summary: requested; when the knight in shining armor realizes he’s in love with his clumsy girl
warnings: best friends to lovers, talk of injuries
word count: 2.1k
Beauty can be found in repetition. In the comfort that comes with it, the assurance that life is going exactly as it is supposed to. That all the pieces are falling into place without fuss or feathers. That is what life felt like for Benedict Bridgerton.
There was nothing quite like coming home to a life that revolved around and around like a pretty little carousel after a long day of tedious painting, worrying over the works of his own mind and hand. Predictable life was so beautifully mundane and peaceful at times.
He always arrived back at the Bridgerton home typically just after three in the afternoon. That glorious slice of day when one is just at the peak of energy and yet the world is slowly beginning its descent into slumber. Clouds always roamed the skies overhead while a breeze rushed past and horse hooves struck cobblestone.
And without fail, he always heard the laughter once he stepped into the grand foyer. The noise seemed to ricochet off the marble, bouncing around the house as the pitter patter of feet followed not too far behind. Hyacinth and Gregory whooped and hollered like wild animals on their little stampede, pushing and shoving down the hallways. On their heels, like always, was Y/N racing behind them. Feet bare and skirts clutching in her hands, she leapt down the stairs, yelling for them to stop the raucous behavior yet laughing all the while.
A wide, tilting grin was painted across Benedict’s face at the sight. It always was. This was his welcome home party — these three hooligans that he called family and loved to the moon and back, then twice over again.
“I thought I told you no more running down the stairs,” he lectured teasingly, placing his hands on his hips. “You’ve already had a broken finger, a sprained wrist, and your left knee still isn’t right.”
His younger siblings laughed nonetheless, picking up their pace to reach the end of the stairs and then dart around the corner. Benedict sidestepped them, narrowly avoiding being barreled into.
Y/N huffed a little, darting down another few stairs, just feet from the bottom. “I’ve told you a million times, Benny. I’m not that—”
On the last stair, her feet slipped from beneath her, sending her careening towards the marble floor. And as always, like a comforting clockwork, he stepped forward to catch her. To wrap his arms around her and set her right.
It was just how the two neighbors were — Y/N falling or tripping over her own feet and Benedict there to be her personal knight in shining armor. To carry her to the house when she sprained an ankle, to wipe mud from her face with the sleeve of his shirt, to help her crawl over a fence. He was there for all of it and he wouldn’t consider trading it for the world.
“What were you saying?” he asked with a marvelous grin, one hand still lingering near her waist as he waited for her to find her footing once more. “That you’re not that clumsy anymore?”
Y/N smiled despite her better judgment, a dark teasing glint twinkling in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have fallen if you weren’t so…”
“What?” he laughed. “Handsome, talented, intelligent, clever, hilarious… the list could go on and on.”
“Infuriating!” she exclaimed, lightly slapping his strong shoulder as she grinned from ear to ear. “Cocky, arrogant, a know-it-all. Need I go on?”
Benedict scoffed and shook his head in amusement. Maybe he was all of the above, but it didn’t matter. He knew she wouldn’t love him less for it. Gently, he reached up and moved a fallen lock of hair back into place. “We both have our flaws,” he lamented. “Yet I would argue we are fairly near perfect.”
“That’s what I consider being a Bridgerton is.” Y/N smiled in the way that had him seeing stars, the contagiousness of it bringing a toothy grin to his own face. “Being insanely stubborn headed yet shockingly likable.”
Benedict laid a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “Well then I would say you are certainly a part of the family, Y/N/N.”
Stifling humidity and heat always came with the summer months and yet Benedict still lingered beneath the sun, leaning on the croquet mallet in hand. His jacket had been long abandoned and cravat loosened and yet he still felt as though he were sweltering. Not only from the heat, but from some other foreign feeling that stirred about within his mind.
For the entire afternoon, his eyes had been glued to Y/N’s back – watching how her skirts twirled in the wind, how her joyous laughter seemed to wick away the unbearable heat. She trotted about the yard with Benedict’s favorite mallet in her hand, the one he always handed off to her with a smile on his face. And throughout the day, he’d followed her like a stray dog begging for scraps. Always a step behind, lingering in the shadows unheard and unseen.
Y/N carefully lined up her next shot as the crowd quieted in anticipation. Even over a silly game, Benedict’s breath halted in his chest as he observed, crossing his fingers for good luck to pass along to her. She swung the mallet with trained ease and like clockwork, the ball rolled along and through the hoop.
Immediately she turned around, throwing both arms triumphantly in the air. “Did you see that?”
Benedict couldn’t help but smile deliriously like a fool. “Absolutely!” he cried with enthusiasm, applauding as loudly as he could manage.
Stepping by his side, Y/N allowed her mallet to drop to the ground as she greedily drank a cup of iced water. “I believe I’ve adequately shown the ladies that I do not plan to relinquish my title of The Queen of Croquet anytime soon.”
“You certainly did,” he enthused with a smirky smile he couldn’t manage to contain. “Even while making a complete mess of yourself.” Like a second nature, he took one of her hands in his, examining the small scratches laced around her arm and the layer of mud plaguing the bottom of her dress.
“I go where the game goes,” she said proudly, “even when it’s through thickets and mud holes.”
Taking off his cravat, he wetted it in a glass of water and then went to work, wiping away the dirt and grime from her scratched up arms. It was instinctual, his little routine he felt compelled to complete. “Then at least try to not injure yourself so much next time.”
“They’re only scratches, Benny. It isn’t like I fell and busted my head open.”
Glancing up at her, one corner of his lips tilted as he saw the fiery spirit in her eyes. The type that leaped and bounded at the idea of danger. “Then try for me?” he whispered.
At that whispered plea, the look in her eyes changed, morphing into something so deliriously soft and tender that Benedict felt his heart skip a single beat. He felt as though his soul was reaching out to hers, begging it to take his hand.
“For you,” she whispered with a tilting smile, “my knight in shining armor.”
In that moment, he felt his heart come to an easy still, pausing in his chest as though time itself had come to a halt. The heat was still there, flooding through his cheeks until he swore his whole face had likely turned to a peachy shade of pink. His lips gaped as his mind compelled him to say more, to find words to match the state of confusion he felt.
But before he could come to terms with himself, she had pulled away and picked up the mallet, holding it out for him. “I believe your game is about to begin soon, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Why of course, Miss L/N. How could I ever forgive myself for potentially being late to such a thing?” He did a little mock bow before stepping away, finding himself reluctant to leave her side. As he walked across the lawn to where his brothers waited, he instinctively glanced over his shoulder to find her in the mulling crowd once more.
“Took you long enough,” Anthony snapped. He fidgeted anxiously, bouncing one foot as he constantly readjusted the grip on his mallet. His shoulders tightened once Benedict rolled his eyes dramatically. “I have things to do – Edwina to woo, Kate to win over.”
Colin and Benedict’s gazes met for a single moment once Anthony stormed off, leading the charge in the way he always did. Silly smiles played across both their lips as they trailed behind, swinging their mallets absentmindedly.
Once more, Benedict glanced over his shoulder only to find Y/N staring back at him, a smirk painted across her face as she gave two enthusiastic thumbs up. That wonderful heat rose in his face again as he raised a hand, sending a little grateful wave her way.
Colin cleared his throat and knowingly gazed at his brother. “You love her.”
“What?”
“Do you not realize it?” he scoffed. “You are so head over heels for her that it isn’t even funny.”
Benedict drew in a deep breath as his gaze bounced between Colin and Y/N, the latter of which who was now turned away and snared in conversation with a different gentleman. He would have been a liar if he claimed the sight didn’t make his heart ache in a gnawing way, carving him up from the inside out. “I don’t—” he mumbled, falling over his words. “She… I…”
Colin’s lips lifted even more as he knocked his shoulder affectionately against Benedict’s. “I’m not a fool, brother. I know you and your silly little mind better than you do, and I know what that look in your eyes is.”
Benedict spent the entirety of the match scanning crowds, hungry for another glimpse of Y/N, instead of actually playing. Anthony bested him rather easily with Colin not too far behind the eldest, yet he hardly noticed his scathing loss at all. The only event his brain managed to focus on was Y/N’s interactions — how the new gentleman seemed to cling to her side, looking over her scratches with the same tenderness he himself had for her.
Once more, he felt a foreign feeling coiling inside like a dragon, breathing out fire with every taunting poke and prod. How long had it lived within him? Hiding away in some remote corner of his heart? Benedict didn’t have the faintest of ideas and yet there was some instinctual knowledge that the monstrous jealousy lived for one person only.
Benedict didn’t hear Colin’s calls as he crossed the lawn, dropping his mallet somewhere in the grass. He was greeted by Y/N darting across the lawn to greet him, the newest suitor left behind to gawk.
“You played wonderfully!” she called, carefully running across the uneven ground.
He couldn’t help but smile so widely that his cheeks began to ache as he shook his head in disbelief. “I lost — horribly so!”
She laughed wildly as she stumbled on her footing. “Does it matter? You’ll always be a winner to me!”
Just in time, he stepped forward to steady her. Both of his hands fell upon her shoulders, keeping her upright as the girl gazed up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkled from laughter. For what felt like the hundredth time, his heart paused and then leapt in his chest in a desperate bid to escape its cage of ribs.
“I care for you,” he shamelessly blurted. His hands dropped to hold her wrists tenderly, as though afraid she’d disappear the moment he looked away.
Y/N stared up at him with wide eyes filling with concern as her eyebrows threaded together. “I’ve never doubted that for a moment,” she responded. “You’ve always been there — through thick and thin; good, bad, and worse than bad.”
He tilted his head to one side as he silently implored himself to spill the words dwelling in his brain. The ones that had been there as long as time itself. “Not in that way,” he whispered. “I care for you in ways that I shouldn’t and more than I should as strictly a friend.”
“Benedict—”
“I’m consumed by you — your presence, the words you speak, and how you trip over your own feet. All of it, all of you.” His words quickly morphed into ones of pleading as he saw her eyes brighten with realization. “And I can’t— I haven’t the words to even describe the beginnings of it.”
She laid a gentle hand on his cheek, running her fingers over a trail of stubble. “You don’t have to describe it.” Her voice dropped into a whisper as she leant into his touch. “I feel the same — I always have.”
summary:requested; when anthony doesn’t realize what is right in front of him
warnings:none (other than that I maybe didn’t pace this in the best way)
word count: 2.6k
“Shall we see what our darling Lady Whistledown has to say on this fine afternoon?” Benedict asked, one corner of his lips curling into a lopsided grin. He settled down next to Y/N, kicking up his heels and flipping open his pamphlet.
Anthony groaned softly, rolling his head from side to side as the joints cracked. “I was trying to enjoy the sun, Benedict. Not to drown in scandal.”
“I don’t mind hearing a little bit of drama,” Y/N said with a smile. The spoon in her hand clicked against the porcelain of her tea cup as she stirred the steaming liquid, a dash of sugar dissolving away with each stir.
“Of course you do,” Anthony sighed, gazing at her from the corner of his eye.
Eloise reached across the table, greedy fingers fumbling for a pastry dessert. She spoke rapidly while she ate, “Let me guess – she’s named a diamond and I’m not it.”
Shaking his head, Benedict laughed. “You’ll be relieved that she hasn’t.” He winked the moment their mother turned away, gazing across the rolling greens of the park. “But she has made some predictions.”
Those words certainly caught Lady Bridgerton’s attention. She turned her head quickly and peered over Benedict’s shoulder, drinking in the written words as if it were a fine wine. “Of what?”
“Couples,” he said with a hum.
“Well then who?”
Now everyone was leant forward in their seats, sipping on tea and nibbling on bread while silently imploring Benedict to read aloud for all. Even Anthony had stopped his anxious fidgeting. He only leaned back further into his chair, balancing dangerously on the back legs.
With a heavy touch, Benedict jabbed at the paper and drug his finger down along the margins. “The Otton girl and that one fellow that came in a while ago – the one who wears those horrid blue jackets. And Cressida Cowper and a man by the name of Matthews?”
Eloise gave a huff of triumph, holding her head higher. “Well that’s hardly any news. Getting a little slow, is she?”
Benedict’s lips suddenly curled into a mischievous smile. His gaze flashed up from the pamphlet, little jewels dancing about in his eyes. “And last but certainly not least,” he said in a mocking tone, “Lord Anthony Bridgerton and Miss Y/N L/N.”
A sharp chill worked through Y/N’s body, prickling her skin and burning her heart. Frantically, she glanced over at Anthony, trying to read the hidden messages carved into his stone expressions. Her heart raced in her throat, silently pleading with him to meet her inquisitive gaze. The eldest Bridgerton only tilted his head to one side, one corner of his lips pulling up in disbelief. “Ridiculous,” he scoffed.
Y/N’s parched lips gaped as the words couldn’t reach her tongue. It sat in her throat like a tangled web of horrid thoughts, fear devouring hope. “Why would it be ridiculous?” her voice cracked, showing the little fissures in her heart.
Anthony only grinned wider – that smile she had fallen in love with so long ago, when they were both shy children pressed up against the gilded walls watching couples twirling past. He sat upright in his chair, hands automatically moving down to smooth his attire. “We’re acquaintances – hardly friends,” he dumbly stated. “I don’t think we’ve even shared an interesting conversation.”
Benedict gasped dramatically, harshly kicking at Anthony’s legs underneath the table. “That is my favorite friend you are talking about!”
“It would be likelier for me to marry a Featherington,” Anthony said, practically laughing about the entire situation.
“And now you are talking about my friend’s family,” Eloise snapped. In one fluid movement, she stole the pamphlet from Benedict’s hand and folded it until it was only a fraction of its size. “It’s not like any of it is true anyway — she’s only making logical guesses which any one of us could make.”
Anthony dragged a hand over his weary face, rubbing at the fine lines of premature aging. “Logical?”
“If you think about it, Y/N does spend a fair bit of time in our household,” she said. “The season’s begun as well. Colin is away so he is not an option, and so it’s either you — Anthony or Benedict. And only one of you danced with her at the last ball.”
Y/N nearly choked on her sweetened tea. “As acquaintances regularly do.”
“It was friendly. Nothing more,” Anthony politely excused, his gaze meeting Y/N’s for one fleeting moment. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I neglected to socialize with a family friend?”
Benedict leaned forward in his seat and conspiratorially raised one eyebrow. “Or was it? Are you two hiding some deep dark feelings I am not aware of?”
In an instant, a fiery burning spread through Y/N’s face like an inferno. Her heart skipped a beat as she pondered the possibility of Benedict noticing her hidden feelings over the years — ones of affection for his older brother.
His gaze bounced between her and Anthony like a wild animal darting to and fro. If she knew any better, she would have said a blush was spreading across his cheeks. But this was Anthony she was looking at — he certainly wouldn’t be caught blushing like a fool gone mad.
“No!” Anthony suddenly said.
“That seems rather defen—”
“Not at all,” Y/N reassured, smoothing down the wrinkles of her dress with anxious hands. A tremble worked its way through her body, making every nerve jump and muscle quiver. “We can’t even agree on a simple thing. I say it’s raining, he says it’s sunny. I don’t quite understand what Lady Whistledown sees.” The lies left her tongue drowning in poison.
“Exactly,” Anthony quickly interrupted. Lifting his cup of tea, he nodded cordially to Y/N. “Now may we enjoy a quiet afternoon?”
Y/N halfway expected the prediction to ruin her season. Every person would have their eye turned to her – both in good and bad. Criticizing her moves, reading into every lingering gaze in Anthony’s direction. The ones that were never reciprocated.
And it did just that — the pamphlet only increased the intrigue swirling around her personality. Every fine gentleman in the Ton wanted a peek at the girl who supposedly snagged Lord Bridgerton’s eye. Of course, it wasn’t true at all, but they needn’t know that. If anything, Anthony only tried to avoid her more: avoiding her gaze, walking away when she approached. The only time they traded words was at Benedict’s command, his hands encircling their wrists to hold both parties in place.
She hated how easily he could skirt around her life, as effortless as a bird floating in the breeze. Y/N wanted him to burn in the same manner she did, as if her dress would leap into surging flames the next time he crossed her field of vision.
And on top of it all, she felt guilty for even thinking that way when there were a dozen men waiting on her doorstep with bouquets, eagerly waiting to sign their name on her dance card. What was so horrifically wrong with her that she couldn’t appreciate what sat in her palms?
They were all perfectly acceptable — of good breeding and drowning in wealth. All had an excellent education, fluent in multiple languages. They were dazzling on paper and yet in person? She couldn’t help but find the flaws in them all. One stepped on her feet endlessly while waltzing, an apology never once dropping from his lips. A second talked over her, not even allowing her to utter a single sentence. A third could only converse of the weather and a fourth tended to be too handsy for her liking.
Sitting at a small table along the edge of the room, sipping on a cup of tea, she found her eyes drifting back to Anthony’s looming figure across the room, despite the adequate company by her side. Even with his back turned to her, she could tell he was perplexed. It was found in the way his shoulders were held; hunched forward instead of starkly pinned back. In how he would stare blankly off at the crowd, turning a cheek to his jovial siblings. She thought of standing up, walking across the room with her head held high and inquiring what was wrong with him. It was off putting to see Anthony in such a state; lost and confused when he was so often quiet and stoney.
When his head turned to her direction, his heavy gaze settling over her, Y/N practically jumped in her seat, fumbling with her drink as she averted her stare.
“You wouldn’t believe what abomination I saw yesterday,” Charles said, throwing a stone into her world of thoughts.
Turning her gaze to the fellow by her side, she nearly felt guilty for being lost in the clouds when by his side. He was kind enough to endure sitting through her silent moments, gentle when dancing, a flair for mocking dreadful events like these, and handsome as well with perfectly groomed golden hair. And yet she couldn’t even remember his surname or what city he hailed from – only that he was proudly French with a slight disdain for the English. And that he wasn’t anything like Anthony.
He talked too much, far too loudly. He used his hands when making a speech, the pale things flapping about like startled birds a foot away from death. And when she countered him, he only dipped into her views – not even challenging her for a second.
It was deliriously affectionate and bitter all at once.
Taking another sip of her tea, she hummed, “What?”
Charles’s thin lips curled with humor as he tilted forward in his seat. “I saw a young gentleman – aristocracy, no doubt – setting a spaniel dog out on a hare.” Chuckling to himself, he shook his head causing meticulously placed locks to fall against his temple.
Y/N raised an eyebrow as she didn’t seem to follow his train of thought. “I’m afraid I’m not understanding the issue.”
“The spaniel was of the tall sort,” he said, demonstrating with his hands as he always did. “About yea high. Entirely inefficient for hunting small game.”
Tilting her head to one side, she tried her hardest to appreciate the quirkiness of his mannerisms. To find the small details that were irresistible to love. And yet her hands felt empty, every possibility falling through her fingers like grains of sand. “What sort would you recommend, Charles?” she asked plainly, searching the room for Anthony without a second thought.
“A basset bleu from Gascony, of course! Short and squatty yet beautifully tactile. They work like nothing else, you have to believe me.”
Y/N’s lips quirked for a moment. “Well if they’re short, how do you expect them to see above tall meadow grass? I would assume a stately dog who can get their task done with minimal effort would be preferable.”
A toothy grin spread across his face. “I believe I must digress. There are truly some impressive hunting spaniels – perhaps I should inform myself more on the breed.”
Y/N laid her hands in her lap, wringing her fingers together until her knuckles paled several shades. “It is okay for you to disagree with me, you know? Both of us can have educated, yet differing, opinions. That’s the joy of conversation.”
“Well, yes — of course,” he said, fumbling over his words clumsily, “but would it be the—”
“Would you excuse me?”
Y/N felt faint the moment she raised her gaze, only to see Anthony standing by their side with his hands clasped behind his back. The signature tight smile was engraved onto his face, eyes practically alight with a sense of mischief.
“I must steal Miss L/N away,” he continued with trained ease. “The matter is urgent, I’m afraid.” Charles nearly leapt to his feet out of fright and expectation. Nodding and blundering about his words as Anthony only quietly offered his arm and a smile that stole the breath from her lungs.
Upon taking it, he promptly whirled her away from the chaos – Charles’s ramblings, prying eyes, whispered predictions, Lady Whistledown and her spies wherever they lingered. Walking and walking in silence until they ended on a balcony outside. Brisk spring air fluttered about outside, weaving through newly budding leaves until blue moonlight.
“What’s so urgent?” Y/N teasingly asked as her gaze languidly roamed the side of his face. “Has a grass blade split? A tree branch dying?”
For a fleeting moment, he gazed down at her as one corner of his mouth lifted. There was an innate tenderness in that look, the soft caress of a downy feather sweeping across her face. It fired a heat rising up her neck, basking her face in a fiery wonder as her heart skipped a beat too many.
“I needed to speak to you,” he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. “That is what was so urgent.”
Y/N’s lips curled into a wide, blazing grin. Laughter bubbled in her chest as she asked incredulously, “You pulled me away from a perfectly wonderful conversation because you want to speak to me? Since when have you ever been desperate to have words with me?”
Anthony’s eyes gleamed as though he were recalling their younger days when she and Benedict trailed him like two lost puppies, endlessly talking until he had to bribe them to quiet.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he breathed out with disbelief, cheeks painted a rosy red. “I never thought I’d miss your chattering – the mindlessness of it that made my ears ring. I always thought it was horrid, that I couldn’t get away from you soon enough. And now… after watching you, seeing you smile at someone else’s words, dance in someone else’s arms… I realize that it was always delightful. That I was never bored, never felt dull.”
The black of Y/N’s eyes had blown wide as she felt the breath stall in her chest, her heart coming to an aching rest as her brain swam in muddied waters. “I don’t understand.”
Turning to face her, Anthony laid a hand over his chest. His brows had furrowed together, a sign of his sincerity – one of those small things that she swore she would admire until the end of time. “I didn’t realize how much I… enjoyed your company. Your words – the compliments, the arguments, all of it.”
Throat feeling dry, Y/N scrambled for the words to say that would match the tenderness she saw in Anthony’s eyes – the thing she had long dreamed of. “I’ve always wanted you to see me,” she whispered. “It will ruin me if your words are not true.”
“I see you,” he promised. “Not only just you, but myself.” One hand cupped her face, his thumb tracing over her cheekbone. “I’ve felt hollow not having you there to best me these past few weeks. To correct my grammar or debate my views. And I think I see that in you as well – the emptiness even with that man you’ve been sat beside night after night.”
A smile sprouted across her face, little laugh lines appearing. “He doesn’t even debate me!” she marveled. “They all compliment my dress and the hair, my education. How wonderfully articulate I am, how well read. But nothing of substance or challenge.” She paused for a moment, gazing into endless pools contained within his eyes. “Is that what Lady Whistledown saw?”
His eyebrows threaded together in confusion. “What?”
“The way we argue - how we can go on and on and on and yet… still get along. Not only tolerate, but silently enjoy each other’s company.”
Anthony shook his head in disbelief, little wrinkles appearing by his eyes as his cheeks bunched. “Or maybe it’s how I’ve always looked for you in a crowd.” He glanced down at her once more, pouring himself into her eyes as he whispered those words. “Even when I didn’t realize I did so.”
anthony bridgerton said “i am not a man of poetry” and then turned around and delivered “you are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires. night and day i dream of you” all men do is lie
