#benedict bridgerton x f!reader
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Matchmakers
Benedict Bridgerton x Reader
Summary: As soon as you and Benedict locked eyes, Gregory and Hyacinth knew you were smitten with one another. Now, the youngest of the Bridgertons are bound and determined to get you two together.
wc: 3.4k
A/N: thank you so much for requesting Anon! I fell in love with this as soon as you sent it to me. Sorry, it took so long. I'm hella sick and wrote the second half while delirious but please enjoy ♡
Being one of the 8 Bridgerton children had its perks amongst the ton, first invites to fabulous parties, lines of established suitors, and a good education. Yet, the greatest perk was only bestowed amongst the 8; the uncanny ability to see a love match.
This ability formed in even the youngest Bridgertons. Hyacinth and Gregory saw true love the moment you and Benedict locked eyes one fateful morning in the day room.
You sat in the pale blue day room beside Hyacinth, tucking your pencil behind your ear as you showed her how to draw the vibrant green plant sitting on the table in front of you. You were the newest tutor to enter the world of the Bridgerton family, a talented artist who was bound to teach the youngest all you knew. Hyacinth was completely smitten with you, attached at the hip whenever you were around.
Benedict entered the room with Gregory on his tail, jokingly mimicking his older brother's walk. Hyacinth looked up and started to giggle at Benedict's mocking shadow. You softly grumbled at your student, nudging her with your elbow but she didn't budge. With a roll of your eyes, you glanced in the direction of the source.
A breath got caught in your throat at the sight of the tall brunet man in the cream-colored waistcoat. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, better than any portrait in the most famous galleries, and certainly better than the men you drew from imagination. You couldn't help the soft amused giggles that escaped you while Gregory mocked Benedict's movements.
Benedict huffed and looked directly at his baby sister and the tutor he'd never met. His stone face completely crumbled at the softness of your face, the way the apples of your cheeks lifted as you tried to mask your smile with your hand. "Hello," he exhaled, every word he had ever learned suddenly escaped him as he looked at you.
"Hello," you smiled softly, the background fading so he was the only thing in focus.
"I do not believe we've had the honor of meeting."
Shoving the drawing pad into Hyacinth's lap you rose quickly and smoothed out your dress, much to the youngest Bridgerton's protest. "Y/N L/N, Miss Hyacinth's drawing tutor."
Benedict paused. His lips formed a bright boyish smile, an artist, he thought gleefully to himself. Benedict bowed his head and finally managed to speak, "It is a pleasure Miss Y/N. Benedict Bridgerton."
While the two of you stared at each other longingly in a quaint silence, Hyacinth and Gregory peered around and looked at each other with knowing wide eyes. They had seen this look before; the one where they viewed the other like they were the only ones in the room as if they were the most beautiful thing to grace the earth. They saw it when Anthony and Daphne viewed their partners, Violet had once mentioned that it was the look of true love. It was true love! A pure love match! Even if the two artists didn't see it, they were determined to match them.
Later in the evening, Hyacinth pulled Gregory aside, dragging him into one of the many unoccupied rooms. "Ouch!" Gregory whined after his shoulder roughly brushed against the doorframe. "What is your problem, sister?" he huffed as he finally writhed free of her surprisingly strong grasp.
"We must get Miss Y/N and Benedict to fall in love," she answered in a hushed tone. The maids knew everything.
"Are we sure they like each other?" the curly-haired boy mused, "They only met once... it might have been a mistake- the way they looked at each other. I me-"
"They do!" she interrupted.
Gregory paced the floor, placing his hands behind his back as he thought. Hyacinth cracked a smile, it was something similar to what Anthony did when he pondered over something. "I got it!" he exclaimed happily.
Her ears instantly perked up.
"I will need a book."
A week later, you sat with Hyacinth in the day room along with her family, struggling to keep focused. You were too preoccupied with watching Daphne harass Benedict about his painting. He defended his work so proudly, laughing as he swiped blue paint on her cheek.
He looked over and met your amused stare, wiping his hand on the handkerchief sticking out of his pants pocket. Benedict smiled at you bashfully and returned to his work. You desperately wanted to convince yourself that he was blushing because of you.
The youngest Bridgertons looked up at each other and smirked. Gregory nodded and swiped his nose with his forefinger as a signal. "I have decided who my favorite poet is," Gregory loudly announced, earning the attention of the room.
Violet placed her embroidery hoop in her lap and smiled at her son, "And who might that be, dearest?"
"Byron!"
The room fell silent, confused faces replaced the amusing ones. "Byron?" You and Benedict shout at the same time.
"He's awful!" Benedict shuttered.
"A terrible excuse for a romantic poet," you add.
The family shifted their gaze between you and Benedict as you fell into your own little world. Ignoring the fact that there were other people in the room, you and Benedict went on and on. He placed his paintbrush down and made his way over to the snack table, and without skipping a beat he plucked a fruit from the platter and carried on with his rant.
It appeared that phase one of the operation was complete! Benedict was smitten with you. Gregory and Hyacinth nodded at each other with proud smiles adorning their faces. It was time for phase two: get the other to admit feelings.
"Mama," Hyacinth sighed a few days later.
You once again joined the family in the day room, drawing over Hyacinth's work in between stealing glances at Benedict.
"Yes, dear."
"Could Miss Y/N join us on our promenade this afternoon? I would love to learn how to paint the pond."
"Well, that would be up to her."
"Miss Y/N," Hyacinth tapped your leg, finally pulling your attention away from Benedict.
"Y-yes? I'm so sorry, I lost focus. What was that, dear?"
"Promenade with us!" She gleefully asked of you.
You hid the warmth of your cheeks by turning to look out the window at the cloud-covered sun, "I would love to."
You had quickly fallen in love with the large family. Watching them laugh and joke with one another as you all walked along the stone path of Hyde Park. Normally you would have felt like a sore thumb dressed in your pale sand-colored dress, one made of cotton and not the fancy fabrics from the modiste, but they all made you feel like you belonged. You wondered if Benedict liked what you wore, he didn't seem like the type of man who judged a girl based on her fabrics.
Hyacinth held your hand as she skipped along the path, her brown curls bouncing with each step. "Do not forget we came to paint," you reminded her as you broke off from the rest of the family.
She rolled her eyes dramatically and let go of your hand, only to swirl around in circles. "I did not forget," she grumbled as she stopped, "relax and enjoy the park...and the view?"
You turned your head, Benedict and Gregory were a good distance behind you, tossing their snacks in the grass for the eager birds. You hummed softly to yourself before returning your attention to your student. Why was she smirking like that? "I assure you that I am. The view is...lovely."
"I heard something the other day," she spoke quickly returning to your side, looping her arm around yours. "Did you know that boys let girls know they like them by tugging on their hair?"
You chucked, "Oh Hyacinth, that is for children. Do not believe everything the other children say," you lectured her, trying to ignore the buzzing near your ear.
It was easy to tune her out from the pesky buzzing. Your hand rose to swat at the back of your head but nothing you did got it to stop. Furrowing your eyebrows, you halted and shook your head in hopes to rid of the bug introducing your space. "You annoying little," you hissed, "ouch!"
You felt a strong tug on the back of your hair, one of your curls falling from its confines. You whipped around to see Benedict's surprised expression, caught red-handed, his hand still close to your form. "Y/N..." he gulped.
"Y-you pulled my hair," your voice faltered as you accused him, your mind instantly reminding you of what Hyacinth said. But that wasn't true, at least not for grown adults. Boys didn't pull on girls' hair to show affection, it was all made up for children.
"I did," he admitted, "there was a bug! I Promise I meant no harm... there was a bug." You fought back a giggle amidst your astonishment as he flashed you his palm before rubbing the residue off on the side of his pants.
"Well then," you hummed, tucking your hair back in place, "Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. I am lucky you were around to save me from a bug."
He smiled and took a step closer, "I would save you from all of them if given the chance, Miss."
"Very noble of you."
"Shall I protect you from the ones down by the water? Join in on your painting lesson, I'm sure you could teach us a thing or two?" He wrapped his arm around Gregory and pulled him close to his side.
Your breath hitched in your throat at his offer. "I would enjoy that, and I'm sure Hyacinth loves having her brothers partake in her lessons."
Benedict bid his farewell and hurried Gregory along to fetch his painting kit. While you were dazed and confused, standing frozen in your spot, Hyacinth took her opportunity. "Miss Y/N, do you have feelings for my older brother?" She asked bluntly, her grin rising high on her cheeks.
"I do," you whispered, barely audibly, and placed your fist over your heaving chest. Suddenly realizing what you had admitted to and who you admitted it to, you looked at her with a stern glare. "You tell anyone Hyacinth and I swear I will have you sharpen every pencil in England. Twice."
Hyacinth bounced over and held your hand with her fingers gently curling around yours, "Cross my heart... and to be honest, I wanted another sister."
A few days passed and Benedict found his new favorite spot at the window ceil of the day room. He sat with a pencil stuck behind his ear leaving a charcoal mark above his dark brow. His eyes lingered at the lawn of the backyard where you sat on a picnic blanket with Franchesca, giggling while Hyacinth drew the scene.
The second-born had become completely enamored by your presence, consumed by your talent and matching wit. Of course, he thought you were beautiful, a masterpiece that couldn’t be captured by the masters themselves. You inspired him, y-
“-Benedict!” Gregory’s airy voice finally cut through.
Benedict released a small puff of air through his nose and turned to him, “What can I help you with?” he asked, trying to mask the frustration of the interruption.
Gregory pouted his lips and hopped onto the couch, groaning as the spine of Benedict’s sketchbook poked his back. He scrunched his face and pulled the book out from under him. “Just waiting for my Latin tutor,” Gregory told him simply.
The man rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the window and the woman outside it.
The boy took the opportunity to open the book, careful fingers silently turning the pages. Some of the cream-colored pages contained light-hearted doodles of flowers and his sibling's expressions, and some had drawings Benedict crossed out in black charcoal. A grin grew on his face when he found what he was looking for; pages and pages of detailed drawings of your face, your figure, and even a small corner filled with the pattern of one of your dresses. Benedict did that on occasion when he fancied a dress you wore, he’d draw you in it then draw the pattern so he could remember.
“What’s a muse, brother?” Gregory hummed.
Benedict scoffed lightly and bit down on his fingernail while his eyes followed your every move. “It is someone who is your inspiration. Gives you a desire to create your best work. Beautiful. Ethereal,” he responded dreamily, a boyish smile threatening to grace his lips.
“Like,” Gregory hummed and looked up at the white ceiling to fake like he was thinking, “Y/N?”
His heart sunk into the deepest part of his stomach, “You’re joking?” Benedict laughed. He whipped around and was caught red-handed as Gregory showed him his own drawings as evidence, the boy's lips curling upward in a large grin that caused his eyes to narrow.
“Is she your muse, brother?”
“Are you going to blackmail me if she was?” he hummed with a smirk, sauntering away from the window.
“No! You should be happy… like Anthony and Daphne are. Like mama…”
Putting his guard down, Benedict sat across from his younger brother and snatched the book out of his hand, shutting it with a loud clap. “She would make me very happy if you must know,” his demeanor shifted, face falling as reality set in, “she doesn’t feel the same.” He tossed the book onto the table with a loud thud.
The excitement was bubbling inside the rosy-cheeked boy at the confession, eagerly bouncing and springing from the couch. “I have to tend to my Latin,” he announced nervously, sprinting off towards the opened doors.
Racing down the stairs, he found his younger sister lying on the floor with a book pressed to her nose. “Hyacinth!” he called, reaching out to grip her hand.
She huffed and placed the book on her chest, “I was at the good part, Gregory!”
He tugged and tugged until the brunette finally reluctantly got off the cold floor. She smoothed out her dress before he dragged her into an empty room. After checking for maids he turned to her and released her arm. “Benedict admitted it! He loves her.”
Hyacinth grinned widely and hopped up and down for joy. “He’s going to tell her, isn’t he?”
Gregory shook his head solemnly, “He does not believe she feels same.”
“But she does!”
A silence fell over them as their brains got to work. “We should move on to phase three,” Gregory spoke after a while.
“Are you sure it will work, brother?”
“It must.”
Gregory entered the day room, a Latin book tucked under his clothed arm. He nodded at Hyacinth who sat on the couch, her drawing pad opened on her lap, charcoal pencil twirling between her thin fingers.
“I am terrible at Latin, why do you need my help?” Benedict wondered as he entered the room, annoyance written all over his face.
“Well… you helped Colin,” Gregory stumbled in his response as he sat down at the desk.
Benedict ruffled his hair, “He was a much better listener than you,” he laughed before hovering over him and opening the book.
“I’m so sorry I am late,” you huff a moment later, hurrying into the room. You panted as you placed your things beside the Bridgerton girl and moved the fallen hair out of your face.
Benedict felt like everything was moving in slow motion once your voice hit his ears and his eyes met your frame. He noticed every movement; how your face twinged as Hyacinth made a witty remark, how your dress ever so slightly lifted as you fixed your hair. He swallowed hard and tightened his grip on the edge of the book, nearly breaking the cover.
“Got lost in a painting again, Miss Y/N?” he smirked, regaining his composure.
You turned your head in his direction, placing your hands on your hips and feigning offense. “Very funny, Mr. Bridgerton… but yes I did.” You intoned, taking your spot next to your student. You were thankful that the Bridgerton’s couldn’t see the small smile that adored your features as you ducked your head.
“Miss Y/N,” Hyacinth spoke brightly.
“Yes, Hyacinth?” you matched her tone, taking her pencil out of her hand.
“I believe that I am ready for drawing two people interacting,” she told you confidently.
Pursing your lips, you looked through the pages of her book and analyzed her previous work. “Well,” you muse, scrunching your nose. “I believe we can do that.”
Hyacinth grinned and tucked her curls behind her ears, “You must be my model,” she insisted, pulling you up by your wrist. She placed you in the center of the room and skipped over to the two boys, “And Benedict can be my other model,” she grabbed him by the fabric surrounding his elbow and stood him next to you.
“I-is this necessary?” you asked her, rubbing your hands together anxiously, refusing to look at him.
“Since when did you get so strong?” Benedict asked in between laughs, looking down at his now wrinkled coat.
“Hush, both of you,” she huffed as she began to pose you. She placed one of his hands in yours, instantly igniting a fire on your skin. “There,” she murmured, adjusting you to face him with your free hand on his arm.
Without instruction, Benedict placed his hand on the small of your back, his fingertips tracing the floral embroidery. You heard the hitch in his breathing, your eyes flickering upward at his visibly clenched jaw. “Hello,” he chuckled.
“I apologize for her, I do not know what has gotten into her,” you sighed.
“I should be the one apologizing. She’s my sister after all,” he told you, shaking his head.
“Stay still,” Hyacinth scolded as she scurried off towards the couch. She moved her drawing pad and examined the couch. “Gregory, have you seen my kit?” she asked.
Gregory perked his ears and looked up from his book, “Why no sister I have not,” he replied overdramatically, making you and Benedict knit your eyebrows.
“Help me find it would you? It might be in the hallway,” she guessed, matching her brother's dramatics.
“Of course,” Gregory all but slammed his book shut and hurried out of the room, his giggling sister on his tail.
You stood in the center of the now lonely room, Benedict's hand still pressed to your lower back. You felt every twitch of his fingers pressing into your back and on the smooth skin of your hand. "Benedict," you breathe, finally meeting his eyes. He was so handsome up close, the mixture of his cologne and earthy charcoal intoxicated your senses.
"It appears my siblings are quite troublesome," Benedict chuckled, turning his head to view the empty hall just outside the room.
"They did this on purpose," you sighed as you realized what was happening here.
"Are you upset?" he asked you hesitantly.
"Quite the opposite," you chuckled.
A warmth instantly graced your features as his face slowly got closer. Your breaths mixed, timid eyes meeting and too scared to look away. "Y/N..." he trailed off, exhaling shallowly.
Leaning forward, your pounding chest met his, allowing your hearts to beat in a perfectly chaotic rhythm. "Benedict..." you whispered, your nose brushed his, but he didn't move away. He stayed there, his hands gripping you a little tighter as if he was telling you to stay.
"Is this what you want?" he asked.
"This is what I've wanted since the day we met."
The man sighed with relief, cracking a smile. He finally captured your lips, his hands gently holding the sides of your face as if you were the most delicate thing in the world. "Do you have feelings for me, Miss Y/N?" he asked playfully as he pulled away.
You giggled and placed your hands on his chest, "I do very much."
"You know... I heard Paris in the spring is wonderful for painting outside."
You laughed, "Are you asking me to run away with you, Benedict?"
"We must finish our lessons! You cannot run away together yet," Hyacinth scoffed as she emerges from the doorway, Gregory murmuring complaints from behind.
"Well then," you hum, looking around Benedict to look at the younger Bridgertons, "How about painting in the park instead?"
"Deal," the three agreed in unison, Benedict's arms wrapping lovingly around your waist.
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x f!reader#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton fanfic#bridgerton#bridgerton fanfic
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...and Lady’s Slipper
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f!Reader
Summary: After the ball, you and Benedict make haste to show each other just how much you have missed each other in the off season.
Warnings: Smut!, Creampie but kind of with protection- otherwise, you’re good
Words: 2654
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Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist
He helps you out of the carriage at the final destination. The cool evening air is a brief shock, conversation and wine had previously made the air feel much warmer. You lift your hand from Benedict’s grasp as you let your eyes climb the building in front of you.
“This is Anthony’s bachelor apartment, is it not?”
Benedict’s brows jump and furrow in quick succession and you know that quirk of his lips, having caught his train of thought before he can return his expression to that handsome and appeasing smile.
“Oh don’t look at me like that, Benedict. We both know I simply do not have the time for two Bridgerton pups at the hem of my skirt.”
You stride forwards to the door with him close behind. You wait for him on the stoop, brows raised as he opens and closes his mouth, one foot already on the steps as he looks at you.
“I did not-”, he stops before he reaches your side, the key already in hand. He sighs, turning the key over in his hand. “I apologize.”
“You never were good at hiding your thoughts.” Your soft, teasing tone makes the tension in his shoulders ebb. You wish you could reach out to soothingly rub his back but his handyman is still watching the two of you.
“I hope you accept my apology.”
"I do. Don't worry about it."
He opens the door to the house and quickly ushers you up the few flights of stairs.
He gently grasps your arm as you pass another door to make you stop in front of the right one. You bump into him and giggle, eliciting a quiet laugh from him before he shushes you.
You get lost in the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he does and lean into him, still smiling as you press a kiss to his lips.
He raises his hand to your chin and tugs you closer, his nose nudged against yours as he returns the kiss with a sigh.
He barely parts from you as he speaks again in a hushed voice.
“Darling- let us get inside, at least.”
“I am waiting for you”, you mutter before pressing another kiss to his lips. He wraps his arm around your waist and all but lifts you off of your feet with this one. He presses you against the door and you gasp as you collide with the hard wood. He uses your parted lips to his advantage to indulge in another deep kiss, his tongue brushing against yours.
Suddenly, the door behind you gives. Instead of gracelessly falling, Benedict hauls you against him, actually lifting you this time and managing to pin you to the other side of the door, his hands quickly locking it.
As soon as the safe cocoon of the apartment surrounds you, you both leave what little inhibitions you still had, behind. His lips quickly move from yours, down your jaw, to your neck.
“I’ve missed you, greatly, darling, like the flowers in spring yearning for the first showing of sun.”
You laugh, breathlessly, your eyes opening slightly to watch as he adorns the swell of your breasts with gentle kisses. His warm hands splay over your back, wandering freely as you melt against him.
“Benedict- I… I have missed you, as well, but please, let's try to get to bed”, you manage to whisper. He looks up at you and before you know it, he lifts you off of your feet to carry you into the next room. You press another kiss to his jaw, your eyes flitting around the rooms you’re being carried through.
He lets you down in one of the largest rooms: One of the walls is completely filled with a bookshelf, and your eyes stick to a beautiful chaise near it. You’re set down close to it, and while Ben sits down behind you, you are distracted by the bookshelf spanning the wall opposite of you. You distantly feel him kissing the nape of your neck just as you spot the easel and the table next to it with bunches of papers and sketches.
“Is that yours?” You are quick to escape his grip to pick up the sketchbook on the table, your fingers already working the leather bindings open to manage a peek inside.
He sighs and you sneak a glance at him on the chaise over the pages you thumb through them - beautiful still lives, a few sketches of Anthony, his youngest siblings in the garden or Daphne at the piano forte.
“Maybe. Yes. Yes, but they are nothing important-”
Nestled in between the bound pages are loose papers and you remember quite a few of those days in quite different context than depicted - that is, until you turn towards the back of the sketchbook and oh, those you do remember quite well.
You meet his gaze and he stays pinned in his spot, his eyes nervously flitting back and forth between you and the paper.
“What is this, Benedict?”
“Sketches”, he very flatly states, swallowing hard as you smirk at him.
“I should hope this is a private sketchbook and not one you think of preparing for being granted access to an art school.”
You let your fingers drag over one of the flowers sketched next to your likeness - peonies, beautifully captured after several attempts scattered around other pages.
“It seems you have paid quite some attention to my constant blabbering concerning my work.”
“Now you are insulting the both of us”, he scoffs and turns towards the decanter and glasses on the table next to him. He gently fills two glasses as he watches you casting critical looks onto the pages in front of you.
You smile at the way he had taken to freely filling your glass with whatever hard liquor Anthony seemed to spoil his brother and himself with - a delicacy for you, something you would never drink in public or in front of your father.
“You are not just blabbering”, he starts before turning towards you. He hands you one of the glasses and gently clinks them together before you both take a small sip. You hum at the taste and lick over your lips briefly before turning towards the chaise in the room.
“And these are quite beautiful.”
“You flatter me.”
“What can I say, other than that I like stroking your ego from time to time.”
He shoots you an amused look before walking over towards the empty easel to put a canvas on it.
“Would you like to try?”
You hum, intrigued by the offer, and take another sip of your drink before you join him.
“I’m not sure my hand is worthy of such a big canvas”, you murmur as you stare at the blank space.
“Then start small.”
He hands you a small piece of coal before pulling you towards his chest. He lets his chin rest on your shoulder, an inquisitive brow raised at the canvas as you lift your hand.
You think of the flowers of the night’s arrangement and start trying to get their shape onto the canvas.
He sits, patiently, occasionally sipping from his glass or pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
They don't come out quite right, yet you keep going until there is a diagonal arrangement of them decorating the canvas.
"You should consider taking lessons, young Miss. We might still make a painter out if you", he drawls against your ear.
You giggle, quite unladylike, if you recall the words of your late governess correctly.
"Just this evening you called me an artist." You turn your head towards him and your noses brush.
"You are. But there is no shame in broadening one's horizon."
He nudges his nose forwards and your lips touch, barely. Your breath hitches and you close your eyes.
"Is that our plan for the rest of the evening or are you going to tutor me instead, Mister Bridgerton?"
He bites at your lip and your heart slams against your throat.
"I seem to remember someone becoming very distracted by my sketchbook while I was attempting to do something else entirely."
"They are very enthralling."
"I shall make sure to invite you to one of mister Granville's… outings. So you may admire the art. But for now", he takes the glass of liquor from your hand and sets it next to his own on the table next to you. When he turns back, his arms wrap around you entirely, his nose pressed against your cheek. "Let us finally retire to bed, darling."
He makes you stand and turns you in his arms. You lean in for a kiss. He returns it, softly, his hands gently guiding you backwards through the apartment.
"I have missed you. Every day."
You laugh quietly into the kiss before letting him move on.
"You already told me", you whisper and he acknowledges it with barely a hum.
He stops you and his fingers go to open the front of your dress. You reach for the back but he simply turns you again, his fingers making quick work of the buttons and ribbons as his mouth attaches to your neck.
As soon as your dress falls, you reach for him. Your lips meet wetly and you feel his tongue nudge against yours.
You both gasp when you fall onto the bed. A mess of hands and fabrics ensues. When you finally manage to take his shirt off, you meet eyes in relief. He buries his nose in your neck and you feel a pleasant tingle at his needy inhale against your skin.
You turn your head and tug the lobe of his ear into your mouth, biting softly at it and the shuddering moan that he breathes against you is exhilarating.
"Ben- please-"
He is all but ripping his pants off, panting into your neck as he pulls them down. You lean up onto your elbows, one of your hands helping to push the fabric off.
"You're still taking that tea?" He mutters, already kissing you again, stealing your breath.
"Yes, of course", you whisper back between kisses, the wetness on your lip tingling as you speak. Your eyes meet, conspiratorially.
"I missed you", he admits, again, his arms pushing your legs up until they are resting in his elbows. The tension makes you blush, even more as you watch him swipe the length of his cock through your wet folds, coming away glistening- his lips part and you grasp his shoulders, feeling an overwhelming need to have his mouth back on yours. He kisses you deeply, muffling your moan as he stretches you with his cock.
You dig your nails into his skin. Any attempt to roll your hips into his is fruitless, his hand and arms keeping you perfectly still as he thrusts into you.
Your hands fall to the sheets and you fist the soft fabric when Benedict covers your body with his, his hips rolling into yours relentlessly, drawing moans out of you that you can’t hide.
"This is just the way you like it, yes?", he groans and you throw your head back. He follows with his lips close to your ear. "Tell me." He doesn’t leave you any room to breathe, kissing you more and dragging his tongue over yours as he plunges his cock into you. You writhe underneath him and he parts before repeating his demand for an answer in another whisper close to your lips.
"God, yes, please don't stop", you gasp.
“Say it again.”
“Don’t stop- please.”
You happily let yourself be buried underneath him as he presses you into the mattress with his weight, his thrusts growing harsh.
"I'm not going to last-"
"I don't care", you gasp and tug on his hair, exposing his throat to you. He groans when your lips meet his neck, his hand underneath your thighs gripping harder until you bite at him.
His thrusts send you up on the mattress, two, three, until he smacks his hand against the headboard and you feel him spill inside of you.
You both breathe heavily, your teeth still dug into his neck when he loosens his grip on you. You gasp and let your head fall back while he kisses your brow. He lavishes your chest with more of his kisses and you frown before opening your eyes to stare at the ceiling. His lips keep wandering and you gasp when he reaches your hip but continues lower.
“Ben- what are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he latches his lips to where he had been fucking into you just moments ago. You all but sit upright at the warm shock of it; your hands reach into his hair immediately before you level a look at him.
He has closed his eyes, brows furrowed as he licks into you.
“That’s- too much- Ben, it’s too much”, you sigh and he lifts his face off of you for a moment, pressing a sticky kiss to the inside of your thigh.
“I just wanted a taste, dearest.”
He lays down beside you, an arm already extending to fall around your shoulders and you squirm away from him.
"You are hot as an oven, Ben, get off-", you laugh but he is ruthless and tugs your naked body back to him until you're draped over his chest.
"Come here."
You melt into him as he splays his fingers over the back of your neck. The gentle motion makes your eyelids droop and you can hear him murmur something but sleep takes you before you can think about answering him.
-
You blink against the sun falling through the window as you wake up. Your eyebrows twitch as you stretch your legs, the evening slowly coming back to you.
Behind you, Benedict has buried his nose deep in your neck, his arms wound around your waist. As you move your hips a bit, he huffs and immediately tugs you back towards him.
“Just a moment longer, dearest. Then we can discuss your plans for the day, yes?”, he murmurs, his lips pressing another kiss to your neck.
You sigh but smile anyways, happily letting him nip and kiss at your neck. Your eyes follow the sunbeams towards the window where the curtains gently sway with the breeze.
You turn your head towards him and he grumbles. As he lifts his head to kiss you, you both hear the lock of the front door rattling loudly.
Benedict parts from you and curses under his breath. He kicks the covers off immediately, continuously cussing, only stopping to cover you with the bedding again.
You watch with great amusement as he stumbles out of bed and scrambles to get into his pants. As you sit up in the bed, careful to cover your chest as you do, the culprit of the interruption finally exposes himself.
“Benedict- brother, where are you? I heard you came here last night, I need you for something!”
You let your head fall back with a big grin, more amused than embarrassed. Much like with his mother, there was seldom anything that could get past the Viscount Anthony Bridgerton.
“Ben.” He turns towards you, his head just passed through the collar of his shirt.
You crook your finger at him and after a short, panicked look towards the door where Anthony can be heard muttering to himself, he walks over to you. You drag him into a searing kiss by the collar of his shirt.
He grunts but a short, soft noise follows as you lick over his lip.
When you part, his eyes seem to light up before he turns towards the door.
“I’ll return shortly.”
You hum, delighted at the sight of his flushed cheeks as you watch him peek out of the door.
He throws another wink at you before slipping out and greeting his brother.
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x f!reader#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton#bridgerton fic
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𝖇𝖊𝖌𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 | 𝖇. 𝖇𝖗𝖎𝖉𝖌𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖔𝖓
{𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕}
𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆: Begging
𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓: Benedict Bridgerton
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: THIS IS AN 18+/MDNI EVENT, language, Benedict is a SIMP, sub!Ben (ish), begging on hands and knees, oral (f), a lot of pussy worship, if I missed anythink lmk!
[A/N: Day 3 and this has been my favourite so far! please, please pretty please let me know what you think - reblogs, comments, asks, etc! I’m so excited to be apart of this event for the first time and I’d love to know how I’m doing :) feedback is gold! x - L]
-/-/-
“Darling, what ever is the matter with you tonight?” you asked, hushed and turned away from the swell of people in front of you. Benedict’s reply first came from his eyes; big and shiny under the lights of the ballroom. Then he opened his mouth.
“You’re looking exceptionally divine tonight, my love. I’m beginning to feel as though we may need to retire early for the evening...” he replied softly, being sure not to speak too loudly, or risk being heard.
“Benedict Bridgerton, your mother -”
“- Is nowhere near us, thank God. So let’s make our getaway,” he insisted, the desperation clear in his eyes as he let them wander over your form. It wasn’t much of a surprise that Ms Delacroix had gone above and beyond with your gown for the evening, but you still weren’t sure you should give in so easily.
“I’m not ready to go home yet,” you stated calmly, though the expression on your face as you took a sip from your glass had him letting out a hefty sigh.
“Dove -” You put a hand to his chest, stopping his advance from getting any closer. Benedict pouted and you tried your hardest to conceal your amusement.
“Ask for the carriage, I’m going to make one last round.” With a chaste kiss on your cheek, he hurried off - though he seemed to remember where he was and regained some composure - towards the door.
“Y/N, are you leaving so soon?” Simon’s question caught you by surprise as you rid yourself of the almost empty glass and readied yourself to say your goodbyes for the night.
“Well, we have a busy day tomorrow and Benedict -” Simon’s eyebrow quirked at the mention of your husband’s name “- Isn’t feeling well.” The way you punctuated your words with a swift tap to his arm made him chuckle, bemused.
“I see. Well, I’ll let you go. Give him my regards and well-wishes. I’m sure he needs the rest.” With a final pointed look at your friend, you carried on about your endeavour, knowing that Benedict would be wearing a hole in the floor with how long you were going to take.
“My love, what took you so long?” Benedict practically whined as you finally climbed into the carriage and settled into your seat next to him. He put an arm around your waist to pull you as close to his side as possible.
“There were a lot of people that I wanted to say goodbye to.” He leaned in, nosing against your ear before resting his head against your temple, hot breathe fanning across your cheek.
“So you’d leave me to burn in my desire whilst you took your time exchanging last pleasantries without so much as a second thought?” You hummed in reply and turned your head ever so slightly, enthralled by the proximity between the two of you.
“You’d wait and burn all night if I so wished it, wouldn’t you?”
“Anything for you, my love...” The - mercifully short - carriage ride back to Aubrey Hall was filled with such intimate conversations between the two of you, Benedict continued to profess and beg, growing more desperate with each torturous minute that passed.
It was a tumultuous rush from the front door to your shared bedroom. Whilst you tried to remain composed in the presence of the house staff, the way Benedict pursued you through the halls made you giddy and full of laughter.
“Benedict, please -” you gasped as he pinned you behind a marble column and pressed hot kisses to your neck and jaw. You could feel his smug grin against your flushed skin and the weight of his hands on your waist.
“I can’t wait any longer...” You eased him off and the look he gave you sent a torrent of butterflies through your stomach.
“Our room is just five steps away. Are you really so desperate?”
“You can hardly blame me! I swear you and Ms Delacroix are going to send me to my grave if you keep asking for dresses as... Exquisite as this one.”
“I’m glad you like it. But my point remains - our bedroom is right there.” With a disgruntled sigh Benedict gave in, but no sooner had the door shut behind you, he wasted no time in getting undressed.
Thankfully, you’d had the foresight to ask for a dress that was easy to undo and Ms Delacroix had obliged with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Benedict was down to just his undergarments in a matter of minutes. You on the other hand, were taking your time.
“Darling,” Benedict pleaded softly, slowly sinking to his knees in front of you as you remained at the foot of the bed. It was a sight to behold - your husband, in all his glory, at your feet, looking up at you as though you hung the stars in the sky.
“My love?”
“Please - please let me taste you.” Begging had never sounded so good before. You pretended to think about it for a moment, despite him all but tugging at the underskirt of your dress.
“If you insist,” you replied with an arched eyebrow, teasing him further. Eager, he stood up and began undoing the pearl buttons down the back of your dress. Benedict untied, unclasped and removed every layer with a gentleness that always made you flush with heat and lose your train of thought.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Dove?” Benedict’s voice was soft and low in your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder for a brief moment. Warm skin on skin made your eyes flutter closed.
“I think I have a vague idea...” you replied, equally as hushed before you were ushered back onto the bed, the last of your clothing cast aside unceremoniously.
“You really are divine. I’ll be sure to thank whatever stars guided you to me,” he spoke quietly, eyes shining with adoration as his lips ghosted over yours. The skirt of the chemise you were left in was bunched up around your ribs. Benedict smiled up at you, eyes sparkling with mischief before he hitched your thighs over his shoulders.
As always, he took his time to savour your taste and every moan, sigh and whimper he managed to draw out of you. With your head thrown back against the pillows and your fingers in his hair, you were lost to the world and overtaken by nothing but complete, blinding pleasure.
“Oh - Oh! Benedict -” He latched onto your clit with more enthusiasm than he’d shown all night and made you arch slightly off the mattress, overcome with a weightless euphoria.
So far in your brief, but blissful marriage, you’d discovered how quickly Benedict learned and remembered. It definitely proved to be true at times like this, as he pulled out every trick he knew that would have you crying his name for the house staff to hear.
Knuckles turned white as you gripped the sheets, so lost in chasing your high that you no longer cared for how loud you were being, only intent on letting Benedict know how good he was making you feel. When he added a slender digit to your aching folds, he knew how to find that spot that made you fall apart.
And with a broken cry that melted into a whimper and a whine, you came. Loud and hard. Benedict carried on for a few moments more, until tears sprung to your eyes and you were trying to get out of his grasp.
“Benedict - Ben! Please,” you pleaded with a raw, overstimulated sob, though he seemed to be fixated on continuing for a moment or two more before relenting.
“My love?” He raised his head to look at you, resting his head against your thigh, a brow raised in concern and curiosity.
“I’m okay - but that was getting too much,” you explained, breathless and flushed with heat. With an apologetic grin he removed himself from between your thighs and settled against your side, chin tucked onto your shoulder from behind.
“I just couldn’t help myself... Thank you, Dove.”
#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton smut#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x wife!reader#sub!benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x f!reader#kinktober 2022#day 3#strwbrrykss writes
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You are right! High with Eloise will be so funny and Benedict trying to be the responsible adult 😂
Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | 11
Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: Drug use lol
Author’s Note: A bit short but enjoy (ノ‥)ノ
Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!
Even the barest of touches lights my heart into an inferno that I cannot extinguish. Love and grief are an odd couple, of which I cannot escape. If I could, life would be that much easier. But alas, life is not easy and grief does not simply disappear. It can be healed, and it can be wrapped up tight to help keep the pain from seeping through. But the only thing that can keep grief at bay is the love one shares with another.
Whatever the Poets Say, by an Anonymous Young Woman
“Oh hell.”
“Benedict!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together with an excitable giggle. Eloise waved lazily from her spot on the couch, smiling at her brother.
Benedict looked between the two young women and the tea cups on the table, quickly putting two and two together. Lord Everly appeared behind Benedict, peering over his shoulder. The older gentleman stifled a laugh, shaking his head.
“Oh dear,” Lord Everly chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Father, you came as well,” she giggled again, sitting up a bit straighter –or attempting to, at least. “We were just about to have a tea party –isn’t that right, Eloise?”
“Oh very right,” Eloise confirmed, pushing herself upright as well. “Would you care to join us?”
Benedict looked to Lord Everly, who didn’t seem phased by how intoxicated either woman was. Truth to be told, Lord Everly seemed almost delighted at the sight, like it was the funniest thing he’d seen in ages.
“I would love to join you,” Lord Everly started, but he gave them both an apologetic bow. “But I do believe I need to find Lady Bridgerton before she catches you two like this. Benedict will join you, though.”
“No, sir, I really –”
“Nonsense, someone needs to ensure these lovely dears are taken care of.”
Lord Everly patted Benedict on the back before making his exit, leaving Benedict in the sitting room with Eloise and her. He covered his face with his hand, watching as she pulled out her notebook and flipped frantically through the pages.
“You cannot possibly be writing gossip now!” Eloise exclaimed, snagging the book from her hands.
“Gossip?” She asked curiously, peering over at Eloise. “I do not write gossip, Ellie. I write romance.”
Benedict frowned now as he hurriedly moved to take the book from Eloise, trying to prevent her from reading anything too…personal about his fiancee and his activities. She wrote about him; he knew that very well. Benedict certainly didn’t need his baby sister reading anything about his personal life.
“Nonsense,” Eloise huffed, laying back on the couch and holding the book over her head. She dodged Benedict as he tried to take it from her. “You are always writing. I think you must be Lady Whistledown.”
“If anyone is talking nonsense, it’s you,” Benedict insisted, taking the book from his sister finally. He held it tight behind his back, refusing to let either of them have it back. “You two need to get upstairs before mother returns with everyone else.”
“Benedict, you cannot be in here alone with Miss Everly,” Eloise insisted, sitting up again. She swayed a little bit.
“This is certainly not the worst thing we have done alone,” she countered, running her hands over her skirts with a hum. “Have you ever actually felt the silk of our skirts, Ellie? It’s so…it’s so soft.”
Eloise didn’t even comment on what she was implying, instead more focused on touching her own skirt with an excited gasp. “It is!”
“Benedict, come feel this –”
“Absolutely not,” he insisted, taking her hands gently to pull her up. “Please, you two. Let’s go upstairs. We can talk about silk and tea parties and gossip –let’s just go upstairs to do so.”
Both women hummed in response as Benedict helped her up from the couch. Eloise pushed his hands away as he offered to help her, standing on her own. She swayed on her feet, clutching her brother’s arm to keep steady. Getting upstairs would be an absolute nightmare, he decided, as he guided his fiancée through the doors. He was lucky that no one else was home yet –God bless Lord Everly, honestly.
As Benedict guided both up the stairs –agonizingly slow –he kept a close eye on them. What he didn’t need was either of them falling down the stairs; as if that would be easy to explain. Or safe. She was clinging to his right arm as Eloise hung off his left, and he thanked God when they reached the top. Eloise released him to march to her bedroom, though she stopped to twirl once on her toes and explain how delightful it was that her dress twirled with her. His fiancée released his arm next, following suit in excitement as she noticed the same thing.
“You and I have never danced, you know,” she suddenly pointed out, hands on her hips as she faced him. “You asked me to save you a dance the very first time we met and then we never did. I waited all night and saved my last dance for you.”
Benedict raised a brow as he ushered her backwards towards Eloise’s room. But she stood firm, looking up at him.
“I had to give up my last dance to Anthony,” she explained, but then her expression turned thoughtful. “We did not dance, but you did listen to me that night. Do you know how wonderful it was, to have someone like you simply listen to someone like me?”
He smiled softly down at her, reaching up to push a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I do, actually. You listened to me as well, you know.”
“We still didn’t dance, though,” she reminded him, poking the tip of his nose gently.
Benedict chuckled, shaking his head. “I will happily dance with you every day for the rest of our lives –but you need to get some rest with Eloise first.”
“I do not want to rest with Ellie. I want to rest with you,” she pouted, reaching up to rest her hands on his chest.
Benedict took a deep breath, ignoring the way her touch burned through his shirt. “If we were at your home, perhaps. But we are here, in my home, and we will certainly be caught here.”
“Oh the tragedy,” she sighed dramatically, resting the back of her hand against her forehead. “Whatever shall we do if we must marry tomorrow instead of in three weeks?”
“You, my love, are a menace to society,” Benedict teased, pushing her back into Eloise’s room. “Get some rest; we can talk about what happened today later.”
She stared up at him, her eyes wide as she considered his proposal. Then she nodded slowly, sighing heavily. “I wish I did not feel so bad about marrying you, Benedict. I love you too much to feel so guilty.”
As he opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, she yawned and shut the door behind her, bidding him good evening. Benedict stared at the door, brow furrowed as he tried to understand what she meant about feeling bad about marrying him. He thought that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? To marry him? To love him? Why would she feel bad about that?
*****
What a truly terrible idea that tea was, she decided.
She woke up in a pile of pillows and blankets, in a bedroom that certainly was not hers. Eloise was snoring from the bed, still dressed in her clothes from earlier. She was also still in her gown and slippers, though she was certain her hair was a mess and her skirts wrinkled as she sat up. Her head ached, as if she had run head first into a wall, and her back hurt from laying on the floor for God knows how long.
“Eloise,” she whisper-yelled, trying to wake her future sister-in-law. Eloise did not stir so she threw a pillow at her on the bed. “Eloise, wake up!”
Eloise shot up, taken aback by the sudden attack of pillows. She groaned now, holding her head in her hand, as she looked at the floor. “Oh dear God, what did we do?”
“Made fools of ourselves, I’m certain,” she responded, slowly pushing herself up off the floor. “You put far too much of that powder into our tea, I think.”
“I think so too,” Eloise agreed, rubbing her face with her hands gently. “What time is it?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, looking in the mirror to try to fix her hair. “It’s almost dark, so I assume it must be dusk at the very least.”
Eloise peered out the window from her bed, squinting through tired eyes. “I wonder what everyone thinks happened to us.”
She thought back to the last few hours prior to falling asleep, trying to recall what exactly had happened. She remembered her father and Benedict showing up, and she recalled Benedict trying to get them upstairs. But everything else seemed a bit hazy and confusing right up until she had fallen asleep. Benedict would be sure to tease them both, she was sure of it.
“I suppose we have to go find out, don’t we?” She asked, determining that this was the best her hair was going to look after sleeping on the floor.
“Mother will be thrilled, I’m sure.”
“Truthfully, I think my father will find it amusing.”
“Of course he will,” Eloise laughed, standing from her bed now to fix her own hair. “He finds amusement in everything he experiences.”
“One could learn a thing or two from that, you know,” she pointed out, checking over herself to make sure she was presentable.
“One could learn a thing or two from what we just experienced as well.”
“This is also true.”
———
Taglist: @queensgirl718 @drowninginaseaofbooks
#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x reader#Benedict Bridgerton#Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader#Bridgerton
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Walls Are Crumbling: Part 2
Fandom: Bridgerton
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader
Summary: You and Benedict announce your engagement to the rest of the Bridgerton family. They're ecstatic for you, as Benedict told you they'd be. But you still can't help but feel guilty for bringing Benedict into your mess.
A/N: oh no. i guess im gonna turn this into a mini series...
Part 1
Everyone in the sitting room cheers after you and Benedict announce your engagement. Anthony and Kate give the pair of you soft smiles and knowing looks. Of course Anthony told his wife. He could never hide anything from her.
"Well, I must say this isn't too much of a surprise," Violet Bridgerton stands from her spot and walks towards you, "We all had a feeling this was going to happen eventually."
You smile at the woman you saw as another mother, "Trust me, Violet, I'm just as surprised as you are."
Benedict gives you a nudge, silently telling you to shush. He then speaks up, "Yes, it seemed that both of us had been harboring feelings for each other for a long time. Didn't see a reason as to why we needed to prolong marriage. Therefore, in month's time, we seek to marry."
Eloise grimaces, "But that's so soon."
Benedict's hand intertwines in yours, "Well, Eloise, I've waited too long to have Y/N as mine, so the sooner we wed, the better."
"But not too soon," you pointedly say, "which is why we decided in month's time," you add, just in case someone else suggests you two marry today, like Anthony did last night.
"Did you tell your mother already, Y/N, dear?" Violet asks curiously.
You nod, "Yes, and it went as you'd expect it to."
The dowager viscountess gives you a tight lip look. She wasn't fond of your mother and how she treats you. She especially doesn't like how she viewed your friendship with Benedict as a waste.
"Second sons have nothing to offer," she's said often.
Kate approaches you, arm looping through yours, "Sorry, brother-in-law, may I steal her for a moment?"
Benedict cocks a brow at you, silently asking if you'll be okay. You nod, "I'll be back," you let go of his hand and follow Kate, whom is guiding you outside of the sitting room and into the hall. There, she asks you to tell her everything, since Anthony only gave her bits and pieces.
While you and the Viscountess talk, Anthony joins his younger brother, "Do you really think you should do this?"
Benedict looks at his brother with annoyance on his face, "If I don't, she'd be left off to her own. I can't let that happen, especially with a child on the way."
"A child that isn't even yours, brother."
He shakes his head and shrugs, "I don't care. I will love them as my own. They are part Y/N, so surely, I'd love them." He then scowls, "Lord Mattias is a coward for this."
"I'd argue that you're just as cowardly," Anthony murmurs, a hint of a smirk on his lips, "Marrying the woman you love and yet not even telling her how you feel."
Benedict scoffs, "As if I should be taking advice from you on how to handle love," he cocks a brow at his older brother, knowing the debacle between him, Kate, and Edwina.
Anthony's jaw clenches and he doesn't say another word, which leaves Benedict to chuckle. He pats his brother on the shoulder, "I'll tell her...eventually. Things are going to be chaotic for her already. I don't want to cause her any more stress. It'll be bad for her and the baby."
Anthony hums and walks away from Benedict, deciding to stand beside Colin, whom is sitting on chaise lounge chair.
__________________________
1 Month Later
You managed to have wedding dress made fairly quickly. Well, Lady Danbury definitely put in a good word for you that helped speed up the process. Your wedding, albeit not ideal, was still perfect. Although your words of love to Benedict during the ceremony were....not completely true, you still found yourself tearing up when Benedict repeated his vows to you. You thought marrying your closest friend would be weird, but throughout the duration of the month leading up to the wedding, it became less of that and more comforting.
Time and time again did Benedict reassure he wasn't going to leave you behind for the wolves, that he'd be there for you and for the baby. That you'd be well taken care of.
Post-wedding, the dinner was a bit overwhelming. So many people were congratulating you, echoing the same words everyone else had "We all knew this would happen eventually". But what exactly did that mean? Sure, a few years ago, you harbored feelings for Benedict, but did everyone see it? Benedict couldn't have seen it too, right?
"Y/N?" he squeezes your hand and you didn't even realize he was holding it.
You look up from your plate, "Hm? Sorry."
"Are you alright?"
"I-I think I'd like some air," you whisper back to him.
"Would you like me to come with you?"
You're hesitant to say yes, but your head moves before your mouth does. You're nodding and Benedict is immediately on his feet and excuses the both of you. Everyone watches the two of you exit the dining room, the chatter continues as you leave.
Benedict silently follows you to the tree that has the swings you two used to play on when you were young. once sat on one of the swings, your hand immediately going to your belly. You've been doing that a lot in these past weeks, just not in front of others beside Anthony and Benedict.
"Is something wrong?" he nods to your hand on your belly.
You shake your head, "Not with the baby, no. But I just-" you let out another deep breath, "This is all so much. I-I-" your eyes are tearing up, "I don't like that I've brought you into my mess."
Benedict kneels before you and grabs your hands into his, "Y/N, listen to me, you did not force me to do this. I offered to marry you because I care about you and I'd hate for anything bad to happen to you. You are my dearest friend. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Ever. Do you understand me?" thumbs away your tears as you nod, "Good." He stands up and kisses your head, "Do you want to go back?"
"Can we stay here for a little longer?"
"Whatever my wife wants."
"I have to get used to hearing that," you mumble as you start to slowly move yourself back and forth on the swing.
Benedict watches you with soft eyes, eventually moving himself on the swing.
#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton fic#benedict bridgerton imagine#fem!reader#f!reader#female reader
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#bridgerton series#bridgerton spoilers#queen charlotte#bridgerton#bridgerton smut#king george bridgerton#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton family#bridgerton fic#bridgerton men#bridgerton women#anthony bridgerton#colin bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#simon basset#king george iii#king george x reader#king george x f!reader#theo sharpe
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b.b. | With child
Summary: He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours.
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader
Warnings: angst ('cause I can't write anything else), alluding to sex (no description whatsoever), discussions around pregnancy, pregnancy, mention of alcohol.
Words Count: 2.1k
Author's Notes: Had this in the work for the longest time. I was actually thinking to publish it for his season (#4 I hope!). But we got new stills of Season 3 and it's nearly Valentine's Day so... Enjoy!
“Are you-” you asked when you noticed your sister-in-law had let her glass of wine and her plate untouched.
Your words stayed lost on your tongue, yet Daphne, sat in front of Benedict and next to you, knew exactly what you were about and nodded slightly, tears in her eyes. You let out a small cry of excitement and leant in to hug her. While you wore the most delighted expression, Benedict’s heart sunk a little at the news.
His sister was with child. Again. She was the second women of his family to be expecting this year, while he had yet an exciting news to share himself.
You both had wed a little over than a year and a half ago now and were yet to be blessed with a child. You were doing your best, of course, but none your efforts had been fruitful so far. Benedict did not mind; he had waited his whole life to meet you, he definitely could wait a little bit longer.
He did not mind, or so he thought…
Tonight, he thought life was particularly unfair to him. Every pregnancy announcement was only nourishing this harrowing feeling in his chest. All he could feel was his siblings’ bliss and it made him sick to the stomach. Yes, he was sick with jealousy - and ultimately selfish. He just couldn’t wait to feel your belly growing, to hold your children, to watch them playing around with their cousins, for them to grow older and become adults themselves. Just this simple thought made his very own heart felt extremely heavy.
Politely and quietly, he raised his glass wishing his sister a healthy pregnancy, before drinking away his sorrow.
The ride home that night was particularly quiet.
Silence had never been a thing between the two of you. Benedict was usually the most talkative, telling you about his days, about whatever painting he was going to paint, about that book he had been reading. You would listen, looking back at him with your big bright eyes and a soft smile onto your lips. Other times, he would watch you pacing back and forth in his study while passionately debating about politics. He would be drawing imaginary circles on your soft skin as you were lying in bed, you telling him about another one of your days chaperoning one of his sisters. He would listen to your laugh at one of his jokes. Even your fights would be followed by soft apologies, quiet words, whimpers, and love.
On the contrary, that night, the air was thick with something he couldn’t quite describe, and the coach was wrapped up in dark clouds, a genuine storm in the awakening. Sat on the opposite side, you were looking through the window, your face only light up by the few shines of the full moon. Benedict was so focused on his own thought that he didn’t realize you hadn’t had a word for the rest of the night.
He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours. It only made him angrier at the entire world. Why couldn’t they let you live this as well?
He would have liked to discuss this with you - his regrets, his hope - but he was too afraid you would realize what a failure he was. How disappointed with him you were. How you would hate him for not being able to offer you this. So, he sat back in his seat and watched out of his own window.
When the coach stopped in front of your residence, Benedict got out first, offering his hand to help you getting down the small step like he always did. You smiled at him, thanking him politely, and let go of his hand as soon as your two feet were on the ground. It didn’t mean anything, he tried to reassure himself, you needed both of your hands to grab the tissue of your dress to prevent the hem from getting wet and dirty. Yet, he couldn’t help the sharp pain in his chest.
Silently, he followed you inside, hat in his hands, jaw locked. You were welcomed as usual by your housemaid, who got both of your coats and stayed there, in the uncomfortable silence, arms full, waiting for one of you to dismiss her. As you took off your gloves and didn’t dare look at Benedict, he nodded sharply to let her know she could go and watched her somehow disappear in an instant.
Suddenly, it was only the two of you again and it was all too much for him. He couldn’t breathe properly; his chest being crushed by the invisible weight of his sorrow. He couldn’t bare staying with you one more second. He needed to get out of here.
“Good night,” he said firmly, before walking to his study.
Would he have looked back he would have seen you watching him disappear in the corridor. You, all alone in the middle of the hall, arms dangling. He would have seen the frown on your face and the hurt in your eyes. Would he have looked back he would have run back to your side. Instead, he did none of that. He continued marching, head up high, trying to escape his own misery.
You sighed before turning in the opposite direction and to your shared bedroom.
Benedict went to bed less than an hour after you.
He had been haunted by guilt as soon as he had reached his study, sadness evaporating once he had stepped inside the room. Instead of turning back and chasing after you, he had tried to put his head in order. He then had tried painting whatever he was feeling, but he could only stay in front of his white canvas, terrified of laying his brush on the cotton. He had tried writing it, but he couldn’t concentrate enough; his thoughts always drifting to you, alone in your bedroom. He had then settled on having a drink to wait long enough for you to fall asleep before he could go to bed - his other option would have been to sleep in his study if he got too drunk, which he did not.
He had thought long about the whole situation. It wasn’t like you were not trying. Sometimes, even with doing the right things, it didn’t happen. He would need to accept this. And he couldn’t continue being a terrible husband. It wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anybody’s fault actually. What he knew more than anything though was that he loved you. Whatever would happen, he could not afford to lose you.
He had decided he would come clean tomorrow, but for now, he only wanted to sleep with you by his side.
In the dark of your room, Benedict undressed and lied besides you as silently as possible.
All he could hear was your uneven breathing; whatever dream you were having did not seem to be pleasant. He reached out to your arm, hoping that you could feel his presence through his touch and know he would always be there for you.
It wasn’t until your body was rocked by a hiccup that he understood that you were not having a bad dream, you were crying.
“Y/N?” he asked, lying on his side to face your back.
“I am so sorry,” your voice was only a whisper.
He gently made you roll on your side. Even in the dark, his right hand was able to find your face and his thumb to rub the tears away. Before he could ask what was wrong, you spoke:
“I am so-” You chocked on – yet – another sob and it took you a couple of seconds to even out your breathing so you could speak properly: “So sorry- for not being able to get you- get you what you ever wanted.”
“My love,” he sighed, grabbing the back of your neck to bring you closer. Instinctively, you hide your face in his chest, and he started stroking your hair to try and calm you. “My love, do not ever feel guilty on this.”
“I have tried every tea, every method that is supposed to help,” you cried some more.
It broke his heart to realize the burden on your heart - of course, if he was feeling it, you would have too. He finally understood how selfish he had been, how centred on his own pain he was and so oblivious to yours. It had never been a subject between the two of you, but it was slowly crushing you both.
“My love, this is not your fault.”
“You don’t see the pity in their eyes. You don’t hear them whisper.” You sniffled against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. “We are even blessed Lady Whistletown has not written about us.” He heard the frustration in your voice and the ton of it made him understand how you had tried to suppress the guilt but failed. It pained him that out of all of this, it was you who were the one being charged guilty by everyone - you included. As if you couldn’t imagine it being his own fault. As if you couldn’t imagine it being anyone’s fault but yours.
“Perhaps, I-” he stopped, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “I drink loads of Colin’s stupid tea; I paint with all sorts of chemicals substance. Perhaps, I can’t-”
“Ben, of course, no!”
“Perhaps we won’t ever-” he confessed, but he couldn’t even say it out loud. It was all too much.
You moved against him, and he felt both of your hands grabbing his face, your forehead resting again his. He felt your hot breath against his skin, and he hugged you tighter, crushing your bones, making sure you were close.
He had you, he kept repeating himself. It was all that mattered. Of course, it was a dear wish of his to see mini versions of yourselves running around, but not at all costs. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice what you both had, right here, right now.
“We are both healthy, it is more than all I could ever wish for.”
“Will this ever be enough for you, though?” you asked so quietly he nearly did not hear you.
Benedict frowned. Was it really what you thought? That he would leave you? That your own self was not enough for him? He had been an even more terrible husband he had thought to lead you thinking this. He had failed you on so many levels.
“I was so absorbed by my own desire of having my own family,” he whispered back like he was telling you a secret, “I never asked if you also desire to have children of your own.”
“Ben, of course, I want your children!”
Benedict wanted to express how grateful he was to have you in his life, but no words came to his mind at that moment. He only reached out to your lips, trying to express how much he loved you.
If he could not tell you, he could still show you…
Hours later, while you were lying in bed, your head on Benedict’s chest, his left hand drawing invisible love words on your back and the other holding you close, he thought that there was nothing else he would like to do than stay with you, like this, forever.
“We should just take some time away from here.”
“What do you mean? The season only began-”
“To hell with worldliness. Some time away, just the two of us.” The sun was slowly peeking through the blinds, its yellow light was painting on your naked skin a glowy spectrum. “I heard South of France is particularly beautiful, this time of the year.”
Your chin on his chest, you looked back at him, eyes bright. He was looking at you the same way you had catch him do a million time: a soft smile on his lips, his eyes filled of this spark, shinning only for you. You didn’t care how beautiful France would be, he was the most beautiful view you had ever laid eyes on.
His hand brushed some hair out of your face, and you grabbed it to kiss his knuckles.
“France, it is then.”
Little did you know, you would be coming back home a few months later, bearing your own little miracle.
One of the many to come.
#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x female reader#lea's writing#benedict bridgerton fanfiction
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To Be Alone With You
Anthony Bridgerton x female!Sharma!reader
Warnings: Smut, TENSION, cursing, oral (f), reader is Kate's full sister, kissing, touching when not supposed to, Anthony and his voice (warning himself), virgin reader (innocent ofc), sex on a dock (lol), kinda public sex, slight angst
I am so sorry that it got so long but it is so worth it. This is also my first Bridgerton fic so hope its good. :)
Summary: It was time that Anthony Bridgerton to finally meet the final Sharma sister who may stand in his way of marrying Miss Edwina Sharma but not like he expected her to.
Anthony Bridgerton was a man who was used to having any woman melt and cling to his every word. Women practically threw themselves at his feet the moment he walked in the room. His presence was a strong one, making everyone eager to please the viscount.
When Viscount Bridgerton met Edwina Sharma, the newly named "Diamond of the Season", he was happy that he could find at least one woman with half a brain. Miss Edwina was the suitable bride and soon Viscountess. It was almost too easy, so he thought. That was until he met the elder sister of Miss Edwina. Kate Sharma, a woman of one and twenty who was unwed herself, was a challenge that Anthony could not refuse. He fell into a pursuit to win over the eldest Sharma sister, doing everything by the book. Well, with a few exceptions.
The Viscount did not want a love match. He could never fall in love with the woman who will bear his children. He just couldn't. And Miss Edwina Sharma was exactly the woman who he could not possibly love but, she would make a wonderful bride for him to breed and come to have a heir to fill the Viscount role when Anthony died.
A last, his mother, Viscountess Violet Bridgerton, had invited the Sharma family to visit the lovely Aubrey Halls. It would be Mrs. Mary Sharma, the lovely girls' mother, Miss Edwina Sharma and then Miss Kate Sharma. Anthony was ready to deal with Kate when she arrived.
---
Dinner was being served when the thunder started. Benedict seemed like he had lost his mind, no doubt had drank Colin's tea that he brought from his travels.
"Have you noticed, Col?" Benedict asked, "The twinkles of the candles, it is as....as if we sit among the stars."
Eloise snorted and looked to her older brother, "What is wrong with you?''
"I was just telling Benedict how brilliant the stars were in Greece," answered Colin.
Benedict went to take a sip of his wine but knocked it over, causing Violet and the other ladies to gasp at the table. The brother smiled and rubbed his hands over his cheeks in an innocent way.
"Lord Bridgerton, Miss Sharma here," A butler said.
"Whatever do you mean, Miss Sharma is here? How many are there?"
In just a few seconds a woman walks in, wearing the similar purple dress that the Sharma sisters were wearing. She looked identical to Kate, except her eyes were lighter. Her hair was more brown than black and she held her head high. Her presence was enough to even sober up Benedict for a moment.
"Is it just me or is there two Kates?" Benedict said, mind foggy.
"I am so sorry for my late arrival. Lady Bridgerton, the house is lovely." The woman said.
Violet blushed and thanked the woman. The older woman always enjoyed getting compliments about her home that she shared with Edmund.
"You said you couldn't make it," Edwina states as she moves to hug the woman. Everyone was confused as a goose until Kate stood up.
"This is my sister," Kate said, moving to stand by her.
You introduce yourself and smile at everyone, that is until you see Anthony. He had this look about him and you couldn't quite tell.
"I assume this is the viscount you were telling me about, Kate?" You said.
"Yes, this is Lord Bridgerton. He is the viscount and is to marry Edwina."
You looked at him and he just smirked. He had found a new toy to play with. And god did he want to play.
You looked at him.
"My lord, forgive me for my tartiness," You say, voice rich.
"All is forgiven, my lady." He had a hard look.
"Please, I am hardly a noble lady to earn that title,'' You tease.
Anthony was taken by surprise, no one had ever teased about their noblity or anything. Being a proper lady is very serious and not taken lightly. There was another Sharma sister, but at least this one seemed nice. For now.
---
You were quite the most annoying and challenging lady Anthony had the misery to meet. You talked too much, you jested a bit, your teasing with Benedict made his blood boil. Your words melting off your tongue and practically bringing Anthony's younger brother to his knees.
Benedict's face had blushed right before you move to rest your hand on his shoulder.
"My dear, Benedict, how are you?" You asked kindly, flashing that beautiful smile that made everyone melt.
"I am quite well, Miss Sharma." He looked down right flustered with your presence beside him.
Lady Bridgerton held a small ball at Aubrey Hall and Benedict had just finished dancing with you. The two of you had swept through the floor, everyone in envy that Mr. Bridgerton's attention was solely on you.
"Brother, I hate to steal our guest from you but I am in need of a dance," Anthony stepped in to say.
"I suppose that I have one dance in me," You laughed.
"I hadn't asked yet," Anthony said.
"Well, in that case, Benedict you wouldn't mind having yet another dance with me?" You smirked when Anthony rolled his eyes and groaned.
Once you got on the dance floor, Anthony could not keep his eyes off you, even as he danced with Edwina and Kate.
"My brother seems to be taking a liking to you," Benedict smiled.
"Please, he wants to marry my sister. After all, who even said I wanted him. Maybe I want you," You whisper the last part in his ear. He shudders against you and smiles.
"Is that true now, Miss Sharma?"
"Perhaps."
----
Pall Mall was the ruthless game that the Bridgerton's ever played. The Mallet of Death sat in your hands as Benedict had handed it to you with a wink and a sly smile. You blushed at the brother's antics.
He moved to be closer to you and whispered something in your ear which made you snort aloud and Kate looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
"Who has my bloody mallet?" Anthony's voice boomed in the air.
"My lord, I do not know," Kate smirked.
"Where is it?"
You coughed to clear your throat, suddenly bringing the Viscount's attention to you. That might have been a bad idea. It surely was.
"You...You have my mallet, I believe."
"I do?" You inquired.
"Yes, Miss Sharma, you do."
"Well, I suppose that I could just give it to you," You start to hand it to him, his siblings surprised at how easy you were giving it up, and Anthony was smiling, "But first you will have to catch me." You took off running down the field and Anthony just watched in surprise.
"Did she?"
"I believe she did," Daphne laughed. She watched as her older brother looked as if he wanted to blow up.
"Dear brother, I think you should go get her if that mallet is very important to you." Colin laughed as Anthony ran down the field, looking for you as the Mallet of Death rested in your possession.
He ran looking for you and he heard your sweet giggle coming from in the garden. He looked to see that everyone had given up on waiting for them and started the match without the two of you. He walked around the garden to find you crouching behind a hedge and was covering your mouth as you looked around the side of the bush, hoping to not be seen.
His boots moved to quietly as he stalked closer to your frame. He then grabbed your waist and picked you up, causing you to gasp into his hand.
"Lord Bridgerton, put me down this instant."
He placed you down on the ground and stands close to your body. His warmth and scent poured over you in waves. He smelt like sweat, dirt, body wash, slight scent of vanilla, and sandalwood?
"Lord Bridger-"
"Anthony, my name is Anthony." He said, panting at the closeness that he had created.
"My lord-"
"Anthony."
"My lord, it is improper to call you by your given name," You say, trying to catch your breath and not breathe his scent in.
"And us being in my mother's garden alone is very improper, I dare say, Miss Sharma."
Your smell floods his senses when he takes a deep breath and move closer to you, chests touching. The smell of dirt, sweat, lilies and Jasmine? God, it drove him crazy. Just being around you drove him crazy.
"You followed me here.''
"You ran here."
"You chased me."
"You took my mallet."
"I-" You stutter, "Benedict gave it to me."
He looks at you with something dark in his eyes, something that burned with fiery. His hand came to touch your waist and you nearly melt. He looks at your chest, noticing that you were wearing the Bridgerton color. You normally wore purple but you were wearing the baby blue that stood for his family.
"You are wearing my family color," He says, blood rushing some where it did not need to be.
"Oh, I had not known that I wasn't allowed to wear blue."
"It stands for my family and you...are...wearing...my...color."
His body presses closer to you, invading your space. He moves to corner you against the tall hedge, the only thing keeping your situation from any on lookers.
His mouth moves to rest beside your ear, hot breath fanning over the exposed skin there, goosebumps rising on your skin.
"You want something, I can sense it."
You shudder.
"And what would that be, my lord?"
"You want me," He said lowly.
"You are to marry Edwina," You correct him.
"That doesn't change that you desire me," He chuckles at your attempt.
"I beg your pardon. You are a rake and I have no desire for such a person like you. You are to marry my sister, not me. If you wish to be with my sister than act like it, if not then leave her alone. I will not be some play thing for you to play with when you want to."
"Oh but you are my play toy. You are whatever I want you to be. Do you know why?" He asked.
"Why?"
"Because all I have to do is whisper real close to your ear, like this," He moved even closer, "And tell you that I desire you in ways that would make any mama blush and cry out for improper topics to a lady."
You take in a ragged breath.
"Desire me?"
"Yes, why do you think I came out here to get you?"
"To get your mallet?"
"No, so I can have you."
" You are courting my sister to marry. I am done with this topic and I am leaving this garden. Good day, Lord Bridgerton."
---
Anthony was reeling. He couldn't stop thinking about you. He can't sleep at night because of you. It wasn't your fault. No, it was your fault. You were the one who kept reminding him of his soon to be proposal to your sister and putting him in his place. Heavens above, he couldn't help but be aroused when you put him where he was meant to be. And that perfume that you have, Jasmine and Lillies, god it did things to him.
---
The day had been hot, very hot and you knew that you shouldn't but you were burning for a swim in the lake. You couldn't help it. After being in the garden with the Viscount, it felt you aflame.
Sneaking out of your chambers, you made your way outside to the lake that rested toward the trees.
Looking around, you made sure that no one was up and you were making sure that you were not followed. You made your way to a tree and took off your coat. Yo began your task of unbuttoning your gown.
Anthony watched you remove each piece of fabric from your body as he made his way down to the lake himself. He had not known that you were going to be here. He had not expected it. He always goes for a midnight swim when he couldn't sleep. Why he couldn't sleep? You.
Slipping onto the dock, you take a dive, cold water enveloping your body. It felt heavenly against your heated skin. Anthony was never to be allowed to know that he was the reason behind the midnight swim in the lake. You swam to the middle and was sighing while looking up to the moon. The entire lake was lit by the moon, banishing all shadows from being cast onto your face. You looked angelic.
Anthony slipped in the water after stripping completely bare and went underwater. He wanted to see you move about when you were by yourself. He had wanted to see you nude, part of his mind begging him to see what you looked like, but you were still a lady and he was a gentleman.
You heard a splash and you turned around very quickly, spotting none other than Anthony Bridgerton. You knew you were caught and he would laugh at you but he just swam closer. You could only see his shoulders and water was dripping down them to be collected back to the lake.
"My lord-"
"I do believe that we are now way past formalities," He chuckled.
He was silently begging to hear his name fall from your lips. He knew this was wrong. You were his betrothed sister. You were a lady. You were innocent. If he took that from you, you would be ruined. But...but you looked so desirable. You looked just ready to be ravished by his mouth. To be tasted in places that you had never thought of to be touched. To be submitted to such incredible pleasure that Anthony knew that he could bring you. To be his.
He swam closer to you, grabbing your hand which he used to pull you until you were placing your hands on his shoulders to hold onto. You gasped at how warm he still was, even in the chilled water of the night. Anthony looked at you, smiling when he realizes that you move even closer, your legs brushing every time you move to keep yourselves afloat.
"I want you," He admits.
He kisses your lips, groaning when you kiss back only for a second before he feels himself being pushed away from you.
"You are engaged to my sister," You say.
"Not yet."
"But-"
"But, I want you. I don't want Edwina. I don't want Kate. I want you," He says, "I desire you."
Anthony kissed your lips once more, swallowing any sound coming from your mouth. His tongue brushed yours and you moaned. You had never done that but with Anthony, you felt so good you couldn't keep it inside.
Anthony had you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling something quite odd in between his legs but you didn't question it when he took your breast into his awaiting mouth. He sucked your nipple and ran his tongue around it as he teased you mercilessly. Your hair was down so it was hanging in the water as you threw your head back in bliss as he moved to bite at your collarbones and neck.
Anthony moved the two of you all the way to the dock, picking you up out of the water and seating you directly onto the hard wood. He then watches as you move back, suddenly aware of how exposed you are to him. He puts his hands on the dock and pushes himself out of the water, droplets trickling down his slightly hairy chest down to his now every noticeable something. You didn't know what on earth it could even be.
"What is that?" You said shyly, pointing to his hips.
"That would be my cock." He just chuckled.
"It looks hard," You said, "does it hurt?"
He groaned at your innocence. God, you were going to be the death of him. You looked so nervous to even ask and then when you did, you blushed deeply. You were so cute.
"It hurts some times when I desire someone really bad," He explained.
"Like Edwina? Did it ever hurt for Edwina or Kate?" You asked softly.
"No, never with them. I want you," He said, holding your face, "God, you consume every thought that I make. You make it so, so hard to be a gentleman. There is no way that I can escape you, no matter how hard I try because you are always in my mind."
He kissed you once more and you let him. You were going to forget about Edwina, who the man currently moving in between your legs and kissing every inch of your body, was supposed to get married to. You were going to forget the rules of being a proper lady. You were going to forget formalities and just revel in the pleasure that is being caused by the mouth of your sister's soon to be betrothed.
"Anthony!" You cried when he made contact with the little bud between your folds and he licked it. Your body was shot with electricity that sent your back to be arching.
He hummed against your core and went back to sucking on your clit. No one or nothing could have prepared you for the Viscount's tongue to slip inside of you. He had done so when you were pulling on his hair as you grasped for anything but you could not find anything to ground you. Anthony swept you away in pure pleasure as he ate you like a starved man. He drank anything your body was willing to give and he took it with a groan. His eyes rolled back as he tasted you.
"Oh, my lord-"
"It's Anthony. Just Anthony," He said before staring at your weeping cunt.
Your hands pulled at the man's hair and his other hand, that wasn't holding down your hips, moved up to grab a hold of your free hand that was gripping your breast. Your back arched when he made one last circle with his tongue on your clit and you burst with carnal desire. You shook against Anthony's mouth as he drank you in.
He thought you were so beautiful laying out for him, under the stars on his dock, wet hair after a late night swim and most of all, the way the moon shone down on you. You looked ever so innocent but oh so dirty.
"Are you okay?" He asked when he noticed you not moving but still shaking.
"I'm more than okay."
He laughed and began kissing up your body. His tongue poked out every once and a while as he traveled up to your mouth. The taste of yourself was erotic. You had never known something could exist. Anthony moved on top of you and positioned himself so that his cock would rest between your sensitive folds. He had to contain himself so that he wouldn't cum right on the spot.
You gave him a nod before he claimed your lips as he pushed himself inside your waiting body. You moaned out loud before you started panting against Anthony's mouth as the two of you tried to adjust to the sudden feeling. His arms shook as his head fell onto your chest as your hand ran through his hair, pulling slightly.
"Are you ready for me to move because if you aren't that's okay but I really need to move?" Water trickled down his body as he held himself above you, looking down at you.
"Please, Anthony." He smiled at his name and started to slowly pull out, letting you feel every ridge and vein his dick possessed and you were enjoying it. Anthony thrusted back in and your head fell back against the wooden dock. As Anthony thrusted his cock in and out of you, the only things that could be heard was your labored breathing and the sounds of your bodies moving against each other as the two of you reached new heights together and the sound of crickets chirping in the grass.
"Oh, god you feel so good," Anthony groaned.
"So fucking good," You panted, hips rising to match his. You were chasing something but you didn't know what. You didn't even know what was happening when your muscles started to tighten and some kind of euphoria started to crash down on you.
Anthony's breathing got caught in his throat as he watched your face contort in pleasure as he pumped himself constantly in you, trying to reach his end. He looked at your blissful face and decided that you would give him another.
"Just one more, darling, and then I can fill you up real nice." His hand went in between your legs as he watched himself move inside and out of you. His thumb began circling your clit, his cock hitting the right spots every time, his face tightening in desirable lust as he held himself above you, moving faster, trying to make you cum for a third time before he got his.
"Oh, Anthony!" You moan before he places a kiss on your lips to silence you. You cum one last time and Anthony unloads himself completely in you once bottoming out inside you. You laid there with him as he felt the aftershocks of his orgasm and you shuddered at the sudden cold.
Anthony kisses you lazily as he feels you giggle against his lips when he sighs into you. He pulls out and then shudders at the cold.
"I think we should go get some nice warm milk and sit by the fire to warm up," He proposes.
"Won't we get caught?"
"Darling, we just had sex on the dock in front of my house and you are worried about getting caught with some milk by the fire?" He laughed.
"Well, I can't be seen with you alone."
"Fine, but let's get dressed and go inside so we can sleep."
"In the same room?" You ask in a quiet voice.
"Not yet. We might get caught."
"Maybe getting caught wouldn't be so bad then," You giggle when you see his bare ass.
"Oh you are a little minx," Anthony groans.
"Maybe," You gasp when he picks you up after you get dressed and then carries you inside.
He takes you to your room and puts you down so you can stand. He doesn't want to let go but he knows he needs to leave soon.
''Good night, Miss Sharma." He said with a kiss.
"Good night, Lord Bridgerton," You sigh against his lips.
The kiss is passionate but is cut short when the clock decided to strike three and make a loud noise. You both laugh and he sees you close the door and he then walks to his chambers.
He finally can go to sleep with a smile on his face. A smile that didn't disappear the following day until he realized that he had to propose to your sister, Edwina Sharma.
#anthony bridgerton#bridgerton#bridgerton smut#anthony bridgerton smut#anthony bridgerton x sharma!reader#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#anthony bridgerton x female!reader#anthony bridgerton x reader smut#anthony bridgerton fanfiction#anthony bridgerton x reader#bridgerton s2
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The stars, the moon
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
18+ MDI!
Warnings: Talk of drinking, sexist old ideas about women, talk of sex, Anthony being a cutie shhh, oral sex, penetrative sex, dirty talk, body worship (f receiving), heavy praise, lovemaking more than hardcore sex oopsies
A.N: YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET TO ME ISTG T-T the love on my first two fics is so heartwarming. i'm so very glad you liked them both so much ^-^ Benny and Bridgerton as a whole are both so very important to me so i'm glad i did them both well. anyways my loves, this is an Anthony fic that i hope i can do as well as i did Ben. i was listening to Cosmic Love by Florence and The Machine and it gave me this idea! soooo here is an incredibly fluffy, (and smutty hehe) love filled Ant fic hehe<3 enjoy and thank you again <3 p.s that scene the gif is from sends my mind into a spiral CONSTANTLY my roman empire fr p.p.s I FINALLY GOT DIVIDERS, so now my fics will look a little cleaner i hope hehe >_<
Growing up next to the Bridgertons had been fun and eventful, to say the very least. You were there through every trial and tribulation their family had gone through, and them with yours.
You and your three sisters had always gotten along with the seven siblings. Being the youngest and most... rambunctious of them you had gotten along with Eloise and Benedict the most. They had views of marriage and duty that were similar to yours, and when you were younger you and Benedict would spend hours making doodles on the walls of the gardens at your estate.
Your sisters, who were much more of the traditional women you would often find in the ton, tended to be more akin to the eldest Bridgerton brother and sister. Daphne and Anthony, however kind and loving they both were, were always too strict or, in Daphne's case, too proper for your liking.
You had always thought of Anthony as the moon. He thrived in darkness and was often gone before you even noticed he was there. You never knew why he left balls early, or why you spotted him with that opera singer in the deepest corners of gardens or tucked away in libraries.
Until you grew up, that is. The first time you snuck out of the confines of your room was when you were ten and eight, right after the first ball of your first social season. Benedict had insisted on you sneaking out the window of your bedroom so you could tag along with him to a party a fellow artist was throwing, and you, out of pure curiosity, obliged.
You got there and had your first everything while Benedict was painting, or so he claimed, in another room. You kissed the lord, whose name you cannot remember to this day, and then you went beyond that. Sex. It was wonderful, you decided, and from then on you had much more of it.
Anthony was perceptive, he noticed the change in your behavior and one night even decided to ask Benedict about it. Benedict being Benedict told him everything in his usual carefree manner, not thinking twice about it. Anthony reacted quite strangely however, he just... turned on his heel and walked into his study, locking himself in for hours.
He avoided you at all costs from then on. It was strange, but then again, he was the moon. The moon cannot be out forever.
Anthony had always thought of you as the stars, a happy, mischievous young woman who thrived in the dark. You provided a light to every room you walked into that was too great for anyone to look away from. You were intricate, difficult to read and figure out, and yet you were also so intriguing that every man wanted to do just that.
You were also incredibly mischievous, he knew that from the moment you were born. Being eight years older, and a close family friend, Anthony was one of the first who got to meet you. You had always had that sparkle in your eye, like you were in on this grand plan that no one else was.
When you got older, it only got worse. You were constantly getting in trouble, whether that be drawing on your garden's brick walls with his brother or reading books about math or, fittingly, astronomy. Your father always described you as boyish, to which he would have to agree. You got into fencing when you were ten and two and immediately had a knack for it. When you were six and ten, you snuck off with Benedict and got taught how to hunt.
He was never attracted to your sisters as they were too... boring for his taste. They had interests in things like the latest fashion trends, or hairstyles, and he was sure that none of them had ever glanced at a book. It was quite comforting to know, that because of your foolish ways and thinking, he would never be attracted to you either. Or so he thought.
You were wearing a light blue dress when you entered your first ball, your arm tucked snugly with your father's. Your hair was pinned up more elegantly than he had ever seen it, a few of the still unruly, wavy strands fluttering in the breeze that your white fan made. Stunningly gorgeous in every way, and so ladylike. It was strange.
He had almost assured himself that he would never feel this way towards any woman like you, after all, his list of requirements for the next Viscountess was long and specific, to say the least. Yet there you were, walking towards his family, and he was very much sure he was attracted to you.
So when he noticed the jewelry you started using to hide the dark marks on your neck and the silly excuses you would use to leave balls early, it was worrying. He asked Benedict and his worst fears were made a reality, your innocence was gone. You were loose, in his mind. He could not, no would not, be attracted to a woman without her maidenhead. He refused.
The only way he could avoid that attraction was to avoid you at all costs, which is exactly what he did. He excused himself from every room you walked into, and every conversation. On the rare occasion that you somehow managed to worm yourself into a conversation with him, however, he gave short answers and cold glares.
His heart ached when he noticed your light dim after he left, but then again you were the stars. All stars have to burn out someday.
You found his insistence on completely avoiding you to be quite tiresome, after all, you considered him to be like a brother. An annoying, headstrong, arrogant, prick of a brother but a brother nonetheless.
You look over your shoulder to where he is talking to a young debutante, wishing that he would at least glance over. You would never admit it to yourself, but after his company waned you missed it quite a lot. You could talk to Benedict or Eloise, sure, but there was something about annoying Anthony that made your heart flutter and your cheeks flush.
"Miss L/N, are you listening?" The lord, who you were supposed to be listening to, asks. You quickly turn back to him and part your lips to make an excuse, but quickly think better of it. "No, my lord. I apologize, my mind seems to be running from me tonight." You mutter with a soft smile. He nods in turn before continuing to speak about his latest hunting trip, in which you have absolutely no interest.
You excuse yourself when he is done rambling and make your way toward the Viscount, wanting to finally know the real reason why he has made it his life's mission to avoid you. You wish, so desperately, to see the moon again.
He sees you coming and his heart tightens, you look as beautiful as always. You are wearing dark blue, a gorgeous dress he thinks, and your hair is done up just how he likes it. You have on gold jewelry, which sparkles in the low candlelight with every step you take.
He should talk to you, he really should, and yet he cannot bring himself to. You are not the kind of woman he wishes to make the next Viscountess, not even close to checking off any of the boxes he has on his long list for what a woman should be.
So, instead, he settles for leading the young woman he is speaking with to the dance floor. He passes you without a word but falters momentarily when he catches a whiff of your perfume. Your scent, even.
You had always smelled, however strange it might sound, so comforting. Your family's colors were a light purple, the crest having two bunches of lavender flowers on it. You smelled the part, always having some semblance of lavender to you that wafted through the room whenever you entered. It wasn't strong, no, but it was just enough to get his heart racing. It wasn't just lavender that made it so intoxicating, there was something else there. Something that he could only describe as just... you. He smiles to himself at the many fond memories that come with it.
He catches the young woman looking at him in confusion and quickly puts on a straight face, continuing to walk her to the dance floor, but not before noticing the look of despondency on your face. His heart aches, but it must be done. He could not let himself fall for you, no matter how much he longed to see the brightness of the stars again.
Your heart breaks when he walks past you with nothing but a faint semblance of a smile, and for whatever reason, you feel yourself tear up. You wonder if you had done something wrong, or said something in a passing conversation that had rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps even entertained a man he had trouble with. Whatever it was, you did not like the unfamiliar feeling his avoidance brought.
Something that you had always hidden from everyone, including yourself, was your feelings. You felt no need to be a woman who expressed love openly, nor a woman who got teary at the slightest inconvenience. It is why you liked the parties you went to, sex and alcohol were wonderful to drown out feelings that you would rather not feel. Something else you had always hidden or shoved down, was your feelings for Anthony.
He was gorgeous, that much was obvious, what with his grey eyes and his thick brown hair. The things that you didn't like, such as his ignorant views of women, or his want to always be the best, were often drowned out by the fact that the man was extremely loving and protective of those he cared about. Not only that, but he was like you in that he was truly sensitive when he did not try and shove it down. He made you want to sing his praises from every balcony in London, to profess your love in front of all of the ton so everyone could see that he was yours.
You realize you have been standing in the same spot for what has to be at least five minutes now, and that a tear that had escaped in your reminiscing has now made it down your cheek. You quickly walk out to a balcony and lean on the railing, and for once, you allow yourself to cry.
He finds you after his dance with the incredibly boring debutante he decided to occupy himself with. He didn't want to find you, but his feet automatically found themselves to you. As if something deep inside him was naturally drawn to you and your stupid free-spirited nature.
He crowds around your back. "Is everything alright?" He whispers and is completely taken aback when he sees your face. You look up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks. It was surprising to say the very least as he cannot remember the last time he saw you cry. "My God, Y/N, what happened?" He asks, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder.
"Why do you hate me?" You whisper back, and he is even more surprised than before. Hate? God he could never hate you, sure he avoided you, but he could never truly hate anything about you. No matter how much he tried.
He was just standing there like he had not been avoiding you for the past two months. Like he had not ignored your every attempt to speak with him, like he had not completely shattered your soul. It made you so angry that you could not stop the foolish words slipping past your lips.
"It is as if I have committed a cardinal sin, as if I am some heathen you cannot stand to be around and not a woman you grew up with." You say, taking a deep breath as heartbreak shifts to anger. "It is not fair. I have wracked every corner of my memory trying to figure out what I have done wrong and still, I turn up with nothing. I..." You falter and turn to look up at the stars. "You are so distant. I find myself aching without you, Anthony. Like a piece of my soul has broken off with your disappearance and is with you for eternity." You whisper, closing your eyes briefly before turning back to him.
"I ask you again, why do you hate me? What have I done?" You plead, searching his eyes for any semblance of his old self. His eyes widen in response and he takes one of your hands. "I do not hate you. God Y/N, how could I ever hate you?" He breathes and your heart flutters at the look in his eyes. As if you are the only woman on earth. He has returned back to you. The moon has risen again.
"I... I have tried to hate you, yes, but every time you are near something in me longs to touch you in ways that would make any lady blush. I hate that you make me feel this way, so foolishly in love that I can barely form a coherent thought, that the Viscount I am becomes but a memory, but I could never hate you." He confesses, bringing his hands to your waist.
Your eyes water as he continues. "You are a loose woman, or so I so foolishly tried to make myself believe. I ignorantly put that label upon you so I could have a reason to not profess from every rooftop in London how much I adore you and I can never forgive myself for it." He whispers, wiping the tears that have somehow escaped your eyes without your knowledge. "I will never be able to profess how sorry I am, but I can hope that in time you can forgive me for how foolish I have been." He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.
"How long?" Is all you can manage to croak out in return to his beautiful confession, resting your hands atop his shoulders as your eyes flutter shut. "Since I was a young man, darling. Far too long I have kept it from you." He whispers back as your heart flutters at the title he has given you. "I have loved you since I was a girl." You whisper back. "So I suppose we are both fools." You grin.
He chuckles at that, his hands rubbing small patterns into the small of your back. "Always the witty one, hm? You are truly as bright and as mischievous as the stars, my love." Your heart hammers in the stars, at the way he calls you his love but even more than that, he thinks you to be the stars. "You and I have similar minds, Ant. I always thought you were like the moon, so serious and so attuned to darkness. Yet, so beautiful." You confess, opening your eyes to look into his own. Your cheeks flush at the sight that lies before you.
He is grinning, as if you had just given him the world. He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, to which you eagerly return as your eyes close and one of your gloved hands cups his cheeks. He pulls away after a moment. "The moon is nothing without the stars." He whispers, and you smile softly. "I shall ask your father for your hand come tomorrow if you let me." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your brow.
Your heart flutters and you cup his cheeks. "I would love nothing more than to marry you, Anthony Bridgerton." You whisper and he grins, pressing his lips to yours once more. This kiss is more intense than the first, more confident as he knows that you are now officially his. You wish for nothing more than to melt into him, become his both body and mind for the rest of your days. The thought sends shivers down your spine, making your core heat up at the thought of finally sharing your most intimate self with the man who has plagued your thoughts for years.
As if reading your mind he pulls back, but only just. "Might I invite you back to my bedroom, my star?" He whispers, dipping his head down to press a kiss to your neck. You let out a shaky breath at the feeling and nod eagerly. "Please do." You whisper back and he grins, straightening back up and grabbing your hand before pulling you out to where the carriages are. Not before muttering something to Benedict, who smirks playfully and winks at the two of you in return.
One carriage ride full of open-mouthed kisses and love marks later and you are getting lifted out of the carriage and carried into the Bridgerton estate. You had so many fond memories here, you are elated that you would have the privilege of raising a family in the big estate. The thought of a family with Anthony makes your chest feel tight with emotion and you bury your face in the crook of his neck to calm yourself.
He notices the change of emotion as he carries you through the front door, ignoring the many questioning glances the both of you receive from the servants who still linger in the hallways, and kisses the top of your head. "What is it, darling?" He murmurs in your ear as he walks up the stairs, toward his bedroom.
"I am only being sensitive as I envision our future that I have for so long ached for." You whisper back, pressing a kiss to his neck to assure him that nothing is truly wrong. He groans a bit and smiles down at you as he ducks into his bedroom and places you on the bed. "It shall be a grand one. One filled with happiness and light, I assure you." He hums as he locks the door before climbing over you and peppering your face with kisses, which makes you giggle softly.
He moves his hands to your hair, taking out all of the intricately placed pins so he can see it in the state he loves the most, untamed and unruly, just like you. He runs his hands through your hair once he has it down, pressing kisses down your neck and to your collarbone which he bites. You whine softly at the feeling, but more so at the fact that you know he is going to leave marks. The thought of parading around a ball with his lovebites on your skin makes your cunt dampen and your thighs rub together in an attempt to relieve the ache that settles in your core.
He feels the movements of your body below him and groans as your knee brushes against his clothed cock accidentally, making him harden further than he already has. He continues to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as his hands move under you. He pulls you up to a sitting position and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the soft noises he draws from you as his hands move to your back to work on the buttons that hold your dress up.
His tongue slides into your mouth and he lets out a groan as he exposes your bare back, the choice you made to forgo any undergarments becoming the smartest one you made all day. He makes quick work of your dress, parting from your lips as he throws it across the room. "Christ." He growls when he sits back and gazes at your naked body.
Your nipples are peaked from both the cold air of the room and the arousal caused by the way he is gazing down at you. The look of pure desire in his eyes makes you flood down your thighs, which he picks up on instantly. He grins, almost a cocky grin, before removing his clothes from the upper half of his body.
He bends down when he is bare-chested and kisses from your collarbone, down to your right breast. He sucks on the soft skin just to the side of your hardened nipple, making your hips cant up and into his, a whine escaping your lips. He chuckles deeply and moves a hand to yours, so you can have something to hang onto, the other moving to hold your hip down.
He pulls up briefly and rests his chin on your chest, gazing up at you adoringly. "You are perfect, Y/N. Every mark, every blemish, every imperfection is so gorgeous. So perfect for me." He murmurs and you flush, squeezing his hand in yours as a silent thank you as you are unsure if you could even form a sentence now. "Mine." He murmurs with a soft smile before returning his attention to your breasts.
He takes your nipple into his mouth and you cry out at the feeling of his tongue swirling around the bud. You squeeze his hand and your back arches up into him, making him groan. He pushes you back down, all while his mouth sucks and swirls at your sensitive nipple, and rubs soothing circles on your hip with his thumb.
After a moment, he moves to your other breast, giving that one just as much attention. You whine as he bites down softly before pulling up and beginning to mark each of your breasts. He lets go of your hip and smears his hand down your thigh, gently parting your legs as he kisses down your stomach.
You gasp as he gives a kiss to your naval and look down just as he flashes a cheeky grin. He continues his trail of kisses right down to your patch of hair, your free hand grasping at the sheets while the other squeezes his. You cry out when he licks a stripe up your slit, his tongue pressing onto your swollen clit.
He takes the sensitive bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it slowly, his hand moving back to your hips when you whine and try to grind against him. You roll your head back, pressing it into the pillow. You get a whiff of his scent and it sends a zing of pleasure to your abused clit just as he moves his mouth down to your swollen hole to drink from you like a man starved.
You moan into his pillow, taking the fabric into your mouth and sucking as pleasure ripples through your entire body. He moves his mouth back to your clit as he pushes one of his fingers into your body, groaning at how tight you are. You cry out, the sound still muffled by his pillow, at the feeling of his finger and the vibrations his noises send through your body.
He adds another finger and begins to curl them into your walls, hitting that spongey spot that makes you scream. Your toes curl as he pumps his fingers in and out of your body in tune with the swirling of his tongue against your clit. You finally take your face out of his pillow. "Close... Fuck please please please, Anthony." You babble as you begin to see stars. You come screaming his name, his fingers gripping your hip so hard you're sure you will be marked there too.
He cleans you up with his tongue before returning to your lips and giving you a swift, but sweet, kiss on your lips. He sits up and slowly rids himself of his trousers, his cock standing proud against his stomach. The sight makes you mewl and spread your legs even wider in anticipation of him filling you until his tip meets your womb.
He settles between your legs and takes both of your hands in his, pressing his forehead to yours. "I love you, Y/N." He murmurs. "I love you, Anthony." You return, and his lips are on yours. He slowly pushes his cock into your body, groaning into your mouth as you moan into his. He bottoms out and lets you adjust, kissing down your neck to your shoulder.
You gently push your hips down as a signal that he can move, and he grins against your skin. He begins to slowly rock in and out of your body, groaning at the noises he draws from your cunt. "Faster, Ant. Please." You gust into his hair, squeezing his hands tight in your own.
He does not need to be told twice. He begins to slam into your body, making your toes curl as you scream out. He continues his brutal pace, the sound of body meeting body filling the bedroom. He presses his forehead to yours just as your eyes shut. "Look at me." He whispers, stalling for a moment. "I want to see how good I make you feel. I've waited far too long for you to hide, my love." He breathes, and you open your eyes.
He gives that stupid arrogant smirk before beginning to thrust into you just as hard as before as if he never stopped. Your mouth hangs ajar, your mind too focused on the feeling of his cock to even try and stop the moans that flow freely from your mouth.
He moves a hand down your stomach, his thumb finding your clit and circling to the rhythm of his thrusts. He growls when you clench around his length and moan his name. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck. "Come with me." He whispers, biting down on the skin.
The action sends you over the edge. You come for the second time, screaming his name and he follows soon after, painting your insides with his seed. He works you through your orgasm before pulling out and nuzzling your neck.
After a moment he climbs off of you and saunters to his bathroom, leaving you dazed on the bed. You turn your head and press your face into his pillow once more, letting his scent calm you down. He returns a moment later and laughs warmly at the sight. You blush at the noise and look up at him. "Funny that," He says, gesturing to his pillow as he cleans your thighs with the washcloth he brought out. "I did the same thing today." He grins.
"Mmm. When was that, hm? Did you sneak into my bedroom?" You tease and he grins, shaking his head as he places the washcloth on the bedside and crawls into bed. "No, though I am flattered you would think I would be so bold." He hums, pulling you under the covers with him and taking you into his arms.
You smile softly and bury your face into his neck, closing your eyes. "I did it when I walked past you at the ball. The young woman I was talking to thought I went mad. I had to stop and think of all of the fond memories I have of you." He murmurs as he rests his head atop yours, kissing it softly before closing his eyes as well.
You smile softly at the thought of him stopping mid-step just to think of you. It warms your soul. "I love you." You whisper, slowly nodding off to the sound of his heartbeat.
"And I love you, my star." He whispers before following you into a deep slumber.
The moon truly cannot thrive without the stars.
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Bachelor’s Button...
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f!Reader
Summary: You’re a well known florist and travel to London every season, successfully extending your father’s flourishing business. This in turn leaves you to enjoy certain freedoms other ladies of marriage age can only dream of - though you try your best to expend your privilege to the fullest.
Warnings: Exhibitonism/Voyeurism, fingering, sneaking around, slightest hints of dirty talk and overstim
Words: 1950
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Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist
It’s barely dusk as you fret over the last details, your voice already feeling strained as you yell for more water, more perfume, more goddamn greenery as you move through Lady Danbury’s beautiful estate.
It’s then, you hear your name being called- and you’re ready to admonish whoever this fool thinks he is for bursting in before Lady Danbury’s ball has even started - but you find yourself speechless as you see the person striding into the ballroom like he owns the place:
Benedict Bridgerton. Very obviously polished and smartened up thoroughly for the evening’s events at Lady Danbury’s eloquent ball.
He smiles so brightly at you, you momentarily get lost in the tiny crinkles in the corner of his eyes, before focusing back on the flower arrangements, nervously letting your fingertips tug at another one despite it being perfect.
You can almost feel his breath on your neck as he reaches you.
"You look as captivating as your decorations, Miss.”
You bite at the inside of your cheek and keep eyeing the pearls and glass crystals in front of you as Benedict slowly inches closer. You barely contain a jump when his arm brushes yours.
"Would you honor me with a dance?" His mouth is close, far too close to your ear, before he leaves you a bit of room to breathe.
"Don't be foolish, you can not be seen dancing with me, Lord Bridgerton. Especially not before the ball even starts."
You sneak a glance at him, lucky to catch a moment of him admiring your work, a tentative hand extending towards a sprig of chrysanthemum.
"I beg to differ. You are the daughter of a Baron, after all. If anything, it would do us both good, keep our parents off our backs."
He holds his hand out and you lock eyes with him, stuck in place as the music behind you stops briefly.
"Come on, no need to be shy."
He quirks an eyebrow and you glare at him before you take hold of his offered hand.
"I haven’t been shy a day in my life, Bridgerton."
He huffs and you know he has a comment about that ready. He seems to be able to swallow it down. You’re gently guided towards the edge of the dancefloor and the painters in the middle of the room barely glance at the two of you.
The band keeps practicing another song and Benedict spins you into a respectful hold with your back towards his chest. After a careful look around the room you’re not privy to, he blows air towards the shell of your ear, tickling the skin there.
You can’t help a small laugh before you both turn, your bodies already attuned by other seasons prior and many dances spent together. He turns you back towards himself and intently studies your face.
“Rumor has it you have not smiled since arriving in London.” The teasing remark makes you exchange grins - you had truly missed Benedict and his candor. As well as his charming and humorous nature. “You look so captivating when you do, I'm almost glad I seem to be the first to make you not only smile but laugh as well.”
You still smile, despite feeling caught out, your cheeks flushing from both the dancing and the embarrassment.
As you twirl into the next position, you find your jaw almost pressed up to his. You turn your head to let your lips skim against his cheek, failing to resist the temptation despite the bustle of maids and servants around you.
“I know you can do much better than making me laugh, Benedict.”
When you part from him, it’s his turn to flush and after side eyeing the band, he pulls you close, too close, your chest pressed tight against his as he leans down.
“I was looking forward to doing that again as well.”
You look back and forth between his eyes. You lick across your bottom lip just to catch him staring.
“What are you waiting for?”
He gently pushes you away from him and you almost stumble without the comfort of his embrace, ready to tease him about his poor dancing skills - but then you hear that telltale voice from the upstairs salon. You exchange a quick, conspiratory smile with Benedict before he strolls towards the opposite corner of the room.
The telltale sound of Lady Danbury’s walking cane as she struts down the stairs makes you both straighten up and you turn back towards the decorations you had prepared for the ball as Benedict turns his charm towards the elderly Lady behind you to escape her chiding.
Barely an hour has passed when you find yourself in his embrace again - though this time in even more scandalous scenery.
You let your head fall back as your lips part around a quiet moan, the smile on your lips unavoidable as Benedict kisses your neck.
"Sh, we have to be quiet-"
You frown before you bury your head into the lapels of his coat, his fingers never ceasing their assault on your pussy as you pray for the maids scuttering around to stay far away from this particular room of Lady Danbury's estate.
That woman would be livid... and delighted.
The faint music starting up again makes you jump and he laughs quietly, his second hand tilting your chin up to kiss you again.
"I've missed you", he whispers between kisses and you feel your heart flutter. You nip at his lip and receive a gasp back.
He doubles his efforts and you melt in his arms, the heat in your blood seemingly fit to boil you alive.
"Ben- I think-"
You can't even finish your sentence before your burst open for him like a bud in spring, your mouth falling open as he pushes you over, gentling his touch, his kisses against your neck turning from devouring to gentle pecks.
His fingers are still buried inside you and you sigh as your heartbeat calms, your surroundings filtering in again, slowly.
"You're so beautiful. How about we leave, right now?", he whispers, his nose running up the tendon of your neck as he speaks. His breaths hitting your skin makes you shiver.
You meet his eyes, hands already raising to fumble with his hair but then his fingers suddenly start thrusting in and out of you.
"Ben-!", you gasp, your hands digging into his coat, hard, as he keeps making your legs shake.
"It felt like you were about to say no- how can I convince you?"
He presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, before his tongue tangles with yours.
When he lets you up for air again, your head feels like it's on backwards.
"I- I really need to socialize today-", you mutter, blinking a few times to regain focus, anything to distract yourself from how close you are to another orgasm, how tangled up in each other you are underneath the soft, golden glimmer of the lights, like in a dream.
"Lady Trowbridge i-is expecting me. My father will surely be furious if I do not show my face to our many customers tonight.” His lips leave your neck and you open your eyes to see him staring at you, his own lips flushed, his hair mussed.
“Fine, then, have it your way.” His fingers leave you empty and you watch, mouth slightly agape, as he licks them clean. “Make it quick, though - I have missed you. Desperately”, he adds before kissing you again. You taste yourself on his lips before he rips himself away from you, leaving you disheveled and aching for him.
You glance around the corner to see him smiling at a maid before he leaves your line of sight. Before she can spot you, you walk deeper into the room towards one of the guest rooms to make yourself look presentable again.
-
You spend the whole evening socializing, in a considerably better mood than when the evening began and secure both old customer relations as well as new ones as you move about the ball.
The business endeavors of your father keep you safe from most of the eager bachelors but it appears there are at least a few who can not be deterred by your busy networking.
“Miss, a refreshment, perhaps?”
You turn without thinking and accept the glass, barely turning your head. You’re ready to dismiss whoever has approached you this time in hopes of a dance immediately as he comes to stand beside you.
“Yes, thank you-” your eyes meet familiar ones that glint with amusement, obvious delight at catching you unaware.
“-Mister Bridgerton”, you complete, any other dismissal you had prepared rendered useless as he rubs the corner of his mouth with the fingers he had used just hours ago to make you cum while he blatantly stares into your eyes.
He hums and steps into the small conversational circle without hesitation or invitation, blatantly disregarding the other ladies in the circle starting to puff out their chests and fanning their delicate skin.
You catch Lady Danbury watching from afar who shoots you an amused smirk before returning to her conversation.
You can barely listen to one of the younger Ladies’ questions in front of you before Benedict interrupts again.
“May I steal you away to the dance floor, Miss?”
You grit your teeth behind your glass before emptying it, catching a few questioning and scandalized looks as you do, before answering him.
“I would be delighted.”
You pass off the glass to a table next to you before taking his hand, planting a bright placative smile on your face as you excuse yourself from the conversation.
Benedict gently leads you to the dancefloor and you curtsy, easily falling into the lead of the dance, one of your favorites, before you take his hands again.
"I was about to leave”, you hiss, somewhere in the middle of the quiet dance. You catch him smiling before he purses his lips, his eyes probably having caught the stares of one of his family members. It takes another turn around the dancefloor before he answers you.
"I know. But I simply could not resist having another dance with you. You are an excellent dancer, after all."
The low murmur makes you fight the urge to smile again - never one to be caught reacting like a blushing little girl to compliments like that. At least not when others could be watching.
"With the way you’re following me around today, Lady Whistledown might mistake you for a puppy dog soon, Mister Bridgerton."
"Shall I pretend I am blind to the most beautiful artist in the room, instead?"
“I would hardly call myself an artist, Mister Bridgerton. Though I would be most grateful to know which lady you may be talking about, I do love creative minds...”
The eye contact alone is starting to feel scandalous and the hand on your lower back is wandering towards somewhere - not exactly inappropriate, but familiar.
“You make it difficult to gift you a sincere compliment.”
“You are not trying very hard, are you, Mister Bridgerton?”, you tease and brush your cheek against his with your next whisper. “I, for example, admire the way you let your hand dance over the paper when you draw, your steady, nimble hands. That concentrated look on your face when you fix your subject makes me want to give you a much better reason to look so focused.”
He clears his throat and as the dance puts you at a greater distance, you catch his intense gaze.
As soon as the dance ends and you have properly curtsied, he all but tugs you outside into the next carriage.
#Benedict Bridgerton#Bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x f!reader#bachelor's button
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It's That Time Of Year
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU
Summary: It's that time of year... when you could use a fake boyfriend.
Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, dirty talk, hand as gag, quiet sex, sex in childhood bedroom. Fake dating, family dynamics, lots of feelings, friends to lovers.
Word Count: 11.3 k (eek Im sorry)
Authors Note: Here's my tropetacular winter 2023 Benepic! Request fill for @broooookiecrisp (HERE), who wanted fake boyfriend trope with Benedict accompanying the reader to the USA to spend Christmas with her family. I hope you like it, my dear. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy and happy holidays! 🎄
December 20th
“Thank you,” Benedict clinks his champagne glass against yours, “for everything.”
You blush and look down from his intense blue-eyed gaze, staring instead at the untied bowtie around his collar that seems almost more attractive than when fastened.
“It was nothing,” you demure.
“It was not nothing!” he scoffs, giving you a gentle shoulder bump as you both lean on the high-top table.
“Alright, it was my job then,” you modify, giving him a modest smile as you hotch slightly - beautiful though they are, you cannot wait to take off these high-heels.
“And you are excellent at your job,” he asserts before downing the rest of his champagne and refilling both glasses from the bottle before you.
He is lingering much longer than you thought he might, long after all his family and all the guests have left. The event was over a while ago, and all around you, the venue staff are clearing tables and stacking chairs.
Tonight was indeed a rousing success. Your first-time event managing the end-of-year fundraising gala for the Bridgerton Family Foundation, they hit a new record amount raised. Standing next to you is the newly minted CEO of that organisation, Benedict Bridgerton, looking far too dashing in his custom-fitted tuxedo. Empathetic and naturally in tune with the needs of others, he is indeed the perfect replacement to run the charitable arm of the family business now that his mother has decided to retire. In previous years, you both took deputy roles - him to his mother, you to your old boss - this was the first year you both stepped up to the plate to run things, and if you do say so yourself, you have both done an excellent job of it. A delightful working partnership built on years of friendship since meeting at university as an exchange student.
“You deserve a long Christmas break after this,” he breezes.
“Going home to the States in a couple of days,” you nod. “I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure, to be honest,” you confess, this second glass of champagne acting like a truth serum. You didn't want to or even get the chance to drink earlier, but a little tipple to round off the rewarding night is lovely, especially in present company.
“How come?” he seems genuinely curious, his forehead knitting adorably. Of course, he wouldn't understand; he comes from an idyllic family.
“I am very much the black sheep,” you shrug, twirling a finger absent-mindedly around the rim of your glass. “Being childless, unmarried and single at thirty-three in a midwestern family is unheard of and thus the subject of much ridicule.”
“Wow,” his eyebrows shoot up, “that's…,” he hesitates.
“Judgemental? Parochial? Small-minded?” you supply dryly on his behalf.
“I was going to say traditional… but sure, those work too,” he chuckles.
You giggle a little, then sigh. “So a mixed blessing, really. It's nice to see them all; I just wish they were a bit less them, you know?” you gesture vaguely into the air.
“A boyfriend would really take the heat off?” he queries.
“Hah!” you can’t contain the bubble of amusement at the mere thought. “Chance would be a fine thing. But, yes, that likely would take the edge off the worst of their barbs.”
“Well, I’m at a loose end,” he comments, seemingly changing the subject. “The family is spread to the four corners of the globe this Christmas. Mum is going to Costa Rica for a retired ladies' trip with Lady D. Don't ask,” he adds amusingly, holding up his hands. “Kate and Ant are taking their kids to Lapland, and my various siblings are travelling or staying with partners. Weirdly, it’ll be our first Christmas apart. At least we will all reunite for New Year's at Aubrey Hall.”
“Aww, that sounds nice,” you offer neutrally.
“What I'm saying, y/n, is…,” he continues slowly as if waiting for the penny to drop, “if you need a fake boyfriend, I am available. It’s the very least I can do after all of this,” he explains, gesturing around the room. “Plus, it might be novel to experience a typical American Christmas,” he shrugs casually.
You can’t help it; you gape at him. Completely floored. The idea is utterly left-of-field and yet so exciting your heart pounds. If there is one downside to working so closely with Benedict these last few months, it has been the exponential growth of your inappropriate feelings for him. He is so sweet and handsome; no one would be immune, frankly. It was bad enough when you were at university together; now, well, it’s slightly lethal. Your mind boggles at him playing the role of a doting boyfriend; your body, however, seems very enthused, a warm flush creeping over your skin at the mere thought.
He chuckles nervously, a likely reaction to your stunned silence. “Listen, it was just a silly suggestion; you don’t have t-”
“Yes!” you squeak, interrupting and grabbing his jacket cuff boldly when he seems to be withdrawing. “Please,” you add almost as an afterthought, unsure how to thank someone for such a generous offer.
His face breaks out into the most handsome grin.
“Excellent! Then, it's a date!” he exclaims, tilting his glass towards yours again. “Well, a fake date,” he amends with a lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip.
Oh god. What am I letting myself in for?!
___
December 23rd
“Are you sure about this? You can still back out...” you offer, fidgeting in the bag-drop queue at Heathrow three days later.
“Please. What else am I going to do? Sit around my flat, billy-no-mates, and eat a sad M&S ready meal?! You are literally rescuing me,” he counters, probably exaggerating for your amusement.
Very much following the motto of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, you had texted Benedict your flight details that same night, and he has made it all happen in the hours since. Somehow, he managed to wave the Brigerton magic wand and secure what was probably the last seat on your direct flight two days before Christmas. Unluckily for him, he has to slum it in economy with the rest of the plebs like yourself. He couldn't even get a seat near you; he's stuck down the back, in the middle, near the galley.
“How about we swap seats at least?” you offer, guilt creeping in, looking at your printed boarding pass. Not only is Benedict doing you a favour, but he’s also pretzelling his tall self into an uncomfortable seat. The least you can do is offer him your aisle seat.
“I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, waving a hand and fishing out his passport as you are called to the desk.
“Travelling together?” the pretty, painted lady breezes at you, holding out a perfectly manicured hand to take your passport and ticket. Then you watch her practically melt as she claps eyes on Benedict.
Tsk. Typical.
“Not exactl…” you begin.
“Yes,” he cuts in with a winning smile. “Sadly, we couldn't get seats together, though,” he pouts a touch theatrically.
“Oh! Well, let me see what I can do about that… It is Christmas, after all,” she winks at him conspiratorially, then taps on her keyboard.
A few minutes later, your bags are checked in, and you are upgraded to Premium Economy. The lady was apologetic that you still couldn't get seats together but a row apart instead. You are pretty sure if there was space, the handsome bastard would have gotten you upgraded to business without even trying.
Oh, to be a pretty Bridgerton.
___
Twelve hours later, you are in a taxi, tired but grateful for the additional legroom on the flight, even managing a few hours of light napping. Benedict is similarly sleepy, both of your heads lolling around as the car zips down the road. By the time you reach your family home, it’s evening, but to your body clocks, it's the middle of the night.
As you slide out of the taxi, a long arm wraps around your shoulders, and you startle.
“Best to look convincing from the off,” Benedict mutters as he throws his duffle bag on top of your suitcase and trundles them up the path with his other hand.
You nod and dutifully wrap your arm around his waist over his puffer coat, slightly annoyed at how good it feels, as if your arm belongs there.
“This is so American it's almost a cliche,” he jests, looking up at your parents' house, holiday string lights twinkling in the dusk.
You giggle at his remark and bump him with your hip, quickly escalating into a friendly tussle. He hauls you into his arms and swings you in front of him.
“What are you doing?” you whisper, your limbic system alive at the feel of him pressed into you even behind heavy coats.
“Just go with it,” he responds with an easy confidence and that dazzling smile. As if in slow motion, his lips descend, and you reel as they lightly brush yours, an explosion behind your ribs at this passing touch.
Over your shoulder, you hear the front door opening and realise it’s for show, for a particular audience. You are grateful for the forethought but completely discombobulated from this partial kiss.
How am I going to survive a week of this?
“Mrs y/l/n, Mr y/l/n,” he calls as you linger in his arms, not wanting to turn around just yet.
“Well, hello there. This must be the famous Mr Bridgerton,” your dad's opening line. “We have heard so very little about you. Before yesterday anyway,” he adds, already twisting the knife in early as you pull up to the porch.
“That may well be because I asked her not to,” Benedict rebuts smoothly, releasing you to give a firm handshake. “I love the element of surprise,” he adds with a smile you have seen him deploy before, a weapon’s grade charm offensive.
Your mother’s face is a picture. “Well, well, we certainly didn't expect someone quite so handsome to accompany our daughter,” she drawls, verging on flirtatious.
Benedict drapes his arm around your shoulders and nuzzles your hair. “Whyever not? She is simply wonderful,” he sighs, his hot breath tickling your scalp before letting you go again.
Damn, he is good at this.
“Hello, mom, dad…” you greet politely before moving in for a short hug from both.
“Happy holidays, darling. Let's get inside,” your mother fusses.
Within a few minutes, after some casual pleasantries are exchanged as you remove coats, you watch your mother give Benedict a tour of their home, including, to your chagrin, your childhood bedroom, which is a time capsule from your teen years. At least the dog-eared band posters have been taken down. As you drift back to the living room, Christmas music plays from a speaker behind the tree. Your family loves to go all out on the holiday decorating. It does feel festive and cosy, though.
“It will be a full house with all of our kids and their spouses staying tonight. So there are no spare rooms. You are on the sofabed in the den, Mr Bridgerton,” your dad comments, gesturing to the room next door; the message very clear.
“That's fine,” Benedict huffs genially, “and please, call me Ben.”
“I might actually head to bed now,” you admit over a stifled yawn. “My body thinks it's 2am.”
“Same,” Benedict chimes.
“Oh, you should stay up, try to get into the timezone,” your mother clucks, always with an opinion about how you are not doing things how she would. “Ben has not yet been introduced to Tucker, Travis, Tegan and their spouses. They are all still out at dinner…” she indicates, listing your siblings and looking most perturbed at your decision.
“Tomorrow, Mom,” you assure.
“Alright,” she capitulates with a sigh, mostly when she sees Benedict yawn behind his hand.
“Goodnight…” you offer to all and go to leave the room, but as you get to the door, Benedict stops you with an arm shooting out.
“Don't I get a goodnight kiss, my love?” he pouts.
At first, you look up at him shocked, then a flick of his eyes over your shoulder makes you realise he is continuing the ruse.
“Maybe,” you flirt back, jetlag somehow making you daring. An ideal excuse to be coquettish, even though your parents likely can't hear your exchange above the music playing. They can certainly see your body language, though.
“Oh, I see. What do I have to do to earn it?” Benedict plays along, a dangerous smile and a large hand low on your lumbar spine, pulling you into him.
“Tell me you will miss not sleeping next to me,” you boldly request, a little cheeky smile tugging at your lips to see how far he will let you push this.
A long finger swipes a tendril of hair out of your face and behind your ear, a thumb curling under your chin.
“Every night I'm not sleeping next to you is my misfortune,” he replies, sounding wistful, his eyes seeming to burn with something approaching sincerity. It makes your stomach swoop like you are standing on a cliff edge on a windy day.
“Good answer,” you stumble in acknowledgement, pushing up onto your tip toes, heart in your mouth.
“I do what I can,” he answers against your lips and then draws you into a slow, plush kiss.
His mouth doesn't open, but it doesn't matter; the hint of wetness on his pursed lips has your body reacting, a charge ripping through your being. A sudden yearning for him to push you against the wall and plunder your mouth with his tongue. When he withdraws, you know your pupils are blown wide, but you are taken aback that his are, too; the dampness on his lip shines in the glow of the Christmas tree.
Your father pointedly clearing his throat breaks the spell, and you jump apart as if burned.
“Sorry,” you both mumble and Benedict pulls the most adorable ‘oopsie, my bad’ face.
“Goodnight, y/n,” he says tacitly.
“Goodnight, Ben.”
As you climb the stairs slowly, exhaling the breath it feels like you have been holding since he grabbed your arm, you know that kiss will be replaying in your head for weeks. If he keeps this up, you may well combust.
This was a fantastically bad idea.
___
December 24th
You awaken on Christmas Eve when it’s still dark outside. A glance at your phone says it’s right after 4:30am. Already knowing you won’t get any more sleep, you throw open your case and grab slippers and a hoodie, deciding to head down to make a coffee.
You almost jump out of your skin when you see a silhouette sitting at the kitchen table.
“Sorry,” Benedict atones as he sees you clutching your chest, “time zones.”
“Same… coffee?”
“Please…”
As you potter around, making a pot as quiet as possible, he scrolls on his phone. You join him once it’s brewing.
“How is the sofa bed?” you ask, wincing guiltily.
“I've slept on worse,” he obfuscates jovially.
“Sorry, if I’d known there wouldn't be a spare bed, I would have booked a hotel,” you apologise, rubbing your temples.
“No, it’s tradition to stay with family at Christmas,” he rebukes with a smile.
“Thank you again for all this,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets. “Have you done this fake boyfriend thing before?” your question is only partially in jest.
“No, what makes you say that?” he huffs bemused.
“You, uhh, have been doing an excellent acting job,” you shrug. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think they quite believe I could land you, but I’d argue you have been very convincing regardless….”
“Don't say that,” he frowns, cutting in.
“You don’t think they buy it?” concerned things may not be working as well as you believed.
“Not that,” he waves a dismissive hand, “the other thing. Why wouldn’t they believe you could ‘land me’?” he rounds off with a quotation gesture.
You bark a laugh. “Have you seen you?
“Stop,” he seems genuinely ticked. “That is all shit. I would be lucky to have you,” he mumbles, not meeting your eye, staring out of the French doors into the inky blackness. It won’t be sunrise for another three hours this time of year. “I am lucky, in fact, to have you as a friend,” he adds, his thoughts sounding far away.
“Well, same. I still have no idea how to repay you for all of this…” you admit.
“I already said, none needed. Why would I not choose a little foreign adventure with a good friend when the alternative is Christmas alone?!” he scoffs as the coffee machine beeps.
Unsure quite what to say, you get up to make a cup, knowing without asking how he takes his. Retaking your seat, you pick at the idea again.
“I think we should strategise…” you mutter into your mug.
“About what?”
“The plan. Now you have some inkling of what they are like, maybe we should talk tactics…?” you trail off, not sure even yourself where you are going with this.
“It's simple, isn't it?” he counters, taking a gulp of coffee. “We hold hands, hug and kiss occasionally, you know, act like a couple….” he shrugs as if it's the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is to him; his heart probably doesn't pound when you so much as touch.
“Okay, well, I guess we can improvise. But let me know if it all gets too much. Send me a secret code or something,” you offer.
“Like a safe word?” he chuckles.
“Something like that,” you allow, trying to mask the heat you feel creeping up your sternum at the very thought.
Just then, his phone vibrates on the table.
“Sorry, it's Ant. I should probably take this,” he apologises, standing up.
You swallow a sip of your coffee, trying not to think too hard about anything, when suddenly he leans over your shoulder from behind, the phone still buzzing in his hand.
“By the way, my safeword is Byron,” he rumbles silkily into your ear. “Not that I’ll ever need it,” he adds, walking away casually while you try to bring your heart rate back to normal.
Dear God, this man is going to kill me.
___
You take your coffee back to bed when Benedict doesn't reappear after a few minutes and end up passing out again for a couple of hours. By the time you are awake again, the house is a hive of noise and activity. You pass Kallie, your oldest brother's wife, in the hallway, and she punches your arm lightly.
“Welcome home, and well fucking done!” she winks, and you frown, confused what she’s talking about. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “That delicious slice of Britishness in there,” she elucidates.
Shit! It just occurs to you that by falling back asleep, you left Benedict alone to fend for himself in the melee of your family. The poor man must be mauled alive by now.
So when you enter the kitchen, the last thing you expect to see is the sight before you. Benedict, with an apron on, tossing American-style pancakes like a pro on the hotplate while your family chatters around him, applauding as he serves up another perfect-looking batch.
“Darling!” he calls when he sees you. “Come here!” he exclaims warmly, holding out his arms.
Unsure what else to do and powerless to resist the opportunity, you walk over and allow yourself to be swept into his arms. He presses a kiss onto your cheek. He smells like butter and syrup, and you want to burrow into him.
“Sorry I left you alone in the lion's den,” you say close to his ear so only he can hear.
He smiles into your hair. “They are fine, honestly; I can handle it,” he assures mutely.
You pull back and swipe a tiny fleck of batter from his face, enjoying the round of his cheekbone as you do. What makes an odd weight land on your ribs is how his pupils dilate fractionally as you lick the dot off your thumb.
“Delicious, Mr Bridgerton,” again, unable to stop yourself from flirting with him now you have the excuse.
Something in him looks almost wild as your gaze locks.
“Get a room!” your brother, Tucker, jeers from the table.
Part of you wants to sass back some version of ‘apparently we’re not allowed’ and ‘I wish’, but all you can do is smile at Benedict as he mirrors your expression.
“More, please, Mr Brid-un,” your youngest nephew toddles over, holding up his plate expectantly.
Benedict finally looks away and ruffles the little kid’s hair. “Certainly, Brandon,” he offers warmly.
“What I find fascinating is how a proper British gentleman knows how to make good old-fashioned American pancakes,” your mother pipes up from her seat at the kitchen island.
“Oh, my nanny was an American,” Benedict waves the spatula as he pours more batter onto the hotplate and begins a new batch.
“Your grandmother was from the colonies?” Travis mocks, feigning outrage.
“Oh no… not that sort. My umm nanny nanny, as in the lady who looked after us as kids,” he explains, looking somewhat sheepish.
“Shhiittttt,” your sister Teegan drawls, looking up from her phone for the first time. “You’re like actual rich, huh?”
“Language Tee!” your mother warns from across the room.
Teegan pulls a face and then turns her attention back to Benedict, awaiting his response.
“Please, can you all not be so… y/l/n,” you cut in, holding up your hands to the gathered family. “For once, can you all just…?” you taper off, hoping they will read between the lines.
“How’d you two meet?” Dean, Teegan’s husband, calls out, ignoring your plea completely.
“We actually met at university many years ago,” Benedict explains, flipping the pancakes as they bubble. “But we started working together last year on various projects, and well, we grew much closer.”
So far, so truthful.
“Then, well, one memorable day, when we successfully wrapped up a project we had worked on so hard together, I realised she meant so much more to me than a friend,” Benedict continues, sounding so sincere you almost believe it yourself. A tiny flutter in your chest that the project he refers to could be the Gala. “I kept it to myself for a while, but late one night, I couldn't resist, and I confessed my feelings. I am the luckiest man alive because it turns out she felt the same. And, well… here we are,” he concludes, shooting you a look so loaded you forget it's a yarn for a few seconds.
“Friends-to-lovers, I stan,” Claire, your other sister-in-law, comments. She always has her head stuck in some romance book.
As Benedict serves the next batch, the focus of the room is pulled to your nieces and nephews as they overload their pancakes with toppings, and you are grateful to be out of the glare of the family spotlight temporarily.
“How did I do?” Benedict murmurs into your ear as he sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your back. There's a tinge of pride in his voice. He knows he has them eating out the palm of his hand, and fuck if it isn't so attractive.
“I should tip you…” you joke, not wanting to give away quite how flustered you are.
“I accept payment in kisses,” he breathes, his smouldering stare sliding down to your lips as you crane your head to look up at him.
It's only a few minutes later, as you grab a pancake from the stack that you realise he didn't say that at volume anyone else could hear… it was purely for you. And you have no earthly idea what to do with that thought.
___
The rest of Christmas Eve passes with your family’s usual rituals, with Benedict beside you, playing the doting boyfriend to perfection. Each brush of his makes your adrenaline spike—a divine torture.
While dinner is cooking in the afternoon, your parents usher most of you out of the house for a walk in the bracing cold to build up an appetite. And so you stroll, Benedict’s gloved hand in yours.
“So Ben, is everyone in London not married with kids, or is it only my sister who can't seem to figure it out despite her old age?” your sister Teegan digs as she pushes the buggy next to you.
“Well, we are a similar age, and I'm not married with kids either,” he points out breezily.
“Yeah, but…” she halts, realising there is no response she can think of. “Wait, why don't you have kids yet? Don’t you want a family? I thought you said you had lots of brothers and sisters?”
“I do come from a big family, yes. And I suppose one day, yes, I do want kids of my own,” he adds, seemingly honest as you listen intently, your heartbeat in your ears, “but I feel no rush yet.”
“So you’re not knocking this one up anytime soon then?” your brother Tucker stirs, checking your shoulder roughly from the other side.
You can't help but feel a blush darken your cheeks at that and refuse to look up at Benedict. You open your mouth to tell Tucker to shut up, but Benedict cuts across you.
“If anyone has come close to being someone I would consider having kids with, it's your sister,” he admits casually, as if talking about the weather. But for you, it feels like you are back on that proverbial cliff edge about to dive over, heart racing. It takes every fibre of your being to keep walking and acting naturally, grateful for the gloves between your joined hands; not sure you could handle his skin touching yours as he says such things.
“Ooooooo,” Tucker singsongs, “going to the chapel, and they’re gonna get mar...”
“Cut it out!” you grouse.
He peels a laugh, then jogs on ahead to catch up with Dean.
“I’m sorry about that,” your apology hushed as you keep walking, Teegan falling behind you to deal with one of her kids' tantrums.
“Why? It's an inevitable question when you meet your other half’s family,” he points out, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you wander as a pair.
“Yes, but… it's a bit much, considering they just met you hours ago. They are intentionally stirring the pot. Trying to scare you off,” you frown, realising what they are doing as you say it aloud.
Benedict stops walking, and it makes you halt, too. “Nothing could scare me off,” he assures, his face soft with understanding as he cups your jaw. His cold, damp glove is a balm to your flushed, embarrassed face.
“Right,” you nod, “cos this is all fake…” you add quietly, trying to hide the defeated tone.
“Anyone who knows how great you are would not be scared off by the idea of a future with you,” Benedict says soothingly, a thumb stroking your cheekbone.
“Well, when you meet a candidate who fits that bill, send them over to me, yeah?” you quip brittly as you look off into the distance, unable to meet his hazy, sincere eyes.
His response is interrupted by your niece tugging on his coat.
“Uncle Ben, can I sit on your shoulders? Please? Daddy already has Brandon, and my feet are so tired,” she whines in that dramatic way only little ones do.
Benedict laughs and releases you. “Certainly, Sofia,” he smiles as he hauls her onto his shoulders, uncaring of the mess her little boots smear onto his coat as he does so.
“Faster! Go faster!” she orders, and genially, Benedict obeys, moving ahead and breaking into a light jog as she giggles loudly and holds onto his chin.
You try to ignore the flutter in your chest at the sight of him with a kid on his shoulders, as if he were born to do so.
This was such a mistake…
___
“When are you moving home, y/n?”
You knew this was likely coming. The question your mum has to ask every time you visit. And every year, your answer is the same.
“I don't think I will be, Mom,” you explain calmly as you pass the plate of peas to your sister, not wanting to look at Benedict, who sits opposite you at the long table. “I love London. It feels like home,” you add with a shrug.
“Yes, but this living abroad thing is supposed to be a phase—a young person thing. You are mid-thirties now. It's time you settled down,” she frowns.
“I am settled,” you reply neutrally, “I have a place of my own that I love.”
“Yes, but an apartment, sorry ‘flat’,” she self-corrects sarcastically, “that’s not a real home. A home is a house with a garden in a safe town with good schools for your children,” she lectures.
This line of discussion used to annoy and rile you up, but you have become weary of it over the years. The rest of your family is tucking into their food but listening smugly, having towed the traditional family line.
“I think home can be many things,” Benedict pipes up from across the table. “A home is about where you feel safe and secure, surely Mrs y/l/n?”
“Well, yes…” your mother falters, slightly taken aback by his interruption but still charmed by his effortless congeniality.
“Then I would say your daughter’s home is London,” he smiles disarmingly. “You should see her there; I encourage you to visit sometime. She has a home she has made beautiful. She has many friends, and she is amazing at her job. She is happy. I, for one, cannot imagine her anywhere else.”
Again, you can feel your heart beating at his sweet words, even knowing they are all for show; it's lovely that someone has your back for once, defending your choices.
“But what of the schools, Mr Bridgerton?” your dad piles in, “I have heard nightmares of the school system in the inner cities, in this country and yours,” he shudders.
“My family has always gone to a superb prep school in Chelsea. I see no reason why our children could not do the same when the time comes,” Benedict responds with a winning smile.
You almost drop the corn casserole at that line.
Plonking it heavily on the table and taking a deep breath, you finally pluck the courage to look over at him. Looking back at you is a playful smile and a wink. And suddenly, you know what he is doing. It likely appears genuine to others, but you know him too well; you know all his facial tells. He is doing this for sport. To entertain you. The kaleidoscope of emotions you feel is near exhausting, relief mixed with a tang of disappointment that it's all for show.
“Well, that's wonderful news, Benedict,” your mother squeaks. “I cannot wait to hear more once you are engaged,” never failing to find an opportunity to take a dig.
“You will be the first to hear, I promise,” he smiles winningly and takes a bite of food. “This is delicious, by the way,” he adds, “I hope you will share the recipe with me, seeing as we will likely be family one day...”
And just like that, he expertly manoeuvres your mother onto the only topic she loves more than marriage - cooking. As if he could intuit how to steer the conversation. Relieved, you sit back and finally take a deep breath, then a bite of your admittedly delicious plate. You are even grateful he manages to distract them long enough that there are no jibes about your weight.
Maybe this wasn't such a mistake…
___
A few hours later, with the little ones tucked up in bed, the adults gather around the tree with the fireplace roaring and the festive music softly playing. It's time for gift exchange, a family tradition away from the hubbub of Christmas morning with the focus on the children ripping through all the gifts Santa left for them.
You are enjoying the buzz a second large glass of wine provides when the focus turns to you. Benedict sits beside you and slides a hand onto your knee. Still, your body reacts, but you attempt to act as if it doesn't make your blood pump hard in your head.
“Benedict, we didn't know you were coming, so I'm sorry we have no gift for you to open,” your mother says sheepishly, “and y/n, we have done as you always ask; we have sent you a gift card over email,” she explains, “which makes me sad as you have no gift to unwrap….”
“That's fine, Mom, thank you. And don't worry, I don't need a gift,” you assure, taking another swig.
“Actually….” Benedict clears his throat, “I have a gift for my girlfriend if that is okay?”
You look agog at him.
“But… I didn't get you anything,” you splutter, even as he moves his hand from you and reaches behind his back, revealing a small navy velvet box.
“Don't worry. It's nothing really, just something small,” Benedict assures, even as you can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you reluctantly let him place it in your hands.
Slowly, you pull at the tail of the lovely soft gold ribbon until it relents. With your heart in your mouth, you snap open the box. Nestled in more navy velvet is a tiny, beautiful crystal penguin, your favourite animal.
“Ben…” you are lost for all other words, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.
“I remember you loved the larger one my mum had on her desk,” he explains lowly as you stare transfixed by all the facets catching the twinkling light. “Every time we had a meeting, you would stare at it or play with it. So I knew I had to get you one too, for your desk… or wherever you want to put it,” he modifies sweetly.
You can't help it - the swell of emotions makes you throw your arms around him as you clutch the precious item. It's like he has managed to distil everything you could want from a Christmas gift - something personal, tailored to you, nothing too extravagant but small, elegant and beautiful. And that he had the forethought to bring it across the Atlantic with him makes your heart burst even more. He is possibly the best friend you could ever have. You fervently wish he was so much more.
“I can't believe you remember that,” you mumble. “This is perfect and beautiful. Thank you, Ben, thank you so much.”
“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says into your hair at a volume you know is designed to be heard by the room.
“Merry Christmas,” you return quieter, only for him.
Vaguely, you hear your mother moving on to hand a gift to another, perhaps embarrassed by the display of affection between you. Grateful that the family focus seems to have shifted to someone else, you go to pull away from the embrace, but Benedict draws you tighter into him.
“Lovers don't let go so quickly,” he whispers. “Now I'm going to kiss you again if that is okay…”
Your tummy flips. “Okay…” you barely struggle out the word.
Then his hand is on your cheek, and time seems to slow like treacle; his eyes burn into yours as he moves in, then flutter closed as his lips meet yours. Again, it is like a rollercoaster, a thrilling plunge as his lips move over yours. It's like the previous night, respectful with a closed mouth but so sweet and promising, so much more a whole ripple runs through your body. You need more, so much more, desperate to climb into his lap and demand a real kiss, audience be damned. When you part, he tilts his forehead against yours and smiles gently, licking his lip as if savouring the taste.
“I'm glad you like it. The gift that is,” he clarifies, a sweet mumble.
You giggle. “I love it, Ben, thank you. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything; I feel terrible.”
“Being here with you is gift enough,” he assures in a voice that melts your insides, which you assume is for the audience.
My god, this man will be the death of me.
The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant fog of wine, your siblings holding court and telling stories as you listen, feeling the weight of Benedict’s hand again on your leg as he sips on a whiskey. Once again, you feel the creeping of jetlag and decide to turn in around 10pm. You give Benedict a peck on the cheek before he can draw you into another confounding kiss and make your escape upstairs with a glass of eggnog and your book.
As you settle into bed, you try not to let your thoughts spiral as you catch sight of the crystal penguin in its box. Instead, you tell yourself he is a good friend and rich; it's likely nothing to him, and not to read too much into it.
___
December 25th
At some point, you drift off to sleep, book in hand, the timezone still catching you out. You only realise it when you are awoken suddenly around 2am by a knock on your door.
“Come in,” you croak, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to adjust to the light; you had fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on low while reading.
The door opens ajar, and Benedict’s handsome face pops in. “I saw your light on…” he says softly, “just wanted to check on you.”
You put your book aside, pull the covers around your neck and feel an odd flutter as he closes the door behind him. He looks cosy in long tartan pyjama bottoms and a soft dark t-shirt.
“I'm sure your dad would kill me if he knew I were here,” he jests as he hovers a few feet away.
“Come sit,” you pat the bed next to you, even as you feel strange about him being here, dead of night on Christmas Day.
He nods gratefully and perches on the edge of your bed. It's a full-size mattress, bigger than a twin, but not a double bed. You can feel his weight tugging the bedding tight over your thighs.
“Thank you again for my gift, truly,” you gesture to the box on your bedside table.
“I had to. I couldn't think of anything more… you...” Benedict smiles that demure smile with downcast eyes that always makes you want to shake him and tell him to stop looking so fucking adorable. Or mount him. Or both. You have to bite your lip to stop blurting out your errant thoughts.
“But still to buy me such a wonderful gift and put up with my family… I mean… you deserve a medal,” you shrug.
A hand clamps onto your knee through the bedding, but it still surprises you.
“Stop it,” he gruffs. “I'm going to need you to stop. Seriously. I chose to come here. It's been fun. Something different. Yes, your family is a bit… intense, but everyone’s is. Each has its own special blend of crazy. You’ve seen the Bridgerton brand of dysfunctional up close,” he points out, knowing without saying more how much you have watched them bicker over the years.
“But you’ve said all those lovely things, made up all these amazing believable stories…” you argue back weakly.
“Every single thing I have said to your family has been the truth,” he responds solemnly.
You replay a few choice record-scratch moments in your head. “But what about the stuff about me being the person you could see yourself having kids with and where these imaginary kids would go to school…” you point out, wincing as you do.
“I told no lies,” he answers each syllable enunciated slowly, staring you down.
It feels like your whole world tilts when he utters those words.
“What are you saying?” you query, breathier than you mean to sound but needing him to spell it out.
He sighs, but a mischievous grin twitches the corner of his mouth. “You are much smarter than this; don't be obtuse now, y/n,” he rumbles, something in the challenging way he says it catches a fire behind your ribs.
“Ben…” you warn, so many contradictory feelings at once.
“You are all the things I said and more, and you must know how amazing you are,” he offers softly as you feel your eyes misting.
“Please don't,” your last vestige of resistance, still not believing what he says can possibly be true, too close to a festive miracle. Part of you thinks that at any moment, you will wake up alone and bereft.
His fingertips brush your cheek, and you inhale sharply and look up to see him inches from your face.
“Fine, if you don't somehow believe my words, maybe you’ll believe my deeds…”
It's the last few words out of his mouth before his lips meet yours.
This time, it's not for an audience; it's just for the two of you, and it almost stops your heart. A hesitant, soft, sweet brush that becomes more as he leans in and deepens the kiss. His lips part yours as your mind grinds to a halt, tentatively following his lead, kissing him back… the catalyst, the permission he needs. A large hand rounds behind your head and pulls you forward. Suddenly, it's a tidal wave, his tongue rolling greedily over yours, becoming hungry, urgent, desperate, your body awash with chemicals, scarcely able to believe Benedict, the star of every one of your spicy dreams, is here in your childhood bedroom, kissing the very life out of you in the early hours of Christmas Day.
“Lay down,” he murmurs into your skin as his lips glide over your cheek, and you follow his order without thought, shuffling down obediently until you lie flat and stare up at him transfixed.
It’s as if he’s taken your disbelief as a challenge to prove how very real this is. With one hand, he tosses aside the covers and crawls over you until he is engulfing you, surrounding you with his scent that makes your mouth water. His lips are hot on your neck as his hands map your body, lingering in places you are self-conscious about.
“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he sighs as if disputing your internal monologue, his breath ghosting warm over your collarbone.
“Stop…” you demure, wriggling under him, feeling bashful.
“No..” his crooked smile is lethal as his head pops up from worrying your throat with a little edge of his teeth. His hand skates your clothed breast, and on instinct, you push up into it, your nipple hardening as the heat of his palm seeps through your nightshirt. “Please take off your top,” he implores, his mouth finding your lips again. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of touching your naked body.”
“I can’t believe this…” you mutter, shaky, confounded that it could be true—the man you desire desiring you back just as wantonly. He lowers his body between your legs, surging his hips so you feel something insistent inside his pyjamas.
“Now, do you believe me?” he dusks into your ear.
“Benedict…” falls from your lips as an excited shudder.
“Say my name again, please,” he huffs right against your cheekbone, pinning you under him with his pelvis.
“Benedict,” you repeat, revelling in the effect it seems to have on him.
It gives you the courage to whip off your top. The noise he makes as he realises you are naked underneath it is a beeline right between your legs.
“Shh,” you hush, giggling, a rush through your veins, not wanting anyone to disturb this, as he slides his lips down over your skin towards your breasts.
“I cannot,” he remarks gleefully, “not with such a bounty beneath me.”
His lips clamp onto your left nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs.
“Might wake fam…” you stumble out, impressed you can even do that.
He pulls up, his biceps in tense relief as he balances on his fists curled on either side of your waist. “Then lock your damn door,” he growls in a way that has you clenching.
“No lock…” you squeak, wishing beyond belief you had one.
“Shit, really?” he sighs, leaning back down to kiss over your sternum. “I’m not sure I can be quiet; I’ve wanted this for too long…”
You go to query that statement, but he moves to your other breast and does the same, so the only sound you are capable of is a guttural moan.
“Shh,” he hushes you back cheekily, tilting his head up from your chest, eyes sparkling and face so achingly handsome you still can barely believe this is happening,
“We really do have to be quiet…” you point out reluctantly.
“I know,” he sighs into your breastbone, dropping a soft kiss there. “I want to tell you so many things….”
“Whisper them to me…” you beseech, running your fingers through his lush, thick head of hair, tilting your breast back up to his mouth.
He smirks and catches your unsubtle hint, once again using his talented mouth to make you shudder under him. He runs a finger down your centre line to your belly.
“Your body is perfect,” he sighs. You go to protest, but he shoots you a disapproving look, so you bite back your words. “I could get lost for hours tracing your lines,” he hums, his featherlight touch tickling as it crosses under your belly button, making you giggle. “Hmm, a little ticklish too,” he sounds utterly captivated by that discovery, throwing you a very troublesome expression.
“Don't use it against me…” you warn, knowing he will ignore you, a fizzy feeling at this playfulness.
“Oh, I just might…” he chuckles as he runs his tongue lower over your torso, a hot, damp line that leaves fluttering in his wake. “I could do this all night…your skin is so soft,” he purrs, inhaling deeply, nuzzling his nose above the line of your pyjama bottoms. “You always smell so fantastic,” he sighs, using his teeth to tug on the ribbon.
You’ve never had someone be this vocal during intimacy. It makes you feel reassured but also slightly bewildered by just how aroused you are getting, Benedict’s resonant voice skittering compliments over your skin, making you embarrassingly wet. Your hands greedily pull at his t-shirt, hoping he will get the hint.
“If you want something from me, you have to say it,” he teases as he switches to using his fingers to undo the bow on your pyjamas.
“Please take off your top, Ben,” you mewl, even as your heart pounds at the idea you will soon be naked under him.
“I will,” he promises, “in a minute…”
As if sensing your apprehension about removing your last item of clothing, he leaves it in place, shuffling lower and stretching your legs wide with his shoulders. You gasp loudly as his mouth, hot through the thin cotton protecting your modesty, sucks insistently over your slit. A large hand curling around your hip to stop you canting off the bed. Your clit throbs, and your pussy leaks copiously down your bottom.
“Fuck I can tell how wet you are even through this fabric,” he stutters.
“I'm sorry...” you squirm, embarrassed.
He surges upright, grabs your hands from around his head and cages them on the mattress beside your hips.
“Let's get two things very clear,” his voice stern but achingly seductive. “One, your body is incredible, and you should know by now how much I desire you. Two, if you ever apologise again for being turned on, I will be annoyed. Do you know how proud I am? That I can do this to you? How absolutely rigid this makes me?” rutting his hard cock against your left calf to prove his point. “I want your desire running down to your knees. I want you mindless and trembling with need for me.”
“O-okay,” you stumble out, entranced. This filthy poetry and feralness is beyond anything you could imagine him capable of. You have seen hints of his menacing potential, but full force, it’s breathtaking.
“Good,” he smiles crookedly, releasing your hands. “Now lift your hips so I can get you properly naked,” the slightly bossy rejoinder really working for you.
Mutely, you do as bidden, his fingertips trailing fire down your hips as he tugs the material over your thighs, impatiently pulling them from around your ankles and tossing them over his shoulder, his gaze locked onto your body. He groans a curse, and you again find yourself clenching around nothing at his untamed response.
Whispering his name is a reflex, your fingers carding again into his hair as he lowers his mouth and suckles the skin of your hip before slowly, almost torturously, winding his way lower towards your centre. Every place he touches feels alive and fluttering, him whispering reassurance and praise into your flesh, like a sensual requiem that catches your breath. By the time he trails his nose down the crease where your thigh meets your body, you are panting, eyes screwed shut, head tilted back, anticipation knotting your guts.
“Look at me,” he orders softly, his face framed by your thighs as you gulp and look down the plane of your body to him. “Don’t look away; I want to see your eyes when I do this,” his breath hot on your slit.
He unfurls his tongue and ploughs through your wet flesh, making your toes and fingers curl. You have to bite your lip and curse behind your teeth, the sensation overwhelming, his eye flashing fire in his blown pupils at your bodily reaction. You hiss loudly, needing to call out so bad your lungs ache. You twist your pillow to bite down on a corner but keep your eyes on him as told. He chuckles pridefully, the sensation shooting up your pelvis, then keeps going. Teasing around your clit with a lathing action that is nothing like you've had before, devouring, using his whole face, strong arms wrapping your thighs in a vice-like grip, held lewdly open It feels so good that within moments you are panting. Still, part of you is tense, scared about your ability to be silent.
“Relax,” he breathes, shaking your hip gently in his grip, sensing the tension in your being.
“I'm worried I won't be able to stay quiet enough,” you admit, muffled around the pillowcase, looking away to stare at the ceiling as he busses a soft kiss onto your inner thigh.
“One moment…” he withdraws and hops off the bed. You watch, vaguely dazed, as he drags a heavy chair against the door and wedges it under the handle so it can’t be opened. “There, now we should get some warning.”.
When he turns back around, you instinctively pull the cover over yourself to hide your naked body, even as you can’t help but stare at the tent in his pyjama bottoms, mouth watering at visions of what lies beneath.
“Don’t do that,” he reproaches softly, “show yourself to me.”
Reluctantly, you push the sheet away again, squirming slightly as his eyes roam your body lasciviously as he prowls over to you, stripping off his t-shirt as he does. His naked torso is perfect, toned and honed, and as he crawls over you, you are hypnotised by the view.
“You are so beautiful,” he sighs, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, the scent of your arousal on his face. “Never cover yourself in front of me; you should be proud of your body.”
You’ve never had someone say that before, and your insides are molten, a need for him that burns so bright, an inferno purely of his making.
“Tell me what you want,” he proposes, lacing your fingers with his, kissing your fingertips, then sucking them into his mouth, looking at you expectantly as you stutter at his warm, wet, talented tongue lathing over your fingertips.
“Everything…” you blurt out honestly. “Anything. This is all wonderful… Can I return the favour for you?” you deflect, brushing your other hand tentatively over his bulge as he hovers over you.
“Yes, you bloody can,” he growls, releasing your fingers from his lips as his eyes flash dark. But he grabs your hand away from his cock, calming his tone. “But not tonight. Another time…”
“Another time?” you echo, temporarily stunned by the idea this isn't a never-to-be-repeated Christmas miracle.
“Yes. Why would you think this a one-time thing?” his brow knits as he drops a kiss on your cheek. “What about my actions and words tonight suggest that?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” you concede, “just history…”
He cups your jaw. “The past is the past. This is now and me,” he states clearly, running a thumb tenderly over your lip. “I will do whatever you want. If you tell me to leave this room right now, I will, and I won't think any less of you…”
“Don't you dare,” it's a snarl from some dark recess deep inside you, your legs twining around his to lock him in place.
“There she is…” he chuckles, that lopsided grin taking over his face before kissing a line down your throat. “Now tell me what you want, y/n.”
“I want you inside me,” you confess, running your hands over his naked back, loving the play of muscles under warm skin.
He groans at your words, an edge of teeth on your jugular, making you ripen, feel daring. If he wants to know just how wild he makes you, you are going to show it. You grab his face and drag it up until he is over you again, his pupils blown and his hair a mess from your tugging.
“Fuck me, right now, Ben,” you demand hotly, pushing your body up into his and delving a hand inside the back of his pyjamas to grab his shapely rear, keen for him to be as naked as you.
He snarls and pins your arms beside your head on the pillow.
“Do you have any condoms?” he breathes hot in your ear.
“Ah shit,” your head thumps back, chastising yourself for not planning better. But then this seemed like such an unlikely outcome, frankly miraculous; why on earth would you have?
“Good thing I came prepared then,” he teases, releasing his grip to produce a small packet from the pocket of his pyjamas.
“You….” you scold, equal parts impressed and irked, running your fingers around his waistband.
“It was a sincere wish, not an expected conclusion,” he smiles bashfully, his lips meeting yours for a searing kiss as he slips off the last of his clothing.
A shiver runs down your spine as he bears you into the mattress, naked, his rigid cock brandishing the inside of your thigh. He keeps kissing you over and over until your lips feel tingly from the slight hint of stubble around his. You wrap all of your limbs around him, craving for your bodies to be melded.
When he pushes up slightly to rip open the packet, you glance down and see, nestled in a patch of trimmed hair, a sizeable but very pretty cock. You can’t resist reaching out and touching it, loving the feel of steely strength under the silky texture; his soft groan is like music to your ears. Sighing his name, you are impatient for him to be inside you, already knowing it will feel wonderful, part of you craving skin on skin.
Again he wears that demure smile, looking up at you through his lashes, so you take over, eagerly rolling the condom onto that pretty cock and then pulling him down on top of you forcefully.
“I like it when you are just a little bossy,” he confesses into your mouth, one hand pulling the cover over you both, then sliding between your bodies to guide himself towards you.
“I like it when you are a little bossy,” you counter, but then all your words die out as his cock slides insistently into you.
Your eyes roll back as he inches inside, so much heat and girth, your body stretching to accommodate his invasion. You both seem to utter a curse, and your hands grasp each other tight.
“You feel amazing…” he murmurs as he bottoms out, the feeling of fullness so perfect.
You whisper your agreement as he withdraws and surges back in, your feet curling around his legs, toes sliding into the light fuzz on the back of his calves. There are soft sighs, both of you trying to muffle your sounds as he sets a languid pace, your body rolling with his; each push has your walls clinging to him, your breasts squashing against his broad chest. What strikes you most as you move together is that nothing is awkward; it all feels natural, predestined, an easy intimacy that suggests months or even years together rather than a first time.
He feels so good moving inside you, so perfect; all you can do is cling to him, trying to convey with your eyes what you dare not voice. Afraid that if you open your mouth, you will release the noises you are fighting to hold in, blazing in your lungs. His stare is blistering, too, a blush across his face that speaks of desire and denied words, his neck corded, a pulse beating wildly in his prominent vein, a sheen gathering on his forehead as he pushes into you over and over.
His breath is hot on your temple as he shifts, dropping a shoulder and reaching down, looping your leg into the crook of his arm, the sheet pulling taut around your knee as he does. He hits a new spot deep inside with his next thrust, which has you digging your nails into his back and whimpering behind your sealed lips. It's as if he is doing his damnedest to break you, make you cry out, and it's the best torture you have ever known.
You huff out of your nose as he does the same, both sounding winded, as he picks up the pace, your teenage bed starting to squeak in protest.
“Shhh,” you plead with the furniture as much as him.
He stops moving, buried in you, and reaches above, stuffing a throw pillow between the bedframe and the wall, his arms flexing deliciously right over your face, the scent of his body spiking your need. It makes you grasp your thighs around his hips and flip him over, landing with a bounce, him still inside as you are on top of him now.
“Wow, that was…” he looks both astounded and exhilarated.
“Surprising?” you supply with a triumphant crooked smile of your own, your hands tracing the lines of his pectorals.
“Wonderful,” he clarifies, his hands grasping your hips as you start to ride him. The way he looks up at you, with dark pupils and a bitten lip, makes you fearless. Starting a leisurely pace, you place your hands over his on your hips, fingers lacing as his eyes slip from yours briefly, transfixed by his cock disappearing into you.
He groans low, undulating beneath you, pushing up as you sink down, his eyes back to your face, a prideful expression as your mouth drops open, his cock nudging deeper than ever before, almost a dull ache that you need, moving faster now, chasing that hit with every downstroke. You can feel your body flushing hot from the exertion, your thigh muscles burning slightly. Still, you don't waver, too addicted to that feeling of being so utterly filled, his cock dragging all the right places inside that switch off your brain and forget everything, every doubt, every uncertainty about yourself and your body, and just chase pleasure.
“My god, you are beautiful,” he gasps, “I love to see you like this, so untamed, so free…”
The compliments just drip like whispered jewels from his tongue as he guides your joined hands up to your breasts and grabs them with a force that fans the heavy, hot feeling in your pelvis, his knuckles snagging your sensitive buds. It makes you want to ride him forever, your clit throbbing each time you sink down, tugging temptingly but not enough to quite tip you over. The clawing sensation of being so close makes you drag your fingernails down his torso and clench around his cock. He stutters and looks at you hungrily, possessed, and then, before you know it, the room tilts as he rolls you back under him, again never leaving your body.
He withdraws and thrusts back into you with such force the wind is knocked out of your lungs, the pillow muffling the thud against the wall. Something in the atmosphere shifts; an urgency, like the heat that has been simmering, is now boiling over for both of you. He grabs your knees and encourages you to wrap your legs high around his torso, tilting your pelvis to a new angle, and when he moves, you cry loudly behind your lips, his body glancing at your clit.
He hushes you with a prideful chuckle. So you grab one of his hands and place it over your mouth, knowing you cannot trust yourself to stay quiet now. The hitch in his breath as you gag yourself with his palm is like poetry.
Oh, Ben, you have no idea what I may want from you one day…
Your errant thoughts run to your darker fantasies, things you’ve never done before but are intrigued by, and in every one of them, it's him. Treating you just a little rough while you beg for more.
“Whatever you are thinking,” he gusts into your ear, moving faster now, “I hope it involves me.”
You nod, feeling his fingers flex across your face.
“Good, I can't wait for you to tell me,” he rasps lowly.
A bead of sweat forms along his hairline as the whole bed rocks now, the trapped pillow muffling the sound, his punishing pace pushing you ever closer to orgasm, pleasure spiking with each thrust. His hand grips your jaw; something about that pressure and the sweet words he murmurs is a contradiction of primal and tender. Sex before has always been one or the other for you; blended together, it's a potent elixir.
He takes you hard, without mercy, and you silently beg him with your eyes for just that; his cock feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as your cries are muffled by his tangy palm. The onslaught is perfect, and you are teetering on the edge just as he pleads roughly with you to come with him. So you let yourself go, your mind blanks out, your body bucking under his violently. Shuddering convulsions fanning out from your pussy, gripping tight around him and racing through every ounce of your being, muscles taut, eyes screwed shut, a scream trapped in your lungs. He stills above you, his hand releasing your mouth as that bead of sweat splashes down onto your nose. He curls around you, coming hard, huffing gulps of air and twitching almost violently with tiny aftershocks.
After a pause filled with panted breaths and strokes on overheated skin, he carefully withdraws and discards the condom.
“Merry Christmas,” you giggle into his neck as you collapse together.
He hauls you into his embrace, tucking you under his arm and kissing your dewy forehead.
“Merry Christmas indeed,” his answer ragged, wrapped in a warm laugh.
And that is how you both drift off - exhausted, sated bodies entwined, damp skin pressed together.
___
A few hours later, you are awakened by overexcited nieces and nephews thundering down the stairs, eager to see what Santa has brought them. It takes a moment to recall what transpired overnight, a telltale delicious residual pang between your legs, followed by the realisation you are alone. Part of you relieved Benedict has snuck back to the safety of the den, but a larger part sad not to be waking up in his arms. Sighing, you roll over and spy a jaunty cartoon penguin Christmas card propped up on your bedside table. Upon opening, you beam, immediately recognising the beautiful, looped handwriting.
Y/n
Thank you for the most magical night. Leaving this bed might be the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be on Christmas Day or, indeed, any other day of the year. But I don't want your father to be angry with me. I have a lifetime to disappoint him… if you will let me.
I can't wait to see you downstairs.
Merry Christmas,
B xx
P.S. I may have just booked a hotel for the rest of our stay. I think we deserve some privacy ;)
You giggle, elated; the exciting prospect of nights in a hotel and the pledge of a lifetime ahead makes your stomach leap—this could be the start of something. You momentarily clutch the card to your chest, revelling in your joy, before burying it into your book for safekeeping and going to take a shower.
When you descend the stairs, out of the picture window, you see most of the family gathered on the street with the kids circling on their new bikes. But as you round into the living room, a sight melts your heart. Benedict sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sofia, a novelty Santa hat perched on his head, surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper, festive music playing in the background as he puts batteries in some loud plastic toy that will no doubt drive everyone up the wall for the rest of the day.
She whoops with delight as the toy noisily springs to life and runs away to play with it. That's when he looks up and sees you watching from the doorway, his face lighting up. Slowly, he gets to his feet, and then you gasp as he wordlessly pulls you into his arms, brings your hand to his face and kisses your knuckles before starting to waltz.
“I didn't know you could dance like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease, impressed, allowing him to lead you around, dodging haphazard toys and boxes.
“Oh, there are so many, many things you have yet to learn about me, Ms y/l/n,” he proclaims alluringly as Frank Sinatra croons from the speaker.
♫ It's that time of year
When the world falls in love
Every song you hear seems to say
Merry Christmas
May your New Year's dreams come true. ♫
“I hope you don't have plans for New Year's,” he whispers into your hair as he brings you to a halt. “I would very much like you to accompany me to Aubrey Hall. As my girlfriend,” he explains, grinning. “Not fake,” he adds drolly after a pause.
You laugh, feeling lightheaded and giddy, but just as you go to answer, you are both interrupted by a little hand tugging on his jeans.
“Uncle Ben, you are my favouritist,” Sofia declares solemnly. “Will you visit every Christmas?”
Meeting your gaze, his expression contains multitudes.
“It would be my greatest honour, Sofia,” he replies to her, even though his eyes never stray from yours.
Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies
Lights divider by @/saradika [x]
#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton smut#benedict bridgerton fluff#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton#bridgerton smut#bridgerton fluff#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n
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A Work of Art
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader
Summary: You are a Marchioness from france and your mother is adamant that you wed. She is a very close friend of the Dowager Vicountess Bridgerton who has so generously agreed to be your sponsor for the season. Perhaps in doing this, she has unknowingly found her son's perfect match as well.
Warnings: slow-ish burn, friends to lovers, smut, 18+, minors dni, hair pulling, possessive/dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving). This is just porn with a plot.
Word Count: 2k
Author's Note: Hi! This is my first time writing, so apologies if it's a bit rough; English isn't my native language. Hopefully, you all absolutely drool over Benedict the same way I do. enjoy!
Once the social season had begun its approach, you and your family make haste on your return from france. Due to your newly given title, you are projected to be quite the diamond this season indeed.
As a close friend of the family, the Dowager Viscountess, Violet Bridgerton kindly offers to sponsor your debut this season, meaning that it is now of the utmost importance to arrive promptly at the Bridgerton home in London before the season is to begin.
As you sit in the drawing room, awaiting the next potential suitors you will inevitably send on their way, the clear and evident dread in your expression does not go unnoticed by your mother. A quick swat to your knee from her fan catches your attention, a visible look of warning on her face as your eyes meet hers.
"I do hope that attitude of yours is quick to dissipate." She sighs, "Men will find you quite inadequate to wed if you are to continue this ridiculous behavior. It is quite unladylike." Your mother's words cut right through you as if she had taken a hot paring knife to both of your ears. Not being able to withstand it any longer, you quickly stand from your seat and interrupt her.
"Mother, this gown and the line of men outside the door are quite suffocating enough; no need for your incessant nagging as well." You take a moment to pause, regaining your composure.
"I believe I am feeling quite faint; perhaps I've seen enough suitors today." You threaten rather than suggest, "I will return to my chambers and perhaps get a bit of rest seeing as the sun has already began it’s departure from the sky."
You bow and quickly excuse yourself before making haste out the door, walking as fast as your feet can take you, right past the men who are practically begging for just a minute of your attention.
You race directly to your bedroom, entering quickly and not even fully shutting the door before you are pulling down the zipper of your gown and letting it fall to the floor. "This retched thing must come off immediately," you mumble to yourself as you pull at the laces of your corset, loosening them just enough to slide off your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you slip off your stays and slip on a beautiful white nightgown you purchased from one of the most talented modiste in france.
Shortly after the maids come to collect your gown, you are quick to wander down the halls in search of a cure to your relentless boredom. you find what appears to be an art studio and you are instantly overjoyed. you quietly sneak in through the door left ajar.
Art was your pride and joy; your sketches and the ability to produce beautiful works on canvas were the only things keeping you from becoming a mad woman.
Unbeknownst to you, Violet's second-eldest son and the owner of said art studio had just returned home from the gentleman's club. As he makes his way down the hall, prepared to return to his studio and peacefully finish up some things he started the night prior, he is met with complete and udder surprise at the sight of a woman flipping through his sketchbooks.
He feels as if the air has been knocked right from his lungs. Never once has a woman looked so real, raw, and simply ethereal to him in nothing but a simple yet elegant night gown, the pages in between your delicate fingers, the way in which you sit, your effortless and beautiful features, and the way they change and turn to show your focus, the true and utter intrigue at the charcoal etched on the paper is more than enough to bring a man directly to his knees.
He watches as you adjust your position, your nightgown sliding up your thighs as you cross a leg over the other. He feels as if he might faint.
“those are from my time traveling.” he points, making his way in to the room.
So lost in thought, you are quickly brought back by the sound of the deep and sultry voice coming from the hallway, it sends chills down your body, you are unable to fight the butterflies in your stomach and are completely unprepared for what you’re eyes are met with the second they dare to leave the pages in front of you. He is perhaps one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen, the way his features darken in the dim candle light could cause scandal merely on its own.
As he makes his way over to you, you scramble to find any sort of words to not appear as a complete and udder fool. “désolée, my Lord. All this beautiful artwork caught my eye and i could not help myself.” your voice only making his new found attraction grow even stronger.
“Benedict Bridgerton..” he says just loud enough for you to hear. He is quick to take your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
“Miss y/n y/l/n” you respond, a blush creeps over your cheeks as your eyes meet his. Your name and accent are both very quick explanations as to why a very random beautiful woman was wondering in
his family home.
“Ah yes, the Marchioness from France. My mother has done quite a bit of boasting upon your arrival, i can now see why she was so keen on you being the diamond of this social season” he chuckled lightly “merci, Lord Bridgerton.” you offer him a warm smile as you place the sketch book in his hands.
Your hand grazes his and you feel as if your body is set aflame. You quickly fumble to stand, attempting to leave before any further scandal is to happen. he is quick to catch you by the arm, his light grasp more than enough to keep you in place.
“Please, stay as long as you’d like.” He offers, taking a step towards you, but you are quick to shake your head, knowing staying any longer may very well affect your title and rank during this very precious season.
“You are more than kind.” you place a hand over his and squeeze lightly. He leans even closer, your face mere inches from his. his scent fills your nose and you cannot control the heat that consumes your body, the sheer need you have for him in this very moment. “I must- i uh-..” he raises an eyebrow at your words. though his proximity fogs your brain, you attempt to compose yourself. “Perhaps i can show you some of my art in the duration of my stay here.“ he smirks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he nods “if what you create is half as beautiful as you, my art will never hold a candle to yours.” he compliments.
Your breathe catches in your throat as his words. “..Benedict- Apologies, Lord Bridgerton..” you quickly correct yourself, the use of his first name not going unnoticed by him. “I’m sure both your and my Mother will have quite the earful if i am found in here, i must go.” Before he is even able to protest, you are gone.
As the days pass, You begin to consume his every waking thought, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your skin on his is burned in to his memory and he cannot shake his want for you.
Anthony is quick to notice his admiration, the wandering stares and close proximity immediately become apparent in Anthony’s eyes. As the family settles in the drawing room, Anthony is quick to pull His younger brother aside “You’ve grown quite close with Marchioness” Anthony offers his younger brother a warning glance and Benedict simply smirks in return “Brother, are you suggesting that i’ve compromised Miss y/l/n?” he laughs. Anthony in no way finds this amusing “See to it that your intentions are well thought out and you are thinking with your brain rather than something else. She is a Marchioness, toying with oversea affairs may be more than risky, even for a Bridgerton.” Anthony notes, the clear and evident weariness in his voice wipes the smile right off Benedict’s face
“Brother, do remind me. Did you not ask for one Sharma’s hand in marriage and then proceed to marry the other? You need not inform me on scandal for i am more than well aware of what i am doing.” he place a hand on Anthony shoulder and squeezes light before walking away.
time skip
Benedict does everything in his power to gain every fraction of your attention when it is available. The two of you spending more time together than any of the men attempting to court you. This new grown fondness blossoms quickly and Benedict soon becomes one of your most trusted friends. Spending late nights in his art studio, promenades in the garden, pall mall with his family. You’ve never felt more at home than with your dear Benedict and his lovely family. This fondness grows very quickly to something much stronger. Knowing Benedict’s stance on courting and marriage in general, you shake the thought. Knowing your dear friend will never see you as anything but.
While enjoying another late night in his studio, you can’t help but feel different. You both are well aware your time together is coming to end. Suitors begin growing impatient and proposals begin rolling in faster than the tide.
“I quite like Lord Lumley, he is handsome and he finds interest in poetry.” Benedict is quick to laugh “Lord Lumley is a dimwit after nothing but your title.” you wince at his words “Clearly he’s much more of a gentleman than you.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” he asks, the change in his tone sending heat right between your thighs. He rises from his place on the stool and saunters over to you, his large frame towering over yours.
“Repeat what you said.” he orders
“Ben i was merely kidding i-“ you stutter, his proximity making your skin feel as if it were on fire.
“Do not make me ask you again.” he warns, a smirk on his face
You are a bit taken a back by his demeanor but the insatiable desire in your body fills you with a sudden surge of confidence. “Lord Lumley is more of a gentleman than you, Lord Bridgerton.”
Benedict lets out a low chuckle before leaning down, his mouth right by your ear.
“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Lord Lumley isn’t plagued by the same un-gentleman like thoughts that fill my head the moment you step into a room.” he sighs, his breath on your skin only making matters worse.
Your hands find his half buttoned shirt and you press your hands lightly to his chest “Benedict.” you warn.
he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes with his own. Your noses practically grazing as he speaks. “Tell me now that you do not desire me.” His hands rest on either side of your face “Simply speak the words and i will respectfully withdraw and allow you to be with whomever you like but first you must tell me you do not desire me and you wish for me to leave you alone.”
“Ben.” You mumble quitely. Every feeling or emotion that the second eldest Bridgerton has ever caused immediately rises to the surface. At a complete loss for words, you do what you feel is right in the very moment and you bring your lips to his.
The kiss quickly fills with passion, weeks of hidden adoration and care comes bubbling over the surface.
“Marry me.” he say breathlessly as he breaks from the kiss. “You have shown me what is it truly like to admire a woman. To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much so that all of her defenses crumble and that you would willingly take on any pain or burden for her. To honor her being with your deeds and words. You make me feel what only a true poet describes." his works nearly bring you to your knees as tears threaten to escape your eyes. “I would move the heavens down to earth for you if i knew it would make you smile.”
“Benedict.. Je vous aime.” you reassure him “I love you mon chéri, more than the moon loves the night sky. You are my everything, my best-friend. I would give anything to be your wife.” He pulls you back in for another kiss which very quickly becomes heated.
He trails hot kisses all over your jaw, neck and bosom. “My beautiful Fiancée.” he mumbles, his wandering hands sliding their way up your thighs, threatening to breach the hem of your nightgown. You are immediately reminded of your current location and you push the dark haired boy back “Ben.. not here” you breathe out, The second Bridgerton son just smirks before kneeling down in front of you.
Unsure of what he’s planning, you remain silent, eyes trained on his as he begins trailing kisses up from your ankle to your inner thigh. His hands trail up the back of your legs, giving your ass a playful squeeze as he reaches it, causing a gasp to escape from your lips.
The mere sight of him like this sends heat directly between your thighs, all logical thinking thrown out the window as he begins to tug your panties down your thighs. A blush creeps over your cheeks and your hands find his hair, tugging lightly. Benedict continues with no hesitation, pressing light kisses all over your inner thighs, leading right up to your aching core. You’re unable to fight back the sounds that leave your lips as you feel his tongue pressed against your clit. “Christ Benedict… you’re going to be the death of me.”
He wastes no time, lapping, kissing and sucking at your soaked heat as strong hands grip on to your thighs, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You lean against his desk to keep yourself upright while quiet moans and whimpers escape your lips, your hands pulling and tugging at his messy black hair, only encouraging him more. He pulls back only for a moment to look up at you “You taste fucking divine, my beautiful work of art.”
He is quick to return to your soaked heat. As his tongue works relentlessly on your clit, he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust before slowly thrusting them in and out. Shortly after, you feel an unfamiliar knot form in the pit of your stomach and Benedict is aware immediately due to your incoherent mumbles and the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s my girl..” he says breathlessly “just like that..” After hearing his words, you completely unravel, shaky moans escape your lips as one hand grips on to the table and the other with a tight hold on your Fiancées hair.
Once your body has relaxed, he gently pulls your panties back up before standing to face you. You watch as he brings his fingers to your mouth “Open.” he commands and you immediately oblige, opening your mouth as he slides his fingers past your lips. The unfamiliar taste and the sheer sight in front of you causes a blush to fall over your face. He removes his fingers with a groan and offers your a smirk “You, my dear Fiancée are going to be the death of Me.”
A/N: Hi guys! I really hope every likes this :) if you have any request, feel free to send them to me :)
#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x fem! reader#benedict#bridgerton#smut#anthony bridgerton#benedict smut#benedict bridgerton smut
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swim | benedict bridgerton x fem!reader
description: on your honeymoon, you and benedict decide to have a picnic beside a lake, which leads to his desire for a swim.
trigger warnings: nudity, seductive behavior, fluff, suggestive/implied smut, etc. please do not proceed in reading if you are under the age of 18. thank you.
word count: <1k
The sun was setting as you and Benedict were laying against a blanket, against the soft grass. You gently ran your fingers across the greenery amongst the ground, letting it tickle your fingertips. Your eyes grew weary as you gazed at the thin clouds in the orangey, pink sky.
In front of a babbling river stream, you listened to the soft movements in the water. Fish popping up here and there and water running across a line of rocks. You were wearing a long, floral sun dress.
"If I had the choice to stay here forever, I think I would," You admitted in a sigh.
Benedict's lips curved into his famous lopsided grin, you could hear it without even looking in his direction. "Me too," He agreed. He was sitting up with his hands folded, arms around his bent legs. "I don't suppose you'd wanna go for a swim?" Benedict grinned cheekily and poked your side, making you chuckle softly.
You turned to look up to him with blown out pupils. He was mesmerized by your beauty as you laid there so comfortably.
"I would hate to ruin your moment of peace and tranquility.." Benedict started and moved so he could hover over you, his free hand holding himself up on the other side of you. You were trapped beneath him now as he lowered his head to gently kiss your jawline. "But.." He breathed out, "I'd like to go for a swim with you."
"I must admit," You smiled. "You are very persistent, it is hard to say no."
"So is that a yes?" Benedict smiled, pulling his head back to stare at you lovingly. His other hand cupped your face, caressing the apple of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.
You nodded softly as he smiled like a school boy, rising to his feet as he begun to remove his clothing. You laughed as he was acting so frantic to get out of his attire, as though the water would dry out if the two of you hadn't been quick enough.
"Ben!" You laughed as he struggled to get his shoes off. "You can slow down, the water isn't going anywhere!"
Benedict smiled as soon as he became fully undraped, scurrying across the soft grass to leap into the cool water. You watched him with so much glee in your eyes. You took your time removing your dress, corset and stockings, as well as your boots. You laid all your clothes onto the blanket once you were completely uncladded.
"Come on, Mrs. Bridgerton!" Benedict smiled as his head was aboved the water, waving his hands so you would follow him.
"Is it cold?" You asked on your way toward the water.
"Refreshing," He grinned as he watched you jump in, splashing his face with the water lightly. He was laughing.
You kicked your feet to the surface of the water and smiled widely, so much so that your cheeks begun to sore. The water was cool against your skin, utterly perfect and — as Benedict described — refreshing.
His arms snuck around your waist as yours fell, resting across his shoulders and upper back. You let your nose brush against his cheek as your faces were centimeters apart.
"I never noticed.." He whispered, dreamily.
"What?" You smiled.
Once he noticed you were caught off guard, he smiled mischievously and lifted your waist tossing you further back into the water. He was cackling loudly as you yelped as soon as you hit the water again.
"You idiot!" You scolded once you resurfaced.
"Aww.. what're you to do, darling? Gonna tell my mother?" Benedict pulled his lips into a forced frown.
"I very well just might!" You grumbled.
Benedict couldn't take you serious as he swam towards you, smiling brightly.
"No, stay over there," You pushed the water to splash his face. He was laughing as he wiped his eyes with one hand and snuck the other around your waist lowly. He moved his hand from his face and held you tightly with both arms.
"You're absolutely adorable when you're frustrated," Benedict whispered into your ear as his hands moved down to your bum, gripping your cheeks softly. You sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide.
"Benedict," You whispered, squeezing his shoulders.
"What? I'm just appreciating your body," He snickered, with that most beautiful crooked smile.
You returned a smile and cupped his face, putting your lips to his softly. A rumble of thunder was heard in the distant skies, but that didn't stop either of you from pulling away. Out of nowhere, grey clouds darkened the sky and rain began to pour, hitting the tops of your heads with high pressure.
Pulling back from Benedict's kiss, you looked up at the sky with parted lips. He did as well, but his gaze at the dark clouds didn't last very long. He looked back to you and pressed warm kisses to your exposed neck, making you smile dreamily. Your fingers tangled in his wet hair, breathing softly.
"We should probably go back to the house," You muttered in a whisper.
Benedict smiled against your skin and you knew there was no stopping him now; and you were comfortable with that.
.
a/n: this is the cutest thing i think i've ever written 🥺 i love it so much!! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i had fun writing it! if you'd like more bridgerton content, PLEASE let me know! i'd love to write more for this fandom! thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed! be safe, my darlings. <33 — angelina.
#smut#imagine#reader#x reader#edit#bridgerton#bridgerton smut#benedict bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x y/n#anthony bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#eloise bridgerton#bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x reader#colin bridgerton#honeymoon#daphne bridgerton
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To Be Alone With You (Part 4)
Anthony Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader (soon)
mentions of Benedict Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader
Warnings: cheating (Anthony is engaged to Edwina), SMUT!!!!!! oral (f), fingering, over stimulation, sexual tension, cursing, body worship, jealous Anthony, biting, angst at the end, hair pulling, breeding kink
I'M SO SORRY IT GOT TO BE SO LONG :)
Summary: Anthony finds out about your art session with Benedict and means to remind you who you belong to as you remind him who he chose to belong to.
Songs to listen to while reading: **= smut part, *=angst
**Amantes: Esme (song is in Spanish but is very soft and sets the mood)
**Take Me To Church: Hozier
**I Wanna Be Yours: Arctic Monkeys
**Shameless: Camila Cabello
**wRoNg: ZAYN
*The Great War: Taylor Swift
*Say Don't Go: Taylor Swift
Tag List: @shealuna, @m-rae23, @littlepeanut03, @aellabridgerton, @sydney-m, @faatxma, @wildthoughtnananna, @uraesthete, @themadhattersqueen, @sydney-m, @theantiquehobbit
LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME
You watched the Lady's maids get you ready in front of a large mirror. When it came time for you to get your hair done, your best friend, Phoebe, ushered the other maids out. Phoebe was the daughter of your mother's Lady's maid. The two of you grew to be fast friends as you grew older. Phoebe hoping for marriage and you planning to find a man worthy of her.
"If you are not careful, the others will know what you and those two Bridgertons are up to," She said as she pulled your hair off your neck, revealing the bruises from your "art" session with the second son.
"Phoebe!" You gasp. "I told you that as you are my best friend, not for you to use it against me."
"Darling, I am not using it against you nor am I blaming you. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position?" She giggled as she put your hair in the tight bun that it needed to be in.
"I would rather not be in my position if I could help it," You said while looking down at your hands.
---
The Bridgerton house was covered in their signature baby blues. There were flowers, candles, and other decor everywhere to be seen. All the Bridgerton brothers were decked out in their fancy suits with those beautiful neck ties. Benedict's was a soft yellow and Anthony's was a dark blue. The others wore white.
Dressed in your family's dark purple color, your mother had the neck line deeper than what is normally accepted. You knew that she just wanted to help you find a man but the only man that you really wanted was one who was engaged to marry your sister.
Moving to the drink table, you grab a cup of water. You notice that nearly everyone else had chosen the lemonade. When you turned back around from the table to the ballroom, one Colin Bridgerton was making his way to you.
Giving a short bow, Colin moved to stand beside you.
"Do tell me, Miss Sharma, how have you enchanted my two idiot brothers?" He asked with a sly smirk on his face.
"Why, I do not have the slightest idea," You reply, hoping that he wouldn't pressure.
"See, I don't know if I can accept that answer, Miss Sharma," Colin said. "It seems that their eyes have not left you since you walked into the room."
With that he left your side, only for one Anthony Bridgerton to step into his place.
"Evening, Miss Sharma."
"Viscount Bridgerton." You nod.
"How have you been?"
"I've been fine, my Lord," You quip. "How has your engagement been?"
He looked at you with a flash of hurt at the sudden mention of his engagement to your sister.
"How was the art session with my brother?" He said with a jealous undertone in his voice.
"It was wonderful. I learned a lot. A lot that some men can't teach." You walked away at the end of your sentence as you moved to the dance floor with Anthony.
The way his eyes looked at you with such passion and desire at the same time nearly dizzied you as his left hand came to rest on your waist and his right holding yours. His warm skin melted through the soft white fabric of your glove and you could feel his warmth through your gown.
Your bodies moved in waves of motion as you stared into each other's eyes, mapping out every hue of color as though this will be the last chance you would see each other. After all, this will be your last chance to see Viscount Anthony Bridgerton unwed. The last chance to be with Anthony Bridgerton. Your Anthony.
"Your gown is exquisite, Miss Sharma." Anthony moves to turn you so your back is pressed against his chest, his arm holding yours across your chest. His lips near your ear so you are the only one to hear, his warm breath fans over your exposed neck and the top of your chest as it rises and falls with the sheer excitement and nervousness that came to being this close with the Viscount, your lover in the darkest nights.
"Thank you," You said. "You don't look to bad yourself, My lord. "
"Anthony," He said. "I have told you to call me Anthony."
"My lord, I have only called you that in private." You began to become flustered with the memories of your night meetings before his engagement.
"You seem to be flustered," He says as he pulls you closer as the music stops, his lips directly beside your ear. "Tell me, do you still think of me when you are with my brother?"
You pull back quickly with surprise. You go to say something, anything but you can't seem to find the words.
"It's okay, darling. My brother is a worthy lover, however, I must make you remember who you belong to." He says before squeezing your dress to walk away to greet a man by his mother.
---
You sit in your room, looking out the window at the small lake outside. The night reminds you of when you first let Anthony touch you.
His skin against yours in the cool water as he moved his lips against yours in fever as he wanted to consume your every thought and replace it with him. The way he picked you up out of the water and laid you on that dock. The way he ravaged you with hunger and lust as he picked you apart and put you back together with pleasure being his glue.
Your hands start to wander up and down your body as you remembered the ways that he touched you, making you feel immense pleasure that you had never known until that night. You shake the thoughts away from your mind as it started to thunder outside, signaling a thunderstorm was about to hit. Just as a loud crash of thunder clapped, a small thud against your window sounded so much louder in the howling wind and rain. You open the window to find Anthony Bridgerton soaked head to toe in water. His hair was stuck to his face and his clothes were stuck to his body. He waved you down and you went.
"Have you gone mad?" You whisper shout.
"Mad? No. In love with you? Yes." He smiles.
"You don't mean that, My lord."
"But I do."
"You made me believe you loved me only for you to propose to Edwina. My sister!"
"I never meant to actually fall in love with you!" He yelled, hands coming to be thrown up in the air.
"So it's my fault that you love me? Is that what you are trying to tell me?"
"No! Yes! I don't know how I fell in love with you." He stared at you as the rain continued to pour around you. "I just know why I love you. Let me show you how much I love you."
"What about Edwina?"
"What of Edwina?" He asked, confused at the even mere mention of her. As if the mention of his fiancee was left a bad taste in his mouth. Not that she wasn't a lovely girl, but because she wasn't you.
"What has happened between you two?" You tremble at the thought of the two of them doing the things that you have done together.
"What do you mean by that?" He asked. "Nothing has happened."
"Have you kissed her?"
"No."
"Have you held her body close to yours?"
"No."
"Has she been given the same pleasures that you once gave me?"
"You are the only one that I have ever wanted to be with that way in a long time. I do not care for Edwina that way. When I told you that I only feel this way about you at the lake, I meant it." He said, moving to grab your hands to pull you closer to him.
His brown eyes bored into yours as he scanned your face for any resistance. He pressed his body against yours as he bent his head down to press light kisses on your neck.
"I desire you so deeply I feel it in my bones."
"I believe that may be the cold and the rain."
-----
You lead him into the house, quietly to not wake anyone, and held his hand as he followed behind you up the stairs. As he stared at you with want, you lead him to your bedroom. He helped you run a warm bath as the two of you had been in the rain for the last hour.
You step closer to him, hands coming up to cup his jaw as you pulled him down to you level and kissed his lips. He gasped at the chill of your lips which lead you to slipping your tongue inside his warm mouth. You moaned as your hands wandered his wet body and started to slip his waistcoat off his shoulders to reach his shirt. His own hands came up to start unbuttoned his shirt before you ultimately ripped it off him.
"I quite liked that shirt," he said with a smirk.
"I'll buy you a new one," You said as you unbuttoned his pants and stripped him bare before you.
Your hands came up and started to touch his body as he kissed you, removing your wet clothes for your body. The two of you laid in the tub as the warm water surrounded you both.
Your head on his chest and his chin on the top of your head gave the two of you the feeling of closeness that you needed.
"I love you," he whispered into your hair.
"I know. I love you too."
You turned to kiss his lips and hold him close to you. Your tongues move together as if they were dancing, in secret promises of love and lust. Your hands explore each other's wet bodies as you lay in the warm water. Anthony's chest tickles your back lightly and you can't help but sigh at the thought of being like this forever.
----
Anthony dried you in the white fluffy towel and wrapped you up before grasping your face to kiss your lips once more. His kiss was slow, exploring your mouth as though it would be the last time, not knowing if there would ever be another time he could touch you like this, to taste you like this.
His arms came to pull you flush against his bare body as his hands caressed every inch of your skin, wanting to memorize the feel of your skin underneath his hands, to feel your warmth radiating from you.
He walks you back to your bed, never breaking the kiss until he pulls away long enough to gently push you back so you fell onto the mattress softly, swiftly landing on top of you, connecting your mouths once more. It felt like your air was stolen right out of your lungs and your body set aflame. Your legs spread to allow him to lay in between them as his hands ran down your sides as he kisses your thoughts and air away from you.
Anthony's scent filled your nose as you breathed him in. His touch washed any thought away as his lips ventured down to your neck, kissing and sucking lightly, making you sigh in content as you felt Anthony's tongue gently soothed over any bites that he left as he moved down your body.
Quiet whispers of "You're so beautiful" and "I love you" slipped into the night as Anthony kissed down your stomach and met your hips. Brown eyes met yours as he looked at you for permission. You nodded for him to continue and you closed your eyes as you awaited the blissful pleasure of his mouth on you but it never came.
"Words," His eyes said. "I want to hear you say it."
"Anthony, please! I need you!" You moan as you try to grind your hips into his face.
"I love you," was all he said before he held eye contact as his mouth opened and his tongue touched your pussy. His lips came to your clit as he closed his eyes at the sweet taste of you. He moaned softly into your cunt as you gripped his hair with one hand and the other, the bed sheet. Your hips rolled against his mouth as he pleasured you. You noticed that the bed was moving slightly as you opened your eyes and saw that he was staring at you as he ground his hips into the mattress to relieve himself some of the pressure that was torturing his cock.
"Oh my Lord!" You nearly shout as you clasp a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself.
"Do not bring my title into this bed," He grunted against your body.
You moaned at the sheer feeling of his fingers slipping into your hole, stretching you for the later events with his dick. He looked at your with admiration as he played your body like a violin. Anthony slipped from your hips as he moved himself to rest his face above yours.
"So beautiful."
"Anthony," You gasped into his mouth, panting to catch your breath.
"Does this feel good?"
You moan as his fingers brush your g-spot before curling there and massaging it.
"It does feel good, doesn't it?" He smirked. "So pretty. My pretty girl."
"Anthony," You keen. Your stomach tightening. "Please."
"My sweet girl, you don't have to beg." He looked down at your soaked pussy. "Cum."
Your orgasm wracked through you as Anthony continued to finger you through it. Waves of pleasure washed over you as over stimulation started to set in.
"Anthony," You whine.
"One more."
His fingers sped up as his search for another orgasm from you became desperate.
"Such a good girl," He praised. "My good girl. Doing everything that I tell you. Thinking that she can just fuck my brother but look who has her now. Look at how good you are being for me."
Your back arches as you let out a moan and Anthony clasps a hand over your mouth to silent you. You cum once more before Anthony moves in between your legs once again to line himself up with your entrance.
"Gonna fill you up so good," He groaned as he sunk into you. "Gonna see you so full of me, going to be dripping me for days."
You groan as he starts slowly moving against your walls as you clamp down on him, slowing his movements even further.
"I want to feel you," You moan as your arms wrap around his shoulders and pull his weight on you. You hand goes to his hair and you gasp when he thrusts deeply.
"Oh, Anthony."
"Yes, moan my name. Forget my brother. Forget any other man but me. I am the one making you feel this good." He groans into your neck as he starts to pick up pace.
"Only you, Anthony," You moan, back arching off the bed and your hips rising to meet his. "Only you make me feel this good."
His lips find yours and swallows your loud moans, keeping them for himself and only him. His hips move faster as he starts to get near his release. His thumb moves to your clit and starts to circle it as he kisses your neck and move down to your breasts, sucking softly.
"So beautiful," He moaned. "My pretty girl."
Your orgasm hit you like a train and you bite down where his shoulder meets his neck, earning a hiss from Anthony as he moved over you quickly, jack-hammering into you, trying to reach his end. You hands pull at his hair and his lips find yours.
His warmth spills inside you, your eyes rolling back as you feel him fill you completely. He falls on top of you, trying to catch his breath. You look at him in the soft moon light shining from your window. The rain was still coming down hard outside.
"I love you," You whisper.
He turns to look at you, smiling at your words.
"I love you too."
You smile before sliding closer to kiss his lips. His arms come around your body and pull you closer to his body so your legs tangled together.
"I wish we could be like this forever," You sigh, drawing circles on his chest with your finger.
"I know, I know." He sighed as he relaxed against you. "I wish it wasn't like the way it is."
You turn to look at him with a frown.
"When do you need to be back home before one of my sisters find us?"
"I can leave in about an hour," He said, looking into your eyes before kissing you softly.
"I can work with that," You smile before turning over to sleep against his chest.
"I love you, Miss Sharma."
----
You awoke with the other side of the bed cold. You turned over, hoping, wishing, that Anthony was still there. That he had chosen to stay, to risk being caught just so he could wake up next to you. You remember the feeling that you got when he used "Miss Sharma" rather than your name when he told you that he loved you. It was too vague for your liking. There were three "Miss Sharmas'." You sigh before getting up to start your day.
You look at his side and realize that there was a letter on your bedside table.
My Dearest, Miss Sharma
I awoke with a perplexed train of thought as I watched you blissfully sleep. I love you as deeply as the deepest parts of the oceans and even further than that. I wish there was a way for me to sleep in the same bed as you. To stay in the same home with you, to hold your love as close as I can until it was the only thing that I knew. I wish there were a way for me to undo everything that I gave done. I struggle with words compared to Benedict which on the subject of Ben, I give you my full permission to pursue him. Just because you can not find the happiness that you deserve with me, does not mean that my dear brother can not full fill that void that I have caused to be created in your soul.
I love you, Miss Sharma. How I wish I were able to say, "I love you, Mrs. Bridgerton. My viscountess." Perhaps in a different reality were I didn't propose to your sister, it would be you who I am marrying. Someone that I truly love despite that being everything I did not want when I was looking for a bride.
Yours true and with my deepest love,
A.B.
#anthony bridgerton x sharma!reader#anthony bridgerton fanfiction#anthony bridgerton#anthony bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton#bridgerton#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female!reader#bridgerton smut#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton smut#anthony bridgerton x reader angst#anthony bridgerton angst#bridgerton angst
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Kinktober 2022 - #8
Kinks: Body Worship, Mirror Sex, Nipple Play
Words: 967
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x f!Reader
Not gonna lie, I blushed when I wrote this and I kind of love it? Kinktober has been a little rough for me so far but this one- I like this one, you guys
I also couldn’t decide on a gif so it might change later
Kinktober Masterlist
“You look gorgeous.”
You bat your lashes at Benedict in the mirror, still perched on the chaise as he continues drawing.
“You keep saying that but if your gestures do not match up how shall I know you are being truthful, Bridgerton?”
You look over your shoulder towards him this time and he smiles, his eyes never leaving you as he puts down his graphite.
“Is there something you want to say, my love? Something you require to believe me?”
You roll your lip between your teeth and turn back towards the mirror.
There’s that quirk of his eyebrow and he sets down his sketchbook again. You sigh and tug the thin sheet covering you a bit higher again to cover your shoulder.
“I am growing quite cold, I admit.”
He sets the book down and you hold your breath in anticipation when he slowly makes his way over to you.
“My apologies, love.”
He lets his hands trace over your shoulders and you sigh. He takes a seat on the chaise and you instinctively lean back towards him, bathing in his warmth as he caresses your skin.
You close your eyes and relish in his touch. The sheet covering you slowly slides down your skin as he explores your sternum and stomach. He presses a lingering kiss to your temple and afterwards the skin behind your ear. One of his hands slides back up over your waist to your chest and you gasp softly as his fingertip brushes your nipple. His other hand slides over the length of your thigh before drawing back upwards.
You open your eyes and catch him staring at your naked body, a small smile on his lips as he continues his soft exploration of your skin. When he notices you looking, he meets your gaze head on. You watch his hand return to your breast, gently squeezing as he watches you. Your lips part around a sigh that quickly evolves into a moan as he plays with your nipple again. You let your head fall back against his shoulder and are met with a kiss pressed to your cheek before you turn to capture his lips. He hums appreciatively and his fingers continue their teasing, gently rubbing against your sensitive skin until your nipples fully pebble and he can squeeze them carefully.
You moan into his mouth as his hand delves between your thighs, his knuckle grazing over your center, his skin growing wet with your slick.
He groans when you move your hips back against his, the prominent bulge of him pressing into your thighs as he spreads you open with his hand until he can push a finger into your heat.
“So beautiful, love. Can I-”
“Yes”, you sigh and draw him into another kiss. He could do whatever he wanted with you at this point, your skin feeling much warmer and your mind already dizzy with want as he keeps toying with you.
The hand previously buried between your legs is carefully drawn away, smearing a line of your slick over your body as he reverently touches your curves. Then, his hands leave you completely and you are about to complain when you look at him in the mirror again, the way he quickly discards his shirt and pants before joining you again.
You gasp when he hooks one of your legs over his before crudely spitting on his hand, to stroke himself. You watch, starstruck, as he pushes into your heat his arm wound around your waist as you both moan in unison.
But instead of canting your hips into yours, his hand returns to your breast and you gasp, your eyes following his movement as his second hand joins the first. You see your own cheeks flush even more as he carefully rolls his hips into you. After pressing another kiss to your neck, he leans up to your ear, watching you as he skillfully takes you apart, the traces of graphite on your skin only highlighting your beauty to him.
It’s an agonizingly slow pace and you feel pleasure dripping down your throat like honey. You press a desperate, slick kiss to his jaw and he reaches one hand up to your neck to keep you there before leaning down to kiss you again.
“That’s it, just like that, love. You look so exquisite like this”, he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again. You whimper and clench your thighs together, eliciting a sharp groan from him. The touch on your nipples turns harsher and you part from him to cry out, the sensations crashing over you suddenly as you arch against him, overtaken by pleasure.
Benedict grits out a curse and you distantly feel him pull out before spilling on to your thighs.
You’re both panting heavily and you can’t resist another look towards the mirror- Benedict’s strong jaw flexes as he frowns before pushing his forehead to rest on your shoulder as he struggles with his breath.
You raise a hand and gently card your fingers through his unruly hair, smiling when you receive a soft moan and another kiss pressed against your shoulder.
“Do you believe me now?”, he slurs and you giggle as he reemerges from your shoulder with a satisfied smile on his lips before he kisses your neck.
“I think I might require more convincing, Benedict-” you barely manage to finish your sentence before two strong arms wrap around you and crush you against his chest. You squeal and Benedict grunts as he manages to get you off of the chaise and into his arms, the half finished drawing in his sketchbook long forgotten as he carries you off towards the bedroom with kisses and promises to convince you the whole afternoon if that’s what it would take.
#kinktober#kinktober 2022#kinktober2022#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x f!Reader
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Walls Are Crumbling
Fandom: Bridgerton
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader
Summary: You loved hard and it was your downfall. Now pregnant with a child conceived out of wedlock, no one would want to marry you. But Benedict, your dearest friend, refuses to let you fall in ruins.
A/N: first official benedict fic! woohoo! might make a part 2? idk. gotta see how you all like this first lol
It was becoming a late night. Everyone was at Lady Danbury's ball while the two Bridgerton men stayed behind, claiming they had business to take care of. However, Anthony and Benedict sat in Anthony's study chatting and drinking, happy to not be under the Ton's watchful eyes this night. Their peaceful night had gone interrupted as servant knocked on the door, "I'm sorry, my Lords, there is a Lady Y/N here."
The men's ears perked. You were a dear friend of their family. You were supposed to be at the ball. They were suddenly alert. Surely, there's something wrong if you're coming to them than staying at the party.
Benedict is the first to stand, "If you could send her here, please."
The servant nods, leaving to get you. Within moments, she's back but with you following her.
Anthony is the first to rush to your side, "What's wrong? Are you alright?" He always was like a protective brother to you
You can't help but break down into immediate tears, "I'm so stupid, Anthony!"
Benedict comes up to you, "Y/N," he says your name softly, "What's happened?"
You look down in shame, “Lord Matias…he promised he’d marry me. He kept saying he would and when I told him I was with child he-“ you let out a sob and Benedict immediately pulls you into his arms.
“It’ll be okay.”
You shake your head, mouth muffled by his shirt, “No, it won’t. Once my mother finds out, she’ll kick me out. I won’t have anywhere to go, no one will want me.”
“I’ll marry you,” his words are simply stated but carry a heavy weight.
You pull back, looking at Benedict with wide eyes, “Wh-What?”
He gulps and nods, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
Anthony looks at his brother sternly, "Brother-"
You shake your head, “No. Benedict you can’t. Your family-“
“Adores you, especially mother.” He steps forward to you and places his hands on your shoulders, “Do you really think I’ll let my dearest friend fall to ruin?” He looks at his eldest brother, "Anthony, we can't let her-"
He nods, "I know," he then looks at you, "If you would allow it, Benedict will marry you."
You look between the brothers, “What will people say?”
Benedict shrugs, “Nearly the entire Ton expects us to get married. It wouldn’t be much of a shock. Once the child is born, I’ll raise them like my own. No one would suspect a thing.”
You shake your head again, “I can’t ask this of you.”
“You’re not,” he gives you a soft reassuring smile, “Surely by now you’d know I’d do anything for you.” He looks at you with his blue eyes and you know he truly means it.
"The wedding would have to be soon then. If we have it any later, it'll raise suspicions-"
"You two could get married in the morning if you'd like," Anthony suggests and when you give him a look of shock he adds, "or not."
Benedict couldn't help but chuckle, "A month. I think a month is a good amount of time."
You can't help but sigh in relief, looking from Anthony to Benedict, "I can't thank you both enough," you pull Benedict into a hug. As he hugs you back, you don't see the knowing look Anthony is giving his younger brother. Benedict simply gives him a warning look before saying, "Everything will be alright, Y/N. We'll take care of everything."
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