#Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader series

[skyrigel]

Victory indeed || A.B

Pairing: Anthony bridgerton x wife!reader

Plot : You are on your way to steal the mallet of death but Anthony gets there first, change in plans— romancing lord Viscount.

Warning: NSFW content ahead!

Rigel's note🪩 : This is inspired from happily ever after, there's quite blood shed for mallet of death. Yeah Colin is love <3

The last bits of doubt left as you shifted Anthony's arm off your waist, slowly pushing your body down and further till you were out from his grip, he almost looked innocent, sleeping and bed soft, his mouth curled in a dream like smile but you knew better than that. last time Anthony, like lord Viscount he was, stole the pallet from your wardrobe.

And the year prior, Daphne showed her Bridgerton colors, involving the Duke himself in her malice plans.

You couldn't help but smile, thinking your bridgerton were showing up too, the floor was frozen underneath your step but you thought about the victory tommorow, the look on Anthony's face would be priceless, wrapping your cloak around yourself and closing the door soundlessly as you ventured out in the corridor, the moon was high and the air was chill. If inside the Aubrey hall was cold then you weren't up for the chill outside, a shiver ran down your spine as you stepped out in the moonlight, taking the back route, just in case. The shed stood there in the bleak light. You fiddled for keys and it didn't make sense when the wooden door was unlocked, maybe Johnny forgot to lock it, anyway, all more easy. The door creaked in the silence and you couldn't care less, there was nothing between you and your victory black mallet and—

Your breath was knocked out of you as if your lungs were punctured, a gasp of white mist left your mouth at the sight of your husband, leaning idly against the wall.

" I... Anthony?! " You blinked and unblinked and he was still there, smiling.

" What are you doing here wifey ? " He cooed and it didn't help the terror that seized you.

" You knew ! " You hoped it wasn't as shaking like it felt in your throat, Anthony ran a hand through his hair and it all made sense, damn his dreamlike smile, damn you lord Viscount.

" You wound me baby, do you want me to tie you until the game tommorow, tell me, would you like that ? " He smiled all the while, faking a frown as he narrowed his eyes to your silhouette in dark.

" So you would guard the mallet all night ? " You wouldn't let Anthony win this time, it was coming on your pride now, also the love making that followed where he called you all those petty names. The last he called you runner up. No, you would win this time.

" Or I could tie you up, I like that better." Anthony suggested smugly, propping on top of the desk and flashing an erotic display of thigh, change of plans.

" My lord..." You whsipered, all seduction placed in one basket and all smugness was dropped when Anthony's lips parted.

" Do.not." he shuddered but you hit the nerve, moving slowly in your shaking steps, cloak dangling behind you.

" Anthony, these games are absurd. " You stiffled the laugh that burnt your chest, heart heaving and thudding inside your ribs.

It almost didn't work the last time you caught him stealing the mallet, Mrs.Wilson came at a very wrong time.

" It's not working." He assured, to himself mostly but his hand reached for your body all the same, betraying every word he said as he pulled you closer, face mere inches away.

He wrapped his big arms around your waist and cocked your head sideways.

" What about..." You paused, bumping your nose to his cheeks as he sniffed the moon shadow out of you, his lips tried to claim yours but you liked playing games. The ones you could win.

" About what ? " He asked breathless, his long slender fingers undoing the knot in frantic rushed movements. It was no use.

" I was thinking about...we don't have a daughter." You hoped nothing was drowned in the moan that left when Anthony bit at the junction of your neck and shoulder, he looked up with a glint, it was the most sincere set of eyes you had ever seen, also the lustiest.

Anthony could do both, have you screaming his name and worship you all the same.

" Take the mallet...take everything baby. " He kissed you, hard and crashing, like he couldn't get enough, you couldn't get enough and it became too restless for games and victory. Your body oozed with goosebumps and every single thought evaporated like mist and memories.

Anthony dropped the knot and pulled the cloak up from your head and you easily gave in, throwing your hands up as the satin fabric fell on the floor. Anthony hummed in desire.

You felt the cold air circling your body but as soon as Anthony's mouth kissed the exposed skin of you breast, it was gone, nothing mattered than him and his filthy demanding mouth.

" How beautiful you would look with our baby in your belly." He whispered against your skin and you shivered at the sensation.

His palm gripped your hips and lifted you on the desk, turning the dynamics and you cursed under your breath when his unholy fingers pinched your nipple, hard and raw.

" You like that ? " He breathed, undoing buttons of your nightdress like he was made for it, he was merciless sometimes, taking pleasure when you screamed his name and teasing you later, " so needy for me baby ? "

" An.. Anthony." You hoped he heard the plea, his thumb made circles in your inner thigh but never touching where you wanted him the most, " baby.." you buried your face in the crook of his neck and even so, you could hear the smile that crossed him, cocky and devilish.

" Say it wifey, say it nicely with your sweet mouth." He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you back to face him, eyes locked as his head leaned down, his darted his tongue, pink and wet, the wonders he could did with that, he licked your one nipple while the other was tucked between his two fingers, pressing them together and you screamed, almost embarrassed but Anthony liked that, he always did.

" What's the word ? " He looked up smugly, pressing the tip of his nose to your nip, a smile quirking up. Fuck you Anthony!

Your brain short circuited as he tickled more and more and it became too much to bear.

" Plea... please baby, please, please —" he heard the plea and his mouth opened, taking in your soft flesh and humming in delight, kneading the other so it didn't miss his attention. He wasn't biased when it came to your body, giving everything his full attention and torment. You threw your head back at the sensation that vibratated in your body.

You grabbed his hand that glided on your bare thigh to guide him to touch you where you needed him the most, his teeth nibbed, not harder but enough to make your eyes watery as he slapped your hand away.

" You get the mallet, I get what I want, win win Viscountess." He kissed your cheek open mouthed and his desire was pressing hard against you.

" Fuck me." You said, flushed and dazed and Anthony eye's widened before he was back to play all lord and smug.

" You always order me so." He bit his lower lip but you had enough, fuck pall mall, fuck Anthony bridgerton, yes fuck him. Now.

" Fuck me Anthony! " You almost cried, Anthony leaned further, his forehead touching yours as he whispered,

" I wouldn't be able to sto—" don't stop, then.

You kissed him hard and soft, like fireworks wrecking your brain and you tongue traced his lower lip, intoxication wasted you.

He moaned and a strangled noise that you trapped in your mouth escaped, right from his throat.

His length was pressed against your thigh and it was warm and vibrating. You swallowed like a Virgin damsel.

Anthony looked at you, not breaking the fire that was blazing between your souls as he pulled it out his erection and there, angry red tip, sticky with pre cum was buzzing to be touched and loved and he looked up in delight when your eyes widened, all of the times, it didn't matter, it baffled you just the same.

You touched the tip and he shivered at the contact, his cock gave a twist and lurked fir more.

" Do you see ? " He was panting, shaking with his words as if he would fall if he didn't hold his breath, " see it ?! How much I burn for you, how much I want you ? " He shaked his head and touched his tip to your belly, soft and burning.

" No." He laughed humourlessly, his hand pushing your body to lie down on your back and you followed, taking a huge breath as Anthony grabbed your dangling ankle in a yank, bringing it around his neck.

He then kissed your knuckles softly, whsipering sweet nothings tenderly in your bones.

" I would give you anything my sweet love, you just have to ask...mallet ? I would give you my soul if you had asked. Anything for my baby love " He said, you felt your body tremor as he teased his tip at your insides, Anthony inhaled sharply as he entered you, warm and slick as oil. he entwined your fingers together.

" So good...so good for me baby." He moaned as he soft thrusted once, twice and until you were numb for anything, his words were halo in the dark, beaming silvery glow and then came one hard push and you arched your back as the pain waved in pleasure.

" Anthony..." You moaned, " oh god ! " Your words mingled in blasphemy and Anthony smiled in victory, pushing harder and harder as your hips rocked and roll.

" Say my name...say it." He demanded, your nails gripping at his shoulder so hard that it would scar, he liked it.

" Anthony...oh lord... Anthony." You screamed and chanted and you believed he heard the worship, the fate you had in him, and it didn't matter if anyone listened, let them, you thought, Anthony was a force to be reckoned with, a storm you never minded to be wrecked in. A beak of sweat glided from his forehead and dropped on your belly.

He was still pushing in a angle that had you seeing stars and cosmic love, he bend down, licking it, tongue gliding across your skin, and sniffing, taking in everything your offered.

He wanted all of you.

" I will fill you up with our baby, next time don't go hunting for mallet in midnight...it's so cold Darling, i would have to tie you up," He kissed your stomach bump, " and would carry you around everywhere." He said in dreamily haze that soon took over your lids.

The only sounds were erotic slapping of skin against skin and shuddering breaths, and he fastened his movements as a war cry took him over like a devil.

You head was thrown back as everything collapsed and grew again, bit by bit. Your eyelids drooped and a muffled cry came from you and then it was Anthony as he came in warm fizzy juice. Your felt the knot inside you uncoil and something loose inside you, uncorked as your juices mingled like your souls.

He pushed one more time, he always did that and then he collapsed next to you, satisfied, kissing your already bruised neck sweetly.

" Wouldn't you like that mama ? " He chorused and you laughed like a drunk, you would, a daughter with Anthony's eyes and smile, you smiled at the thought.

" Let's clean you up and take you to bed my lady." Anthony picked you, kissing you again as you giggled, he then grabbed the cloak and covered your body against the cold, you were dazed but not quite forgotten, you eyes searched for the war prize. Your mouth fell open, second time in a very same night.

" Where's the mallet ? " You narrowed your eyes at the stock of pink and blue and yellow but the black wasn't there, perhaps a trick of light.

Anthony followed your eyes and went closer, your arms wrapped around his shoulder and there, beneath the shadows was a parchment, rich and fresh.

Anthony picked it up with one hand, the other keeping you steady in his arms.

You saw the lanky words that belonged to none other than Mr. Bridgerton.

" Damn you Colin! " You growled as the mockful apology was scribbled for stealing the black mallet.

Anthony perched his lips at the heist but smiled when your whining eyes met his.

" I am going to whoop his ass and get you the mallet baby." He said, and you knew he will.

Victory indeed.

_________________________________________

Uhm Benedict bridgerton next ? Send in request ladies <3

[danvy121994]

promised pt 2

authors note: hello! sorry for being so inactive but I have lots of exams wright now and I managed to this chapter just yesterday. Hope you enjoy! <3

also I’m new to the world of fan fiction writhing so if anyone can tell me how to respond in the comments it would be amazing! also thanks everyone for the support!

anthony bridgerton x reader

synopsis: after the ceremony, you realise that you won’t be as sad as you thought you would be with the bridgerton

He couldn’t believe that in a week he would be wed to a woman he had never met, in fact he believed that if it wasn’t for that foolish pact that her mother had with her silly little friend, he would have wed sometime in his thirties, not out of love of course, he would have simply chosen the diamond of the season and marry her, it wouldn’t have been that hard since he’s a viscount, but of course his mother wasn’t really fond of his future projects even if over the course of the years his mother actually regretted the decision of marrying him of , or at least that’s what she said; but that now didn’t matter because he was in the only place in which he felt comfortable in past few weeks before the marriage, in his favorites mistress arms, on her bed, after a long night full of desire and longing, but even that couldn’t stop he’s thought on the matter, since he found out about the agreement he’s been asking around about the girl he was going to marry, her mother didn’t knew much she just told him that she was a very beautiful girl and that she was very polite and studious, but that was all she knew, and asking other gentlemen’s led him to nothing, for all he knew she lived on the country side, kind of isolated and has never interacted much with the ton, she appeared for the first time in London during her first season, in wich she got courted from a couple of gentlemen that were quickly sent away, but that was everything he knew, it wasn’t nothing of course, but still, he was marring a complete stranger.

“Come on brother! The worst that could happen its her looking like an ogre!”

needles to say that after sais comment, Colin Bridgerton got rightfully hit in the head by a flying fan, lady Danbury looked at the boy and with an offended tone replayed “ I’ve meet lady Y/S/N personally, and let me tall you, she’s a fantastic woman, she will integrate well with the family!”. Obviously out of all the people that he asked to he didn’t ask lady Danbury, of course! As soon has he got the courage of asking lady Dembury more about you, the priest informed him that the ceremony was starting and not long after the doors of the church opened, The Woman was walking arm in arm with who he supposed was her father, he was an interesting man, not handsome but not ugly, he also managed to have a look at her mother and for her age she wasn’t that displeasing, in fact she looked quite younger than his mother, maybe she was, considering that he didn’t know much about his spouse’s family either, he could only guess. As soon as she reached the altar both her and her father bowed, and since he is a gentleman he did the same, the Woman then stepped up the steps of the rostrum and positioned herself before him; she still had her veil covering her face but he could kind of see her face; and then she took it of. Anthony was pleased of the fact that at least he didn’t have to procreate and look at a hideous face for the rest of his life, in fact she was kind of pleasing to the eye, maybe even beautiful.

After the end of the ceremony he didn’t speak a single word to her, did he think she was ugly? If that was the case then maybe she was more free than she thought, she wouldn’t have to go through the whole horrible experience of having to bed with the Viscount and maybe he would only speak to her when necessary, maybe it was a good thing, she was thinking to herself whilst her mother and Lady Violet Bridgerton were speaking to one another, but that didn’t last long before she was whisked away from a pair of strong arm, when she turned, she saw a girl, a couple of years younger tha her and she was wearing the Bridgerton signature color, light blue, and beside her another girl, much shorter and with a bright yellow dress, that was quite inadequate to the occasion, after a litte bit of explaining you found out about their names, the girl in blu was named Eloise, the one in yellow Penelope Fethetington; the three of you started talking, and for once during the whole day you felt that you were in the wright place with the wright people, “ and I love her ok, but just because she was the diamond last season, now people have high expectations on me and I don’t wanna let them down” Eloise as been talking about this for about an hour, and you felt bad for her, you haven’t known her for long but could already tell how much her family didn’t understand her, from their eyes she was just a troubled girl who was looking for attention, and it couldn’t have been farther from the truth, as both you and Penelope were trying to help her speak of her emotions ,someone , who you recognised as one of the Bridgerton brothers since he was standing with the Viscount at the altar, came in the room in wich you girls were hiding, “ what are you girls doing?” Said the Bridgerton, “ our new Viscountess has to have a ball with Anthony to open the dances” he said looking at you “Of course, my apologies” you said and after bowing, you got whisked by said brother to dance in the arms of your husband.

(another) author note: Hi! I hope you are enjoying my story<3 I don’t know when I’m going to post the continue of this story, but as soon as I can i’ll start writhing again! also I was wondering if anyone would be interested in a mike schimit x reader fan fiction, maybe a one shot, let me know in the comments!

tag list: @khaylin27

[fayes-fics]

Lessons In Motion

Lessons Series Masterpost

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: An eventful carriage ride with the boys.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest, dom/sub dynamics - dom!Bridgertons sub!reader, masturbation, dirty talk, mild degradation, light spanking/slapping, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, cockwarming, exhibitionism, breast play, edging, bondage restraint, sensory deprivation (blindfold), anal sex, vaginal sex, double penetration.

Word Count: 6.3k

Authors note: Is this the threesome I should be writing? No of course not. Sorry. This was indeed inspired by the synchronised head tilt in the s3 trailer 🤷‍♀️ Part of Lessons-verse, chronologically this takes place before Lessons in Breeding. Thank you to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

You bounce nervously in your shoes, craning to see the ride you are awaiting. 

You slipped out the side entrance of the music hall, eager to escape prying eyes, leaving them to exit through the front, picking up their family carriage together. Being a guest in the family box for the evening is one thing; an unattached woman leaving publicly with two of the most eligible bachelors in the country is another matter entirely—you have no desire to provoke the wagging tongues of the Ton. But that does not mean you wish for your night with them to be over, far from it.

With a whinny, a two-horse carriage rounds the corner into the quiet street a few hundred yards from the venue and comes to a halt before you. The windows are all obscured by thick, draped curtains. So much so that you hesitate, hang back under the shadow of the mature oak. Until that is, the door swings open, and a very familiar face pops out, expression bemused.

“Does my girl not wish for a carriage?” Anthony teases with an expectant, fond tone.

You giggle and rush towards the vehicle, climbing in quickly. The door slams behind you as a fist knocks upon the ceiling to indicate for the driver to move on. The carriage is dimly lit by one tiny glass lantern flame flickering, both sets of eyes are eager on you, that molten heat in your belly as you sit opposite them, both so handsome.

“Did you enjoy your evening, gentlemen?” you query, feigning innocence.

They both comedically tilt their heads in brotherly unison, matching bemused grins claiming their lips as Benedict giggles behind his fist.

“Considering where you had your hands all night, you know well we did,” he pipes up, raising an eyebrow pointedly. 

“Twas rather a boring recital, sir.” Your invocation of his play title makes his chest swell and his pupils dilate. “Should I not have kept myself sufficiently entertained?” He appreciates your sass, nodding with a knowing smirk. 

Indeed, you were greatly entertained. But not by the singing onstage. Sitting in the Bridgerton family box, a rigid cock in each hand as you teased them mercilessly, the angle of the seating allowing you the privacy to do so unseen by other patrons. Never letting either of them climax, taking them somewhere close then backing off, each huffing quietly, a white knuckle grip on their chair arms, as your fingers were coated with pre-cum. Most entertaining indeed. At one point, Anthony had hissed how he would have you on your knees and down your throat if you prolonged the torture much longer, but you knew it to be an empty (and entirely welcomed) threat. Now, in the privacy of the carriage, you rather suspect you are about to be taught a lesson for that cheeky behaviour.

“I do believe it is time for payback, brother,” Anthony opines, voicing your exact suspicions, them exchanging their trademark glance—so much communication with no words.

“Yes, I rather suspect a lesson is in order: that which you do unto others, you should expect done unto you,” Benedict forebodes.

Your stomach ripples as he grabs your ankle and roughly pushes it out wide, a hand travelling up your leg, gathering your dress around his forearm as he does. Soon, they discover the secret you held this evening: that you wear no chemise, no stockings, no undergarments at all, in fact—just your blue silk dress and ballet-style shoes.

“You filthy little vixen,” Anthony growls as he sees a flash between your legs.

“Do not pretend this type of indecency is not exactly what you want from her, brother,” Benedict counters dryly as his hand trails up your inner thigh, your breath quickening as he reaches your apex. You cry out, staring Anthony down as Benedict's fingers plunge into your pussy, burrowing deep, leaning his head into yours. “Always so hot, wet and wanting, are you not?” he rumbles into your hair as his fingers start to rock.

“Yes sir,” you know better than to ignore a question that is asked of you. “Only for you and my lord,” you add, knowing they always want to hear it.

“That is right,” Anthony preens, fighting with the buttons of his trousers and taking his sizable cock in hand, watching you moan and squirm on Benedict's invading digits, dripping down onto his palm, the sounds he draws from your body already obscene. You have been soaked since teasing them at the recital.

“I bet even the driver can hear this tight little cunt. Our filthy beautiful girl just drenching herself like the bitch in heat she is…” Benedict remarks casually.

You love it when they call you such taboo names in play, an illicit thrill running down your spine as he smiles predatorily and curls his fingers, hooking against your pussy wall, making you gasp. It's not quite enough pressure. Your head swings to look at him, silently requesting more.

He chuckles. “What did I tell you earlier?” 

“Teasing?” 

He nods as you pout, sliding his lips right to your ear, his breath hot there. “Until you are a mindless and trembling creature who will do whatever we tell you to.” 

You bite your lip and exhale raggedly, your belly constricting at the thought and at the sight of Anthony lazily pumping his cock, wanting to ride it so much your fingers flex upon the velour bench seat, rocking your pelvis with each stroke Benedict takes, hoping to catch a dash of friction upon your engorged clit. He tuts admonishingly when he senses what you are trying to do, curling his free hand around your inner thigh and spanking there. A stinging slap that makes you jump and mewl.

“Stop trying to come so hastily, darling girl. We decide if and when that will ever happen…” Anthony calls out from across the carriage, grabbing your leg and pulling it high and wide. He yanks off your shoe and bites your instep, not hard, but enough to make your whole body jerk, so you slide deeper onto his brother's fingers, moaning and throwing your head back, the rocking motion of the carriage somehow making it a worse tease.

“‘Tis not a long ride to either of your lodgings… surely you cannot tease me forever,” you speculate, spiralling slowly under such expert ministrations, an itch in your brain that needs to be scratched, even your teeth feel on edge.

“Oh, my girl, we are not headed to either place. Oh no. We are headed to our country retreat. The ride will take the rest of the night,” Anthony crows. “Our family will be remaining in London. So it will just be the three of us… with hundreds of acres to ourselves,” he grins devilishly, still slowly pumping his cock as he speaks.

“But…” you splutter, “I have nothing with me! No dresses, no shoes...” fretting mildly even as your stomach quivers with the thought of time spent alone with your boys.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Benedict chuckles in your hair,  rotating his fingers so they drag over that sensitive spot that makes you shudder. “As if we are going to let you wear anything except our jewels. You shall be naked for days.”

“If you truly object, say your word now,” Anthony states clearly.  “And we shall drop you at your home.”

Benedict pauses his motions, awaiting your answer, both always respectful of your full consent. You look at them in turn, then merely shake your head fractionally, basking in their wolfish smiles. Wanting to do this with them—a new illicit adventure. The idea of days alone with both of them in a luxury country idyll is so beguiling. And a definite step forward in your dynamic as a throuple.

“Well, then, might as well tear off this dress right now; start as we mean to go on, right brother?” Benedict breezes as he withdraws his fingers from you, making you whine at the loss. But then he trails them across your decolletage, dipping his head to suckle your juices from your skin, his teeth sinking lightly into the swell of your breast, making you groan loudly and push up into his mouth.

“Agreed,” Anthony practically growls, pushing his trousers further down, cupping his balls now with his other hand.

“But my lord,” you stumble, tearing your eyes reluctantly from that tempting sight up to his face. “I need my dress to alight from this carriage when we arrive. Surely your staff should not see me naked?!" Your dissent is light, core pulsing at the mental image of them parading you naked up the front steps of a grand country house for all the gathered staff to greet your debauched arrival.

“Please,” Anthony withers, “what is a touch of nudity when they will likely find us fucking you in every way and place possible? Our darling little plaything, always so keen, are you not?” 

“Yes, my lord, Always.” 

Your whisper is obedient, watching him squeeze his cock more forcefully in his fist, his gaze locked between your splayed legs as Benedict yanks down your neckline roughly. The sound of fabric tearing fills the carriage, then their approving grunts as they realise you are without stays. 

“Get her naked, brother,” Anthony orders brusquely.

He sets about the task with enthusiasm, your dress ripping along the seams as he deploys both large hands and tears the fine silk asunder. It is one Anthony had paid for, so you do not mourn its loss, you rather suspect he will replace it with one identical in short order.

“If I am always to be naked, then will you warm my body when I am cold, sir?” You coquette, batting your eyelashes, playing up the damsel in distress to Benedict as he pushes aside the remaining fabric from around your front.

“Always sweet girl,” Benedict promises duskily, trailing his palm down your flushed skin, pulling you in for a kiss that is all tongues and heat. It has you canting your now naked body into his, desperate for his fingers, or even better, his cock, to be inside you.

As if sensing your need, Anthony intervenes as your lips break apart, perhaps jealous at the amount of time his brother has had with you. 

“Alright, enough of that. I think you are plenty prepared now. Come, my girl,” Anthony pats his thigh invitingly, “come sit on my cock.”

You make a victorious noise and slide out from around Benedict, Anthony grabbing your waist and spinning you around to face away from him. 

“Hello, my darling girl,” Anthony greets, his tone like velvet, pulling you snugly against his frame, the brocade of his waistcoat tickling your spine.

Your responding greeting turns into a cry as he guides you down onto his cock, splitting you open in that way it always does, a stretch that is just the right side of discomfort, that heavy weight pressing far inside that you yearn for.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, grabbing your jaw and pulling you back into a plundering kiss, making you pliant in his arms.

“Fuck me, my lord,” you beseech when you realise he is holding your hips down with a slight force, preventing any movement.

“But we have hours,” he drawls unhurriedly, “how about you sit still and just enjoy the ride, hmmm?”

You mewl in protest; as much as the carriage ride is indeed a pleasant rocking motion, your clit is throbbing, needing friction, craving release. You attempt to coax him by squeezing his cock so he groans throatily.

“Stop that. If you defy me, I will never let you come.”

He forcefully grabs your knees and drapes your thighs on either side of his woollen trousers that are bunched around his hips, then splays his legs wide. There’s a burning stretch on your inner thighs as he now holds you obscenely open. You are powerless to do anything but sit obediently upon his cock, whining slightly as the need claws at the edges of your mind.

Across from you, Benedict watches, seemingly transfixed by the sight of you naked and pinned open, speared on Anthony's cock, whimpering as your attempts to move are quelled by those firm hands clamped on your hips. You watch as he unbuttons and takes himself in hand, just as Anthony had, his eyes hungrily raking over your body. It makes you want to climb into his lap and fuck him over and over. 

“Will you fuck me, sir?” You lobby, hoping it will get a rise out of Anthony, that it will catalyse him into taking you hard, possessively.

“You know I will, sweet girl,” Benedict responds huskily. “But as my brother says, we have hours, and you will learn your lesson today…”

“I promise I have learned my lesson not to tease either of you,” you implore sincerely, hopeful for absolution, but both of them merely huff a laugh, suspecting it a hollow pledge. 

You pout again but relent, leaning back into Anthony, accepting your fate. His lips graze your temple as you rest your head on his shoulder and try to get comfortable. Try to ignore the pulse in your engorged clit with every heartbeat. Try to ignore the press of his frenulum inside, a pressure you feel compelled to rub against. Try to ignore that tingle in your nipples where they pucker hard, desperate for a tongue or some rough fingers.

And that is how you stay for what feels like an eternity. Just the noises of movement and horses upon what is now a dirty track, bright moonlight seeping through the cracks in the curtains as you sit in silent submission, The rocking of the carriage meaning you must occasionally endure the jolts of his cock against your hilt, making your breath catch. Your eyes alternate between fluttering closed and opening to see Benedict idly grasping his cock, but it's too tempting a sight, so you swallow hard and close them again. 

However, with your eyes closed, you see worse images dancing before you, taunting you. Flashes of them both lathing their tongues all over your skin, of you on your knees between them, a cock in your mouth and one pounding into your pussy, a loop of carnal push and pull. It makes you leak more, a trickle leaving your body and pooling at the base of Anthony’s cock, nestling in his hair there.

“I can feel how aroused you are,” Anthony purrs into your hairline, almost startling you after many minutes of quiet. “How it is taking every fibre in your being not to defy me. Let’s see how good you can really be for me. Remember, you may not move.”

That’s all the warning you get before his warm, lightly quill-calloused fingers slide over your clit, rubbing an agonisingly light, slow circle. Not enough to do anything but make you shudder and pant, needing more, tiny sparks igniting through your heavy pelvis. Fighting so hard to keep your hips still, wanting more than anything to buck up, bear down onto the hook of his fingers, frottage yourself until you come clenching around his cock so steely and hot inside you.

“Please, my lord,” you grit out, turning to bury your nose into him, huffing his spicy amber cologne, lips brushing the rasp of stubble on his strong jaw.

“I could listen to you beg all night,” Anthony confesses and there’s an edge to his voice that is dark, dangerous, unyielding. 

You lament when his fingers disappear, but he rolls his hips with the motion of the carriage, his cock sliding just a fraction deeper, making you cry out, the change of angle promising so much. Your hand flies out for purchase upon something solid but instead seizes the carriage curtain, unintentionally pulling it back so the glass is revealed.

“Oh, excellent idea!” Anthony lauds. “Yes, show yourself to the world, darling girl; show what a wanton thing you are for us.”

By now, though, the busy streets of Mayfair are long behind you. You are out in the darkness past Blackheath, moving fast down the Dover road to rural Kent. If there are any prying eyes, they will only catch a glimpse of you utterly naked, seated upon a clothed Viscount.

“Open the rest, brother,” Anthony clips.

Your eyes ping to Benedict as he releases his cock and pulls open the draped fabric on either side, hooking it back so the inky blackness of night is all around you.

“Imagine being seen, my girl,” Anthony baits. “There could be a highwayman right now lurking among those trees.”

Benedict leans forward, his hand suddenly clasping the jewelled necklace draped around your throat, the one Anthony presented you with just last week. His motion pulls you upright away from Anthony, the tilt of his cock inside you catching your breath.

“They may want this darling girl,” Benedict joins in. “Will you give it to them? Or will you offer something else instead in order to keep it? A more precious jewel perhaps….” He releases your necklace and trails that hand down between your breasts, over your belly, spidering lower until he grazes your clit. “Will you allow him this? Your greatest treasure?”

You moan loudly at his expert touch, a stroke of his middle finger under the hood of your clit making your whole body quake.

“N-no sir, I would not,” you stumble. “That belongs to my lord and to you.”

“Oh, good answer,” he winks, eyes twinkling in the moonlight streaming in as his now wettened finger traces back up over your belly. “But what if that is what we wish? To watch you be fucked by a stranger? A thief in a mask? Would you then?”

“I would do whatever you and my lord want, sir,” you pledge truthfully, then inhale sharply as he grabs the back of your neck and moves in close, his lips ghosting yours as he speaks again, teasing you with an almost kiss.

“I could watch you be fucked by a dozen men and enjoy every single one. I do so love the way your eyes roll when you are being taken rough. How you always, always plead for more, greedy little one that you are.” 

Your eyes flit down to see his other fist speeding up around his cock. It makes you clench around Anthony, who groans hard, the air in the carriage somehow notching hotter, tighter, like it’s a fight to breathe.

“Sir,” you murmur on his lips, “Please help me; I am in such need.”

You feel as much as see that crooked, laconic smile claims his face, his cock still in hand. “What do you want from me, darling girl? Be specific, maybe I will do it…” 

“Suck my nipples,” you request boldly at his enticement as he tilts back to watch you speak. “Maybe bite them a touch? Use your wonderful fingers upon my pearl; you can surely see it is so swollen...”

You know such explicit language will work for him, and sure enough, his nostrils flare as you ask for precisely what you need, his tongue flicking out to trace around his lips.

“Brother, will you allow it?” Benedict checks, his gaze flitting briefly to the man you sit upon.

“I will,” Anthony concedes, “on one condition: do not let her come, not yet.” He grabs a fistful of your hair, making you inhale sharply, jerking you back against his body, trailing his nose over your cheek. “I do so need her desperate and crying pretty tears for me before I shall allow that.”

Benedict slides to his knees before you, between your splayed legs, and you tremble as his damp lips ghost over the valley between your breasts, nuzzling your skin, inhaling deeply, trailing the point of his nose left to your nipple. You moan loudly as he suckles you into his hot mouth, lips pursed around your puckered teet. Then he glances the edge of his front teeth over your skin, causing a shudder down your spine. His hand cups your other breast, fondling your nipple with swipes of his thumbpad, teasing, while his teeth clamp down and tug away—a beeline to your core. 

You mutter a curse and thrash your head a little, settling on pressing your nose into Anthony’s neck and whimpering lightly, so much sensation coursing through you, his cock is still rigid and unrelenting inside you. Muttering as Benedict keeps feasting upon your breasts, biting, suckling, fondling, not allowing you one moment without the tormenting thrill, a quake in your thighs, an odd tingle in your arms, a pressure behind your belly that is a ball of need, wound tight like a spring.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” Anthony sighs, wrapping an arm around your head, his bicep bulging against your face through his jacket. “Now you have some sense of how we felt earlier tonight…”

At that, Benedict slides his thumb over your clit, flicking in a sideways motion that has you screaming into Anthony’s skin, clawing your hands into both of their hair, grasping their scalps and making them both growl.

“My lord, sir, please….” 

It's a broken, pitiful sound, teetering as you are, reality a blur, a buzz in your brain that is febrile. A tear of frustration prickles your eye at the prolonged agony of denied ecstasy. Just as you are incapable of defying them anymore and have to break, Benedict pauses, pulls back, and watches with that killer smile as you protest even louder, breasts wet with his saliva, goosebumps covering your entire body.

“She is so beautiful like this, brother,” Benedict groans, grabbing himself again and squeezing a few times as if staving off his own orgasm. “You should see it from here….” he adds as he falls back upon the opposite bench.

“I want to,” Anthony confesses, kissing your temple. “I want to see what you look like, my girl, struggling like this; I wish this damn carriage had a mirror….”

“There is one way….” Benedict shrugs, probably aiming for nonchalant but missing entirely. “She may do the same to me?”

“Do you want that, my girl? To sit upon my brother as well?”

“Yes, my lord,” you confess, always eager to gratify them both. “Will I be allowed to come if I do?”

He chuckles into your skin. “Not yet. But if you are good for him too, maybe then.”

Hope flares as Anthony closes his legs and hoists you up and off his cock, you emitting a slight lament at the loss of him as he helps you to turn around and guides you onto Benedict’s lap. Before you know it, you are once again invaded intimately, the stretch different in ways you can’t fully articulate but just as wonderful. Sliding deep, Benedict’s responding moan is hot in your ear as you settle upon him. He hooks your legs over his in the same manner Anthony did, pushing his knees wide open, perhaps even more so, and you hiss at the tugging sensation in your tendons.

“See, brother?” Benedict crows. “Look how spectacular she is…” the words are nuzzled into your temple as he drops a sighing kiss there.

“‘Tis quite the sight…” Anthony agrees lowly as he starts to unwind his cravat while sitting back to admire you. “But I feel she may need those rebellious hands restrained….”

Your belly roils as Anthony grabs your wrists, jerking them forward and binding them with the soft white silk, looping the fabrics many times before tying a tight bow that is unyielding. He doesn’t even ask for your colour, knowing such things are always a green light. What’s new is he guides your bound hands up high, then backwards, curling them behind Benedict’s head with an amused arched eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare move those arms until I say so,” Anthony warns, and all you can do is nod and bite your lip.

“Oh, excellent idea,” Benedict rhapsodises, staring fervently down the plane of your body draped naked over him.

It’s all at once similar and yet different to moments ago with Anthony: the stretch of a cock impaling you, the ache in your thighs forced so wide open, but now with the pulse in your wrists with your hands bound behind Benedict’s strong neck, your fingernails sinking into the plush ruched fabric on the wall behind.

“Watch me, my girl,” Anthony commands.

Drowsy and shaky with unmet needs, you observe as he touches himself again, his proud cock still glistening with your juices as it passes through his fist, tempting, teasing you. Attempting relief by undulating upon Benedict, but balance is more difficult now your hands are bound, instead resorting to supplicant pleas, hoping his empathetic nature will win out.

“Not yet,” he soothes through gritted teeth, but you can sense his quandary, wanting so much to rut into you, his hands flexing upon the dip of your waist. 

“You believe I have learned my lesson, do you not, sir?” Your soft appeal is blatant manipulation, reluctantly looking away from Anthony to twist sideways and stare beseechingly into his hazy blue eyes, finding a storm of desire there. Your lips tingle for his kiss as he goes to answer but is interrupted.

“Stop trying to cheat my girl,” Anthony counsels tersely. While he has welcomed Benedict into your dynamic, sometimes residual jealousy rears when you appear to have a moment of connection with his brother, wanting to gain control—the upper hand.

“You heard him. So, are you going to be a very good girl for me?” 

Benedict’s voice is a resonant vibration through your back, his frilly shirt tickling your spine. You would do anything for him when he asks like that. Your resounding nod is rewarded with a kiss, and his long fingers snagging around your nipples, your pussy clenching reflexively upon him as his tongue rolls over yours. It makes him stutter a growl into your mouth, which tastes like sin laced with smoky whiskey. 

And so you do as asked—sitting meekly, submissively, that heavy distracting weight inside you keening quietly, throbbing between your legs as Benedict tweaks your nipples almost lazily between his paintbrush-calloused fingers, his lips on your neck, sucking gently, a sensation that is all soft, wet heat. Your hooded gaze is glued to Anthony idly stroking himself, only a fraction of movement designed to keep himself aroused, no doubt. 

Minutes tick by, so you lean back into Benedict’s body as his touch softens, allowing your breathing to syncopate to his, his chest rising and falling against your back. Despite your thrumming arousal, the effect is soporific, and you find yourself growing so sleepy, eyelids too heavy…

…“Wake up, sweet girl,” Benedict’s bemused voice rings in your ear.

You startle, having no concept of how much time has passed. You are impressed when you realise he is still rock-hard inside you, your legs closer together now.

“For how long was I asleep?” You query, stifling a light yawn. A warmth blooms behind your ribs when you realise that, at some point, they unhooked your arms from behind Benedict's head, your hands resting in your lap, still bound in Anthony’s cravat.

“About a quarter hour,” Anthony chuckles. “You looked so peaceful, but we decided to rouse you to deliver the good news. We believe that you have indeed learned your lesson, sweet girl….”

“Yes, my lord, I have!” You enthuse, suddenly awake again, feeling an instant quickened throb in your clit, hoping it means they will finally take pity on you, fuck you, let you come.

“Then it is time for your reward…” 

Anthony’s tone is both benevolent and filthy as he flicks open a small vial that he must have retrieved from somewhere while you were sleeping. He shuffles his trousers down his legs a little further, the smell of olives and clove swirling in the air as he pours the oily substance onto his cock. 

“What is my reward, my lord?” You ask as your stomach clenches. 

But you already know. There is only one reason he does this. It’s when he wants to claim your bottom, not your pussy.

“You get both of us inside you at once, darling,” he answers with a dangerous smile, and Benedict groans as again, on instinct, you clench around him in excitement.

“She likes that idea, brother,” Benedict offers sardonically from behind you.

“Use your cravat, sir, blindfold me,” you petition, twisting your head to look at him, wanting to feel as much as see tonight.

“By god, I adore you,” Benedict gruffs, his voice laden with admiration and arousal as he dives in for a quick kiss. 

Then you feel him fighting off the teal silk behind you, unwinding it rapidly before settling it gently over your face, the gossamer soft fibres still warm from his neck, scented lightly of him. He ties a bow behind your head and then drops a kiss on your shoulder. Then two sets of hands assist you up off of Benedict's cock. You revel in their touch as they gently spin you and guide you backwards onto Anthony’s now bare lap, his trousers around his knees.

As the carriage rocks gently, two oiled fingers slide between your cheeks, and Anthony whispers sweetly as he swirls a finger around your bottom, extolling soft praises as he always does when he takes you here, preparing you for him. 

When you murmur that you are ready, you exhale shakily as you feel that intense blunt pressure, now more familiar to you, as he breaches your tight hole, your body stretching to accommodate his oiled cock, slowly sinking into his lap as you take slow, relaxing breaths. 

“Exquisite,” he stutters, his hands moving to hold your waist tightly, guiding you the last few inches until you are seated to his root—the utter fill like a sense memory. After a few moments of allowing you to adjust, Anthony changes his stance, pulling your legs open wider and shifting inside in a way that feels pleasurable and makes your hands flex in your binding.

“You like that, do you not?” you can hear the smirk in Benedict’s voice even if you can't see it, feeling his intense gaze upon your body as you raise your head to the sound of his voice and nod.

“Hands above your head, my girl,” Anthony instructs, and instantly, your hands shoot up, the silk binding on your wrists flexing as Benedict grabs your arms and hooks them behind Anthony’s head, his heat looming over you as he does so.

“Good, now are you ready for me too?” he checks, and you just know he has an arched brow, that menacing look; you can hear the pump of his cock in his fist, saliva gathering in your mouth at the very thought.

“Yes, sir.” 

“You do not want gentle tonight, do you?” Benedict intuits, likely seeing the hunger writ large across your blindfolded face as he kneels on a little footrest; you can feel his hips at the perfect height, the edge of his cropped jacket snagging the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“No, sir.” 

“So very different to the first time we did this,” Anthony remarks knowingly in your ear, invoking the memory of that landmark night in your burgeoning dynamic—the night you truly became a throuple.

It makes you almost wistful even in this carnal moment, that now familiar press of both their bodies, of being sandwiched between them as Benedict leans in. Although tonight, it is not warm skin upon yours, but the slight scratch of wool, the tickle of silk as they remain clothed. 

“Perhaps we indulge you too much, with both of us at once…” Anthony chuckles.

“No! Let me have both..” you twist back to implore him, even though you cannot see. “I need you both so much, my lord, sir, I am aching…”

“Well, I cannot deny such a pretty appeal as that, brother,” Benedict avows, and that is all the warning you get before he guides himself into you. 

You groan loudly as his tip nudges into your pussy, the stretch of two cocks always making your eyes roll, your toes scrunch hard. Anthony’s hands grasp your thighs, holding you open as Benedict slides deeper inside, their breath uneven, knowing they can likely feel the pressure of each other as much as you can. A curse slips from your lips as they both finally rest entirely within you.

“Darling girl, you always take us so well,” Benedict’s voice lauds, dark and decadent, “so magnificent.”

Your eyelids flutter hard against his cravat, bound and blindfolded, split open upon two cocks… you can think of nowhere else you would rather be.

“Please fuck me…” you entreat, feeling as if you have been pleading for hours with them, your mind scratchy, clawing, like a wild beast clambering up the sides of the carriage, wailing to be sated.

You almost howl as finally, finally, they take pity upon you. Benedict withdraws and then thrusts back into you, aided by the rocking motion as the carriage hurtles through past the fields of Kent, the journey seeming to speed up, mirroring the fevered atmosphere within.

Blindly, you seek a kiss from them both, swivelling to Anthony, then Benedict. Desperate, hot, open mouths meet as you start to set a rhythm together, the friction and fullness radiating pulses of pleasure outwards from where you are joined.

You love it when you are caged between them like this, pinned, hands tied, unable to see. Unable to do anything, indeed, but submit to their whims, entrusting your body and gratification utterly to them, to lay back and take it. Take the endless surges of pleasure, the push and pull, the drag of them both inside you as they change tempo, catching you unawares and making you moan and babble. The noises they wrench from your body are drowned out by the thrum of wheels upon dirt, by the thundering of hooves before you, all of you chasing destinations, literal and ephemeral. Windows fogging with panted breaths, the carriage air almost cloying, all three of you moaning unfettered as pleasure mounts.

“Do you think the coachmen above can hear us?” you gasp out, eyes rolling at the overwhelming sensations of both moving within you, their hips snapping roughly.

“Do you honestly care?” Anthony challenges, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he rolls under you.

“She wants them to watch, most likely,” Benedict pants, his hands a vice-like grip on your waist as he fucks into you.

When you do not respond they both huff a laugh.

“Your silence says so much,” Anthony remarks and suddenly, your hair is in his fist, the force making your back arch, sliding both of their cocks deeper, your moan unbridled. “Whose good little whore are you?” he demands hotly, a glance of his teeth upon your jaw.

“Yours,” you rasp, eyes fluttering against your blindfold, head tilted to the carriage ceiling, feeling the burn on your scalp, your nipples pebbled hard against the rough rasp of Benedict's jacket lapel.

“Then repeat it,” Benedict bites out, his mouth sucking harshly upon your shoulder, leaving his mark, a darkened patch you know he will have you look at in the mirror in the coming days.

“I’m your good little whore,” you echo breathily, for them both, the degrading words ratcheting you higher.

They both groan at your utterance, their hands becoming a more urgent hold. Fingertips grazing and tweaking your nipples, you know not whose. Teetering so close, you beg. Beg them to go faster, to touch your clit, to hold you down, be rough, do anything to make this fever upon your skin, buzzing in your mind, break over you, release you from this prolonged heightened state, leaking profusely around their cocks, slack-jawed, strung out with need.

When a hand worms between your bodies, snagging against your clit, you convulse around them, both groaning at the restriction, curse words falling from them in harsh pants as finally you reach the peak you have been seeking forever. One flick of a thumb, and you are gone.

The intensity of your orgasm is breathtaking: transported and hurtled into the skies far above, your whole pelvis contracting and rippling around both of them as they cry out as your vice-like grip. Static buzzing in your skull as they seem to sandwich into you even harder, your lungs gasping for air as your body feels rearranged, your mind floating on a sea of bliss as their movements become harsher, more desperate, you pulling them over the edge with you. Benedict withdraws suddenly, a warmth splashing upon your lower belly as Anthony growls hard under you, feeling the ripple of his cock as he releases inside your bottom.

For a few moments, it’s just panted breaths, all slumped together in a damp pile. Exchanging sated smiles as they tenderly unwrap the cravat from around your eyes and wrists, delicately kissing your skin as you rearrange. Playtime over, back to yourselves, a shared affection between that is undeniable now.

“How much longer until we reach your country home?” you ask as you curl up into their joint embrace, hands caressing your skin in soothing swirling patterns, a languorous pull in your bones now that you are finally satiated. A flickering glow behind your ribs at the idea this is just the start of something new with your boys.

“I have absolutely no clue, my darling,” Anthony confesses with a carefree bubble of laughter, “and I do not particularly care as long as you are in our arms, right brother?” he adds, tilting his head leisurely towards Benedict.

“Absolutely,” Benedict concurs, “If only all carriage rides were this stimulating…” he jests wistfully.

“They could be… if you always take me with you,” you breeze, giving him a chaste kiss.

“We shall never travel again without you,” Anthony attests over a stifled yawn, his stubble abrading your collarbone as he burrows his head into your neck and sighs contentedly.

And that is how you all finally rest, a tangled pile of limbs, your naked body warmed by their tight hold as the carriage whisks you through the countryside under a blanket of stars. 

Taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @kisskissshutmydoor @y0ur-favgerman @sya-skies

[oweninadaydream]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞) || 𝐀.𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary : Can anybody blame a young lady for indulging in her deepest desires despite suspecting that the end is imminent?

song inspo: Fortnight by Taylor Swift (ft. Post Malone)

pairing : Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

word count : 1564 words

contains : rake!Anthony, unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol and I think that's it!

a/n : I am not the owner of the gif or the dividers ( I don't possess such talents jakjhakjshda). This will have a second part (already working on it). The next chapter of the Feel the rush series will be posted after my exams, sorry :((( Anyway, enjoy !!!

The maid finished working on (Y/N)’s makeup and she turned to look at the final product in the mirror. Her  hair was perfectly held at the back of her neck with a chignon. Her grandmother’s diadem added that sophisticated touch the young woman craved. After taking in the breathtaking shade of her dress in the mirror, she started twirling and giggling around her chamber in a fairy manner. Someone could wonder, what on earth was going on inside the girl’s head? The answer was easy, yet so complicated. Lady (Y/L/N) was simply smitten with someone she knew very well, a lifelong friend that seemed interested in her as well. The problem? That man was no other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the most infamous rake of the Ton. 

“Your carriage is ready, miss (Y/L/N)” the butler informed the young lady.

At almost the same time, another voice echoed around the house.

“(Y/N) dear, we must go now. Lady Danbury will not let me hear the end of it if we show up late yet again. I’d also like to chat a bit with Violet, I haven’t seen her since the Featherington ball.” her mother urged her from the hall.

“I’m ready, mother” she answered loud enough for the woman to hear.

On her way to the barouch that would transport them, she realized that the burgundy dahlias that had been planted at the beginning of the summer were finally blooming with the arrival of autumn, contributing to the embellishment of the front garden. She stared at them for a second; her mind was searching for something in them but she couldn’t explain what exactly. She shook her head and she got inside the carriage.

Pacing around the ethereal gardens of Aubrey Hall, her mind couldn’t help the quick escapades to the first time they kissed. Sitting under the blossoming tree, Anthony and her were watching the sunset taking with itself the traces of winter, welcoming the first of many spring nights. The two of them were abnormally quiet, as if the sight of the moon had bewitched them both. (Y/N)'s spine could still feel violent shivers traveling down her spine when recalling the way the Viscount had lightly brushed his nose against hers before capturing her lips into a slow deep kiss. His chapped and demanding mouth stole a couple more pecks before laughing airly, rising from their hidden spot and offering his hand to help her on her feet. 

That glorious evening marked the beginning of … Well, she couldn’t quite state what it was. The rest of the summer was filled with fleeting glances, embraces away from prying eyes and laughing, lots of laughing. (Y/N) had never been happier; after all, the Viscount was by her side every other night. Still, a series of dark thoughts anxiously floated around her head whenever he walked away to attend the gentlemen’s club, or whenever he tried to avoid her gaze after implying anything that had to do with love or compromise outside his mattress.  Shaking her head and changing the subject usually did the trick, but for the last few days, Anthony had been acting ever so strange. 

(Y/N) was absent in deep thoughts when she felt a familiar touch on her back. 

“Anthony” It was not a  question, but the most confident of statements.

“How did you know it was me so surely?” he said while flashing her with one of his infamous smiles.

She raised her head so her eyes stared at him directly. “I could recognize you by smell, by the prints you leave when you step on the ground on a rainy day or simply by tracing your features with only one finger, eyes completely closed. You are no mystery to me” her answer was sweet and sincere, with a touch of flirting attitude.

He went quiet, very quiet. Every bit of the playful attitude  he had shown earlier had disappeared, now replaced by a hard expression. “You ignore plenty of things about me, so stop acting like my-”

“What has come over you? Your usually particular temperament has worsened these past two weeks. I do not appreciate that you talk to me in such a way” she abruptly interrupted in hopes of obtaining any kind of answer that would help her understand.

“I cannot bear with this any longer. I just feel like we have gone astray from the path we had established for us. I wish for us to be on the same page, and that implies remembering the casual nature of our… deal. Please tell me you understand” his pleading eyes accompanied the request perfectly.

“Forgive me, Anthony but I can’t wrap my head around what you are saying. I thought we were evolving, like our relationship. I know you are not the most kin on marrying or doing this as everyone else does, but after all we’ve been through, don’t you dare tell me that I have been delusionally imagining all these romantic gestures and moments”

“Mademoiselle Parisot is upstairs waiting for me. I would love to continue to discuss this in another time, unless there’s anything that must be told in this exact moment” Was his voice meant to sound confident? (Y/N) could almost feel some sorrow slipping through the cracks of his quick confession. 

The astounded expression on (Y/N)’s face showed that she did in fact not comprehend any of what Anthony was rambling about. A quick sight that denoted shock and upset preceded the lady’s monologue.

“I love you, Anthony, and it’s ruining my life. I can’t keep sighing like a damsel trapped in the highest tower, as I yearn for a future that my eyes will not behold. I can’t keep masquerading my true desires, in hopes that you will choose to stay. I will not continue to morph into whatever kind of woman you fantasize about at the moment, making all those efforts for a man who could never spare a glance at me in such a way, and losing myself in the process. I always thought my worst misery would originate in a forced, loveless marriage with some old earl at best , that would little by little drain every spark of joy within me. But oh, what fool I have been. This senseless affair we have going on has come to distress me more than the worst of husbands ever could. So, go on, run straight into her arms. I do not care, not one bit, my lord. You have shattered my heart a million times throughout the years, I cannot feel it tearing apart anymore.”

His stupidly handsome face showed an evident feeling of distraughtness ; she had never raised her voice like that, nor had she ever used similar words around (or against) him. He quickly shook  his head to wash away the initial shock, substituting it with his typical stoic mask.

“I have never intended to inflict any kind of pain upon yourself, my lady. But, as my dearest friend, you should have known what you were getting yourself into, (y/n).”

His casual condescending  tone made her sick to the stomach and the loudest of silences entered the scene. After a minute or two, a gentle breeze interrupted (y/n)’s pondering. She then raised her head up in a defying manner. After making sure her voice wouldn't give up on her (even though her lower lip was trembling), she decided to voice her thoughts. 

“That's the thing that bothers me so much about infatuation. It makes humans stupid, it makes them believe it can fix anything, even lost causes such as yourself, Viscount Bridgerton. I do not desire to disturb my lord any longer, so excuse me.” And just like that, she was heading back inside the ballroom.

The sound of her heels furiously hitting the floor with every step matched perfectly with the accelerated heartbeat of the man left stranded in the gardens. Without much thought he decided to return to the chambers where his seemingly perfect mistress awaited for him.

Not very far from the action, a slightly inebriated Benedict was laughing obnoxiously loud with Eloise and Colin. The sight of  (Y/N) crossing the doors so rapidly while trying to contain her sobs and tears made the three Bridgerton siblings turn their heads to follow their friend’s trajectory. 

“Should we-” Benedict was eager to console (Y/N) despite his clouded reasoning.

“I would say that she needs a moment to collect herself, Benedict. Our presence could do more harm to her already poor state.” Colin spoke.

“I will try to approach her later. I wonder what has happened… Wasn’t she talking with Anthony?” Eloise recalled perfectly how Anthony had started to converse with Miss (Y/N) earlier that night, right in front of the thriving gardenias. Everything seemed perfectly normal when she was passing by, but it was obvious that something had happened after she had gone back inside.

Eloise moved rapidly to peek around the corner, followed by the two males whose curiosity was unbearable as well. On the other side of the garden, an obviously tense Anthony was making his way to his chamber with a light emanating from the inside of the room.

Without a second thought, Benedict voiced what the three of them were thinking in that moment.

“I think that is exactly the problem, my dear sister…”

[burnthoneydrops]

Lavender's Blue, Dilly Dilly (c.b. x fem!reader)

pairing: colin bridgerton x fem!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: none? but let me know if i missed any!

a/n: Ah! the first of my "if i was a girl in a book" series is here with sound of music meets colin bridgerton! there will definitely be more parts to this (at least i think there will) but i wanted to introduce the idea of the series with this part first! hope you enjoy, let me know what you think! pt 2

The Bridgerton house is terrifying. Not necessarily the contents of the building, though you can not exactly speak for that as you had not entered the house yet, but the actual building is terrifying. It is beautiful and warm and spectacular and terrifying. You take a deep breath and close your eyes before marching up the front steps, placing your two bags down on either side of you, and knocking on the door. It takes approximately two seconds for the doors to open and expose the wide foyer and many footmen seemingly standing around waiting for your arrival. What ensues is the most awkward staring contest of your life; the man who opened the door stares seemingly into your soul, the blankest of stares on his face. 

“Good morning, my name is Y/N and I am here to see Lady Violet Bridgerton,” you finally break the silence, hoping he will stop staring at you if you say something regarding your presence. 

With his arms stuck to his sides and his neck turning only when his body does, the footman marches down the hall and announces your presence in the doorway. The shuffling of many feet against wood and carpet sound soon after, and you are greeted by two little heads staring from the doorframe. You wave delicately, readjusting the bag you had yet to put down in your clenched fist before deciding to put everything down in hopes of looking more welcoming and open. 

“Ah, Miss Y/N, what a pleasure it is to have you!” An older woman in a beautiful periwinkle dress makes her way over to you. Looking down quickly at your brown frock, you push any insecurity out of your mind before sticking your hand out to shake. “Oh no, we’re a hugging household if you don’t mind,” Violet interjects your inner monologue. “Oh, not at all,” you put your arm down and let her initiate the hug, feeling both increasingly awkward and welcome at the same time. 

“Your timing is impeccable, as all my children actually happen to be in the same place at the same time,” the woman laughs. So this is Lady Bridgerton.

“Well, when one has a home this exquisite, I would be partial to staying here as much as possible,” you compliment. 

“I have a feeling we shall get along quite well Miss Y/N,” Lady Bridgerton smiles at you, and you feel like you have gained a victory, if not a very small one. “Children! Come greet our guest!” Oh. You are going to meet all the children right now. Splendid. 

A cluster of frenzied bodies makes their way out into the foyer, the two younger ones that poked their heads at you earlier leading the charge. They soon formed a line, appearing oldest to youngest– though you could not confirm– and you hold back a laugh as the two littlest ones battle it out for a spot in the lineup. 

“Gregory! Hyacinth! Stop that at once, we do not want to be confusing your new governess on her first day,” the oldest–or at least the first in line– yells while leaning over the back of the line. 

“Apologies, they are not always like this,” Lady Bridgerton comments to you, standing by your side and looking disappointedly at her children. 

“Mother, do not lie,” the second in line crosses his arms over his chest as the third suppresses a chuckle with a cough. You try not to laugh along with him, and he catches your shared moment, smiling at you while rolling his shoulders back and tucking his arms behind him. 

“Well, I believe it is time that you should all introduce yourselves,” Lady Bridgerton waves her arm down the line in demonstration. 

“I am Anthony, the oldest and the head of the household,” Anthony starts, stepping forward slightly then stepping back like a soldier. 

“Very pleased to meet you,” you nod, smiling lightly.

“I am Benedict, second oldest,” he goes to readjust his vest and you notice the charcoal marks under his nails and the paint on his thumbs. 

“An artist too I see,” you comment, and his eyebrows raise in amusement and confusion. “Your hands give you away,” you explain, nodding to the signs you gathered. His mouth forms a silent ‘ah’ before tucking his hands behind his back. 

“Colin,” the third one nods at you with a sly smile on his face, “third, one and twenty, and without need of a governess”. 

“Though some may beg to differ,” one of the girls further down the line pipes up, causing the two youngest to giggle under their breath. 

“Well, I am sure we will get to know each other well on adult terms then,” you nod, trying to keep the situation light. 

The girls keep the line going, Lady Bridgerton informing you that Daphne, the oldest daughter, was to debut this year and that while you would mainly be watching over the smallest two children, it would be much appreciated if you were to aid the girls in their more accomplished skills as well. 

“It would be a delight ma’am,” you smile, and when Lady Bridgerton announces that you will need to be shown to your room, Gregory and Hyacinth (whose names you now have committed to memory) are quick to grab a hand on either side of you and drag you up the stairs. Eagerly waiting to get to know their new companion better, you are left to wave a hasty goodbye to the rest of the family as you nearly trip over the initial stair for the children are oh so speedy.

The first night finds you unable to sleep. The space is unfamiliar and the job so incredibly daunting. Though you have faith that you can achieve what you set out to do, it does not make the prospect of having to live with eight children, one mother, and who knows how many staff any less immeasurable. When the Bridgerton family had written to the greater community that they were in search of a new governess, you had never imagined that they would select you, but you were of course more than grateful. Coming from humble beginnings yourself, the cavernous environment and the sheer amount of people in it were enough to spike your anxiety. After tossing on your side for the 100th time, you finally strike a match, lighting the candle on your bedside table and grabbing your diary from beside it. Writing letters to family and friends had become a habit of yours when you could not sleep, which you are not eager to admit happens frequently. You begin writing a letter to your mother, the words spilling out of you as the ink bleeds through the page and onto your hands. Paying no mind to anything other than writing, you are shaken out of your mental tunnel with a quick knock on your door. 

“Yes?” You call through, quickly shoving your diary under your pillow. 

The door opens hesitantly, and Colin peeks his head through the frame. “My apologies, I saw the light under the door on my way down the hall and feared someone had left it burning in their sleep”. 

“Oh,” you laugh awkwardly, “do not fret Mr. Bridgerton, it was merely me”. 

“Were you unable to sleep?” 

“Yes, but not to worry, it was merely,” you pause and realise there is rain tapping at your window, “the storm”. 

“Ah. I know a few of my younger siblings are unable to sleep during storms as well,” he nods in understanding. 

As if responding to a cue, Hyacinth runs up to the door and Colin opens it wider. Her creased forehead and pouted lips are enough for you to open your arms, sending her flying onto your bed. She ducks her head into your pillows, covering her ears further as thunder claps outside your window. You rub your hand along her back, looking between her and Colin who still stands at your door. 

“My dear, did the storm frighten you?” It feels like an obvious question, but one must cover all bases when dealing with new children. Lest you forget when, two families ago, one of the middle children was not scared of the storm, but of the fact that his older brother was chasing him down the hallway with a fish head. How they had even come across such a thing you will never know. Hyacinth nods her head and you pat the space next to you, whispering quiet shushing sounds in her ear as you hear another set of feet approaching your door. Colin looks down the hall as Gregory comes to join the party. 

“Were you scared as well darling?” You ask, scooting your legs to the farthest edge of your bed to make more room. 

“No! I wasn’t scared…I was merely coming to check on Hyacinth,” he sounds unconvinced. You nod in agreement, muttering ‘of course’ to save him his image of masculinity when another round of thunder rolls through. That masculine facade is quick to fall as Gregory runs up onto your bed, taking up the space behind Hyacinth. Colin chuckles and you send him a death glare to avoid him making fun of his siblings. 

“Now now, the storm cannot hurt us inside. We have light, and windows from which to watch the storm pass if we so choose,” you try reassuring them, but it seems to do little good as the children keep in their tucked positions. 

There is suddenly a fourth Bridgerton entering your room when Francesca makes her way in, her head down in fear and shame. You open your arms wider, allowing her a safe space in which to take refuge, and she joins the cluster of Bridgertons on your bed. “Couldn’t sleep,” she mutters before wrapping her arms around Gregory.

“You know what always makes me feel better in times like these?” You look between the three closest to you. None of them give a verbal answer, but Hyacinth raises her head from the pillows, looking at you with the saddest eyes known to man. “My mother used to sing to me when I was scared of the storms. Would you like a song?” Francesca is the first to nod, then Hyacinth. Gregory is last, first trying to keep a tough illusion but quickly dropping it when lighting flashes into view from your window. 

“Lavender’s blue dilly dilly, lavender’s green. When I am queen dilly dilly, you shall be king,” you begin. When you aren’t watching, Colin closes your bedroom door, leaning against the closest wall. “Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so? Twas my own heart dilly dilly, that told me so”. He hadn’t been expecting much when his mother informed the family of the new governess that was to join them, in fact he had rather been irritated by the idea. The youngest children always found a way to scare them off and it seemed like a waste of time and money in his opinion, but his mind is slowly being changed. Watching you interact with his siblings in such a kind a heartfelt manner, especially with it being less than 24 hours since your arrival stirs something within him. He does not quite have a name for it yet, but there is something compelling him to stay in place rather than walking the few extra steps to his room. 

Perhaps he could get used to having a new member of the household.

[bosbas]

Chapter 1: if a man talks shit then I owe him nothing

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy-ish!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, some strong language, a small part of the dialogue is in French (with translations provided), period-typical views on women, alluding to sex, mentions of alcohol

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

A/N: French is not my first language so IM SORRY if the dialogue is a bit weird. I speak some French and obvi double checked to make sure it made sense but please lmk if i made a mistake 

April 14, 1816 – Dearest Gentle Readers,

A new season is upon us, and so my work begins anew. Firstly, we can reacquaint ourselves with the familiar faces we expect to see this season. It has been two years since Viscount Anthony Bridgerton married, and dowager Viscountess Bridgerton is surely itching to secure a match for more of her children. Miss Eloise Bridgerton, now in her second year of being out, remains unmarried. And, of course, one cannot help but wonder whether the charming Mr. Colin Bridgerton will return from his travels in time for the season. Though Benedict Bridgerton has been absent from the public eye as of late, he could also be considered an eligible bachelor. Shall we see any of them marry this season? This author remains skeptical, though, with the Bridgertons, one must always expect the unexpected.

There are, however, plenty of new faces. Chief among them are the two youngest Montclair siblings. The Montclairs resided in London for the debut of Lady Charlotte Montclair, now the Duchess of Somerset, before vanishing from England’s social scene. Until now, of course. Though Lord Louis Montclair is only two and twenty and may still be considered green for the marriage mart, all eyes will surely be on Lady Y/N Montclair as she steps into the spotlight and searches for an impressively titled gentleman. Though the Montclairs have graced the streets of Calcutta, Rome, Geneva, and Madrid, among other illustrious locales, one can only hope that the grandeur of London lives up to their expectations.

You let out a resigned sigh of frustration, scolding yourself for your tardiness as you hurried down the stairs. It was half an hour past when you were supposed to be in the breakfast room, and your mother was bound to be at least a little displeased with you. It was the first time your entire family was in the same place since your older brother Jacques got married in September. Despite being a big family, six siblings in total, four of whom were married, it was unusual that you had gone so long without seeing them all in one place.

Moving from country to country every few years for much of your upbringing had made your siblings a very tight-knit bunch. So, as you neared the breakfast room, which was full of laughter and lively conversation, you couldn't shake the twinge of guilt for your late arrival.

But you couldn’t help it! Not this time, at least. It had been your first night in London since your sister Charlotte’s season eight years ago, and you had stayed up until the early hours of the morning stargazing in your garden. There was a secluded patch of grass between the summer pavilion and the tulips, a secret spot hidden from prying eyes, where you could spend hours looking at the sky in peaceful solitude. Last time you were in London, you had snuck out of your bedroom every night to stare at the stars, and you had been pleased to find that the spot remained undiscovered.

You had always been comforted by the fact that the cosmos would remain the same even if your home did not. The night sky had become somewhat of a companion during your childhood years, and you were interested to see what part of it you were privy to in London at this time of year. Perhaps a scolding and a lecture from your mother were not such a high price to pay for the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with the stars, you reasoned.

You slithered into the breakfast room quietly, hoping to draw as little attention to yourself as possible, but you had no such luck. Your brother closest to you in age, Louis, was sitting nearest to the door and noticed your late entrance immediately.

Taking advantage of every opportunity to make your life just a little harder, he goaded, “T'es très en retard, demoiselle. Ce n'est pas convenable pour une fille en quête d'un mari!” (You’re very late, young lady. This is not suitable for a girl looking for a husband!)

Under any other circumstances, you might have laughed at his impression of your mother, but you were quite sleep-deprived and in no mood to have your brother lecture you. You sighed in frustration, hissing, “Louis, ferme ta gue-” (Louis, shut you mou-)

“English, please!” interrupted your father, not even looking up from his newspaper as he sat at the head of the table.

You were relieved he hadn’t commented on your colorful language, but his curt reprimand reminded you that it was in poor taste to speak a language not everyone could understand. Growing up, your family had primarily spoken French, but with none of your siblings having married a francophone, you were now only allowed to speak in French when everyone present could speak it, too. It was a rule enforced particularly during big family gatherings such as this one. Despite your fluency in five languages, your parents insisted on English, the only common language among all twelve family members.

“Sorry,” you muttered, not quite sure that your father had even heard. You slid into your seat between Louis and your brother Jacques’ wife, Chiara. Still annoyed with Louis, you turned to the newest addition to the Montclair family and smiled at her warmly.

“Ciao, Y/N,” she greeted, smiling back and kissing you on the cheek.

“Ciao, Chiara, è bello rivederti,” you responded (Hi Chiara, it’s nice to see you again). You were tempted to keep speaking to her in Italian–you liked the practice, after all–but feared another scolding from your father. So, you settled for, “I trust your trip back home was good?”

“Oh, it was lovely. Florence always is at this time of year. You should come back to visit sometime! Beatrice misses you terribly,” she exclaimed.

Beatrice was Chiara’s younger sister, whom you had become dear friends with while living in Tuscany. You had remained in Tuscany for nearly four years, longer than you usually stayed in one place, and though you were itching to leave and see more of the world by the end of your time in Florence, you were thankful you had met Beatrice. Both of you were delighted when you realized your brother was marrying her sister, ensuring you would remain close even when you moved away.

You sighed. “I miss her, too. We correspond quite regularly, but it’s simply not the same. I assume it will be worse now that I am in England and even farther from her,” you lamented.

After Jacques and Chiara’s wedding, your parents, Louis, and you returned home to Amboise for a few months. Beatrice had visited for the holidays along with Chiara and Jacques, but you knew she was unlikely to come to England when she was busy with her season back home.

Chiara smiled sympathetically. “Well, Jacques and I are only staying for a few weeks before returning to Tuscany. If you get bored here in London, you are always welcome to visit,” she comforted.

It was a lovely thought, but you doubted your parents would allow you to leave England until you were married. Your parents’ marriage had most certainly not been a love match, and though they did grow to love each other eventually, they didn’t particularly care whether you loved the man you married. To them, marriage was an economic endeavor rather than a romantic one. You had never minded much, having accepted your fate early in life as you watched your siblings marry strategically.

Nevertheless, you had grown rather nervous about your season after watching the outcome of Charlotte’s. In your parents’ eyes, her season was a complete success as she married a Duke a few short months after her debut. But you knew better. Not all of your siblings had enjoyed moving around so much, but you, Louis, and Charlotte were the most enthusiastic. Having married the Duke of Somerset, Charlotte had become Duchess, and her duties tied her to England. After such an international childhood, you knew Charlotte was dreadfully bored of staying in England year after year.

You knew there were much worse marriages to be in, but you still wanted to avoid being permanently tied to England, of all places. You were only twenty years old, after all, and you still had so much of the world to see.

---

“By the way,” Violet said, strategically avoiding the topic until she was about to leave the sitting room. “Both of you are attending the Danbury ball tomorrow night.”

The expected chorus of complaints filled her ears, and she shook her head in amusement at her children’s petulance. One would think she was trying to force them to walk halfway across the world!

Violet sighed and said firmly, “I understand that neither of you is particularly enthusiastic, but we are not so rude as to miss the first ball of the season. And at Lady Danbury’s home, at that! Surely the retribution you would receive from her is enough to make you want to go.”

“Well, Colin’s coming home from Greece tomorrow and I hardly think he’ll be in attendance, so I don’t see why we should be,” argued Eloise, earning an enthusiastic nod from Benedict.

“You make the mistake of thinking that I have not already informed Colin he will be in attendance. None of you have the option to stay home, I’m afraid.”

And with that, she left her grumbling children behind in favor of a quiet turn around the garden.

---

Colin arrived at Number 5 Bruton Street feeling rather unkempt. His journey from Greece had been particularly tumultuous, and he was ready to change clothes and sleep for the next seventeen hours.

“Colin! I’m so glad you’re home,” exclaimed Violet upon seeing him. For all her nagging, he was quite fond of his mother and found that he had missed her while he had been away. Seeing tears forming in her eyes, Colin wrapped Violet up in a tight hug, hoping to avoid feeling worse about being away for so long.

“He’s home!” shouted Gregory, running up to greet him. The rest of his siblings followed suit, and Colin basked in the excitement of his homecoming.

To the rest of the ton, Colin was the most well-liked Bridgerton due to his easygoing nature and cheerful demeanor, and because he was rather good-looking as well, he hoped. However, it was nice to know that his family still cared for him despite his prolonged absences.

“The Danbury ball is in a few hours, so make sure to be ready on time,” his mother reminded him once she had gathered herself.

He groaned, having forgotten he had promised his mother he would attend. He sighed as he prepared for an evening of excruciating conversation as he politely listened to ambitious mamas name every single positive attribute their daughters possessed in the hopes of impressing him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, but rather that he remained uninterested in marriage, finding his travels a much more exciting prospect. But he had a reputation to maintain, so he would be as courteous as ever to everyone he met and perhaps even dance with a few of them.

A few hours later, the Bridgertons were, quite impatiently, one could say, waiting for Benedict to finish getting ready so they could leave for the Danbury Ball.

“Excited for your third season?” Colin directed his question at Eloise. He knew the answer, of course, but he was growing bored of waiting for Benedict and thought that this would be the perfect distraction.

“Shut up.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone you absolutely adore, El. Don’t close yourself off to the possibilities,” preached Colin, annoying Eloise further.

“What about you, Colin? Five and twenty and still unmarried, that’s a bit ghastly don’t you think?” she shot back.

Of course, it wasn't unheard of to be unmarried at his age, but Colin panicked regardless, knowing his mother would surely love to join the conversation now that his marriage prospects were a talking point. But Benedict saved him by walking down the stairs at that moment.

“Finally! Now can we go, please?” exclaimed Eloise.

“I’m surprised, Eloise. I thought you didn’t want to go to this ball,” teased Benedict, but she only grumbled in return as they headed toward their carriage.

The carriage rides were usually the worst part of going to a ball. Violet Bridgerton, efficient as ever, would inform each of her children of the possible prospects that would be in attendance that night, impossibly elongating the journey and making the Bridgertons less and less pleased about being forced to go. They weren't always forced, of course, but the carriage rides certainly made it seem that way.

“The Montclairs will be in London for the season, I heard. Lady Y/N Montclair will be making her debut, which will surely interest you two,” said Violet, nodding at the men in the carriage. “And for you, Eloise, her older brother Lord Louis Montclair is perhaps too young to get married, but it wouldn’t hurt to speak with him and practice your French.”

Violet droned on for the rest of the ride, and the Bridgerton siblings could barely get out of the carriage fast enough when it arrived at Danbury House. Little did they know that they had played right into Violet’s plan. She wanted to enjoy the evening and visit with her friends, and hopefully, her overly long analysis of the key figures at today’s ball would keep her children away from her enough for her to do so.

Inside the ballroom, you were speaking with a perfectly nice but quite boring gentleman. You couldn’t quite remember his name, having talked to at least a dozen men practically identical to him already. You barely registered his request for a dance, and you only realized you had accepted when you found yourself in the middle of the dance floor. Luckily, the dance went by fairly quickly and you were able to sprinkle in interested hums and “oh really?” at the appropriate times. All in all, it was not a terrible experience, if only you could remember his name.

He returned you to your mother and bowed in parting, kissing your hand and promising to call on you the next day.

“Who was that?” you muttered once he had left.

“Y/N,” she scolded, but could barely contain her laughter. “I can’t believe you danced with a man you don’t even know the name of!”

You shrugged, not particularly interested in learning who he was anymore.

“Is there anyone else you want me to meet?” you asked her, hoping she would say no and you would be free to find Louis and talk to someone familiar at last.

But your mother was distracted from answering as she saw two tall men crossing the ballroom. She squeezed your arm and nodded in their direction, careful to be discreet.

“Those are the Bridgertons. Their oldest brother, the Viscount, is already married, but it is of no consequence. Perhaps the second and third sons might not be fit to be your husband, but you should still introduce yourself and make a good impression should you encounter them.”

You nodded, disinterested. You were too busy looking around the room, realizing that there was still a myriad of gentlemen left to speak with. It seemed that there were too many eligible bachelors if that was even possible. You had thought there would be five men that your mother would have approved of, at most, and you could make your pick between them. But it seemed London was a particularly popular place for titled gentlemen to search for a wife, and you were growing uneasy.

Trying not to think about the long evening ahead of you, you tuned back into what your mother was saying. “Oh! I don’t quite know where Colin Bridgerton has gone off to now, but Benedict is over by the lemonade if you can see him. I believe that is his sister, Eloise. They all look identical, don’t they? The same brown h-”

“Pardon me,” you interrupted as panic rose in your chest. You were in desperate need of a respite, and could hardly handle another minute listening to her speak about more men she needed you to meet. “I think I see an old friend of mine, and I must say hello,” you lied.

Your mother raised her eyebrows in surprise, shocked that you remembered people from eight years ago, but let you go regardless. Impatiently, you waited until someone else engaged her in conversation and quietly slipped out into the hallway. Stepping out of a ball on your own like this was forbidden, and your father would surely have your head if he found out you had risked being found unchaperoned and away from the ball, but you needed to get away for just a moment to gather yourself.

Lady Danbury’s home was quite beautiful, you found, and you were enjoying looking at the art on her walls as you roamed the halls. You were careful not to stray too far, not knowing your way around and recognizing that you only had a short time before someone was bound to notice your absence.

Suddenly, your senses heightened as you heard two men’s voices far closer than you would have liked. Panicking, you jumped around a corner and prayed that no one would find you, absolutely not ready to be forced to marry a man only one ball into your debut. You willed your heart to stop beating so loudly lest you get caught and tried to discern what the men were saying, unable to quell your curiosity despite the precarious position you found yourself in.

“And, if she's the right sort of woman, you won’t even have to do anything, she'll just get on top and do all the work. Though I suppose it all depends on her dowry. The larger the dowry the more I’m willing to overlook,” slurred one of them. “And you, Colin? Do any ladies catch your eye? I’m sure you could get away with anything with any of these girls, though I suggest picking one that’s got good hips.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief at the same time as you heard 'Colin' say, “Why don’t we continue this conversation outside, Nigel?”

Their footsteps echoed down the hall and you risked a glance at them, still horrified but wanting to know who they were anyway. You were unsurprised to find Nigel walking toward the garden, having met Mr. Nigel Berbrooke earlier in the evening and finding him quite unpleasant. However, you were shocked to find who you assumed to be Colin Bridgerton walking quite close to Mr. Berbrooke. Hadn’t your mother said the Bridgertons were people of good standing? Surely someone would have noticed that the third son was a complete ass. But perhaps he was the odd one out, and the rest of his family was lovely. Or perhaps Englishmen were simply unpleasant as a whole. Whatever the reason for his horrible comments, you decided you despised Colin Bridgerton and dreaded the day you would have to speak with him.

“Quel salaud,” you muttered angrily under your breath after you heard Mr. Bridgerton close the door to the outdoor patio (What a bastard). Pacing up and down the hallway, you were too enraged by what you heard to return to the ballroom.

The quality of men in England seemed to be quite lacking, and suddenly you wished you could follow in your sister Isabelle’s footsteps and go to Spain to find a titled gentleman there. Isabelle had seemed quite excited about all her suitors before eventually settling on Carlos, who practically worshipped the ground she walked on. Unfortunately, it seemed that you were not destined for such a husband, you thought glumly.

But you supposed you didn't really have a choice. You let out a weary sigh and leaned heavily against the wall, shaking your head as you accepted the reality of your situation. With an angry humph and one last look to make sure no one was around, you quietly slipped back into the ballroom and searched for your mother, who would surely be looking for you now. As you expected, she spotted you almost instantly, and she immediately drew you into conversation with a gentleman you believed to be an Earl.

---

Colin stood outside the door to the ballroom, flexing his fingers to make sure there was still feeling there. Confirming the health of his right hand, he gently opened the ballroom door with his left and stepped inside, looking around for Benedict. Spotting him a few feet away, Colin quickly made his way over hoping to avoid any particularly insistent mamas at this precise moment.

“You look quite relaxed,” commented Benedict, earning a glare from Colin.

“Berbrooke,” Colin explained flatly. “How that man manages to get so drunk so quickly I will never know.”

But suddenly his attention was drawn elsewhere. Time seemed to slow down as a stunning lady he had never seen before crossed the ballroom. He was paralyzed, stuck to his spot on the ground as he stared after you. The only thing he could hear was his heart beating loudly in his ears, and though Colin wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, he imagined it might have felt something like this if he did. Without a second thought, he knew he had to know you. It was almost instinctual.

Colin tugged on Benedict’s sleeve, his eyes still glued to your form as you laughed politely at whoever you were speaking with. “Who is that over there? Have you spoken with her?”

“I’m sure I have no idea,” responded Benedict. “You could always ask Mother.”

“I might do just that, actually,” hummed Colin, deep in thought.

Benedict choked back a laugh, looking over at his younger brother. “Are you being serious?”

Tearing his eyes away from you for a moment, Colin turned to his brother, confused. “Well, yes. If anyone knows who she is, it’ll be her, no?”

Realizing that Colin was, in fact, quite serious, Benedict’s expression sobered. “You are aware if you even hint at the fact that you might be interested in her, Mother will surely come up with at least a dozen plans to marry you off?”

“I don’t think that would be the worst thing in the world,” Colin reasoned, eyes searching for you in the crowd again. Five minutes ago, he would’ve thought it silly, how captivated he was by you. But five minutes ago, he had not yet seen you.

Just as he was about to seek out his mother to ask about you, Lady Danbury walked up to the pair of Bridgertons and poked Colin's foot with her cane. Usually, her presence would have instilled a healthy dose of fear in him, but tonight all he really wanted was to know you, and he supposed Lady Danbury was just as knowledgeable as Violet Bridgerton about the goings on of the ton.

“What are you doing staring at Lady Montclair?” she demanded.

“Lady Montclair? Is that her name?” Then, vaguely remembering what his mother had said on the carriage ride to the ball, he added, “The one from France?”

Lady Danbury hummed, suspicious of Colin’s enthusiasm. “Yes. Lady Y/N Montclair. Speaking with her brother Lord Louis Montclair. Are you interested?”

“I think I am, yes,” he sighed.

“I do believe she has space left on her dance card,” prompted Lady Danbury, doing very little to hide the fact that she was nudging Colin in your direction.

Once Colin had taken off, Benedict turned to her, not distracted enough to forget decorum as his brother had. “This is a wonderful ball, Lady Danbury. My deepest gratitude to you for inviting us, as always.”

But she only waved his thanks away. “Shush, boy. I’m trying to pay attention to Colin willingly asking a lady to dance for the first time.”

Soft music floated through the ballroom as you laughed quietly with Louis, who seemed to be having a wonderful time terrorizing your mother and refusing to dance with any ladies she introduced to him. The gentle hum of the room was interrupted by the sound of footsteps beside you, and with a polite smile on your face, you turned to greet whoever had approached. Realizing you were face to face with Mr. Colin Bridgerton, your expression immediately turned stony.

Bowing with just the right degree of formality, Colin introduced himself, his charm seemingly effortless. He certainly played the part of a perfect gentleman; you could give him that. But you couldn’t forget his conversation with Mr. Berbrooke, the distasteful words replaying in your mind over and over.

Then, extending his hand to you and tilting his head slightly toward the dance floor, a soft smile on his lips, he asked, “Would you care to dance with me this evening, Lady Montclair?”

Looking at him squarely, you responded, your voice sickly sweet, “Why no, Mr. Bridgerton. I don’t believe I would.”

—

previous part || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

Tag List: @marvelspogue @5sosmakesmelaugh5 @livingthatprovinciallife @maddiebaddie1 @willieoo @jessica-1120 @dreadity @h0eforwadewilson @ziarah @wordsgodeep

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[munsonsmixtapes]

munsonsmixtapes masterlist

Steve Harrington

Teach Me: Part One

Teach Me: Part Two

Teach Me: Part Three

Teach Me: Part Four

Teach Me: Part Five(18+)

Teach Me: Part Six(18+)

Teach Me: Part Seven

Teach Me: Part Eight

request: Steve is totally in love with metalhead!you

request: Steve gives you your first kiss

Steddie

Don't Be Nervous

Peter Parker

Don’t Want You Like a Best Friend

Billy Hargrove

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Anthony Bridgerton

Tired of Waiting

request: you and Anthony are convinced that you’re enemies until you’re not

Evan “Buck” Buckley

Cheers to You

Pose

Taylor Swift series

Dress (18+)

Say Don’t Go

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Soon You'll Get Better

Sweet Nothing

Bad Blood

prompt request: “We need to talk about last night.” (18+)

prompt request: “Please don’t cry.”

request: Buck gives you a massage after a long day

request: you and Buck have makeup sex after being broken up for a week (18+)

Buck x shy!probie!reader

Slugger

Angel

Honey

Sweetheart

Baby (18+)

Eddie Diaz

Breakup (18+)

request: you and Eddie end up being forced to share a hotel room during a storm which brings you closer (18+)

request: there’s nothing more that Eddie loves than eating you out (18+)

request: you and Eddie confuse your sexual tension for hatred (18+)

request: you and Eddie can't deny your attraction to one another (18+)

request: you catch Eddie masturbating and help him finish the job which ends in a love confession from the both of you

Buddie x reader

Just a Taste (18+)

Never Too Late

Maybe I Do

request: your boyfriends Buck and Eddie help you distress after a long day (18+)

Benedict Bridgerton

Paint Me series

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four (18+)

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Benedict x bestie!fem!reader series

Benny

Ben

request: you tell Benedict that you don't want to have children

request: your fiancé Benedict worships your body after you struggle with some insecurity (18+)

Tyler Owens

Save a Horse (18+)

Make it Real (18+)

Oh, Baby (18+)

request: even though you claim not to be, you are very jealous when Tyler interacts with female fans

request: you give Tyler special treatment even though it’s your birthday (18+)

request: you and Tyler can't deny the tension and sleep together at a house party-based on the song shut up and drive by rhianna (18+)

request: Tyler knows exactly how to comfort after you've had a nightmare

request: kitchen floor sex with your boyfriend Tyler (18+)

request: Tyler decides to teach you a lesson after he gets jealous seeing you hang out with Boone (18+)

request: you're the only one who's able to tie down Tylet the womanizer

Bobby Nash

Just a Number

Logan Howlett

Put it on My Tab

request: You and Logan finally realize that you actually like each other after Wade reveals it to you (18+)

request: You're feeling insecure and Logan reassures you that he loves you just the way you are

request: Logan assures you that he doesn’t care that you haven’t shaved

Wade Wilson

request: Wade lets you sleep while he takes care of your newborn

request: Wade is a little too protective over you

Finnick Odair

request: a snippet of your life with Finnick

Boone (Twisters)

request: a storm causes you and Boone to share a motel room where you have plenty of time to talk about your feelings for each other

Summer Celebration Requests

You and Steve say “I love you” for the first time during a picnic in the park

You tell your best friend Eddie that you love him on the way to a camping trip

Your best friend Eddie takes you to see your favorite band in concert where you both realize that you’re in love with each other

You’re filling in for Gareth on the drums on the Corroded Coffin. Too bad you and the lead singer hate each other. Or do you? (18+)

Steve takes you to see a horror movie despite his hatred for them just so you’ll cuddle him

You and your best friend, Eddie become members of the mile high club while on a flight (18+)

A love confession with Eddie in the rain

rockstar!Eddie and roadie!you are finally together

One thing leads to another and you make out with your enemy, mechanic!Eddie in the rain while you both wait for a tow truck to take your car to the mechanic

Eddie hates the pool, but he accompanies you anyway because he loves you so much

You and Steve are working are camp counselors for the summer, but it’s too bad that you don’t like him

[xxchumanixx]

Lilies and conspiracies pt. 1

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Lilies and Conspiracies pt. 1 - Reputation and Decorum

Warnings/Tags: fluff, a bit angst, historical gender roles, nothing more yet, really

Word Count: 3.172

Authors Note: Hello loves! Here it is: My first series! I have to say that I'm a tad bit nervous, considering my lack of motivation to write sometimes... Anyways, let me know what you think! Lots of love!

Series Masterlist -> pt. 2

As always: Enjoy!

Dear reader,

it has come to my notice that a certain young Miss and her brother have recently returned from their rather long stay in France, looking for love in this season. It is said that she has grown into a beautiful young woman, whilst her brother has become a handsome gentleman.

At least that is what this author has been told.

We yet have to examine this young Miss and her brother, but this author is certain that they will make a certain appereance at the second ball this season at the Trowbridge house.

One can only hope that Viscount Bridgerton will not scrutinize her with that checklist of his - the poor one.

One can only hope he will find a wife at all.

- Lady Whistledown's Society Papers, London, April 1814

It was the second ball of your season as a debutante, having only returned from your stay at France a while ago. You had yet to meet some of the Lords and Ladies, yet you could already tell a lot of them were different than you.

You had been standing at the edge of the ballroom, dancing people and burning candles all around you, the smell of perfume and candle wax heavy in the air.

You had noticed how Viscount Anthony Bridgerton stood at the edge of the ballroom as well, grumbling to himself. It hadn't slipped your notice the way he was looking for a wife, his list of potential names at hand.

Yet he seemed rather displeased.

"This is absolute nonsense." Anthony grumbled to himself after yet another girl failed to fulfill his requests and expectations, unable to meet these high standards, the paper in his hand wrinkled already.

That godforsaken list his mother had made.

He wasn't looking for love, no, not after he'd witnessed what love can do, the pain it brought; that simply wasn't in the cards for him. "How is it possible that one cannot find a proper lady in a room full of them?" he added, brows furrowing in bewilderment.

You had heard him, cocking a brow, as you moved towards him. "Trouble, Lord Bridgerton?" you asked, coming to a halt beside him with your hands clasped in front of you.

You had known the Viscount for most of your life, your brother having spend his college years with him, but when you returned from France, he seemed to have become someone else.

Anthony flinched, having been pulled from his reverie, and he raised his head to see you. He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning you once before straightening his posture. "Yes, quite." he responded with an annoyed roll of his eyes. "A whole ballroom full of debutantes, and there isn’t a single respectable one in the bunch."

"Ouch." you said playfully, putting a hand above your heart.

Anthony's eyes flickered over you, looking you up and down again. There was something about your sarcastic comment that had intrigued him. He watched as you placed a hand against your chest in feigned hurt and his lips tugged upward in a near smirk. "Well, it’s not as though I’ve been shy about what it is I’m expecting from a wife." he replied, his voice laced with dry amusement.  

Your brows twitched. "Well, the whole ton has its own opinions about that." Lady Whistledown had certainly made sure to pick up on everything the Viscount had said about his search for a suitable wife.

Anthony chuckled at that, a half smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, it’s rather fascinating exactly what gossip the ton can spread, without having their nose in the midst of my affairs." he said. "And it’s not as though I haven’t been clear enough in what I’m looking for, that I’m not looking for love." he added with a sigh, his eyes looking over you again. 

You chuckled to yourself. "Well, most matches made here are not out of love." you pointed out.

Anthony’s smirk tugged ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth at your response "It’s true, most marriages in the ton are not out of love. Perhaps I should be surprised at my difficulty with finding a match. Most of these ladies are far too young and naive and silly to even understand much of love." he said, his eyes still focused on you, watching intently every move you made. 

He couldn't shake the feeling that you had changed during your stay in France, having become a grown-up woman rather than the young and naive little girl he remembered you to be.

You chuckled again. "They are like ducklings thrown into a pond." you said. "They didn't learn how to swim yet, still they are forced to."  

Anthony hummed in agreement, his smirk growing into a full blown smile as he nodded his head. "Exactly that. Their mothers think that because they’re of age, they’ll suddenly find husbands to take care of them. And they’re all the same: sheltered and naive and foolish." he declared. "The women in this room barely know the difference between love and lust."  

You huffed. "Well, how are they expected to be, if they don't know the concept of either?" you asked, fully aware that most young girls knew much less than you did, before they were wed off to some wealthy men. 

Anthony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’re right, they don’t know any better. Their mothers have done them a disservice by keeping them from understanding what their purpose is." he said with a shake of his head. "It’s all so silly. Marriage is about duty and family, not love."  

You smiled a small smile at that. "Love can still find a place."  

Anthony’s expression softened as he raised a brow, a scoff leaving his mouth. "I used to believe that, until I realized it was a myth." he said. "All love does is create chaos and heartbreak. It’s easier to focus on duty and family rather than risk the mess that love can bring." His voice was firm, but there was a note of something like sorrow in it.  

Your gaze softened as you tilted your head in silent understanding. "It can be rather ironic, can it not?" you asked. 

Anthony looked at you for a moment, taking in the softening of your gaze and the tilt of your head. He could see the understanding in your eyes, and he couldn't help but be slightly impressed by it. "How is it ironic?" he questioned, his expression becoming guarded as he braced himself to hear your response.  

"Love is said to be the greatest feeling of all." you explained. "Yet it can lead to the worst of all, too." 

Anthony’s gaze remained fixed on you as you spoke, his expression becoming thoughtful. He nodded his head in agreement, a small sigh leaving his lips. "Yes, love is said to be the greatest feeling. But you’re right, it can also lead to the worst pain and heartbreak." he mused as he looked out to the ballroom, watching the couples dancing as if they were perfectly happy and in love. "Is it worth the risk, though?" he added quietly, more to himself than to you.  

"It can be." you spoke softly. "If one is brave enough to take it."  

Anthony looked back at you, a look of contemplation crossing his features as he listened to your words. He chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. "You speak as though you’ve experienced it." he said with a slight tilt of his head, his tone laced with curiosity.  

You smiled softly. "No, not yet." you said. "But my parents were deeply in love."  

Anthony’s mouth twitched, somewhat surprised by your response. He was used to a lot of the ladies in the ton declaring how they hoped to fall in love and be loved by their partner in return, but it was rather refreshing to hear someone say they hadn’t yet experienced it.

It further fueled his theory.

He was also somewhat caught off guard by your mention of your parents being in love. It was rare to hear of a love match in the ton, and he couldn’t help but wonder about that. "You come from a love match?" he asked curiously, though something in the back of his head told him you were right. He remembered your parents distantly, remembering how deeply they cared for each other.  

You smiled. "Yes." you responded, smile faltering slightly. "My parents were smitten the moment they shared their first dance. But when my mother died, my father's heart was forever broken." 

Anthony’s expression softened, a pang of sympathy tugging at his heart, as he remembered. He could tell there was a hint of sadness in your expression as you told him of your parents’ love and your mother’s death and your father’s heartbreak that resulted from it. He knew the pain of losing a loved one all too well himself. He was silent for a moment, considering his response before speaking again. "I’m sorry for your loss." he said quietly, his voice gentler than before.

"Thank you." you said. "It's been six years now, but my father said he wouldn't do it differently, even if he knew how it ended."  

Anthony listened intently as you spoke of your father’s love for your mother, even after six years since her death. He couldn't help but be somewhat envious of your parents’ love match. He had never experienced that kind of love, but he had seen the effects of it after his father’s death. He was struck by the strength in your father’s words, the conviction that he wouldn’t change his love for your mother, no matter the outcome. "That’s true love, isn’t it?" he murmured softly, surprising himself with his question, as he was the first to declare not to believe in love as something good.  

You nodded. "It is. And it's even rarer than a compliment from the queen herself." you spoke jokingly, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Anthony chuckled softly at your response, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He found himself strangely drawn to your wit and your understanding in this conversation. He hadn’t expected to find such an engaging companion at this dull event. He couldn’t help but raise a brow at your remark, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Is that supposed to be a high form of praise?" he asked, a hint of a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

You snorted, covering your mouth with your hand, stifling your laughter. You hadn't expected the question, being caught off guard by it.

Anthony’s smirk grew into a grin at your snort of laughter, the sound of your amusement sending a spark of something warm through him. He found himself slightly amused and even impressed by your unabashed laughter, a stark contrast to the fake giggles and smiles of most of the debutantes in the room. He couldn’t help but tease you further, his eyes still glinting with playful amusement. "I take it that’s a no, then?" he questioned, his voice laced with mirth.  

Your eyes widened, shoulders shaking from the stifled laughter. "Stop it!" you scolded him playfully, still laughing to yourself. 

Anthony chuckled heartily, the sound of your laughter only making his own amusement grow. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had such a lighthearted and playful conversation with a member of the ton. It was refreshing and strangely exhilarating.

He raised his hands in a gesture of innocence, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Stop what?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned innocence, his grin widening as he realized he loved seeing you laugh like this.

Strange.

You shook your head, trying to stop laughing, biting your cheek, before taking a deep breath. "Don't-" you were interrupted by another snort of laughter. You turned away from him for a brief moment, calming yourself with a hand pressed over your chest. When you turned back around, you had tears in your eyes from laughing. "You know exactly what I mean, my lord." you said breathlessly. 

You hadn't expected your evening to go like this, yet you enjoyed every second of it.

Anthony’s grin widened further as he watched you struggle to contain your laughter, his own eyes glinting with amusement. He found it utterly adorable that he could reduce you to a fit of laughter so easily. As you turned back around, your eyes still shining with tears from laughing so hard, he couldn’t help but smirk. "Oh, do I?" he teased, his voice laced with mock surprise.

He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying every moment of it.  

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. "Oh my, some would consider me unheard for laughing so much." 

Anthony chuckled, his smirk softening into a small smile. He couldn’t help but find your carefree attitude and infectious laughter refreshing. Most of the ladies he encountered in the ton were all too poised and proper, always concerned with their reputation and decorum. But here you were, laughing without a care in the world.

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of humor in his eyes. "Would they, now?" he questioned, his voice still laced with amusement.  

You wanted to respond something, when another lord stopped in front of you. "Miss Barton, would you give me the honor to have this next dance with you?" he asked, curtsying. You curtsied in return, sending him a fake smile. "Of course, Lord Pendale."

You shot Anthony an apologetic look, as the lord walked you to the dance floor.

Anthony watched with irritation as Lord Pendale approached you and requested a dance. He had been thoroughly enjoying your lighthearted conversation and infectious laughter, and the interruption by this newcomer was unwelcome. He clenched his jaw, trying to quell the envious feeling that bubbled within him as he watched you walk away with the other lord.

Strange, indeed.

Yet, despite his irritation, he couldn’t help but notice your apologetic look as you glanced back at him. He simply nodded slightly in acknowledgment; his expression guarded as he watched you take your place on the dance floor.

You danced with Lord Pendale, making smalltalk with him, but you couldn't help but notice how simple-minded and bland he was compared to Lord Bridgerton.  

Not to mention the way he used to talk down on women.

Anthony took the opportunity to observe you from afar as you danced with Lord Pendale, his eyes fixed onto you. He couldn’t help but compare the interaction with the other lord to the conversation he’d had with you. He could see your polite smile and practiced small talk, but he could also see how bored you were, too. It was easy to spot the lack of depth in Lord Pendale’s conversation and the simplicity of his personality.

He couldn’t help but feel a mix of satisfaction and disappointment as he watched you dance with someone so lacking in comparison to himself.  

When the dance was over, you curtsied to Lord Pendale, before your gaze filtered the crowd for Anthony. Before you could walk over to him, though, your brother stepped beside you.

"We're leaving." Max said. "Why?" you wanted to know. "It's still early." He nodded. "Father wants to go home. Come." Without further ado, he walked you out of the ballroom, not giving you any time to find Anthony again, before you drove home in your carriage.  

Anthony watched as you curtsied to Lord Pendale, but before he could even begin to consider finding an excuse to approach you, he saw your brother appear beside you and then take you away from the ball. He was left feeling dissatisfied and frustrated, his gaze lingering on the spot where you had stood moments earlier.

Without you, the ball seemed to lose its appeal and now he was forced to continue mingling with the other dull and boring party guests again.  

You bit your lip, looking out of the carriage window, even though you didn't see much in the darkness.

"Did you talk to Lord Bridgerton earlier?" your brother wanted to know. You looked over at him, sighing. "Yes, why?" He shook his head. "They call him a rake." he said. "That means he's not worthy of you." You shook your head, but didn't say anything. He wouldn't get to decide who you talked to or not.  

When you arrived home, you made your way into your chambers, telling your maid to dress you for the night. Even though it was still early, you were somehow exhausted, yet energized at the same time.

Your encounter with Anthony had brightened your evening, something you wouldn't have considered before, when you were still young. He was always so out of reach, especially after his father died and he became colder, building a wall around himself.

Meanwhile Anthony sat in his office, a drink in hand as he replayed the events of the night in his mind; having left shortly after you.

He couldn't get the image of you out of his head, how you had talked about love and your parents' love match, how you had laughed at his teasing, how you had looked while dancing with another and then been whisked away.

He had expected to attend the ball and see the usual ton ladies, but you had stood out to him in a way no other had before.  

You were lying in your bed, thinking about the conversation with Lord Bridgerton. You couldn't sleep, at least not until a few hours into the night.

It was strange how he managed to burn himself into your brain so fast, like ivy that slowly grew rampant.

Anthony was also restless, unable to sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, his thoughts consumed by you. He couldn't understand why you had stayed on his mind so heavily.

He had talked to dozens of ladies in his time, why would you be different?

But no matter how much he tried to push away the thoughts of you, your laughter and your words replayed in his mind over and over.  

Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Anthony gave up on trying to sleep. He threw off the covers and got out of bed, dressing in a simple shirt and trousers before heading out of his bedroom.

He walked through the empty halls of Bridgerton House, his thoughts still consumed by you. He wanted to see you again. But it was so early in the morning, and he couldn't simply show up at your house. He was restless, frustrated and yearning for your company yet he didn't know how to get it.  

Or why he yearned for it in the first place.

You had managed to catch a few hours of sleep, but you woke early, lying restless in bed again. You tossed and turned, unable to stop thinking about Anthony.

Him and your brother went to school together, university, he never seemed to be someone to pique your interest. Yet he had managed to, with only one simple conversation.

He truly must have changed during the time you had spent in France, after your mother passed. He seemed more grown-up than you had remembered him, but then it were almost six years you hadn’t seen him.  

Anthony soon couldn't stand it anymore.

The night had passed and now, as the sun rose and the rest of London slowly began to wake, he made an impulsive decision. He dressed in his finest clothes before getting in the carriage and giving the driver a destination: your house.

He had no plan, no idea what he would say, but all he knew was that he had to see you again.  

[promenadewithme]

The Viscount Who Deceived Me - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem! Reader, Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Warnings: none, I think

Word Count: 1.7K

a/n: I'm having a lot of fun writing this series!

You took a deep breath and stepped out of your carriage in front of the Cowper residence.

Closing your eyes and gathering strength, you straightened your shoulders and released all the pent up air in your chest.

"Are you alright, my dear?" your mama asked, taking your arm in hers.

You gave her your best smile, that still turned out small, and answered "I'm perfectly fine."

She didn't believe you, but nonetheless nodded. You both walked around the house and greeted people you knew on the way to the gardens.

Candles were lit, floral patterns were freshly painted on the grass, and everyone was dressed in varied tones of red, orange and black. The invitation had said it would be a blazing event and that the guests should dress in the hues of fire.

There was said to be a never before seen surprise to do with the theme at the end of the night, but many disapproved, thinking it was too provocative for a ball.

You had thought it might be fun and were very excited to see what this innovative surprise might be.

You abandoned your family greens for a burgundy dress that evening. Madame Delacroix had truly outdone herself with your dress this time. The light fabric along with your hanging sleeves made it look like your clothes were dancing with your every move.

"There are the Bridgertons." pointed your mama with a nod of her head.

Sure enough, you saw the whole family except for the little ones.

They spotted both of you as you made your way over. You smiled and curtsied politely, trying to avoid Anthony's gaze. He made it impossible when he took your hand in his and bowed to kiss it.

'Has he ever kissed her hand?' you wondered.

'Of course he has, he was already kissing her neck. He might have even kissed her lips.'

"How are you this evening?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine." you said, but your voice was too weak, pitch too high.

"Alright then, if that is all." Eloise took your arm in hers and started dragging you away "We will be on our way."

"Do not linger too far!" called out Violet, but the two of you were already gone.

You leaned closer to your friend and whispered "Thank you."

"You looked like you saw a ghost, I had you get you out." she answered, looking around.

You spotted Penelope in a corner grabbing a champagne flute from a passing servant and gestured to Eloise that you had found her.

"Ah."

The two of you walked towards her and she smiles when she spotted you.

"There you are! I was beginning to think I'd have to spend the rest of the night in the company of plants." she quipped.

"I wish I could have stayed home," huffed Eloise, crossing her arms and glaring at a gentleman who passed by looking at her "You know how much I despise these sordid events."

You chuckled and nudged her with your elbow "Are you not the least bit excited for this surprise they have planned?"

"I am excited to finish my book. I am excited to lay down in bed and sleep."

"What are you reading?" you asked, looking forward to the topic.

The three of you were the only women your age you knew that enjoyed reading. Most ladies of the ton found that improving your mind with extensive reading was not an accomplishment, but a waste of time.

'Men do not want a woman who has read Shakespeare, they want a wife who can entertain them with the pianoforte or their voice. Men want women who can embroider and paint, not someone to discuss politics with.' was what you had heard a gentleman saying while you were at the bookshop one time.

"Wuthering Heights." she answered excitedly.

"What is it about?" questioned Penelope before taking another sip of her champagne.

"Vengeance." she smiled.

"I am very much afraid of you sometimes." you said and Pen nodded.

"Thank you," she touched her heart "but, in all earnest, it is a very good book. The both of you should read it."

"Can I borrow your copy after I finish my current read?" smiled Pen.

"Of course, I shall drop it off as soon as I finish it. What are you reading now?"

"Pride and Prejudice." she said and you gasped.

"So am I!" you exclaimed excitedly, gaining a few disapproving looks from other guests.

"What do you think of Bingley? she asked with a smile and a slight flush to her cheeks.

"I think he reminds me a bit of Colin," you leaned closer to her ear "and you remind me a bit of Jane."

"Oh, hush." she chided, but her cheeks had turned crimson and she grinned "Do you really think so?"

"I do." you nodded and turned to Eloise "And you, my dear friend, are Elizabeth Bennet."

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged the corner of her lips. "And who might you be?"

"Me?" you stopped for a second to consider your options "Well, I suppose I must be poor Mr Collins."

They both laughed and everything seemed so normal. When you were like this with your friends, it was like all your troubles faded away.

You did not have to marry the man who betrayed you, you did not have to worry about taking one step out of line with the fear of having to be wed to the oldest man you knew, you did not feel nauseous and anxious like you had the rest of the day. With Eloise and Penelope, you could just be.

That feeling of peace faded all too quickly when Anthony appeared in front of you and bowed "May I have your first dance?"

All colour drained from your face and you had to clear your throat before answering "You may."

He wrote his name on your dance card next to the first song. A quadrille.

At least you would not spend the whole dance with him.

He offered you his arm and you took it, giving your friends one last glance. They tried to smile encouragingly, but it looked more like they were grimacing.

You took a deep breath as you stepped into position. Four couples, including yourselves, stood in rectangular formation. You and Anthony on one side, a married couple to your right, Philippa Featherington and Finch to your left, and Benedict with Cressida Cowper in front of you.

Your shoulders were hunched, your muscles tense. Anthony's hand felt cold in yours and you remembered how it had touched the opera singer.

Benedict locked eyes with you and his gaze was warm. His eyebrows furrowed and he mouthed "are you alright?"

You forced a smile and nodded just as the song started. He didn't look like he believed you, but didn't say anything else.

The string quartet continued as you turned to Anthony and bowed to each other, you repeated the same with Finch. While the couples at your side met in the centre and danced around one another, switching partners then back, you stayed in place.

Benedict continued looking worriedly at you and you gave him a small smile.

Anthony interrupted your silent communication when he leaned close to your ear and whispered "I have to talk to you. About us."

"Are you sure this is the right time?" you asked and inwardly cursed him for bringing this up.

"This is the perfect time." he said before taking you to the centre of the group.

You briefly grasped both of Benedict's hands before passing by him and meeting with Anthony again. He held your left hand on his and his right held your waist. You stayed that way as you walked around the couples.

"Have you received the flowers?" he asked, a hopeful look on his face.

Anthony had sent you roses after you left the house that morning. Your mother had said it was romantic, you thought it was generic.

"I have." you answered, nodding curtly at Philippa.

'Does he even know that my favourite flowers are tulips?' you contemplated sadly. 'I was so blind to think he loved me.'

"Good, good. And are they to your liking?" he probed and you contained an annoyed sigh.

"They are perfectly fine." you stated, looking anywhere else but him as you stepped into your starting place again.

"I know that you have not forgiven me for what I have done." he whispered solemnly.

Your eyes burned and you stared at Cressida's hem, the couples on each side of you switched partners.

'I will not talk about this, I will not cry in public, I will not make cause a scandal.' you repeated the words over and over in your head.

When you said nothing, he continued "I do not expect you to forgive me, but I would be grateful if you would give me a chance to explain."

"There is nothing to explain." you spat then took a deep breath to calm yourself "I already know everything."

"But you do not." he insisted "You do not know the half of it."

You scoffed "If that was merely half, I do not wish to know the rest at all."

Stepping forward once again, Anthony and Benedict switched partners. One hand on your waist and the other holding yours, he leaned forward and his lips brushed against your ear, breath tickling your neck.

"Save your next dance for me?" he whispered and chills ran down your spine.

"Yes." you nodded as you switched brothers again.

"If you will not let me explain," he said, alternating his feet in front of him to the rhythm of the quartet's melody "at least let me say that I will no longer be seeing Siena."

"I truly do not care." you said between your teeth, attempting to hide your anger behind a smile "Do what you will, it does not matter to me. Not anymore."

Anthony pulled your body flush to his by the waist, searching eyes boring deeply into your soul.

"You hate me." he stated gravely.

"I do not hate you." you sighed.

"You do, I have wronged you and you have every right to hate me. What I do not understand is why you are choosing to marry a man you now despise."

Your voice was small and desperate when you answered "It is not a choice, Anthony."

The song ended and you untangled yourself from him. You curtsied and turned to walk as far away from a furrow-browed Anthony as possible.

a/n: guys!!!! I got so many requests for a part 3!! I hope you are all enjoying reading this series as much as I do writing it! (ps: this was my first time writing dialogue during a dance, so please tell me if it was bad or too confusing)

General Taglist: @crazy-beautiful @missryerye @flourishandblotts-inc

Bridgerton Tag List: @dancingwith-sunflowers @for-bebbanburg @navs-bhat @elishi03 @s-unflowxr @thebreadisthetruevillian @peakyweirdo @lucyysthings @freyathehuntress @rach2602 @czarinera

Series Tag List @snixx2088 @acourtofbooksandfantasy @alldaysdreamer @dandansdays @freyagallileaevans @alldaysdreamers @lizziesfirstwife @theonewithallthemilkshakes @freyathehuntress @ilovehopelessromantics @venomsvl @claire-loves-music @looneyleo @mmontgomery12-blog @myownworldsstuff @booknerdlifelover @fandomluver-101 @littleone65 @freyathehuntress @mxacegrey @pet1t3 @otheliesstuff

Click here if you want to join any of my tag lists (ps: I added more fandoms and characters) or tell me if you want to be removed.

If you can and want to, buy me a Ko-Fi!

[your-nanas-house]

Stories I will write:

Chris Decker X fem!Reader series

Tom Riddle X follower!Reader: Secret mission part 2 (I have to think about it) (requested)

Ominous Gaunt X Reader, Sebastian Sallow X Reader: The Beginning part 2, Ominous and Sebastian talk about what happened.  (requested)

Joe Goldberg X Henry’s babysitter!Reader: Henry’s babysitter part 2 (have to think of a plot) (requested)

James Walker X Reader: short smut fic with 7 words (requested)

Jerome Valeska X fem Reader: they meet in the circus before he killed Lila (fluff and hits of his insanity) (requested)

Jerome Valeska X Reader: they play games together like catch, Jeremiah plays with them but he’s stubborn but he wants to play. (requested)

Jeremiah Valeska X gn!Reader: AU where Jeremiah doesn’t inhale the laughing gas (requested)

Valeska Twins X Reader: headcanon with cuddles and affection (requested)

Jerome Valeska X fem!Reader: smut during a day at the local swimming pool or at the river (requested)

Jerome Valeska X Rapunzel!Reader: Y/n is manipulated by her mom, hidden and exploited. It’s a darker version of Rapunzel where Jerome revisits and addresses his trauma through the reader. (requested)

Jerome Valeska X ftm!Reader: (headcanon) (requested)

Joe Goldberg X fem!Reader: he kidnaps the reader and does the whole glass box, she isn’t afraid and chills. (requested)

Duke!Jerome Valeska X Reader: Arranged marriage part 2 (have to think about a plot) (requested)

Sebastian Sallow X fem!Reader: During a muggle’s game part 2 (have to think about a plot) (requested)

Cameron Monaghan X Reader: short smut story with 200 words (requested)

Dick Grayson X Reader: (short imagine) Dick complains about Batman and a two words come out of his mouth that Y/n takes too serious 

Tom Riddle X muggle wife!Reader: Two Death Eaters go to their dark lord’s new residence which is in the muggle world, both meeting Mrs Riddle for the first time.

Hocrux!Tom Riddle X Witch!Reader: The young witch Y/n finds an elegant destroyed diary in her hands and has the task of fixing it.

Professor!Joe Goldberg X student!Reader: Joe tries to not fall back in his habits, he thinks that now with the new job and the new city things will change, but will it really be like this?

Joe Goldberg X Reader: Joe finds himself thinking about things while his gaze is on his new colleague who was taking care of Henry at that moment.

Pharaoh!Jerome Valeska X servant!Reader: Jerome sets his eyes on a young woman who he discovers is one of his servants.

Dark!Jeremiah Valeska X Gn!Reader: Jeremiah comes out of his bunker after several years in hiding and meets Y/n, from there the obsession starts.

Anthony Bridgerton X Maid!Reader: Anthony trying to catch his maid’s attention in any way.

Joe Goldberg X Reader: Y/n finds herself in Joe’s cage.

Bruce Wayne X model!Reader: After the first night spent at Wayne Manor Y/n meets the true Bruce.

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) X gallery owner!Reader: What is art? Art can be seen subjectively by everyone, therefore also by Joe.

Tom Riddle X Witch!Reader: they always meet in that place.

Jeremiah Valeska X nun Bruce’s sister!Reader: he meets Miss Wayne for the first time and has a strong need to corrupt her.

A few Sebastian X Reader’s stories and Ominis X Reader’s stories that I still have to translate. 

Elvis Presley X Milf!Reader: smut with virgin Elvis and experienced Reader (collab)

Elvis Presley X Reader: they meet at a nightclub.

Tom Riddle X fem!Reader: Tom and Reader have feelings for each other, they meet a few years later when he is slowly becoming Lord Voldemort and she finds out that she is a muggleborn. Tom is still attracted to her though even if he hates muggleborns. (requested)

Tom Riddle X Death Eater’s wife!Reader: Tom Riddle is jealous, he always was since he was still a kid and he always managed to get what he wanted, and now he wants to have for himself his follower’s wife.

Tom Riddle X artist!Reader: Tom Riddle randomly meets a weird woman who happens to be a young painter. She manages to catch his interest and he is ready to commit a portrait of himself to be able to see her more often and know more about her. Sadly after the portrait was finished everything ended because he disappeared to become “Lord Voldemort” starting that way a war after a few months

James Walker X Reader: Y/n Y/l/n and her boyfriend decide to go live in a new house together. This house happens to be Amytiville, a scary house where bad things happened, this didn’t stop the young couple though. After just a few weeks things get weird, the relationship between Y/n and her boyfriend gets worse and in the evening things get scary. James shows himself, after falling for the young girl, to scare and try to kill the boyfriend who leaves her alone in that house.

Chris Decker X Reader: Chris Decker meets Y/n on a random night in a random supermarket and they find themselves together all the night.

Jerome Valeska X Reader: Jerome Valeska starting to dance with his s/o during the morning, no words exchanged just glances and heavy stares while they body moves slowly following perfectly the music, creating such a lovely domestic scene.

Chris Decker X black widow!Reader: Chris finds out that his innocent Y/n had a bloody past full of sadness, angst and death connected to different weddings.

Colin Bridgerton X Anthony Bridgerton's wife!Reader: Colin returns at home after one of his travels and meets for the first time the Viscountess Bridgerton (Anthony's wife) and he can't help but be fascinated by her in many ways.

Anakin Skywalker X bartender!Reader: Anakin is focused on his mission with Obi-Wan but while waiting for his master to come back, trying his best to not intervene he catches the attention of a beautiful bartender that will help him distract himself for all the night.

Anthony Bridgerton & Sister!Reader: The time has come for Y/n Bridgerton too, she is attending her first ball and is ready to find a husband but her brother won't leave her alone making this mission almost impossible. She will though meet a young man that will "bewitch" her.

Elvis Presley X Reader: Y/n just watched a concert of the famous Elvis Presley and can't help but start to imagine about him while trying to sleep on her bed, finding herself with her hand down her shorts with her gaze on the poster of the King of Rock and Roll. Is he really the devil like her mama keeps telling her? Is she commiting a sin?

Anthony Bridgerton X Reader: Anthony is searching for a wife, while focusing on the diamond of the season he discovers many secret things about the young lady. Will he grow to love them or hate them? (Y/n is a quite, lover book and dogs lady).

Anthony Bridgerton X opera singer!Reader: Anthony meets the new prima donna of town and is as bewitched by her voice and her beauty. Will things get a dirty turn in their relationship?

Bruce Wayne X personal assistant!Reader: Y/n, Bruce Wayne's personal assistant, writes a book about her kinks and dirty thoughts but it goes in wrong hands. Will she lose her job after someone publishes her book not revealing yet the real writer or will she speak with her boss and fix things?

Anthony Bridgerton X Reader:(Modern AU) Anthony and Y/n meet during the Christmas Eve, in a hotel when the snow is thick and there is no possibilities to go somewhere else. Sadly or Luckily there is just one room left, a suit, and they have to share it.

Anthony Bridgerton X Reader:(Modern AU) Y/n participate at a charity event where she and some other girls are auctioned off. Many masked rich men come forward but only one will be able to "buy" a week together with Y/n, making them earn much more than the organizers had hoped. This secret millionaire is…Anthony Bridgerton (Could do it with Ominis Gaunt as well)

Sebastian Sallow X Reader: Sebastian and Y/n (MC) spend the day together, chatting and relaxing till evening. Something changes after the sun has set and the two follow their lust, right in a field of grass near Feldcroft.

???X fem!Reader: In a small church Y/n has flashbacks of her past, she remembers when she spent time with ??? and she regrets that she left, coming just now when someone told her that ??? was dead and buried there. (Rain while looking at the grave, Y/n is married) ((maybe Sebastian and Ominis))

Tom Riddle X Reader: Y/n wants revenge for her sister, since Tom hooked up with her once and ignored her after that breaking her heart, Y/n finds Tom years later, she manages to seduce him and hook up with him but when Tom things when to leave, she is a step ahead and puts her clothes on, when he asks where is she going she just says that he can have the room and throws a few galleons towards him before leaving. This makes Tom feel like a hooker and becomes strangely obsessed over Y/n.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter , @huntress-valkyrie , @lostmyremembrall , @bewitchedbymadness

[eleanor-bradstreet]

The Field: Dandelions (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: G - mild suggestiveness, fluff and romance Word count: 2.7k

Part 2: Lavender Forever Masterpost

Summary: When you visit Aubrey Hall to celebrate an important day in your career, Benedict offers some new experiences.

Author's Note: The first in a four-part series based on songs about fields/nature that I associate with Benedict. This part is based on the song Dandelions by Ruth B

Today was the day. The day you were announced as Creative Director for Bridgerton House Enterprises. The day your life took a turn for the extraordinary. Even though you had known you would reach this tier and even though the man doing the announcing was one of your oldest friends, the enormity of the milestone still toyed with your nerves. The announcement was being rolled into the company’s first corporate outing at the CEO’s family home, Aubrey Hall. An embarrassingly large ancestral estate with sprawling grounds, it was a picturesque retreat for you and your colleagues to be feted while celebrating your successes and paving a roadmap for your future.

You had been there before of course, several times. It had actually been your idea to move the company outing to the spot. You found something reassuring in the calm grandeur of the place. Maybe it was the grounds themselves or maybe it was just your relationship with Anthony. Friends since uni, you had joined him and his innumerable siblings there for a few shooting weekends and holidays over the years. After chatty meals and some raucous nights that involved climbing out of windows, the latter of which you hoped his mother would never learn about, being there filled you with happy memories. 

You and the Viscount had stumbled upon one another in your first year, headed home from late night parties arm-in-arm, singing and shouting with that unfiltered, instantaneous friendship that can only be formed by two people who just met and are both obliterated with drink. After an extremely messy mashing of tongues and unsuccessful attempt to bed each other, you both woke with embarrassment, headaches and quick realizations that your personalities were not romantically compatible. You would either have ended up murdering or driving one another off cliffs with your shared obstinance, but it was exactly that challenging streak that bound you tightly as sardonic friends and academic rivals. You cheered one another through school and then cheered one another through life as he took his rightful place within his father’s company, and you carved out a career in marketing and design. When his former Creative Director had left, you were the first person he called. Even though your preexisting relationship was no secret, you had still wanted to prove yourself and learn the culture before being handed departmental reins, so for the past year you had worked in a lower level role, getting to know the team and the company’s needs until you had told Anthony you were ready to step up.

As excited as you were, several factors were amping your anxiety. The concern that you would be seen as little more than a nepotism hire. But you supposed there was nothing you could do about that. The details of the event had fallen under your purview too, and you had been juggling caterers and florists and groundskeepers until your head spun. And then there was the brother. Benedict Bridgerton. As a show of support the Bridgerton clan were in attendance at the outing too. It was their home after all. But that left you in constant danger of bumping into Benedict and experiencing the unavoidable effect he had on you.

The first time you saw him when Anthony invited you to Aubrey Hall years ago, it felt like an engine kicked on somewhere in your chest. A new, secondary energy source powering you through life simply by knowing he existed. It drove you to spend as much time as you could in his presence, roared with electricity whenever he was near and sputtered whenever you saw him with a paramour du jour. It was problematic how often he visited you in dreams and how you would flush with heat whenever Anthony mentioned him offhand at work. Benedict was mischievous, funny, and too charming for his own good, with all of the heart and soul to make up for Anthony’s acerbicism. Over the years of your acquaintance you had become friendly if not exactly friends, but you admittedly had never known anybody like him. You knew he did something artistic for a living but not exactly what. You knew he had his own place in London but not exactly where. You knew you had caught him looking at you at recent gatherings but weren’t sure exactly why. What you did know was that your eyes were incapable of looking at anything other than him when you were in the same room, and he was only making it worse by wearing a canary yellow button down to the outing.

You had moved through the event spaces trying to avoid him, not needing anything to fluster you more. That was why you were somewhat hiding in a distant hall of the house, one of your favorites where the family displayed a portion of their considerable art collection. Pieces were always changed out and you found yourself drawn to a new one, a landscape. It was a field on a spring day, windswept with rolling hills in the distance. The lush grass was dotted with flowers - yellow, white, and blue. You felt as if you were standing inside of it, a cool breeze tickling your skin and rustling through the bordering treeline.

You were lost inside the painting when someone spoke next to you, startling you out of your reverie.

“Ah! Dreams in Kent. Like what you see?”

It was Benedict. Of course it was. Beaming at you with that grin that you thought should be criminalized, but which always made you feel better somehow. Your evasion efforts had failed and your heart was now racing somewhere in the vicinity of your throat.

“Yes,” you smiled, trying to act casual. You turned back to the painting - the only safe place to set your eyes. “It’s beautiful. Your family has quite the collection. I’m sure it took generations of curation.”

His eyes followed yours to the canvas. “Oh, we didn’t find this one. We know the artist.” 

“Lucky for you. They’re talented.”

You could hear the smile in his voice. “Mmm. And he does commissions, if you’re interested.” He shuffled to stand closer at your side, both of you keeping your eyes on the gallery wall. You tried to school your breathing, focusing on the weight of the champagne flute in your hand, something solid unlike your legs.

“About how much for something this size, do you think?” You gestured to the painting mostly to humor him and keep the conversation light. You weren’t sure you were in the market for commissioned landscapes.

“For you? No charge.” 

It took your reeling brain a moment to process what he said. Then you realized he was facing you and smiling broadly. “You didn’t paint this?” you gasped. The cheeky devil. He lowered his head and blushed. Something inside you ached. As if he weren’t beautiful enough on his own, now you were forced to witness the multiplicative beauty wrought by his talented hands. You most certainly wanted to commission a piece now. “Oh my god, I had no idea,” you marveled. “You’re a real artist.”

“Real?” As soon as his brow knotted you wanted to kick yourself.

You sputtered, hoping he wouldn’t take offense. “Oh, I just mean…I knew you were an artist but I didn’t know what kind of work you did. I was thinking more pop art or abstract…”

“Like sculptures made out of cotton balls?” His grin widened, creasing the most delightful lines around his bright eyes. 

You breathed a sigh of relief. You should have known he would be good humored. “Exactly.”

“Is that what Anthony says about me?” He arched a brow.

“No,” you said firmly, and it was the truth. “He’s obviously proud of you. He just left out the classical landscape bit.” 

The warmth that radiated out of his smile finally put you at ease. Yes, you had a crush on him but you were a grown woman. You could hold yourself together during some friendly banter. You didn’t know why Benedict alone seemed to reduce you to a babbling schoolgirl. Interactions with him felt more poignant, more significant somehow. Whenever he looked at you, even though it was hard to breathe, paradoxically you felt alive, free. You felt happy. You’d probably be in closer proximity to him once you stepped into Anthony’s C suite, so it was time to relax and get to know him better.

You turned back to the painting. “So was this plein air?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “A field on the edge of the property. It’s a quiet spot which is…hard to find with my family.” He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans then his voice dropped to a register you had never heard before. “Speaking of, you’ve been here before but you haven’t seen this spot. Do you want an extended tour? To survey for a vista you may want to commission?”

His eyes leveled on you, glinting. There went any attempt at keeping your composure. This was blatant flirtation. An invitation to…something. A private tour to a secluded spot? Your heart was doing its best to make itself heard again, thrumming to the point you worried it was visible. The evening’s scheduled events wouldn’t begin for another two hours, and you reasoned that some exercise may help settle your nerves. Was there any way you could decline this offer?

“Alright.”

True to his word, Benedict showed you features of the Bridgerton property that you had never seen before. A far flung rose garden filled with statuary, agricultural outbuildings that had fallen into picturesque stages of disrepair, and the looming stone orangery that you had always observed from a distance but never approached. Unlike the goat barns it was still in use, housing an array of palms and warm weather plants in rows across the chess-tiled floor. Even though you had known the Bridgerton family for years, the trappings of their old money lives still gave you pause sometimes. You had hobnobbed with the higher classes your entire life but your middle class roots still caused you to gawp at and ridicule certain things. You each plucked an orange and ate them as you hiked past the lake in which you had swum before, crossed a fallow field and rounded a copse of trees. 

Then you saw it. Benedict had captured the field so perfectly, you knew you had arrived before he even spoke. The idyllic fantasy his painting had conjured in your mind was now fully realized, grass tickling at your ankles and breeze brushing through the nearby treeline. Fields rolled out before you to the horizon, beyond the Bridgerton property line but unbroken by any structures or barriers. Just a sea of peaceful green dotted spectacularly with the bright yellow of countless dandelions. It almost felt as if you had stepped out of time into some pocket dimension that only Benedict knew how to access.

“It’s stunning.” You suddenly realized that he was dressed perfectly to match the surroundings, looking like an overgrown dandelion himself in his yellow shirt. It was adorable and endearing. You smiled. “Have you ever made dandelion wine?”

“What?” He chuckled. “What on earth is that?”

“Ah, of course not. Someone whose family has an orangery wouldn’t have tried such a peasant recipe.” You smirked, unable to resist the jab. The field was invoking memories from your childhood. Hazy summers at your grandparents’ cottage in Cornwall where they taught you to gather and ferment the blooms into a sweet concoction. With their ample supply, you couldn’t help but feel that the Bridgertons were missing out.

“I’m not classist toward anything that can take the edge off.” Benedict slowly moved deeper into the field, dragging his feet through the grass. 

“Why is there an edge?”

He huffed a sigh, staring out at the horizon. “The usual. Quarter life crisis. Searching for a direction. Posh boy twat who dreams of being a starving artist.”

His crooked grin didn’t mask the plaintive look in his eyes. Blessed as he was with good looks, wealth and talent, the idea that Benedict may have anything less than a perfect life had never occurred to you.

“From what I’ve seen you’ve more than accomplished the artist bit. And consider it a blessing that you don’t have to starve. It appears to me that you have everything you need.” 

“Some things perhaps, but not everything.”

His tone was so uncharacteristically serious, his gaze so weighted, you worried he had found your comment dismissive. Now you had to make him smile again. Scanning the ground you quickly found a flower that had tufted into a perfect white orb. You picked it and held it out to him. “Then wish for what you want.”

He brightened and walked back toward you with a playful air. “Do you think it will come true?”

You shrugged. “Can’t hurt to try.”

He bent and picked another tufted stem. “Only if you wish too.” 

Something lodged in your throat. The last thing you had expected on this already monumental day was to be cozying up with your friend and boss’s younger brother for whom you had carried a candle for years. The heady excitement coupled with the beautiful backdrop was making everything feel surreal. The event at the house could have been taking place in another world entirely. All of your focus was here.

Smirking at each other, you stepped close and simultaneously blew on the flower held in the other’s hand. The gauzy seeds rose and swirled around you both, heightening the strange magic of the moment. You fought not to react to his proximity and the warm gust of his breath over your hand. Closing your eyes you made your silent wish - that this flirtation would continue; that Benedict perhaps saw you as you saw him; that you could call him your own, even if just for a short while. When you reopened them he was smiling at you.

“What did you wish for?”

You backed up a step, laughing. “No, that’s not how this works. If I tell you, it definitely won’t come true.”

“How do you know?” he lilted, closing the space between you again. “What if I’m the person who can deliver what you want?”

Oh god, was your wish that obvious? Was it so easy to read how much you wanted him? You supposed it was a common occurrence for a man like him but wanted to chastise yourself nonetheless. You would have if your mind wasn’t already paralyzed by the knowing look on his face.

You somehow managed to find your voice, deflecting meagerly. “You first. What did you wish for?” “Ah, I see how it is,” he chuckled. Then everything about his demeanor grew soft and intent. His blue-grey eyes searched yours and you were transfixed by their depth, as if within them you could see forever. “I wished for something just out of reach. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Or someone I should say.”

“Someone?” You asked, your voice tremulous. Your heart was pounding. There was no mistaking where this was going but you could scarcely believe that it was actually happening. Everything around you started to fall away, scattering like the dandelion tufts. Everything but his eyes, his lips, and the tender words that escaped them.

“I suppose my wish was to know if they thought of me too.” He peered up through his dark lashes, a calculated move that you knew was designed to devastate you.

“How funny,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper as you swayed toward him. “I wished the same thing.”

His eyes lit up and the engine within your chest roared. “Well look at that,” he leaned in, looping an arm around your waist. “My wish came true.” 

You moved with equal enthusiasm, pressing your lips together in a moment that was soft but fervent, carrying the weight of hidden feelings and the desire to explore further. He tasted of oranges and comfort; he felt so correct. You wound your arms around each other, warmed by the sun that shone bright across the field. You had been kissed many times in your life, but nothing compared to the breathless wonder of this one. This felt like once in a lifetime. A distant corner of your mind remembered that you needed to get back to the house soon but you were finding it difficult to care. Benedict began to hum happily as he kissed you over and over, winding a hand into your hair as he playfully nipped and sucked at your lips. Pulling back, he smiled and twirled the dandelion stem between his fingers. “These things do work.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky

[fayes-fics]

Audacious

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Impertinent. After your engagement party, Anthony asks you to rendezvous in his office to continue where you left off.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, sex education, mutual masturbation, orgasms.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Sequel request fill for @cleopatraathene to continue the story from Impertinent (ask HERE). Sorry, it's taken so long, my dear. Err, this could well turn into a series at this rate. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

The bejewelled band feels weighty around your left ring finger as you rap your knuckles quietly upon his study door. It's late, and the last thing you want is for anyone to know what you are doing.

After a pause, the hinges creak, and a hand snakes out and grabs your arm.

Before you know it, you are dragged through the door, and it closes with you pressed against the other side, the room heady with the scent of recently smoked cigars and expensive brandy. Anthony is casual in just a white shirt, sleeves rolled up around his elbows, braces slung around his hips.

“Fiancée,” he rumbles, his nose trailing up your neck as he leans in, the wood of the door panels digging into your bottom through the thin layer of your silk robe. “Did you enjoy our engagement party?” he queries, teasing your throat with soft kisses.

“Yes,” you answer breathily. “A-And I did as you asked.”

He pauses in his ministrations; you can feel the curve of a smile over your skin. “What did I ask you to do?” he knows the answer; he just wants to hear you say it.

“To return this evening exactly as I was last night.” 

He tuts softly, his nose trailing up the cord of your neck. “But you are wearing something, so you are not as you were.”

“I could hardly walk through the halls of your home naked, my lord!” you gasp.

He chuckles richly, his breath hot in your ear. “On the contrary. This is soon to be all yours. As Viscountess, you can do exactly as you wish. Or as I wish. And sometimes, I may wish you to be naked at my bidding,” he straightens up and looks down at you, dark eyes glittering. “Would you do that for me? Would you walk naked where I told you?“

Again, as last night, you feel under a spell. “Yes, my lord,” you whisper truthfully.

“Audacious,” he rasps approvingly, “just how I like it,” the last few words muttered over your lips before capturing them with his.

Your stomach quivers at his praise, then vaults at the first brush of his mouth, knowing that now you are betrothed, he has promised so much more. His lips are warm and soft as he slowly parts your lips, his tongue rolling, requesting entry. Instinctively, you open, a wave of luscious wet heat as his tongue lathes over yours, a dance that has you inside melting and a throb at the apex of your thighs that is entirely foreign but enthralling. As he breaks away, you chase his lips, eyes still closed, wanting more of his heady kisses. He grabs both of your hands and pulls you to the centre of the room, the fire warming the backs of your calves as he releases his hold.

“Take off your robe,” his order soft.

Your trembling hands scramble to obey, making quick work of the knot at your belly, pushing the material off your shoulders so it flutters onto the rug behind you so you are naked. There is a throaty noise and he takes a step back as if to better drink in the view of your body. His lush bottom lips curling under his upper teeth, his eyes covetous, roaming your skin.

“You should never wear clothes,” he opines, backing further away, grabbing a wingback chair and scraping it across the carpet until it is behind him. He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving your form.

“Spin for me.”

Heart beating fast, you rock onto the balls of your feet and rotate away so you face the blazing fire, your back towards him. Then you slowly complete the circle until you are facing him again, his expression ravenous.

“A perfect specimen. Now touch yourself,” the order is gruff.

You frown at him. “Where, my lord?”

“Are you to tell me you have never put your fingers between your legs?” he scoffs, disbelieving.

“N-no, my lord? Should I?’ 

The dancing flames of the fire are almost too hot on your bottom, as he answers in a cool register. “Yes, you should. But perhaps I should be the one to instruct you as your future husband.”

With that, he stands from his seat, walking purposely towards you, his boots heavy on the rug as you take a deep breath. He grabs your right wrist, bringing your fingers up to his lips and engulfing them in his hot mouth, his tongue questing against the pads of your fingers, the suckle of his lips sensual and damp.

With a salacious pop, he pulls off your fingers, his lips quirking into a knowing smile as he guides your wetted fingers to your chest.

“Touch your nipples,” he instructs quietly.

You gasp as his cooling saliva meets your flushed, puffy areola, puckering instantly under the pad of your fingers. 

“That feels good, does it not?” he dusks, wrapping his hand over yours to direct your caressing of yourself, his fingers never touching your nipple but directing your movement like a puppeteer, taking the fingers of your left hand and repeating the suckling action, guiding your fingers to your other nipple.

All you can do is nod and bite your lip, pushing up into your own hands, squirming slightly from foot to foot, feeling a dampness smear on your inner thighs as you do, your tummy replete with butterflies under his heavy gaze.

He guides your fingers over the swell of your lower breast and down over your stomach, chuckling as the teasing trail of your own fingers makes you giggle lightly, your belly rippling. His eyes flash as his hand guides yours lower, trailing into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs, something thronging between your legs at the molten look on his face.

Two of his fingers curl over the back of yours, turning your middle and pointer fingers into a hook before he pushes your hand lower. Again, you gasp as your fingers slide at his insistence into some folds of skin between your legs, damp and sticky. His face is dashingly mischievous as he places those hooked fingers over a certain swollen nub and swirls them slowly in an anticlockwise motion. You startle at the spike of pleasure that rushes through your body, the epicentre under your attentions.

“How does that feel, fiancée?” he murmurs, tone like velvet.

All you can do is stutter his name on a shaky exhale, your other hand shooting out to grab his muscular forearm where it presses your belly, the dark hairs there tickling your palm as you grip around him, needing the anchor, your knees feeling oddly weak.

“Oh, you like that…” he huffs, amused, as he crowds into you, his hand covering yours between your legs, dictating your movements, a shiver running down your spine at the fizzles of pleasure sparking around your body. “Do not stop,” his voice low, resonant, his lips hot on your temple, you moaning lightly and leaning into him.

A sweet-tart scent fills the air, your fingers coated in a slick, viscous substance that can only be from your own body, a soft, wet noise emanating from where you touch yourself.

“That is my favourite sound in the world,” Anthony sighs into your ear, “so ripe and ready for me…just wait until we are married.”

“What will happen?” you inhale, trying your best to concentrate even as you feel your body swelling under your own touch, engorged, hot, craving more friction.

“All in good time…” he answers enigmatically, his breath a touch uneven.

The slightly rough texture of his cotton shirt snags delightfully against your nipples as you writhe, riding your own fingers and his, wishing it were his skin touching yours. There is something hard in his britches that rubs your stomach with each move you make.

“Do not stop,” he gruffs.

You whine as he steps away, craving his heat, his toned body glorious to rub yourself against, akin to a cat.

“My lord…” you mewl, appealing for him to return, swaying unsteadily on your feet even as you continue to touch yourself as instructed.

“That is it, keep going up,” he encourages, retaking the seat and staring at you covetously, one of his hands falling to his lap, palming a swelling there.

“What are you doing, my lord?” 

You are intrigued by his soft panting as he roughly tugs at the buttons on his trousers.

“I am doing as you are,” he groans, “I am touching myself, My cock.”

With that, he fishes something out from his white underwear that makes you inhale sharply. A red, almost angry looking rod of flesh that stands proud of his body from a dark thatch of hair. The slight is intriguing and makes you pulse heavily between your legs as if innately knowing it belongs there.

You feel yourself moving towards him, like a magnetic pull, your fingers still sliding over that hardened pearl between your legs as you get closer, hypnotised by the sight of his hand, now in a fist, moving up and down his swollen cock.

“Cock…” it falls from your lips reflexively as you stare.

He groans loudly at your utterance, a shiny pearl of wetness pooling at his tip as he does so.

You feel feverish, not just because of the roaring fire in the hearth, but a blaze inside, a flush running through you that makes your mind feel both fuzzy and sharp, singular in pursuit of pleasure, your fingers moving faster now between your legs, varying your speed and motion.

He hisses his approval as your knees buckle, sinking to a kneel on the rug, your knees splaying wide, your fingers freer to move, but your eyes never leave his hand, his motion a quick twisting tug now.

“Does that not hurt?” you blurt out breathily, not pausing, chasing a high you can feel hovering so tantalisingly close, a tingle over your lips and the back of your scalp.

“No, it feels just as good as your fingers do on you,” he assures, broken, huffing now. “I will teach you,” he adds, meeting your gaze heatedly when your eyes ping to his face briefly.

Something about this feels so decadent and luxurious, the same as his velvet jacket was on your skin last night, the garment that catalysed this whole tumultuous journey.

“Swap hands,” he commands, cutting into your wayward tangent, and you find yourself obeying on instinct. “Give me that other,” he rejoins. Before you know it, the fingers that were between your legs are in his mouth, his tongue curling and sucking wantonly, feeling the vibration of his groan over your fingertips as he cleans all your juices from your fingers, his hand a frenzy on his cock now.

Your other hand feels different; something about the catch of your blunt fingernails between your legs has you hurtling towards some crescendo, your skin feeling almost too tight over your bones, a pressure behind your ribs as your heart thunders, almost like you are trying so hard to chase and hold in something explosive.

“Oh, you are there, aren't you?” Anthony growls around your fingers still in his mouth, sounding wild, his motions untamed, gusting deep breaths out of his nose as he leans forward, eyes intense and glassy.

All you can do is nod, almost frantic, as if seeking permission to break, circling an abyss. Your fingers fall from his mouth as he groans loudly.

“Come for me, fiancée,” he grits out.

Unsure what that means, you just keep moving, feeling something snap inside that has you calling out and curling over, a scream escaping your lungs as your body seems to retract and explode outwards, your mind scattered to the wind as an ecstatic wave fans out from your core around your body, your muscles twitching.

You are brought back to the room by a noise he makes—hungry, gravelly, all male. As your breath returns, your eyes reopen to see him in the throes of ecstasy: an arresting sight. One curl of hair flopped over his dewy forehead, his lower lip caught under his upper teeth, eyes wild and unfocused, then screwing shut as he roars, his hand a frenzy on his cock which seems to pulse in his fist before spurting a substance in an arc part of which splashes warm across your chest, taking you by surprise.

That seems to signal he has reached a peak, too, his body wracked by a few aftershocks before he slumps back into the chair, panting, his hand slackening as he stares transfixed at the sticky streak of his cum over the upper swell of your breast.

“Are you well, husband?” you check, fascinated but concerned.

He doesn't correct the title you bestow upon him. “More than,” is his laconic, sated response, an easy smile claiming his face as he unfurls a sleeve to tenderly clean your breasts of his seed. “This is only the beginning,” he promises, cupping your cheek affectionately. “Run along and get some rest; we shall meet here again tomorrow.”

You cannot wait.

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[pagesfromthevoid]

Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | Epilogue

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Tooth aching fluff

Author’s Note: This is it. The end. I’m so proud of this story 🥹

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

6 Months Later

Queen Charlotte’s eyes darted back and forth, reading the book in front of her intently. Her expression gave nothing away; there was no way to tell if she liked what she was reading or if she hated it. And truly, that was the most anxiety inducing part of it all. However, she refused to show her stress.

In the Queen’s hands was a copy of Whatever the Poets Say, written by an Anonymous Young Woman. Though, it was no longer all that anonymous given that the Queen –and her cohorts –all sat with the author in the room. However, the author now was not the timid, shaking girl she was when the Queen first met her months ago. Now, Mrs. Bridgerton sat confidently in front of her Queen, sipping her tea with a sly grin on her face as the Queen finally slammed the book shut.

If the Queen of England liked her writing before, there was plenty of hope that she would like it now as well.

Mrs. Bridgerton set her tea down on the table beside her, leaning back in her seat. Her grin had turned into a soft smile, waiting for the criticism that she knew would be coming. But Queen Charlotte just smirked.

“I am in need of a biographer,” she said simply.

Mrs. Bridgerton furrowed her brows. “Excuse me?”

“I need a biographer, Mrs. Bridgerton. Must I repeat myself again?”

She quickly shook her head, sitting up straight. Any confidence she once had had disappeared, and was replaced by confusion. “No, your Majesty. I just…You want me to write your biography?”

“I want someone with a keen eye and a way with words. You happen to have both.” The Queen waved dismissively. “You will be compensated for your work, of course.”

Mrs. Bridgerton broke out into a smile and she stood, bowing to the Queen now. “Yes, of course. I-I would be honored to tell your story, your Majesty. More than honored, truly.”

Queen Charlotte’s smirk turned soft, and she shooed her cohorts out of the room. When the door shut, leaving the two women alone, the Queen stood before Mrs. Bridgerton. “You are far more useful to me here than you are as the lady of the house. I do hope your husband does not mind me keeping you during the day.”

“Benedict will surely understand, my Queen,” she reassured, hands behind her back now. “He knows well what I want to do with my life –he will not stand in the way of it.”

“How refreshing,” the Queen hummed, turning now to walk to the window. “A gentleman who wants his wife to work.”

“A gentleman who wants his wife to be happy,” she corrected softly, watching her for a moment. “And this…this is an opportunity one cannot ignore.”

“It’s not, is it?”

                                           *****

“Where have you been all day!” Eloise yelled as she slipped into the Bridgerton family home. 

The two had been invited over to dinner with the Lord and Lady Bridgerton, though Benedict had rolled his eyes when the invitation arrived so prettily written. She couldn’t help but laugh at the idea that Kate had made Anthony write a formal invite to dinner.

“I was in town,” she explained simply. It wasn’t a lie, technically.

“What did I say about becoming a better liar?” Benedict asked, stepping out of Anthony’s study with a grin. His hand found her’s without a moment's hesitation. 

“I’m not lying,” she insisted, rolling her eyes. “I am simply omitting details. I was in town, though.”

Benedict pressed a kiss to her cheek, and Eloise gagged playfully. “Just you wait until you find your match –then you won’t be gagging at the sight of love,” he teased.

“I need to speak to your wife,” Eloise insisted, pushing him aside and taking her sister-in-law’s hand. “Privately.”

Before Benedict could argue, Eloise pulled his wife into the sitting room –where Edwina and Kate both sat.

Holding her book.

“Oh dear.”

“‘Oh dear,’ indeed,” Edwina teased, crossing her arms with a smirk. “I thought I was going crazy, reading the book.”

“As did I,” Kate agreed, brow raised as she flipped through her book. “I kept reading it, and thinking, ‘This sounds rather familiar.’”

“Oh yes, and then of course, Elric tells the King of France that the main character is a gossiper…that is when I knew,” Eloise pointed at her now, eyes narrowed. She seemed less entertained by the whole thing. “A little warning would have been nice!”

“I did not think you would read it,” Mrs. Bridgerton defended, putting her hands up while she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “Truly, I did not even know it was on the shelf yet –the Queen had a copy, but I assumed the Queen just had everything first –,”

“What do you mean, the Queen had a copy?” Edwina asked, eyes going wide.

“Is that why you were in town?” Eloise continued, not letting her a word in.

“The Queen loves gossip more than any of us,” Kate hummed, rolling her eyes.

Mrs. Bridgerton took a moment to let the ladies chat, then shook her head. “The Queen…she wanted me to finish the story, remember? When Eloise told her I was Whistledown…She read the book when it was published.”

“Well, did she like it?” Eloise demanded, eyes wide with excitement, having forgotten her annoyance.

Mrs. Bridgerton nodded. “She asked me to be her biographer. She…gave me a job.”

The three ladies stared in surprise, clearly failing at producing a coherent sentence outside of, “Really? “Oh my goodness,” and “Bloody hell.” It was a far better reaction than she anticipated, though she didn’t think anyone would react negatively to the news.

“I haven’t told Benedict yet, which I’d very much like to do now –,”

“Yes, yes of course. Go tell him –that is so exciting!” Edwina exclaimed, standing up and hugging her now. “I am very jealous, honestly.”

“As am I,” Eloise hummed, though she still seemed a bit frustrated. “I am still mad at you however.”

“Why on earth are you mad?”

“Because you let me read…read smut about my brother!”

Mrs. Bridgerton considered, for a moment, Eloise’s plights. Then she just laughed. “Was it at least good smut?”

“I hate you,” Eloise seethed, throwing her hands in the air. She repeated the phrase over and over as her sister-in-law slipped out the door with a laugh.

Benedict was leaning against the wall, as if he had been there waiting the entire time she was with the ladies.

“Do you not have something else to do while I am busy?” She teased, taking his arm when he offered it. 

“I have plenty to do,” he replied, guiding them towards the back doors and into the gardens. “I just have not seen you all day –I missed you.”

“You will need to get used to that, then, I suppose.”

“Used to what?”

“Missing me during the day.”

They stopped at the steps of the house, and he looked down at her with his brow raised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…I have been given a job. With the Queen.”

Benedict’s face lit up with excitement as he turned to face her fully. “The Queen gave you a job? Doing what? How can I help? Can I help? I know this is yours but I want to –,”

“Benedict,” she interrupted, laughing at his excitement. Her hand reached up to rest over his heart. “She wants me to be her biographer –to write the story of her life.”

He couldn’t help himself as he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up to spin her around. She squealed some in response, unable to keep herself from laughing as she held onto his shoulders. “I am so proud of you!” He exclaimed, keeping her off the ground as he held her close. “My wife –the Queen’s biographer. What an honor it is to be married to you.”

She turned sheepish, feeling that blush creeping back up again. “You flatter me, Benedict. I –,”

“I must flatter you! You are a writer! For the Queen!”

When he finally set her down, Benedict rested his hands on her waist, looking down at her with adoration and awe. Her heart ached with joy –something inside her blossomed with Benedict’s support. His overjoyed reaction gave her exactly what she needed.

“I love you, Benedict. So very much. Thank you for believing in me.”

“I love you too,” he promised, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. “And there’s no need to thank me for doing something that is easier than breathing.”

———

Taglist: @queensgirl718 @drowninginaseaofbooks @severewobblerlightdragon @wildflowerel @just-an-ace-elf @kamala-khann @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @imheretobeinvisible

[paracosmic-murdock]

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 10: "Bridgerton, d'une façon ou d'une autre"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: Not a soul showed up to the Bridgerton Ball, but thankfully, the red dress you promised Benedict he would love did not go to waste.

Word count: 2.1K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

"Oh, my Lord."

Colin and Anthony looked in the same direction as Benedict, his eyes fixated on you just arriving at the ballroom with your arm locked with Eloise's.

"Seriously, Benedict, you could have-" Colin's complaint was cut short by his brother's disappearance.

"You look breathtaking, my heart."

You smiled, feeling your cheeks burn. "Thank you, Benedict. You look quite alluring."

"You two are disgusting." Eloise rolled her eyes.

"... gotten any lady you wanted but decided to get her." Colin completed his sentence, only for the eldest Bridgerton to hear.

"When will you get over this, Brother?" Anthony questioned.

The younger brother scoffed. "When will you apologize to her, Brother?"

"I've tried." Anthony rolled his eyes.

"Not enough, apparently!" Colin exclaimed. "I cannot comprehend what your problem with her is either."

"She is very insistent on marrying Benedict, which seems quite suspicious to me."

"Suspicious why? What do you think she is hiding?"

"She could be with child and desperate to marry, needs money-"

Colin gave his brother an amused grin. "Did you not hear she owns the Palace of Versailles? Did you not know she owns the most prosperous winery in Burgundy? Like, three palaces, mansions, mines in the Americas, properties all throughout France? And how could she be with child? She's a fine lady. I do not understand how you can think that."

"You never know, Brother," Anthony sighed. "She has a cousin who is the lord of the house. Perhaps he kicked her out and she-"

"If that were the case, how could you even consider forbidding Benedict to marry her, knowing she is alone in the world?" Colin inquired. "Are you really that heartless?"

"I do not want our brother to end up like that."

He shook his head. "I can think of a hundred fates worse than living the luxurious life of a duke, Anthony, just… leave her alone. Look at them!"

Anthony did as Colin told him, looking at how annoyed Eloise seemed as you and Benedict talked and shared loving glances.

"Benedict had doubts, is what I mean to say."

Colin shook his head. "I believe that having doubts is common for someone like Benedict, who has never shown any interest in marrying. Now he does, I do not find that strange."

Anthony did not say a word.

"Red is certainly your color," Benedict whispered when Eloise had finally had enough of you two and left. "How perfect my future wife looks in red."

You felt your face go warm. "Good God, do not say that, Benedict! Someone might hear you."

"I swear, as soon as we are in London I will get you the shiniest ring so I can scream to the world that you shall be my wife."

"I did not know you were so interested in marrying me." you teased him, making Benedict laugh.

"I cannot wait to show you off, for you to be mine."

"I believe I am already yours, my love."

He smirked. "I could dishonor you once more if you continue to say these things."

"Oh, Benedict Bridgerton… you certainly are head over heels."

He smirked. "Are you not?"

"I believe my eyes say more than my words ever could."

"To me, your words are worth more than all the gold in the world."

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks.

"Has… she published, Mama?" Eloise asked her mother, stealing your attention from Benedict and his from you.

"Indeed she has," Violet replied next to Lady Danbury, making everyone look at them: the Bridgertons, the Sharmas, you. "Now we may know why we are the only ones here."

Eloise took the paper from her mother and began reading it under curious, worried glances. Soon, she gave it back and ran away.

No one dared to follow her except for you.

"El! Eloise!" you screamed through the hallways. She closed the door, and you knocked as if your knuckles were unbreakable. "Eloise, open the door! It is me!"

She opened the door hesitantly and eventually let you in. Her eyes were red, and to be honest, you had never imagined you would see her crying.

You sighed, closing the door behind you and hugging her. She hugged you back, breaking down.

"El…, what did Lady Whistledown say?"

"Theo." she answered, and that was all you needed to know.

You guided her to her bed, and there you hugged her again. "I am so terribly sorry that this happened to you."

"I just… I keep on being a disappointment, do I not?"

"You reached that conclusion too fastly for my liking," You pursed your lips. "You are not a disappointment to absolutely anyone, Eloise. Do not think for a second the contrary."

"I should want what every lady wants. Even you want it: a husband, children, you… you are certainly an inspiring woman in my life, and even you want that. I- I felt something with him, but I still could not bear the idea of having to marry and be with child and…"

"Good thing you do not have to," you muttered. "And I did not want a husband, to be honest… Benedict was- he was unexpected. I was never looking for a husband, that was an excuse to be here, but when he came into my life, I suddenly wanted all of it…" you added, stroking her hair carefully to not ruin the coiffure. "What I mean is that you shouldn't assume that that is not the life you want for yourself, because marrying does not necessarily mean you will be a wife and a mother only: you can still be the independent, fun, amiable, and charming Eloise Bridgerton. You are not disappointing anyone by choosing to be your own person and be true to yourself."

She smiled lightly. "You have your way with words, do you not?"

You laughed. "As long as that makes you feel better, then I do."

"It does," She chuckled. "Do I have to face everyone now?"

"Not unless you feel comfortable doing so."

"I should."

You cleaned her tears with the blankets and gave her a comforting smile, standing up. "Shall we, my dearest Eloise?"

She snickered. "Yes."

Eloise and you intertwined your arms and returned to the ballroom, and soon everything was fine as if nothing had happened.

"I am afraid that we called it a tie."

You smirked. "I do recall that, my heart. Who must I dance with?"

"Lord Henderson did not attend," Benedict mentioned the old men in bankruptcy trying to court you, faking pity. "You will have to settle for me."

"You cannot imagine how much I wish that the moment in which I have no remedy but to keep only one dance partner comes very soon."

He smiled widely. "That makes two of us."

"May I have this dance, Mr. Bridgerton?"

"This, and every dance that follows." Benedict offered you his hand, and you took it.

You started dancing, and even though everyone was dancing all around you, it was you and him only.

Your whole world.

"I plan to travel in a couple of weeks, perhaps. I must discuss that with my grandfather," you answered. "And, of course, you are more than welcome to join us, Colin! As long as your brother Anthony permits you to travel overseas with a stranger."

Colin hid a laugh. "Of course I do not need Anthony's permission."

"It seems like everyone needs Anthony's permission these days."

You had returned from Aubrey Hall earlier that day, and Lady Danbury and the Sharmas had already gone back home. Right now, you and Colin were chatting in the sitting room, drinking whiskey, and talking about your plans for when you return to France.

"Are you asking me if Benedict needs Anthony's permission to marry you?"

"I sure hope none of you depend on Anthony's permission to exist."

He shook his head, finishing his second glass of whiskey. "I suppose Benedict might need Anthony's approval, but I most certainly do not!"

"What do you mean by that, Colin?" you questioned, knowing full well his intentions; though, in your mind, they were a joke.

"If Benedict doesn't propose, I shall be your husband."

You snorted. "You'll be my husband? Only because I will take you to the Americas or are you aware of my wish to visit Egypt once more and want to join?"

"That does count as a token of appreciation," Colin smiled, now joking. "My wife you will be."

"I shall get the Bridgerton last name one way or another."

Colin laughed loudly. "You know, my Grandmother's ring has an emerald in it, and according to Lady Whistledown, you are quite the enthusiast."

Neither of you noticed the intrusive presence in the sitting room, a presence that had arrived some time ago as she took notice of Eloise's return and wished to check on her after the latest Lady Whistledown issue.

Unbeknownst to either of you, she was listening to the latter part of the conversation, not catching the joke.

And she knew deep in her heart that you were a lady Colin would never give away. Unlike no other… A Duchess to be, well educated, polyglot, enchanting, artistic, diverting, kind, beautiful, intelligent. All she could never consider herself to be.

Oh, she was jealous.

"I certainly hope our children look like you," he said, pouring another glass of whiskey. "It's a good thing my Mother adores you above any other woman that there is. She surely would be disappointed if I marry someone that isn't you."

"Why do you say that? Is there anyone else in your mind?"

"I have grown fond of the French ladies, but my future wife has got to be a duchess. One that will take me to the Americas and Egypt and will let me take her to Greece and Italy," he added. "And one who wears yellow as well as you. You look ravishing in yellow, my Lady. Certainly, more beautiful than the sunrise, if I may add. No one manages to look as good in it as you do."

"I am thankful for your kind words, Mr. Bridgerton. You have gained your spot as my travel mate."

Penelope fought the tears piling up in her eyes, disappearing from the scene before Benedict joined you and Colin in the sitting room. Early enough to not notice the kiss the second Bridgerton so recklessly gave you.

The younger's jaw threatened to fall from his head. "You are not supposed to do that, Brother!"

"I cannot help myself," he confessed with a smirk, giving you a flirty smile. "She will be my wife soon anyway."

Colin rolled his eyes, finishing the glass of whiskey as Anthony joined you three in the room.

"Uh, may I speak to you, Lady Y/N?"

The effect of the alcohol made you drop an amused laugh. "Just Y/N. And yes."

Anthony shook his head. "Did you two get her drunk?"

"Do not look at me, I just got here." Benedict excused himself.

"Guilty!" Colin exclaimed, and you both laughed.

"Of course, you can speak to me, Anthony. In fact, I am so very happy to speak to you because I was hoping you could give me something I have wanted to have for a while."

He frowned in confusion. "What would that thing be?"

"Your brother Benedict's hand in sacred marriage."

The two younger Bridgertons accompanied you in laughter.

"I have already asked her to marry me, Brother, I wish to have your blessing."

"Before I say anything in regards to that," Anthony sighed. "I wish to apologize, Y/N, for my harsh attitude towards you. I admit it was inappropriate and that my discomfort with the situation was not related to you, I just reflected on my frustration with your and Benedict's relationship and I am sorry. I hope we can put all this situation behind us and pick up right where we left off."

"Of course, Anthony. If you ask me, our interactions two days ago never happened."

Anthony smiled. "Thank you," He nodded. "And you do not need my approval, but, by all means, you have it."

Benedict chuckled, taking your hand in his.

Dearest gentle reader,

It is with such shame that I break scandalous news about our very own Lady Y/N of Burgundy.

In an utterly unexpected and upsetting turn of events, many were fed off her lies as she dresses up like a man each day of the week and joins the men in the Royal Academy of Art, impersonating her nonexistent brother.

The ulterior motives of her secret adventures are still unknown, however, we do know that she is certainly still looking for a husband.

Don't you, dear reader, think that now she will not have it as easy?

[burnthoneydrops]

masterlist

bridgerton

What Time Has Done [Benedict Bridgerton x original character series]

Subtle(tea) [Benedict Bridgerton x reader request]

A Proposal of Convenience [Anthony Bridgerton x reader request]

Moonlit Confessions [A proposal of convenience pt 2 (Anthony Bridgerton x reader)]

The Sun and the Moon [Eloise Bridgerton x original character series]

The Sun and the Moon ii [^^]

The Language of Flowers [Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader]

Lavender's Blue, Dilly Dilly [Colin Bridgerton x fem!reader]

Paper Flowers [Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (Language of Flowers pt.2)]

spider-man

Is That my Sweatshirt? [Peter Parker x gn!reader)

stranger things

Blonde [Robin Buckley x fem!reader]

Meet the Parents [jonathan byers x reader]

daisy jones and the six

Coffee and Donuts [Graham Dunne x gn!reader]

luckiest man on the planet [graham dunne x fem!reader]

ted lasso

Like I Always Do [sam obisanya x fem!reader]

Drunk in the Back of the Car [Jamie Tartt x fem!reader]

Flirting 101 [isaac mcadoo x fem!reader]

Tickle Fight [jamie tartt x gn!reader]

Home for the Holidays [sam obisanya x reader]

the ballad of songbirds and snakes

loverboys on our hands [sejanus plinth x covey!reader]

lest beauty be wasted [sejanus plinth x covey!reader]

[bosbas]

Chapter 11: if my wishes came true, it would've been you

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

July 21, 1814 - In a rather interesting turn of events, Miss Y/N Beaumont was once more seen promenading on the arm of Anthony Bridgerton. It appeared that the two were quite happily chatting away, an increasingly common sight that comes after almost a month of barely any social appearances for our lady of the season. Was this just another friendly promenade, or could a romance be brewing between the two? Given the closeness of the two families, a union between them would be unsurprising. However, this author was most surprised that it was Anthony who decided to pursue Miss Beaumont rather than her long-time companion, Benedict.

"So you two are properly courting?" asked Hyacinth, shoving the latest Whisteldown column in both of your faces. You were sitting beside Anthony in the Bridgerton sitting room, your book set haphazardly on your lap after Hyacinth had barged in demanding answers.

"Something like that, yes," answered Anthony, grabbing the sheet of paper from her and skimming it over for where it mentioned you.

"What do you mean 'something like that'? You're either courting or you aren't, Anthony," came Hyacinth's exasperated response. You laughed softly at her impatience, understanding her frustration. You, at times, felt the same way. It was an unusual partnership, to be sure, but you were enjoying yourself thus far. You found you could attend social events again, not feeling any pressure to engage in conversation with slimy or uninteresting men.

"It means that I am attending balls again, Hyacinth. It also means that I can continue writing down detailed summaries of these balls and giving them to you the morning after," you said, hoping to distract her from asking any further questions about your courtship with Anthony.

And it seemed to have worked. Her face lit up, knowing you were the only person who currently attended balls that was kind enough, and attentive enough, to keep her informed about the goings on of the ton. She squealed and rushed to hug you, exclaiming "Thank you thank you thank you!!!" into your neck. You hugged her back, amused by her antics.

Suddenly, Hyacinth turned to Anthony, eyes narrowed. "You had better be a good suitor to Y/N. Will you be attending balls with her? And if so, will you be dancing with her? And will you be calling on her? Will you bring her flowers?" she interrogated. Hyacinth considered you to be one of the sweetest from the older bunch of Beaumont-Bridgertons. At least, you never made fun of her and you took her seriously enough that she could have grown-up conversations with you. So Hyacinth wanted to make sure that you were going to be properly courted by her brother. Truthfully, she had hoped you would end up with Benedict. She thought the two of you were in love, based on how he talked about you and how you looked at him, but she supposed she was too young to understand the more complicated aspects of romantic feelings, and perhaps she had misjudged whatever was going on between you and Ben. Nevertheless, she wanted at least one of her brothers to court you the way you deserved, especially after reading about the mostly unpleasant encounters you had with potential suitors thanks to your accounts of your evenings as a debutante.

Anthony patted Hyacinth on her head, laughing at her protectiveness. "Yes, I will be doing whatever Y/N would like me to do. Now run along, I've been attacked in my own home long enough." With a satisfied huff, Hyacinth ran out of the sitting room just as fast as she had come in, snatching Lady Whistledown's column out of Anthony's hand and taking it with her.

You smiled after her, shaking your head fondly. Anthony had let you take the lead on the speed and nature of your courtship, and you were more than grateful for the ability to choose the pace at which the two of you progressed. True to his word, he had not pressed you for an answer to his unusual proposal, and instead let you come to him once you were ready.

And sure enough, a week ago, you had made your way over to the Bridgerton household and asked to speak with Anthony privately. In the quiet of his study, you had accepted his proposal, finally laying to rest your dreams of spending the rest of your life with your best friend. It was a bittersweet moment for you. In a way, you felt relieved that you didn't have to pine after Benedict uselessly anymore, having a solid plan in place now and getting as close to what you wanted out of a marriage as possible, barring the possibility of romantic love. But a louder and more insistent part of you was feeling this loss to the bone. Loss of what you didn't know, since you and Ben had never been romantically involved, nor had you ever expected to marry him. Though you supposed a small part of you always held out some hope that Benedict might feel the same way about you as you did about him. That he also thought about you every night, laying in bed alone and wishing you could be in his arms. That the sketches of you and forehead kisses and endless pages of correspondence and hours spent talking together could mean more than just friendship. But in the end, you knew you had been foolish to think that two decades of friendship could be undone by a half-joking comment asking if he wanted to marry you.

Anthony, for his part, had been delighted, giving you an encouraging smile and a firm squeeze on your shoulder once he heard your final answer. He hadn't expected anything from you, of course, but he was happy that he could provide a solution that would benefit both of you. However, his proposal and your subsequent acceptance created a new challenge. Though you did intend to marry him, this wasn't what was usually considered a 'real' courtship, and you were hesitant to widely announce this fact to the gossip-hungry members of the ton.

"Anthony," you began, taking a seat opposite him. "I think we should discuss how we'll present this to the ton. I don't relish the idea of scandal, and I imagine neither do you."

"Mmm the pesky Lady Whistledown continues her reign of terror," hummed Anthony amusedly, shifting in his seat. "In all honesty, I believe any rumors would more negatively affect you, given the nature of our respective positions in society. I also know this is probably a more delicate situation for you than it is for me, so I'd be happy to go along with whatever you would like," said Anthony, sending you a sympathetic smile at the unspoken mention of Benedict.

Clearing your throat and ignoring the tightness in your chest, you pushed through your hurt. "Well, I think the most obvious question is of who we should tell. About the terms of our partnership, that is," you said, putting your hand on your chin and dreading the headache this whole ordeal would be. "I fear my mother might slit your throat and mine were she to find out that I am purposefully giving up on the possibility of a love match, especially after she told me repeatedly there's no rush," you said, looking up at Anthony with an apology in your eyes.

But he shook his head in response, "That's no bother, it is to be expected. I'm slightly scared my mother would react the same." You let out a snort at the thought of Anthony, at thirty years old, still scared of his mother. He rolled his eyes at you, knowing exactly why you were laughing at him, and continued speaking. "Regardless, I don't think we should tell anyone. We can be vague about our intentions and the specifics of our courtship until I propose publicly."

You nodded, trying to plan out that far ahead and feeling your heart speed up when you thought of Anthony on one knee proposing in front of other people. A real proposal this time. "Perhaps a month will be enough time? For it to be believable that we fell in love. That seems like a reasonable timeline, right?" you asked him, trying to imagine how long it might take you to fall in love with someone. Thinking back on your friendship with Benedict, you could recognize that you had been in love with him for years now, even if you didn't know it at the time. But you didn't have twenty years to fall in love with someone else, so a month with Anthony would have to do.

"Considering we've known each other two decades, I'm sure the ton would believe we were in love if we married tomorrow. It's our families we have to convince," Anthony reminded you. Because we all know you and Benedict are in love, he thought.

You nodded, thinking through all of your family members and their possible reactions to finding out you were marrying Anthony Bridgerton, of all people. If anything, they would probably expect Benedict to be the one to propose, no matter how absurd and impossible the idea was to you now. But this only made it more crucial that your courtship with Anthony was believable.

"I don't think we'll be able to convince Alex after the night we had in your study," you said finally. "Besides, it might be beneficial to have someone else on our side helping convince our families."

Although he seemed unsure, Anthony eventually conceded, letting out a grunt. "I'm inclined to agree. I could tell him later tonight at White's," he suggested. "We were planning on going with Colin and the twins but I'm sure I'll get a moment alone with him. It will probably be best to tell him earlier rather than later if I don't want a black eye," he joked, winking at you.

"Thank you," you answered gratefully. You weren't quite sure how Alexander would react to the news, knowing that you had just had your heart broken by Benedict and were now jumping into a partnership with his older brother, so you were happy Anthony offered to tell him instead of facing him yourself.

"So, how should we start courting?" you asked. "Well, not actually courting, but you know what I mean," you quickly corrected yourself.

Anthony smiled softly at you, understanding your need to specify that this wasn't a real courtship. Unlike you, he wasn't deeply in love with his best friend, so it was much easier for him to start pursuing someone, however real or fake it might be. But he knew that, at some level, you felt like you were betraying Benedict. Or at least betraying the feelings you had for him. At that moment, Anthony truly wished that Benedict would stop being a complete idiot. If not for Ben's own sake then to stop the absolute torment he saw in your eyes every time you thought of a future without your best friend.

"Ah, yes, our incredibly cunning ruse," Anthony responded, trying to keep his tone light. "I think we could probably start with a promenade a few days from now if you are amenable. It might be good to start with something a bit more casual," he said carefully.

"That's a good idea," you agreed. "Perhaps two days from now? It will give Alex enough time to digest the idea and I can mention to my mother that you asked if I wanted to get back into the social scene after such a long hiatus. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic enough to ignore the minor details."

Anthony nodded, already planning his speech to your older brother. "I can also start making off-handed comments around my family to really sell it," he suggested.

"Oh, that's perfect! I think we might just pull it off," you said, smiling at Anthony and feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

But Anthony could not relax yet. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, knowing you needed to address the issue of Benedict but also understanding that it was a relatively painful topic at the moment. After shifting in his seat slightly and receiving a quizzical look from you, he finally spoke up. "How would you like to tell Benedict?" he asked delicately.

You winced at the mention of his name. You had no idea, to be honest. How were you going to tell your best friend that you were marrying his brother? Saying it in person and having to see Benedict's reaction in person would be incredibly painful, but saying it in a letter would be worse, you reasoned. Especially since you had avoided any mention of potential suitors in your correspondence thus far, and were planning on continuing to do so. The letters exchanged between you were too precious, too intimate, to be ruined by the mention of one of your suitors. You stared at Anthony, resigned. "It would probably be better coming from me, wouldn't it?"

Anthony gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm not trying to get out of doing it, I know this will be one of the most difficult parts. But I believe it'll be better if he hears this from you. He would be crushed if he found out you were getting married from anyone other than you."

You sat back in your seat, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what was to come. If Ben reacted negatively to your relationship with Anthony, you might never see him again. You were desperate to make the blow as soft as possible and preserve as much of your friendship with Ben as you could. "I suppose you're right. I want to tell him in person, though," you said, nervously playing with your fingers. You felt thick tears in your eyes at the realization that if Benedict were here right now, he would be the one rubbing your hand with his thumb as he usually did when you were anxious.

Sensing your inner conflict, Anthony jumped to provide you with a solution. "If you want our courtship to last for a month, that aligns almost perfectly with our country house party in Kent. It would make sense for Benedict to come to Aubrey Hall for the party anyway, and you could have some time alone with him to tell him."

You nodded, quickly blinking the tears from your eyes. It was a perfect plan, indeed. Everything fit together perfectly, you realized with a sinking feeling. You were still half-hoping that there would be a reason you couldn't go through with this, or a massive oversight as to why the plan wouldn't work. But it seemed to be foolproof. Even the painful bits were accounted for and Anthony had made them to be as painless as possible.

And so began the biggest deceit of your life. All things considered, it was good fun. You and Anthony had decided to see each other four times per week, attending a minimum of two balls together and promenading once. Although it had only been a week, you found yourself enjoying the change of pace. You could now attend balls without having to interact with any desperate bachelors vying for your hefty dowry. What's more, Anthony had been bringing you a bouquet after every ball, which served to placate your mother above all else.

Even promenading with Anthony was enjoyable, seeing as the two of you understood each other quite well. It was nothing compared to how deeply Benedict understood you, or how engaging discussions were with him, but Anthony was miles ahead of anyone besides Ben. After only a week of courting, you found yourself better able to think about Benedict without dissolving into a puddle of tears, desperately wondering whether or not he was thinking of you while in the countryside. Your letters to him became less painful and more frequent, as you were able to push through your debilitating love for him and just enjoy speaking about art and literature.

As time went on, you were growing more and more confident that you had made the right decision, especially now that Lady Whistledown had written about your courtship, as Hyacinth had so kindly informed you. Whistledown's words were gospel to the people of polite society, so her mention of the two of you helped cement the validity of your budding relationship. Hopefully both your families would follow the rest of the ton and accept that Anthony, and not Benedict, was the one you were spending the majority of your time with now.

Although you had hoped Alex would help you in this endeavor, he had been unyieldingly silent on the matter. The day after Anthony explained your plan to him at White's, he came into your room and informed you that he knew what you and Anthony were doing. You had expected him to show at least some form of emotion, but he had simply said that he would not stand in your way and walked right out without any further discussion. Even now, a week later, he refused to talk about it with you, immediately changing the subject or just outright leaving the room when the matter of you and Anthony came up in conversation. You were disappointed, feeling like you were living a lie in and out of your home, but you supposed it was for the best. You could sacrifice talking to someone who knew the whole story for the assurance that none of your family would find out the truth. Especially not your mother.

---

As you looked out of your window to the beautiful grounds of Aubrey Hall, your mind couldn't help but drift to Benedict's latest letter. His reply had been short, which was to be expected given that you had asked him to return from the countryside to meet your future husband. Writing the letter had been almost physically painful, but you knew it was necessary. You could only hope that the tears on the paper were not too noticeable once they reached Ben.

After nearly a month of faking a courtship with Anthony, you were much more well-adjusted when it came to talking and thinking about Benedict. But a month was nowhere near long enough to quell the now all-encompassing love you had spent years growing. You didn't think you could ever stop loving Benedict, not entirely anyway. He was your Benedict, and he would be forever. You had grown up so intertwined in one another that he was as much a part of you as you were yourself. The love you felt for him was not a feeling, exactly, but more of a part of your identity. And it was all good and fun until you had to give that up to be with someone else. Though Anthony, bless him, was making it as easy for you as he could. He expected nothing more than what you were willing to give, and you couldn't thank him enough. It had been surprisingly easy to fall into a partnership with him, not feeling the undue stress of having to promptly get over Benedict that you had felt with all of your other suitors.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Theo and Bastian knocked on your door, barging in when you opened the door just a fraction. They ignored your exasperated sigh, opting instead to sit on your bed. Seeing Bastian's shoe-clad feet on your white bedding incited an anger in you that only your brothers knew how to elicit. But your murderous intentions were cut short by Theo's question.

"So, will Benedict be joining us?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you gazed from one twin to the other, trying to gauge the intention of their question. Seeing your anxious eyes, Theo rushed to explain. "We only wanted to check because... you know... yeah," he finished lamely.

"Because what?" you demanded, slightly put off by what they were implying. Thus far, your family had abstained from mentioning Benedict when speaking about your courtship with Anthony. Although they had been visibly shocked by the idea at first, they had now grown used to seeing you with Anthony instead of Benedict and it had become somewhat of the norm. Except perhaps for Cass, who was still young and a hopeful romantic. You knew she secretly still wished that Ben would return from the countryside in some kind of grand romantic gesture that would sweep you off your feet. Unfortunately, you simply couldn't afford to think that way for your sanity. Instead, you ignored her sad looks whenever Anthony sent you a particularly large bouquet of roses. So it came as a little bit of a shock that Theo and Bastian were being so forthright about the subject, showing little to no tact in handling what was a very painful situation for you.

You saw your brothers exchange a panicked look, clearly not expecting your bristling tone. "Because we haven't seen him in a while!" blurted out Bastian.

"Yes, exactly," said Theo, nodding aggressively. "It's just been some time since we last saw Benedict and we're wondering whether you knew if he'll be coming. So we can see him and all. Is he doing alright?"

You sniffed, crossing your arms stiffly and uttering a curt reply, "I see. Well, yes. He will be coming. He should be arriving in a few hours. And yes, he's alright. He's been faring quite well but I think he's coming back to town properly now."

Catching the wide-eyed look they exchanged, you rolled your eyes in annoyance. "And yes! He knows I've been courting someone, which I know was your next question. Though he doesn't know it's Anthony so don't you dare tell him. I will tell him myself once he arrives," you warned them.

"Wouldn't dream of it," assured Theo.

"Sorry about that. Let us know if you need anything," added Bastian.

You hummed. "Thank you very much. Now please get your dirty shoes off my bed or I'm afraid I will have to kill you. And we wouldn't want to make Mother sad over the death of two of her sons, would we?

They stood up off suddenly your bed and straightened up, clearly not having expected this to be such a hostile conversation. But they were glad you had at least cracked a joke, even if the comment threatened their untimely death. They laughed nervously and bid their goodbyes, exiting your room quickly.

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you closed the door after them, placing your forehead against the cool wood. You had most likely overreacted, but you would have to apologize another time. The sinking feeling of anxiety in your stomach took precedence over your brothers right now, as much as it was inconvenient for them.

The earlier flutters in your stomach had turned into giant somersaults, and you felt like you were going to be positively sick. You would have to tell Benedict that you were engaged to Anthony soon since you knew it would be unimaginably cruel to let Ben learn about your courtship to his brother as he was proposing to you.

The easiest thing would be to tell him during one of your nature walks. Whenever you were at Aubrey Hall, you and Benedict went on nature walks around the grounds, where you would often point out familiar flower and plant species, and he would remind you to take in the beautiful landscape. These walks could often last for hours, just the two of you wrapped up in each other's presence. And although it was usually Ben who suggested them, you had planned to ask him on a nature walk tomorrow morning to break the news that Anthony was the man you intended to marry. It would give him ample time and space to process the information, and some precious privacy to sort out any unresolved feelings on both sides.

Yet, the meticulously thought-out plan you had come up with did absolutely nothing to soothe your fears for the actual moment that you would tell him. In all honesty, you had no idea how Benedict would react. You weren't even sure how you wanted him to react. You supposed the best-case scenario would be if he calmly listened and said he understood your choice, and perhaps even thought it a good idea since you would be able to remain close to him. But you couldn't help a very tiny part of you that had previously been locked in the depths of your brain from hoping that Benedict wouldn't react calmly. That he would be impossibly angry. Angry with you, and with Anthony, and with himself. So angry that maybe he would realize that he did love you, after all, however unrealistic that might be.

With a determined exhale, you pushed yourself off the door and started getting ready to go downstairs to Anthony's study. The twins' unexpected inquiry had thrown you off balance, but you couldn't afford to let it linger in your thoughts. Anthony had asked you to stop by once you arrived at Aubrey Hall to iron out the details of his proposal. In less than a week, he would officially be your fiancé, and you had to start figuring out how it would actually happen.

---

As Benedict rode through the picturesque countryside toward Aubrey Hall, the weight of the impending conversation with you settled in his chest. The familiar scenes outside the carriage window, once a source of solace, now seemed to blur as his mind whirred with conflicting emotions. The letter you had sent him requesting his presence at Aubrey Hall so he could meet your future husband lay heavily in his pocket. Ben could barely breathe from the weight of the knowledge that you were so close to being out of his grasp forever.

Reading that letter for the first time had evoked a sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't shake even now, almost a week later. Benedict was beyond nervous to meet whoever you might be marrying, unsure if he would be able to successfully hide his overpowering love for you. However, he couldn't seem to forget the faint tear stains slightly smudging your handwriting of the letter in his pocket. A selfish part of him wished that you might be sad to be marrying this mystery man. That you had settled for someone less worthy and Ben could continue to be confident (if you could call what he was feeling right now confidence) in his decision to forgo a marriage with you. But this fleeting hope was immediately replaced with guilt. You deserved more than an unhappy marriage, even if it meant embracing a future that felt like a cruel twist of fate for Benedict's own heart. Despite the agonizing ache he was feeling, he knew would do this again ten times over if it guaranteed your happiness.

Arriving at Aubrey Hall, Ben dismissed the carriage with a nod of thanks to the driver. With his belongings in tow, he decided to stop by Anthony's study first. His older brother had surely already met your suitor and could perhaps offer some insight so Benedict wasn't entirely blindsided when you officially introduced him.

As Ben approached the door, he caught the sound of your voice, a sweet sound that made him smile wider than he had since he left you. He couldn't help but linger for a moment, enchanted by the familiarity of your tone and wishing he hadn't spent so long away from it.

But his attention sharpened as he overheard your conversation with Anthony. "I think it might be best if it's not a massive surprise to our families, especially Hyacinth. So, would you want to announce our engagement before everyone gets here? Sometime in the coming days? And then you can propose to me properly once all the guests arrive?" he heard you speak.

Benedict's world ground to a halt. The words hung in the air, a revelation that left him stunned. He went numb, pure anger coursing through his veins as he burst open the door and barged into his older brother's study. His eyes, aggressively narrowed into slits, fell on his best friend, sitting at his brother's desk as Anthony leaned against it. Time froze as you and Anthony turned towards him, expressions of shock clear on your faces.

"I beg your pardon?" he spoke, tone low and venomous as he breathed heavily. "What the bloody hell did you just say?"

—

A/N: just wanted to say thank you everyone so much for reading ahhhh I'm so happy to see all of your reactions after every part and I just LOVE YOU okay kisses bye

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