace of Bridgerton House's garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the blossoming love between them, Eloise and y/n found solace in each other’s company. The swings moved back and forth, a gentle testament to their growing bond, anchoring them in a love that defied expectations and embraced the courage to live authentically.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring

And said, "Marry me, Juliet

You'll never have to be alone

One afternoon in the opulent drawing room of the palace, y/n sat with Eloise, their conversation light and filled with quiet laughter. The warmth of the fire crackled in the background, casting flickering shadows on the richly adorned walls. Y/n leaned close to Eloise, sharing a private moment, both girls peppering kisses over each other's faces, enjoying the feeling of being in each other's embraces. 

Unbeknownst to them, Queen Charlotte had returned earlier than expected, her steps muffled by the thick carpet. She paused in the doorway, her sharp eyes catching the intimate exchange between y/n and Eloise. For a moment, she simply observed, her mind racing with the implications.

"Miss Bridgerton!" Queen Charlotte's voice cut through the air, startling both young women. Eloise turned pale, her heart sinking as she realised they had been caught. Y/n sat frozen, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"Mother," y/n stammered, attempting to gather her thoughts. "I can explain—"

Queen Charlotte held up a hand, her expression unreadable. "There is no need for explanations, my dear. It seems the situation has clarified itself." She stepped further into the room, her gaze shifting between y/n and Eloise.

Eloise stood, her nerves taut with uncertainty. "Your Majesty, please understand—"

"I understand more than you might realise," Queen Charlotte interrupted gently, her tone softening slightly. She approached Eloise, studying her with a discerning eye. "Miss Bridgerton, do you care for my daughter?"

Eloise swallowed hard, meeting Queen Charlotte's gaze squarely. "Yes, Your Majesty," she admitted, her voice steady despite her nerves.

"And you, y/n?" Queen Charlotte turned to her daughter, her expression softening. "How do you feel about Miss Bridgerton?"

Eloise hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Mother, I... I care for Eloise deeply. More than I ever thought possible."

Queen Charlotte nodded, her features reflecting a mix of concern and contemplation. "Love comes in many forms," she said finally, her voice carrying wisdom earned through years of navigating societal expectations. "It is clear to me that your feelings are genuine."

Eloise blinked back tears, overwhelmed by her mother's unexpected understanding. Y/n reached out, gently squeezing Eloise's hand in silent support.

“But regardless, you both are participating in acts only those who are married should be. I will not accept a scandal.”

"Mama, what should we do? We can’t imagine life apart!" y/n asked, her voice tinged with hope and apprehension.

Queen Charlotte smiled softly, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Perhaps it is time we consider a different kind of arrangement," she mused, her mind already formulating a plan. "One that will allow you both to live authentically, without the confines of societal scandals, the only right choice in these conditions." She paused (dramatic effect no?)

“Marriage.”

And so, in that serene drawing room of the palace, a new chapter began for y/n and Eloise—a chapter marked by acceptance, love, and the courage to challenge tradition.

I love you and that's all I really know

I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

In the warm, inviting drawing room of Bridgerton House, Eloise nervously clasped y/n's hand. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, adding an air of solemnity to the moment. Around them, the Bridgertons—Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, and the younger siblings—gathered, curiosity etched on their faces.

Eloise took a deep breath, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "I... We have something to share," she began, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

Anthony, ever the observant eldest brother, arched an eyebrow. "Go on, Eloise. What is it?"

Eloise glanced at y/n, drawing strength from their presence. "y/n and I... We've decided to take a step forward together. We're engaged."

There was a collective gasp of surprise from her family. Daphne's eyes widened, her hand instinctively reaching for Benedict's. Benedict leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. Colin adjusted himself, trying to process the unexpected news.

With the initial shock beginning to subside, the Bridgertons exchanged bewildered glances, each processing the news in their own way.

"Wait, you two are... engaged?" Colin asked, his voice filled with surprise.

Daphne, recovering from her initial shock, spoke gently. "But... how? I mean, are you even allowed to... marry?"

Eloise smiled, a touch of defiance in her eyes. "Yes, Daphne. Queen Charlotte herself has given us her blessing."

Colin, adjusting to the news, nodded thoughtfully. "I see. It's certainly unconventional, but if Her Majesty approves..."

Anthony, ever the pragmatist, chimed in. "Well, then. It seems we are in uncharted territory, but as long as you're both certain..."

Eloise and y/n exchanged a glance, their bond palpable. "We are," y/n affirmed softly.

"Eloise, are you certain about this?" Francesca asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Eloise nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yes, Francesca. I've never been more certain about anything in my life."

Benedict, always the voice of reason, spoke up next. "Well, this is quite unexpected, but if it's what makes you both happy..."

Hyacinth interjected, unable to contain her excitement. "Eloise, this is incredible news! I didn't think you'd ever settle down."

Anthony, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. "Eloise, Princess Y/N, if this is your decision, then you have my support. Always."

Eloise squeezed y/n's hand tighter, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. "Thank you, Anthony."

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere shifted from confusion to acceptance. The Bridgertons, while initially taken aback, found themselves embracing Eloise and y/n's decision. It was a moment that marked not only a new chapter in Eloise's life but also a testament to the changing times—a time when love was beginning to transcend boundaries and expectations.

Outside, the bustling city of London continued its rhythmic pulse, unaware of the quiet revolution unfolding within the walls of Bridgerton House—a revolution led by two hearts brave enough to defy convention and choose love, in all its unexpected forms.

'Cause we were both young when I first saw you

Eloise stood by the window of their home, gazing out at the bustling streets of London. It had been nearly a year since their marriage, and the city seemed to hum with a different energy. Change was in the air, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in what she and y/n had accomplished together.

The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Beside her, y/n stirred in their sleep, their features softened in the gentle dawn. Eloise smiled fondly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from y/n's face. They had been through so much together—the secret glances, the stolen kisses, the fear of discovery—and yet, here they were, stronger than ever.

Their marriage had sparked conversations across London society. Some viewed it with curiosity, others with disdain, but Eloise and y/n had found unexpected allies among their peers. Lady Danbury, always a force to be reckoned with, had become a staunch supporter, using her influence to deflect any lingering whispers of scandal.

As Eloise reflected on their journey, she couldn't help but marvel at how far they had come. They had faced challenges and uncertainties, but through it all, their love had remained steadfast. They had created a sanctuary within their home, where they could be themselves without fear of judgement or reprisal.

Outside, the city continued to wake up to a new day. Carriages rumbled past, merchants called out their wares, and London life carried on its bustling rhythm. Eloise turned back to y/n, watching as they stirred awake, their eyes fluttering open to meet hers.

"Good morning," y/n murmured, their voice still laced with sleep.

"Good morning," Eloise replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to y/n's lips. They shared a quiet moment together, the warmth of their embrace speaking volumes where words fell short.

"I never imagined we'd be here," y/n whispered, their fingers tracing patterns on Eloise's cheek.

"Neither did I," Eloise admitted, her heart swelling with emotion. "But I wouldn't change a thing."

They lay entwined in each other's arms, basking in the simple joy of being together. Outside, the city continued its daily hustle, but in their sanctuary, time seemed to stand still.

In the weeks and months that followed, Eloise and y/n continued to navigate their newfound roles as partners in life and advocates for change. They attended social events hand in hand, their presence a quiet yet powerful statement of love and acceptance. Through their actions, they hoped to pave the way for others who dared to love outside of society's conventions.

Occasionally, they would steal moments alone, away from the prying eyes of society, to remind themselves of the bond they shared. Whether it was a quiet evening at home or a stolen kiss in a secluded corner of a ballroom, every moment together reaffirmed their commitment to each other.

Their love story became a beacon of hope for those who yearned for acceptance and understanding. Slowly but surely, attitudes began to shift. Families whispered their support in drawing rooms, friends offered quiet encouragement over tea, and London society found itself grappling with the idea that love knew no boundaries.

As the years passed, Eloise and y/n's love story continued to unfold, weaving itself into the fabric of London's history. They faced challenges and triumphs together, building a life filled with laughter, companionship, and unwavering devotion.

Eloise often found herself marvelling at the resilience of y/n, their strength and determination a constant source of inspiration. Together, they navigated the complexities of societal expectations and personal desires, forging a path that defied tradition and embraced love in its purest form.

And so, in the quiet moments before dawn, as the city stirred awake outside their window, Eloise held y/n close, knowing that their love had not only changed their lives but had also left an indelible mark on the world around them.

I did not plan the lyrics around an epilogue and ran out HAHA oopsie

a/npt2; AHHH how did you guys feel about this, i tried to mot make it rushed i really wanted to start from the beginging and build their realtionship in a way a oneshot can, ive been considering writing a story once im done with these requests so we can get some better romance building then!!

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

It was all yellow

A/N: The queen herself, @cas-kingdom, has come up with a wonderful idea for a new story and I have happily tried to spin some words around it. Here is the outcome. Benedict wants to paint a portrait of you, his little sister. It's not an easy task...

“You moved.”

“Did not!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Did not!!”

“Yes. You. Did! Your foot was much further to the right a mere half a minute ago.”

“Ugh!” Slumping in on yourself, you groaned in frustration and tried to inch the tip of your foot back to the spot you had shifted it from. “Better?”

At the hint of boredom in your voice, Benedict lowered his palette and looked up from his canvas. His raised brows and the lopsided smile clearly assembled to say ‘I told you so’.

“You know, I warned you that this would take a while, but you were adamant on going through with it.” Blue paint drippled on his forearm and you had to fight the urge to look around and search for a blue object he could possibly have decided to capture on his portrait of you – there was nothing remotely blue about you.

“Did I complain?” You sneered, your lips curling into a pout, when your brother started laughing meaningfully in response to your question. His glowing eyes widened and he nodded his head quite vigorously.

“Oh, you complain! You’ve been complaining for the past hour or so. Not verbally. But when I look into your eyes, I can see it. All the ways you’re currently considering to kill me – painfully.” Your brother had to chuckle at his own words, as he lowered his tools and his gaze back upon the painting he was working on. And you deflated with a loud sigh.

When your brother had presented to you his wish to paint a portrait of you, you had been overjoyed. You had seen his paintings of Eloise and Anthony, the detail of which had impressed you immensely. Benedict had such a talent for his art that you were sure to one day encounter at least one of his creations in a renowned museum. Perhaps, you realized with growing gloom, it would not be his momentary work in progress, judging by the way he kept furrowing his brows.   

„You know,” he started carefully, confirming your concerns with the tone of his voice, “I‘m quite certain this would be more enjoyable for both of us, if you were actually having… fun!“ Benedict claimed, the last word dropping from his lips as if he were failing at spitting a cherry stone. You raised your brows at him, knowing full well that he knew how very humorous it was to be seated on a chair for several hours, with no permission to move even an inch. 

„Can‘t you just paint me from memory?“ You groaned, obeying with grinding teeth when a tilt of his head reminded you to remain in your posture. 

„If I say no,“ he answered slowly, as he squinted his eyes at you while carefully touching the brush back to the surface of his work-in-progress, „is it going to hurt your feelings?“

With a sigh you tried not to turn your head to look out of the window. „I suppose not.“

Benedict continued working in silence for a while, before he spoke again. „I would never get it all right from memory. In fact I am struggling already with you seated right here, in front of me.“ He sighed, almost sounding frustrated, his paintbrush sprinkling his hair when he moved his hand to grab his forehead. Your features softened in surprise. The urge to look for the window was gone, replaced by a deep wish to get a closer look at your brother‘s face. You‘d never noticed how different he looked when he was working. Less humorous, more serious, focused up to the very last movement of his paintbrush. It was fascinating, but not fascinating enough to turn you into a more cooperative model.

„In all earnesty, I can simply not get this right!!“ 

Surprised, you opened your mouth, when Benedict suddenly growled and stalked around his canvas to come to a halt a mere step away from you.

„Are your eyes green or grey … or yellow?“

“Yellow?!”

He looked awfully serious when he bent forward, his hands on his thighs, inspecting your face while almost touching the tip of your nose with his own. Still, there was a small speck of humour in the way he pursed his lips. You had jolted involuntarily at his approach and were now too proud give him what he wanted, quickly deciding to close your eyes and keep them firmly shut. Besides, you were rather in the mood to vex your brother after he had teased you incessantly for almost an hour about your unwillingness to remain still. If he couldn’t even remember your eye-colour from memory, you were clearly in the right to make this hard for him.

“Ohh,” you heard him murmur once your eyes had fluttered shut, his smirk audible in his voice, “Very well, then. I like a challenge!”

Your stomach dropped, when you realized that closing your eyes had a consequence:  you could no longer see Benedict and knowing him, there was a 99% probability he would take advantage of that. Time to act indifferent. Which proved difficult enough, judging by the way you almost instantly started to bounce your leg up and down.

You could hear the shifting of your brother’s clothes when he was getting back to a standing position. He took a few steps around you, before stopping right behind you. His hands came down on your shoulders rather roughly, startling you enough to make you jolt violently – you had to suppress a panicked giggle. “Let’s start with your hair then!” He said lightly, mischief colouring every syllable. “I mean what would you say? Isn’t it rather reddish? With a few specks of grey?”

Well, that was blunt. With a gasp, you moved your arms to cross them before your chest. “If you think, this is vexing me, I must disappoint you!”

Benedict chuckled, taking your braid in one hand to tug at it lightly. “I’m serious. If I paint your portrait, we will have to remain true to the facts.”

Grumbling vaguely, you pulled your head away from him. “That’s a hard thing to do with a colourblind artist!”

Your brother gasped loudly, before incredulous laughter started to shake his form behind you. “Oh, that’s it! Will you open your eyes, or will I have to make you?”

A shudder chased down your body, when ten cold fingers sneaked under your chin and started tickling lightly over your neck. High-pitched titters broke free from you immediately, while you moved your shoulders up to your ears in an attempt to protect the sensitive skin.

“That’s not fair!!”

“You want to talk about what’s fair?” Benedict chuckled, his fingers doubling their efforts, producing inhuman squeals from your lungs. “I believe it would be very fair to not hinder the artist’s work, especially when they are in the process of painting a portrait of you!”

You doubled over when your brother’s fingers moved from your neck to your sides, beginning to tweak them incessantly, forcing you to burst out laughing harder. Contrary to Benedict’s motivation, his methods only made you close your eyes more decidedly than before. Instinctively, since your laughter and the ticklish sensations didn’t allow any other reaction.

“STOP!!” You squeaked, trying to get up and off the chair, but failing when your brother wrapped an arm around your middle to keep you where you were. “PLEASE, BEN!!!”

“Will you let me work?” He growled, his smirk audible in his voice and dangerously close to your neck. Quickly you tried to block his approaching face with your shoulder, but he managed to blow a mean raspberry under your ear before you were successful.

“NO!” You shrieked, cackling helplessly in his ticklish grip, your fingers curling into his forearm uselessly.

“You won’t??” He gasped and laughed at your demise when you made an undignified noise after realizing that your reaction to being raspberry-attacked had sounded like a response to his question. “Guess I’ll just keep tickling then,” He concluded with a shrug you could feel at your back where his chest was trapping you from behind. His teasing only made it harder to control your laughter, effectively deepening it and making it more endearing to your brother. You knew how much he loved it when you laughed – he loved everyone’s laugh and he was, at the Bridgerton house, a very successful and reliable source of mirth.

In that very moment, he was once again succeeding, as you could barely talk through your breathless laughter. You were inches away from tumbling off the chair – but your brother kept you just in the upright position it took to prevent you from falling; which didn’t mean that he ever stopped tickling you. Eventually you slammed your hand down on his to signal defeat and underlined it by shrieking out: “I WILL!! I WILL LET YOU WORK!!”

“Splendid!” The ticklish sensations were gone almost instantly and you were allowed to catch your breath and cover your sides with your elbows. With an unconvincing glare, you turned around on your chair to signal your brother how very annoying you thought him to be. His huge self-congratulating smile made the conviction behind your annoyance hard to maintain.

“Since when are artists allowed to torture their poor helpless portraits?” You pouted, turning back around to prevent him from seeing your slight amusement.

With the brightest grin, your brother settled down before you, his elbow propped up on your thigh and his head posed lazily on his palm. Those blue eyes were filled with so much love that there was no way you could have stayed mad at him for long.

“There are exceptions for artists who paint their little sisters.” He responded, giggling when you gave him a forceful slap on the head. The soft delighted expression on his features eventually got the better of you and you gave in to your own smile with a roll of your eyes.

“Have you now positively convinced yourself that my eyes are not yellow??” You laughed, your hands shooting towards him to playfully poke at his upper body in a small attempt at revenge. Joyful cackles shook him as he shifted away from you, stumbling back into a standing position and grabbing a hold of your wrists. He lifted one eyebrow in an offering of an armistice which you agreed to by lowering your hands. With a yet again softening gaze he tilted his head to the side.

“I see it now.” Shortly he moved his hand to your head to brush a loose strand of hair out of your face. The affection in the gesture made your heart feel warm inside your chest. “Now your eyes are exactly as I wanted to paint them. Happy.”

Your little-sister-instinct made you wish to roll your eyes at that comment, but in the end you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you shook your head at your brother and shooed him back to his canvas with a movement of your hand. “Well, get going then, will you? Before my mood changes yet again!”

Obliging happily, Benedict strolled back to his working place, while you were trying to get into the position you’d been in for the past hour or so. With a smile you answered your brother’s quizzical look in your direction, his own lips mimicking your expression. A convivial silence fell over the two of you as he continued painting and suddenly it wasn’t all that hard anymore to sit still. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed when he suddenly took a step back from the portrait and raised his hands in a sign of defeat.

“No,” He simply said and shrugged, his head moving from right to left.

“No?” You answered in disbelief, your smile falling from your lips as you sat up straighter. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“No, (Y/N), I’m sorry, this will not work. We will have to start over entirely. You’re still free for five more hours, right?”

Speechlessly you just stared at him and his slowly forming grin. Then you bolted. He was wheezing with laughter as you chased him through the study in a temperamental outrage, until he managed to raise his hands and appease you with the words that he’d been joking and that he was, in fact, done with the painting.

When you saw it, your breath hitched. He hadn’t simply painted you in all detail, getting all the colours and proportions right and making it impossible not to recognize yourself. He had painted his little sister and the love he had for you spoke through every single brush of paint that was visible on the canvas.

“What do you think?” He asked, his voice sounding much more serious and much more fragile now than before.

With tears in your eyes you turned around, your smile lighting up his own face.

“I love you!” was all that you could say, before jumping into his arms and forcing him to catch you. He hummed into your hair as you smoothed your cheek against his chest. “Thank you!”

He didn’t have to answer “I love you”. He’d poured that declaration into his painting already.

[peachpitfics]

Guilty as Sin

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton asks you to accompany him to his private studio, to show you some of the art he's been working on. You find a little more than you were expecting.

Length: 3k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), Penetrative sex, Unprotected sex.

a/n: find pt 2 here!

Bridgerton master list

"Good evening, y/n," A proud voice echoed behind you, discovering your hiding spot in the darkest corner, admiring Lady Danbury's art to appear busy. You didn't bother to turn and greet him, he always seemed to find you at these social events, even if you weren't outwardly interested in him, he persisted. Benedict Bridgerton slid into the space next to you as if it were designed for him, cheekily scanning you face for a reaction.

You met at Lady Danbury's ball 3 seasons previous. Your brother was holding out hope for a match this season, ignoring your contentedness for your own company. Benedict had never shown any interest in any young lady - he did, however, find amusement in torturing you this way.

"Bridgerton," You barely mumbled a response, hoping he would find another to bother this evening. Yet there he remained, exchanging his attention for the painting you were looking at.

"There are far better paintings in this ballroom" He remarked, a little scoff sounding off.

"Yes, I am sure there are. However, this one is positioned perfectly" Still, you avoided eye contact and angled your body away from him. He was definitely not the same as the other Bridgerton men. Benedict was frivolous and artistic, lost in his own hedonistic world of luxury and pleasure. Perhaps it was jealousy that ruled your opinion of Benedict.

"Ah, yes. I truly have never seen a damp, dark corner without you in it, you know?" He chuckled, "Why do you pretend to be interested in art, when you could be watching whatever is unfolding behind you? I'm sure the numerous scandals and embarrassing events you would witness would be far more interesting" He asked, there was even a hint of genuine curiosity in his words.

You paused for a moment, contemplating even continuing this conversation or leaving to find your brother or mother.

"Actually, I rather enjoy art. I am more interested in sculpture or ceramics, but I will endure whatever I have to to get through this evening and every other evening like it this season" You spilled. Benedict was stunned, his eyebrows raised and his blinks steady in shock.

"I didn't know you had a like for such things" Benedict said serenely.

"Of course not, I am certain you thought my only interests were embroidery or pianoforte, like every other simpering mess in this ballroom" You thought your snarky remark was under your breath, but Benedict did manage to hear. He breathed a heady laugh through his nose and took a sip of his lemonade.

"Would you be interested in viewing some of my works?" Benedict pondered aloud, finally dragging your eyes to meet his. It seemed sincere - which was not something you often saw from him. Whilst he was a shameless flirt, you never indulged him like some of the other young ladies. It was obvious that he viewed you as some sort of challenge, but you would never give in.

"Is that a serious invitation?" You asked, taken aback.

"Yes, absolutely. Art is potentially the only thing I do take seriously. I would love to show you, if you would like to see it" He almost bowed, as if the pursuit of his art was the most noble thing about him. This shift in his personality made him less repulsive, it intrigued you. Turning to face him, for the first time in so many months, throwing off his balance slightly, you held your hand out for him to take.

"You would like to see it now?" His brow furrowed, eyes asking permission to take your hand and lead you out to the carriages.

"Why not? We've been to this ball numerous times before, it will not be getting any more interesting" With the softest of smiles decorating your normally sour face, Benedict took your hand and began walking outside with you, watching nervously as people ignored your presence.

"Will this not be damning to your marriage prospects?" Benedict leaned over to whisper in your ear, an element of concern riding along his words.

You gave him a pitiful smile, "What prospects?". Not a single soul noticed the two of you leaving the ball. Benedict held the carriage door open for you and held your hand as you stepped up into it.

"I've never slipped out of an event quite like that" He remarked, closing the door, sitting opposite you.

"Well, in truth, I thought perhaps someone might have stopped us, just because of you… But, I suppose, my power of invisibility is shared with the person I am escaping with" Your eyebrows flicked up. Benedict could not discern whether you were happy or not to fly out of the view of the ton. While it was a blessing most days, you were afforded your privacy and peace. Perfect silence. There were many other days filled with loneliness, the madness of having to hear your own voice in your head just to fill the quiet.

The carriage ride was slightly uncomfortable, the two of you had never had to be alone like this. You were delivered to Benedict's college where he had been studying art and he led you towards his private studio. Benedict's hand reached out for the door handle, stopping short, and spinning to look at you, back pressed against the door.

"I presume you understand I don't bring people here," He paused, his demeanour was soft and vulnerable, "Be gentle with me". He waited for acknowledgment on what he was saying, and with a nod of promise from you, he opened the door. You both walked inside in sweet silence as you took in the most beautiful sight. The room was littered with parchment, sketches, canvases. Drabs of colour, charcoal and lead lit only by low candlelight as Benedict struck the match. This was the most personal gesture of friendship you had ever experienced, it was like peering through window into Benedict Bridgerton's mind - a place he only has the keys to. Several desks were patterned around the room, a small platform in the centre of the room, drying racks on the far left. You were surprised by this unapologetically intimate space, and even more impressed by the immense talent you were witnessing.

"What are you working on currently?" You did not mean for the excitement of the room to fill you up so keenly. Benedict had such a hard time trying to read your reaction, your manner and tone were thrilling to him.

"Oh, please" He gestured towards a far table, where an easel stood facing the window, "I am learning about portraiture this semester. This is something I am doing for my youngest brother, Gregory, for his birthday" His hand sailed past your lower back, shuffling you both around. A deliciously electric pulse passed over your body, goose bumps erupting in a rolling wave quickly trailing behind.

"Benedict, this is incredible" You gasped, your hands covering your mouth with astonishment.

Oddly, he stepped back from you and placed his hand on his heart.

"What did I say?" You smiled uncomfortably.

His face softened, his eyes fluttering peacefully, "My name. That is the first time, you have ever said my name" A flash of teeth in his grin made your heart jump its next beat. There was a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks, your eyes flicked between Benedict's and the floor.

"I apologise" Admittedly, you had never given him a chance to show how utterly human he was. When he had asked you to come to the studio, you wondered whether the room would be filled to the brim of paintings of naked women. How wrong you were - finding yourself surrounded by paintings and scrawling's of every member of his family. You dug around, flicking through sketchbooks, diaries.

"Have you found a favourite?" He meandered around the room after you, hands tucked behind his back like a gentleman, observing.

"This one, is my favourite" You held up a side profile of Violet Bridgerton, done entirely in variants and shades of their family colours.

"I am yet to show her that one, do you think I should?" He asked, and you sensed he truly valued your opinion here.

"Yes! If I had half your talent, I would have filled my family's home with my work" You chuckled, laying the canvas down on the current desk you were visiting.

You moved around the other side of the room, noticing a section of the room more damp, and darkly lit, compared to the rest of the studio. There stood an easel with a large drape thrown over it, and several canvases stacked betwixt it and the wall. This struck a chord of curiosity in you that could not be contained, you almost dashed forward to pull the drape down.

"No! Wait, not those!" Benedict rasped, darting forward to try and stop you. It was too late, the cream-coloured drape had coiled to the floor and revealed what Benedict did not want you to see.

Brow furrowing, you stood back, taking in what you were seeing for the first time. Here, on the easel, an unfinished portrait, of you.

"That's -- That's private" Benedict cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Is this… me?" You didn't know whether to be flattered, impressed, or worried. Had he done this from memory? That was when it occurred to you to look down. Picking up, and flicking through the canvases, they were all you. There were maybe six or seven of them, all in different poses, of differing angles. Had he taken such notice of you to be able to do this from memory? The detail in your face, your hair and even dresses you had worn in past seasons.

"This is…" You shook your head, placing the canvases back. Benedict stood behind you, leaving a distance so as not to make this more uncomfortable than it already was. His hands were pressed together at his lips as if he were praying, wearily hanging on for your next words.

"No one has ever seen me like this, or rather, at all" You sighed.

"I see you as you are" Benedict replied too quickly.

"And how is that?"

There was a long pause, an internal struggle between what he wanted to say and what he should.

"I see… the raw soulfulness of your gaze. The divine sway in your walk. The sensual ruthlessness of your words. The confidence of your acceptance. I have watched, and waited, and wallowed in avaricious longing" Benedict heaved in a deep breath, "Every line, every curve, every shade I fear is a figment of my imagination until I see you again, just so that I might commit a little more to memory".

Benedict's eye cast low, his discomposure becoming more and more apparent. You were not to know that the one person you had been avoiding for the past several seasons had been perceiving you exactly as you had always dreamed. Perhaps it was not Benedict's personality that made you keep him at arm’s length, but rather your own.

You bound forward, slightly tripping on your gown, throwing yourself in the second Bridgerton brother's arms. In the instant he caught you, you planted the shyest of kisses on his unsuspecting lips. Benedict chuckled sweetly, lifting you to stand on your own two feet again, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into to a longer, more fervent kiss. His lips were much softer than you were anticipating, gentle and cool against your own. Benedict's tongue dipped into yours, his kiss still passionately intoxicating. You parted for a moment, both of you breathing a little heavier now. Benedict took a step back, straightening his dress clothes and composing himself.

"I apologise, miss y/n"

"Why do you apologise? I am the one who owes you" You stammered.

"I am just glad that no one saw us, I will not have you ruined. I will not be the one that ruins you" Benedict stumbled over his words, words filled with such consideration and respect for you and your standing in society.

Panting still, bosom heaving over the corset, you thought about what he was saying. You thought about your "prospects".

Taking one large step forward, pressing your body against his, you leaned up as if to kiss Mr Bridgerton's cheek goodbye.

"Ruin me" You breathed, begged, into his ear, hands wrapping around his neck, your breath hitching in your throat as Benedict swooped you into his arms, carrying you to the nearest desk. He placed your behind on the edge of the desk, moving to sweep every piece of art clattering to the floor before turning his attention back to you. Your legs wrapped around his thighs, his lips crashing into you, his tongue fiercely caressing yours. Much to Benedict's surprise, you slipped your arms out of your dress, pushing the fabric down around your hips.

Stunned and dramatic shock shot across his face as he looked upon your upper body in your corset. Benedict blinked furiously, as if trying to regain control of his sense.

"May I?" He took hold of the fabric around your waist, pulling it out from under you as you lifted yourself slightly, signalling a loud yes. Sitting in your undergarments, Benedict wrapped his arms around your body, expertly fiddling with the laces as you nodded fervently into his delectable kisses. You grinned into his mouth, feeling the corset loosen quickly – he had done this before. Your fingers fumbled along the seam of his pants, unfurling the tucked fabric of his dress shirt, fiddling with the buttons of his overcoat.

Benedict stopped, throwing his coat across the room and removing his dress shirt as frantically as possible. It took only seconds for his eyes to widen at your naked body, sitting on the desk before him.

"Holy God" He exhaled, lunging forward, thrusting his hand into your hair, pulling you into a devilish kiss. His hands curved under your behind, lifting you forward to the very edge of the table before falling to his knees before you as if you were divine, and he, a devout worshipper at the altar. Littering kisses down your inner thigh, his nose nestling into the soft nest of hair at your mound, he breathed heavily, groaning with pleasure. Benedict's tongue slipped between your folds, circling the most sensitive spot on your body, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling gently as his pace quickened and steadied in a repetitive manner. Never had you felt so safe and yet so powerful, holding Benedict's head in place between your thighs. Letting out soft, melodic moans, tangling your fingers amongst his hair, finding your hips having a mind of their own as they ground against him. The sheer coarseness of Benedict's dawning facial hair and the soft, warmth of his darting tongue were plenty enough to push your mind to the edge of the human experience. Your head turned dreamy, light, whilst your body convulsed and squeezed Benedict's head between your thighs.

Panting softly, Benedict remained, placing delicate kisses where his tongue had just performed. As your body relaxed into him again, Benedict appeared from the floor, kissing you again, to lay you backward on the table, your own sweetness on your tongue now. He stood before you, bare torso, undoing his dress pants. Excitement pulsed through you, propping yourself onto your elbows to watch. You had heard other ladies discuss this in the depths of their personal conversations but had never really learned anything from them. It was a topic of great interest.

Freeing himself before you, your enlarging eyes took in his length as he held himself in his hand. "Allow me?" Benedict looked down at you, sordid passion aflame in his eyes. You gave a clear, concise nod. Benedict moved closer between your thighs, adjusting your legs, and placing himself at your entrance. With both hands sprawled over the space between your belly and your hips, Benedict slowly pushed forward, eliciting guttural moans from your lips. But he never looked away from you, he never closed his eyes for more than a half-second. His desire burned out of him, his eyes searing down on you and in helplessness, you exuded wanton need in return.

You wished this act were eternal, completely unending. Every thrust an indiscreet attempt at conveying his affections for you. His hand found its way to caressing your cheek, his teeth nipping at your neck as you moaned his name.

“Benedict” You sighed without inhibition. The sound of your voice sent Benedict into a frenzy, his thrusts harder now and full-fledged. His sinful grunts, echoing across the studio, came to a hot, explicit apex as he buried himself as deeply as possible inside of you.

He looked down at you dreamily, his eyes heavy with pleasure, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Benedict stepped away, reaching for his dress pants, and sitting on to the ground in front of you – you moved to sit next to him, surrounded by the tables previous contents.

“You are wonderful. I could never capture such an essence, in any art form. You are transcendent” Benedict’s words were slow, the ruse of his silly exterior worn away.

“I much prefer this version of you” You gave a smug smile, both of you avoiding eye contact.

“As I do you” He retorted, chortling alongside you. The long, comfortable tired silence between you was broken only when Benedict cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” Benedict spoke up, “I think—No, I am quite certain, I love you” He admitted, holding his hand out, bridging the space between your mostly naked bodies, waiting for you to take it.

“I do believe I too am guilty of loving you” You responded, laying your hand gently in his. Leaning to meet in the middle, sharing a sentimental, sweet kiss and smiling into each other. Benedict jumped up, pants still undone around his waist, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come, I should like to draw you” He posed you naturally on the platform in the centre of the room. You watched him scramble about the room, looking for his implements.

“Like this!?” You gestured to yourself, completely nude on the dais.

“Yes, precisely like this” Benedict growled ardently, putting his pencil to his parchment.

--------------------------------------

If you would like to be tagged in any upcoming Bridgerton fanfictions written by me, please let me know and I will add you to a taglist!

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 4.2k

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect..” he intones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

“Even if it is a girl?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

9 months later

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

But it was all worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

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

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

Which to you both, they are.

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[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: Anthony’s wife is in labor and it’s not looking good

warnings: mentions of death

“Where is she?” the loud voice of Anthony was heard in the entire mansion. The door he opened slammed into the wall but he couldn’t care less as he saw some servants running his way to take off his coat. “Tell me where my wife is!”

“My apologies, my Lord.” the poor man trembled under the Lord’s menacingly glare, that were just a cover for the worry and fear that was running though his veins. “The Viscountess is in your chambers. The midwife and your mother are already present with her. Shall I inform your brothers to come and wait with you until the child is born?”

Anthony didn’t bother to respond. He quickly climbed the stairs, two steps at once, seeing with wide eyes as the maids ran to his room with towels in their hands. He doesn't even settle for knocking, immediatly opening the bedroom door. None of his mother's stories could have prepared him for the sight that lay ahead.

His darling wife was drenched in sweat, dressed in her nightdown. One hand was on her round belly protectively while the other was in his mother’s hands, who was whispering words of comfort. Her jaw was clenched in pain and it was only then that he noticed the midwife between the Viscountess legs. 

“You!” Y/n screamed accusingly, managing to point a finger at Anthony with hatred. “You did this to me! You will never ever put your hands on me again!”

“I-” Anthony was at loss of words. He knew that his wife was in pain, and looking like she was ready to kill, so he just nodded his head in agreement. He took slow hesitant steps towards the bed, hoping to comfort her without dying. “I’ll never touch you again, my love. How are you feeling?”

“How do you think I’m feeling? I’m pushing your child that inherited your big head out of my lady parts! So tell me, my dear husband, how am I feeling?”

“Like you are giving birth?”

“Anthony...” his mother whispered while shaking her head in dispair. “You should leave the room. Your brothers must be coming to keep you company. We shall call you when the child is born.” 

“I’m not leaving my wife.” was the only thing he said with firmity, holding Y/n’s hand and kissing her soft skin gently.

She turned to him, a change in her demeanor, eyes full of tears of terror. “I’m scared, Anthony. It hurts.”

“I know it hurts. It’s okay, love. You will be alright and then we will have our child with us.” he whispered. A feeling of guilt washed through him. How could he have made his wife suffer through childbirth? “You are the bravest person I know. So so much braver than me and everyone else. I’m so proud of you.”

"I can't do this. It hurts too much. Make it stop, Anthony, please." Y/n cried.

It was only then that Anthony saw the look in his mother. She was worried, exchanging looks with the midwife. And as much as the Viscount would like to also show his anguish, his first priority was to comfort Y/n. "It's going to be okay, my love. Just a little longer, you're being so strong."

But she no longer had the strength to respond. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open and she just wanted to sleep to escape the pain. Between her legs, an increasingly larger pool of blood was forming. Anthony's eyes were wide and there was enormous pressure in his chest. It felt like I was running out of oxygen, and it only got worse when Y/n finally gave in to unconsciousness.

"What's happening?" he whispered, looking in alarm first at Violet. Afterwards, he turned to the midwife furiously. "What's wrong with her? Help her! Do something!"

"Anthony, you need to leave." Violet advised, trying to remain calm for everyone's sake. Anthony was becoming more and more desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he grabbed his wife's hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Viscount Bridgerton, the baby is in pain. You won't want to see what I'm going to do. I promise I'll try to save both of them." the midwife said, taking a small knife and flying it over Y/n's stomach.

"If you need to choose, save my wife's life." Anthony begged, now more desperate as his mother called his brothers to take him out of the room.

"Anthony..."

"No, mother, you save my wife's life!" Benedict and Collin grabbed the man by the arms and began to carry him outside, despite Anthony's struggle. "You hear me! My wife is going to survive! Let me go! Mother, save Y/n!" he shouted before the door closed in his face. 

The last thing he saw was the woman making the cut on Y/n's stomach, who woke up with a jolt. She then let out a scream that would torment Anthony for the rest of his life.

With a cry of anger mixed with sadness, Anthony broke free from his brothers' grip and put his hands to his face. He didn't want to think about the possibility of losing the love of his life. He simply couldn't take it.

"Wow, Anthony, calm down." Collin whispered when Anthony, in a rage, threw a punch against the wall. "The Viscountess is a fighter. If anyone is capable of overcoming this, it's her."

"You don't tell me to calm down, Collin. Not when my wife is in that room fighting for her life over something I did." he cried, jaw shaking and eyes red that only showed the immense pain he was in. He sat on the floor, leaning his head back and looking at the ceiling. "I need her to live."

"And she will live, brother. I will bring a drink, and we will wait together for news." Benedict said, rushing to bring the alcohol when Y/n's screams became louder.

On one hand, each scream was like a stab in the heart of Anthony, who was increasingly pale and looked like he was going to vomit at any moment. On the other, it was the only way to know she was alive.

Moments passed. The Viscount didn't know if it had been seconds, minutes or hours. Things seemed to be getting mixed up in his mind. Nothing made sense, not when the love of his life was in the next room in pain and he was away from her. He had to protect her, it was his obligation as a husband. And he failed.

And then came the moment when Anthony's heart stopped. A baby's cry was heard, and he allowed himself to smile a little. He had a son or daughter. A mini version of his wife. And then he burst into tears when Y/n stopped screaming and everything became too silent.

It was uncontrollable. He cried without being able to stop, making it even difficult to breathe in. Anthony refused to believe that he would have to raise this child without Y/n. Without her affection, her kindness, her love. He didn't want to open his eyes and realize that all this wasn't a nightmare, but reality.

Benedict and Collin didn't know what to do. But one thing was certain, they would be there to help Anthony with whatever he needed and never let that child forget the wonderful mother he had. Then, Violet left the room holding a pile of blankets that held the baby.

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

He just cried more. His body was shaking and he couldn't even look at his mother and the baby. "Y/n... Is she...?" He took Violet's silence as a yes. "Oh god..."

"Enter the room, Anthony. She is waiting for you."

Anthony had never stood up so quickly in his life. He quickly opened the door, stopping momentarily when he saw the amount of blood on the sheets, but the most important thing was Y/n's half-open eyes. She was alive and looking around the room in confusion.

"Anthony? Where is my baby?" her voice was hoarse and extremely weak.

The man fell to his knees at the edge of her bed, and lowered his head to rest on her chest. A feeling of relief spread throughout his body when he felt the rising and falling movement of her chest, indicating that she was breathing and that it wasn't just his imagination.

"I love you so much." he cried, feeling her hands start stroking his hair. "I'm sorry. You were so brave and strong. I'm so proud of you, my love."

"Where is my baby?" Y/n didn't want to seem like she didn't appreciate Anthony's words because that was a lie. He was the most important person in her life. But at that moment, Y/n just wanted to know where her baby was.

"She's right here, dear." Violet reassured with a smile, announcing her presence.

Very carefully, she passed the child into the arms of her son's wife, her smile widening as the little family was finally together again. The new parents had a gentle smile as they looked at their creation, a new love emerging for this fragile human being.

Anthony kissed Y/n's temple. "We have a daughter."

"She is beautiful."

"She takes after her mother." Anthony quickly said, never feeling so much love as he did in that moment. 

He was extremely proud of Y/n admiring her strength and courage. Now, he was going to protect his two girls until the end of his life. Nothing was more important than his family.

[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~

[shegetsburned]

❝ the duke’s proposal ❞ w. satoru gojo 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest gentle readers. the time has come for us to place our bets for the upcoming social season! marriage-minded mamas must consider the oldest of the gojo’s family thrilled to conquer hearts with his wits and undeniable charm. having officially announced his wish to find a bride, we certainly hope to see the young rake, on the dance floor, turn the tides and find a wife after much seasons of avoiding his duty. may the best lady win! • — a/n. i know @grumpchua asked for this and i believe it will feed some of y’all, so here’s the food <3

.nsfw.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who you’ve known ever since your debut and has been a inconvenience in your life for quite a while. like a tick biting into your flesh, only bringing trouble and worry for yourself. truth is, the duke loved pestering you about failed courting attempts or clumsy men coming to steal your hand, only to fall with them into a life of misery and depths. you undoubtedly did not attract the smartest and wealthiest of them all and satoru took advantage of this unwanted success.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who’s audacious. far from being a gentleman. the cockiest of all rakes. you did not only despise the man, you thought he was without honour, unromantic and arrogant. lord satoru was, in fact, everything you thought he was, but loved to show you personally every single one of his flaws.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, despite your best efforts, thought no better but to follow you around at every ball and "unexpectedly" bump into you at the market or when you walked out of the modiste. lord gojo was high in the instep, purposely shoving his strength of character and title in unfortunate suitors’ faces every time they deemed to approach you. needless to say, he took pleasure in crushing your chances of ever securing a proposal.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who has never really shown any interest in you, before. he would rather amuse himself by courting pretty debutantes only to leave them hanging and being chased by the impatient mamas of the ton. that was until his status caught up to him and forced the man to consider a serious marriage proposal. unfortunately for you, an idea blossomed into the young rake’s mind when he realized his need to find a bride was more urgent than he hoped to be.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, one evening, during a tranquil promenade, abruptly stops and steals you from your mama, offering his hand for you to finish your walk beside him. he obviously had a plan and it involved the lady that despised him the most in this entire ton: you— and who would be better than you to not catch feelings and be able to execute his plan perfectly?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who proposes an alliance. knowing you only attract the worst suitors possible, he assures you that more eligible men will throw themselves at your feet when they see the famous duke gojo court you. he swears it’ll only be temporary until he can find a suitable bride of his own without hundreds of ladies begging for his attention when you’re wrapped around his arm. you’ll be found desirable and he’ll have the peace he desires. what could possibly go wrong?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, for the first days, tries harder than any other years you’ve known him. the first day, your carriage’s waiting downstairs to meet him in the parc. he’s holding your umbrella above your head the whole time and acting like quite the gentleman, for once. he laughs with you, readjusts your hair and takes care of every single one of your needs. this masquerade goes on for two weeks where, each day, he surprises you with gorgeous flowers, kind gestures and words you would’ve never thought to hear. until one night, it’s an invite to his mansion that’s waiting for you, which you accept thinking it’ll just be another public appearance with him by your side. oh, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who welcomes you in his home, one gentle hand resting against the back of your corset to escort you to the ballroom where people were gathered and seemed to be enjoying their evening. everything would’ve seemed in order if not for the many men eyeing you from across the room. it seemed odd now, considering you hadn’t had this kind of attention for weeks, but it also seemed like satoru’s plan had worked and you couldn’t be more satisfied.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who listens to you converse with one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself to you. he seemed kind, polite, educated and of high status, which couldn’t have been more perfect if it hadn’t been for the duke terminating the conversation with a harsh remark and by guiding you to the dance floor without even writing his name on the card around your wrist. he had lost his temper in a matter of seconds and you were more than surprised by his lack of manners.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who tries to convince you to play along but you know this is entirely about something else. his grip around your waist and hand has never been so tight. he’s pulling you closer until his breath tickles your face and his words are whispers when he reminds you that your deal isn’t over and you’ll have to wait until you are allowed to let yourself be courted by other men. you try to respond but he spins you around gracefully. his fingers trail your column when he catches you and before you know it, you’re dancing with him and no one else is in the room.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose deep gaze startles you. he hasn’t left your eyes and does not plan to until he gets a proper response from you. satoru’s piercing blue eyes linger on your lips with a cocky smirk and you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. he had never shown this facet of his before and it made your chest flutter. would he have preferred your attention was entirely on him, this evening, and not on the handsome suitor that had caught yours? no. you hated him. he was tricking you to make it seem real.. right?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose tension is enough to fill the room with curious whispers surrounding your odd pair. you two made it seem like you had shared more than simple dinners and promises. in front of everyone, you looked used to being so intimate with satoru, but you were trembling in your shoes when he leaned forward, grazing his lips against your ear to try and make you understand that he wouldn’t allow any suitors to approach you just yet.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who pulls you away from the crowd, stealing you away to his bedchamber in front of indiscreet pairs of eyes. he seems more impatient than ever when his instinct takes over and, god, your innocence has an unexpected hold on him. you question satoru with incomprehension in your eyes until he finally closes the door to answer you.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who skillfully shows you everything you’ve been missing and every little sinful activity he’s been partaking in with innocent debutantes such as yourself. only this time, he means it. his hands touch every sensitive spot, his lips cover yours and trail down to your exposed chest. his fingers slipped under your dress, letting him discover your body with your help as you take him in, whining at his insensitive touch.

you’ll never know, that night, if duke satoru gojo meant to lose his mind over you in front of everyone else for his scheme and personal gain or if it had been purely accidental and you had just mesmerized the rake in a matter of weeks to the point where he couldn’t think about anything else but to have you in his bed for the rest of his life.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[frost-queen]

The moment I knew // part 10 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers , @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly ,@denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,@subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampthing07 , @melsunshine , 

@panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury ,  @imagines-by-her ,  @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @cayt0123 , 

@powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty , @mileyy22 , @omgsuperstarg , @helen06dreamer , @misscaller06 , @l4venderia, @dracoflaco , @loliakeoghan23, @emotionaldamageemotionaldamage , @reallysparklychaos , @ok-boke , @the-fifth-marauder7 , @asgards-princess-of-mischief , @cherrysxuya , @lol6sposts , @cierrajhill , @heheyhey, @drinkfantasy , @esposadomd , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @niktwazny303 , @sweetheartlizzie07

Summary: A confession has been made. Will you take the offer and finally live your happily ever after? | final chapter [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3& part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 8 & part 9]

It means I love you.

Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest. Overpowering your thoughts as you couldn’t think anymore. You weren’t sure how you were looking at him. In shock? Panicking? Glowing? Flustered? Gawking? Seemingly frozen in time as you couldn’t move. – “Miss Y/n.” – Tewkesbury said taking your hand as it startled you awake. – “I cannot bear it any longer.” – he started joining his other hand on yours.

“Every moment apart from you, is excruciating. A pain I no longer wish to bear. I have been a fool, toying around but I am done playing. I am done with my boy-ish attitude.” – he confessed as you curled up a flustered smile. Feeling a bit sheepishly, looking around if anyone was taking noticed of it as well. His hands on yours. A scandalous act in public. Behind him you saw the dancers performing graceful sequences. A dance of tug and war. Pulling and pushing. Nearing and distancing the attraction.

Tewkesbury cleared his throat, bouncing on his feet nervously. – “Miss Y/n… I have a question I have been meaning to ask ever since I became serious about you.” – he started pouring his heart out. You chuckled softly. – “As long as it isn’t a proposal.” – you teased jokingly. You kept chuckling till you noticed Tewkesbury looking saddened back at you. Making it clear in his eyes, it was in fact like that.

You stopped chuckling becoming aware of it. – “Dear lord is it?” – you let out with wide eyes. Tewkesbury looked away with a shy smile. – “Well I am not going to say it now.” – he answered. – “The moment’s ruined miss Y/n.” – he scratched his hair looking nervously away. You pulled your hands back, up to your mouth as you gasped loud. – “Is it a proposal?” – you asked lowering your hands.

“It is isn’t it?” – you called out making Tewkesbury chuckle a bit at your innocence. – “The moment’s gone miss Y/n.” – Tewkesbury said taking a small step back, looking at the ground. – “No!” – you blurted out, startling Tewkesbury. – “No, no, no, no wait!” – you shouted desperately with your hands. – “Wait.” – you spoke making Tewkesbury supress a laugh at how hard you were trying to fix this.

You turned around, taking a few paces away from him. – “Begin once more.” – you called out. – “Miss Y/n I am not…” – he began as you cut him off. – “Begin once more!” – shouting at him as you turned back to him. – “Miss Y/n I’m not just going to begin again.” – he answered feeling a bit foolish. – “You simply take my hands again, you say that you have a question to ask me and I keep my foolish mouth shut!” – you let out making Tewkesbury laugh. – “Please..” – you begged.

“Miss Y/n I…” – Tewkesbury started to laugh again, knowing how silly this was. Too played out and orchestrated. – “Fine!” – you said loudly with determination. – “Then I shall ask you a question.”  - you continued approaching him. – “My lord…” – you said looking down at his hands. Reaching for it, you took it. – “I’ve been a girl with her heads in the clouds, but you kept me grounded. My heart only yearns for you. It is yours to have and hold. I love you Tewkesbury. Will you make me your wife?” – you asked with a sweet smile.

Tewkesbury’s eyes widened. – “You love me too?” – he replied needing to be sure his hearing wasn’t deceiving him. You shyly nodded, twirling your hips a bit around. Tewkesbury’s eyes lit up, smiling purely out of excitement at you. He threw his arms around you, hugging you tight. – “You’ll marry me.” – he told you, squeezing you tighter in his embrace. He then pulled away, taking your hands, to leave a kiss on your knuckles.

Flustered you waved yourself some cool. Suddenly it felt so real till your eyes widened. – “Dear lord my brothers.” – you gasped out. Tewkesbury laughing at that. – “You fear they might skin me alive for proposing?” – he joked out. Seeing the nervous chuckle from you made him gulp. – “I’m sure it will be alright.” – you patted him on the hand, hoping you were right.

“That didn’t sound reassuring.” – Tewkesbury yelped out, breaking out a sweat. He could already imagine your brothers or the Duke stabbing him for proposing to their beloved sister or in law. Tewkesbury felt a fantom stab in this stomach making him winch. – “They aren’t that bad. It should be I who needs to be terrified of your grandmama. Her look alone will turn me to stone.” – you said with a shiver.

Tewkesbury and you shared a look before bursting out in laughter. Tewkesbury offered you his arm. – “Shall we?” – he asked as you accepted his arm. – “We shall, soon to be husband.” – you teased him. Tewkesbury placed his hand against his chest, gasping dramatically at how adorable he found that.

Tewkesbury removed your hand from his arm, holding it in his hand instead as you had found your way back inside. It wasn’t that hard to spot your siblings. He tugged gently on you, pulling you along with him towards them. Anthony and Benedict were in a deep conversation. Francesca beside them with a drink in her hand. She was the first one to notice you. – “I think we’ve found our lost sheep.” – she said with a smile. It made your brothers turn their heads at you. Benedict’s gaze went down, seeing your hand in Tewkesbury’s.

“He’s holding her hand.” – he said sweaty. – “What?” – Anthony replied looking as well. – “They are holding hands.” – Benedict blurted out stunned. Francesca clapped proudly as you neared. – “Sister!” – Anthony hissed out grabbing you by the shoulder. Benedict grabbed Francesca’s drink needing to cool himself. – “I warned you from the beginning it would be my soul purpose to marry him.” – you told your brother.

“What are you talking about?” – Anthony blinked overwhelmed with many emotions. You smiled, patting your brother against his cheek. – “You…” – Anthony said baffled, then looking at Tewkesbury with a point. – “You.” – he repeated as Tewkesbury nodded his head just a tat too amusingly. Benedict nearly fainted as Francesca had to grab him.

Anthony shoved you a bit aside to get to Tewkesbury. – “You asked my sister to marry her without consulting us first!” – Antony called out trying to keep his temper down. – “Actually my lord, she asked me.” – Tewkesbury answered giving Benedict another heart attack. He had just recovered as his knees became weak again. Francesca tried to hold him up right, fanning him. Anthony turned to you as you gave him one of your innocently sweet smiles.

He pointed fiercely at you, trying so hard to be angry at you, but that smile you flashed at him was doing it’s work. – “I’m proud of you sister.” – Francesca said. You curtsied to her. – “Don’t encourage this.” – Anthony said rubbing his forehead feeling it had become sweaty. Mama and Colin returned. – “What happened to him?” – Colin asked gesturing at Benedict. – “My little sister…” – Benedict sobbed out. It made Anthony roll his eyes dramatically at him. – “Oh please, pull yourself together.” – he said between a clenched jaw, pulling him up straight. Dusting his vest a bit off.

“Y/n and Tewkesbury are engaged.” – Francesca informed Colin and mama. – “What?” – Colin shouted a tat too loud, drawing the attention of almost the entire ton. Seeing everyone was focused on him, he cleared his throat. – “Carry on.” – he said waving them away.

The ton proceeded to do what they had been doing before, paying no attention anymore to them. – “What?” – Colin repeated in a lower tone, closer to you. – “Well this is a surprise.” – mama said touching her stomach nervously. – “Do not worry mama, I’ll have him ask me again properly.” – you assured her with a wink. – “Well he better.” – mama answered waving her handkerchief playfully at him. Tewkesbury excused himself with you from your family.

“Where are we going?” – you asked curious. Tewkesbury chuckled nervously as your eyes fell upon his grandmother sitting at a table. – “Dear lord no!” – you blurted out, pulling hard at his arm, coming to a stop. – “It will be alright.” – Tewkesbury reassure you. – “She’ll eat me alive.” – you told him, not wanting to be introduced as his soon to be wife now. – “She already ate diner Y/n.” – he joked. – “This isn’t funny.” – you gave him a slap against his shoulder.

“You want to throw a scandal at the ton?” – you whispered to him anxiously. He placed his hands on your shoulder. – “It will be alright, she won’t cause a scene in public. It is bad for her reputation.” – he responded with a warm smile. Taking a deep breath, you weren’t sure about this, but you couldn’t avoid her forever.

Tewkesbury took your hand, placing it on his arm as he guided you towards her. He cleared his throat near her. – “Tewkesbury?” – his grandmother said looking questionable at him. She then gave you a glare as it made you gulp soft. – “Grandmother.” – he started placing his hand on yours on his arm. – “You’ve met miss Y/n Bridgerton before.” – he went on with shaking legs. – “Yes, the girl you’ve stolen her dance card.” – she recalled making Tewkesbury chuckle nervously.

You gave Tewkesbury a little nudge for encouragement. – “Yes, well.” – he began trying to find a way out of his words. – “Well out with it boy!” – she called out impatient at the lack of information he was giving her. – “I am to marry her.” – he popped out. – “What?” – his grandmother spoke setting her hands on the table as she was about to rise from her seat. Tewkesbury took a save step back, not sure what she would to next.

His grandmother than laughed loud. – “I am to marry her!” – Tewkesbury repeated more confident now. – “Laugh all you want, there is nothing you can do about it. I will marry her. The estate will be mine, so be mindful I don’t see you out grandmama.” – Tewkesbury spoke with seriousness. His grandmother stopped laughing. – “You wouldn’t…” – she replied.

“Watch me.” – he answered as you took a hold of his upper arm. A calm gesture to him to not loose himself in emotions. His grandmother stood up straight. – “How dare you threaten me like that. If it wasn’t for me you’d be a waste. Was it not I who had picked you up after the death of your parents!” – she called out. You could tell Tewkesbury was getting emotional. – “That is enough!” – you made clear silencing her.

“You will always have a home with us if you wish, but you do not disrespect the Viscount!” – your words made her swallow loud. You curtsied at her, not wanting to lose any more words to her. You pulled Tewkesbury with you away from his grandmother. You brought him to a secluded area rubbing your hand up his arm. – “Are you alright?” – you asked. – “I am now.” – he responded leaving a kiss against your cheek.

His touch flustered you, sweeping you up in the moment. You jumped at him, throwing your arms around him as you pressed your lips against his. Your feet found ground again as your lips retracted from his. – “Miss Y/n what a scandal.” – Tewkesbury teased goofily with a blush on his cheeks. – “Good thing I already am to marry you.” – you responded. Tewkesbury grabbed you to kiss you again.

Tewkesbury had proposed properly at your house. Sending a wave of emotions over your family once again. Benedict crying for he didn’t want to loose his younger sister yet. You reassured him you would always be close, visiting the house every day. Tewkesbury and you married by the end of the season. You moved into the estate with him.

His grandmother having settled in the manor up on the country side. It seemed your little counter response tasted bitter in her mouth. She didn’t like getting stepped on her toes. You send word to the girls you knew from your year away. Enlisting them as you had promised. Giving them a good house and a good household to work for. Your siblings would visit almost every day with the smallest thing wanting to share or just spend time with you for they couldn’t stay away. The dream of becoming a princess died out. For what is a princess, when one has a Viscount as Tewkesbury.

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists! 

[tulipatheticee]

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader? Benedict was stressing about something and playing with his hair to calm them down. Leaving kisses everywhere. You decide how it goes. Fluff and maybe a little suggestive. Thanks!! :))

superman b.b

benedict bridgerton x fem! reader

synopsis; benedict bridgerton, stressed by his artistic pursuits, finds comfort in his wife Y/N's loving support. through tender moments and playful interactions, they reaffirm their deep love, showing how they face life's challenges together.

word count; 2.1k

master list

a/n; this is the benedict fic i had originally planned for labyrinth HAHA i tried my best to fulfill annons request but im not too proud of this one APOLOGIES, it just seems a little black and white to me buttt its still cute icl

as always, kinda proof read, kinda not :p

Tall, dark and beautiful

He's complicated, he's irrational

But I hope someday you take me away and save the day, yeah

Benedict Bridgerton sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Papers were scattered across the surface, a testament to the hours he had spent trying to make sense of his latest artistic endeavor. His studio, usually a place of inspiration and creativity, felt suffocating tonight. The weight of his expectations pressed heavily on his shoulders, and he couldn't shake the feeling of frustration that gnawed at him.

Y/N, his beloved wife, watched him from the doorway. She could see the tension in his posture, the way his fingers gripped the pen a little too tightly, and the sighs of exasperation that escaped his lips. It pained her to see him like this, so she decided to intervene.

Silently, she walked over to him, her soft footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floor. She placed her hands gently on his shoulders, feeling the knots of tension beneath her fingers. Benedict started at the unexpected touch, but relaxed slightly when he realized it was Y/N.

"Hey," she whispered softly, her breath warm against his ear. "You've been at this for hours. Why don't you take a break?"

Benedict sighed, leaning back into her touch. "I can't seem to get it right, Y/N. Every stroke feels wrong, every idea seems flat. It's maddening."

Y/N pressed a tender kiss to his temple. "Sometimes, taking a step back can give you a new perspective. Let me help you unwind."

Without waiting for a response, she guided him away from the desk and over to the plush armchair by the window. Benedict sat down heavily, the tension still radiating from his body. Y/N knelt beside him, her fingers threading through his hair with a gentle, soothing motion.

"Close your eyes," she murmured, her voice a balm to his frazzled nerves. "Just focus on my touch."

Benedict obeyed, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered to the sensation of her fingers massaging his scalp. Y/N's touch was like magic, each stroke easing the tension from his mind and body. She leaned in, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth.

"You're so talented, Benedict," she whispered between kisses. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

Her words were a gentle reminder of her unwavering belief in him, and it brought a small smile to his lips. He reached up, capturing her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles.

"You always know how to calm me," he said, his voice a mixture of gratitude and affection.

Y/N smiled, continuing her gentle ministrations. "It's because I love you, and I believe in you. You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone."

Benedict's heart swelled with emotion. He opened his eyes, gazing at her with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Y/N."

"You'll never have to find out," she replied, her eyes sparkling with love.

She leaned in, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. It was a kiss filled with reassurance and promise, a reminder that she was there for him, always. Benedict's hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, pouring all his gratitude and love into the embrace.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Y/N rested her forehead against his. "Feeling better?" she asked softly.

Benedict nodded, a genuine smile curving his lips. "Much better. Thank you, my love."

"Anytime," she replied, kissing the tip of his nose. "Now, how about we take a walk outside? A little fresh air might do you some good."

Something in his deep brown eyes has me singing

He's not all bad like his reputation

And I can't hear one single word they said

And you leave, got places to be and I'll be okay

He agreed, and together they stepped out into the cool night air. The stars above twinkled like a promise of better things to come. With Y/N by his side, Benedict felt a renewed sense of hope and inspiration. He knew that no matter the challenges he faced, he would always have her love and support to see him through.

They strolled through the gardens, the moon casting a silver glow on the path ahead. Benedict felt the tension continue to melt away with each step, Y/N's presence grounding him in a way nothing else could. They walked in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's company.

"I can't imagine doing this without you," Benedict said after a while, his voice thoughtful. "You always know how to bring me back to myself."

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. "That's because I know you better than anyone. And I believe in you more than anyone else."

Benedict stopped walking and turned to face her, his eyes shining with emotion. "You mean everything to me, Y/N. I don't say it enough, but I love you more than words can express."

Y/N felt her heart swell with happiness. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. "I love you too, Benedict. More than anything."

Their lips met in a tender kiss, the world around them fading away. In that moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of their love.

I always forget to tell you I love you

I loved you from the very first day

The next morning, Y/N woke up to find Benedict already out of bed. She stretched and yawned, a smile spreading across her face as she remembered the events of the previous night. She got up and went to find him, curious to see what he was up to.

She found him back in his studio, but this time the air was different. The frustration and tension were gone, replaced by a sense of calm determination. Benedict was working on a new piece, his strokes confident and sure.

Y/N watched him for a moment, admiring the way his focus had returned. She walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him look up with a smile.

"Good morning," she said, leaning down to kiss him. "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep," Benedict admitted, his eyes bright with excitement. "I had this idea and I just had to get it down."

Y/N looked at the canvas, seeing the beginnings of a beautiful painting. "It's wonderful, Benedict. I'm so glad you found your inspiration again."

"Thanks to you," he said, pulling her into his lap. "You're my muse, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Y/N laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm just glad I could help. But remember, you have that talent and drive within you. You just need to believe in yourself."

"I do," Benedict said, his voice filled with conviction. "Because you believe in me."

They shared a kiss, the bond between them stronger than ever. Benedict knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he would always have Y/N by his side, supporting and loving him. And that made all the difference.

I watch superman fly away

You've got a busy day today

Go save the world I'll be around

Later that day, Benedict and Y/N decided to take a break from their respective pursuits and spend some quality time together. They packed a picnic basket and headed to their favorite spot in the countryside, a secluded meadow surrounded by wildflowers.

As they spread out a blanket and settled down, Benedict couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment. The stresses of the world seemed so far away, and he cherished the simple pleasure of being with the woman he loved.

They ate, laughed, and talked about everything and nothing, enjoying the rare opportunity to relax and just be. Benedict loved the way Y/N's eyes sparkled when she laughed, the way her hair caught the sunlight, and the sound of her voice.

After they finished eating, Y/N lay back on the blanket, looking up at the sky. Benedict joined her, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at her.

"Do you ever think about the future?" he asked, his voice soft.

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her expression thoughtful. "I do. I think about our future a lot. I imagine us growing old together, still as in love as we are now. Maybe even more."

Benedict smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. "I like that vision. It sounds perfect."

Y/N took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "Whatever the future holds, as long as we're together, I know it'll be wonderful."

Benedict leaned down to kiss her, a slow, sweet kiss that conveyed all the love he felt for her. "You make everything better, Y/N. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

They lay there for a while longer, basking in the warmth of the sun and the comfort of each other's presence. Benedict felt a sense of peace settle over him, a certainty that no matter what challenges came their way, they would face them together.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over their home, Benedict and Y/N prepared for bed. The evening had been perfect, filled with laughter and love, and Benedict couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. He watched Y/N as she brushed her hair, her movements graceful and serene. The sight of her brought a soft smile to his lips.

Benedict walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a tender kiss to her neck. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her skin.

And I watch superman fly away

Come back, I'll be with you someday

I'll be right here on the ground

When you come back down

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back into his embrace. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear husband.”

He smiled, nuzzling her neck affectionately. “I’m just stating the truth. You make everything seem brighter.”

Y/N turned in his arms, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of love and amusement. “And you, Benedict Bridgerton, have a way of making me feel cherished.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “That’s because you are cherished, Y/N. More than you know.”

She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. “I know it because you show me every day. In the little things, the big things, and everything in between.”

Benedict leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, tender kiss. The world outside their embrace ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the love they shared. When they finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers.

“You make me a better man,” he said softly. “With you, I feel like I can conquer anything.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “And with you, I feel truly loved and supported. Together, we can face anything.”

And I watch you fly around the world

And I hope you don't save some other girl

Don't forget, don't forget about me

They climbed into bed, the weight of the day lifting as they held each other close. The room was filled with a peaceful silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Benedict’s hand found its way to Y/N’s hair, his fingers gently threading through the soft strands.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked, his voice a whisper in the quiet room.

Y/N smiled, her eyes closing as she recalled the memory. “How could I forget? You were so serious, trying to hide your curiosity behind that stoic expression.”

Benedict laughed softly. “And you were the one who made me laugh, breaking through my defences with your wit and charm.”

“I knew then that you were someone special,” Y/N said, her voice filled with affection. “And look at us now, married and happier than I ever imagined.”

He kissed her forehead, his heart swelling with love. “I’m grateful for every moment with you, Y/N. You bring so much joy into my life.”

I'm far away but I'll never let you go

I'm lovestruck and looking out the window

They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing quiet conversation and soft laughter. The connection between them was undeniable, a bond that grew stronger with each passing day. Benedict knew that no matter what challenges they faced, they would always have this—this love, this partnership, this unwavering support.

As they drifted off to sleep, Benedict felt a profound sense of peace. He knew that with Y/N by his side, he could face anything. And that made all the difference.

Don't forget, don't forget where I'll be

Right here

a/npt2; please let me know how you felt about this! im still getting the hang of writing the bridgerton boys but i do my best!

[skyrigel]

Hi! I love all of your writing, could please do Benedict and best friend reader at a ball and he over hears some girls bullying reader and goes OFF and reader runs off and he thinks he’s embarrassed her but when he finds her she explains she found it super hot and then some smut please! 💖

You are in love 1 || B.B

Part 2 of " you are in love"

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x best friend! Reader, + Polin

Warning: fem! reader, no description of reader, friendly flirting and teasing, mutual pinning, use of inappropriate words, reader has a step sister. Fluff and angst, part 1 of you are in love. Part : 2 will be smut

Rigel's note 🪩: Thank you for requesting, and the compliment<3333 *smooches* I hope you don't mind me doing it in two parts :) the title is taken from Taylor Swift's song " you are in love", it popped as soon as I read best friend reader, hope it's not as bad as it's in my head, sending love back, also part 2 soon.

" Perks of being a woman, you don't have to dance with Eloise bridgerton." You remarked when it was the fifth time Eloise stepped on lord White's toe.

Benedict snorted on his lemonade as he looked at you sideways, his iconic lop sided grin plastered to his smug face.

" I was her dance partner, " Benedict fake sniffed, wiping the fake tear, ", that too, before she started lessons."

You winced at the idea of Eloise before her lesson and gave Benedict a pat on his back for being ever the sacrifice.

" I thought that's why you danced wierd " you told him, smiling when he looked at you scandalously.

" Excuse me ?! " He narrowed his eyes, " you take that back ! " He slammed the glass down with force.

" Will not, you dance like...like a snowman ! " You beamed, slamming your fan down and glaring back, nose to nose, eye to eye.

" That never stopped you from dancing with me." He said smugly and retreated to his space with a satisfied look in his eyes when your jaw slacked slightly.

" You don't dance like a snowman with me." you told him in a small voice and that's when it hit you how gracefully he twirled you around when he was practically running away from other beautiful young ladies.

Benedict smiled, his eyes twinkling at you as he raised his brow, like in a question.

" And why would you think that ? " His mouth twisted and you didn't know what to say.

" Perhaps because I dance well...? " You tried and despite it being not the answer he expected, he laughed all the same.

" You dance like a ... a Kangaroo." Benedict thought hard and a muscle in his jaw twitched, he smiled proudly when he got the right word to annoy you.

" What's a kangaroo ? " You asked, you had heard it somewhere but it was easier to ask him than think hard.

" It's like..." Benedict motioned with his hands something like a vase," it's a cute animal." He finally said when nothing more could be made out from his gestures.

"Oh." You nodded and then it hit you, " Did you just call me an ANIMAL ?! " You snarled at him and he shaked his head with a chuckle.

" I called you cute too." He squabbled.

" Kangaroo's aren't cute ! " You jabbed at him and he chuckled, grabbing your wrist firmly, a spark so bright jolted inside you and you felt your face grow hot.

" Then I don't dance like a snowman—" you sticked your tongue out at him and he was lost in words, just looking, you saw the opportunity and yanked your hand away from his grip. He relented like a gentleman.

" You are always like..like running away and leaning off while dancing and it's so so snowman like." You argued and Benedict's eyes twinkled like moon.

" Have you seen a snowman waltzing ? " Benedict asked and you shaked your head, while clutching at your chest, you couldn't help the giggling.

" Yes if we are talking about a tall, handsome and smug snowman."

" You think I am handsome ? " Benedict ducked his head closer to your face and you felt your breath hitching in your throat, like air was punched out of your chest.

You rolled your eyes when it became too apparent that no word would come out of your traitorous throat and you couldn't help but gaze back at him, he looked back just the same, all fire and blaze.

" You didn't answer my question." He said slowly, each word carefully and it squeezed your heart how close his face was, how beautiful those eyes were, and that nose, and those cheeks, those lines when he smiled, he oftened and it was so warm and gorgeous, how you never noticed how captivating he was, every atom of his body was tied with an invisible thread with yours, a golden one. And you would be damned to think of that mouth, your lips parted at the ethereal site and Benedict smiled at that.

" No." You just said it, eager to say anything and break this moment, it was swirling you around in a storm.

" No ? " He questioned, frowning and he was handsome at that too, you were so doomed.

" You are silly like handsome, like some lord Byron poetry." you murmured softly, safe guarding the hammering heart in your chest and blinking at the sudden burn from his gaze on you, drinking you in, his brow knitted in funny way, a mock annoyance crossed his face.

" Lord Byron ?! Really, " he dropped back to his seat and you finally took a breath, then he covered his face like a damsel in distress and when he glanced sideways at you, he was smiling his brightest, oh, you just realised how goofy and precious and mesmerizing his smile was, you wished to stop time and paint it under your lids so everytime you close your eyes, you could meet him there, in your secret gardens and then a death like that would be sweeter.

" What ? " You exasperated when he refused to look away, even when your nose wrinkled and face basked in it's warmth, he wouldn't let go of you, taking each and every detail in like he was wishing to stop time too and paint you. He could, he was an artist.

" You called me poetry..." His mouth quirked up in a delightful grin, like it explained all the merry and you groaned, looking away as you huffed the tingling in your body that wouldn't go, your eyes landed on a very eventful moment.

" Is that our Colin ? " You raised your brow at Benedict who sat up straighter and turned his gaze to the other side of the hall.

" Why is he eye murdering lord Debling ? " You asked him, he winked and pulled your chair closer, not caring if any mama saw or perhaps lady whistledown herself.

" Penelope is dancing with lord Debling, and well she's laughing at something too, oh—" Benedict whispered in the shell of your ear and you barely nodded, Colin looked like he had enough, he was making his way through the crowd towards Pen.

" Forty shillings if he punches lord Debling." You piped up, Benedict shaked his head.

" You are gonna lose cupcake, he's gonna take Miss Featherington's hand and—" you gasped when Colin stopped abruptly, said something urgently and took Penelope's wrist between his hand, Benedict cocked his head to his side and winked smugly.

" And ? " You drawled and it amused Benedict beyond limits, like he has been waiting for it.

" Birds and bees." He said in a code like hushed whisper, you smacked the back of his head.

" I don't have a mother, you know." You told Benedict and he touched his upper lip with the tip of his pink tongue, he nodded along knowingly.

" Well, someone's gotta teach you."

" Mm.. you are my best friend." You would look anywhere but at him but your eye's were locked in his, he was being brave then so can you. One step, not much.

" I can not tell you birds and bee." Benedict said sincerely.

" Colin helped Pen ! " You said, nose flaring as he worried his jaw but didn't say anything.

" He told her how kids are made, something like going to a farm and then...well he kissed her but that's not the point." You blurted in a whisper, he listened intently.

" He kissed her already ? "

" Well a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell but a lady can, but that's not the point! " You pouted, his resistance crumbled but then again, bloody bridgerton.

" That's not my place cupcake." He was breathing hard, his mouth would open and snap close again, taking back all the things left unsaid.

" Well then—" you hated how choked your voice got, you tried, didn't you, it's not like you left it on god's cue, this was the biggest hint you could have given him and if he didn't got this, then only bricks might work.

Give him one more, a small voice said in your head, it was yours, but stronger and braver than you.

" —then you can tell me about love."

Benedict laughed on that, like it was the funniest thing you had said.

" You know what? I take it back, I am gonna ask someone—" you smoothed your skirt and began to get up when he pulled you down.

" Sorry, I didn't mean that, sorry, don't go leaving me stranded." He pleaded.

You looked at him hard, looking for any sign of humour and you found none, he was glittering when he clapped his tongue and opened his mouth, his soft tongue resting like a tired cat.

" Love," he began," is like music."

" Like music." You repeated, struggling with the fit laughter that shook your shoulders.

Benedict glanced at you offended but when he spoke next, it was how the poets said, with longing and desire, like bleeding for your beloved and when no blood was left then it was ink and parchment.

" You can hear it in the silence." He said, you remembered those afternoons when no word was said between you and your bestfriend and yet nothing was hidden and left unsaid.

" You can feel it on your way home." He said, penetrating his gaze in you eyes and he remembered damn well that night after he rescued you from the lake when you almost drowned, the terror of losing you, the spark of holding you closer than ever.

" You can see it with the light's out, it's so bright and golden." Everything is more beautiful with you Benedict, you told him one Sunny afternoon, basking under a tree while he read you poetry, Better than Byron.

" Loving that one person will make you love yourself, with them, you are enough." He was whispering now, chest heaving as his hand trembled and unknowingly yours found his under the table, locked eye's and joined hands and sacred whispered chants. It was enough.

" You aren't too much, or too little, or loud or boring, you don't have to be interesting or witty or anything, being youself with them is enough." I like myself with you, he had told you when you were sixteen.

" That's love, being safe with them is love, being their home is love, to be able to leave all shades behind and be naked in just body and soul and not being afraid, not being embarassed is love."

" Benedict..." Your voice was soft and sweet and it took him a moment to realise he was crying, when you gently wiped it's proof with your handkerchief.

" I...I will be back in a moment—" he stumbled out, still smiling a small smile and oh god what you have done, you have ruined him as well your self and nothing will ever be the same.

" Yes...." You said, because he was waiting for your approval, he nodded back when he got it and disappeared amongst the crowd as you watched him leave.

Love was indeed like music, the one you liked, it could be light as bee buzzing and sharp as thunder roaring in clouds, it could be slow and rhythmic and soft like water flowing, it could be the sound of his laughter and the way he drew his breath, it could be how he whined and joked and played and teased, for you, love was the music and muse of Benedict bridgerton and yes, you were very much doomed.

" What a pleasant site, a spinster smiling on her own, have you planned some scandalous plan of yours to bag some noble man ? " Claire wheezed in a duckling like laughter, shared with Asha Patil and Gissele Turner.

You refused to say anything, it only further added spice to their boring marital lives, with their husbands out and wombs empty.

" Would you look at her ? She's giving us that attitude, no wonder she's still unmarried ! " Scowled Asha, with her frizzy hair and crooked nose, her eyes coated in loathing of most tainted kind.

" She might had gotten the ring if she wasn't being Mr. Bridgerton's bitch." Gissele whispered it down to you and anger shot up through your veins and your eyes snapped to her, it didn't matter if she was your elder sister and the rage that blinded you was so fierce that you didn't feel when two big tears rolled down your cheek.

" Don't cry now, you can always be his mistress atleast." They all laughed, loud and big and white teeth flashing, with their fake diamond rings rubbing in your eyes but it was too blur, you saw nothing, you heard nothing, everything was drowning around you.

" Speaking of mistresses, Lord Hasting has bought a bigger estate for his mistress than your home in east London and I wouldn't blame him lady Hasting."

You can hear it in the silence.

It was your love's voice, it was your Benedict speaking and you lifted your mascara stained lashed eyes at him.

If you had known him less than you couldn't have known of the terrible anger that was shaking him, that smile was no ordinary, it was feral and stray, wanting to tear anyone who dared to come near, he was burning in anger that was beyond words.

Claire sizzled at that remark, turning her hand to her palm side and only moments ago she was flashing her ring and now, she was hiding it.

" Don't ruin your reputation by showing ungratefuls such as her your pity Mr. Bridgerton." It would've hurt less, were it Claire or Asha, but it was your own half sister, be it half blood but blood all the same.

" Lady Turner, i have no wish to speak to you, you have hurt my best friend beyond words, you had taken her affections for granted so if someone's ungrateful then it's sorely you, you don't deserve a sister like her, she's too good for all of us." He was carefully placing the word and his anger slipped between, his teeth grinded and breath hitched, you stared, just at him and him, everything was getting dimmer but you knew in that moment, you would know him in darkness.

you can feel it with the light's out.

He had done many things for you, Benedict stole Anthony's horse to take you out on a midnight ride, he nicked Colin's sword and taught you fencing, bought ribbons of your favourite pastel silk, saved your favourite sweets, and so many and so more, but this was something you couldn't have done yourself if you wanted, he had done it, he had stood up for you and it was the most gleaming moment of your life, he wasn't playing hero, he wasn't being mean, he was protecting your with your honour and Benedict, the gentleman who wouldn't hurt a fly, he was going to dagger them down with words alone.

He was speaking and speaking and they were all quiet, their eyes low and nose bowed down, he was speaking and speaking, words clear with pure affection and respect and then your felt it.

The warmness aroused in your womanhood and an inaudible gasp parted through your lips as you felt the slicky wet feeling caress your inner thigh and the sensation was so electrifying that you had to close your eyes in order to take a breath and even then, you could feel his words, soft and praising, " ......if you were half good as a woman she is....." He was breathless and he wasn't stopping and something inside you wanted to cup his face and tell him, don't Stop, never stop.

And then his eyes looked for you, he found your gaze and held it and you felt the shame, you couldn't do this to him, this burning desire would take you both down in flames and what it would be to become one, only in ashes, it was scaring you.

And before you could think of say anything, you were already on your feet, stumbling through the crowd with your gown kissing the floor behind you.

You didn't know where you were going but far, away and this feeling wouldn't let go, you knew well but you wanted air, the warmness that was spreading was maddening and the hunger was tugging under your skin.

He was calling out your name, you hated yourself but you needed to run, this love would ruin you, what if Benedict hated you if you told him how you felt, how you thought about him, would he call you a whore along with Gissele, would it hurt more ?

More than anything.

His voice turned to pleading as crowd thickened and you were getting out of his sight. You wouldn't look back, because if you did then you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from doing something very stupid.

You were out of the gates, descending down the stairs as one heel slipped out but you didn't care, you were on a run.

Johnny was already motioning the horses as you frantically climbed in, you could see Colin chasing down Penelope's carriage in a distance as you opened the window to inhale heavy gulps of air.

Would Benedict Chase you down too ? Would he come and look for you ? And if he did, what would you tell him ?

You are my best friend.

Part 2

[peachpitfics]

Endgame

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Six years after you were married off to your Father's friend, you enter a period of mourning. As soon as it is societally acceptable, Benedict Bridgerton is in your foyer with a bouquet of flowers, amending a mistake he made all those years ago.

Length: 3.8k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Death, mentions of sex work, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm.

a/n: This is part iii to Wildest Dreams & Loml, requested by anon here! This is the final part!

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Your father stood acrost from you, tears in his eyes, which seemed genuine, though they did leave you confused. He was more devastated by your elderly husband’s death than you were – they had been friends a very many years, even with an age gap between them. It was six years since you were married to Lord Roger Howard, six of the most gruelling years of your life, pretending to care remotely for such a wretched man.

“I apologise for this display” Father wiped his tears from his eyes.

“Fret not, he was your friend after all” You replied nonchalantly, your father never caring enough to pay attention to your words, let alone the tone of your voice. He nodded sadly, blowing his nose in his handkerchief and stuffing it back into the waistcoat pocket.

“Your mother is thrilled at the prospect of you coming home” He asserted.

The shock of his audacity displayed in full force upon your face, “This is my home, I will not be returning to your house in Mayfair. I have an estate to care for until its heir comes of age” You shot back at him, far surer and more confident in your own voice than you had been when he bullied you into a match you did not want.

His weepy eyes filled with exasperation, you were not sure anyone had ever spoken back to him in such a manner, it sure looked as though they hadn’t. He stuttered over jumbled consonants, words unforming as they bowled out of his mouth. Never in your young life had you seen your father so beside himself, so baffled.

“Is there something you wish to say?” You asked brashly.

Stern eyebrows grew rigid over his unpredictable eye line, “How disrespectful! I do not recall raising a child with such an attitude! You will do as your father tells you, and your father demands you return to Mayfair” He almost shouted, the corrosive tone of his voice scared you as a child, even just a few years ago; but he had set you on a journey down Dante’s nine rings of hell. No longer afraid of small men feigning omnipotence in comparison to you, your father was no better nor worse than the husband you had just lost.

Your harsh statuette figure remained still and unblinking, unimpressed by his temper tantrum. Sweat formed on his brow line, rage simmering just below the surface. He was a volcano, ready to erupt in exaggerated self-importance. “It is obvious to me that perhaps you are confused. I was married to Lord Howard; I am Dowager Lady Howard. I do not belong to you, nor am I required to hear this nonsense any longer. I have land, and staff to account for. I will be remaining here. Would you like me to escort you out?” You asked calmly, your heart thumping in your chest, prepared for his next outrageous onslaught.

Father shuffled on the spot, puffed-up and fragile, dancing between continuing this argument, or storming out of the room. With a defeated, heavy exhale, he turned swiftly on the ball of his foot and stomped down the stairs. Staff peered around corners, having heard the yelling, worried for your safety.

Making your way out to the landing, subtly triumphant smile on your face, you watched as your father barged past someone standing in the foyer. You could not believe your eyes, unsure now of whether this was a dream or not. Benedict Bridgerton stood tall in the foyer, a big bunch of flowers in his arms, side eying your father as he passed. He looked just like you remembered, just like you imagined him every day since you last saw him. His eyebrows high, his crowning glory, that cheeky smile adorned on his face. There were small changes, delicious smile lines around his mouth and across his forehead. He looked neat, and very well dressed – you thought perhaps he finally had taken some advice from Anthony. The door slammed violently, and Benedict jumped slightly, pursing his lips together in a look of amusement.

“Mr Bridgerton, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” You hummed in soft interrogation.

“I have come to offer my condolences” Benedict tried to wipe the smile from his face.

“Alas, it has been six whole months since my husband passed away. Would you not consider these condolences to be quite late?” You retorted audaciously.

“One… might consider my visit late, yes. However, I do believe I am right on time. I would like to point out that it is but seven hours into a societally acceptable visit for a single man to call on a widow” He feigned checking his pocket watch, nearly dropping the bouquet on the floor, beaming at you as you started descending the stairs. Rushing down the stairs with enthusiasm, you threw yourself into his arms, flowers crushed between your bodies as your kiss landed. There was that sense of delirium you had missed so dearly. Your stomach dropped excitedly, your heart skipped a beat, your smile uncontainable as he pulled you into him tighter and tighter.

“Worried I would not come?” He asked between kisses, his eyes joyously lit.

“Not one bit” You groaned as his teeth took your lip, sucking it into his mouth, “Come upstairs”.

Benedict took your hand in his, leading you to the only place he knew well in this house, your bedroom. It was strange feeling this way after so long, so much glee in such a solemn house. You had not a care in the world at this moment, everything was finally right as it should have been.

Shutting the door forcefully, Benedict grasped at your arms and pulled you toward the bed, shifting behind you to undress you. Not a second later, Benedict gripped two sections of material and reefed them apart, tearing your dress from your body, his clamorous grunt igniting something within you. The fabric fell to the ground around you in a pool, embarrassment telling you to turn to Benedict, but his forceful hands stilled you where you were. Bending you forward, you rested your elbows onto the bed, the sound of his breeches unbuttoning behind you made your mouth water, wonderment tensing your mind.

Kneeling behind you, Benedict pressed his finger to your pussy, sliding it in as slowly as possible, coaxing soft moans from your lips. You so greatly wanted to spin around, eager to see what he was up to.

“God you are so wet and ready for me” Benedict commended, slipping that same finger between his lips, sucking the taste of you off it, moaning in unbridled thirst for you. Benedict’s hands snapped to your hips grasping at generous handfuls, reefing you back into him, running the tip of his cock along you.

He plunged into you without a moments notice, sinking to extremity unexpectedly. Gasping in wretched recognition as your body adjusted, his velvet skin sliding in and out of you, images flashed through your mind of all the times you had done this before. His large hands slid into the pocket between your belly and your hips, thumbs goading you back into him, savouring every thrust back into you. Benedict laced into your hair, firmly pulling you back to meet him, the starving kiss in his arsenal his best yet. That is what it had felt like, these last two years in particular – like surviving in a baron desert, aridity only quenched by a singular person, and that person being unattainable.

Benedict’s hardness sunk into you again and again, particularly rigid on this occasion, you did not recall him filling you quite this much, but every moment was felt like a spiritual experience. His thrusts became vigorous, and he had that look in his eye that you knew all too well, his efforts quickly moving toward fruition. His pelvis slammed into yours with the most gloriously barbaric force, his moans and grunts animating, pleasure absolutely carved throughout his body and face. The eagerness of his movements made you squeal out as he reached deeper places, you hips bounced back encouraging his release inside of you. Benedict’s hands constricted in place; his body unyielding as waves of intensity rolled through him.

Desperately trying to inhale deeper breaths, Benedict rolled onto the bed next to you, stretching out his arms as if he had a stitch in his chest. You giggled at him, lying down too.

“Not as young as you once were?” You chortled.

Benedict flashed you a look of sunny offense, “If I… could breathe… right now, you’d be paying… for that comment…” Benedict chuckled through his panting. You placed your hand on his chest, feeling his heart thump against your hand, your eyes went wide with awe.

After catching his breath, you laid together in the bed for the rest of the day, slipping in and out of each other and conversation. Benedict was enjoying exploring your body again, as it had been two years and another child later.

“I cannot believe we are finally here” Benedict chuffed, his head resting on your navel, staring up at the ceiling.

“Six years later, my darling. To be fair, we did think we would be apart longer” You remarked.

Benedict paused, fingers circling your forearm wrapped over him, “Y/n… There are rumours circulating the Ton…” He uttered kindly, approaching with gentility.

“I suppose you should know what happened to Roger,” You sighed, more embarrassed for yourself than for the old codfish, “I received news six months previous, that Roger had passed at an establishment… during intercourse with a working woman” You pursed your lips together, trying not to laugh. This was the first time you had explained the situation out loud, to anyone at all. The hilarity was not lost on you, but it felt wrong for the widow to relish the death of her husband outwardly, no matter the kind of man he was.

Benedict was silent for a few more moments, his eyes squinting in reserve, white flashes of teeth peeking through his lips, trying his hardest not to burst into laughter. “At least, he died doing what he loved?” Benedict knew he could hold up the façade no longer, resigning to his impish personality, eliciting a perpetual and free laugh from you. You ruffled his hair merrily, giving playful shoves for saying something so outrageous.

“Perhaps so! It is difficult to explain to the children, not that he had much interest in them anyway. I am hoping they will adjust quickly; they are quite young still” You gave Benedict a gentle smile. You knew he had been waiting to bring up the children, only having seen them a handful of times over the last 5 years.

“When can I see them?” Benedict asked keenly.

“Their nanny took them for a walk in the gardens when I was informed my father was on the grounds… He is not particularly fond of them either” You shrugged, “They will surely be returning soon” You reached out to stroke Benedict’s face, his excitement uncontainable.

Benedict continued to talk about the children, taking guesses at their heights and how they walked. He asked about their favourite foods and favourite colours, he wanted to know everything. More than anything, he had wanted to be there to see them grow and change. He had spent their lives memorising details in letters, their descriptions and little personalities, so desperate to know them. Benedict was recently thrilled to learn that Benjamin had lost his very first tooth at just five years old. He was also filled with pride when you wrote of Beatrice climbing down the stairs for the first time, all be herself – she was three now and while Benedict felt like he had missed so much, he knew how much more there was to come, that he would get to be a part of.

“My apologies, I am just overjoyed to finally be here” Benedict’s eyes watered lightly.

“Do not apologise, they will be excited too, you know they love you” You smiled, wiping away his singular tear. You leant down to place a kiss on his forehead, which he intercepted, stealing yours lips away with his own, warm and full.

Benedict rolled onto his front, lifting your thigh over him and snuggling himself between your legs. His nose rested in your tangle of pubic hair, nudging gently at your slit. Without meaning to, you laid back in anticipatory relaxation, Benedict’s arms wrapping around your thighs.

“You are unreasonably delicious my love” Benedict moaned from between your thighs.

His fingers danced around your outer flesh, tickling and pleasing strokes slowly replaced by his tongue, wet and pleasantly heated. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your lung’s feeling collapse was just moments away. It had been so long, and you were well and truly voracious for him, you had thought about this every single day.

Writhing under his ministrations, Benedict gently lapped at your clitoris, hardly touching it at times. You whimpered in hopeless desperation as he teased and circled exactly where you wanted him to press. There was no doubt Benedict was a connoisseur at this fine art and you were thankful for it. His hands slid up under your behind, lifting you up and into his face, you gave a slight squeal at his strength. The smile in his eyes melted your core, watching the lower half of his face flex and move, buried in your pussy. With every flick of his tongue, every suck of his lips, you could not stop yourself from grinding back onto his face.

Your face strained, trying to conceal the loudest moans these walls would have heard, Benedict’s ravenous tongue lapping senselessly, your knees shaking either side of him. Every moan from Ben vibrated through you, your hand flew violently to the back of his head, demanding more and more of him. Sucking your clit between his lips insistently, his teeth grazing your sensitive nub, Benedict allowed you to orgasm. Your hips bucked against his face, the hot friction of his stubbled face a godly addition to your unleashing.

Remaining still, Benedict’s soft eyes peered up at you, taking in every moment of your completion, committing it all to memory. You could tell just by the look in his eyes that you were a transcendent idol, sent here only for him. His tongue dallied, sensually slipping between your lips a last few times before he released your thighs.

“God, I love it when you do that!” You almost yelled in exotic delight.

“You taste marvellous, truly otherworldly. I could spend the rest of my life tending to you like that” Benedict smiled widely, subtly licking around his mouth to take in the rest of you.

You remained on the flat of your back, drunk on your adoration of him, “I wish you would” You laughed, half joking. It occurred to the both of you at separate times, that there was no longer a need to rush, nor savour these moments. There was nothing to keep you apart any longer, no one to hide from.

~

Benedict suggested bathing before dinner, so you loosely dressed, calling for the housekeeper to fetch the ladies’ maids to sort some baths. Once the both of you were dressed and ready for dinner, you descended the stairs, you arm linked over his, his gentlemanly stature reinstated upon leaving the bedroom.

The children sat on the rug in the dining room, surrounded by the petals of the flowers Benedict had arrived with this morning. Benjamin looked up, playful excitement lighting his face as he noticed the two of you.

“Mama!” He exclaimed, running into your legs, wrapping his small arms around them.

“Good evening my boy” You hummed, bending down to swoop him up into your arms. Benjamin remembered Benedict from visits previously, but he had not been around in some time. He outstretched his tiny hand, offering a handshake to his father. His sweet little teeth biting into his bottom lip, the centre one missing.

“Are you going to be staying for tea?” He asked curiously, the way children do.

“Yes, my small friend, I am,” Benedict took his hand and shook it properly, “My name is Ben, I do not know if you remember me”.

“My name is Ben as well” Benjamin gasped in innocent surprise. Without thinking, you passed your five-year-old son over to his father as they continued to talk, Benedict instinctually taking him on his hip, just like he had Gregory and Hyacinth not all that long ago. You travelled across the room to Beatrice, who gathered handfuls of pink rose petals and threw them into the air above her head, clapping as they rained down upon her. You scooped your smallest child into your chest, meeting Benedict and Benjamin at the table, placing her in her little chair. Her dark curls framing her face in sweet disposition, she waved happily to the strange man at the table. As the staff served dinner, Benedict took his place at the head of the table, with encouragement from you. You could see joy filling him right to the brim, happiness pouring out of him without a hint of regret. This was what you had both worked for. The housekeeper stopped by you on her way back to the kitchen, gently pinching your cheeks just like a mother would, she had not seen you smile like this in such a long, long time.

                                                                ~

The family spent one week together at the estate before Benedict thought it was time to travel to Mayfair, to tell him family of this news. He was not sure how they would handle him marrying a widow, nowhere on his list of objectives was there a point to explain the children and why they looked like him. Benedict had slotted into their lives perfectly and without incident, the children already slipping and calling him father at times. His heart nearly beat right out of his chest with pride.

Arriving at the Bridgerton house, Benedict carried Bea on his hip from the carriage, entering to his family waiting in the entrance hall eagerly awaiting whatever the news in his letters could be.

The first thing Benedict noticed before he had even introduced his family, was his mothers all knowing smile, and the happiness reflected in her eyes.

“Family, this is Lady Y/n Howard, and we are to be married” Benedict announced loudly, a slight echoing ringing through the entrance hall. Anthony and Collins eyes bounced between Benedict and each other, confusion ruling their faces. Everyone else littered them with congratulatory hugs and kisses.

“And who are these darlings?” Violet came forward, kissing Benedict and reaching out to rub Beatrice’s small hands on his chest.

“This is Beatrice, and this young man is Benjamin” Benedict introduced his children to his mother, watching her crouch down to take Benjamins outstretched hand for a handshake.

“How gorgeous! What a fine gentleman” Violet’s smile was sunlight, her demeanour so utterly welcoming. Beatrice leaned out of Benedict’s arms, shuffling herself across to Violet’s chest, snuggling into her grandmother. The both of you knew then that Violet had caught on as she rocked gently from side to side, Beatrice fitting perfectly in her arms as all the Bridgerton babes had before.

“Please, come to the sitting room, I will fetch the tea” Hyacinth directed everybody up the stairs to the second floor. As you and Benedict were about to follow behind the children and the other Bridgerton siblings, Colin and Anthony sequestered your arms away to an adjacent room.

Anthony closed the double doors to the dining room, and benedict slid his hand into yours in solidarity. Colin circled the both of you like a shark in open water, his normally cheery face overrun with suspicion. Anthony frowned pensively in front of you, rubbing his face, well and truly confused.

“This is all happening rather fast, do you not think?” Anthony asked sceptically.

Benedict licked his lips in preparation, “Brother, you know I was in love with y/n all those years ago. We have simply reconnected since the very sad death of her late husband” Benedict portrayed the sympathetic friend, the shoulder to cry on in a time of need.

“I see, and your engagement taking in place exactly six months after the death of Lord Howard is simply a coincidence?” Anthony questioned, logical suspicion stirring up his role as caretaker of the family.

“Yes. Benedict was very considerate, giving me my time to grieve my husband before coming to visit and offer his condolences. It can be quite confronting when one is bombarded with flowers and well wishes all but a day after a loss” You lamented, doing your best to act your part, the sullen widow.

Anthony nodded, having experienced such a similar event after the death of their father Edmund, “I understand, I am glad that you have reconnected with each other after all these years… I do just have one more question, and I will only ask once. I do not wish to offend you, however if I found out either of you had anything to do with the death of Lord Howard, I –”  

“Lord Howard died in the bed of a prostitute” You blurted out, interrupting Anthony quite rudely. He was inferring the two of you had murdered Lord Howard for his estate and potentially as a crime of passion. That was not the case, your true secret seemed to be thoroughly unnoticed by the eldest brother.

Anthony and Colin stood side by side, their mouths gaping at the same time, blinking in uneasy embarrassment. There had been several rumours circulating the Ton regarding the death of Lord Howard, this was not the one they had expected to be true. Anthony snapped back to reality, shutting his mouth and nodding uncomfortably. He gestured toward the door, Benedict pulling you out of the room, heading for the stairs.

“It is strange… Those kids look a lot like Ben” Colin muttered to Anthony as they followed on behind you, not a far distance away. Benedict turned and met Anthony’s gaze in his peripheral as the whole thing dawned on the eldest Bridgerton boy. Dropping your hand, Benedict darted up the stairs, headed for the safety of his mother.

“Benedict, get back here!?” Anthony shouted, the vein in his forehead violently protruding, he stormed up the stairs after Ben.

Colin slipped into the space Benedict left, holding out his arm for you to take, “Come on, I’ll show you to the sitting room. They are going to be a while. At least you will not have to endure two dead husbands… Anthony’s going to kill him before he gets to the altar” Colin chuckled, your arm clinging to his as he escorted you up the stairs.

--------------------------------------------

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[fayes-fics]

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: When Benedict's wife tries on his clothes, things happen...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, cross-dressing, clothing kink, light biting, breast play, a smidge of intercrural sex, very mild exhibitionism, mirror sex, vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Request fill for @d-caryophyllus (HERE) about Benedict being aroused by his wife dressing up in his clothing. I hope this fits what you were hoping for, my dear. Thanks as ever to @colettebronte for the beta read. Yes, the title is a nod to Season 3, lol. Err, enjoy! <3

It’s early in the morning on a mundane Thursday when a somewhat daring idea forms in your mind. 

Fresh out of your morning bath, you dismiss your maid quietly when usually she would assist you with dressing for the day. As the double doors click closed discreetly behind her, you glance through the open archway into your bedroom; heavy curtains still drawn there, obscuring the sunlight. In the darkness, you can just decipher the outline of your husband sleeping soundly after a late night of carousing with his brothers.

With a little secret smile, you decide that, yes, now is the perfect time. He is asleep, and you have a few hours to spare until your first social engagement - a ladies' luncheon - so why not use the time to satisfy your curiosity?

You stride to your husband's side of the dressing room, opening his wardrobe doors and running your fingers over the items within—a symphony of wools, silks and cotton, all luxurious to the touch. While he is arguably one of the more flamboyantly dressed men of the Ton, with eye-catching jewel-toned waistcoats and colourful cravats, the basics of his outfit are mostly the same every time: dark trousers and a white shirt. A large part of you is envious of that easier choice. Sometimes, it feels like a veritable minefield being a woman during the social season, the looming threat of an unintended fashion faux pas simply by wearing the wrong colour to the wrong event.

Upon a chair, you spy the outfit he discarded when he came home in the early hours, not yet tidied away by your staff. You decide this shall be your choice, a frisson that they are already worn.

Dropping your bathrobe from your shoulders, you grab the pair of his trousers and pull them on. The finely woven wool feels plush on your skin, and there is an undeniable novelty in having fabric between your thighs. They are, however, almost comically long for you, and you have to bend to roll them up a few times around your ankles. Bemused, you briefly catch sight of your reflection in the full-length dressing room mirror, topless in oversized trousers. 

You snatch his white shirt and pull it on, pausing to tug the ruffled lapels up to your face and inhale deeply, enjoying the flood of scent there. His woodsy citrus cologne, yes, but also that undercurrent that is all him. That tang you cannot help but bury your face into, be it upon his pillow when he is away or his body while you cling to him, moving together in ecstasy. 

You fasten a few buttons, then tuck the shirt into the trousers and loop the braces hanging loose around your hips up onto your shoulders, once again inspecting your reflection in the mirror with a wry smile, twisting this way and that, admiring how different you look dressed in his clothing.

“Wife, what are you doing?” 

You almost jump out of your skin as that velvet tone, slightly roughened by sleep, calls out from across the room. You twist to see Benedict leaning casually upon the archway into the dressing room, shooting you a look that is pure menacing intrigue while looking like sin himself—all riotous bedhead, and, as your eyes slip further down, gloriously naked. It makes you swallow hard.

“I… I was trying on your clothes,” you stumble sheepishly, a blush creeping over your cheeks being caught doing something perhaps rather bizarre. 

“Any reason?” he queries, bemused, that crooked smile claiming his features.

“They just seem so much more practical and comfortable—especially trousers. I would like to wear such things…” you confess, turning back to the mirror to appraise your appearance again, watching him prowl towards you in the reflection. “Are… are you vexed with me, husband? For taking such liberties?” Your words petering out, mildly abashed.

A large, warm hand wraps around your shoulder, yanking you back almost roughly, making you gasp as your shoulder blades collide with his chest.

“The precise opposite,” he rumbles, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, a sudden burning intensity that makes your lungs feel tight. 

Long fingers spider down his brocade brace, draped down your chest, lingering where the strap rests over your nipple, swiping his thumb in a deliberate tease, his face triumphant as you swoon back into him from just this simple touch. 

“My clothes look much better upon you than me,” he opines duskily, his lips tracing your temple as his fingertips push the brace aside to capture your nipple through the thin cotton shirt, making you inhale sharply. “Perhaps we should attend a party with you dressed like this?”

“That would be a scandal!” 

There is a vault in your stomach at the idea of attending a social event dressed in his clothes, even as you melt under his questing touch.

“Not in the more… bohemian… circles that I know of…” he contends; his breath is a warm gust in your ear as his other hand does the same, fondling both nipples now.

He waits until you meet his gaze in the mirror again, then lowers his lips to your neck and bites gently. His incisors a faint scrape, immediately soothed by a wide, wet lathe of his tongue. A little crest of victory as something sizeable stirs against the cleft of your bottom. 

“If I were dressed as you, then what would you wear, husband?” 

“Whatever you would like, my darling,” he offers between soft, damp kisses, a tingle running up your neck from his lips to the top of your scalp. “I could wear your clothing should you wish it. Or perhaps just your corset and underwear?” He nuzzles into you, taking a deep breath. “Our little secret…”

Something about his tone, the images he concocts, makes your blood run warm, your hand reaching up and diving into his luscious hair, tugging gently upon his roots so again he feels compelled to use his teeth, a groan bubbling up from within as he does. With a flick of his wrists, the braces fall from your shoulders, and he cups your breasts through his thin cotton shirt. It makes you sigh his name, asking for more, arousal coursing thickly through your veins—a yen to be taken right away. 

“The thought arouses you, does it not?” he correctly surmises, trailing his touch down over the shirt, brushing your ribs and belly to the fastening on the trousers, making short work of the buttons.

You nod demurely, biting your lip as you watch his dextrous hands in the mirror, his arms encircling you; it is almost as if he is removing them from himself. The air feels heady as he pushes the loosened fabric from around your frame, and it hits the rug with an audible thump.

Standing before him in just his ruffled white shirt with only a few buttons fastened, you feel his weighted stare in the mirror, lingering on the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs peeking out between the shirt sides.

“I shall prefer you keep this on…” he asserts, popping open a button over your chest so the fabric opens enough for him to slide a hand inside, tweaking your nipple and pulling you back into his frame, rutting his now solid cock against your bottom.

You turn your head to press your lips to his, imploring for more of his touch in a fervent whisper before seeking a kiss. His mouth is hot on yours, rolling his tongue with yours, endless caresses of your breasts as you burn so hot you rub your thighs together in delicious anticipation of more, already more than ready for him, your clit pulsing with each tease of his tongue.

“Here?”

You know what he is asking—if you wish to have sex right where you stand, in front of your dressing mirror, his shirt loose around your body, him naked behind you.

“Yes. Yes please…” you murmur into his mouth, rolling your body against him, telegraphing unmistakable need.

“The window is open,” he points out with a smirk, nodding towards a high window that allows in light to the dressing room but affords you not to be seen; it is open this morning to let in the summer breeze. “What if we are heard?”

“I care not,” you confess, exhaling jaggedly, knowing he likes you in this state, desperate and debauched, uncaring if you may be overheard in your pursuit of pleasure. 

Rubbing yourself upon him akin to a feline in heat, moving so his cock passes teasingly between your thighs now as you writhe. He groans and tells you not to stop, hissing his approval. So you squeeze your legs together tightly, allowing him to rut between them, the pass of his cock glancing maddeningly over your engorged clit.

His touch becomes heavier, hands mapping your body as his hips surge, and you see the red, weeping tip of his cock emerging and disappearing in the mirror, an intoxicating sight. You moan lightly with every pass, a tantalising swipe, not enough to bring you real pleasure, just notching your want higher.

He finally takes pity upon you, angling his hips differently and driving into you; you, moaning at the invasion so deep and encompassing, rocked up onto your tiptoes. Every time he has entered your body, it's always the same: a force that steals your breath and makes your eyes roll. His hands are a firm grip around your waist as he withdraws slowly back, then surges in again, capturing your earlobe in his teeth as he does.

As your eyes meet in the mirror, you idly wonder how many other wives are watching themselves being fucked by a handsome husband like this; a bright weekday morning, birdsong wafting in on the scented breeze, body wrapped only in his shirt. You suspect none are quite so lucky.

You moan his name and arch back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and watching yourself being taken, relying on him to keep your stance steady as he starts to fuck into you in earnest, large hands sliding up to cup your breasts, engulfing them in his warm palms.

Unable to stop the noises you make, each pass hitting all the spots inside that make your toes curl into the thick pile of the rug beneath your feet, your pussy clenching around his invasion, making him growl and move faster, taking you harsher, an onslaught that is as pleasurable as it is powerful.

His mouth is a breathy litany of praise into your cheekbone, your eyes fluttering closed to focus on the carnal moment - the sweat, the skin, the ragged breaths, the meeting of your bodies so primal and glorious, but he has other ideas.

“Look at yourself,” he purrs dulcetly, your eyes reopening to do as he asks, to watch this unrestrained moment of passion, to see the little marks blooming on your body from where his fingers dig into your flesh as he pounds into you now, a flourish of colour on your neck from his thorough attention.

You plead for more throatily, pushing back as best you can against his thrusts, wanting him to make you scream, uncaring of any audience inside or outside your townhouse, only craving the sweet, blissful release he always provides.

Abruptly, he wrenches open the shirt you wear, one button pinging forward and tinking against the mirror before skittering across the floor, your naked body framed by his crisp white shirt, the ruffled lapels tickling the sides of your breasts, catching sight of his handsome face in the mirror contorted in a passionate tempest.

Then one hand slides down your front, you feeling it rippling in your belly and seeing it in your reflection before you until those fingers slide between your legs and hook over your clit with a force that steals the air from your lungs, a sharp stab of pleasure that makes your knees buckle, him pausing in his motions briefly to brace your weight, keep you upright.

Then it is a blur as he restarts his motion, his fingers dance on your swollen pearl, slipping silkily over his touch as he grunts encouragements. It feels like you are circling for so long, so close to something mind-blowing, but then he flicks harshly with his fingernail and bites your neck, and you are hurtling. Everything is loud and quiet at once, no doubt your voice calling his name as you tumble over the edge, clenching hard around him as your whole body shatters and rebuilds in a blissful puzzle. Dimly, as you float, you feel his entire body tense, and with a roar, he follows you over, a warmth blooming inside you as he reaches completion. 

There are a few moments of panted breaths as you both recover from the intensity before he spins you around and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. There, he lays you down gently and proceeds to turn you into a molten, quivering pile, mapping your body with his lips and fingers until you are begging for him again, which he more than obliges. So much so you are almost late for your social engagement.

If there are a few derogatory looks as you swan into the ladies' luncheon with a blissful smile and a burgeoning mark on your neck from your husband's amorous intentions, well, so be it. You wouldn't change it for the world.

And it is also most definitely not the last time you dress up in his clothes…

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[ladysharmaa]

Why don't you love me?

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Y/n and Anthony are in an arranged marriage. When she stops trying to make the relationship work and be the perfect wife, Anthony realizes what he's lost. Will he be able to get her back?

(gif is not mine)

It wasn't the marriage she wanted. And it wasn't what he wanted, because, in fact, he didn't even want to be married. And he didn't mind showing it. But for Y/n, she tried to make the best of their unfortunate situation.

It all started at the beginning of the season when Violet Bridgerton decided that her firstborn had been single for too long. So, she spoke to Y/n's parents, who were good friends of hers, and they both decided that a marriage between the two would be beneficial to both families. Anthony was going to have the support of someone who would take Violet's place as Viscountess and Lady Bridgerton. For Y/n's life, in this society, having a husband was essential and this marriage would allow social advancement.

Thus, Anthony and Y/n agreed with this decision. The preparation for the wedding was carried out quickly and this event was the biggest news for days. Lady Whistledown didn't help matters either by immediately releasing an advert showing her doubts about Anthony having a wife.

This only worsened Y/n's mood, who already feared being married to Viscount Bridgerton, as she was now doubting all the lovers Anthony could take to their bed. Would he not respect their marriage? Did she just want an heir and take care of the children? With these doubts, she said the "I do" in front of hundreds of people watching the ceremony, and allowed just one tear to fall.

From the beginning, Anthony made a point of making it clear that their marriage was purely a compromise, and that he would never truly love her. He was going to fulfill his role and try to have an heir and outside the house, they would act like a happy couple, but it wouldn't go beyond that. In silence, Y/n just offered him a nod, showing that she understood.

However, since then, nothing has happened between them. Anthony allowed her to have her own room, something Y/n was more than grateful for. Having to look at the face of her husband who would never love her every time she fell asleep would be too painful.

She was expecting that on some nights he would enter her room to try to get her with child. But none of that happened, which only confused Y/n more. Was he so disgusted by the idea of being married to her that he didn't even want to have pleasure with her?

So she tried to distract herself with tasks that could take some of the work off Anthony's shoulders and try to be the perfect wife. But Anthony still refused to spend more than five minutes alone with her. At breakfast, he was already at the office when Y/n woke up to go eat, at night he preferred to spend time with his brothers instead of returning home. He was making everyone's life difficult and Y/n was starting to get more and more sad. Would this be her routine until the end of her life? Trying to please a husband who didn't want her?

It was on a summer afternoon that Y/n, upon returning from a social gathering with Anthony's mother and sister, realized how hot the mansion was. She quickly remembered how Viscount's office, the few times she had been there, was directly in the sun which made it even hotter. So she decided to be brave and try to have at least a friendly relationship with her husband, so she went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

With growing nerves, Y/n went to Anthony's office door and knocked on the wood. After hearing Anthony's voice, she opened the door, finding him plus Benedict, who had become good friends with Y/n.

"Oh, I apologize if I am interrupting." she said shyly, keeping to the doorway.

"You are." Anthony immediately agreed in a deep voice, not paying attention to her and turning his attention back to the papers.

At the same time, his brother hurried to assure Y/n, "You're not interrupting anything. You even saved me from Anthony's boring lecture here."

The woman smiled uncomfortably. "Right. I just came to bring you a cup of water. It's so warm outside. I wasn't aware you were here, Mr. Bridgerton, but I can go and also bring you some water."

"Thank you, Y/n, I would—"

However, he couldn't finish his sentence as Anthony hit the table, causing his wife to jump in fright and immediately take a step back. Her reaction made Anthony's expression show some regret, but he quickly hid it. A silence fell between the three.

"I'm fed up, Y/n! Can't you understand that men are trying to work?! Go back to your life of looking at flowers and walking around without having to do anything and leave!"

Y/n's mouth opened and closed several times, trying to understand what had just happened. Finally, she pursed her lips and her eyes turned cold. "I apologize, Lord Bridgerton. It won't happen again. If you'll excuse me."

When she left the room, Benedict looked at his brother in shock. "That was so harsh. The poor girl was trying to be nice and cared enough to bring you a glass of water. If you don't want it, I'll have it. I'm talking about the glass and her."

"Don't you dare." he muttered with a clenched jaw, glaring furiously at Benedict. Where did this anger come from just thinking about Y/n with another man? "Now, let's go back to discuss how you spent money on a bet."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Y/n's behavior with Anthony changed completely. Everyone noticed that the Viscountess finally reached her limit, and stopped being the friendly wife, now looking coldly at her husband whenever they passed each other in the mansion. However, as a couple and heads of the family, they still had obligations to fulfill together.

Public appearances were more tense, but they still managed to keep a smile on their faces and talk to all the ladies who asked about their marriage and when they would have children, giving short answers so that nothing would end up in Lady Whistledown's hands. They also attended a horse race, even betting on different horses that would win. Y/n ended up winning the bet, and her smug look irritated Anthony for the rest of the day, something his brothers were quick to tease him about.

But despite not liking Anthony after his cruel words, which Y/n still thought about constantly, she adored his sisters and mother. They had accepted Y/n into the family, including her in their gatherings and even being a should to cry on. Daphne had already said more than once that she would have no problem going to Anthony and try to talk some sense into him, but Y/n refused. Anthony already didn't like her, if he thought she was turning his family against him he would hate her even more. And she didn't need to make her life worse than it already was.

One day, when she went with Anthony to the Bridgerton mansion to drop off some documents, Hyacinth, Anthony's younger sister, took her aside. Y/n followed the girl to the bathroom where she, with teary eyes and trembling lips, asked her if she was going to die when she started bleeding from her lady parts. Hyacinth also revealed to her that she wanted to go to her mother, but she had gone shopping with Francesca and was alone at home with just Collin. Y/n, very calmly and gently, assured her that it was a normal thing and that all women went through this, explaining what she should do.

It was no secret that Y/n was happy that Hyacinth trusted her with this scary situation and that she was able to help the girl. Despite all the problems in her marriage, she now had a role in helping Anthony's sisters and she never wanted to fail in that.

To Y/n's surprise, Hyacinth ended up giving her a big hug, remaining attached to her for the rest of the afternoon. Her period was making her so affectionate, more than she already was, that Y/n couldn't stop a big smile from appearing on her face at receiving so much affection.

Anthony, when he finally finished talking to Collin about the documents he brought, I was surprised to see his sister on the couch hugging Y/n. "Hyacinth, what are you doing?"

"Hugging my sister-in-law, brother. But you don't know what that is, do you?" she snapped. The girl's change in mood made Y/n have to put a hand over her mouth to keep Anthony from hearing the laughter that escaped her.

The shock on Anthony's face was comical. His little sister was basically choosing Y/n over him. And in truth, he didn't judge her because his wife was, without a doubt, better than him. And she deserved so much better.

On the other hand, his heart warmed when he saw the bond that the two had created. It was clear that Y/n felt great affection for his family. Could it be that if he had accepted this marriage from the beginning, they would now be a happy family? That they would spend afternoons together, cuddling on the couch and talking to his siblings? All these thoughts were racing through his mind, and the guilt was growing so much that he felt like he was going to vomit.

"Lord Bridgerton?" that sweet voice he had come to adore brought him out of his thoughts. He hated that since he snapped at her, she never called him by his first name again.

"What?" he asked, still disoriented.

Y/n was looking at him like he was stupid. "I asked if you were ready to leave. Hyacinth already went to her room to rest. I would like to do the same. So you must make haste."

Her bossy tone almost made his lips curl into a smile, but he controlled himself in time. "Of course, wife. We shall leave now. But I have to ask, what happened between you and my sister?"

"All you need to know is that she's fine and she's a woman now. But don't worry, as your wife, I'll handle these situations. Unless you prefer me to go look at the flowers, take a walk, and do nothing?"

The hint, which was delivered with great anger, caused the man to blush in shame and lower his head. Y/n didn't wait for his answer, taking her coat from a maid and walking to the carriage. He had screwed everything up.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A few more days had passed and the situation between Y/n and Anthony had only gotten stranger. The day after the situation with Hyacinth, Y/n was coming down from her room to go get breakfast, as she always did, when she came across Anthony at the table, appearing to be waiting for her to eat.

Y/n stopped abruptly, looking at him in shock. "What are you doing?"

"I'm waiting for you so we can have breakfast. I have to go see my brothers again today to talk business, so I was thinking you could come with me and spend some time with my sisters. My mother She's also been saying how she hasn't seen you in a while. That is, only if you want to go. If not, I'll just go… Or I'll stay here to keep you company, whatever you want." he choked up, finishing his speech by drinking some milk, perhaps to calm his nerves.

Y/n remained in place without moving. She looked at Anthony strangely, as if doubting that those words had even come out of his mouth.

"It was silly of me to ask—"

"No," she interrupted him. "It's fine. I would actually like to go and spend time with your sisters. They are lovely. I shall go get ready then."

"Aren't you going to have breakfast with me first?"

"Lord Bridgerton, I've been eating breakfast alone since we got married and I came to live with you. I think you can handle doing the same for a day. Excuse me." she said with an exaggerated smile, turning her back on him and starting to go back to her room. However, she turned back to go get a cake that was on the table. "But I'm hungry so I will eat this in my chambers."

"Call me Anthony!" he exclaimed before she was completely gone. He had a desperate look, almost looking like he needed to hear his name come out of her lips.

"No."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Like every year, the Queen decided to throw a ball to celebrate the Diamond of the Season. The most eligible maiden on the marriage market. Y/n still remembers the first ball she attended — Daphne was the diamond of the season, but Y/n also managed to dance with a few suitors. Of course, in the end, she didn't end up marrying any of them. However, the nerves she felt at that ball were equal to or less than what she felt today: her first ball married to Anthony.

The Viscount and Viscountess had entered together, her hand resting on his arm, followed by Violet and the rest of his siblings. Tonight they would have to be on the lookout for suitors who might want to dance with Francesca, the diamond of the season.

Anthony quietly appreciated his wife. She looked breathtaking in her dress, her hair neatly tied back that showed off her majestic earrings, given by Anthony on their wedding day. He was proud to have a wife like Y/n, and he regreted that he hadn't shown it since day one.

While the Bridgertons started to go their own way, interacting with other people and dancing, Y/n preferred to stay in the corner watching the couples dancing. She longed to experience that with Anthony, but not in a forced way like some were. No, she wanted it to be felt, for them to dance to the music and really appreciate that moment.

But instead of her husband approaching her, it was another man, Earl Cavendish. Y/n remembered some moments when she had already seen him, as he was looking to get married this season. As she approached her, with a confident air, Y/n lowered her head to compliment him, "Good afternoon, Earl Cavendish."

"Lady Bridgerton, a pleasure to meet you. I must say, you look flawless. Would you give me the pleasure of dancing with me?" he extended his hand.

Y/n's eyes widened, not knowing what to do. People had already started looking at them, whispering among themselves. However, she didn't have to respond to the invitation as she felt an arm wrap around her waist and bring her closer to him.

"Excuse me, Earl Cavendish, but I want to have the pleasure of dancing with my beautiful wife first." Anthony said with his jaw clenched, looking him up and down menacingly. "I'm sure you will be able to find other ladies to dance with tonight. Just not my wife."

The two men looked at each other for a few seconds, neither of them wanting to back down. Anthony grew more and more furious, her wrists clenching and bringing Y/n even closer to him, but careful not to hurt her.

"Very well. I shall leave. I hope to see you again someday, Lady Bridgerton."

"I will —" Anthony began by exclaiming in anger as the Earl walked towards another woman, not having liked the way he looked at what was his.

"You will do nothing." the Viscountess snapped coldly. "I can't understand you, you ignore me, you treat me badly, and then you act protective when another man shows interest in me? I never said anything about you having lovers, even though I didn't like that in our marriage."

"What? I've never disrespected our marriage like that, Y/n. In the past I've done a lot of things, but since we got married the only woman I'll look at and touch is you. I don't want anyone else."

"You have a funny way of showing it." she laughed sarcastically, feeling increasingly emotional. "I have to go get some air. You should go check on Francesca again."

Feeling the cold night air, Y/n's heart began to calm down. It was so difficult having to deal with Anthony's changes of attitude, she couldn't understand him. She just wanted to be loved, and since that wasn't possible, she preferred that they stay as far away from each other as possible since being friends didn't seem to be an option either.

"I'm sorry." the voice she had come to know so well whispered behind her. Y/n refused to turn around, leaning against the balcony and taking deep breaths to control her emotions. "I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I know that marrying me shouldn't have been your choice either, but I was scared. I was scared to have a wife, because that meant I had another person in my life that I could lose ."

She finally had the courage to turn around and look into Anthony's brown eyes. They held back tears and showed the sadness, regret and anger that Anthony felt.

"I'm so angry with myself for the way I treated you. You deserve so much better than this. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you that. The cruel words I said to you but didn't mean. I was scared to let you in. in my heart, so I tried to push you away. Believe that all I want is to have you in my arms. To love you. To start a family with you. Please, I promise I will do better. And every day I will try to reward you for what you do.

"Lord Bridgerton—"

"Please, call me Anthony. It pains me when you call me like that. Reminds me that I was… Am so close to losing the best thing of my life. I will kneel before you and beg for forgiveness if that's what you want." he murmured with a hand over his heart, beginning to kneel on the ground without hesitation.

"There is no need for that… Anthony." she enjoyed seeing the relief and happiness that spread across his face upon hearing his first name. "I just don't understand why you didn't love me? And now you want to try to make our marriage work?"

"That's the thing, I have always loved you. I love you. My whole body, my heart, feels love for you. That has never changed." he revealed desperately. "I was a coward and didn't know how to deal with my feelings. Because they are so strong that my heart feels like it's going to come out of my chest. Please, give me another chance."

"Hmm, I don't now." The look of disappointment was so marked on Anthony's face, almost looking like he was ready to burst into tears, that Y/n stopped his suffering and showed him an amused smile, making him understand that she was joking. "I think I want you to suffer a little more to get my forgiveness."

"I will do anything for you, Y/n. Ask me the world and I will give it to you."

"Such a romantic now, aren't you?" she whispered, admiring his features.

She didn't realize their faces were so close until she felt his nose trace the delicate skin of her cheek. A gasp escaped her mouth, and Anthony took the opportunity to connect their lips in an unforgettable kiss.

Anthony pulled away quicker than he wanted, but he needed to make sure this was really what his wife wanted. "I love you."

"Kiss me again, and maybe I will also tell you that."

And what his wife wanted, he did. The two remained on the balcony, enjoying the comfort the other gave them. They still had a long way to go, but they knew that from that moment on, their lives would change drastically for the better. They had each other.

[entitled-fangirl]

One happy marriage.

Benedict Bridgerton x wife!reader

Summary: the reader lies about something important and finally breaks down to tell her husband about it.

Masterlist

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

"I have started our marriage with the most audacious lie, Benedict!"

He looked up from his sketchbook with a curious look, "Whatever are you talking about, my dear?"

Y/N covered her mouth with a quiet sob. The lie was eating at her every day and she knew sooner or later the truth would reveal itself. Too bad she revealed it on her own.

Benedict frowned and stood quickly. He raced towards her and sat down cautiously on the sofa next to her. One arm gently pulled her to him, "Darling? I'm sure whatever it is can be forgiven."

She shook her head quickly and spoke through hiccups, "No…. It's unspeakable. Pl… please don't leave me."

This started to worry the poor man.

His hands gently ran up and down her arms, "I promise you, my dear. Whatever has happened, we will be as we are now."

She pulls away from him and wipes her eyes. "I am so sorry, Benedict."

He felt his heart break at the sight of her tears and pleads. "You must tell me what has troubled you this badly."

She shakes her head again, "I don't know if I can."

Benedict sighs.

He was a Bridgerton. And Bridgertons are nothing if not stubborn.

He gently takes her face in his hands. "How then, darling, am I to help fix this issue if I do not know of it?"

She stared up at him. How could she deny him? He was her heart. "I… I have lied to you so dreadfully."

He nods in thought, "Alright?"

She takes a deep breath, "I am an artist."

Benedict's head tilts. "Oh."

She looks up at him to gauge his reaction. "When we were courting, you asked if I was an artist. I said no. I… I lied to you."

He nods again with his lips in a tight line, "Yes. So you did."

She felt awful.

Silence fell over the two before Benedict broke it, "And your work?"

Her head perked up. "My work?"

He gave a slight smirk, "Yes, my dear, your work."

She nodded, "The… the paintings in the parlor… I lied. I do not collect them… I ma... I made all of those."

Benedict smiled widely. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned forward and kissed the crown of her head, "I know."

She stiffened. "What?"

He leaned back and his smile only grew, "I knew, darling. I've always known. I was waiting for you to tell me."

Now it was her turn to feel a bit speechless.

Benedict continued, "I understand why you lied. Those pieces are gorgeous, and the last thing you wanted was your courter... well... your husband... to feel… lowly of his own work-"

"-but your work is lovely, Ben." She quickly interrupted.

"Ah, yes, but not like yours, my dear."

"But how did you know?"

He shrugged, "John Marques is not a real painter." He leaned close to her ear, "And yet, his name is on every plaque in the house."

She let out a laugh so happy, Benedict swore he had never heard one that matched.

She jumped into his lap and held him close.

And he was beyond happy to hold her so near.

He pulled away just to kiss her.

They could feel each other's smiles as their lips pressed together.

She broke away, just close enough to feel his breath on her lips, "And you truly aren't upset at me?"

He laughed, "How could I be? My very own wife, a most talented painter? How on earth could I ever be upset? I'm the happiest husband in the ton!"

Two artists make one happy marriage.

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

[maximoff-pan]

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.” 

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens. 

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too. 

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it. 

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.  

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to. 

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist. 

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband. 

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children. 

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington. 

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.  

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?” 

“How will you get it to her?” He questions. 

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it. 

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered. 

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her. 

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation. 

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way. 

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in. 

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you. 

“I never do.” Is your instant reply. 

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested. 

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion. 

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through. 

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.” 

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you. 

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.” 

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that. 

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.” 

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge. 

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak. 

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won. 

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot. 

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.” 

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong. 

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you. 

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.  

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column. 

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say. 

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym. 

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to. 

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n). 

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross. 

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you. 

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.  

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has. 

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so. 

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you. 

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now. 

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions. 

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well. 

We need to talk. 

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that. 

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her. 

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you. 

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.  

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too. 

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.” 

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm. 

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor. 

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing. 

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all. 

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…