#benedict x you

[d-targaryenshoe]

Eternal Hope - Anthony Bridgerton

Word Count: 2053

Summary: When one's best friend tells you a rather complex secret about your husband, doubts start to take over your mind, am I right?

You and Anthony Bridgerton were the perfection of an ideal couple, your marriage a testament to the power of love and commitment. 

You were a vision of innocence and purity, your heart as untainted as the snow that covered the ground on your wedding day.

 He was the embodiment of devotion, his every action a reflection of his deep affection for you. To the outside world, you were the picture-perfect duo, your lives a fairytale come true.

 But your best friend, Philipa Featherington, knew better. Her family had seen Anthony Bridgerton in his younger days before he had met you and settled down.

 Back then, he had been known as quite the rake, a man who was more interested in the pleasures of the flesh than in finding true love. 

Despite his charming exterior, there was something dark and dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

It was this knowledge that made Philipa feel a mixture of awe, envy, and a tiny thread of worry for you, her friend.

One afternoon, as the two of you sat in the parlor, sipping tea and enjoying the warmth of the sun, Philipa decided to share the past with you. 

"You know, y/n," she began, her voice low and conspiratorial, "I sometimes wonder how you ever managed to tame that wild beast of a man." 

Philipa nodded towards the golden ring on your finger. "Before you came along, Anthony was quite the scoundrel."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Philipa, I cannot believe that you would say such a thing about my husband!" you exclaimed. "Anthony is the most loving, attentive man I could ever hope for!"

Philipa smiled sympathetically, knowing that you meant every word you said. But she also knew that there was more to the story than you realized. 

"Yes, yes," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

 "Of course, he is different now. But you must remember that everyone here has known him for years, and some saw firsthand the things he used to do. He could be quite ruthless, y/n. He never cared about anyone's feelings but his own."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you sure you're not overstating?" you asked hesitantly. "Anthony has always been so kind to me."

Philipa looked you in the eye. "I wish I were," she said simply. 

"But the truth is, Anthony Bridgerton was once a very different man. And while I'm glad that he's changed, and that you're so happy together, I can't help but wonder if you know who he is."

Your heart sank at your friend's words. You wanted to believe that Philipa was wrong, that Anthony could never have been anything but the devoted husband you knew now. 

But a tiny seed of doubt began to take root in your mind. Perhaps there was more to Anthony's past than you had realized.

"I-I don't know what to say," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I love Anthony with all my heart, and he loves me just as much. He's been nothing but faithful and kind since the day we met."

Philipa reached over and took your hand in hers. "I'm not saying that he isn't faithful to you now," she said gently.

 "But you must understand that the man you married is not the same man who was running through the streets of London, chasing after any skirt that crossed his path."

You bit your lip, trying to process everything your friend was saying.

You wanted to believe that Anthony was as innocent and pure as you were, but the memories of Philipa's stories kept creeping into your thoughts.

 Could it be possible that there was more to Anthony than you knew?

As you sat alone in the carriage, making your way home from your visit to Philipa, your heart felt heavy with doubt. 

The wind howled outside, and the horses' hooves clattered against the cobblestone streets, but you could barely hear any of it over the voice in your head.

 What if Philipa was right? What if Anthony had been dissatisfied with you in some way? 

You tried to convince yourself that it was ridiculous, that Anthony was the most loving husband a woman could ask for.

 But the thought lingered, refusing to be shaken off.

Your mind drifted back to the beginning of your courtship, when Anthony had been so attentive, always showering you with compliments and affection. 

He had made you feel beautiful and desirable in a way that no one else ever had. But then, as time went on, you began to wonder if perhaps he was growing bored with you. 

He had started spending more time at his club, and when he was home, he seemed distracted.

You tried to talk to him about it, but he always brushed your concerns aside, insisting that everything was fine.

You closed your eyes, the tears beginning to well up in their corners. It hurt you to think that Anthony might not find you beautiful anymore, that he might be seeking pleasure elsewhere. 

The thought made you feel so insecure, so unworthy of his love. As the carriage pulled up in front of your home, you forced a smile onto your face, trying to convince yourself that everything was going to be all right.

 But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right between you.

You climbed out of the carriage and hurried up the steps to your front door, your heart racing with anticipation and fear.

 Anthony was supposed to have returned home hours ago, but he hadn't come back yet.

You knocked on the door, your knuckles white from gripping the handle.

 When the butler answered, you forced a bright smile, trying to hide the turmoil within her.

 "Hello, Thomas," you said, your voice steady despite the pounding of your heart. "Is Lord Bridgerton inside?"

Thomas, ever the attentive servant, noticed something amiss in your expression. "I believe Lord Bridgerton is still at the club, Lady Bridgerton," he said gently. "Shall I send up a tray for him?"

You hesitated for a moment, your brow furrowing in confusion. 

"Yes," you managed to say, "that would be lovely. Thank you, Thomas." You turned and made your way upstairs to your bed chamber, your steps heavy with unease. 

You couldn't help but wonder what Anthony was doing at the club for so long, and why he hadn't come home yet. 

The thought of him with another woman, enjoying himself in ways he never seemed to enjoy with you, made your stomach churn.

You busied yourself with straightening the bedclothes and rearranging the pillows, trying to distract yourself from the growing ache in your heart.

 But as the minutes ticked by and Anthony still hadn't returned, your anxiety only grew worse. 

You couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that perhaps Philipa had been right all along. 

Maybe Anthony's past truly was catching up with you, and your marriage wasn't as strong as you had once believed it to be.

Finally, you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs.

 Your heart leaped into your throat as you hurried over to the window, peeking out through the curtains.

 There he was, striding up the walkway, his shoulders squared and his head held high. He looked every bit the gentleman you had fallen in love with all those years ago.

 But as he ascended the stairs and disappeared from your view.

Your stomach was knotted with fear. You waited until you heard the butler announce his arrival before you made your way down the hallway, trying to compose yourself.

 When you finally stepped into the entryway, Anthony turned toward you, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "There you are, dearest," he said, his voice warm and affectionate. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd gotten off to."

Your heart sank even further. You forced a smile and walked toward him, trying to ignore the voice in your head that kept saying that this wasn't real, that he wasn't truly happy to see you.

 As you moved toward each other, you let yourself be enveloped in his embrace, breathing in his familiar cologne, feeling the strength of his arms around you.

 For a moment, you let yourself believe that everything was going to be all right.

"I was just waiting in the parlor, my lady," Thomas interjected, clearing his throat. "Shall I bring up the tray for Lord Bridgerton now?"

"Yes, please," Anthony said, stepping away from you. "That would be lovely, Thomas. Thank you." 

He turned back to you, reaching out to take your hand. "Come, my dear. Let's go eat in the privacy of our chamber. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Your heart skipped a beat. What could he possibly need to discuss? You forced another smile and allowed him to lead you up the stairs and into your bed chamber, following him like a nervous child as he took a seat at the table.

 He poured you each a glass of wine before sitting back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you.

 "Y/n," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "I need to talk to you about something."

Your stomach twisted into knots. "Okay," you managed to say, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "What is it?"

Anthony took a deep breath before continuing. "I love you, y/n. More than anything in this world. You are my wife, my partner, my best friend. But I've been feeling...disconnected from you lately. Like something is missing between us."

 He paused, searching your eyes for some sign of understanding. "I want us to be closer. More intimate. I want to feel the way I used to feel when I looked at you, the way I felt when we first met."

Your heart ached as you listened to his words. 

A part of you wanted to believe him, to believe that you could find your way back to the love you once shared. 

But another part of you couldn't help but wonder if it was all just an act if he was only trying to save face. 

You took a sip of your wine, trying to steady your nerves. "I...I want that too," you said, your voice trembling. "I want us to be closer, to feel connected again. But...I don't know how."

Anthony studied your face, his expression softening. 

"I think we need to be honest with each other," he said. "To share our fears and our desires. To...explore each other." He took a deep breath, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. 

"I want to make love to you, y/n. Not just tonight, but every night. I want to show you how much you mean to me, how much I desire you."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, your heart racing. A part of you wanted to believe that he meant it, that he wanted you the way he used to. 

But another part of you couldn't help but wonder if it was all just a ploy to ease his conscience, to make himself feel better about whatever it was he had been doing. 

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for some sign of truth.

"I'm...I'm not sure," you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I want to try, Anthony. I want us to try. But I need you to promise me that...that you'll always be honest with me. That you'll never keep anything from me."

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I promise you, my love," he said solemnly. 

"I will always be honest with you. And I swear I will never keep anything from you. Not again." His grip on your hand tightened, and you could feel the warmth of his palm through your gloves. "I want this to work between us, y/n. More than anything."

You closed your eyes, trying to decide what to believe. Part of you wanted to believe him, to trust that he could change, that you could find your way back to the love you once shared. 

But another part of you was still so insecure, still so hurt by the betrayal. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever might come.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

High!benedict going upstairs to look for you and finding you in the bath. It’d take him a minute but then he’d be so cheeky when he realizes your naked.

A/n: high!Benedict! I miss writing for him 👏

Benedict was on the hunt for you, his lovely wife and while his mind may have been clouded he knew that you had to be around the home somewhere, his feet taking themselves up stairs. Your soft humming echoing through the halls.

Blinking a few times, a lazy smiled formed on his lips as he opened the door to the bathroom. Something he did not realize he was doing. His eyes landing on your form that was lounging in the tub.

"Hello love."

"Benedict! Get out!" Your voice shrieked as you slipped further into the water. Warmth creeping up your neck. While you may have been married, you still got nervous of him seeing you naked.

Laughing, Benedict lent his body against the doorway as he nearly stumbled forward. It took him a moment to realize what was going on. His eyes going wide until a giggle left his lips. "Oh!! I'm terribly sorry love."

Still swaying, a cheeky smile formed as he made his way towards you. Shoes slipping off, though despite your protests he slipped into the tub clothes and all, the water sloshing out as the man drew you in close as he nuzzled his nose into your neck. "I missed you."

Sighing, playing with his hair you relaxed into his embrace as he held you. "You couldn't have waited for me to finish my bath?"

"Hhm"

Lips twitching into a smile you shook your head closing your eyes. "Well we can stay like this for a moment but once you come down...you are cleaning up this mess."

"Hmm fine."

[startwelve]

🎨The muse

Benedict Bridgerton x fem reader

Synopsis: Benedict asks his maid to be his muse...

Warning: Slight smut and English is not my first language.

The day was rainy, though the sun persisted in the sky. The room echoed with the pitter-patter of rain against the windowpane and the soft brush of the brush against the canvas. Benedict held his breath as his eyes glided between the painting and his model.

"Could you stay still for a moment?" he raised an eyebrow.

"My apologies. It's the first time I've posed for such a purpose," the model responded.

"I understand."

The night before, Benedict ventured into the servants' quarters and requested the youngest and most beautiful, Emily, to be his muse. Though she initially refused, she eventually agreed to the offer of generous remuneration. Now, she sat on an elegant sofa, clad in a dress she could never own… All hidden from the Bridgerton family and society to avoid any scandal.

Benedict's eyes roamed over Emily, from her reddish hair to her pale shoulders, and back again. Her attire, too revealing for his taste; but the canvas would not judge.

Benedict dipped his brush into a jar of paint and began to apply colors to the canvas with swift strokes, a faint smile dancing on his lips as he worked.

He continued painting, his brush moving skillfully to capture the essence of his model. He paused for a moment, furrowing his brow slightly.

-"Miss Emily, could I request a few minutes of your time after our session concludes?" There was a pause, then he continued. "I mean, after I've finished my representation of you?"

She frowned, not understanding the implication.

-"Oh, yes, of course."

-"Thank you, Miss Emily." Benedict's eyes returned to the canvas, his concentration unwavering. After a few more minutes, he finally set down his brush and took a step back to admire his work. "Would you mind observing my progress so far, Emily?" he inquired.

-"Yes, may I move now?"

Benedict smiled.

-"Of course, you may move now." He reclined on a table, waiting for Emily to leave the sofa. He couldn't wait to show her how he had captured her beauty on canvas.

She rose and approached the canvas to gaze upon it. Upon seeing it, she was astonished.

-"Is it me?" she whispered.

Benedict nodded.

-"Yes, it is," he replied, with a slight blush on his cheeks. "I think it looks… lovely," he added. "I've tried to portray you as you are, as you appear before my eyes."

Her cheeks colored, and she thanked him in a whisper, while nervously toying with the fabric of her dress.

Benedict smiled gently but remained silent. He noticed how Emily's dress had caught his attention, and he couldn't deny that it had a similar effect on him.

Clearing his throat, Benedict resumed the conversation: "Miss Emily… you are an extraordinary woman; I truly enjoyed this session… But I also must complete this portrait. Would you be willing to pose for me again?"

She nodded, though some doubts lingered in her mind.

"Let me ask you a question," Emily said.

"Of course," Benedict responded, intrigued to know where her question was leading.

"Why did you choose me, a maid, as your model when there are high society ladies who would be willing to do so?"

A gentle smile appeared on Benedict's face.

"Ah, of course," he replied slowly. "It's because I'm an artist, Emily, and I see you as you are. High society ladies have been pampered all their lives, so their appearances are somewhat artificial, and their minds often lack substance," he explained. "But a maid like you, a simple and hardworking woman, possesses an authenticity in your beauty and personality that I find inspiring."

She didn't know what to respond, and they both fell silent, creating an atmosphere between them until she asked:

"May I ask another question?"

Benedict nodded and encouraged her to continue.

"Of course, ask, Emily," he said, with a slight smile on his lips as he looked at her.

"Where does this beautiful dress come from?"

Benedict chuckled softly as he watched Emily, the picture of innocence and wonder.

"This dress," he said, walking to the dresser behind her. "It belongs to my lovely sister, Daphne…" he said casually.

Emily looked at him in disbelief, unable to believe it.

"If your sister found out I borrowed one of her dresses, she would dismiss me."

Benedict put a finger to his lips, asking Emily to keep the secret.

"No one needs to find out, alright, Emily?" he asked, looking at her as if his life depended on her answer. She nodded, and Benedict let out a deep sigh, releasing the tension that had been building up unnoticed. "Thank you, Emily," he said, with gratitude in his tone. I assure you I won't allow anything to happen to you. Now, shall we continue working on this portrait?" he asked, approaching the easel to resume painting.

She settled on the sofa, and Benedict began painting again, adding shadows and lights to the canvas. He had grown accustomed to seeing Emily on the sofa, in her dress.

After a few minutes of intense concentration, Benedict reclined again on the table and stared fixedly at the canvas, with Emily's figure in front of him.

"Emily," he began, addressing her. "May I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Would you be willing to be my muse… not just today, but for… a long time?" he said, shifting his gaze back to Emily's eyes once more.

His words hinted at something more, something that transcended the simple request to be a muse. However, perhaps Emily didn't care about what lay behind this proposal. After all, Emily was quite delighted with the dress she was wearing…

"I… your muse?"

"Yes, Emily," Benedict began, his tone becoming more confident with each word. "I want you to be my muse for all my paintings, as long as you allow me," he said, looking deeply into Emily's eyes. "Your beauty is extraordinary and inspiring, Emily, and I want to capture it in every work I do. And if you permit me, I'll paint you every day," he added, waiting for her response.

"I don't know what to say."

"Just say 'Yes,'" Benedict whispered, taking slow steps towards her.

As the wind howled outside and the rain beat against the windows, Benedict's eyes met Emily's, while he held his breath, awaiting her response.

"Yes…"

When Emily's voice broke the silence that had settled in the room, Benedict's heart beat fast. He took another step towards Emily. He couldn't believe that she had agreed to pose for him day after day. The idea excited him tremendously.

"I'll paint you with all my heart," he promised finally, with his eyes fixed on Emily's.

She smiled softly.

Benedict sat beside her, and a hand rested on her cheek. He leaned in slowly and kissed her lips. Benedict's fingers slid to the buttons of Emily's dress as he moved closer. He unbuttoned one, then another button, before allowing the soft folds of the dress to slide off her body, setting her free.

Benedict's eyes continued to admire Emily's body as he bit his lower

lip. He wouldn't stop exploring until he had seen every inch of that body, and then… he would paint it, over and over again…

Benedict's hand moved to Emily's arm, his fingers tracing lines along her skin. She looked away, her cheeks flushed.

"Look at me," he said, gently stroking her chin.

The heat between them was palpable.

Benedict's finger traced the line of Emily's bare shoulder, smiling as he saw how the light made her skin glow. His eyes traveled every inch of her body.

Benedict's hands returned to Emily's chin, forcing her to look at him.

She couldn't believe what was happening between them, and a feeling of desire took hold of her.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, with his eyes fixed on Emily's lips as he spoke.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Emily…" Benedict whispered. "I want to hear something more than your 'thank yous'…" he said, his eyes fixed on her lips. As he spoke, his fingers moved to the button of her corset and began to unfasten it.

Benedict watched as Emily's cheeks flushed, while her body slowly became exposed to him. As the corset fell, he allowed his hands to gently return to her cheeks, her hair now falling on both sides of her face.

"You're breathing so fast," Benedict whispered, running his fingers gently along her collarbone. "Let me calm your heartbeat, Emily…"

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, he emitted a soft sigh.

Benedict smiled as he used his hands to gently push Emily back onto the sofa. With her bare back against the sofa, Benedict leaned forward and began to kiss her neck softly, before moving his lips to kiss the soft part of her shoulder.

He could feel Emily's heart beating between his fingers. "I believe…" he whispered, taking a second, before speaking again. "I believe I enjoy making you feel this way, Emily."

Emily's breath became heavier the longer they spent together, and a slight blush covered her body, as the heat between them was enough to fill the room.

He continued to trace his fingers along Emily's body, while kissing every part of it. Slowly, but surely, they were heading where both minds were thinking.

As the sound of the rain outside faded away in the midst of the pleasure between them, their breaths became one.

Emily's arms wrapped around Benedict as their lips met once more. And when they finished, Benedict's chest rose and fell at a rapid pace.

Benedict's eyes filled with amazement as he stared at her. He hadn't realized he could desire something more than just her body; he wanted her mind, her soul. Was it possible what the poets wrote? Was it possible to fall in love in a day?

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 6: Credence

Contents | Part 5 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Things come to a head as you return to the church for your niece's baptism.

Word Count: 8K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, sexual references & scenes of a sexual nature, infidelity, religious imagery & practices, refuge mentioned in this chapter is fictional. Readers must be 18+

A/N: I am so sorry for the long wait between updates. I'm sincerely hoping it'll never happen again. Anyway, if you enjoy this chapter, I would really love to hear from you. It's always so lovely and motivating to hear what people think/what parts they liked etc. Thank you all so much.

The bus turned sharply and came to an abrupt stop, sending you stumbling down the narrow aisle, the contents of the cardboard box in your hands spilling onto the floor. Passengers watched as you crouched down to scoop everything up, reaching around legs and peering under seats as people stepped over you to get off at their stop.

You staggered back to your feet, blowing a tuft of hair out of your face as the bus began to move again. You gripped the handrail and hugged the box closer to your chest, the journey to the next stop agonisingly quiet, besides the awkward clunking of a shampoo bottle rolling back and forth with every turn. You'd have to remember to pick that up.

The walk from your stop to the church was short, but not short enough to avoid the rain turning your box to mush, the soft, soggy cardboard beginning to come apart in your hands. It was a fine rain; so weightless it never actually seemed to reach the ground, instead it filled the air with a cold mist, clinging to everything.

There was a hall attached to the church; a large, open space with chevron wood flooring, dated patterned curtains and exposed beams in the ceiling. It reminded you of a primary school assembly hall; the bleak colours, scuffed floors, walls covered in bulletin boards and chairs stacked in corners. 

The place was heaving with people, voices melding into one steady, dense hum. There were tables lining the outer edges of the room, each one taking donations of everything from clothes and food to toys and books. You spotted June selling raffle tickets near the back, Father Benedict swapping pleasantries with people as he made his way around the room. 

You loved him in the black shirt and trousers, the flash of white at the base of his throat. It was the way he rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, rested his hands on his slender hips, curls falling over his brow as he looked down at people with a smile, earnest eye contact. You allowed yourself a moment to glance at him from across the busy hall; admiring his height, his build, the soft skin of his neck, the way his face moved as he talked. 

You waded through the sea of people, making your way over to a table labelled 'Carla's House Women's Refuge'. The lady working the table smiled at you as you approached, the curve of her lips slowly fading when she saw the disintegrated box in your hands. 

"It's raining," you said simply. 

"Ah," she replied. 

You tipped everything out, covering the table in an array of toiletries, makeup, hair products and tampons. So many tampons you could have built a fort with all the boxes. Her eyes widened as she stared down at them, lips parting slightly in an expression you couldn't quite decipher. 

"There would've been more," you said. "But I'm pretty sure I lost a couple of packs under a seat on the 57 bus." 

She looked back up at you in confusion, before shaking her head and breathing out a laugh. "This is- This is great," she said. "Did you do a collection or something?" 

"My workplace provides them for free in the toilets. Our receptionist accidentally put an extra zero on the order form last month. So instead of thirty boxes, we got three hundred."

She laughed again, shaking her head in awe. "Well, I don't really know what to say. Thank you. This will make such a difference." 

"No problem."

"God bless you." 

You stopped midway through turning away from her, as though up until that moment you'd forgotten where you were. "Mhm." You cleared your throat, nodding as you glanced back at her. "And you."

You couldn't understand why you were still so unable to say it back. It should have been easy by now; you'd even practiced alone, saying the words out loud until they rolled off your tongue. God bless you too. But whenever it was time to put them into practice, it was as if they became lodged in your throat.

You wandered back into the crowd, taking your phone out to check the time. The inside of your pocket was damp from the rain and you swore under your breath as you wiped away the speckles of water from the screen. 

You looked up to see Father Benedict a few feet ahead of you, feeling your cheeks warm as your eyes met. You hadn't been back since Sunday Mass, your last encounter with him still etched into your mind; his thumb pressing a wafer onto your extended tongue, his stern gaze as you knelt at his feet. 

You didn't want to be embarrassed. You wished you had the nerve to hold his gaze, to smile, to walk up to him and say something that made him blush. But you were embarrassed; stomach twisting, shoulders falling in on themselves whenever you thought about it. So instead you stared down at your phone, scrolling aimlessly in an attempt to appear busy as you weaved through the crowd to avoid him.

"Ellis...?" 

You turned around to see him hurrying to catch up to you, calling out to you timorously through the bustle. 

"I wondered if I could speak with you a moment?" he asked.

You swallowed, slipping your phone back into your pocket with a timid nod. 

He gestured for you to follow him, placing a hand gently on your arm to guide you out of the hall into the fresh, damp air. It was raining properly now; the fine mist heavier, spitting and bouncing against the earth. You squinted up at the sky, at the sun fighting to break through a thick blanket of grey. There's going to be a rainbow, you thought. 

"I wanted to apologise," said Father Benedict, softly clearing his throat. 

You turned your attention to him, eyes still narrowed but for an entirely different reason. You were expecting to be told off, like a naughty child whose parents waited until you were alone to chastise you. But his voice was tender, polite, almost nervous. 

He shifted his weight from side to side, running a hand through his hair. "I feel I might have been... harsh with you."

You sucked in your bottom lip, chewing on it as you listened.

"Being new to a parish is lonely, and it's not often I meet people who see me as a person first and a priest second." He paused. "I felt the lines becoming blurred and needed to set a boundary before they vanished completely. But clearly I went about it in the wrong way, and in doing so I think I... offended you." 

There was a long silence, his eyes fixed on you like he was waiting for a response. But you didn't know what to say. Mostly because you didn't understand. It was as if he hadn't eluded to the idea that there could be something more between you, like he hadn't preached of temptation and sin to a church full of people while deliberately avoiding your gaze. 

"Is that fair to say?" he prompted. 

"What makes you think I was offended?" 

He gave a breathy laugh, pressing his tongue to his top teeth. "Because one minute I'm telling you there are certain vows I'm unwilling to break, and the next you're on your knees in front of me taking a communion you're not eligible to receive..." 

And there it was. He finally mentioned it. You felt another rush of heat to your cheeks, the warmth mirroring deep in your stomach; shame and arousal all at once. 

"I deserved it," he said, before darkening his gaze and lowering his voice. "But I won't let you pull a stunt like that in my church again. Understand?" 

The heat disappeared; a chill rolling down your spine, bones hardening like ice, turning you rigid as you stared up at him in disbelief. 

"That's not much of an apology, Father," you said, your tone so direct it almost didn't sound like it was coming from you.

The corner of his mouth twitched with the slightest smile, and while it seemed like one of amusement, it could have been irritation. You were never quite sure.

"I'm sorry," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "You came here seeking a relationship with God and all I've done is keep you to myself."

Heat now. Pure heat. And questions. Like what did he mean by keep you? Keep you like some kind of crutch? A thing to lean on when loneliness threatened to knock him off kilter? Or was there another reason he found himself standing between you and God? Perhaps a fear of losing you to him altogether. 

"What if I'm okay with that?" you asked. 

There was another smile, a bow of his head as he took a step back. "Then it's a good job you're not the priest in this scenario," he said quietly, continuing to walk backwards away from you. 

You remained under the small shelter, rain pattering against the roof, murky water gushing from the drainpipe beside you. You glanced up at the sky - still no rainbow - then back over at him, watching as he pulled open the doors to the hall. 

"I'd make a terrible priest," you called out to him before he disappeared inside.

"Oh, the worst," he replied teasingly, a half-smile carving a deep line in his cheek. 

You understood what Mara meant when she said she felt overdressed for church. Though slutty was maybe a bridge too far. 

You'd bought a dress especially, forgoing your phone bill for another month just to pay for it. It nipped in at your waist, falling just past your knees, the straps thin and tight on your shoulders, making it near impossible for you to raise your arms above your head. 

And it was yellow. Sunshine, buttercup, lemon meringue yellow.

You'd reconciled with the colour. Conceding when Mara told you it was perfect, sunny, just like Soleil. You were even starting to like the way you looked in it, turning to examine yourself in the bedroom mirror with a reluctant smile. That was until Alfie walked into the room. 

"You look like Laa-Laa from the Teletubbies," he said casually, folding his shirt collar over his tie. 

"Oh. Nice, thanks," you replied, curling your lip at your reflection. 

He laughed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Is that not what you were going for?" 

"Obviously not." 

His eyes scanned you, watching you stare at yourself, fingers fiddling with every crease of material, sucking in deep breaths to flatten your stomach.

"You seem nervous," he said. 

"I am." 

"Why? It's just a christening. You sit there, listen to the priest drone on for a bit, watch the baby get waterboarded and it's over."

You imagined turning to him, looking him dead in the eye and telling him the truth; that you weren't nervous because of the ceremony, weren't concerned to pose for photographs or spend the day making small talk with family and your sister's friends. You were nervous because you were going to see him. But you didn't. Instead you gave a reserved laugh, smoothing your hands over the bodice of your dress.

"Good excuse to get pissed though," he added. 

"Mm," you mumbled. 

There was a knock, followed by the door creaking open and Gina poking her head into the room, all red lips and white teeth, expensive earrings dangling as she turned to you. 

"Sorry," she said. "I've just called the taxi. It should be here in a few minutes." 

"Okay, be down in a second," you replied. 

"Fab." She paused, taking a moment to look you up and down. "You look gorgeous. Like Belle from Beauty and the Beast." 

You glanced over your shoulder at Alfie. "See how easy it was to not compare me to a big, creepy alien?" 

"I don't think Teletubbies are aliens," he replied, entirely missing the point. "Are they?" 

The sun was shining for the first time in days. But the breeze was still cold, raising goosebumps on your bare arms as you walked along the path through the church gardens. The grass was speckled with daisies, clusters of bluebells and wilting daffodils; a reminder that spring had still persevered, flowers managing to bloom despite stormy skies. 

When you walked inside, you found yourself hesitating for a moment, slowing to a stop in the middle of the foyer as if the soles of your shoes had stuck to the old, dusty pink carpet. Alfie and Gina didn't notice you'd fallen behind, the pair of them disappearing through the doors of the chapel without looking back. You were glad for it; grateful to have a moment alone, to breathe slowly and smooth your hands over your dress one last time without their eyes on you. 

Mara was stood near the front of the chapel with the baby in her arms, greeting people with a smile that - even from a distance - you could tell was nothing more than a mask. You knew because you did it too; the 'stressy smile', your mother would call it, like someone had taken pins and stuck the corners of your mouth in place.

You watched as Gina strolled down the aisle, opening her arms and leaning forward to hug your mother sat in the pews. Alfie had slowed his pace, allowing you to catch up to him and reaching out his hand, fingers locking between yours. 

Over the course of your relationship, it had become automatic for him to take your hand before plunging into a sea of people; adhering himself to you like a life jacket to stop you drowning in the chaos. It was something you liked about him, how he always kept you afloat even when all you wanted to do was sink. 

But this was your sea. And here, his hand was a heavy, burdensome cinder block. 

Mara glanced over at you and you met her gaze with your own 'stressy smile'. But your lips slowly began coming together again when you noticed the tall figure standing behind her. He was talking to your grandmother, dressed in his white alb, a purple and gold stole draped around his neck. His hands were clasped in front of him, long fingers locked together the same way Alfie's were grasping yours. 

It didn't take long for him to notice you, his eyes flitting away from your grandmother and immediately falling to your hand; watching Alfie's thumb as it absentmindedly stroked the side of your finger. You tried to swallow but it was sticking, as if all the moisture had drained from your mouth and was seeping out of your palm. 

"Your hand's so sweaty," said Alfie.

"I know, sorry," you replied, pulling it away and drying it on your dress. 

Father Benedict was still looking at you, his expression so calm; soft lips and glassy eyes, void of smile lines, smooth like marble. But there was an occasional pulse in his jaw, a hairline crack in the enamel, undetectable unless you knew where to look for it. 

It seemed the sight of Alfie touching you had bothered him, and you didn't know whether to repent or to relish in it. It was as though up until now, 'the boyfriend' had been nothing more than a tale; a character made up of words and sighs and frustrated growls, a thing that remained tucked away within the stories you told. Yet now he was here, a real, tangible person existing in the very place you'd been coming to escape him. Bringing him here had breached your haven, drove the pin right into the centre of the bubble. And your priest clearly didn't like it.

"Is that him?" asked Alfie. 

"Hm?"

"The priest you've been volunteering for..." 

"Oh, yeah," you replied. "Here, let's... Let's just sit here." 

You pushed him gently towards an empty pew, forgoing greeting your family in desperation to sit down, to melt away behind the row of people in front. 

But he resisted your ushering, stopping and turning to look at you. "Don't you want to go up and say hi?" 

"No, fuck- just sit down," you hissed, more harshly than you'd intended. 

His top lip curled in a blend of confusion and indignation as he lowered himself to the wooden bench, crossing his arms like a disgruntled child.

You sat down beside him, allowing a single glance towards Father Benedict, watching his face return to a warm smile as he focused back on your grandmother. 

"He's fit," whispered Gina as she plonked herself - too close - beside you. 

"What?" you whispered back. 

She nodded towards the priest with an impish smirk. "I knew it. I said it, didn't I, I said there was a reason you were coming to church so much." 

You scoffed quietly, shaking your head. "To perv on a priest?" 

"I would." 

"I don't doubt that." 

"Is he one of those celibate ones?"

You looked at her, eyelids heavy with dour.

"Is that a yes? No? Maybe?" 

"What are you doing all the way back here?" asked Mara, approaching you hastily. 

You never thought you'd find the sound of your sister's voice a relief, but you were glad for the interruption, exhaling a long breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Come and sit up front," she demanded.

You craned your neck, peering over to the front row where your parents sat next to each other in stony silence. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen them in the same room, at least not without screaming at one another; dad's beetroot face, the bulging vein in mum's forehead. 

"I'd rather not be up there when mum and dad start throwing punches," you said.

"They're being good. I threatened them." 

You laughed softly. "It's fine, I'll stay here." 

She huffed, looking over her shoulder towards Father Benedict before leaning down to speak through gritted teeth. "Look, I need you to be Soleil's Godmother." 

"What?" 

"It was supposed to be my friend Becca but she's not fucking turned up. I knew she'd go and pull something like this." 

"Ah yeah," said Alfie. "Just what you want in a godparent. Flakiness." 

She snarled at him before turning her attention back to you. "Come on, you're Soleil's aunt-"

"And yet you didn't think to ask me in the first place..." 

"Ellis, please, you're my sister." 

"Yeah, and 90% of the time you can't stand me." 

"Oh, go on, it's sweet," said Gina, leaning in to whisper to you. "Plus, you'll be closer to your forbidden lover up there." 

"That's not funny." 

"Ellis," said Mara, staring sincerely into your eyes. "Please."

You'd never held a baby before; unsure of where to put your hands, worried you were squeezing too hard or that she might suddenly leap out of your grasp onto the hard chapel floor. You were holding her like a bag of flour, outstretched in front of you, fingers and thumbs hooked under each armpit as she dangled in your hold.

Alfie and Gina were laughing at you from the pews, watching as Mara repositioned you like a mannequin in a shop window; tapping her hand on your hip and instructing you to jut it out as she sat the baby there, taking your arms and wrapping them both around her. 

You looked down at her, all chubby cheeks and round eyes too big for her face, staring up at you curiously as though she was just as perturbed by the whole thing as you were.

"Is it your will as the parents and godparents of Soleil that she should be baptised in the faith of the Church, which we have all professed with you?" asked Father Benedict.

"It is," said Mara, Nathan and Nathan's brother Freddie. 

"It is," you muttered along with them. 

A godmother. The notion felt quite surreal, as if this child was about to be promised to you like some kind of heirloom. But surely they wouldn't really expect you to raise her if they died. Surely they wouldn't trust you with the school fundraisers and doctors appointments and birthday parties. What about sex talk? Bullies? What if she threw up and you had to clean it? 

They better not die on me, you thought, that would be such a Mara thing to do. 

"If you could all come with me," said Father Benedict. 

You handed the baby back to your sister as you followed them over to the large stone font. You could still hear Gina giggling, trying your best to ignore her - as you often seemed to do lately - letting her fade into the background like the buzzing of a fly. 

"I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." 

A shrill cry burst through the chapel, the baby wailing and wriggling as Father Benedict poured water over her head. You watched him shush her gently, giving a warm, reassuring smile to her parents. God, he was beautiful. The kind of beautiful you never really see in person; rare, ethereal, an amalgamation of softness and strength. It made sense, in a way, that someone who looked so much like a fallen angel would believe such a thing could exist at all. 

The procession finished with a hymn. You glared at Alfie and Gina as they laughed and joked through the entire song like a pair of school children. A few months ago, it probably wouldn't have bothered you, you might have even joined in. But it was as if you'd outgrown them, like your favourite pair of shoes were suddenly too tight on your feet. 

"We've organised a bit of a do in the pub next door," said Mara, addressing the entire assembly. "So if you all want to head over we'll see you there." 

The church began to empty. You hovered near the front, waiting for something, though you weren't sure what. You'd gotten so used to hanging around after a service, watching the chapel turn quiet until you were the only person left. It felt unnatural to leave with the crowd. 

"Father, we'd love it if you popped in for a drink," you heard Mara say behind you. "Priests can drink, can't they?" 

You closed your eyes at the sound of his throaty laugh, turning your head to listen. 

"That's very nice of you," he said. "But really, I better not-"

"You should come," you said cheerfully, turning to face them. 

The pulse in his jaw returned. He swallowed, preparing to decline again. 

"Just one drink," you insisted. "It's the least we can do, y'know, to thank you for getting all of this done so quickly." 

There was a buffet table against the back wall of the pub, an arch of yellow and pearly white balloons curving over it like a rainbow. A banner was draped above the bar, Soleil Cain Cassidy in elegant scripture. Her middle name was Cain, something you'd only discovered an hour ago during her baptism. It caught you off guard to hear your brother's name without the sombre tone that usually accompanied it, made you wonder if your family hadn't thought to tell you when she was first born, or if you simply hadn't paid attention. 

"Right, what do you guys want to drink?" asked Gina as she slipped out from behind your table. 

"Just a pint," Alfie replied. 

"Er, whatever you're having," you said distractedly, eyes trailing around the small pub. 

She strode off towards the bar, saying hello to members of your family who you were certain had always liked her more than you. She was vibrant, confident, good with small talk, all the things that never came naturally to you. 

"You know she's going to come back with tequila or something," Alfie joked.

"Hm? Oh, yeah probably." 

His eyes narrowed and he shuffled slightly closer to you. "Are you okay?"

Father Benedict was standing at the bar chatting with the pub landlord. You watched as Gina approached, saying something to him that made him laugh. It shouldn't have bothered you, yet you felt a heavy, dense pit forming in your stomach.

"Ellis..." 

You peeled your eyes away, shaking your head at Alfie with a smile. "I'm fine, just tired." 

"Mm, I'm not surprised, we were up late last night." 

You groaned, rolling your eyes. 

"What?" He laughed before lowering his voice. "You've been fucking like a champ lately." 

The pit in your stomach began to flood with an unsettling feeling, as though sleeping with your own boyfriend was a cause for embarrassment, guilt, shame. It was true something had been unlocked in you, a carnal desire that couldn't be sated no matter how many times you slipped into the shower with him, or took him by the hand and led him up to your room. But he was merely a device in it all; a sex toy with hot breath and a beating heart, a mouth that sought out your breasts and a cock that never quite hit the right spots. You'd discovered the ability to replace him in those intimate moments, to close your eyes as he pushed inside you and feel him morph into someone else entirely; a person whose touch you craved, who made you clamp your lips shut to stop the wrong name falling from them. 

"Can you not say things like that when my nan's at the next table?" you muttered.

Alfie chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh as Gina returned with your drinks. You noticed her gaze fall to his hand, then back up to you with a raised eyebrow. 

"Just got us a white wine each," she said, setting a glass down in front of you. "Can you believe they don't do Aperol here?" 

"It's a parish pub," you said. "I'm surprised they even had this."

Alfie took a gulp of his beer, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

"The priest's jealous," said Gina.

"What?" You furrowed your brow, looking over to see Father Benedict's eyes on you. 

He looked away almost immediately, tugging at his collar as if it was suddenly too tight around his neck. 

"Oh yeah?" Alfie smirked, letting his fingers travel further up the inside of your leg. "Shall we give him a show?"

"It's my fucking niece's christening," you snipped, pushing him away. "Stop being vulgar."

"Look, now she's trying to act all virginal because she knows he's watching," Gina teased. 

The pit was turning into a pyre, heat smouldering deep in your gut. This woman was supposed to be your best friend, yet every time she opened her mouth, it only seemed to accelerate the flame. 

"Will you stop with the fucking priest jokes?" you scolded. "Do you think it's funny to insinuate I've got something going on with another man right in front of my boyfriend?" 

Her back straightened, as though she was surprised by your hostility. 

"It's alright, she's been making jokes about the two of you for months," said Alfie calmly. "I think it's funny-"

"Yeah well I don't." 

She pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek and took a sip of her wine. "Me thinks the lady does protest a lot." 

"It's 'the lady doth protest too much, methinks'," you corrected. "Fucking hell." 

"Bitch," she muttered under her breath, before rising from her seat and snatching her bag off the table. 

"Where are you going?" asked Alfie. 

"For a cigarette," she snapped. 

You took a deep breath in through your nose, blowing it out slowly as you lifted the glass to your lips again. "I don't even like wine. We've been friends for how long, you'd think she'd know that." 

"I'm going to see if she's okay..." 

You glared at him, pausing for a moment to compose yourself. "Yeah, fine, whatever." 

The air had felt so quiet, yet now you were sitting alone, the hum inside the pub began to return. There were children running around a small clearing in the middle of the room, people queuing at the buffet, a DJ playing music. You looked back over to Father Benedict, your cheeks warming at the realisation that he'd witnessed it all.

He placed his glass on the bar and began walking away. You watched as he disappeared into the room at the back of the pub. It wasn't an invitation, but still you found yourself standing up and following him, pushing through the door that led to the room where he hosted his weekly group sessions.

He was moving the foldable chairs, dragging them into a circle, metal legs scraping against the old linoleum floor. You stood quietly, observing, until finally he glanced up at you, unsurprised to see you there. 

"Hi," he said simply. 

"Hi." 

He noticed you looking at the chairs and cleared his throat. "I er, I have a bible study session tomorrow, thought I might as well set up now since I'm here." 

You nodded, making your way over to the half-made circle and sitting down.

He remained quiet for a while, staring down at you, before continuing his work. "It was nice of your sister to invite me. It's not often I get to join in with the after bit."

You nodded again, crossing your arms over your chest. 

"You have a nice family," he said. 

You breathed out a laugh.

"You do," he insisted, laughing too.

You sat in silence for a little while, unmoving as he set up the room around you; clearing the table where he liked to put the bottled water and stacking the leftover chairs in the corner. You watched as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket, his cheeks slightly flushed, though you weren't sure if it was from the heat or whatever he'd been drinking. 

He sat down opposite you on the other side of the circle, fingers clasped together and hanging between his parted legs. It felt like you were in one of his sessions, about to be counselled, asked to share.

"I like your dress," he said simply. 

"I look like an egg yolk." 

He chuckled. "Nah, you look beautiful." 

A familiar feeling thickened the air around you, another slip of the tongue you'd grown to expect but never got used to.

"Can I ask you a question..." you said. 

He shifted in his seat.

"It's a... religion-y question," you added. 

"Religion-y, another great word to add to the vocabulary." 

You smiled to yourself before looking across to him again. "Can I?" 

"Of course."

"Not committing adultery is one of the commandments, right?" 

"Mhm."

You swallowed. "What exactly falls under that term?" 

He furrowed his brow in thought, crossing one leg over the other. "I think you're going to have to elaborate." 

"Well, would someone be breaking that commandment if their physical form was with one person, but their mind was with someone else?" 

"I'm afraid I'm still not quite getting it..." 

"Okay." You uncrossed your arms, gripping the base of your chair with both hands as you sat forward. "Lately, every time I have sex with my boyfriend, I've been imaging he's... someone else. Is that adultery?" 

It was so quiet you could hear the birds outside, the passing of traffic, glasses clinking in the main room of the pub. You couldn't believe you'd just said it; admitted something so embarrassing, so awful. His clear blue eyes were fixed on you, plump lips parted as though he wanted to speak but no words would leave him. You waited, watching his chest expand with an intake of breath, but as he was about to speak, the door behind you creaked open. 

"Ellis...?" 

You whipped your head around to see Alfie peering into the room. 

"What?"

He glanced across at Father Benedict who had risen to his feet, dropping his head and busying himself by straightening the stack of chairs in the corner. 

"We're leaving," he said. 

"Who's we?" 

"Me and Gina." 

"Why?" 

"She's er..." He looked at the priest again. "She's not... feeling well." 

"Sure," you replied sarcastically. 

"Sorry," said Father Benedict awkwardly. "I'm just going to..." 

Alfie stepped aside, allowing him to shuffle past him out of the room, and for the moment they were side by side, you almost felt the urge to laugh. Your priest was so much taller, swallowing him in his lean, elegant frame. 

"We're going to share a cab, I was just checking if you wanted to c-"

"Why do you have to go?" you asked. 

"Well I don't have to. I just feel a bit shit leaving her to go home by herself. She's really upset." 

You rolled your eyes. "Just say you're looking for an excuse to leave-"

"I'm not. I'm not, I swear. I'm just going to take her home, make sure she's alright and get on with my portfolio for that job I'm applying for." 

You sighed. "Okay, whatever, yeah, I'll see you at home." 

"Okay." He nodded, turning on his heels and disappearing through the door. 

You leaned back in your chair, listening to the metal groan under your weight, watching through the window until a taxi pulled into the small carpark.

You stood up and walked back into the pub, eyes scanning the room for a tall figure dressed in black, the white collar you'd learned to spot in even the most crowded of places. But he was nowhere to be found. 

The thin heels of your shoes sank into the grass as you walked towards the church, the warm breeze licking at the bottom of your dress. The sun had moved across the sky, but it was still bright, making the day feel never-ending. 

You gripped the handle of your small handbag as you climbed the steps and pushed on the closed doors, opening them just enough to slip inside. The foyer was empty, no sign of June or the lady who would come to vacuum and dust the skirtings. The chapel was quiet too, the echo of your heels the only sound as you made your way down the aisle. You didn't know if he would be there, and even if he was, you weren't sure what you would say.

You stopped before the altar, taking a moment to gaze up at the statue of Jesus on the back wall; head stooped, arms outstretched. You wondered what it must be like to truly believe in him, if you'd ever believed in anything so blindly.

The small corridor beyond the sanctuary was dark, all of the doors closed tight except for one. You wandered slowly towards the thin sliver of light, breathing deeply, preparing to tap your knuckles against the door and step into his office, hoping the words would come to you when you laid eyes on him. 

As you grew closer, you began to hear a noise; a muffled, indistinguishable sound that made you refrain from knocking. Instead you peered through the crack in the open door, observing the messy, cluttered space, only a small amount of sunlight streaming in through the narrow window. 

He was there. Standing on the other side of the room, back to the door, head hanging between his shoulders just like the statue you'd passed moments ago. You eyed one of his arms bracing himself against the wall, palm planted flat. The other was in front of him, out of sight, moving in a vigorous, steady rhythm. You furrowed your brow, leaning closer. 

There was a soft grunt, heavy, laboured breaths. Your lips parted, mouth turning dry as your mind finally caught up with what you were seeing. He was masturbating. The realisation was dizzying, making you freeze in place, breath halting halfway up your throat. 

It should have mortified you, made you look away, embarrassed to have stumbled upon such a weak and vulnerable moment. You should have been repelled by the notion that this god-fearing man had so little control that he could touch himself within the walls of his church. But the only humiliation you felt was for yourself; for the warm waves crashing deep in your belly, the slick forming between your legs. 

He was muttering under his breath, the pumping of his arm growing more intense as he lowered his head further. 

"Fuck," you heard him whisper. "Ellis." 

Your mouth fell open completely, drawing in a soft gasp. Did he really say that? Maybe you misheard. He groaned, fingers pressing harder against the wall, and you knew now that you had to leave. 

You backed away from the door and turned, walking slowly, your footsteps deliberate in an attempt to go as silently as you came. When you reached the chapel, you found yourself breathless, sitting down in the empty pews to collect yourself. You dropped your bag to the floor and let your head fall into your hands, closing your eyes as the image of him played on a loop behind your lids. Ellis. He really said-

"Ellis?"

Your head shot up, eyes wide as you found him standing near the entrance to the corridor. He looked flustered, sweaty, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt as he looked around the empty chapel. 

"Hello..." you said, trying to keep your voice steady. 

"Hi. What are..." He cleared his throat. "What are you doing here?" 

"Oh, I was erm, I was looking for you. But I... guess you must have been busy..." 

"Y-yes, I was." He made his way over to the other side of the church, picking up a newsletter that had been left on the floor. "Sorry, you said you were looking for me?" 

"Yeah-"

He interrupted you with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he approached you. "If it's about the question you asked before, I- I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you."

"No, it's not. I er, I actually wanted to make a confession." 

He glanced down at his watch and let out a sigh before gesturing to the large wooden cabinet at the back of the room. "Alright, if we make it quick-"

"No- No, I don't mean in the booth. I mean I need to make a confession... to you. Specifically."

"Oh." He narrowed his eyes with curiosity, taking a seat in the row in front and twisting his body to face you. "Okay?" 

You took a moment to stare at him, drink him in - eyes, hair, lips, neck, the curve of his nose, the angle of his jaw - just in case. You pressed your lips together and swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. 

"I have absolutely no interest in being part of the church," you said. 

"Oh," he replied, blinking with confusion. "I- I... I hope it wasn't something I did?"

"No. It wasn't. The truth is I'm not religious. Not even a little bit. Never have been. I'm not open to exploring my faith because I have no faith; I think christianity is a cult and blind belief in something that directly contradicts proven, scientific evidence is nothing short of delusional." 

Slightly harsh, Ellis.

He furrowed his brow, letting out a musing hum. 

"The night we met," you continued. "When you saw me sitting in the pews back there. I wasn't praying. I was... I was just waiting for the rain to stop." 

Your voice trailed off, eclipsed by shame, grief, guilt. 

"Why..." His voice was a whisper. "Why wouldn't you just tell me that? Wh- When I asked if you sought salvation, why on earth would you say yes?" 

You paused, eyes locked on his. "Okay, maybe we should go in the booth." 

"Why?"

"Because I don't think I can look directly at you when I say this." 

He seemed to understand, rising to his feet and slipping out into the aisle without another word. You remained seated, watching him walk away with his hands in his pockets. 

"Come on then," he called to you, his voice echoing against the ceiling as he dragged back the curtains on each side of the booth. 

The wooden bench creaked beneath you, a loose floorboard seesawing up and down with a squeak as you pushed the heel of your shoe against it. The scent of linseed oil and rosary beads was claggy and overwhelming, the heat of late spring making the air inside the confined space close and unyielding.

There was a partition to your left, perforated with small crosses that unveiled flashes of Father Benedict's alabaster complexion on the other side. He was sitting too, you could hear the groan of the bench under his weight, the shuffle of his shoes against the floor of the booth. 

"Okay," he said. "Spill." 

"Aren't you supposed to forgive me for my sins or something?" 

"Yeah we're skipping all of that." 

"Fair enough." You looked around your small compartment, the dark wood you could tell was once glossy, now scuffed and dull. It seemed a lot of people had sins to confess. "I said I wanted to become part of the church that night... Because I was attracted to you."

He didn't reply. 

"And I've proceeded to take part in the church because I'm still attracted to you."

Still nothing. You glanced through the partition, able to make out the shape of him; leant forward, head bowed, listening. 

"I promise I have enjoyed coming here, none of that was pretend," you continued, your voice wavering slightly. "But I'd be lying if I said there hasn't been... other reasons for me taking such an interest in this place. I just- no matter how much I try, I can't stop thinking about you in that way. And I've felt like such terrible person for it." You paused, swallowing. "But then you said those things about the way I look at you, and I've noticed the way you look at me too-"

"Ellis," he said softly, as though begging you to stop. 

"Don't tell me I'm making it up." 

You heard a sigh, another creak. You turned your head, speaking directly to the partition between you. 

"I saw you," you said. "Just now in your office. I saw you. I heard you..." 

He moved, back straightening, head turning towards you. You couldn't see his face, but you knew his expression; shock, embarrassment, fear. 

"I've done that too," you whispered. "Said your name while..." 

You trailed off, leaning back, letting your head rest against the wall behind you. 

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. 

"Because I thought- I don't know, I thought maybe if you knew I didn't want a relationship with God, you wouldn't feel so bad about keeping me to yourself." 

Silence.

"Father." You paused. "If I open this curtain... If I walk out right now and stand in front of yours... Will you open it for me?" 

"Ellis-"

You didn't wait to hear what he was going to say. Instead you stood up and pulled back your curtain, stepping out of the hot booth into the cool air of the chapel. 

You stood outside his curtain, chewing your fingernail as you waited. But there was no movement, not even a sound. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment before nodding to yourself solemnly. 

The sun shone through the stained glass onto your dress, the colours moving and shifting as you walked, like the facets of a diamond. You made your way back to the pews in search of your bag, shuffling along the row and picking it up off the floor before stepping back out into the aisle. 

A sudden noise made you stop, the screeching of curtain loops raking against a rail. You turned to see him standing outside the booth, chest rising and falling heavily, eyes burning despite their glacial hue. 

He stormed down the aisle in long, quick strides towards you, bringing you face to face, close enough to feel his breath, to see the crinkle between his brows. 

"This is what I am," he said, thumping a hand on his own chest. 

"I understand," you replied timidly. 

"It's what I chose to be," he continued through gritted teeth. "This is what I chose, and I was fine with that. Then you had to come and-"

"Stop. I know, okay." 

"Do you? Do you really know how it feels to have everything you believe in, everything you've dedicated your whole life to jeopardised because you can't resist a basic temptation?" 

"I'm not a temptation!" you snapped, turning around to point at the statue of Christ on the far wall. "You think he sent me here? You think the only reason I've done all this- am doing all of this is because god wants to test you?"

You threw your bag to the ground and began marching up to the statue, Father Benedict quick on your heels. 

"Hey," you said, speaking directly to the large, marble figure. "If I'm really a test then fucking prove it, send us a sign." 

"Ellis," he hissed. 

He was right behind you, causing you to almost bump into his chest as you turned around. 

You opened your arms wide, gesturing to your surroundings. "See, nothing." 

The pulse in his jaw returned, hands resting on his hips with irritation. 

"I understood when I sat down in that confessional that I might just make a fool of myself," you said calmly. "But I'm not a sin, Father. And I hate that that's what you see when you look at me."

"Wait, stop. Sin? You think I see you as a sin?" He narrowed his eyes, brushing back his hair with frustration before leaning in close and deepening his voice. "You are the reason I've begun to question whether there's even such a thing at all. How something could possibly be so wrong when every fibre of my being is drawn towards it. You're not a temptation, Ellis. If anything, you are the choice that feels most right. And that... There is no amount of prayer and worship and study that can tell me what to do about that."

You stared up at him, wide-eyed, mouth agape. He was quiet too, stunned by his own candour. Your chest was heaving as you watched him lick his lips, and before you knew it, his hands were on your face, your fingers gripping at the sleeves of his shirt as you came together in a fevered, desperate kiss. 

You stumbled together in a tangle of hot breaths and eager hands, falling back against the credence table and knocking a set of candles onto the floor with a heavy thud, a large chalice clanging as it rolled away. His kiss was as heavenly as you'd imagined; soft lips, skilled tongue, forceful and hungry, as if he'd been starving and didn't know when he would get to eat again. 

He lifted you onto the edge of the table, tugging impatiently at your dress until it was bunched at your hips, fingers grazing your inner thighs as you worked to unbutton his trousers. But as the first one popped open, a sudden noise made you freeze. 

You both turned to see the cleaning lady dragging a hoover into the chapel. Father Benedict stepped back from you quickly, turning to discreetly fasten his trousers as you stood up and pulled your dress down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

"Oh, hi there, Linda," he called out cheerfully.

She glanced over at him and smiled. "Hello, Father, don't worry, I won't get in your way." 

"That's alright, I was just erm... showing Ellis here how we set up for the Eucharist." 

You dropped to the ground, picking up the candles and chalice and placing them back on the table.

Linda nodded, switching on the vacuum and beginning to swipe it back and forth across the floor. 

You stood there for a moment, staring at each other amidst the loud whirring of the machine. He seemed disappointed, in you or in himself, you couldn't quite tell. 

"I should get back to the party," you said. 

"Y-yeah," he replied. 

You began to walk away, glancing back to find him looking up at the statue, rubbing his jaw in turmoil. 

“That wasn’t a sign," you said breathlessly, shaking your head at him. "It wasn't." 

He looked down at you.

“It wasn't," you repeated, before turning around and hurrying away.

Part 7

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[weirdmorefics]

Hi! I think a sister Bridgerton imagine where the reader is about 2/3 and she’s just now growing into her features and she looks just like Benedict and everyone just adores her but Anthony is very protective and jealous that everyone says that she and Benedict are gonna be besties because he’s supposed to be her father figure. I think that would be cute :)

Picnic Squabbles 

x Sister!Reader

A/N- This is in Anthony’s POV and not the readers

Warnings- None

Pronouns- She/Her

Word Count- 343

Summary- A picnic goes awry when Anthony cannot take the comments about the reader being Benedict’s little girl anymore. 

“She is so adorable I swear she looks more like Benedict every day.” One of Mother friends gushes.

I honestly do not see it Y/N is her own person and if anything Benedict looks like me. Therefore she and Benedict looks like me! 

“Are you okay Anthony? You’re grinding your teeth again,” Daphne asks concerned.

I roll my eyes and groan “I am fine Daphne.”

“Yeah, because you sure look fine.” Daphne mumbles under her breath and I pretend not to hear.

“Benny lets play hide and seek” Y/N says excitedly dragging him away from the picnic.

Another one of Mother’s friends swoons about how great of a father Benedict is going to be because he practically already is one! That is the last straw I can not handle these women thinking Benedict is the father of this family. I walk with heavy footsteps towards Benedict.

“Are you playing hide and seek with us?” Y/N smiles.

I squat down to meet Y/N’s eye level “Do you think of Benedict as your Father?” 

Daphne’s jaw drops open and she hits my shoulder “You can’t just ask a question like that!”

Mother looks over at us squabbling and walks up to us followed by her friends. I can tell by the look on her face that she was disappointed with me and was about to give me a lecture. One of her friends shook her head and said I should learn from Benedict and I tried to give her my dirtiest glare when Mother glared back at me.

Y/N interrupts Mothers friends judging me “No Benedict isn’t my dad,” she laughs. “ You are the dad because you are the one the protects me. Now let's go play hide and seek!” She smiles widely and drags me away.

I hear the other Mothers praising me now and their daughters swooning. However, that is not what matters to me. Y/N thinks I am the father of the family not Benedict. I am fulfilling my duty for my family and Y/N knows I will always protect her.

Support Me Here

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

The Rake & the Spinster

Summary:

With the Bridgerton's and the Dappleton's having always lived side by side, *yn* Dappleton is the unofficial ninth Bridgerton sibling, and Benedict Bridgerton has been her friend for as long as she can remember. However, when *yn* officially makes her debut into society with every intent of finding a husband, Benedict begins to realise that perhaps it is more than a friendship that he seeks.

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff <3

Notes: This might be one of my favourite fics I have ever written. Big call I know but eeeee!

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

"Miss Dappleton, Lord Dappleton has requested your presence."

*yn*'s brow furrowed, peering over the top of her book at the servant that stood expectantly at the doorway.

"What ever for?"

"He did not specify, miss. He is in his study waiting for you."

*yn* sighed begrudgingly and placed the book on the couch beside her. "Honestly, that man can never do anything on his own." She grumbled under her breath as she rose from her seat.

She made her way through the various hallways and rooms that made up her home before coming to a stop outside the study door.

"Come in." A muffled voice spoke from within in response to her knock. She edged open the door, peaking inside to see Lord Dappleton seated at his desk, his head buried in a mountain of paperwork.

"Ah *yn*, come come." He beckoned her, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her hovering in the doorway.

"Is everything alright father? Do you need assistance with the ledgers again?" *yn* implored as she came to stand in front of his desk.

"The what - oh no no no." He fussed, shaking his head and chuckling as he pushed the papers away from him.

"It's about you. I've made an appointment at Madame Delacroix's for tomorrow at 10 am."

"Madame Delacroix's?" *yn* echoed, her nose crinkling in confusion. "What ever for? I have enough dresses to last me till the end of the season."

"Well you're going to need new dresses if you are to formally make your debut into society."

"My what?" She exclaimed. "But father we agreed-"

"-I know what we agreed. That you would debut when you were ready. But you are one and twenty now *yn*-"

"But-"

"No buts." He cut her off once more. "You know I have always championed your independence, but Lady Bridgerton and I have both agreed that-"

"Lady Bridgerton? Oh so you two have been scheming behind my back to decide my future?" *yn* scoffed, folding her arms in front of chest.

"Now *yn* you know that woman loves you like one of her own." Lord Dappleton scolded. "We both have agreed that this is what is best for you and if you want to have any hopes of finding a decent husband then you must debut this season. Now, Lady Bridgerton has offered to escort you to your appointment tomorrow. You do not have to accept her invitation of course. But, she will be coming over tomorrow afternoon to discuss the details of your debut with you."

"I really do not get a say in this do I?" She murmured as he turned his attention back to the papers before him, signalling that she was dismissed.

"No my dear, I am afraid you do not."

There was a pause as *yn* studied her father for a few moments. Her first instinct was to argue, but there was an edge to her father's voice, one that she had only heard a handful of times in her life. And every single time she had heard that tone, he had always gotten his way.

"She can come to the appointment I suppose." *yn* grumbled.

Her words made a smile twitch up onto her father's lips as he looked at her over his spectacles.

"Excellent, I will advise her."

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

"Well it's official. I'm coming out."

"Come again?"

*yn* brought the cigarette to her lips, inhaling deeply before tilting her head back and letting the smoke waft up towards the moon.

"I am making my debut into society."

"You're having a laugh."

"I'm afraid I am not dearest Benedict, I am to formally debut myself this weekend." *yn* twisted on the swing turning to look at the second eldest Bridgerton.

"At the Cowper's ball of all places no less." Her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"If this is your idea of a practical joke, you've done much better." Benedict smirked, exhaling a puff of smoke as he pushed his feet off the ground to move the swing.

"I wish I was joking." *yn* deadpanned. "Father spoke to me this morning, apparently him and your mother have decided that if I have any chance of finding a decent husband I must debut this season."

*yn*'s body jerked forward as Benedict planted his feet on the ground, the swing coming to a sudden stop.

"You're being serious." He stated, causing her to roll her eyes.

"That is what I have been saying." *yn* huffed as she rose to her feet. "I am to go to the dressmaker's tomorrow morning with your mother."

Benedict studied her for a few moments before he tilted his head back and let out a howl of laughter. "This is bloody brilliant."

"You're going to have to have one of those silly dance cards and everything. And you'll have gentlemen callers, oh you will love that." He cackled, clutching at his sides as he laughed.

"I am so glad you find my predicament so amusing Bridgerton." She huffed, placing her hands on her hips, a smile still on her lips despite her best efforts to look irritated.

"Oh I do, I really do."

"What are you two guffawing about?"

*yn* and Benedict glanced up to see Eloise Bridgerton making her way towards them.

"*yn*'s just informed me that she is making her debut this season." Benedict grinned.

"Oh no, not you too. I thought at least one of us would be spared the torture." Eloise despaired as she came to take a seat beside her brother.

"Unfortunately not dear Eloise. Apparently I am on the verge of becoming a spinster at the ripe old age of one and twenty." *yn* proclaimed causing both the Bridgerton siblings to burst into laughter.

"What about you and Benedict's plan to indefinitely galavant around and terrorise the ton with your rake and spinster ways?" Eloise asked as she glanced between them.

"Unfortunately only one of us has the pleasure of choosing when and if they will marry." *yn* answered, shooting Benedict a pointed look as she came back to join the siblings.

Despite her jokes and sarcasm, the thought of the impending season was making her feel quite ill. It was finally beginning to sink in that by the end of the season, she would more than likely have a husband. One who she might not even love.

"Do not fret sister, I will be enough of a rake for the both of us. Is that not right *yn*?" Benedict winked at *yn* as he pulled out a fresh cigarette.

*yn* ignored the pang in her stomach at his words, "that is right." She answered, forcing a smile onto her lips as she sat down on the grass in front of them.

"I cannot believe our society still demands this of us." Eloise complained as she lit a cigarette of her own.

"Do not despair El, with you, me and Anthony out this season it will at least not be a boring one." *yn* comforted her.

"I suppose you are right." Eloise sighed. "Plus Lady Whistledown has returned, that will make for some titivating drama as always."

"Well let us all pray that a scandal so big happens that Lady Whistledown forgets all about your family this season." *yn* remarked as she rose to her feet.

"You are leaving? So soon?" Benedict asked, straightening up on his swing as he studied her intently.

"Yes I should, I must be up bright and early in preparation for what I am sure will be a thrilling expedition to Madame Delacroix's." She sighed as she smoothed her dress out.

"But we had not even begun to discuss my dear brother's courtship and the sister sent to torture him." He complained.

"Come now Benny do not sulk." *yn* teased as she touched his shoulder comfortingly. "You can tell me all about this sister birthed from hell itself at the Cowper ball, goodness knows I will need something to pass the time." She sighed, shivering at the mere thought.

"El, I will see you at the ball too?"

"Sadly, yes." Eloise grimaced.

"Excellent, well with that I will bid you goodnight Bridgertons." She jokingly curtseyed.

"Goodnight *yn*!" The pair chorused back. *yn* grinned at them, giving them one last wave before she picked up her dress and made her way to the small hole in the hedge that divided their homes.

*yn* and her father had lived beside the Bridgertons in the ton for her entire life. Her mother had been taken by a fever before *yn* could even walk and with her father refusing to remarry, it had always been just her and her father.

Violet Bridgerton and Arthur Dappleton had always been close, and when *yn*'s mother died they grew even closer, with Violet helping a very hopeless single father with raising a daughter. *yn* had grown up with the eight siblings, closest to Eloise and Daphne given the age proximity. But as she aged, she found herself growing closer to the older brothers, particularly with Benedict. Now she would consider him one of her closest friends.

The fact that she had been in love with him for as long as she could remember did ever so slightly complicate things. But overtime she had learnt to suppress it, telling herself that nothing would ever come of it. It was easier that way.

"I cannot believe *yn*'s left me alone with you." Benedict complained once *yn* had disappeared through the hedge. He chuckled as Eloise shoved him playfully in response.

"You know." Eloise began as silence fell over the garden, the faint sound of birds chirping in the distance. "I always thought you two would end up together."

Her words made Benedict jerk upright, so suddenly that he very nearly slipped off his seat. Eloise stifled a laugh as her brother's hand shot up to grip the rope of the swing to steady himself as he turned to look at her.

"Who? Me and *yn*?" Benedict inquired incredulously.

"Do not be absurd Eloise." He shook his head when Eloise nodded. "She is like a fifth sister, to think of her that way-" He cut himself as he felt his cheeks growing flush under Eloise's stare.

"That might be one of the daftest things you have ever uttered and that is the last I will say on the matter." He muttered, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette.

"Whatever you say brother." Eloise mused, a knowing look on her features as she glanced back over at the Dappleton estate.

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

"How long are we expected to be here mama?"

"I too would like to know the answer to that question."

"Hush you two, Eloise you have not even had one dance yet." Violet dismissed her children. Eloise and Benedict both simultaneously rolled their eyes, shooting each other looks of displeasure before following begrudgingly after their mother.

"I have not caught sight of *yn* yet, she better be here." Eloise grumbled to Benedict as they weaved through the throng of people.

Both of them nearly collided into the back of their mother who had come to a sudden halt beside Lady Danbury.

"Oh Lady Bridgerton you have outdone yourself." They heard Lady Danbury say to their mother.

"Why thank you Lady Danbury."

Benedict and Eloise shot each other puzzled looks before hurrying to get around their mother.

"Woah." Eloise breathed out.

Benedict froze when his eyes fell on the source of Eloise's amazement.

He felt like his feet had been knocked out from beneath him as he studied her. She was in a beautiful violet gown with pale purple gloves to match. Her hair had been done in an intricate up style with diamonds adorning her neck, ears and were even woven into her hair. Her arm was hooked through her father's as she made her way through the crowd.

She was the most beautiful woman Benedict had ever laid eyes on. *yn* Dappleton, her best friend. Hushed whispers that circled him made him think that there were many others who thought the same thing.

"Benedict, let's go fetch a drink and then we can say hello." Eloise murmured, her wide eyes never leaving *yn*'s figure as she spoke.

"Benedict." She repeated when she got no response. She finally turned to see him completely mesmerised by *yn*, so much so that he had not heard a word she had said.

"Brother." She spoke, shaking his arm. This finally broke him out of his trance, wide eyed as he glanced down at his sister.

"What?"

Eloise tried to suppress her amused smirk, "I said, let's go fetch a drink."

"Oh yes." Benedict nodded as he adjusted the collar of his vest which had suddenly grown very restrictive. He cleared his throat, "let's do that."

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

"Lady Dappleton, would you do me the honour of another dance?"

"Why thank you Lord Dixon, the honour would be all mine." *yn* curtseyed back, "I am just feeling a bit faint, I think some fresh air will serve me well before we dance."

"Of course Lady Dappleton, I will be waiting for your return." Lord Dixon bowed.

The second her back was turned *yn*'s smile dropped and she rolled her eyes as she made a beeline for the balcony.

She let out a sigh of relief as she stepped outside and into the warm night air. Her feet were aching and she could barely breath in the corset that had been tied ridiculously tight. All she wanted to do was to go home. Or be sitting in the Bridgerton's backyard, on the swing with Benedict, talking about something entirely trivial.

"Psst- Dappleton!" *yn*'s brow furrowed, glancing around for the source of the noise. "Down here!"

Upon that instruction she peered over the balcony. "Benedict." She breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of the second eldest Bridgerton.

"Where have you been? I have been looking for you everywhere!" She hissed.

"Well I went to go fetch a drink and just happened to spy an open window right beside the punch bowl, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up." Benedict responded, shooting her a cheeky grin.

"Come on, let's go." He continued, waving her down.

"Benedict I cannot go with you. I am unchaperoned. If anyone saw us-"

"No one will see us, come on." He beckoned her frantically. "Unless you want to go back in there that is."

*yn* bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder at the party. She winced at the sight of Lord Dixon glancing around, clearly looking for her. She glanced down at Benedict who was looking up expectantly, that heart stopping grin still plastered on his features as they locked eyes.

"Come on, we can have a party of our own." He urged, shaking the flask in his hand at her temptingly.

She withheld a sigh as she felt her resolve crumbling, shaking her head in defeat.

"I better not regret this Bridgerton." She grumbled before swinging her legs over the balcony railing.

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

"I just cannot believe Dixon thought he actually had a chance with you." Benedict remarked.

"Oh come on, he is not that bad." *yn* mused as she pressed the flask to her lips, wincing as the liquor burned her throat.

"*yn* dearest, the man perpetually smells like off milk." Benedict's smile widened as he practically felt *yn*'s mouth drop as she turned to face him.

"How on earth did you know-"

"He was called The Milkman at university, why do you think my brothers and I always avoid talking with him for too long at these things? The stench seeps into your clothes. Impossible to get it out of them."

"And you did not think to forewarn me about this?" *yn* gaped. Benedict shrugged his shoulders and locked eyes with her, the pair eyed each other for a few moments before bursting into fits of laughter.

*yn* clutched her sides, feeling her eyes growing wet from how hard she was laughing.

"Oh we are horrible." She giggled, inhaling deeply as she tried to catch her breath.

"Maybe, but at least we are not dreadfully boring." He chuckled.

*yn* hummed in agreement as she leant her head back against the trunk of the tree. Her veins were singing with warmth from the liquid provided by the flask. Her body and mind were relaxing more and more as the minutes ticked by as the alcohol seeped into her.

The warm summer nights breeze was a beautiful reprieve from the Cowper's overcrowded and stuffy room. Her and Benedict were sitting side by side underneath an oak tree, so close together that their arms were nearly touching.

"I must get back soon, before anyone notices my absence." *yn* sighed after a few moments of peaceful silence.

"A full dance card?" Benedict queried, unable to help himself as he peered over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the men who had requested a dance with her.

"Surprisingly, yes." She answered as she flicked her fingers through the pages of the dance card hanging from her wrist.

"Really?" Benedict spoke as he studied her, "I do not think it is the least bit surprising." He remarked, unable to hide the edge in his voice as he took a deep swig of liquor.

"And why is that?" *yn* mused, fully preparing for some sort of sarcastic jab as she looked up at him expectantly.

"Because you look absolutely breathtaking tonight."

*yn* felt like the wind had been knocked out of her at his words. They were so matter-of-fact that for a brief moment she thought that she had been hearing things. Her lips parted slightly as she studied him, trying to rack her brain for something to say.

"At least that is what I heard Lord Dixon and a few of his friends say anyway." Benedict added quickly as he looked down at his feet.

And just like that, the moment passed.

"Oh right." *yn* nodded, swallowing thickly as she tried to hide her disappointment. "And here I was thinking that Benedict Bridgerton was actually going to give me a compliment." She forced a teasing tone to her words.

"A compliment? Please you know me better than that Miss Dappleton." His words made a soft chuckle emit from *yn*'s lips as she fixed her eyes on her dance card, flicking through the pages absentmindedly.

Benedict silently cursed himself for saying those words out loud. They were meant to be his thoughts and his thoughts only. To remain in his head. Most definitely not thoughts for *yn* to hear. But when she had looked at him with that breathtaking smile on her lips, the words had spilled out of him before he could restrain himself.

"Lord Dappleton, I found them!"

The voice made the two spring up onto their feet, panic flooding both of them. They both exhaled when they saw Violet Bridgerton marching towards them.

That relief was short lived when they saw the furious expression on her features, one which was unfortunately mirrored in Arthur Dappleton's face who was hot on her heels.

"We have been looking for you everywhere, do you know how long you have been gone?" Violet demanded.

"Mother I am sorry we just-"

"-Benedict I do not want to hear it." She snapped, holding a hand up to stop him. "We were worried sick. And to find you both here, and unchaperoned of all things." She shook her head as disappointment radiated from her.

"I thought we taught you both better than this."

*yn* folded her arms in front of her guiltily as she glanced at her father who was yet to say a word. She did not recall the last time she had seen him look so disappointed.

"Come *yn*, we are leaving." He finally said after a few moments of tense silence passed.

*yn* nodded, knowing better than to argue. She shot Benedict a glance before following after her father who had already begun to make his way to their carriage.

"Honestly Benedict, do you know what would have happened if someone else had caught you two out here like this, unchaperoned?" Violet snapped as Benedict watched *yn*'s retreating figure.

Benedict knew the answer. He knew that it meant that the two would have had to marry with haste. Just like Daphne and Simon.

His worst nightmare of course, I mean marriage? No. Absolutely not.

Although, there was a small voice in his head that was telling him that being married to *yn* might not be so terrible.

In fact, it would not be so terrible at all.

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

The ride to the Dappleton estate was done so in complete silence.

Neither *yn* nor her father uttered a single word in the carriage, nor did either of them say a word as they traipsed up the stairs and into the living room.

"Sit." That was the first word uttered by Arthur as he pointed to the couch.

*yn* complied. She watched as her father locked his hands behind his back and began to pace the length of the room.

"Do you have any idea what would have happened if Lady Bridgerton had not been the one to discover you?" He began. "It would have ruined you."

*yn* sat in guilty silence.

"I know it has always been just you and me in this house. And perhaps it was my fault that I have let you run around, doing what you please. Maybe I erred in not remarrying and finding a wife suitable to help raise you. To try and provide you with a brother to help care for you." He muttered, more to himself than to *yn* as he continued to pace.

"I did not need a step-mother. I have you. I have Lady Bridgerton."

Her soft words made him come to a stand still in front of her. "And I did not need another wife, you are all I need *yn*." He clarified as he studied his daughter.

"But I will not always be here for you. One day, when I am gone, this-" He gestured around the room. "- will go to my closest male relative. He will become Lord of this house. Not you. And you will need someone to provide for you, to give you a roof over your head, safety, company."

"But I do not want to have someone provide for me." *yn* spoke, her voice shaking with frustration.

"I know, but this is how our society works." Her father answered her firmly. "And I will not see my daughter left in destitute, I will not." He spoke forcefully, his voice increasingly growing louder as his anger also grew.

"And I will not let you throw your future away over that Bridgerton boy-

"It was not his fault he-"

"-Benedict has always done as he pleases, whenever he pleases *yn*, and he will continue to do so, with little consequence. You cannot pine for this boy any longer *yn*. He has made his thoughts on marriage very clear-"

"I am not pining for Benedict!" *yn* exclaimed, her cheeks growing red in embarrassment. "He is my friend."

Arthur's expression softened at her words, sympathy splashed across his features. "*yn*." He spoke gently. "You do not have to pretend with me."

She swallowed as she felt tears pricking at her cheeks. She stared down into her lap as the couch dipped beside her as her father sat down next to her.

"I love him." Her voice quivered as she spoke.

"I know." Arthur answered, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"But it is time to stop waiting around for him." He continued softly. "It is time for you to find your happiness."

There was a pause as *yn* fiddled with her fingers, blinking back tears as she did so. "Do you think I will find a love match? Like you and mother?" Her voice was so small that Arthur had trouble catching her words.

"Of course I do." He smiled sadly as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her into a tight embrace.

"But you must actually make an effort with these suitors. Promise me *yn* that you will." He murmured as she melted into her father's embrace.

She sniffed as she clung to him, trying to push thoughts of Benedict from her mind.

"I promise."

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

"Sorry I am late, what have I missed sister?"

Daphne glanced up at Benedict before turning her attention back to the dance floor. "Well, Anthony and Miss Edwina have been dancing all night, much to her sister's distaste." Daphne mused.

Benedict plucked a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter, his eyes searching the Featherington's ballroom for a particular figure.

"If you are looking for *yn*, she is dancing with Lord Mayfair."

"I was not looking for-" Benedict began before pausing as Daphne's words sunk in. "Lord Mayfair?" Benedict he exclaimed incredulously.

"Indeed, this is their third dance of the evening." Daphne remarked as Benedict's eyes finally found *yn*, indeed dancing with Lord Mayfair, a radiant smile plastered on her features.

"I think they look quite good together, do you not agree?" She continued, studying her brother's facial features intently.

"I suppose." He bit back as he tilted his head back and downed the entirety of his glass.

"He is quite the catch you know. He comes from an exceptional family." Daphne continued, an amused smirk on her features as she watched her brother glare at the pair.

Benedict merely grunted in response as he grabbed another glass just as the song ended. He watched as *yn* curtseyed to Lord Mayfair after finishing up their dance, laughing at something he had said.

"I will see you later sister." He spoke, not even giving her a glance as he watched Lord Mayfair head towards the drinks table, leaving *yn* unattended.

"I am sure you will brother." Daphne mused, shaking her head as she watched him go.

"There you are Dappleton."

*yn* turned around to find herself face to face with Benedict. Her stomach dropped at the sight of him, her father's words echoing in her ear.

"I have barely seen you this past week."

"I know I am sorry, I have been busy." She lied.

Benedict's brow creased, immediately picking up on her uneasy nature. "Never mind that, come on let's go."

"Go where?" *yn* queried, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"I spotted an easy escape route from one of the parlour rooms." Benedict answered, opening his jacket up to reveal the flask stashed in his pocket. "Come on, before Lord Mayfair comes back." He grinned.

"Benedict, do you not remember what happened at the Cowper ball?" *yn* blinked in disbelief, "That could have been a disaster."

"Ah but it was not." He winked. "Come on do not tell me you would rather spend the evening in here for heavens sake."

"I promised my father I would take this seriously." She shot back causing him to raise a brow. "Fine, dance with me then. That way you are technically not shirking your responsibilities." He grinned, extending a hand in jest.

"I said seriously, Benedict." *yn* snapped back, feeling herself growing irritated at his laissez-fair attitude. "I know it is all well and good for you to make a mockery of these events but I do not have that luxury. I cannot afford to when I intend on finding a husband by the end of the season."

Benedict's hand dropped to his side, all traces of humour vanishing from his face as he studied her.

"You are being serious." He stated in disbelief. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Lord Mayfair was not in sight before turning back to her.

"With Lord Mayfair of all people?" His voice lowered as he leant in closer to her. "I mean come on Dappleton."

"Yes Lord Mayfair of all people." *yn* shot back, her voice nothing more than a hushed whisper as her cheeks grew red. She glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before turning back to him.

"He is kind, well respected and has an excellent sense of duty towards his responsibilities as a future viscount, in particular the importance of finding a wife." She could feel herself growing increasingly angry the longer she spoke.

"I know that may be a foreign concept to you, but it is important to me. Which is why I cannot afford to galavant around with you at these events any longer" She hissed.

Benedict blinked, his mouth slack in disbelief as he stared at her.

"Now, if you will excuse me I must go find Lord Mayfair, I expect he is looking for me."

With that, *yn* stepped past him and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Benedict standing speechless and utterly shocked.

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

"Why is Benedict sulking?"

"Hmm?" Daphne queried, tearing her eyes from the dance floor to glance at her sister.

"He has been attached to that pillar for the past hour, the only thing that has changed is the amount of wine in his glass." Eloise remarked.

Daphne followed her gaze to see her brother stood leaning against one of the pillars in the corner. His eyes were glassy from drink, unwavering in their fixation on something, or someone, on the dance floor.

"Ah." Daphne murmured in realisation. "*yn* and Lord Mayfair."

"Ahhh." Eloise realised, nodding her head.

"Well I must say he is in quite a state. I saw him nearly trip over his own feet a few moments ago."

"Maybe it would be best if he retired for the night." Daphne remarked, her brow creasing in concern as she watched her bother pick up another glass of wine.

Daphne had only had her head turned for a few moments to see if she could spot her mother when Eloise tugged on her arm.

"Daphne, I think we have a problem."

Daphne turned just in time to see that Benedict had pushed himself off the pole and was making a beeline for the dance floor. Towards *yn*, who was mid-dance with Lord Mayfair.

"Oh no." Daphne breathed out and with that the two sisters rushed to intervene.

"Lord Mayfair." A slurred voice remarked. Lord Mayfair turned at the feeling of a tap on his shoulder to see Benedict Bridgerton swaying in front of him. *yn* felt her stomach plummet to the ground.

"I would like to steal the lovely *yn* for a dance."

"Miss Dappleton and I are in the middle of one, but you are more than welcome to ask her once we are finished." Lord Mayfair answered calmly.

"But I want to dance with her now." Benedict frowned.

"I am sure you can wait a few minutes." Lord Mayfair answered, this time irritation evident in his tone.

"She is going to say no. Because I am not 'serious' enough." Benedict mocked, hiccuping as he swayed dangerously close to them.

*yn*'s eyes darted around to see that people were beginning to stare at the spectacle that was unfolding.

"Benedict, I will talk to you about this later. Let me finish my dance. Please." She pleaded desperately.

"Brother, there you are!" Much to *yn*'s relief Daphne and Eloise appeared from behind Benedict, both looping an arm through his.

"I am so sorry Lord Mayfair, our brother is quite unwell. It has been making him act a bit out of turn." Daphne apologised, curtseying politely. "We were just escorting him home now."

"It is quite alright Duchess." Lord Mayfair bowed back.

"Unwell? I am not-" Benedict hiccuped. "Unwell, I am fine... see!" Benedict pulled out of Eloise and Daphne's grip, seemingly to demonstrate his sobriety. However, instead he tripped over his own feet, sending the contents of his nearly full champagne glass flying into the air.

Gasps echoed throughout the room as gravity pulled the liquid down and hit their mark.

All over *yn* Dappleton.

*yn* let out a gasp of her own as the cold liquid drenched her entire front, instantly seeping through the fabric and right into her bones. Her hair was sopping wet too, plastered to her skin as she felt her makeup begin to run.

"Oh my Lady Dappleton, are you alright?" She heard Lord Mayfair ask her, his voice faint in the background as her head pounded.

She glanced around to see people whispering and pointing, Cressida Cowper and her cronies giggling in one corner as they studied her.

"I- I-" She cut herself off as she glared at Benedict, who was staring at her wide eyed in shock.

"I have to go." She heard herself say. She could hear people calling out her name as she picked up her dress and hurried off, trying not to collide with anyone as she weaved through the crowd.

"*yn* wait!" Daphne called out but to no avail as *yn* disappeared into the throng of onlookers. She sighed, her hand falling to her side as she glared at Benedict.

"Well, I hope you're happy brother."

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

"What in heavens is wrong with you?!" Violet demanded.

Benedict swallowed as his eyes darted around the room. He was met with disappointed and angry looks from all of his siblings, not a single sympathetic look in sight.

"First you take *yn* out into the garden unchaperoned, and now you publicly humiliate her in front of everyone in the ton. Including Lord Mayfair who has been vying for her attention since her debut and has every intention of courting her! Honestly Benedict, what would your father say about this?"

"I am sorry, I do not know what came over me." He answered guiltily, avoiding his mother's disappointed gaze.

"What has gotten into you Benedict? I thought you cared for *yn*."

"I do care for her!" He shot back, "of course I care for her."

"I think that is precisely the problem." Daphne remarked, earning a glare from Benedict.

"What ever do you mean Daphne?"

"Honestly mama, is it not obvious?" Daphne laughed as she folded her arms in front of her chest.

"Benedict is in love with *yn*."

"I am not in love with *yn*." Benedict scoffed.

"Oh please brother enough, even a blindman could see it." Anthony cut in.

"Anthony is right." Colin agreed.

"I have known it for quite some time too." Eloise nodded, "we all have, even mama I suspect."

Benedict glanced around at his siblings to see them all nodding in agreement, even young Hyacinth and Gregory were moving their heads.

Finally he turned back to his mother who was studying him intently. There was something in her expression, a softening of her features as she looked at him. One of sympathy. Of understanding.

"This is preposterous I do not love her, she is a close friend, nothing more." Benedict defended himself, although even as he was saying it, he knew it sounded unconvincing.

His words caused that sympathetic expression vanish from his mother's features, instead replaced by a hardened one as she glared at her son.

"Then you should have no problem in leaving her be for the rest of the season and letting Lord Mayfair court her." Lady Bridgerton answered him matter-of-factly.

"Because that girl is like a daughter to me and I will not let you ruin her future because you are too selfish to let her be happy with someone else. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a pause as Benedict studied his mother before once more glancing around the room, searching for any sign of help. When he received nothing but more disappointed looks he let out a sigh and nodded.

"Understood."

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

*yn* felt her stomach do flips as she stepped into Lady Danburry's ball.

It had been two weeks since the incident at the Featherington ball and she had not seen Benedict since.

Daphne, Eloise and Penelope had all paid her visits to make sure she was alright. With both Eloise and Pen assuring her that surely something much more scandalous would happen before Lady Whistledown's next issue was to be penned, enough so that the incident would be entirely forgotten.

By some good fortune, they had been correct. When the next edition of Lady Whistledown arrived, *yn* was relieved to see that her scandal had not even been mentioned by the gossip writer.

She had been both relieved and hurt that Benedict had not paid her a visit. Every night since she had stepped out onto her balcony that overlooked the Bridgerton's backyard. And every night she would see Benedict sitting on the swing, alone.

She wondered if he was waiting for her.

Even though every bone in her body was desperate to join him, the memory of the humiliation that he had caused her sprang to the forefront of her mind. No, if he did not even have the decency to apologise then she most certainly was not going to make the first step towards reconcilliation.

To make matters worse, Lord Mayfair had stopped calling in the past week. It was safe to say that the last thing *yn* wished to do was spend an evening at yet another ball with the rest of the scandal hungry ton.

"See? I told you the ton had an impressively short memory." Her father murmured to her as they made their way through the crowd. Indeed, the socialites barely even glanced in the Dappleton's direction, all too caught up in their own gossip and stories.

"You are always right father." *yn* mused.

After an hour of making small talk with a few acquaintances, *yn* was yet to spy Benedict or any other Bridgerton for that matter. She was beginning to wonder if that was intentional. A body colliding with hers made her break out of her thoughts.

"Oh my apologies Miss-" *yn* looked up to see Lord Mayfair standing sheepishly in front of her. "Oh Miss Dappleton, hello." He greeted, bowing politely.

"Lord Mayfair." She greeted, curtseying in reply. "Are you well?"

"I am indeed Miss Dappleton."

"That is a relief to hear, I thought you might have taken ill."

"Why would you think that?" He puzzled.

"Oh well, you have not called in the past week so I thought..." She trailed off, her cheeks growing pink in embarassment.

"My apologies Miss Dappleton but I am afraid I am vexed." Lord Mayfair spoke, his brow furrowing.

"I was under the impression that you were being courted by another gentleman." He continued when he noted the confused expression on her features.

"Another..." *yn* trailed off in surprise, "who ever told you that?"

"Oh it was..." Lord Mayfair trailed off as his eyes landed on something just behind her left shoulder. *yn* swung around, following his gaze.

She felt rage bubble within her as her eyes landed on none other than Benedict Bridgerton who was leaning against a pillar, staring at the couple. His eyes widened when he realised that he had been spotted.

The pair studied each other intently for a few moments before Benedict darted around the pillar, making a break for the patio.

"If you will excuse me Lord Mayfair." *yn* gritted her teeth, manoeuvring past the Lord to follow Benedict.

She faintly made out Lord Mayfair say something in reply but it was lost in the crowd as she hurried after him as quickly as she could without attracting attention to herself. She thought that she had lost him when she caught him sneaking out of a window and into the garden.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one was paying attention to her before she followed him into the garden. Goosebumps instantly rose on her skin as the crisp night air hit her with force. He was still quite a distance away as she picked up her dress and hurried after him.

"Benedict!" She called out. Thankfully his pace had slowed, allowing her to come within earshot.

"Do not dare walk away from me Benedict Bridgerton!" She shouted just as he reached the trunk of a giant oak tree.

He came to a stop at her words, causing *yn* to slow down as she approached him.

"Apparently Lord Mayfair is under the impression that I was being courted by another gentleman." *yn* spoke, her voice wavering with anger.

Benedict did not utter a word, his back still turned to her.

"Do you have any idea how he may have come to such a conclusion?"

The silence that she received in return gave her the answer she already knew to be correct. She let out a scoff, shaking her head as she folded her arms in front of her chest.

"I thought we were friends." Her words finally forced Benedict to turn to face her.

Benedict felt guilt flow through him as he saw the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"We are friends, of course we are friends." He spoke quietly.

"Really? Clearly you and I have a very different definition of what it means to be friends. Because last time I checked, friends do not publicly humiliate each other and try to ruin their futures."

Benedict bit the inside of his cheek, glancing down at the ground to avoid her piercing gaze. His silence only fuelled her anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she took further steps towards him.

He had to clench his fists at his side as the smell of her jasmine scented soap consumed his senses. It was the first time he had been this close to her in what felt like an eternity, so achingly close to her that he could just reach out and-

"What have I done wrong? Was it something I said? Something untoward?" She pestered him, causing him to snap back into reality.

"What?" A perplexed look flashing across his features. "Of course you have done nothing wrong."

"Really? I must have done something for you to despise me so. Because as far as I can tell, the only logical reason for your behaviour towards me is that I have offended you in some horrific way."

"You have not-" Benedict cut himself as he inhaled sharply. "I could never despise you *yn*." He muttered as he began to pace back and forth in front of her.

"Then tell me what is wrong!" She demanded, her voice wavering as she felt angry tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. "Tell me why you have been acting this way."

She watched as Benedict took another deep breath and stressfully forced a hand through his thick hair. "I cannot paint." He murmured, so softly *yn* almost missed it.

"What?" Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you-"

"I cannot paint, no matter how hard I try to find inspiration. I cannot draw, I cannot eat, I cannot sleep." He continued, "because all I can think about is you."

His words made *yn* scoff and throw her hands up dramatically. "Well that is just splendid. You are telling me that I have done something so abhorrent, so reprehensible, so deplorable that you cannot even do what you love the most. Excellent, really, thank you Benedict."

"Good god *yn*." Benedict hissed in frustration, placing his hands behind his head as he looked up to heaven for some sort of solution. "For the last time you have not-"

"Just tell me what I have done that has aggrieved you so badly Benedict, please I-"

"I am in love with you, *yn*!" Benedict bellowed, his eyes wild with desperation as he finally stopped pacing and stood in front of her.

"Are you happy now?" His shoulders slumped in defeat, his breath ragged. "There is your answer."

*yn* grew completely still, a breath lodged in her throat as she stared at him. She thought that her heart might burst out of her chest and her feet give out beneath her.

"I am supposed to not care for marriage or commitment, I am supposed to go to art school and write poetry and cause Anthony and mother grief." He shook his head, letting out a bark of laughter as he began to pace once more.

"And then I saw how terrified you were of not finding a husband and I asked myself, how do you not realising that you are the most breathtaking woman that has graced the ton?" Benedict was on a roll now, talking so feverishly that *yn* barely had time to process his words before he was opening his mouth once more.

"Because I am not the only one who thinks this *yn*. No, no, I see how the rest of our society looks at you. You are the envy of every lady and the object of every lord's desires."

"Ben-" *yn* took another step toward him.

"And then I look at myself, an artist who cannot even get into art school - without his brother bribing them might I add, who no one takes seriously or even gives a second glance, and I know that I am not good enough for you." He muttered bitterly, shaking his head as he came to a stand still once more, finally turning to lock eyes with her.

"I know that someone like Lord Mayfair is worthy of you. But when I see you two together, it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest and every fibre of my being is screaming at me to stop it." He continued as he watched *yn* close the gap between them, standing so close to him now that her gloves were nearly brushing his.

"I know it is selfish, I know how I have acted is childish and petulant." He spoke weakly, his voice growing hushed as he talked. "And for that I am truly sorry, please believe me when I say that."

They were both crying now, their breaths visible in the chilly night air as they exhaled shakily.

"Of course I believe you." *yn* managed to croak out as she brought a hand up to cradle his face, brushing a stray tear from his cheek with her gloved thumb.

"I will leave you two alone now." *yn* shook her head at Benedict's words, signalling for him to stop but he could not control his frantic rambling. "I will explain everything to him, I will tell him that he should propose and-"

*yn* did not know what came over her. She knew it was completely unacceptable, scandalous, totally un-ladylike, the sort of action that would utterly disgrace the Dappleton name. But in that moment, all she could think about, all she craved, was Benedict's lips on hers.

So she leant up on her toes and pulled his head down by the base of his neck, pressing her lips clumsily to his. Benedict did not even have time to process what was happening before she had pulled away.

"I-" *yn* cut herself off as she looked up at him with wide eyes, taken aback by her own actions.

"I love you Benedict." She heard herself say as she tried to control her breathing, "it has always been you."

Benedict studied her for a brief moment, letting out a shaky breath before a relieved smile appeared on his face.

"You have bewitched me, body and soul, *yn* Dappleton." He whispered against her lips, as he brought a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

His words made her knees weak and her heart pound. Benedict Bridgerton, the starving artist, had always had a way with words, with romance. But this was the first time that they had been directed at her, and it was enough to make her head spin.

This time, when *yn* tilted her head up and their lips met, Benedict was ready.

*yn* felt like she was seeing stars as their lips collided. Benedict's arms snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. *yn*'s head was spinning as the kiss deepened, one of her hands automatically burying itself into his hair. Benedict let out what could only be described as a sort of whimper at the contact. His hands dug into her hips as he tried to remember to breathe, to get some sort of oxygen to his brain, as he grew dizzy from being completely and utterly consumed by her.

The sound of a twig snapping made the pair spring apart. Relief washed over them when they saw that the cause of the sound was merely a bird poking around in the grass.

"We best get back to the ball." *yn* murmured, disappointment washing through her at the realisation that they could not stay out here like this for an eternity.

"Yes." Benedict nodded as he ran a hand through his hair, "Although I would probably give my right arm to stay here with you, we should."

"I will go back first, to avoid suspicion." *yn* spoke, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as Benedict smirked down at her, his hand brushing against her lower back.

"If I ask you to dance in there, will my request be taken seriously this time Miss Dappleton?"

"You, Benedict Bridgerton, want to dance?" She queried, raising a brow in disbelief.

"I am capable of doing more than causing you grief, you know." He remarked causing a small giggle to escape her lips.

"Yes Benedict, your request will be taken seriously." Her answer made him grin as he shook his head in amusement.

"I was supposed to be a life long rake." A wry smile on his features as his eyes shone with happiness.

"And I a spinster."

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

"I am sorry, do my eyes deceive me or is that our dear Benedict willingly on the dance floor at a ball?"

"No, your eyes do not deceive you brother." Daphne shook her head, her eyes brimming with amusement.

"Well I'll be." Anthony shook his head in amazement.

"It really is a sight to behold." Colin remarked.

"Is that- oh my." Violet gasped as her and Arthur Dappleton joined the Bridgerton siblings to view the spectacle unfolding before them.

"They finally did it... the spinster and the rake." Eloise remarked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What was that dear?" Violet asked, glancing down at her daughter.

"Oh nothing mama." Eloise spoke hastily, covering her mouth to stifle her giggles as her and Daphne exchanged smirks.

"Well, well, well." Lady Danbury spoke as she came to stand beside Lady Bridgerton and Lord Dappleton.

"Your match-making skills continue to amaze me Lady Bridgerton." Lady Danbury remarked.

"Please I cannot take all the credit, it was mainly Lord Dappleton's idea." Violet answered her.

"Is that so?" Lady Danbury asked, raising a brow as she studied the Lord.

"You are too modest, Lady Bridgerton. Everything I learnt, I learnt from you." Arthur's praise made a small blush appear on Violet's cheeks.

"Who would have thought all it would take for them to admit their feelings would be to get *yn* to debut." Lady Danbury mused.

The three of them joined the other onlookers as they watched *yn* and Benedict twirl around the ballroom floor. They both had grins that stretched from ear to ear, their eyes shining with adoration as they spun. Their hands mirrored each other, never touching but tantalisingly close as they circled each other. They were in their own little world, oblivious to their surroundings as they stared into each other's eyes.

Not even a fool could mistake them for what they were, there was no doubt.

A love match.

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

I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH <3 I'm so proud of it, I think I was born to write period pieces lol. As always, feedback would be super super appreciated and you can give it back HERE!

[multifailures]

Portraits When Writing Failed

Summary: In silent company, Benedict and Y/N would work until Benedict found something he definitely was not meant to see. 1.9k

A/N: I’m so slow at writing. I want to start getting at least two posts up a week but please be patient with me until I get there (: I also would love to get some song/lyrics/quotes prompts as requests-- it’s so much easier writing like that imo. if you want to send a request, i listed my preferred fandoms on my masterlist. hope you enjoy reading (:

Words were Y/N’s first love. She spoke in elegance many were envious of and had her head stuck often in the highest quality of novels. She even kept a diary of unspoken words of her devotion: poems of unrequited love and prose of unrealised potential. Those lyrics often fell with a single muse: Benedict Bridgerton.

Together, the two creative minds would sit in comfortable silence—in his house’s drawing room or her family garden, it didn’t much matter where. Sat far apart on opposite benches, there was an unspoken inspiration between the two. Their heads would be stuck in their notebooks or sketchbooks, only looking at one another when certain the other was too focused to notice. When she was not looking at him and her head was down, Y/N’s hair fell to her face in an ethereal halo that Benedict admired so much he couldn’t help but sketch each individual strand and the tip of her nose poking through. He favoured in drawing her eyes, too, letting colourful ink flow between pencil markings just to witness her mesmerising gaze in times he cannot be next to her.  

When looking at Benedict, Y/N wrote of the brightest of days that could never be dulled and of conversations that she never wished to forget. She wrote in verse of the lightest of touches as they danced in silent yearning; she rambled of secret glances she swore she’d seen. However, words had failed her in recent weeks. Her diary had become a mess of crossing outs and unfinished sentences. What’s more? Where words had trailed off, sketches had replaced. Many were innocuous—simple tree doodles and night sky scenes; she had filled many of these pages without thought, just as a distraction. Though, hidden between the pages of writing and doodles were possibly Y/N’s deepest secrets. She had drawn portraits of a man where words had failed to describe him. They weren’t good, she was certain, and some even failed to capture his likeness at all, but her hand still drew with absent-mindedness. Benedict was the only thing she could draw when she thought of whimsical love and safe comfort. Those feeling had consumed her more and more each day now that they returned to London for the social season.

In their current session of silent dalliance, Benedict and Y/N sat like they always did with space between. In the Bridgerton’s drawing room, Benedict lounged with his back on the couches’ arm rest while, ever-so-proper, Y/N sat with a straightened back on the blue armchair opposite. Neither had ever dared getting closer, no matter how much they had wished to. Y/N had been told all her life not to get too close to handsome men; Benedict has been taught by his eldest brother that proper ladies weren’t worth his time. Yet, they still kept each other company in their distance.

So, they sat with pencils to paper in the drawing room, trying not to make the other aware of their subject of desire. For some reason though, Benedict seemed to be in much more of a talking mood today. It had only been twenty minutes of quiet working until he speaks. “Y/N,” He gains her attention. “What are you doing?”

She refuses to take her eyes off her page, though she can see him in the corner of her eyes as he puts his own work down. “I’m writing, as always.”

“You’re certain?” He quips his head, a hint of a knowing smirk on his face. His gaze makes Y/N shift uncomfortably. She hums in agreement but feels her face begin to heat under his scrutiny, though surely there was nothing to worry. She looks back down to her notebook and turns the page to a less criminal page. No longer were multiple sketches of Benedict’s face plastered on a two-page spread, but writings of the large tree outside her bedroom window replaced. Y/N eyes him suspiciously, as he seems to supress a mischievous smile. He doesn’t mention her quick page turning but watches her with an intent that seems slightly suffocating.

“Then you’re not too busy, I take it.” He sits himself up, patting the cushion that his legs were just lying on. “Can you help with this drawing of mine?”

She questions, “How would I be able to help?” She didn’t have any artistic knowledge, if she did it was all from Benedict’s mouth. Nevertheless, she closes her book and stands with a smoothing of her lavender day dress.

“Oh, you’ll be most helpful.” His eyes trail her movement as she walks closer. As she approaches the sitting man, she sees the book that had lost his interest only moments ago. However, she realises as she sees the page sitting atop the book, that he had not lost any interest at all. Rather, it was this page of a series of small sketches that piqued his interest when he found it crumbled up during their last silent meeting. Like always, some words and doodles marked the paper, but much of the page was filled with only one sketch: Benedict.

She stops mid-step when she realises just what it is he’s holding. He is sure he hears her curse under her breath, something he had never heard from her before. His eyes widen in surprise, only smiling more with that. She attempts to reach it out his hand, their fingers brush together. There was little contact in their friendship; when their skin touched, every stress seemed to melt away. In that sudden connection, Benedict uses the advantage of their newfound touch to pull the book away with a gloating smile. He puts it behind his head, willing her to reach again.

“Stop your teasing, Ben!” She cries with frustration and lunges for the torn page. “Just give it to me!”

He snaps it away once again. She knew better to fight him and sinks into the seat beside him. For the first time he had seen in many months, her lady persona breaks as she huffs down into crossed arms and a pouting mouth. He chuckles but is met with a grumpy glare that only brightens his eyes more. In fact, he deemed it an adorable face that he wanted to memorise to sketch later.

He could only contain his chuckles for so long to ask, “Why on earth would I tease you?”

“Because it’s horrible! It barely even looks like you!” It wasn’t perfect, of course. His nose seemed a bit too big. His eyes may be looking in different directions, she couldn’t even tell. Yet, she did capture him in all that he is with a mischievous smirk and a suit a bit too dishevelled for his mother’s liking. “And it’s the most mortifying thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s good, Y/N! Anyway, no, that’s not what I mean.” He passes his own sketchbook to her. He nods to the closed book, willing her to open it up and look at his work. She flips through numerous pages. She was not his only source of inspiration, but enough to shock her. She had known of a few of these sketches; he had asked her, amongst many others, to sit for him numerous amounts of time. The ones that caught her off guard, however, where the ones she was unaware of; the ones she had not seen after he said she could relax her pose. “How can I be teasing you, when I have done the exact same?”

She lands on one particular page towards the middle of the sketchbook. In this sketch that spread across the entire page, Y/N was drawn in charcoal hues as she sat at the pianoforte next to Hyacinth. She remembered that day clearly, their studying interrupted by the Bridgerton youngest, asking for an impromptu music lesson. Her nimble fingers fell on the keys just the same as Hyacinth, but she seemed merely a figure whilst every imperfect strand of hair and line of concentration on Y/N’s forehead were presented. She could not tear her eyes away from the masterpiece that was made in her image. She looked—no, he made her look— ethereal.

“Please, look at me Y/N.” He lifts her chin to meet his eyes with the softest of touches. He could not bring his voice to more than a whisper. “I have spent hours studying those eyes of yours and still find myself lost in them.”

“Ben,” Her breath hitches in her throat. Her heated cheeks are no longer the result of shame and embarrassment, but from being in such close proximity to the man she had spent years of quiet friendship with. “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “I had never thought of you to be so arrogant.”

She whacks him with that very book, her eyes rolling at his failure to stop his teasing. He takes the book from her hands and drops it dramatically to the floor. Y/N watches it fall, worried it would ruin any work, but he keeps looking just at her. Her nervous eyes meet his yearning ones again. He lifts his finger to the fallen hair that he so obviously adored to draw and sweeps it away from her face. “It is not hard to make a drawing beautiful when its muse is the greatest beauty in every room.”

Her pout finally drops from her lips as she processes what he is saying. She tries to bring her eyes down to her fiddling hands but his hand that swept away her hand is now caressing her cheek. He keeps a light smile on his face, but a shaky breath escapes him as the only hint of anything other than teasing. He is just as nervous as she is, just a lot better at hiding it.

“It’s not something I ever wanted anyone to see,” She admits. He swears he could feel her head lean slightly into his touch. “You just always seem so lost in drawing and I got bored of writing one day but didn’t want to leave.”

Her quiet confession makes Benedict smile like he had never before. He didn’t think it possible to grin so hard. “You didn’t want to leave?”

He thinks he’s offended her as she sighs, but she shakes her head. She, for all he could describe, had an eye of a nervous wreck. Though, she was the writer, and he was the artist.  “Spending time with you is the best way to spend time in London. And when I’m not with you, I spend every minute I can be alone looking at the sketches I’ve drawn of you. Writing failed to capture you the way I wanted to in portraits.”

He trails his eyes down to the book and page discarded on the floor. He analysed just how he was captured: in between the markings and the erasings, he finally understood. He was drawn with love at the forefront of her mind. It was the same heart-warming emotion he felt any time he would pick up a pencil and think of her. His eyes left the book, trailed to the door that showed the empty hallway. When he was certain no unwelcome visitors would interrupt, his eyes finally landed back to the wonderful woman that seems to melt in his embrace.

“Y/N?” He whispers in quiet staring. “May I kiss you?”

She softly bites her lip and replaces it with a smile. The small tilt of her head signals a nod, and she places the fingers he loved draw on his forearm. Perhaps when writing failed to express her feelings, she could draw his portrait to express the love she sees in him. However, a simple drawing would never replace the feeling of soft lips on his and the slight grip, begging for him to never let go.

[thollandx]

I am here

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Fluff

Uncertainly I looked around and tried to find my mother or my father in this crowd of people. But both were nowhere to be found. The more the hall filled up, the more fear and panic gripped me.

I noticed how the panic gripped my body more and more and before I had a panic attack in front of these people who were strangers to me, I ran away inconspicuously.

I had to get out of this crowd and calm down in some empty room.

My parents knew about my fear, but they dragged me from one ball to the next. Of course I understood them, they just wanted me to find a good husband at the balls. But it was all just too much for me.

Even as a child I got scared when too many people gathered around me in one place.

I quickly ran away from the people around me, I took my dress in both hands and lifted it up. Well that wasn't exactly ladylike, but I didn't care so much at the moment. Since the panic increased and I noticed that I could hardly breathe.

Without paying attention to whom I ran past, I inadvertently bumped into a young man. He turned around confused and looked into my face.

His blue eyes looked at me in confusion and I desperately bit my lips together to keep from crying or even shaking in panic. Without saying anything to the man I just kept running, but I could feel his gaze on me.

I would have liked to apologize to him, but I knew that if I had said anything, I would have had a panic attack.

Without thinking, I opened the first door I saw and entered the dark room.

I quickly closed the door behind me and leaned against the door, sinking down against it.

When I was finally alone, I let my emotions take over. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. Again and again I went through in my head that I was alone and that there was no more danger for me.

Slowly my heart and body calmed down and I could breathe properly without breaking into tears.

When I realized that there was no more danger of a panic attack, I slowly got up from the floor and looked for the light switch of the room. I quickly found it and opened the light.

I found myself in a studio.

There were paintings and artwork all over the room. Some were complete and some were not yet.

Smiling I walked past the paintings and stopped at one and looked at it, it wasn't finished but still looked beautiful.

I had always been fascinated by art but unfortunately I was not talented in this area, but I did not miss the opportunity to admire the art.

The painting showed a landscape and so far there was only a large meadow and many beautiful flowers to see, yet it harmonize wonderfully with each other.

"Do you like it?",

Startled, I turned around and caught sight of the man from before.

Panic-stricken, I widened my eyes and didn't know what to say at the moment.

Was this his studio?

Was he the owner of this property?

But then he would have to be a Bridgerton, wouldn't he?

Without looking at him any further, I briskly walked past him to leave the room.

But he grabbed my wrist as I tried to pass him and automatically I had to stop.

Slowly I lifted my head and looked into his blue eyes again.

"Have you been able to calm down? Are you feeling better?" he asked me softly, looking at me with such a loving way that you would think I was a very special woman to him.

I nodded silently and wanted to move away from him, because I just didn't know why he was interested in my condition.

We didn't know each other at all.

"Are you afraid in such big crowds? If so, why do you voluntarily come to a ball?" he continued to ask me bluntly.

"My parents hope it will help me find a suitable husband, but unfortunately it always ends up like today. I panic and run away. The whole evening I then hide in an empty room until the ball is over and my mother then looks for me," I explained to him, secretly wondering why I was telling him this at all.

Only my parents knew about my fear....

I honestly felt ashamed too, since all the other women my age, could enjoy these great balls....

Sadly I looked at this man and knew exactly that he would look at me pityingly and throw me out of this room.

But what surprised me was that he just gave me a gentle smile and pulled me along by my wrist.

He sat down on the sofa that was in the room and just sat me down next to him, then grabbed a stack of paper and a pen.

"Please stay calm and let me draw you, at the same time you can calm down like this and you don't have to go to the ball," he explained to me and winked cheekily at me.

Speechless I looked at him but nodded only slightly, I was just fine with that, as long as I did not have to go back into the crowd.

One could perceive in the pleasant silence only quietly the music of the ball and the gentle brushstrokes of the brush on the easel met. My gaze went to the window in front of me and I looked at the stars in the dark night sky.

I was allowed to change my sitting position after being addressed by Benedict Bridgerton, he gave me his name and I gave him mine.

Now I sat on the windowsill and looked out, which did me good and I was happy inside.

Mr. Bridgerton was now standing across from me at an easel drawing me.

Neither spoke a word, but no one had to. There was a beautiful atmosphere between us in this room.

Every now and then I glanced at Mr. Bridgerton and smiled gently at him.

I didn't know why, but when I looked at him there was an incredible calm feeling inside me and my heart felt good.

This man radiates a calmness which made me feel very happy.

When the ball ended, I said goodbye to Mr. Bridgerton and thanked him for letting me stay in his studio and for the good time.

He just smiled and said we would meet again. I was sure he was just saying that out of context.

But what surprised me the next morning was that suddenly Mr. Bridgerton was standing in front of me with flowers and a painting.

"Would you do me the honor of letting me get to know you better and continue to paint you?" he asked me, showing me the painting.

It was what he had painted of me last night and he had finished it after I left.

It was beautiful and I looked like a princess.

"I'm not that beautiful...", I whispered unintentionally, but Mr. Bridgerton heard it.

"Oh my dear, if only you could see yourself from my eyes...I can't even capture your beauty, the picture is nothing compared to your beauty. Please allow me to meet you, I will always stay by your side. Always, even if fear should seize you again," he explained to me in a firm voice and his blue eyes looked at me hopefully.

Happily, I nodded and invited him in.

I had always seen my fear as my greatest weakness and as obstacles, but it seemed it wasn't after all.

My fear brought me to Mr. Bridgerton and helped me find my happiness....Sometimes the greatest weakness can also become the greatest strength....

[newfoundstateof]

miss woodhouse | benedict bridgerton

summary: an Emma retelling because I just watched Emma. (2020) - friends to lovers excellence yada yada yada

word count: 2.7k

warnings: none, this is a family show

a/n: I messed with the timeline. Francesca marries before Anthony (big change), Eloise has the dog grooming pamphlet by episode one events (tiny change)

- - - -

Y/N Woodhouse, handsome and clever, had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.

Although unmarried, you are the head of the Hartfield estate as your mother had passed on when you were very young and your elder sister married a few years prior. Mister Henry Woodhouse, your father whom you loved earnestly, is a kind-hearted man but unfit to handle all of Hartfield’s affairs. 

And despite not being introduced into society yourself, you have a knack for gossip especially when it came to the marriages of the ton.

“Have you bought the latest Whistledown?” you demand once you reach the Bridgerton drawing room.

“Not even a hello? Or good morning?” Benedict laughs, setting down his tea and rising from his chair to greet you. He is the only person in the room. 

“You did not answer my question,” you press. You hold out her hand, and Benedict takes it to place a quick kiss upon it. “I was too overwhelmed this morning with the accounts to promenade-”

“Not that you would need to since you have yet to make your debut for a reason still unknown to me,” Benedict cuts in.

“-with your family and pick up an issue,” you finish. “But I also do not think it cost-effective for your family to purchase her pamphlet and myself when we can simply share.”

Benedict sighs, much too used to your obsession with the gossip column. 

“Well?” you ask.

“Well what?” he shoots back with a glint in his eye. Oh, the things he does to get a rise out of you.

“Where’s Lady Whistledown? You always buy me a copy when I am unable to do so myself.”

Rushing over to the coffee table, you ruffle through the papers and pamphlets that lay there.

“This seems like a breach of privacy to me,” Benedict says.

“Why are you in possession of a dog grooming booklet?” You grumble, tossing it over your shoulder in frustration that it is not a Lady Whistledown’s Society Paper.

“You won’t find it there,” he chuckles.

Your head shoots up.

“I have had a very long morning, Bridgerton,” you say. “Do not play games with me.”

Benedict snorts. “Oh, that is rich coming from your scheming mouth, Woodhouse.”

“I prefer strategic,” you say lightly, strolling toward him. “Remind me, again, who predicted that my sister and Mister Knightly would be well suited?”

“You did,” he concedes.

“And Daphne and Hastings?”

“Also you.”

You stop directly in front of him. The two of you would have been chest to chest if he were not so tall.

“And Felicity and Mister Finch?”

“They’ve not wed yet,” he argues.

“But, they will,” you insist with a smile. “So, how could I possibly be playing a silly game when genuine love matches are the result?”

“Sometimes you are just as ridiculous as Lady Whistledown,” Benedict snorts but there is a bite behind his words.

Benedict often joked and called you foolish and meddling. Not that he was Mister Serious. That would be Anthony. But, he always poked fun in a loving way. Maybe you had finally exhausted him though you could not understand why.

“Someday,” you say, bringing your gloved hand up to pat his chest. “I hope to correctly predict whom you will marry.”

Under your touch, he stiffens and the timing could not have been more perfect. With all the agility you can muster, you slide your fingers under his jacket, feel the sharp edge of paper, and grab hold.

“Ha!” you shriek with a laugh, pulling away from him. 

Benedict groans as you throw yourself down on a love seat, engrossed in Whistledown’s words of wisdom. 

“A new family!” you say to yourself giddily. “The Sharmas, how capitol.”

“Nothing you could not deduce yourself at the ball tonight,” Benedict points out, sitting down next to you.

“But it is so much more fun going in prepared,” you say, settling up against him.

You cannot exactly place when you and Benedict had become so close. Your relationship with the Bridgerton family was peculiar as a whole. 

At the balls you begged your father to take you to when you were younger, you had made a friend in Francesca. After spending the majority of your time with girls who gossipped as much as you, you soon grew weary of the twisted tales that were told to you. You preferred to get down and dirty to the root of a scandal yourself. Francesca was much quieter than you but did not object when you brought her along on all your investigations. 

Then she had married – something even you had not been able to predict. Without her, you were without a friend at the balls and soirees. 

You and Anthony could not have been friends in a million years as neither of you could stand each other’s disposition. And for reason unbeknownst to you, Benedict practically avoided your company. Eloise disliked social events and rarely joined her family. And Daphne was too focused on finding a match to notice you wandering about events, hand drawing shapes on the wall just to do something. 

But Colin Bridgerton had noticed. Had maybe even been instructed by Francesca to keep you company. It was nice to have an ally amongst the season’s madness, and you often shared multiple dances a night to keep away suitors for each other.

Alas, Colin left for his tour months ago, and you once again occupied the outskirts of parties.

You were pouring yourself a third cup of lemonade when you felt a shift in the air. Someone was hovering behind you.

“Miss Woodhouse?”

You silently cursed, hoping no one would ask you to dance. 

Turning around, you were met with the bashful smile of Benedict Bridgerton. 

“Oh, Benedict,” you said, surprised. “Or um, Mister Bridgerton!”

“How are you?” he asked.

“I am well,” you say reflexively.

An awkward pause filled the space between the two of you.

“Have you heard from Colin?” He asked.

“Yes,” you replied with a smile. “It sounds like he is having a capitol time!”

“He has written similar sentiment to me,” Benedict said. “He also asked me how you have been, and I realized how rude it has been of me not to keep you more company.”

“Oh, do not waste your night with me on behalf of your brother,” you said with a dismissive wave. 

“It would not be a waste,” he insisted. “I… want to keep you company.”

“That is very kind of you.”

You smile at the distant memory. Although you enjoyed your time getting to know Colin and Francesca, you must admit you feel most at home with Benedict.

“You know,” Benedict says, poking your cheek, bringing you back to the present. “With your passion for gossip and matchmaking, some may believe you to be Lady Whistledown.”

Smirking, you reply, “That would not be the first time someone has pointed a finger toward me. However, I must admit that the genius woman is not me, and I secretly despise her for concocting such an idea before I could think of it.”

You slap the paper onto Benedict’s chest, making him breathe out a soft oof.

“I am afraid I must be off now,” you announce, standing up. “First ball of the season and all.”

“You do know that you have no obligation to go since you’re not looking for a husband,” Benedict says, setting down the pamphlet and standing to walk you out. “Why is that, again?”

“I believe that I have not told you in the first place,” you laugh. “But, you already know I cannot leave my poor father.”

Leading you down the stairs, Benedict huffs. “I am sure that you can find a man willing to move into Hartfield. Or willing to let your father live with you.”

“I am not so sure,” you say although that is a lie.

As the two of you reach the front door, Benedict asks, “Off to the modiste, then?”

“No,” you sigh. “Off to back home. I cannot find it in our budget to buy a new dress for the next month at least.”

He hesitates but says, “I could buy you a dress if you would allow it.”

The offer hangs in the air a moment too long. 

The soft look in his eye unnerves you more than you like to admit. Reminding you of the exact reason you cannot make your debut: you cannot see any other match for yourself other than Benedict. But, he has never made the slightest hint that he wishes to court you. He is simply a gentleman. A close friend at that.

It would bring you too much pain to find a lifelong partner at the same time as Benedict. So, you would abstain from partaking in the season until he was married. No longer a possibility.

“That is very kind of you… but I cannot let you do that. I have plenty of dresses.”

He nods. “I will see you tonight?”

“You will see me tonight.”

- - - -

“I should think Miss Sharma would suit well with Anthony,” you say in a conspiratorial whisper to Benedict.

He hands you a glass of lemonade. “You are already so sure?” 

“Positive.” You nod fervently. “Both eldest siblings. Both have an intense air to them. And both are looking at each other as if they already know the other! What clearer of a sign of true love can one ask for?”

Benedict shrugs. “I don’t see it.”

“Just wait a fortnight, then you’ll see that I knew it all along.”

He looks around the room and turns back to you.

“And who would you match with me? Miss Edwina Sharma?”

You almost choke on your lemonade.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious… so, is that a no?”

Your eyes scan the room to find Edwina in conversation with Lady Danbury. Her pink dress was quite pretty. She was quite pretty. You quickly flick your gaze to see if Benedict is admiring her, too, but his eyes are set on you.

“It’s not a no,” you admit. “She seems lovely. I would not be surprised if she is named the diamond of the season. And you, of all the eligible bachelors, deserve a diamond.”

Benedict studies your forced smile.

“Do you wish to dance with her?” you ask.

“Should you think I ask?” he replies, answering your question with a question.

You sniff. “You are your own person. I think you can decide for yourself.”

“Now, that is a first from you.”

You have had enough. With a polite grin, you take Benedict’s lemonade, causing his eyebrows to crinkle. 

“Why did you-”

You stomp on the foot closest to you, giving him a resounding and satisfying Hm. Setting down the glasses on a nearby table, you march away, ignoring the curious stares of the souls lucky enough to witness such an outburst. Tomorrow, you are sure that Lady Whistledown will document it for the people unfortunate enough to miss it.

“Y/N!” Benedict calls after you, but you don’t turn around to see him limping after you. 

The front doors are opened for you, and you almost trip down the stairs with the haste that has built up in your steps. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Miss Sharma quite distressed with Anthony Bridgerton. Maybe you were wrong after all and losing your touch.

Veering away from the unhappy pair, you collapse on a bench. 

“I can’t believe I just did that,” you gasp aloud.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Benedict echoes, having already caught up with you albeit panting.

“Go away,” you whine, rubbing your gloved hands over your eyes. “I can only be vexed so many times in a single day.”

“I am sorry,” Benedict says, continuing to stand to give you your space. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“You seem to resent me,” you cry out. “If you dislike my company so much, then I am not forcing your hand to spend time with me. If I recall correctly, you said you wanted to-”

“I do not dislike your company,” he argues. “I revel in it. You are my favorite person.”

“And you are mine,” you whisper.

Slowly, Benedict walks up to you and sits. “Why do you think I resent you?”

“I don’t really,” you admit, looking at your toes. “But your teasing… it makes me feel as if you do. Just sometimes.”

“I did not know I had gone too far,” he says, reaching for your hand. He gives it a quick squeeze but, to your disappointment, drops it promptly. “It was never my intent to make you feel small.”

Finally, you let your eyes meet his. Benedict looks at you the way he always does. Your heart sinks, knowing that his feelings will never change, but you still find comfort in his gentle gaze.

“I am sorry that I stomped on your foot,” you chuckle.

“I suppose I deserved it,” he admits.

You attempt to object, but he does not let you.

“I do resent a small part of you…”

Your heart sinks further. You can feel your friendship slipping from your hands like delicate sand.

“I resent the part of you that does not love me as I love you,” he says. He smiles, but his eyes are sad.

“Benedict-”

“There’s no need to try and comfort me,” he says with a shrug. “I had accepted it a long time ago. But, I was hoping maybe your mind had changed.”

You were too stunned to correct him, so he went on.

“I just thought it so twisted how you were a master at matchmaking but could not realize what a perfect match was right under your nose. The two of us… It was wickedly ironic. With enough teasing, I stupidly believed that I could make you realize that we are well suited. I am sorry to play such games.”

“You took a page out of my own book,” you mumbled and he nodded. “But you did not need to employ such tactics because I already knew that we would be a perfect match.”

At that, Benedict immediately brightens.

“You don’t mean to say-”

“I guess I am always right,” you smirk. “My games, my scheming, my belief that I always know best and that people sometimes need a little push in the right direction.”

Benedict laughs. “I cannot believe that I love you.”

“That is very kind of you.”

Reaching out to cup your cheek, he whispers, “I beg of you to say it back.”

“Say what back?”

Benedict leans in, his lips barely brushing yours. His breath dusting your own lips. “Do I need to draw it out of you?”

“Perhaps.”

Accepting that as invitation, his soft lips meet yours. Both of you stubborn, you fight over who has more control, pushing and pulling from each other. Your hands come up and bury themselves in his thick hair. His hands hind the sides of your face, thumbs stroking your skin softly although he is kissing you in a way that can be described in any way but soft. 

Finally, you both catch your breath, leaning on the other’s forehead for support.

“Fine,” you say, with a small gasp. “I love you, too.”

You smile at each other.

“I love you so much,” you confess before initiating the second of many kisses.

- - - -

Gentle Reader,

The first official match of the season has been made. Although Y/N Woodhouse has not yet (and not ever) made her debut, This Author has it on good authority to announce that our local matchmaker has paired herself with the second eldest Bridgerton, Mister Benedict.

A curious match indeed – especially if one was fortunate enough to see the performance Miss Woodhouse put on at the first ball of the season when she stamped her footprint on Benedict Bridgerton’s left foot. This Author thinks it is safe to say the love birds reconciled quickly. A hopeful sign of a future happy marriage.

Thus marks the third match of the Bridgerton family. Tick Tock, Viscount Bridgerton. It is now more than likely that the Viscount will become an uncle before he is to become a groom.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

- - - -

a/n: Hope you enjoyed dear reader, this was very fun to write ;)

[d-targaryenshoe]

Carpets and Gala's - Luke Thompson

Word Count: 907

Summary: Who said Met Gala's weren't special when you had the most special person by your side, right?

The bustling streets of New York City were filled with excitement and anticipation as the stars gathered for the highly anticipated 2024 Met Gala.

Cameras flashed and crowds of fans screamed as celebrities walked the red carpet, dressed in their finest designer gowns and suits.

Among the many A-listers making their grand entrance, there was you, known for your breakout role in the hit show Bridgerton, and your boyfriend, Luke Thompson.

As you made your way towards the entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, all eyes were on the both of you, causing a frenzy among the fans in the street when Luke held up the train of your dress.

"I can't believe they're here!" exclaimed one fan, snapping a photo of the couple with her phone, as you waved towards her and made them scream harder.

"I had no idea they were dating, they look so perfect together!" gushed another fan, trying to get a better view of you.

You and Luke smiled and waved at the fans before making your way up the grand staircase and onto the red carpet, where you were immediately surrounded by reporters and interviewers.

"Y/n! Luke! Over here!' shouted the reporters, vying for your attention.

You were dressed in a stunning silver gown, and Luke, looking dapper in a grey tuxedo, happily obliged as you made your way through the crowd.

"Congratulations on your debut appearance as a couple, you two look stunning tonight!" one reporter exclaimed, holding out her microphone for you to speak.

"Thank you so much, it's an honor to be here at the Met Gala with Luke by my side," You beamed, looking at your boyfriend with a loving smile.

"It's a night to remember," Luke added, wrapping his arm around your waist.

As you both continued to make your way down the red carpet, you stopped to talk to more reporters and take photos with fans.

It was a dream come true for you since you had always wanted to attend the Met Gala and you were grateful to have Luke with you on this special night.

"Can you give us a sneak peek into what fans can expect from Bridgerton season 3?" one interviewer asked, causing your eyes to light up.

"I can't reveal too much, but let's just say there will be lots more of romance and a special carriage ride." You teased, much to the delight of the fans.

As you both finally reached the end of the red carpet, you and Luke were met by the host of the evening, the talented and hilarious Liza Koshy.

"Y/n! Luke! Welcome to the Met Gala!" Liza exclaimed, giving you both a warm hug.

"Thank you, Liza. We're thrilled to be here," You replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"So, this is your first Met Gala together as a couple. How does it feel?" Liza asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"It feels amazing. It's such an honor to be here, and to be able to share this moment with Luke just makes it even more special," You replied, smiling at him.

"Liza, can I just say that y/n looks enchanting tonight," Luke cut in, causing you to blush.

"You're not looking too bad yourself, Luke," Liza said with a wink, causing you all to laugh.

"Yeah, well, I had an amazing stylist," Luke replied, grinning at you.

"Okay, now, spill the tea. Is there anything you can tell us about Bridgerton season 3? Any new characters or plot twists?" Liza asked, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.

"Well, let's just say fans won't be disappointed by their expectations," You replied slyly.

"Okay guys, I need to know. How was your first meeting?' she asked her usual bubbly self.

"It was better than anything I'd expect on meeting a co-star for the first time, better than I'd have imagined and more. And I have to say, the connection we had besides the chemistry made it more special," Luke replied, looking at you with adoration.

"I couldn't agree more. these last years of Bridgerton were mindblowing, and I'm so grateful to be able to share it with this man," You said, wrapping your arms around his waist as he pulled you closer.

Liza couldn't help but let out a squeal again, and we all laughed as she faked taking a picture to capture the moment.

"And on that note, I'm going to let you guys go. I can clearly see that you just want to be alone right now," Liza said with a wink, before giving you both a hug.

"Thank you for everything tonight, Liza. Seriously, we couldn't have asked for a better interview. Or interviewer," You said, hugging her back.

"Oh please, it was my pleasure. And who knows, maybe we'll see more of you two on the red carpet in the future," Liza said with a playful wink, before heading off to interview other guests.

As you both made your way inside, you couldn't stop talking about how amazing the night was going to be. You were both excited, but you knew that you would cherish this memory forever.

You knew that life was only going to get crazier from here on out with your growing fame, but you were also confident that as long as you had each other, you could handle anything.

And as you walked hand in hand towards your future, you couldn't wait to see what the Met Gala would bring.

[ithebookhoarder]

Truth or Dare (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

Then Eloise had come along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Traitor.”

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a marvellous idea to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you.”

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

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

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

“There. Your turn again, brother dearest.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh … joy.”

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

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

“How about… truth or dare?”

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

“But Benedict-“

“What’s truth or dare?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now that… was fun.”

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

“Told you it was a good idea.”

You hummed in agreement with your sister in law.

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

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

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

Benedict’s jaw dropped.

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

“I have my sources.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You all froze.

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

“Oh, darling. You’re home?”

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

“I went for a swim.”

“A - you went for a -“

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

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

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

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

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

“What game?”

“Pardon?”

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

No one moved.

No one even breathed.

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

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

“Oh, uh… we… we were just- Eloise?”

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

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

The silence was instantaneous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hard.

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

“Oh?” you croaked. 

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

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

“Is he still there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be. I think we got it all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remembered what you’d forgotten. 

The chair.

“Anthony, wait-!”

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

No one moved. 

No one said a word. 

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

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Benedict coming down from his high and he remembers asking you if your kids could have your accent. He would be mad at Colin for not stopping him.

A/n: oh my god yes! Poor Benedict 😂 squeal to this fic

Coming down from his high should have been enjoyable, that was until he learned what transpired when he had gotten high. He could not believe he had said those things to you, what did you even think? He was not even sure he could face you, what could he say to you.

“Why did you not stop me?” Benedict hissed as he grabbed his brothers arm tugging him out of the room. “You let me make a fool out of myself.”

“To be fair brother I never forced you to admit you wanted children with our dear friend.” Colin held his hands up in defense, Benedict was not so sure he liked that smile on his brothers face.

Scowling he nervously ran his fingers through his hair. He hated to figure this out, he knew that he could not avoid you forever. Taking a deep breath he glanced at the ground, maybe he could push it off as some high rambling-

“Benedict?”

Both brothers turned their attention to the voice, them discovering you standing in the doorway. Colin quickly escaping his bothers grasp. “Have fun brother.”

Watching Colin leave you shook your head, you did not know why but Benedict’s words stirred something within you. Closing then locking the door you are hoping that you were right with your assumptions. Your hands slowly undid the laces of your dress, the fabric pooling at your feet. A strangled groan leaving Benedict’s lips, his eyes now glued to your naked form. You were even more beautiful than he expected.

Stepping out from the dress you walked over to the man, his body rigid. Your fingers clutching his cravat until you loosened it.

“You did say you wanted our children to have my child. Well what are you waiting for Benedict, fuck me until I am with child….or was that all just a lie?”

“No!no.” Benedict cleared out his throat, his hands grasped your naked hips. “It was not a lie.” Pulling you in for a deep kiss his eyes slid closed.

His children would have the cutest little accent, just like their mother.

[startwelve]

~Idea

Hello how are you? Thank you for the love you are giving to my latest fic <3

I came here to comment if you would like the idea that I write a Benedict Bridgerton fic in which he falls in love with a maid…

I wait for his answers, big kisses💋

[daydreamtofiction]

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 5: Sacrifice

Contents | Part 4 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Attending Sunday Mass leaves you confused and frustrated.

Word Count: 5.1K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult & sexual themes, religious imagery, infidelity, explicit sexual content including: penetrative sex, using, light choking & domination by reader. Readers must be 18+

You woke to the weight of an arm draped across your stomach, a nose nudging your shoulder, warming your skin with gentle breaths. You fought to open your eyes, turning your head and blinking past crystals of sleep to find Alfie nestled against your side. 

When he slept, it was easy to forget just how much things had changed. In sleep he regained his softness; a pretty face unsullied by cocky smiles and dismissive eye rolls, a warm body that reached for you in search of comfort in the middle of the night. 

Each night you would go to bed so certain it was over, that the bond between you was broken beyond repair. Only to wake the next morning and find him holding you as he slept, and - just for a while - you wondered if there was something salvageable in it all. 

"Morning," he croaked.

You hadn't realised he was awake, startling slightly at the sound of his voice. "Oh, morning." 

"You were talking in your sleep." 

"I was?" 

"Mhm. 'Alfie, oh god, Alfie'," he mimicked your voice in a breathy moan. 

"Yeah right." You chuckled sleepily. "You wish." 

He laughed too, eyes still closed as he nuzzled his face against your arm. "You really were talking in your sleep though. I swear you said something about the ten commandments." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah. Think you're going to church too much." 

"Mm. Well I'm actually going again today." 

"Wow, you sure you're not planning to convert?" he joked. 

You gave a soft laugh. "I just like the atmosphere. And now Mara's looking to have the baby baptised there so I said I'd join her for mass." 

"What time will you be home?" 

"I'm not sure, why?" 

He shrugged. "Was just wondering. I feel like I've barely seen you since you started volunteering." 

You brought your hands up to rub your face, pressing the tips of your fingers into the inner corners of your eyes. "I mean, we weren't exactly spending tons of time together anyway." 

"Fair enough." He gave a resigned sigh and draped one leg over yours, cuddling closer. "Just one of those relationship ruts I suppose." 

Rut was not exactly the word you would have chosen. Demise, perhaps, collapse, unraveling, expiration, decay, ruin, death, failure-

"But we're good though, right?" he asked.

"Hm?" 

He placed a lazy kiss at the top of your arm. "Me and you, we're good?"

"Oh." You paused for a moment before nodding slightly, your words turning to mush in your mouth. "Yeah, I- We're... Fine." 

You'd grown so used to the guilt that the feeling had stopped fully going away. Instead it remained there in your chest, like a pilot light, always flickering as it waited for a reminder to ignite it again.

"Good," he said, kissing your arm once more, then your shoulder. "So what's your thoughts on a blow job then?" 

You turned to look at him, this time with an unamused expression. "I think it's a stupid name for something that involves no blowing whatsoever." 

He rolled his eyes, shifting closer, lips now pressing against your neck. "I meant what do you think to... you know..." 

"What? Sucking you off first thing in the morning? I'll pass, thanks." 

He drew the air in through his teeth with a quiet hiss, feigning offence, though you suspected there was some truth in it. 

"Okay," he said. "Well how about a quickie instead?"

You sighed. "I'm just... Not in the mood."

He surrendered, flopping back onto his side of the bed and staring up at the ceiling in defeat. 

"Sorry," you added. 

"It's fine. Would just be nice if you actually were in the mood from time to time." 

"If I was-? We had sex last week, Alfie, don't act like we never do it-"

"We don't. Not compared to how much we used to." 

You shook your head, breathing out a discontented laugh.

"I just mean, you complain I'm not attentive enough, but then I suggest sex and it's like you're not interested."

You sat up, twisting the top half of your body to face him. "Sticking your dick in something does not equal attentiveness."

"I was just trying to be a bit spontaneous, alright," he mumbled like a child. "Gina said girls like that." 

"Right, well firstly, I'm not a girl. And secondly, I'm not Gina." You climbed out of bed and began making your way towards the door. 

"Sorry, woman, whatever." 

You paused as you wrapped your fingers around the door handle. "Why are you getting relationship advice from Gina?" You turned to look at him. "Have you been talking to her about us?" 

He shrugged awkwardly. "Am I not allowed to?" 

"Allowed to what? Wait until I go out so you can sit around talking about me? About our sex life?" 

"And you're telling me you don't talk to anyone about those things?" 

You gave a shrug, your voice fading, as though the quieter you spoke, the less duplicitous your response would be. "Who would I talk to?" 

"I don't know, you seem quite pally with our lord and fucking saviour lately." 

"Oh, piss off Alfie." You opened the door and walked out of the room without another word.

When he slept, it may have been easy to forget. But the moment he woke, the fog was always quick to clear. 

There was a car waiting for you outside. It was expensive-looking, spotless, shiny, so big you wondered how it even fit down the narrow, congested road. You closed the front door behind you and hurried down the path, stopping when the passenger window began to roll down. 

"What the fuck are you wearing!?" Mara shouted from inside the car, a look of horror on her beautifully made-up face. 

You looked down at yourself, at your regular clothes that you thought looked quite nice, then back up to her. "What's wrong with it?" 

"Aren't you supposed to dress up? Like fancy?" 

"It's just mass," you said with a shrug. "No need really."

"Jesus. Right okay, whatever, just... can you come and get in, please." 

You walked to the back door, opening it to see a huge carseat strapped inside, baby Soleil squinting up at you in the sunlight. 

"Other side," said Mara. 

"Yep," you replied before shutting the door and walking around the car. 

You climbed in, glancing at your sister in the front passenger seat and pressing your lips together to hide a smirk. 

You could see now why your appearance had bothered her; her hair was swept up and decorated like she was attending a wedding, her makeup perfect, cream coloured dress immaculate. Her husband Nathan sat in the drivers seat wearing a shirt and tie, expensive watch peeking out from under the sleeve of his brown peacoat. 

"So we're overdressed, then?" he asked casually as he began to drive. 

"It's fine, people wear all sorts," you replied. "I tend to stick around after the service to help out so I like to be comfortable, I suppose..." 

"Seat belt," said Mara sternly.

You pulled it around you and clipped it in, glancing over at Soleil as she slept, her tiny body swallowed in a dress of flowers and frills, the carseat strapped and buckled to within an inch of its life. 

Your eyes flitted back to Mara, watching her flip down the sun visor and examine herself in the mirror. 

"You look nice," you said. 

"Mm," she replied, unconvinced. "I was already worried it might be a bit slutty-"

"Slutty?"

"Y'know, by the church's standards."

Nathan glanced at you in the rearview mirror as he drove. "She's worried she might be showing too much skin, whereas I'm worried she might burst into flames the second she sets foot inside."

You smirked.

She swatted his arm. "If Ellis didn't burn then I think I'm good." 

"Nice one, thanks," you scoffed. 

"How did you end up friends with a priest, anyway?" Nathan asked. 

"I started volunteering at his church. It's pretty self explanatory." 

"All sounds a bit kinky if you ask me."

"Nathan," said Mara sternly, before turning to look at you. "It does though." 

You rolled your eyes. "Is it not possible that I could just be doing something nice? Y'know, for the community?" 

"No," she replied bluntly. 

By the time you got to the church, the small carpark was almost full. You got out and walked ahead with Mara, leaving Nathan to wrestle with the baby's carseat alone. 

This was the most you'd talked in a while, the most time you'd spent in her company without feeling like she was counting down the minutes until she could get away. You wondered what had changed, if this was progress, or if it was all temporary. 

"Do my tits look okay?" she asked, high heels clacking against the path. 

You looked at her from the corner of your eye, before dropping your gaze to her chest. "They look fine..." 

"I mean they're not too... in your face? And they're not leaking, are they?" 

"No, they're not leaking." 

"Good, I wore two lots of breast pads today just to make s..." she trailed off as you reached the church steps. 

You watched as she stared up at the building, her face turning hard and angular as she ground her teeth, balling her hands into fists, squeezing and releasing, pressing her nails into her palms. 

"I don't do churches," she said quietly. 

You cleared your throat and swallowed. "Yeah, me neither." 

"What are you talking about? You said you come all the time." 

"Well I suppose this one's not so bad." 

She dallied on the bottom few steps. It reminded you of the first service you ever came to, how you'd stood outside for so long that you missed the entire thing. 

"Is it the incense-y smell?" you asked. "Because you get used to it."

"No, Ellis, it's not the-" She huffed. "Let's just get this over with."

You went inside and showed her the back pew where you usually sat, letting out a sigh when she ignored you and moved closer to the front. You begrudgingly followed, shuffling in to sit beside her. Nathan joined soon after, making you move up so he could sit down. 

It felt weird being there with them, like they were intruding on a fortress you'd built; a place that had been only yours for so long. This was your sanctuary, your reverie, and they were invading it. 

A bell rang, followed by June asking everyone to stand. You elbowed Mara and she reluctantly rose to her feet, looking around curiously as the entrance hymn began. You knew by now what that music meant; it meant Father Benedict was there, about to walk down the aisle with his candle bearers, make eye contact with you for a split second as he passed. 

Mara peered over her shoulder to the back of the room, finally getting a glimpse of him for the first time, before turning her head back to you slowly with a judgmental glare. 

"What?" you whispered. 

"Volunteering my arse." 

You furrowed your brow, shaking your head and shrugging your shoulders. 

"You-" she stopped suddenly when the congregation began to sing, pretending to mouth along with the words for a moment before leaning in to continue whispering. "You've not been coming here out of the goodness of your own heart. You've been coming here to perv. On that." She pointed at Father Benedict as he approached the altar. 

You gasped softly, placing a hand on your chest in feigned outrage. "I can't believe you think I'd do something like that." 

"I think you would absolutely do something like that."

You stared at her for a moment before sighing in defeat. "Look, it's fine, it's not like anything's going to happen. He doesn't- He's not-" You huffed. "He's a priest."

"Tall, sexy priest." 

"That's your opinion."

She scoffed quietly, pressing her tongue to the inside of her cheek. 

"Mara. I'm with Alfie, and I'm not a cheat."

"Hm." 

She'd never liked Alfie, and at first it seemed petty, nothing more than a shallow dislike, a clash of character. But perhaps she'd sensed something, like a dog able to sniff out a seed of cancer before it began to spread. 

"Look, I met him by chance," you whispered. "And he's become a good friend, that's it. I've been having a rough time and he's been supporting me through it." 

"Does he think you're religious?" 

You paused. "There's a chance he might think I'm... interested in converting." 

"Why on earth would he think that?" 

"Because I told him so." 

"Christ, Ellis," she hissed. "You can't-"

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," Father Benedict's voice echoed through the chapel. 

"Amen," said the congregation in unison.

"Amen," you mumbled, sitting down along with everyone else. 

"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all," he said. 

"And with your spirit," everyone replied.

"With your spirit," Mara muttered distractedly, too busy looking at you; watching you watch him, like she was waiting for your face to give you away. 

"Brethren," he said. "Let us acknowledge our sins, and so prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries." 

You tried to relax the muscles in your face; tilting your head a little, lips parting slightly, as though the softer you made yourself, the less she would be able to decipher, like a puzzle piece with no edges, a crossword without lines. 

But when Father Benedict glanced in your direction, you suddenly found your composure harder to keep. Though it was not from lust, but pure aggravation. Your brows came together, just for a moment, eyes narrowing as you watched him avoid your gaze. 

"I confess to almighty God," he began, leading a prayer. "And to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do..." 

In what I have done and in what I have failed to do. 

You'd never understood that part before - 'failed to do' - how could there possibly be sin in doing nothing? But you were starting to get it; realising how the moments when neither of you said anything were somehow the most dangerous. Maybe that was why he wasn't looking at you. 

"Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault," he continued.  

The words burned, and there was a part of you that believed he wanted them to, like a searing reminder of your last conversation earlier that week. 

You sat in the passenger seat of his car, folding your train ticket back and forth like a paper fan and lamenting the extra money you'd spent on the return you hadn't ended up needing. The drive back from his old parish had been uncharacteristically quiet; Father Benedict insisting on taking you home, yet barely speaking, instead focusing on the road ahead as you watched the world rush by through the window.

The car rolled to a stop against the kerb, the engine cutting out as you looked over at your house. It was so quiet, no lights on despite the sun beginning to set, rainwater dripping from the broken gutter onto an Amazon package that hadn't been taken inside. 

You sighed and turned to Father Benedict, eyes falling to his hands as they remained on the steering wheel, anchoring him to it. 

"Well thank you," you finally said, pressing your mouth into a straight line smile. "I enjoyed today." 

"Good," he said, nodding politely. "Thank you for joining me." 

"No problem." 

You reached for the handle, forcing the stiff door open slightly when his voice made you stop.

"You asked if I sinned during my time away..."  

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye before slowly pulling the door closed again.

"Ask me..." he continued, his voice slow, controlled. "What you really wanted to ask me." 

"I... I don't-"

"Ask me."

You fell quiet, drawing in a deep breath through your nose and holding it in your chest, like you were trying to keep the words down, unwilling to let them surface. 

"Ask me, Ellis." 

You exhaled softly. "Did you... Break your vow of celibacy?" 

"No," he replied quickly, as though he knew all along what your question was going to be. "And I won't."

You chewed your lip for a moment before raising your eyebrows playfully. "Sounds like a challenge." 

But he didn't seem to find it funny. 

"That was a joke," you added.

His face finally broke, a soft laugh escaping his nose as he shook his head and looked away from you. "I can't," he said quietly.

"I didn't ask you to..."

"No, I know. I just- I needed to say it out loud, for myself."

"And for him?" You flitted your eyes towards the sky. 

He turned his attention back to you, eyes locking with yours as his grip tightened around the steering wheel, making your stomach burn with a deep, sudden heat. 

"You think I'm a test," you finally said. "That's what you meant, back at the church, you said god sent me to you."

He broke eye contact for a second, disappearing into his thoughts before returning to you with a softer, more amiable gaze. "Well, when said aloud like that it sounds awfully narcissistic of me." 

"Yeah, sort of does."

"I just... you have a way of looking at me-"

"Like you're not a priest," you said, repeating his own words back to him. 

"Yes." 

"Is that such a bad thing?" 

There was another long silence, his eyes never leaving you. 

"Yes." 

You slumped slightly against the back of the pew and let out a huff.

"May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life," Father Benedict's voice echoed. 

"Amen," you muttered softly. 

Another hymn began and you groaned as everyone rose to their feet. You never sang along with the hymns. Never had; not here, not even in school assemblies as a child. Instead you would just move your lips to the song, only pretending to be part of it all.

Soleil began to fuss, finally stealing your sister's attention. You seized the moment to look over at him, your eyes catching his like they always did during his services. But instead of a smile, a pause or a shy bow of his head, he quickly looked away. 

You continued to watch him as he lead the congregation in prayer. The church fell silent, the pews transforming into a sea of stooped heads and closed eyes, all except for yours. You knew he could see you, despite pretending he couldn't. It was hard to miss you; right there near the front, back straight, eyes fixed on him.

"What did you mean when you said you've been having a rough time?" Mara whispered as the first reader stepped up to the ambo. 

You turned to look at her before shaking your head dismissively. "Nothing." 

"Tell me." 

"It's-" You stopped, distracted by the man's loud voice as he began to read. "It's nothing, honestly. Just... I've been feeling... stuck. I don't-"

"Is it because of Christmas?"

"No." 

"Because you know all of that, it was just... I was-"

"It's not about Christmas," you whispered through gritted teeth. "Trust me, you've blown up on me enough times in my life for it to be more traumatising when you're nice." 

"That's a horrible thing to say." 

You rolled your eyes, returning your attention to Father Benedict as he stepped forward again. 

"Thank you, Peter," he said, gesturing for the reader to go and sit down. "Now..." He paused, clearing his throat and gripping the ambo with both hands. "As I prepared my reading for today's Mass, I felt myself drawn to a certain verse from Corinthians..."

"We're very different people," Mara whispered. "You get on my tits, but it doesn't mean I want you to be miserable. You're still my sister." 

"It's not about Christmas," you repeated slowly. 

"It's easy sometimes," said Father Benedict. "To feel as though you are not in control. To feel that you are... Too weak to withstand the tests God puts before you." 

Mara huffed, leaning in to whisper. "What is it then? Money? Relationship? Have-"

"Ssshhh." You batted her away gently, your ears pricking with intrigue at the priest's words. 

"Which is why I've chosen to read this verse specifically," he continued, eyes falling to the bible in front of him. "No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it."

You narrowed your eyes. And though he still hadn't looked in your direction, it was clear his words were not intended for anyone else but you, not really. 

"It's important we remember that the strength of our temptations - no matter how powerful, how irresistible they may seem - are never greater than the strength God provides us to resist them."

You gave a disgruntled scoff, louder than you'd intended, causing a few people to glance in your direction. His eyes flitted towards you too, connecting with yours in a glacial stare, and you suddenly felt yourself shrinking into your seat. 

"Sorry," you muttered to the people around you. 

He coughed into his fist before returning his grip to the ambo in front of him, the same way he'd clung to the steering wheel that evening. "So... Erm..." He stalled, as though the contents of his mind had leaked out of him, leaving him empty, vacant. He shook his head and blinked a few times. "Sorry, I- As I was saying..." 

"I take it you're the temptation," Mara whispered as she leaned into you. 

"Of course I'm not." 

Your back was starting to ache, the hard, wooden pew unforgiving of your bad posture. You rolled your shoulders, tipping your head from side to side as another collective prayer came to an end. 

You hadn't paid attention to anything since Father Benedict's reading, not even bothering to move your lips along with the hymns or mumble the prayers. 

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

You felt a fire kindling at the base of your chest, turning the air in your lungs to steam as it left you in hot, irritated breaths. Was that really how he saw you? Something to escape? To endure? Were you really nothing more than a lesson to him? An annotation he could slip between the chapters of Corinthians and shut away on a shelf?

"May the Body of Christ keep me safe for eternal life," he said, taking a sip from a large chalice. "May the Blood of Christ keep me safe for eternal life."

People began to rise, shuffling out into the aisle and forming a queue as he stood at the altar. You watched as one by one they stepped forward, taking a wafer into their mouths, a sip of wine.

The strength of our temptations - no matter how powerful, how irresistible they may seem - are never greater than the strength God provides us to resist them. 

You found yourself rising from your seat, as though your mind and body had split into two separate entities; one frozen, ruminating, the other taking action. 

"What are you doing?" Mara whispered. "You're not Catholic." 

You didn't reply as you stepped out into the aisle and made your way to the back of the queue. 

It was like his words had drawn you from your seat; goaded you, teased you. Like he'd left a message for you between the lines of his readings, one that told you he wasn't going to give in, that you were something he was more than capable of resisting. But as you stood there waiting, the line slowly moving closer towards the altar, your mind and body regained their synergy, and they were both saying the exact same thing:

He thought you were a test. Perhaps it was about time you started behaving like one.  The woman in front of you stepped forward, receiving her communion and bowing her head before stepping aside, leaving nothing but empty space between you and Father Benedict. His lips parted softly as his eyes met yours, his body stilling for a moment in a blend of shock and confusion. 

You shouldn't have been up there. You both knew it. But he didn't stop you. Instead he remained silent as you stepped forward, his jaw tight, gaze searing as you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. 

You stared up at him through your lashes, the sight of him standing before you creating a wave of excitement deep in your stomach, rippling through your body with hair-raising shivers. The moment felt eternal, the air so thick it made everything around you turn blurry and quiet. But you didn't care. 

"Body of Christ," he said in a deep, husky voice, a reluctance in his tone that only you could hear.

You opened your mouth and slowly stuck out your tongue, never breaking eye contact with him as he took a wafer and placed it there, his thumb lingering, finger gently grazing the underside of your chin before he pulled away. 

Your heart was pounding, desire pooling between your thighs as you knelt at his feet, letting the wafer melt in your mouth, knowing he was picturing something else entirely sliding down your throat. 

You stepped through the front door and stripped off your coat, throwing it lazily over the banister before rushing up the stairs. Your skin felt hot, cheeks flushed, palms sweaty, but it was your core that burned hottest, as though it was completely engulfed in flames. 

You bounded down the landing towards your bedroom, opening the door to an empty room and an unmade bed, a crumpled church newsletter glaring at you from the bin in the corner. It was like he was everywhere, you could feel him everywhere right now; on your neck, your tongue, in the throbbing ache between your legs. You squirmed, pressing your thighs together for a moment before closing the door and walking to Alfie's room instead. 

You didn't knock, stepping inside and closing the door behind you, pressing your back against it as you looked at him. He was sat on the edge of his bed, fiddling with different lenses on his camera, failing to even look up when you entered the room. You didn't know if he was still angry about this morning or simply too engrossed in what he was doing to notice your presence. 

Right now, you didn't care. 

You walked over, standing in front of him and reaching down to take his face in your hands. You tipped his head back to look up at you, reminded of the way you'd looked up at Father Benedict earlier, how powerless yet simultaneously powerful you'd felt on your knees before him. 

"What-"

You interrupted him with a kiss, lips crashing against his in a desperate need to be sated. Your tongue slipped into his mouth, making him groan and set his equipment aside to place his hands on your waist. But the touch you felt didn't belong to him. 

You snaked your fingers impatiently to the hem of his t-shirt, dragging it over his head and throwing it away, your nails grazing the bare skin of his chest - Father Benedict's chest, so smooth and strong, shoulders broad, back slender and toned. 

"What's got into you?" Alfie asked breathlessly. 

"Shush," you dismissed, removing your own top before returning your lips to his. 

Your hands fumbled with his jeans, popping them open and trying to drag them down. He shifted his hips off the bed, letting them fall before reaching up and working to unclip your bra. You could almost feel Father Benedict's long, agile fingers making light work of it, peeling it from your body and taking your breasts in his palms. Those palms, usually pressed together in prayer, now squeezing and pulling and kneading, drawing moans from your open mouth. 

You undid your trousers and kicked them off, pushing him back onto the bed as you kissed him. He traced his touch down your bare back, squeezing your hips, and you could feel yourself burning hotter, his rough handling of your body exactly what you needed. You straddled him, feeling his solid erection waiting beneath you, and you wondered if he was hard today in the church, if seeing you on your knees, tongue out, waiting, was enough to leave him aching too. 

You felt fingertips between your thighs, slipping past the thin cotton of your underwear to dip inside you. A moan escaped you, the friction making you roll your hips. 

Alfie sighed with pleasure. "Fuck, Ellis, you're so wet-"

You pressed your index finger to his lips to silence him, reaching down to free his cock and wasting no time in placing it at your entrance. You closed your eyes as you sank down onto it, picturing your priest laying beneath you; dark curls messy and sticking to his forehead, eyes fixed on you, hands guiding the rock of your hips. 

You imagined the conflict; the forbidden words he would mutter to himself, the shame and regret that would just make him fuck you harder. You moaned, leaning forward to kiss him as you moved, feeling his lips trail from your mouth to your neck, making their way to your nipples as Alfie's always did. 

You placed a hand gently around his throat, pushing his head back against the bed. "Don't ruin it," you whispered breathlessly.

"Fuck," he groaned, too overwhelmed with pleasure to protest.

You began to move faster, sitting up and letting your head fall back, feeling your priest beneath you once more. He thrust into you as you ground your hips, the feeling so electrifying you felt it coursing through your veins. You were going to come, the realisation as shocking as it was blissful. You cried out, biting your lip to stop his name from spilling out as your rhythm stuttered, a deep, intense wave of pleasure ripping through you. 

You were shaking as you came to a stop, chest heaving, beads of sweat trickling down your back. 

"Oh my god," said Alfie with a breathy laugh. "I think that's the best sex we've ever had."

You opened your eyes to an off white ceiling, slowly bringing your head forward until you were looking down at the face of the man beneath you. A face you should have been glad to see, but it wasn't the one you wanted.  

Part 6

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[weirdmorefics]

Can you write a fluff Benedict Bridgerton request where Lady Whistledown decides to publish a lie that the reader (a close Bridgerton family friend) is engaged in order to get Benedict to admit the feelings he’s harbored since their teens for her despite his family’s meddling?

Lady Whistledown Knows Best

Warnings- If you have mommy issues this will make you sad because your mom comforts you in this... so good luck with that lol.

Pronouns- They/Them

Word Count- 911

Summary- Lady Whistledown publishes a not so true congratulations to a not engaged reader that sends the ton into a frenzy.

Dearest Readers,

It seems we have a rather special announcement. We have our first engagement of the season, and that honor goes to our very own Y/N L/N. It truly is a shock who is this mysterious suitor that came out of the woodwork so fast? And here I was thinking Benedict was destined to be with his childhood friend forever. However, you know what they say the early bird truly does get the worm. I wish the rest of you an eventful season and hope you do not end up like our poor Benedict.

Yours Truly,

       Lady Whistledown

I was in utter shock over Lady Whistledown’s paper why would she publish such outlandish lies. Has she always been spreading lies and we just believe them. I feel like I can’t breathe she just ruined my chances of ever finding a suitor. Where did she even get these ideas especially thinking Benedict would ever choose me. We have been bickering constantly since we were children.

I was interrupted from my internal panicking by rapid knocks on my door. 

I hear my mother's voice filled with joy “Y/N why did you not tell me you were betrothed. I can not believe you were the first of the season! I am so proud!”

I quickly rip open the door to see my mother’s eyes filling with tears of joy. 

Shaking with anxiety I swallow hard to try not to vomit “Mother I do not know where Lady Whistledown got these outlandish ideas but none of them are true! She has ruined my chances of ever being married now I will be unbetrothed forever!”

My Mother frowns and pulls me into a tight hug “It is okay my dear we will prove these accusations to be falsed and you will continue with the season like nothing happened.” My mama has always had a way at calming me down and pets my head like she did when I was a child. “I am sure the Bridgertons are upset as well I can not believe Lady Whistledown would air his love for you out to the world.”

“Mother what on earth are you talking about Benedict and I have disagreed on everything since we were children. I can’t imagine him wanting to be with someone who fights with him his whole life.” I let out a fake laugh trying to not let my disappointment show.

My Mother laughs, “Darling you fight like an old married couple that’s the difference. Why don’t we go visit the Bridgertons I am sure you and Benedict need to talk and I’d love to talk to Violet about the whole situation.”

“I guess that would be fine... but just so I can prove everyone wrong and show that he does not harbor feelings towards me.” I say pointing my finger at her and furrowing my eyebrows.

She laughs and shakes her head “Can you please ask them to prepare the carriage well I get ready.

I nod fustrated that she is amused with this whole situation. I quickly turn to the door and storm off to open it so I could go to the servants entrance. I am however greeted to surprise when I swing open the door Benedict is standing right there holding his hand up preparing to knock. Benedict gasps in shock at me swinging the door open with his hand still in up in the air.

“Um.. Hello Benedict. I’m.. so sorry about what Lady Whistledown said about you.” I step to the side, “Uh... would like to come in so you don’t have to hold your hand in the air forever?”

“Oh! Right of course.” Benedict says way more nervous than usual. He quickly puts his hand down and wipes them on his pants.

“I.. wasn’t expecting company. Let me go prepare some tea.” I go to turn away from Benedict but he quickly grabs my arm and pulls me back.

“Who are you betrothed to! Because I am sure I told everyone in the ton that I was planning to court you!” Benedict rushes out.

I blink a couple of times trying to process what Benedict just said. I surely must of heard him wrong so I respond, “excuse me?”

“Who are you betrothed to?” He asks slower this time.

“No one Lady Whistledown has no idea what she is talking about!” I gasp out.

“Oh..” Benedict says a little embarrassed. “I wish I had confessed my feelings more like a gentlemen then.” He mutters and fidgets with his hands.

I smile which slowly turns into laughs and Benedict starts to turn red. 

“I am sorry my feelings are amusing to you Y/N I will just leave then,” he grunts out upset.

I quickly grab his arm, “That is not what I meant at all! It’s just we knew each other our whole lives with us to embarrassed to tell each other how we feel and all we needed was for some anonymous person to make you jealous.”

Benedict smiles, “So you return my feelings as well?”

I nod and blush well Benedict has the widest smile “I bet it was Eloise who wrote it she always hears me whine about you and has been pushing me to tell you forever.” Benedict laughs.

“Well your sister does know what is best,” I smile.

“Ugh, don’t say that she already has a big head. Let’s just say Lady Whistledown knows best.” He groans out.

“I like that”

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[ladysharmaa]

My miracle

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

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

warnings: mentions of death

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like you are giving birth?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not going anywhere!"

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

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

"Anthony..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have a daughter, Anthony."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She is beautiful."

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

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