.¸.•*`•.¸¸.•* •.¸.•*¯•.¸.•*¯ •.¸.•*¯•.¸.• •.¸.•¯
★ ° . * ° . °☆ . * ● ¸ ● . ★
𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝
★ ° . * ° . °☆ . * ● ¸ ● . ★
.¸.•*`•.¸¸.•* •.¸.•*¯•.¸.•*¯ •.¸.•*¯•.¸.• •.¸.•¯

No title available

JVL
Jules of Nature
todays bird
Sweet Seals For You, Always
sheepfilms
we're not kids anymore.
Game of Thrones Daily

Love Begins
Not today Justin
RMH

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
occasionally subtle

⁂

@theartofmadeline
will byers stan first human second

izzy's playlists!
One Nice Bug Per Day
hello vonnie
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States

seen from Pakistan
seen from Canada

seen from Singapore

seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Russia
seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from United States
@laz-labyrinth
.¸.•*`•.¸¸.•* •.¸.•*¯•.¸.•*¯ •.¸.•*¯•.¸.• •.¸.•¯
★ ° . * ° . °☆ . * ● ¸ ● . ★
𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝
★ ° . * ° . °☆ . * ● ¸ ● . ★
.¸.•*`•.¸¸.•* •.¸.•*¯•.¸.•*¯ •.¸.•*¯•.¸.• •.¸.•¯
How to see mature content!!
Hello everyone, given what has been happening to me ( @kamitv ) and my fellow writers ( @tonycries & @madamechrissy ) on here lately, I've decided to come on here (my unflagged account, lol) and make a simple tutorial on how to see mature content on your account/dashboard, wtv.
If you are receiving the following message when looking for your favorite writer's blog, works, etc;
The following is what you'll need to do to fix that.
REBLOG IT PLEASE! so many writers getting flagged down and it saddens me so much.
“Close ain’t close enough till we cross the line”
Promise to the Muse! Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader Chapter 10
Tags/Warnings: light smut (kissing, genital touching)
Want more? -> Masterlist
—————————————————————————
[:🎨:]. [:♡:]. [:🌷:].
🝮🝮🝮🝮 Chapter 10: Dangerous 🝮🝮🝮🝮
[:🎨:]. [:♡:]. [:🌷:].
—————————————————————————
“O wondrous and fantastical night
Shared by then strangers in moonlight
He more eager than the her
Her more fearful of wilds of summer
Fear not of him
But fear of her own sin
His touch electric yet so steadfast
Something she once felt in a distant past
She dare not ask of him
What would happen if they were to touch again?
Soon she found she need not to inquire
For with clinging hands, he stoked the fire
Heated touch, all too much
What started as a simple brush
Now felt the pinnacle of existential rush
O wondrous and fantastical night
She must admit to a precarious plight
So may she ask him-
Can one love again after such near disaster?
Or ignore a heart beating faster and faster?
Is she simply to began anew?
After the near drowning in the deep blue
These inquiries hold no forthright answers
Leading her to desire being sequestered
Yet some thing rattles her to fight
Something with a little more bite
Love.
She thinks.
New, Unbridled, Love. ”
Benedict could hardly believe the words before him on the parchment that came from you. You seemed so naturally reserved. He expected the poem to be about a flower or perhaps the sunrise, and now he understood why you appeared to be so flustered whilst handing him the poem. Your written word spoke volumes louder than anything he had heard come from your lips. His fingers danced across the page as the memory of what happened in his family’s library flooded him the senses of his body. It made him all the more eager for your appearance in his room later in the evening. He hoped your promise would not be empty. Truth be told, he had no dishonorable intentions of disrobing you in his own family home. Though, he could only imagine that is where your mind immediately went to, and he could not blame you for that. On the other hand, he did come to realize he would be weak if you gave even the slightest implication of desiring something more than to view the painting he planned for you to view.
Time seemed to tick by even slower the closer it came time for the family dinner. He had been avoiding family dinners since your arrival, opting to instead spend his nights out on the town or in his room painting. However, after reading your poem, he felt he needed to see you. Benedict remembered the look of anxiety on your face at the gallery today, and he hated to be the cause of such anguish in you again. He watched the clock in his room with intense focus, his foot tapping the floor as he saw the minute hand reaching the forthcoming hour closer and closer. Soon enough, he sprang to his feet when the hour hand finally moved. After much inner turmoil, he placed his hand on the doorknob.
• • •
Warm chatter and even warmer candlelight gave the room a charming glow. Lively chatter and the clanging of silverware provided a symphony of sound new to your ears. Dinners at home were so quiet with just your bother, Elizabeth, and yourself. Another surprise delighted your tastebuds. Unexpectedly, the cooks of the Bridgerton household have bested your own. Every bite was a delicate dance of flavors on your tongue, and the inviting atmosphere nearly took your mind off of the fact that Benedict had most definitely read your poem by now. You couldn’t imagine why else no words passed his lips nor why else you caught him stealing quick glances at you from time to time. Of course his odd behavior had not escaped his mother’s watchful eye.
She spoke lowly at him, “Is something on your mind Benedict?”
“No, mother. I am simply savoring this delicious meal and basking in good company,” he gave her a quick grin before hurriedly shoving another piece of meat into his mouth, taking his time chewing.
She dropped the pestering, not appearing to be entirely satisfied with his answer, but rather understanding she would get no descriptive answers from him. You could still feel nervousness from him concerning his mother’s attention, so you decide to help him.
“Lady Bridgerton?” her piercing blue eyes snap towards you, “Your cooks must give mine the recipe for this delightful roast. What did you say gives it that wonderful savoriness?”
Violet then begins a long explanation of what herbs her cooks manage to find at the local market. You do your best to pay attention to her, but now you are the one casting quick glances at Benedict. He notices your attention, and unspoken words pass between you. Words that share a hope that this dinner will end soon so that the hour of your meeting approaches faster. He also gives you a look of appreciation for turning his mother’s attention towards something that was not anything to do with him. Though, unfortunately, when his mother ends her tangent, Hyacinth’s curiosity soon gets the better of her.
The youngest Bridgerton’s eyebrow raises as she speaks, “So…Miss Talbot,” she attempts to lowers the pitch of her voice to add nuance and maturity to her inquiry, “Have you given any thought to the eligible bachelors this season?”
You nearly choke on the mutton in your mouth. You can almost feel the shock from Violet at her daughter’s words rattle the room. Everyone goes silent as Violet raises a stern voice, “Hyacinth! That is no way to speak to a guest nor is it appropriate conversation for a dinner table!”
Now you must choose between formality and informality, a nearly impossible decision. You make up your mind to toe the line between both, “I take no offense Lady Bridgerton. I imagine Hyacinth is quite excited for her season, as was I when I first entered society.”
You then pause for a moment, calculating and crafting your words with extreme caution, “I have given the gentleman of Mayfair many thoughts. I must say…I do find this city and the people of it quite charming—especially the people who seem to think beyond the parameters of Mayfair. I find the dreamers of the bigger picture to be more captivating than those who get lost in the little details.”
You take one more quick look at Benedict before picking up your fork again. The room is silent once more as everyone processed your words in their entirety. Only the flame of Hyacinth’s nosiness and not-so-subtle scheming could break the nothingness, “So a person like Benedict?”
“Hyacinth!” Violet’s hand hit the table, rattling the expensive fine china.
Your face turned a deep shade of red. You had not meant for your words to be used against you in this way. You assumed it was nothing malicious on Hyacinth’s part, and you knew it was not entirely your fault for giving in to her ploy. Still, a part of you felt guilty for adding fuel to the flame and for the sudden horrified look plastered across Benedict’s face. For now all the attention turned to him, as if everyone expected him to say something, anything really. However, his silence spoke volumes above any words he lacked all evening. If his silence spoke volumes, then yours rivaled that of cheers of thousands of people. The only difference was that, by society’s standards, your silence could be excused.
Benedict mustered some courage to speak, but it did not carry to same tone of casual humor, “Thank you all for the wonderful meal, but I shall like to be excused from the table.”
Violet nodded, “You are—”
Before she could finish her reply, Benedict pushed his chair against the hardwood floor and nearly dashed out of the room. You look up to watch him exit. Perhaps if his whole family had not been in the same room, you would have chased after him. There was no darkness of night or room in which you two could be alone to give you privacy. You had to sit there in uncomfortable silence with tension so thick no knife known to man could cut through it. Your heart raced, and your hands slightly shook with anxiety. It felt as if all this tiptoeing around the subject became too much for you. You curse yourself for giving into Hyacinth, and you curse yourself for what came out of your mouth next.
“Yes Hyacinth,” you look down at your plate, speaking to yourself quietly, “Someone like your brother I suppose.”
You continue eating. What else were you supposed to do after all? As the newfound quietness gave you the ability to think, you wondered just how long Benedict’s apprehension would last. When it was just you two, everything felt intimate. It felt like at any moment he could sweep you off your feet and carry you into a blossoming romance. However, when it came to announcing any public intention to pursue you…well he acted as if he wanted to blend in with the wallpaper. A part of you wanted him to be more intentional with his affections. An even bigger part wanted him to be able to step out of the shadows he casted over not only you but mainly himself. Maybe that could change with whatever he had in store for the evening during your secret meeting, but you could not lie to yourself about the familiarity of the situation. You had been someone’s secret before, and you were damned if you were to be the fool again.
• • •
Knock…knock knock.
Benedict could tell it was you knocking immediately. Any member of his family would have been ten times louder if they knocked on his door, if they even bothered to knock in the first place. There was a timidness, something beyond the scope of not wanting anyone to wake up and catch you entering his room. Your knocks felt unsure to him, and now that the late hour was upon Benedict, he felt that same hesitation. He slowly lifted up from the his seat on the bed and walked towards his door. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the knob, feeling the cold metal in his fingers, he turned the knob, opening the door bit by bit. He stood frozen when his gaze landed upon you. As he tilted his head down, he swallowed hard. You stood there so expectantly, radiantly beautiful in your nightgown and robe. You held a lamp in your hand, careful to conceal part of its light, though what light you let escape illuminated your form most perfectly. Once Benedict could manage to gather himself, he ushered you inside. The door softly clicked behind him.
He spoke in low, hushed tone, “Here we are again…in the dead of night.”
“It is almost like we cannot help ourselves,” you smile at him and then look around the room.
He watches your curious gaze. He watches the way your robe flows with each agonizingly slow step you take. His hands stick closely to his side as they burn with an itching feeling to reach out and touch you. Silence is consumed by the both of you once more, but it does not feel nearly as tense as it had at dinner.
“What is it you wanted to show me?” your simple question breaks Benedict out of the trance you set upon him.
“Oh yes,” he cleared his throat and then walked over to the corner of his room.
In that corner sat an easel with a large canvas covered by a simple cream colored cloth. Being Benedict, he added dramatic flare as he whooshed away the cloth to reveal a painting. He was quite proud of this panting as it took on a tone much different than any he had brushed before. You took slow steps toward the canvas, and he nervously awaited your critiques. He watched the way your lips slightly parted and your brow furrowed as you took in the scene.
He had painted a night time scene. Two lone figures, one male and one female stood in a rather large lawn of grass. Their heads were titled towards the sky which showcased a wondrous full moon. The viewer is treated like a spectator of the two figures, for they are so far in the distance that their silhouettes are completely black, but the subtle shapes easily still show that they appear to be standing just close enough. He hopes you would understand why exactly it was that he painted, but given your silence, he felt the need to break any perceived confusion.
“It is the night we met,” he said softly, “When I wondered who the strange woman in the garden was.”
“It’s beautiful,” you murmured just as quiet.
Benedict now understood your lack of words was not of confusion but rather from being awestruck.
“I am not very good with showing interest through direct action,” he admitted, hating the vulnerability but still finding it necessary, “I understand I must been perplexing to you. I thought the same of you, but your poem…”
His voice trailed off as he thought back to your words, however, he soon found his voice again, “It made me feel something. Something I had thought would never strike me with such fury as it did when finished reading your words. Truth is, I do not believe I have ever met someone quite like you. Man or woman…and I think…it has been scary at times. I have always delighted in the unexpected, but even you and what you make me feel is beyond unexpected.”
Your eyes flicker towards his, and he felt at that moment he could crack under the pressure of your gaze, yet he continued, “I believe what I am trying to say, in a sort of roundabout way is that…I think I am truly falling for you. The scariest part is…I have no idea what I am to do with that.”
“Do you think I should know?” you chuckle.
“What do you mean?” this is not exactly how he envisioned his confession going.
You take a seat on his bed, setting the lamp on the tables beside the bed, “I am not sure what to make of anything either, and God, I am terrible with spoken words.”
“I don’t quite understand,” he say next to you.
You stare at the ground for a moment before uttering, “I have fallen for you Benedict, and your painting and confession….while certainly lovely…they do not bring me the comfort in knowing that you actually would like to pursue me…that you wish to court me. I mean…you think you are falling for me? What does that mean? I do not have time for thinking. The clock is running out, and I am seriously about taking a husband this season. I cannot shake this fear that you are not serious. I am unsure of what could convince me that-”
Action. That is the only word that ran through Benedict mind when his hand reached around to grab the back of your head and kiss your lips. He found resistance to his touch quickly fade into passion. That same fire which you wrote of now manifested in this heated moment. He could not help himself. Never once has he been able to since you met. Not in the garden. Not in his family’s drawing room. Especially not in his family’s library. Now he had you, all alone in his room, what else was he to do but finally push himself. Perhaps there was something to Anthony’s words, and maybe he should have given his brother the benefit of the doubt rather than yell at him before storming out. He found it hard to pull away from your tender lips, but once he did, he smiled at the look on your face. Absolute shock, delighted shock, but shock all the same.
“I am no poet,” he panted out, “perhaps the word think was entirely the wrong word to choose. Y/n…let me say it more directly…I am falling for you. I am a bumbling fool…but I am courting you. This…this is how I court. I am lucrative, and I do not do things the proper way. But please believe me, I am completely serious.”
Your hand, slow and shaking, reaches up to cup his face, “Then kiss me again Benedict.”
He grins and without a moment’s hesitation, he pulls you in again. This time, his eagerness gets the best of him and he finds himself on top of you. When he feels his chest against yours, despite the layers of clothing between, his heartbeat races as a newfound neediness courses through his veins. He must feel you. He must touch you more. He must peel back the layers of which have hardened over the course of your life. His hands move quickly as they untie your robe, pulling your torso closer to his. He groans slightly against your lips as if you are his last meal to be devoured with insatiable gluttony. He hears your small whimpers again, and no orchestral arrangement could even dare to compete with the lovely sounds that flow from your mouth as his kiss lowers to your neck and collarbone. Soft…sweet…and just a little sinful. It is a dangerous mix that tempts his desires to be pushed even further.
He knows it is pathetic, this yearning for you, but he pulls away for a moment hoping you will understand the implication behind his begging, “Please?”
Your breath is unsteady as your bosom heaves from the rush of the moment, “Yes.”
That was all he needed. It was the final straw snapping as his hand lowered. His kiss lowered to your chest as his hand went under the layers of your clothing. You spread your legs for him, and he feels every bit of how much you want this. His fingers easily glide through your folds, pulling delicious moans from you. You look down at him with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes filled with desire. You must know this is a point of no return, and God…he hopes you never look back.
-𓃹⚘
Ladies Night (Oh What A Night)
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Benedict finds it very entertaining when you return from your first ladies' night out.
Warning: nothing much... tipsy reader. This is just light, fluffy humour.
Word count: 0.6k
Author's note: The Muse has not said a word to me in two months, so when it whispers, I obey. This is just a silly little scene that popped into my head. Thanks to Kool & The Gang for the fic title. Unbetaed. Hope you enjoy 🧡
“Sssnot funny Bendickkkkt!”
Your indignance is only slightly undermined by your slurred words as you fight off your gloves and hand your cape to Mr Smith, trusted valet, standing dutifully by the front door.
You are returning from a ladies' night at Mrs Danbury’s—an eye-opening experience to be sure.
Benedict bows his head, swallowing his grin, but even with his face downcast, his shaking shoulders give him away.
“you have always been one of my most sensitive children” — violet bridgerton
would you be willing to write Prince Friedrich x fem!reader? i was thinking a first meeting scene with maybe innocent/accidental physical contact.
Absolutely! Thank you for the request! What a cute idea, especially for how kind honorable Prince Friedrich is. Hope you enjoy!
❥ Want to request? -> Rules
Tags: Prince Friedrich x reader, fluff, innocent little one shot (though I am not opposed to a part two if it is wanted!)
The Sweetest Touch (Prince Friedrich x Fem!Reader)
Your mother always talked of love at first sight, especially since it seemed an instant connection between her and your father. She read you fairytales as a child, and as you grew older she reminded you each and every year how close you were to your debut. She talked of beautiful ballrooms and handsome men who would all be vying for your attention. She claimed you to the most beautiful girl in the world. You became more and more excited over the years, hoping to meet your Price Charming who would sweep you off of your feet.
Unfortunately, your first season out was not exactly idyllic. You seemed to be overlooked by many men as their attention was fully on Daphne Bridgerton, the diamond of the season. She was kind, beautiful, and utterly charming. You tried your best to compete and somehow outshine the diamond, but you realized it was no use against someone with the queen’s favor. Still, you kept your head held high still because you did not need the attention of many men, just the one who would be your love at first sight…your own instant connection.
Tonight, you decided, would be a ball like no other. Tonight was the night that the rumors of a prince coming to Mayfair would be revealed. He may or not be there for the diamond, but that did not matter to you. If it was one glance and you both felt love, then he was to be your husband. You wore your favorite gown, a white gown with silver jewels adorned in a way that complimented your shape. Your lady’s maid put your hair in an elegant updo, with lilies poking out in a sort of halo. Brilliant silver jewelry hung from your ears and around your neck made you truly dazzling. White shoes and gloves were the finishing touches to your ensemble.
“You are breathtaking my dear,” your mother appeared in your room, coming up behind you as you stood in the mirror, “I do hope you catch the eye of whatever gentleman you so choose this evening.”
“Thank you,” you turn to her, “How soon are we to leave?”
“The carriage will be read in just a few minutes dear,” she gently touched your shoulder, squeezing it before walking away.
You take one last look in the mirror, smiling to yourself. You look good, better than good really. Your mother was right, and you believed you were truly dazzling. A certain lightness in your step followed you down the stairs of your home, as if you left a trail of magical fairy dust. It seemed fitting as your Prince Charming seemed destined to await you. You felt invincible, a feeling that that you had felt since the beginning of the season. Nothing and no one could touch you as you floated into the carriage.
• • •
The night seemed to drag on and on. You found yourself glancing at the clock quite often, as if you were running out of time. Time was of the essence when it came to meeting Prince Friedrich, but he had been swarmed by an ever growing circle of eligible ladies all night. The objectives of your mission slipped out of your hands as the hands of the clocked ticked away. You had not even gotten the chance to say hello. You cursed yourself for arriving late to the ball in the first place. A minor mishap in some mud nearly caused your carriage to completely break down. Still, you arrived at a decent enough hour to not cause any sort of uproar that would result in your appearance in Lady Whistledown the next morning. You heard secondhand from a few ladies of all the compliments he gave, mainly that each lady he talked to looked exquisite in their dress. Even if you would not be able to have a full conversation with him, you had hoped to be a part of the group that received such a compliment from him.
The night was drawing to a close and you were sure that you had lost your chance completely. You sigh heavily, looking at the ceiling and then down at the floor. Your hand reached for the glass of lemonade next to you, but instead it bumped into another hand. You heard the drink knock over, and you quickly turned to clean the mess.
“I am so sorry!” you hurriedly apologize as you go to pick up the glass.
The mysterious hand reached for the glass as well, and well…neither of your hands actually reached the glass. Instead, they ran into each other, ending up in a holding of hands. Sparks shot up your arm, and it caught you completely off guard. Could one touch be so electrifying? You must meet this man who caused such a stirring in you. You look up to see none other than Prince Friedrich. It seemed as if time slowed down itself. Jolts of frenzied energy surge through your hand that felt magnetically entwined with his. Both of you stare at one another, in a complete freeze.
“Oh I-" you started to say, but then you remembered where you were and who you happened to be holding hands with.
You pulled your hand away, “I apologize. I did not mean-”
He smiled and waved a dismissed hand, “It is okay. I was not looking either. Did- did it spill on you?”
“No, no,” you smile back, “Did anything spill on you?”
“No…no…” the air felt tense, whether it was a good or bad tension was not known to you in that moment, but he continued anyway, “I am happy. It would be a shame to ruin such a marvelous dress.”
Marvelous…no not exquisite…but marvelous…
“Marvelous…” you repeat the word to yourself quietly.
He was even more handsome than you had hoped. His blonde hair looked feather soft, and the delicate waves that framed his bone structure enticed your eyes. The blue of his suit complimented the blue of his eyes well. His adornments shone beautifully under the light of the ballroom. He stood tall and broad, not that he appeared to be that broad, more just imposing in a gentle, dignified way. Your eyes followed every detail of his figure, getting so lost in the regal man before you that you had forgotten that you were suppose to respond.
“Thank you,” you say as your gaze meets his again.
He seemed bemused by your lack of words, “Might I know the name of such a beautiful lady?”
“Miss L/n,” you responded with more speed this time, “You must be Prince Friedrich. Have you enjoyed your time here in Mayfair so far?”
“Indeed,” he picked up another glass of lemonade and handed it to you, then he grabbed one for himself, “Mayfair has much to offer it seems. Though I wish sooner I had known it also had you to offer. I do not believe I saw you earlier Miss L/n.”
“My apologies,” you giggle a bit nervously, “I’m afraid my carriage seems to be in need of a bit of fixing. I did happen to enjoy a few dances earlier though.”
“Oh no,” he took a sip of his drink, “Well…I am glad that you still made it here regardless.”
He seems to go silent for a moment. His eyes roam over your face and body. The pleasant smile coupled with a nearly blank face made him incredibly hard to read. It was only through words you were able to decipher what it is he wanted, “Do you think you might have one spot left on your dance card?”
You take a look at your card, seeing that you have exactly one spot left, “You are in luck. It appears I do, though it is quite late. I understand if you-”
He takes your hand anyway, leading you towards the dance floor, “I am by no means tired Miss L/n. Even if I was, it would be a terrible thing to leave a lady such as yourself with an incomplete dance card, would it not?”
Charming indeed. You blush slightly, feeling that light and airy feeling in your feet as you were swept away onto the dance floor. The music that had been slowly fading suddenly turned lively again with the prince’s presence. It was as if the musicians had been in a lulled sense of state and then an invisible force halted them awake again. The people who were still left became spectators to the two of you, with only two or three couple occupying the dance floor with you. A slow waltz commenced, something you had not expected to play, but perhaps the late hours of the evening condoned such a thing.
Prince Friedrich’s hand joined your again with the other modestly placed on your lower mid-back. His touch was firm, but ultimately gentle, treating you as something delicate. He stared deeply into your eyes, not in a commanding way but rather displaying intrigued and curiosity. He may have been sizing you up, but of course it was only out of a place of necessity for his regal status. While his eyes may be saying something, the way he held you said something else entirely. The way his hands gripped onto your body coupled with the closeness of this kind of dance made you feel as if you were the only two in the room. That delusion was very much so broken when you began to hear subtle whispers. You looked about the room as the dance commenced, everyone’s eyes glued to you.
“Do not mind them,” he spoke quietly, “It is only natural for them to look. I would think you used to stares from onlookers.”
“With all do respect your highness, I must admit that you are quite wrong,” you admit sheepishly.
“Then I suppose you are receiving long overdue attention,” the grip he had on your back tightened ever so slightly, perhaps not to scare you but as a subtle sign of affection.
“You flatter me too much your highness,” you say lightheartedly, “I assure you that they are looking me only to wonder how I must have charmed you into a dance.”
“Then perhaps you should tell them that spilling a glass of lemonade works wonders,” he chuckled.
You giggled at his words. It still seemed baffling to you that he appeared so interested in you, especially since he was right in that all you did to capture his attention was spill a glass of lemonade. Perhaps your mother was right in that one look between two people can cause such a fluster of emotions. However, as you fall perfectly in tune with his steps, you realize that it may not have been love at first sight. In fact, it was touch that had occurred before sight itself. The way your hands connected then and now…something just felt…right. It was not skin on skin contact as you both had gloves on, but the chemistry was still felt nonetheless.
The dance ended all too quickly for your liking, but you gave your best polite bow to him, and he surely gave the same to you. You thought the end of your time with him was then, but you heard footsteps behind you as you made your way off of the dance floor. You turned to see him following you, and it made the familiar blush creep across your cheeks even more. It was back to the refreshment table as it was so often a place of comfort for you at these events. You take one last glance at the clock before taking your place beside the table. It really was late, but at least you had accomplished your mission.
His voice cut through all your inner thoughts, “Might I hope to see you at the next ball, Miss L/n?”
Eagerness. Something unbecoming of a prince. Yet, that indignity did not make your heart race any less, “If you are in attendance, I shall be sure to be there.”
“I do hope your carriage gets fixed soon,” he takes your hand, placing a kiss on the center of your gloved hand, “I do not wish to be the last name on your dance card again.”
With a smooth precision, he turns his heels and makes his way out of the ballroom. You stand there, still reeling in the briefness and intensity of your time with him. You wondered what could possibly be going through his mind. You wondered if the calm and kind demeanor was merely a facade for some deeper feeling. You try not to let your thoughts or hopes run wild, as this was just a first meeting after all. However, it is not easy for you to let go of the spirit of the fairytales that raised you by shaping your entire perspective on love itself. As you make your way to find your mother, you wonder if you have a new kind of tale for her. It would be a tale not of sight but of a sweetest kind of touch.
-𓃹⚘
“ There is an indentation in the shape of you ”
Promise to the Muse! Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader Chapter 9
Tags: light smut, light dirty talk
Want the other chapters? -> Masterlist
—————————————————————————————————————
[:🎨:]. [:♡:]. [:🌷:].
🝮🝮🝮🝮 Chapter 9: Indentation 🝮🝮🝮🝮
[:🎨:]. [:♡:]. [:🌷:].
—————————————————————————————————————
Yes. This is exactly what Benedict had imagined when he peak through the slightly opened doorway of the library.
He had been watching as you combed through a few shelves to find exactly what you were looking for. He gave you a moment to yourself, partly because he was curious of what exactly you were doing. He had to admit to himself that he mostly wanted a good look at you in your nightgown before he really made his presence known. Just when it looked like you were almost done, he interrupted you. He needed to interact with the woman who forced his heart skip a beat. The one that made his feet move on their own just to see her. He also needed to be so much closer to you. Through simply honestly and careful crafting of words, he had achieved both those missions. Unexpectedly, he accomplished a third, feeling your lips upon his.
You just felt so…soft. Sure, there was certainly passion in your kiss, but it was still so gentle. It was loving, not filled with lust, and…oh god…the even softer noises you made when he touched your face. Soft mewls and whimpers filled his ears and sent blood rushing through his body. He wondered what other noises he could pull out of you. He knew of his skill, but his good conscience took over, not allowing his hands to run completely wild. It was certainly an effort to hold back, and the more you kissed him back, the further he felt his white-knuckled grip loosen. His grip in your hair completely dissolved as his hand ran down your side, feeling the curves he had fantasized about not too long ago. He felt you shiver as his hand settled onto your hip. The thin fabric of your nightgown barely left anything to his imagination. He so desperately wanted to hike up the skirt of your dress and feel the bare skin for himself. Testing the waters, he squeezed and grabbed at your hip. Fortunate for him, he certainly got a response. As if it had been trapped and locked away, a full, deep moaning noise tore from your throat. So distinct, yet still quiet.
Benedict pulled away only a little bit before he got himself in more trouble, “So sensitive…just a mere touch and I can feel you crumbling…”
Your pupils were blown wide as he could see you catching your own breath. He saw how your lips parted just so with a slick sheen to them. Your chest heaved as you were catching your breath. He imagined your heart must have been racing. You slightly shook and seemed unable to respond to his simple teasing.
“Nothing to say?” his other hand settled onto your other hip, “I rather enjoyed that sound of pleasure Y/n…perhaps I may hear that delightful melody again.”
Your hand stopped him before he could give your hip a light squeeze. Oh…were you not enjoying this after all? He felt confusion, but that was quickly replaced by surprise when you moved his hand to your lower back. One of your hands grabbed onto his shoulder, and the other cupped his face, thumb running over his lips with the lightest of touches. You still were not saying a word, but the look in your eyes told him everything. They looked into his own with anticipation…with some sort of hope that the both of you had a mutually feeling about one another. It took Benedict a moment to truly understand it, as all of his past encounters with lovers had been so raunchy. They had been motivated by pure animalistic instinct and a curious fascination that really only went skin deep. The look in your eyes now was one of infatuation and desire in nothing but the purest form. His heart began to race even faster as he had enough insight to realize he was giving you the same look back.
Finally, you spoke, “You…have started a fire within me that I must dim now…before I let unreasonable things happen in this library.”
Not that he meant to protest you, but he found himself retorting anyway, “Haven’t you ever wanted to fully feel that fire? I can make it burn so fervidly for you. What is so wrong with being unreasonable?”
“We will get too carried away. We may make promises to each other that we cannot fully keep. I do not make promises so carelessly Benedict,” you were saying such disappointing things to him, but the strong grip you had on him told another story.
“You speak as if you have experience in the matter,” he made a light jest.
It did not appear as a light jest to you, “I mean it. I am not careless with my promises…and I am not careless with my feelings. Though…if I feel too much…I have to act upon them. I am not entirely sure you are ready for me to do so. Honestly, I am not sure I am ready to act on my own feelings either.”
You walk away and gather the books you grabbed earlier as well as your lamp, “I will be leaving now. Goodnight…Benedict…”
You made your way to the door, hand fully on the knob. However, you paused. You paused for what was, in reality, just a moment, but it felt like an eternity to him. He heard you take your hand off the knob, and you quickly turned to him. You then rushed towards him and stopped right in front of him. He looked down at you and as soon as he did, his lips met yours again. However, he was not the one to lean down to kiss you first, rather you had reached up to meet him. Your words said one thing, but your body said something completely different. He hoped you would stay for longer, but seconds later you rushed out of the library door, leaving him utterly baffled yet fascinated all the same.
• • •
You wished you hadn’t left the library. You were truly kicking yourself the moment you left him standing there. You could only hope that the kiss you gave him before you left showed that you indeed felt more than friendship for him. For heaven’s sake, you even felt yourself beginning to truly love him. The thought was terrifying. You remembered Nicolas, and most importantly you remembered how that relationship started so similarly to this. You recognized you were older and more knowledgeable now. You had more sense, but you had enough sense to know how much of a fool you could be when you were in love.
Your hands still felt shaky as you set the books and lamp down on the desk. In all honesty, the books felt pointless now that you had such vivid writing material replaying over and over in your mind. You tried to shake your mind of the way his hands felt, and how they found one of your more sensitive spots so quickly. It became clear to you that he was no stranger to the female form, most men you had known made jokes of all kinds of experiences. They hardly felt the need to hide what they did in the shadows. What intrigued you as you started to put ink to paper is that Benedict did not seem the need to brag, he simply just did. The boldness of his actions felt like something you could never emulate. Thus, quill, ink, and parchment would be your tools…your own form of doing something.
Guilt coursed through you as you remembered what you said before you left. You felt so overwhelmed in the moment, and perhaps were a bit too candid. You did not want to give Benedict the sense that you were rejecting him outright; you truly just wanted him to slow down. It felt wonderful, all of it…the kissing, the roaming of his hands, the way he trapped your body against the bookshelf. You could not help the way old memories distracted you in that moment. As much as you wanted to continue…wanted to focus on Benedict…flashbacks of Nicolas ran through your mind. You thought you were over him, that he was some uncomfortable ghost you had to deal with from time to time. However, it was clear to you now that Nicolas had gotten his wish: you would not be able to be fully present when intimate with any other man. These contradictory, swirling feelings pulsed with each beat of your racing heart. Before you knew it, you looked down to see a complete poem. When glancing over the words, you realize something that might have changed you forever.
Benedict Bridgerton had become your muse.
• • •
Dawn broke through the windows of your room. Bright greens and yellows danced in shadows throughout the room. Your eyes fluttered open, and you stretched your limbs as far as you could. No noise filled the house. It seemed everyone was still asleep. You were unsure of exactly what time it was, but being that there was a hint of darkness outside still, you decide that some early morning tea is exactly what you need. Tea, peace, and quiet.
After sneaking downstairs to make yourself a cup, you look around to find some seating outside, where you can watch the sunrise. You pull your legs up to your chest once you sit in the chair. You hold the cup gently in your hands, blowing across the liquid to cool it down before taking a long sip. You took a moment to notice the birds flying through the air, chirping with glee. Some of them stop on tree branches to look around, not having a care in the world. You also noticed the absence of all noise. No carriages or clomping of hooves disturbed your peace. It was you and nature as it was meant to be. A homesick feeling hurt in your chest as this kind of experience was your everyday back in the countryside.
“Enjoying the silence?” a voice appeared behind you, followed by footsteps getting closer.
You turned to see the Viscountess Bridgerton making her way to you. You closed up more of your robe, embarrassed to be in such a state of undress before her.
“Oh um, yes, I apologize, I-” you were not sure why you were apolgizing…it just felt like the right thing to do.
She raised her hand, grinning as she shook her head, “There is no need Miss Talbot. I know all too well the feeling of being homesick.”
It was like she could see right through you immediately, and she also seemed to not want to be incredibly formal with you. You decide genuine conversation is best, as she could probably see through any deceit anyway, “Where is home for you, if I may ask?”
“India,” she sat in the chair next to you. You now saw that she was not properly dressed either, still in her nightgown and robe, “I have grown accustomed to life here, but that feeling of missing familiarity never really disappears.”
There is silence between you, and she must have sensed nervousness from you, “May I sit with you longer? I too would enjoy the quiet…and maybe a bit of conversation.”
You nodded your head, taking another sip of tea, “It is such a stark difference…between here and the countryside.”
“Mm,” she hummed, “I noticed. The summer was quite delightful when we visited the countryside. The stillness was splendid, well…until everyone awoke. I went outside too in the mornings.”
You nodded as she spoke, quite enjoying your chat with her so far, “If I am being completely honest, I am not sure I would want to live here in Mayfair for the majority of the year. Terrible, I know, as my future husband would most likely remain in the Ton.”
She smiled, “I am not so sure. I do not believe your husband enjoys the Ton in the way my husband does.”
You furrowed your brow, “What do you mean?”
“The Viscount,” she started, “as much as he may complain about society, he sometimes secretly revels in it.”
“Interesting to know,” you were more curious about something else now, “I mean…I apologize…I mean the part about my husband? I have no current prospects.”
She chuckled lightly, “I do not think I can agree with you Miss Talbot.”
She did not elaborate, instead looking out into the distance, “It can be hard to know and accept how someone might truly feel about you. It is even more difficult to know and accept what you feel within yourself. But if I may give some advice?”
“Yes, I welcome it,” you eagerly reply.
“Whatever it is you feel…feel it…feel it fully,” she then looks back at you, “It does not matter if your feelings complicate things. Feelings are complicated, and there is no need to shy away from that. It should also be said that hiding your feelings does not make them any less complicated.”
She then lifted herself out of the chair, stretching her arms upwards, “Enjoy the rest of your quiet morning Miss Talbot. It will be over soon enough.”
You watched as she walked away. The graceful swish of her nightgown and cascading of her hair made her look ethereal to you. Never had you been so utterly seen by someone. Had you been so obvious with your inner turmoil, or had she experienced something so strinkingly similar to your own situation? That is something you could not tell right now, and so you looked back out at the sunrise. The sky now shone orange and yellow. You observe nature in its glorious beauty awaken with the hope only a brand new day can bring. The sense of renewed hope flowed through you, motivating you to finish your tea and lift yourself from the chair.
• • •
You never knew that one home could hold so much marble. The architecture of Somerset house rivaled the dazzling paintings scattering its walls. Though you came here with Eloise, you found that you were now by yourself. Perhaps she found a collection of books to occupy her time. It did not matter so much to you where she was, even if you did long for her company. You wondered more where Benedict was. He did not show up to breakfast or leave with the family to come to Somerset house. Worry struck your mind, fearing he could not stand the sight of you after you ran away last night. Still…you kept the poem on you, the one you wrote last night and had promised to show him at this very event. You were truthful in your words to him; you did not take promises lightly.
You only half paid attention to the paintings. You did want to admire them more. However, you aimlessly wandered with other intentions, as if you would turn a corner and magically see him. Gillrays’…Turners’…Constables’…this collection nearly came up to par with your brother’s collection back home. As you drifted to and from each room, you imagined what it would be like to view these paintings with Benedict. You imagined what new concepts and terms you would learn. You would give anything right now to see his grin and his eyes light up as he explained composition and perspective to you.
So wrapped up in your daydreams, you did not realize you had meandered into an empty hall. Empty in that the wall’s were filled with landscapes, but vacant in people. Being alone seemed fitting for you, even if it would cause such a scandal to be discovered hidden away from public sight. Just as you sighed heavily, a noise made you peek up instantly. The soft footsteps your ears picked up made you nearly jump out of your skin. You quickly turned and almost could not believe your eyes.
That cheeky grin…those blueish-greenish eyes…the slight swing in his step. It really was Benedict striding towards you, “I was beginning to think you would not show.”
“My sincerest apologies,” he stopped in front of you, “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”
“Where were you?” you had to know as it might help settle your nerves.
He chuckled, “I was struck by an inspiration last night. I just had to paint…late into the night apparently. I am pleased that I did not sleep in so late as to miss seeing you here. I did tell you I would try to be here. It seems I have kept you waiting for far too long.”
You lightly tease him, “You did. I have viewed nearly every landscape without your commentary.”
“Nearly every one? No, that just will not do,” he glanced around, “And what of these? These too are included?”
“Luckily for you,” you begin to slowly walk around the room, “I have not gazed upon these landscapes.”
“Then I may delight you with my commentary,” he walked alongside you, following your exact pace.
Time passed slower as you listened to his opinions on what the artist succeeded and also failed to capture. At times, you listened to his words and other times you got caught up in the way his lips moved. The wondrous spark you could hear in his voice as well as see in the twinkle of his eyes captivated your attention. His whole energy shifted, and it made your heart swell with warmth. At first, you tried to ignore it and focus on his actually commentary, but then you remembered the Viscountess’s advice from this morning. You would not remember every sentence he said anyway, so why not fully let yourself enjoy him in this moment?
The two of you soon reached the last painting, and Benedict still analyzed the work in front of him with his eyes. However, instead of continuing his commentary, he moved onto another subject matter, “I did not expect you to have so much anticipation for my presence to be here.”
You swallowed hard, staring straight ahead at the massive canvas in front of you, “I… I do enjoy your company.”
“Just not in libraries,” he poked fun at you.
“Even in libraries,” you corrected him, “Honestly, I enjoy your company so much more in libraries.”
“I just,” you sighed, eyes casted down below you, “wanted to see you here because…because I wanted to see you in your element. My craft is one of the most dearest things to me. I imagine art is much the same for you. Would it be too much to say that I…that I just wanted to see you genuinely smile? Without the boyish charm and facade you put up around others.”
He broke eye contact with the canvas and looked at you. He opened his mouth, but not much came out of it, “I am not sure…how to respond. But…thank you…Y/n.”
“Here,” you decide now is the time. You slip the parchment that contained your poem from your pocket and held it out to him, “Please…do not read it in front of me. I could not stand it if you did so.”
His hand brushes yours as he takes the poem from your grasp. Little touches danced across your fingers and sent sparks shooting up your arm, “Y/n…look at me.”
His does not say it as a command, but rather a plea, and that somehow makes you more able to give in to it. You turn to face him, and you are immediately met with the quickest of kisses, so quick, in fact, that you do not recognize it as a kiss for a few seconds. You panic, looking around for any passersby. The realization you two are still alone brings an immense amount of relief. He noticed your actions immediately.
“I would never be so reckless with your honor,” he grabs your hand, “I have a favor to ask of you. Would you meet with me again…tomorrow night? I actually have something to show you…in my room.”
Everything in you that had reason and comfortability in safety screamed for you to say no. Every wall and guard you put in place to be logical and avoid heartbreak pleaded with you to think carefully. However, those voices in your head seem so small compared to that wild and romantic poet…the one who made her first full appearance in years just last night. She convinced you everything will be fine, that everything would be more than fine. Logic and feeling were at odds within you again. You had a choice to make, to follow your heart or your head. In the end, your heart became the ultimate victor.
“I would be delighted.”
-𓃹⚘
A/N: Hello! I feel like I should mention this fic is about halfway to its completion! I have never written any story that was this long and detailed before on any other account I have had. I would love some feedback if anyone has any. Sometimes I feel like there are things I can improve on, but I would love to know what anyone thinks!
bridgerton social media au part 2 !! im out of ideas so this is it for now
bridgerton social media au !! i had a lot of fun with these !
the world for benedict through sophie's eyes💫
(MADE BY ME!!! benedictslady on instagram and twitter)
Violet Bridgerton is truly gods strongest soldier. Every season she tells one of her children they're in love and every season they scoff in her face before causing seven different scandals to reach the same conclusion.
“ Will you tell the truth so I don’t have to lie ”
Promise to the Muse!
Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader Chapter 8
Want the other chapters? -> Masterlist
Tags: flirtation, kissing, it’s really building up now y’all. (Promise)
—————————————————————————————————————
[:🎨:]. [:♡:]. [:🌷:].
🝮🝮🝮🝮 Chapter 8: Tell the Truth. 🝮🝮🝮🝮
[:🎨:]. [:♡:]. [:🌷:].
—————————————————————————————————————
It felt peculiar to be back in the Bridgerton house so soon. You wondered how your presence might make the family feel. Sure, Eloise might be delighted and well there was certainly something between you and Benedict. You had met them all yesterday, the ones still living there anyway. You were also told stories of the siblings who were not there, so much so you felt you already knew them completely. Luckily for you, it was so early in the morning none of them were truly awake. You made a peaceful entrance into the home, and Violet, as you came to know her by, showed you to your quarters. She did not stick around for long, leaving quickly to offer you some privacy.
The room was a beautiful soft blue with white intricate detailing all throughout. Lady Bridgerton’s tastes were clean, simplistic, and refined most of all. You ran your hand over the soft sheets of the bed, feeling as though if you happened to lay back down, you would not wake for a good long while. Servants quickly moved your trunks into the room, setting your things up for you. You looked around more to see a lovely mahogany desk, perfect for when you had the itch to write. The armoire in the left-hand corner of the room was sleek and elegant in its design, quite grand as well. The true pièce de résistance was the marble fireplace in the center of the room, straight across from your bed. You hand glided ever so smoothly across the sleek mantle, the stone cold to your touch. It appeared the room had not seen use for quite some time.
Once you had given the room thorough exploration, you laid on the bed. Sinking into the cloud beneath you, you felt your eyes begin to close. Other senses began taking over. You noticed the smell in the room, something floral and something that just smelt like…home. Your hands extended out to grip the bedding beneath you, taking their time delving into the pure luxury at their fingertips. You felt safe again. You felt like you were alone. You felt like Nicolas could never find you here, truly your own little corner of the world.
Though you felt alone, you were quickly reminded you were not actually alone. Soon, you heard loud stomping and running as the younger Bridgertons must have woken up. The noises startled you, and you sat up off the bed. It was weird to hear so much noise in the morning. No matter where you had stayed, it had always been quiet. Your family was small after all. In all honesty, most days you did not even see your brother or Elizabeth until 10:00 or 11:00 in the morning. You did not know what time it was exactly, but based on the sun’s position, it couldn’t have even been 9:00 in the morning yet.
Deciding you should try and make a good impression, you motivated yourself to get out of bed. You walked over to the door and opened it. You tried to take a step out, but quickly pulled back as Hyacinth, the youngest Bridgerton, nearly knocked you over.
She herself seemed startled as she stopped dead in her tracks. She whipped her head around to face you, “Y/n?”
Giddy, she ran right up to you, “What on Earth are you doing here?”
You gave her a gentle smile, “Hello to you too Miss Hyacinth. I’ll be visiting for the week. My brother and his wife had some business to attend to back home.”
She didn’t care much for the explanation, “So we’ll have another girl in the house? I’ve got to go tell Gregory! He’s even more outnumbered now!”
She reached out and gave you a hug. It took you by complete surprise that she appeared to have warmed up to you so quickly. But as fast as she embraced you, she darted away with even greater speed to go chase down her brother. It would not be long before the rest of the family knew of you now. You giggled as you watch her scurry down the hall, so full of youth and vigor.
Not entirely sure where to go, you make your way downstairs to the drawing room. It was really the only place of familiarity. No one happened to be in the room, and so you took your place exactly where you wanted to be, at the table behind the pianoforte. You discovered the book Eloise had let you borrow, forgetting that you had accidentally left it in the rush to leave yesterday afternoon. It sat on the table, pristine as ever, waiting to be opened. You finally sit down and open the book, glancing over the first page.
It was difficult to concentrate, but you did your best to sit there and read. You couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps you were suppose to be elsewhere. Maybe there was something else you could do or maybe you might have been in someone’s spot? You waited in anticipation for more of the family to arrive.
After a few moments passed. your wish had been granted. You peer up to see Eloise standing near the fireplace, head cocked to the side in confusion, “Y/n?”
You closed the book swiftly, “Good morning Eloise.”
“What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” she came over to you and sat down at the table.
You knew Eloise had a keen sense of when she was being lied to. So no, you could not tell her a lie, but you could omit information she didn’t need to know. Not right now anyway, “I was going to leave with my family, but they decided it was best I stay in Mayfair to continue the season. Your mother has so graciously opened her home to me. I hope this does not upset you.”
Her mouth hung open a little, “No…no this does not upset me at all. I am excited. I have many more books to show you, and it will be so nice to have a friend in such close proximity. What room are you staying in?”
“Upstairs, 2nd room to the left,” you answer with a smile, happy knowing she did not seem bothered by your presence.
She squealed with delight, “Ah so right across from mine!”
The rest of the family slowly trickled in, each one looking more awake than the next. Kate and Anthony greeted you with smiles, Gregory looked at you confused and a bit standoffish (thought you took no harm as this was probably due to Hyacinth), and Benedict…was no where to be found, not yet at least. You had piped up when you thought you heard footsteps, but it was only Violet with Hyacinth following behind her. Eloise kept you interested in conversation, but you did find yourself wondering where Benedict was.
The thought must have become evident on your face as Hyacinth smirked, “Benedict is always late in the mornings before we promenade. Don’t worry Y/n.”
You blush slightly, embarrassed to have been caught. Before you can say anything, Violet speaks up, “Oh hush. He is not always late. Wasn’t it you, my dear, who made all of us late last time?”
Hyacinth sunk back in her seat, “Well maybe Y/n should go and wake him up…”
Violet snapped her head towards her youngest, “That is enough, Hyacinth. I will go and wake him myself-”
“No need family,” you finally heard his familiar voice, “I am ready now.”
He looks about the room, his gaze stopping dead in its tracks when he sees you. You give a small wave and smile. Meanwhile, Benedict seems frozen in time. He does not seem as confused as the others were at you sitting in the drawing room. He seemed…like he expected you, or maybe half-expected you was the better term for it. His feet then steadily move towards you, seeking you out as if you were the only one in the room.
“Good morning Miss Talbot,” he offers his hand for you to take so that you may join him in standing.
You take his hand, feeling a little bit of a spark as your hand touches his, “Good morning to you too Mr. Bridgerton.”
You look over to see the Viscount and his wife exchange looks before the Viscount speaks, “Alright then family, now that we are all accounted for, let’s get going then.”
You walk with Eloise as you all file out of the house and into the carriages, though Benedict soon comes up to your side, “And whom will you be riding with this morning to the park? My carriage is not so bad if you do not mind the romantic displays of my brother and his wife.”
You giggled, “Thank you, but I will be with Eloise. I do sincerely appreciate your offer.”
Eloise leaned behind your back, looking at Benedict with a smug and teasing expression. Benedict merely rolled his eyes at her. He appeared to be slightly disappointed, but after the night and morning you had, you were not sure you could deal with putting up such a strong front around three different people at once. Omitting information was much easier to you than lying.
• • •
You and Eloise walked arm and arm, and both of you excitedly made plans for your week long visit. Eloise picked out several books to tell you about, and you planned to show her some of your favorite poems. They were not ones you had written, but some you had collected over the years. You were most excited to visit the family library Eloise told you about. In hushed voices, you even made plans to sneak into each other’s rooms at night for more private conversations.
“Miss Talbot?” a gentleman from the first ball approached the two of you, and for the life of you, you could not remember his name.
“Oh hello…um…”
“Lord Oakley,” he quickly added, “Could I invite you to walk with me?”
“I believe you already have,” Eloise replied in a snarky tone.
He peered at her strangely, “Good morning Miss Bridgerton, lively as ever I see.”
“I certainly am and I-” Eloise suddenly got cut off, as out of nowhere, her mother nudged. her to the side. Violet gave Lord Oakley a grin and excused her daughter away.
You and Eloise exchanged looks. The look in her eyes screamed that she felt sorry for you. You gave her a look of reassurance back. You could indeed handle yourself, even if the last thing you wanted right now was to socialize with a stranger, “I should very much like to join you for a walk Lord Oakley.”
You grin and take his arm, you keep a moderate pace as you stroll together. He does not say much at first, perhaps expecting you to be the chatty one. Soon enough he speaks up, “I have heard you are a great lover of art Miss Talbot.”
“I am a moderate fan of art,” you respond, “It is my brother was has more of a love for it than I do. I prefer the written language.”
“Oh, um, yes my apologies,” he is quiet for a moment more, “How are you enjoying Mayfair so far?”
“It is quite pleasant,” you look around at the bird flitting about and the soft sway in the trees, “I never imagined there could be such beauty in the city, but Mayfair has surely not dissatisfied me yet. What do you enjoy about Mayfair, Lord Oakley?”
“The ladies,” he chuckled, “All of you are so accomplished and stunning to the eye.”
You smile, thought not out of an agreeable nature, more out of compliance, “Thank you…are there…any particular attractions you enjoy?”
“Only the one I am so fortunate to have on my arm.”
Did he really think any of this made him charming? Did he truly believe he made you more interested in him with these obtrusive remarks? You tried to pull away slightly, so that you may find some excuse to direct his attention elsewhere or some excuse to leave, but he only tighten his grip. In fact, he pulled you in even closer.
“I missed your presence at the ball the other night, and I am not the only one. You will think it best to avoid resistance,” he sneered quietly.
You gave him a horrified look, “I do not understand.”
“None of us knew where you disappeared off to that night. Then you come back and ignore us for Mr. Bridgerton of all men? You should consider yourself lucky we did not raise such a fuss. I do not know how things work in the countryside during the social season, but it is not very smart to keep us waiting,” he gritted his teeth.
“I did not mean-”
“Lord Oakley!” you hear Benedict come up behind you, “I have not seen you in so long! Finally enjoying fresh air like the rest of us?”
Lord Oakley released his grip on your arm, “Mr. Bridgerton, I can’t say I have seen much of you either. It is nice to see you socializing again.”
The men then stared at each other. You looked between them, confused as to what was happening. You could tell they were sizing each other up, but you could not tell who was winning. Who was the offense? The defense? Were there even sides at all?
Lord Oakley must have conceded as he then nonchalantly smiled and tipped his hat to you, “Good day Miss Talbot…Mr. Bridgerton.”
You watched as Lord Oakley walked away. Feeling a little shaken up but the interaction with him, you kept quiet and looked around for Eloise.
“Was he bothering you?” Benedict inquired.
“Oh? No…no he was not bothering me,” you replied, still shaken up, subconsciously resorting to instincts. It was natural for you to lie to one man about another man.
“Are you sure? He looked as if he was squeezing the life out of your arm,” Benedict gently touched your arm, inspecting it.
You felt a fluttering in your chest, similar to when he touched your shoulder, “It did hurt…a little.”
He hummed, “Well I think it best I accompany you for the rest of our promenade.”
He extended his arm to you. You thought back to what Lord Oakley had just spoke to you.
…Mr. Bridgerton of all men?
You took his arm anyway, deciding that Lord Oakley was not the type of man you wanted to impress anyway, “I believe so too.”
The two of you began your walk in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Benedict cast glances your way every now and then, but it was only to check in on you. You were much too invested in the cool breeze tickling your skin and the butterflies dancing across the wind. You looked at him a few times too, your eyes meeting before you immediately cast them down.
“Mr. Bridgerton?” you finally spoke, “Thank you.”
He looked at you puzzled, “For…?”
“For coming to my aid,” you look out towards the lake, “I did not care for Lord Oakley’s company.”
“No one hardly does,” he quickly added, “No need to thank me. As soon as I saw him walk towards you, I knew he would be trouble.”
“Do you two have some history between you?” you could not help but ask, Lord Oakley’s words still gnawing at you.
Benedict pondered for a second, “Not that I can think of. Why do you ask?”
“He…well,” if there was ever time you were going to be honest today, you decided now might be a good time, “He seemed displeased that I danced with you that night at the ball, instead of him, or any other gentleman for that matter.”
Benedict laughed, “One man’s jealousy is not any concern of mine or yours for that matter.”
“But he said I ignored him for you of all men, what did he mean by that?” you stopped over by the edge of the lake, sensing that whatever answered he provided to your question might not be appropriate for everyone’s ears.
Benedict sighed, following you to the edge of the lake, “I suppose…I’ve created a certain perception among my fellow gentleman. One that…means I am no threat to them.”
“No threat?”
“That I do not consider myself an eligible bachelor,” he clarified.
“Oh.”
“By extension, that means any eligible lady who wanted to dance with me…well that would not mean anything in society’s eyes. Not in the way it would if he or any other eligible bachelor danced with…with you,” he continued, “He must have hinted that you should not waste your time. It seems he and maybe other men, would like me to keep not being a threat.”
“But I wanted to dance with you, so why shouldn’t I have?” it all seemed confusing to you.
He paused, scanned your face, then stepped closer to you, “I do not share the same sentiment Lord Oakley does.”
He gently lifted your hand, “I believe you should dance with me if that is your true desire. Furthermore, I think you should dance with me every time you have the desire to do so.”
A deep red blush crept onto your cheeks, “It would not be…a waste of time?”
He lifted your hand to his mouth, giving it a gentle kiss, just as he had done the first night you met, “I do not wish to be a waste of your time Miss Talbot.”
• • •
It had been a long, long day. After promenading, you and Eloise went with Violet to pay a visit to the modiste. You were unsure of what color you liked best, usually relying on Elizabeth’s opinion to narrow down your choices. You ended up being convinced to pick a fabric that was the exact same shade of blue as your room in the Bridgerton house. It did not take much convincing, you thought it a beautiful color anyway. You did have a bit of time to yourself today, just enough to take a breath before the family dinner. You did not say much at dinner, and with how exhausted you looked, none of the family members pushed you to speak. Soon after dinner, it was lights out, and you were thankful to finally get some more time alone. You were forever grateful to still be in Mayfair, but you were not used to just how loud the Bridgertons could be when all together.
Once you closed the door to your room, you quickly had your lady’s maid help you out of your clothes. You thanked her as she whisked them away. You quickly put on your night gown and silk robe. You could have fallen asleep, if it were not for the itch in your brain to write something. You had promised a poem for Benedict to read on the day of the gallery viewing at Somerset house. Seeing as how tomorrow was the day, you were nearly out of time. Recently, you had been feeling so uninspired. Though some events of the day could provide you with some fuel for creativity.
Ultimately, you decided to go looking for the library Eloise had mentioned. Sometimes, you took inspiration from other famous works. Somehow reading became the catalyst for letting the words you could not quite write down before flow through you effortlessly. You took a lamp with you, keeping as quiet as you could. Eloise had said it was on the first floor, but unfortunately you had no clue where on the first floor. You felt your way around the rooms, using your light sparingly in case you walked into somewhere you should not be.
Eventually, through some trial and error, you came across what surely must have been the library. You marveled at how many books could be displayed within the small room. Of course, the room was not actually small by any means, but with how densely packed it was, you felt like the room was the perfect cozy little nook. Setting the lamp down, you began looking through the collection, squinting your eyes to find words like Shelley, Keats, and even Byron. The desire to use a variety of sources for your poetry coupled with your curiosity of what all the collection held made you an insatiable, inspired writer. It also made you too focused, thus oblivious to your surroundings.
“Sneaking around your first night?” Benedict’s voice rang behind you.
Gasping, you jump back, turning to face him, “My apologies, I-”
“No need to fret. Your secret literary rendezvous is safe with me,” he set his own lamp down and closed the door behind him.
Alone. You two were alone. Just as you had been the night you met, outside in the garden. This…this was a much more enclosed space. Despite being indoors, you felt you had much more privacy than when the two of you were under the moonlight, “I found a few books. I will be on my way now.”
“Wait…please wait,” he put his arm out in front of the door, “I’ve been waiting to have another opportunity like this with you. Please do not leave, not yet.”
“Mr. Bridgerton, if any of your family found us-”
“I know. I know,” he spoke, “I cannot help it. This might be the only chance this week I am able to speak to the real you.”
“The real me?” you furrowed your brow.
He took a step closer to you, gently taking the book in your hand, “Byron? Keats? Quite romantic if you ask me.”
“No, tell me what you mean,” you take the books back.
“I have noticed, when around others, you put on an act. Not just any act though, not like the ones all ladies put on to impress potential suitors and in-laws,” he took another step closer, “You become so dull…Y/n. So eager to be seen as…suitable…as a perfectly reasonable woman, but with me…I see what lies beneath.”
You become nervous, nervous of what he has to say and what he plans to do, “Benedict…”
“I just want you to know,” he puts his hand on your shoulder, “that you do not have to do that with me. I want to see your passion, more of what lies beneath. It does not scare me. It fascinates me. I crave to see what creativity, what intellect, what desires you are hiding.”
“I…could almost say the same to you,” you chuckled, attempting to lighten the air in the room, “at first, I thought I had done something wrong. I thought I came off too aggressive. Over time since our dance, I have learned something about you too.”
“And just what would that be Y/n?”
“I learned,” you took a step closer to him now, “That even though I am the obvious outsider in this society, you are just as much outsider yourself. You are lost Mr. Bridgerton. You ran after that dance because for once you felt yourself enjoy what society has to offer. We are both artists in our own right. You with your paintings and me with my poetry. We crave to be different, and to be fools falling in love is something so foreign. Just as I have difficulty navigating these waters, you have no compass yourself.”
“How observant you are,” he smirked, “There she is. There is the woman I have been waiting to meet again.”
“I am surprised you are still intrigued despite what you have seen of me,” you looked him right in his eyes.
“I am surprised you are still intrigued despite what you have heard of me,” he retorts.
There was no making light of the tension now. The heavy breaths between you two made the air denser, even downright stifling. You two are evenly matched with each other, locked in a stalemate. Neither one of you will verbally, openly admit exactly what is going through either of your minds.
Perhaps that is why you lean in closer to each other, faces inching closer and closer until Benedict completely closes the gap. Once his lips touch yours, his hand flies into your hair to grip the back of your head, not allowing you to pull back. Once you feel his lips on yours, you did not think you would ever want to pull away. You kissed back with fervor, with longing, with complete passion. He pushes you back against one of the bookcases, his other hand coming up to caress your cheek. You let out a small whimper at his touch, and as soon as your noise pierced the air, he smirked against your lips.
Oh God, what had you gotten yourself into?
-𓃹⚘
BRIDGERTON (2020-)
KATE AND ANTHONY
2.08 The Viscount Who Loved Me
(almost) every penelope bridgerton scenes (459/???)
Claudia Jessie as Eloise Bridgerton Bridgerton Season 3