#benedict bridgerton blurb

[delehosies]

𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 — benedict bridgerton x female reader . in which benedict discovers a lady asleep on his bed after retiring from the annual bridgerton ball for the night.

3200 words | a fluffy mess ! | masterlist | suggest fics ideas

The last thing that Benedict had expected to see when stumbling into his bedchambers after retiring from the ball for the night, still slightly tipsy, was a lady fast asleep on his bed. But Alas — there you were. Fast asleep, chest slowly rising and then falling again, your lips parted and the material of your ballgown draped in a rather messy manner around you.

He rubbed at his eyes harshly, as if doing so would prove that you were indeed a figment of his imagination, that he was coming down with a fever and therefore hallucinating, that a shadow had taken form on his bed and he had simply mistaken it for a girl. But no. You were actually there. On his bed.

Benedict felt his mouth fall open and shut again – bewildered but slowly coming to his senses. He finally closed the door behind him, so as to ensure nobody would see you, that your reputation wouldn’t be ruined over something which wasn’t anything. “Alright… alright.” he mumbled to himself, taking a few steps closer to the bed and kneeling onto the mattress besides you. Hoping that perhaps his weight shifting underneath would wake you up but… no. Instead you just mumbled something incoherent in your sleep, shifting onto your side as you did so. 

The annual Bridgerton ball had taken place that night, was still taking place downstairs in fact, and was still running into the early hours of the morning. But Benedict decided that he had had enough of the ton for one day, that he would get a somewhat early night. Instead one of his mother’s  guests was napping in his bedchambers. Which he had to admit was something completely new to him, in their many years of hosting balls he had never experienced this. 

“Um… Excuse me? Miss?” he half whispered, placing a light hand on the soft skin of your arm and attempting to gently shake you awake. “You really need to wake… You don’t wish to be caught alone together, hm? Especially not in my bedchamber…” 

Upon further inspection, Benedict noticed that your hair had been lazily removed from its updo, and instead fell around you, framing your face and complimenting your features perfectly. He brushed a piece away from you, tucking it behind your ear and frowning as he stared down at you. He was entirely unsure of what to do, and far too aware of how the situation would appear to anybody else - your reputation would be completely ruined if you were caught in this situation. Benedict wanted to ask his mother for help, but was frightened to leave you here alone. What if something happened to you? What if something had already happened to you? 

Benedict was unaware that just a few hours earlier, you had began to grow incredibly bored of the ball – by the mundanity of it all, the endless stream of men that your mother insisted on parading in front of you, the dances, the meaningless and far too polite conversation. You had instead decided to plant yourself in a corner nearest to the drinks table… where you had been drinking the night away ever since. 

You were unsure of how much you had actually drank, but when the entire room began to spin in a rather unpleasant way you had decided that it was probably time to stop. You had managed to stagger out of the ballroom and into a hallway – though you can hardly remember the journey upstairs and through the hallways into Benedict’s bedchamber, nor can you remember falling asleep, but you know that you certainly didn’t intend to fall into such a deep slumber. 

“Miss?” your eyes fluttered open to the sound of a concerned voice – a man. You sat yourself up quickly, too quickly. You immediately regretted it as the room began to sway again, the unfamiliar surroundings rocking back and fourth. You soon discovered the source of the voice, sat besides you on the bed with his eyebrows pulled together in concern. A Bridgerton. You weren’t entirely sure which one, but you knew that he was a Bridgerton.

“Oh dear God.” the words fell from you before you could stop them, bringing your hands upwards in an attempt to cover your face. Although you were still very drunk, you had enough sense to be embarrassed, mortified in fact, by the entire situation. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Mr Bridgerton.” you mumbled — refusing to meet his eyes, which were burning through you with an undeniably intense curiosity. 

Benedict blinked in surprise, he had never got quite used to the entirety of the ton being aware of who he was — most of the time they cannot tell him apart from his brothers, but they are still aware that he is a Bridgerton, meanwhile he is half asleep when introduced to people by his mother, it can be quite rare that he actually remembers a name.

“Are you quite alright?”

“I’m a little bit...”

“Drunk? I know that. I can smell the alcohol on you. But are you alright? I mean you were hiding in my bedchambers, asleep on my bed. Did something happen? Other than the copious amounts of alcohol.” Underneath his concern, his curiosity, his twenty questions – was amusement. You could tell that he was repressing a smile, perhaps even in a small laugh. 

You felt your cheeks begin to warm, feeling completely and utterly  embarrassed – he could smell the alcohol on you after all. You stood from the bed as soon as you could get up, an action which ended up being a complete mistake, you began to stagger sideways almost instantly. Benedict having to stand from where he was sitting in order to prevent you from falling. He placed two firm yet gentle hands on your arms, holding you in one place. 

“It’s alright… I’m not angry, if anything I’m quite amused…” you were forced to make eye contact with him at that point, and discovered that he was practically gazing at you, smiling as if he was biting back a laugh – he became serious again rather quickly. “But are you alright? Has anybody hurt you? Or was the annual Bridgerton ball just that boring?” 

You shook your head quickly. “I’m quite alright… I didn’t mean to fall asleep, do you see? I just needed a rest.” Your excuse didn’t give you any comfort, here you were, apologising to someone who was practically a stranger for falling asleep on his bed because you… needed a rest. 

“So you’re fine. Just sleepy, I suppose.” 

“Just sleepy.” You confirmed.

“And drunk… Too much of my mother’s famous punch.”

A quiet giggle fell from your lips – he was actually quite amusing. Why couldn’t your mother have paraded him in front of you instead of the magnitudes of bores who she insisted on you at least considering? 

“Do you care to tell me your name?” Benedict questioned, his head tilting to one side as his eyes scanned across your features, not making an attempt to hide his curiosity. 

“Y/N.” You replied, raising your head in the most confident and self assured manner that you could muster. 

“Well… It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Y/N.” He removed his hands from each of your arms, instead taking your hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin, before gently releasing you. “I’m Benedict — You don’t have to bother with the Mr Bridgerton stuff, I’m just Benedict afterall.” 

“I must be getting back… Benedict.” You smiled, hesitating at first but ultimately enjoying the way that his name sounded on your tongue. Benedict — you decided that you could get used to it. “I am sure that my mother will be worrying.” 

Benedict raised an eyebrow, sitting back on the edge of his mattress. “You can hardly stand, Miss Y/N. I’m not sure that you’re in any fit state to return to the ball just yet.” He stretched his legs out, removing his waistcoat and discarding it somewhere across the room.

“I appreciate the concern but I am perfectly fine.” you crossed your arms across your chest, feining irritation as you stared down at where he now practically laid across the bed. Unbeknown to you, your words were still slurred – very slurred. 

He was now laying back, gazing up at the ceiling. “You’ll be the talk of the town! I can picture it now… Do you think that you’ll be the main feature on Lady Whistledown? Or instead one of the more minor segments?” You stayed silent, arms staying tightly crossed. “Miss Y/N…” He held out an arm dramatically above him “drunken disaster…” 

“That is very rude! Were you not taught never to speak to a lady in such a manner?” you exclaimed, picking up what was nearest to you and throwing it across the room, where it landed on his chest – luckily, it was quite a small book, and did no damage when it came into contact with him. 

Benedict seemed utterly unfazed, laughing quietly to himself and opening the book to a random page – where he seemingly pretended to be utterly engrossed in the chapter. “Apparently not… I have four sisters so I am quite used to bickering with these so called ladies that you speak of.” He paused for a moment. “I will find something to sober you.” he stood, suddenly serious, his gaze turning to where you stood. “But only if you promise to stay here for the time being. If someone sees you leaving my bedchambers it would look most suspicious.” 

You nodded quickly, knowing that as much as you wanted to disagree,  he was most definitely right. “Just sit.” Benedict pointed to the bed, and you did so without hesitating, being very obedient. “And stay there. I won’t be gone for very long.” 

Benedict managed to leave his bedchamber without being spotted – using the servants staircase in order to avoid seeing anybody, and making his way down to the kitchen in order to fetch tea and biscuits for you. Meanwhile, you sat on the edge of Benedict’s bed, inspecting the surroundings the best you could without moving. You noticed an easel in the corner of the room and raised an eyebrow – you wouldn’t have guessed that he was a painter, but then again, you hardly knew him.

The minutes dragged on for what felt like eternity, waiting for Benedict to return to his room, and when he finally did you weren’t expecting him to return carrying a huge tray in a rather clumsily manner. He placed it down on the table besides his bed, shutting the door behind him as quick as he could. “Sorry that took me so long I…” He hesitated for a moment, seeming to carefully think his words over. “If I’m being completely honest I couldn’t work the stove to heat the water… but I got there eventually. Tea and biscuits, for you.” Benedict smiled sheepishly, before beginning to pour you a cup of tea. He handed it to you, and you gratefully took it. “You actually stayed sat there, how obedient!” 

You rolled your eyes, attempting to pay no mind to the way that particular comment made you feel – deciding to ignore it completely. “Thank you, Benedict.” Silence fell between the two of you, Benedict pouring a cup for himself before sitting besides you. “You’re an artist?”

He glanced over at the easel in the corner of the room before looking back to you, nodding as he did so. “Something like that… I like to draw, but whether I am an artist or not is most likely up for debate.” 

“Are you any good? Would you be able to capture my likeness? Can I see one of your sketchbooks?” You inquired, questions falling from you with zero difficulty. You thought that perhaps you might be speaking too much, but Benedict entertained every question that you asked him. 

He paused for a moment, eyes scanning you up and down – you couldn’t help but shiver underneath his gaze. “Hm… I’m certainly not a bad painter, though sometimes I doubt myself – I suppose we all doubt ourselves at times.” He was quiet once again, choosing his words carefully. “I’m unsure whether I’d be able to capture your beauty, but I’m always up for a challenge.” Benedict began to search through his bedside drawers, holding multiple sketchbooks in his hand. “I’m not sure if all of my sketches would be exactly… appropriate for a lady.” 

Once again, your cheeks warmed in embarrassment, and you turned your attention quickly to your tea to hide just how flustered his words made you – trying to ignore him as he began to flick through the pages of the filled books, tossing a few aside as he deemed them as being too inappropriate for your eyes. Of course you were curious, but you chose not to press on. 

You crossed your legs underneath you in the best way that you could manage whilst still wearing your ballgown, leaning forwards with interest as Benedict opened a sketchbook on the bed in front of you – pointing to the charcoal sketches. “My sisters… Daphne, Eloise, Francesca and Hyacinth.” he pointed to each picture, smiling proudly as he did so – proud more so of his actual sisters than he was of the drawings (although he knew that he had captured them well.)

“They’re beautiful, truly. You’re quite gifted.” You turned the page, smiling as you took in each sketch. 

You certainly didn’t miss how Benedict’s cheeks flushed a reddish hue with each compliment, how his lips turned up at the corners into a shy smile. He was clearly passionate about his work, cared more than he wanted to about what others thought of his art, that he valued your opinion. “Thank you… it means a lot. Truly.” 

The two of you spent as long as possible, talking, laughing, looking through Benedict’s sketchbooks, discussing books you had read recently – until you had sobered up… at least a little bit. The tea and biscuits soaking up some of the alcohol in your system, though there was nothing wrong with being a little bit merry at an event. 

“I suppose you truly should be off now.” Benedict sighed, helping you to your feet. “Most people will be leaving soon…  and you don’t want your mother to end up sending out a search party to find you.” You were certainly a lot more steady on your feet this time around, taking a few hesitant steps with the help of Benedict and feeling fine. 

You nodded, sighing quietly to yourself – you had had a much more enjoyable night, with better conversations in the short amount of time spent with Benedict than you had had at any other ball. “Thank you, for being so kind… and I’m sorry again.” 

Benedict shushed you, pressing a gentle finger to your lips – apparently feeling rather more bold than he usually would. “There’s no need to apologise – as strange as it was, I’ve had a lovely time. A better time than I would had I spent more time actually socialising.” 

“Me too.” You admitted, smiling sheepishly at him. Benedict turned from you, creeping to the door of the room and slowly opening it in order to prevent it creaking — he peered out, eyes scanning the hall to ensure that nobody was around. “It’s clear.” He reached out his hand to guide you to the door and you gladly took it, enjoying the warmth of his skin on yours as you were lead from the door. Benedict walked you to the end of the hall, pointing as he gave you directions back to the ballroom. 

You couldn’t help but feel a sadness within you as you walked the halls, taking in every tiny piece of detail: the paintings; the wallpaper; the furniture; the flooring – certain that you wouldn’t be returning. “Well… Goodbye.” You whispered shyly, offering a small wave before turning and beginning to descend the grand stairs. 

“Wait…” Benedict mumbled, turning and taking your hand in his and spinning you around to face him. You felt your eyebrows furrow together in confusion, watching as he hesitated with his words before finally blurting out the question – “Can I see you again?” 

“Of course you can… Mr Bridgerton.” You smiled, and in a feeling of unnatural and rare moment of courage you leaned up to kiss his cheek – pressing your soft lips to his skin before pulling away and watching as his face began to flush to a pretty shade of rosy pink. Unbelievable. You had managed to make Benedict Bridgerton blush. 

Before he could speak, you practically ran from the scene, gathering up your skirt in your hands to ensure that you wouldn’t trip. You knew that it was probably quite a dangerous thing to do, considering the fact that you weren’t exactly sober.

Benedict watched as you ran from him until you were completely out of sight, his lips slightly parted in surprise as he struggled to process all of the events from that night — it  all felt very much like a fever induced dream.

On returning to his bedchambers, Benedict flipped to a new page in his sketchbook and began to draw – wanting to sketch you to the best of his abilities before his memories began to fade. Despite his previous desire for an early and long night of sleep, he ended up staying awake for most of the night working on the portrait, ensuring that it would be ready before you awoke that morning. 

And when you awoke one of the first things that you discovered was a grand bouquet of roses left on the table besides your bed, made up of all sorts of different shades and sizes… alongside a note. Your lady’s maid had brought the flowers into your room whilst you had slept, creeping along the wooden floor so as not to wake you. She was secretly excited for you, having sneakily seen the note which came with the bouquet – she had unfolded it before tucking it back into place.

Hours after the flowers had arrived, you finally awoke. Still in your nightgown, half asleep and still in your nightgown, half asleep and sporting a small alcohol induced headache - you had leaned over to inspect the flowers before reaching for and unfolding the note — discovering a drawing of yourself. 

 A small gasp escaped you as you took it in. Benedict. He had made you look beautiful, so beautiful – he had captured you perfectly, all of you, seeming to even capture the soul behind your eyes. You just seemed so alive. His signature was at the bottom of the portrait, alongside the words “Sketched with love and care for Miss Y/N. – Benedict Bridgerton.” 

You ran your finger gently across the words, careful not to smudge any of it – the words repeating in your head again and again. A contented sigh falling from your lips, you fell back onto your mattress, holding the drawing close to your chest as the night’s events really sunk into you. It was hard to believe – yet the words on the page were there as proof — sketched with love and care for Miss Y/N. Benedict Bridgerton.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton fluff #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader

[mystcldydrms]

benedict is the type of husband that will fill his notebook with sketches of you. he will capture the beauty of your smile and how you look at other people, especially those you love. you hold so much adoration for them in your eyes. he draws small details of you, like the crinkles by your eyes when you smile or how your hair falls in front of your face whenever you laugh. he draws you in your dresses or when you wear nothing at all. he draws you when you're wide awake or when you're sleeping. in his drawing room, his canvas' are always full of drawings of you. you know about them, they are no secret to you or his family. they love how much he loves you, and you do too. there isn't a day that goes by that you visit him in his room, looking at all the sketches and drawings, trying to convince him to draw something or someone else. he doesn't hesitate when he says: "all I want to draw is you."

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton headcanon #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton blurbs #bridgerton headcanons #bridgerton fanfiction

[byebyelullabye]

seven ~ b.b

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

benedict bridgerton had been the age of seven the day he met y/n l/n. seven hours later, he declared her his bride.

(inspired by forgive me, a fic by @benedictscanvas !! highly recommend you go read it!!)

a/n: first bridgerton fic!! i was inspired by the fic above but i changed some of the ages to make a bit more sense.

warning: really. really. really bAD wRITINGggg. im really unsure abt this bc im still figuring out my writing style and honestly idk how to write in a regency-like manner so pls feel free to spew feedback :) also im really sorry if this didn't really live up to the hype im still learning how to develop my own voice etc etc so feedback is all the more appreciated <3

masterlist

~ fifteen (part 2)

Benedict Bridgerton had been the age of seven the first time laid his eyes upon seven-year-old Y/n L/n. 

It had not been expected. It began as an ordinary day, like any other. At least, as normal as it could be for a member of the great Bridgerton clan. So far there were only four Bridgerton children (though there was no doubt among the Ton there would be more to come): Antony (10), Benedict (7), Colin (3), and little baby Daphne who was turning a year old in just a few weeks. 

Breakfast was served, in abundance of course, considering the hefty appetite of the growing Bridgerton boys. Colin would attempt to snatch a piece of pastry from one of his brother’s plates. Daphne would start crying in the middle of the meal, needing the comfort of her mother’s arms. Breakfast would end with full stomachs. Daphne was put to sleep. The boys ran off in different paths, in different pursuits. Then, Lady Bridgerton prepared the drawing room for her incoming guests. 

Everyone remembered that day differently, apart from Daphne who barely knew anything at that age. Although Anthony would admit later on that he did not care enough to note any details because he thought it as just an ordinary day. But Benedict, second-born he was, always thought of that day he first saw an angel before his eyes. 

When reminiscing upon that day, Benedict was ashamed to think he did not even notice her when he walked into the drawing room. She was there with her mother, Lady L/n. They had been invited by Lady Bridgerton for tea that day, because after all what else are you supposed to do with your charming new neighbors? 

The L/n family, composed of Lord and Lady L/n along with their shy young daughter Y/n, spent much of their time traveling before deciding to settle their residence in Mayfair after careful consideration and a longing ache for stability and society. Lady Bridgerton heard about her family's new neighbors from the grapevine of the Ton but never saw them with her own eyes until a week later when they were all settled in the house. Knowing no one among their circle, Lady L/n reached out to the other mothers but was met with that certain brand of indifference that accompanies new change. Lady Bridgerton never tolerated such crass behaviour so she invited her new neighbor and her daughter to her home the next day. 

Which leads to where they are now, in the drawing-room of the great Bridgerton House, peacefully sipping tea in between flowing waves of animated conversation between the two ladies. Y/n opted to hide behind her tea cup, now that she could no longer hide behind her mother’s skirt. 

Benedict was not even supposed to be in the drawing room but nevertheless, he needed his pencils for his newfound hobby of sketching. Once he entered, however, his pencils were the last things on his mind.

Once his eyes landed on her, his heart raced. His cheeks reddened. His eyes widened. The world silenced. Without a word, thoughts of sketching flew out of his head as he immediately ran to her. 

Because she spilled tea on her dress. 

In all fairness, it was not her fault. Benedict's younger brother Colin had taken a habit of exploring every new place and every new person that he came upon. Thus, he wanted to startle the new presence in his home by pulling one of the stray locks of her hair. Immediately after, Colin sprinted out of the room to escape the wrath of his mother and brother. 

Benedict ran to Y/n's side and kneeled on the ground to pick up the chipped teacup she dropped from the floor. He offered it to her in his outstretched hand. 

Before he could scold his brother, Benedict looked into her eyes, and all the world outside them faded. Time slowed. He gasped. His mouth went dry as his jaw dropped. For a second, his heart stopped. Then, all he could hear in his ears was every breath he expelled from his lungs. Butterflies grew forth in his stomach, each wing beating in time with his pounding heart. As if hie eyes were a telescope focusing on a singular point, he gazed upon her and got lost inside the galaxies of her soft doe eyes staring back at him. 

Then, she smiled. 

Benedict Bridgerton was seven years old the day he fell in love with seven-year-old Y/n L/n. 

She looked ethereal. As far as Benedict was concerned, she was ethereal. She wore her aura of warmth like a halo above her head. It glimmered like her eyes, illuminating her god-sculpted features. Her enchanting albeit shy smile shone and melted through his heart. He was in such a daze he could have sworn there were sparks when their fingertips grazed each other once she took the teacup. 

He couldn't stop staring at her even if he tried. He didn't really try, anyways. As she stood, he continued to stare at her like a work of art from the first time he stepped foot inside a museum: full of awe, marveling and questioning how he, a mere mortal, was allowed to be in the presence of such beauty. 

"Thank you", she whispered in a heavenly melodious voice that took his speech away. 

Benedict remained kneeling on the ground before her. Nothing  in the world could have stopped him from gaping at her. Not even his own mother, who took hold of his chin to close his mouth. Lady Bridgerton hid her smirk and the twinkle in her eyes behind a well-placed cup of tea as he ran off to compose himself. Lady L/n shared the same look as she took a sip of tea, mirroring Lady Bridgerton's expression. 

Y/n was quiet for the rest of the conversation between her mother and Benedict’s. She hadn't touched her cup of tea or any of the pastries laid out. Her eyes wandered all over the drawing room as she tried to amuse herself. She wanted to be interested in her mother's conversation but she did not have the patience for it. Her expression of exponential boredom was painted all over her face and both mothers took notice of this. 

“Miss L/n, would you like to play with some of my children? I just had a daughter and I'm afraid she’s still too young to be playing but I’m sure my sons would enjoy your company. Perhaps in the garden?”, Lady Bridgerton asked Y/n, eyeing Benedict who was poorly hiding behind an antique vase, while Y/n's mother brushed away the stray curl Colin pulled on. 

Benedict saw her eyes light up, even from afar. 

“Please, Mother, may I? Please?”, Y/n pleaded with her mother as she clasped her hands together. 

“I do not see any reason why not.” Lady L/n answered cooly, catching Lady Bridgerton's eye. 

Without another word, Y/n ran out of the room. She stopped to look at the wide hall and marveled at the art of the house. The arching roof. The cream-painted walls. The elegant curve of the staircase. Her gaze roamed all over as she buzzed excitedly. Eventually, her eyes landed on Benedict who had done nothing to stop hiding nor moved an inch away. His cheeks reddened when she found him, adamantly refusing to look her in the eye. 

"Why are you hiding?", she asked him as she stepped closer to examine him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. 

He cleared his throat and did his best to meet her gaze, "'m sorry, a gentleman is not supposed to stare."

"You were staring at me? Why? Is there something on my face?" She worried, panic rising in her voice. 

"Oh no! Your face is fine", he assured her, "You have a very nice face", he looked back down at the ground after the reality of his afterthought caught up to him. 

Y/n stayed quiet for a while, unable to look at him. It is unfortunate that Benedict wasn't able to catch her giddy smile. 

"... Thank you", she smiled. For the second time that day, Benedict's heart stopped.

Once he recovered his voice, he apologized. "'m sorry 'bout my brother. He does that to everyone. I hope he didn't tug on your hair too tight." 

"I am fine. I'm just glad the lock didn't fall off my head", she said before trailing off. Once she turned her back to him, Benedict came out of his corner. She turned back, however, Benedict was speechless again. 

"Can you show the house? At least the playroom? Your mother told me you have gardens" she shyly asked with a small smile. 

Benedict held out his hand and she took it as he led her up the stairs. He turned his head so she would not see the tomato red blush blanketing his cheeks. They walked up the stairs quietly, Y/n trailing behind and neither pair of eyes meeting to preserve their coloring. 

They were halfway through the steps when mischief struck. Benedict's two brothers, Anthony and Colin (from earlier) saw the entire interaction from the top of the stairs. They were devilish little buggers, as their father would say. So what else do you expect them to do but push Y/n down the stairs as they ran past her? 

Benedict was furious. The pair of them reveled in the annoyance of the middle brother and with Y/n’s appearance that day, it attracted their mischief like flies to honey. Benedict helped Y/n to her feet and grabbed her hand to run up the stairs, lest they should run into his brothers again. 

Unfortunately, he missed Y/n’s giddy smile again with his insistent running. Not to worry, she smiled all the while they played throughout the day and throughout the garden.

It wasn't until a few hours after (seven hours to be precisely exact) Y/n and her mother had left that Benedict realized he never got her name. That evening, he turned and asked his mother. 

"Mother, who was she?" 

She looks up from her embroidery. "Who, darling?" 

"The angel" He didn't hesitate to answer. 

His words caught the attention of everyone in the drawing-room at the present moment. Upon hearing him, they all froze and turned their heads in his direction. (Everyone except Little Colin who was preoccupied with a plate full of cookies). His father, on the other hand, looked up from his newspapers and turned to his wife who smiled knowingly. 

"What angel?" His father asked with a curious tone and narrowed eyes. 

"The one who visited today", Benedict insisted. 

"The one who spilled tea on her dress?", Anthony cheekily inquired before taking a biscuit. 

Benedict was about to lunge at his older brother's smug face when Anthony quickly replied, "Because if she's clumsy enough to spill tea on her dress, I don't think she's an angel at all." 

"She is an angel! She's too pretty to be like us!" Stomped Benedict exasperatedly. 

His father adds pensively, “Perhaps she fell from the heavens.”

“Like she fell down the stairs?” Anthony continued to annoy his younger brother. Like ten-year-olds tend to do. 

“You and Colin made her fall down the stairs! That wasn’t her fault!” Benedict continued to stomp his tiny foot. 

"Calm down, dear." His mother soothed him as he sat across from her. 

"Benedict, why do you want to know her name anyway?" His father inquired as he folded his newspaper. 

Benedict stayed quiet before shyly answering. "Well, I simply want to know what to call her the next time I see her." 

"What makes you think you are going to be seeing her again?”, Anthony pipes up. 

"Darling, how long were our new neighbors here? Weren't they here for hours?" Lord Bridgerton turns to his wife after she shakes her head no, "Benedict, the girl was here for hours and you never asked for her name? Does she know yours?" 

"Father, I was too distracted!" Benedict admitted embarrassedly. "She smiled at me!"

His mother, his only ally, answered to her eldest son and husband, “Well, Anthony, my love, I found her mother delightful and I have no doubt that we shall be great friends. Also, we are neighbors, after all. Why Benedict never asked for her name, I have no idea” 

“Mother, not you too!" The world spun around too fast for his liking. With an angel appearing before him and his family relentlessly teasing him for his reaction to seeing an angel before him, he was lightheaded.

Out of all the excitement rushing through his veins (or the sour of the moment), Benedict loudly proclaimed, "I am going to visit her tomorrow!”

Once again, the room fell silent. Knowing glances were exchanged between his parents. Anthony kept his smug smirk on his face and Coin continued to eat, oblivious to the conversation of his family around him. 

“Dearest, why are you going to her house?", his mother slyly asked. 

"Because I want to see her!" 

Anthony remarks, "Why?"

"Because I want to see her again!" 

"Why?", Anthony repeats. 

"So I can talk to her!"

Colin mimicked his brother, asking, "Why?" 

Then, Benedict hesitated. A few beats of silence preceded his carefully chosen next words, "...So I can court her…"

At this point, his father had already resigned from the conversation but upon the faithful words, his attention was pulled toward his second son once again. 

"Now, why on Earth would you do that?" 

Benedict was now beyond exasperated. His head looked like a boiling tea kettle, with the fumes smoking out of his ears and the blood boiling in his face for an entirely different reason from before.

"BECAUSE I AM GOING TO MARRY HER!"

Clack! 

Lady Bridgerton dropped her cup of tea.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton drabble #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton netflix #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #bridgerton siblings #an offer from a gentleman #luke thompson #queue me up scotty #yeng speaks #yeng's folklore #yeng's alcove #one shot #benny bridgerton my beloved <3

[siempre-bucky]

benedict bridgerton with the prompt 'behind' please 💐

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

[ BEHIND ]: upon entering the same room as the receiver, the sender steps behind them, and winds their arms around the receiver’s waist, drawing them close against them.

wc: 333

"Has anyone seen Benedict?" Daphne questioned as the family gathered on the lawn of Aubrey Hall. Everyone's eyes looked around before locking onto the pall mall equipment. 

"You know, I thought when newlyweds refused to join us, it's supposed to both of them," Anthony teased, grinning as he passed the mallet of death to his wife. 

"You know all too well, Anthony," Kate laughed, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. 

You smiled at their interaction and looked towards the house, "I'm sure he's just painting," you assume. "He didn't want to witness my victory." 

"Your victory?" Benedict laughed as he came up behind you, pressing your back against his chest. The scent of sandalwood and charcoal made you smile as you put your head against him. His hands wrapped around your waist, not caring if the messy black substance coated your dress. "Oh, my darling, I may love you more than any masterpiece, but I promise I will never miss an opportunity to beat you at pall mall." 

"If you two are done with the whispering, I have a game to win," Eloise sighed as she lined up her shot. 

You and Benedict watched on and waited for your turn, smiling at the loving yet competitive bickering of your family. "I didn't wash my hands," he admitted as he lowered his head to allow his lips to connect with your exposed shoulder. 

You smirked and placed your hands over his, "Must I help you?" 

"We could retire to our room, draw a bath, and perhaps I can put my hands to good use after being cleaned." 

"And miss out on my victory?" you joked as you turned around to face him and wrapped your arms around his neck. 

Benedict pulled away and looked towards the sky, placing his hands behind his back, "Fine, Mrs. Bridgerton... miss out on all the fun." 

As he turned towards the house, you laughed and ran up behind him, taking one of his hands in yours, "Never." 

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton blurb #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic

[st0nesnglitter]

Manwhore Monday <3

Let’s cheer up the worst day of the week.. with men!

🍰 - baby blurbs

send in an idea and character(s) for a little blurb <3

🧸 - dialogue

send in a scenario and character and I’ll write a dialogue <3

🩰 - thotty thoughts

send in a person/character and I’ll share a thought or idea about them.

OR to share your own thoughts about someone <3

💐- singsong

send in a character and I’ll share a song that remind me of them/ a song I think they’d listen to

The men in question:

Joel Miller

Agent Whiskey

Lip Gallagher

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

James Potter

Benedict Bridgerton

Daryl Dixon

Rick Grimes

Peeta Mellark

Finnick Odair

Coryo Snow

^In any AU :)

Fluff and NSFW!

Other people/characters are welcome, but I might not be as good or know as much. Send in all your heart desires and we’ll work through it together <3

#bo one cares #sirius black #benedict bridgerton #james potter #lip gallagher #pedro pascal #remus lupin #daryl dixon #rick grimes #henry cavill #baby blurbs #character dialogue #james potter blurb #lip gallagher blurb #rick grimes blurb #pedro pascal blurb #benedict bridgerton blurb #p!links #manwhore monday w/bo

[spxllcxstxr]

Shades of Green • B.B

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hey could i request something for Benedict Bridgerton. Maybe the reader is jealous because he’s courting someone else maybe a princess or something. — anon

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton promised you a dance at Lady Danbury’s next ball but you find he’s a bit preoccupied with a Duchess instead

Warnings: fem!reader, jealousy, historical inaccuracies, drinking?

Word Count: 978

A.N: is this historically accurate? No. Is Bridgerton historically accurate? Hell no. So we’re all going to just deal with it lmao, switched up the request just a wee tad bit like otherwise it’s the same, first time romantically writing for Benedict so I hope you guys enjoy it! I actually loved writing this lmao

•

With your jaw tightly set you watched from the edge of the ballroom as Benedict danced yet again with the Duchess Charolette Frederica.

The German Duchess managed to snag him for the first dance and hasn’t let him go since. With the amount of times they’ve twirled around the ballroom, you’re surprised they haven’t yet been sick.

You attempt to hide your scowl behind your wine glass as they pass by you, Benedict smiling at her as she bats her eyelashes. Their fingers are intertwined, though hers are covered by white lace gloves. You wish that were you in her stead. However, here you are, standing at the edge of Lady Danbury’s elegant ballroom.

The day before last Benedict called upon you, informing you that he wanted your first dance and that he had something important to ask you. At that time you thought, quite hopefully, that he would finally be asking to court you, though now it seems you had been wrong this whole time.

The shimmering diamonds draped across the base of your neck gone to waste.

The grip on your crystal glass tightens.

“I am no artist, but I can recognize a shade of green when I see it,”

Your gaze slides away from the two dancers, instead landing on one of his younger sisters. Eloise stands next to you, arms crossed against the bust of her lilac dress, smirking. While you practically considered Eloise a sister, you despised being on the receiving end of her smug countenance.

“What ever do you mean, Eloise?” You try to relax your features and keep your eyes trained on the young lady, but you awfully desire to bring your eyes back to her brother and his current dance partner.

One eyebrow raises. “You have declined every man that has asked you to dance so far tonight, all while watching my brother like a hawk,” One of her hands is placed delicately on the one you’re clutching the glass with. “You are jealous,”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Heart beating rapidly at being discovered, you turn your head back to the ballroom.

“I am not color blind, nor am I blind to the look of love,”

You lightly rip away from Eloise’s grasp in order to sip at your rosé. Maybe if you don’t respond to her she’d find another one of her brothers or Penelope Featherington to impose upon.

It was quite clear to you that you were being harsh to Eloise, but you’d been hurt enough at this ball and you didn’t want to be reminded of your unrequited love.

You take another sip as the music dies down.

“Brother!” Eloise calls from beside you, not giving up in the slightest.

You watch as he turns to face the two of you, ignoring the Duchess’ comments and dodging her wandering hands.

“Benedict, come join us, we need an artist’s opinion!”

He bows slightly to the lady in front of him before striding over to your spot. Breathing deeply, you attempt to compose and ready yourself for Benedict Bridgerton.

Up close you can see that his face is freshly shaven and his shirt is crisp and new. He hasn’t yet raked his hands through his dark hair or loosened his collar. He looks like perfection, like he hadn’t just been exerting himself dancing.

Maybe you’re staring a bit too long and a bit to intensely at the dark flecks in his already dark eyes because he coughs slightly and almost chokes out a question to his sister.

You look at her, wondering as well why she called Benedict over.

“Brother, what shade of green would you call the one adorning (Y/n)’s face?” She gestures to your head, and you almost gape at the nerve she has.

Benedict’s features actually relax as he briefly glances at you.

“I’d say it is looking quite like a healthy forest green,” Benedict smirks, answering quickly as his brown eyes run over your features. Unknowingly you hold your breath as he focuses on solely you.

His close attention has your face heating up and your heart beating faster. Thickly, you swallow.

His fingertips softly graze your cheekbone. “Well now it has swiftly changed to vermillion!”

Mortified, you stutter out protests as Eloise snickers.

The music crescendos, signaling the start of another dance. Before you know it, Eloise takes the glass out of your hand and Benedict offers an open palm to you.

“I promised you a dance and a question, Lady (Y/n). May I perhaps have this one and an answer?” His teeth are slightly crooked and stained and yet his smile is something that you can’t help but mirror.

Warmth blossoms throughout your chest as you accept his hand.

He pulls you closer to his chest, your fingers tangled together.

“I have wasted so much time already, (Y/n), and I no longer wish to prolong this,” Benedict starts, his voice low. “I wish to properly court you,”

Your heart beats and your steps falter. He chuckles at your reaction.

“And what of the Duchess?” You question when you’re able to breathe properly again.

Benedict rolls his eyes at your misplaced concern.

“Just another Lady unable to win over the Viscount so instead she turns her sights on the second son,” His eyebrows raise as he watches the worry drain from your body. “You were concerned? Darling, the whole time we were dancing I wished I were with you,”

“Oh, Benedict…” You’re breathless, jittery in his hands was your dreams come true before your eyes. “Yes. Yes Benedict, I wish to court you,”

The man before you smiles even wider, head dipping at your response.

“Now look who’s vermillion,”

The two of you chuckle as he turns an even brighter shade of red as you continue to dance like there was no one else present at Lady Danbury’s ball.

•

#bridgerton #Bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #benedict #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton blurb #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton x jealous reader

[multi-fandom-imagine]

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

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

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

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

"Hello love."

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

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

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

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

"Hhm"

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

"Hmm fine."

#blurbs #blurb #benedict #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #benedict x you #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[delehosies]

BIRTHDAY CAKE

- hiiii can i request benedict bridgerton with reader who is a relation to queen charlotte

like they could be at a ball or something and they get talking and charlottes eyeing them up💀

hii ofc <3 i hope you love it!!!

Benedict was uncomfortable. He had felt eyes on him ever since he was introduced to you — someones gaze, or glare, burning into the back of his head, and every time he turned his head, Queen Charlotte met his eyes. He was embarrassed.

“Will you do me the honour of dancing with me?” He questioned you, partly because you were quite possibly the only lady in the room who he actually wanted to dance with, partly because he wanted to get as far away from the Queen’s gaze as humanly possible. 

You nodded almost immediately, having been waiting all evening for him to pose the question. “Of course, Mr Bridgerton.” He took your hand in his, not hesitating to lead you onto the dancefloor. You bowed to each other and began to dance. 

You could feel yourself hardly thinking straight, feeling his hands practically burn through the fabric of your dress with every single touch — even when he eventually broke the silence you hardly heard him. “I’m sorry?” you questioned, your eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

Benedict just laughed quietly, your cheeks warming as his lips turned up into a smile. “I said that I don’t think that the Queen is too fond of me… she has been shooting daggers into my back all evening.” He glanced behind him to sneak another glance at the Queen before carefully turning you. 

Looking back at Charlotte yourself, you shook your head quickly. The two of you having already discussed Benedict Bridgerton. Although she may have wanted you to aim for a person with perhaps more influence in society, she liked the Bridgertons, she liked Violet — she had no problem with them at all. She was simply observing the two of you, with zero subtlety.

“No.” You spoke firmly, shaking your head. “She doesn’t dislike you, she is simply looking out for me. In fact she likes you and your family a great deal, as far as I’m aware.” 

Benedict pondered this for a moment. “Miss Y/L/N, have you been discussing me with the Queen?” 

“No — of course not.” You lied quickly, stumbling over your words and making the sentence incredibly unconvincing. Benedict just continued to grin at you, clearly in disbelief. 

“I suppose that I’ll take your word for it…”

join my birthday celebration here!

#birthday celebration #♡ inbox! #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton x reader #♡requests!

[fandom-puff]

Congrats on 10k! Could I request a baby blurb 📚 with Benedict, maybe its their wedding night and they've just finished "consumating" 😏, just my baby being a simp? Thanks, and congrats again! ❤❤❤❤

Thank you so much!! You were one of my first moots and your support has been immense ily 💖💖💖

Warnings: references to sex; this takes place literally just after. References to pregnancy.

Benedict smiled softly down at you, laying on his side, his head propped up on his hand. “Are you feeling alright, darling?” He asked gently, unable to hide his grin at the sight of you.

Your hair was a mess, haloed around your head on the pillow; your skin was glowing with a thin sheen of sweat; your breasts raised and fell with each breath as you struggled to catch your breath.

“Mmm…” you hummed, turning onto your side to face him, resisting the urge to tug the twisted sheets up to cover your modesty; Benedict had already shown you that modesty did not exist between a husband and wife while they were between the sheets. “I feel… spectacular,”

Benedict grinned. “You look spectacular,” he said, stroking your cheek before his hand slipped to your hip, tugging you closer. “You are spectacular.”

He rolled you onto your back, hovering over you, pressing kisses to your neck. “And you certainly feel spectacular, my love,”

#fandom puff’s 10k celebration #10k baby blurbs #benedict bridgerton #Benedict bridgerton x reader #Benedict bridgerton x you #Benedict bridgerton imagine #Bridgerton imagine

[cherrycrushes]

imagine

benedict bridgerton x muse!reader.

a/n: pls request! ill write a oneshot just for u i promise

being forced to sit and pose on a chaise. benedict glancing over now and then to get your details and shapes just right. when done, he awards you in praises and kisses. however, he is still unsure if he could capture your beauty just right.

“hold on, i don’t think i got the sparkle in your eye correct.”

“benedict, darling, your work will encapsulate me just fine.”

#☎️ cherry’s line! #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #blurb

[siempre-bucky]

for your blurb night can i request forehead and dance with benedict?

thankyou!

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

[ DANCE ]: when alone together (e.g. the bedroom, the kitchen, literally anywhere once they’re alone) the sender takes the receiver’s hand, and pulls them into a graceful yet intimate dance as a spontaneous act.

[ FOREHEAD ]: placing a hand on the back of the receiver’s neck, the sender guides them close and rests their foreheads together.

wc:535

A/N: thank you for requesting anon! I hope you enjoy the fluff.

The events of the day had finally caught up with you. Your spine cracked in all the best ways as you raised your hands towards the ceiling, your silk nightgown gliding along your body and causing you to hum in delight. 

As you walked back into the bedroom, your eyes fell on Benedict, clutching a crystal glass and looking out into the night sky. Were those tears in his eyes? You cocked your head and narrowed your eyes to try and get a better look at the glistening tears in his blue eyes. "Benedict?" you question, trying to fight back a laugh. 

Benedict whipped his head around, his signature crooked smile adorning the lips you fell in love with. "My wife," he coos, his head falling to the window ceil with a small thud. You didn't understand how he didn't wince or grunt, but then you looked down at the crystal glass in his hand. Odd how it was lightly tinted violet. 

"Did Colin give you some of that powder again?" you huff, crossing your arms. 

The man whined and pried himself from the window, sauntering over to you and placing his glass on the small table near the fireplace. "Only the smallest bit, my love. I learned my lesson after that one dinner with the Sharmas." 

You chuckled in response and softened your glare, you couldn't be mad at him because Colin offered you some last night which you gladly took to calm the pre-wedding jitters. A quaint silence filled the lavish room, gravity propelling you and your husband closer together until your chest almost touched. He looked down at you like you were the most beautiful masterpiece, and you looked up at him in the same manner. In the eyes of each other, you were perfection. "It's our wedding night," he whispered, his smile widening. 

You nod excitedly, "What would you like to do, Mr. Bridgerton?" You asked lowly, wagging your eyebrows. 

Benedict trailed his fingers lovingly own your arm until his fingers curled around yours, and pulled your body close to his, "I want to dance with you again," he mumbled as he started to sway side to side. 

"There is no music," you giggled as you looked up at his blissful expression. 

Benedict chortled as briefly released your hand to tap his temple with his forefinger. "It is all up here, love," he told you. You rolled your eyes and laughed at him. "Can you hear it?" 

"No?" 

Benedict scoffed and placed his behind your neck and a chill ran through you as his soft palm touched the sensitive skin. He brought you forward and pressed your forehead to his, "Are you sure you cannot hear it?" 

"How much of that stuff did you drink, Ben?" 

"Only a little. I wanted to remember every moment of this day."  

You fought back a giggle and pressed your lips to his. In one swift moment, he recaptured your hand and dipped you. "Benedict!" you laughed. "Lift me you fatwit." 

Benedict matched your giggles and picked you up, "But I am officially your fatwit," he reminded you as he proudly showed off his gold wedding band. 

"And I wouldn't want it any other way." 

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton blurb #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic

[fayes-fics]

Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Five hours of snowfall, four miles from the nearest paved road, three weeks before Christmas, two old friends and one bed….

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, fingering, handjob, vaginal sex, passing mention of oral sex, all sorts of feelings.

Word Count: 7.9 k I'm so sorry...

Build a blurb prompt 1: Benedict 👅 smut 🌲 mutual pining 🛌 only one bed - from @amillcitygirl Build a blurb prompt 2: modern Benedict 👅smut 👥friends to lovers 🌲mutual pining 🛌only one bed - from anon

Authors Note: *beep beep* make way for the trope bus, it’s coming thru!! Is this original? No. Was it fun to write? Hell YES! This thing was supposed to be 1k follower celebration Drabble (HAHAHA) but it grew its own legs and took over my brain for the last week. This is my winter epic and I even listened to the namesake song as I was editing it. I hope you all enjoy. Betaed by the total trooper @makaylan and beautiful artwork above made especially by @bridgertontess thank you 🧡

“You’ll just have to stay here,” he shrugs, peering out at the falling snow.

You glance at your watch. It’s 5pm and already dark, snowflakes swirling furiously in the glow cast by the window.

This was not your plan. You are booked onto a late flight back to London tonight. You only came out to the beautiful Highlands for a day in nature after your business trip to Glasgow. OK, and a dose of time with the most handsome friend you have, but mainly for the scenery.

He’s rented a tiny cottage for a week as a painting retreat. Why he would do that in early December is a slight mystery. However, the scenery will undoubtedly be even more breathtaking with a blanket of snow tomorrow—an artist's dream.

“Look, the roads here are tiny and treacherous. It’s too risky to attempt the airport drive tonight in the dark in this snowstorm. I will pay for you to fly home tomorrow instead,” Benedict assures, “penance for not checking the forecast before inviting you?” he winces in the hopes of forgiveness.

“But…” you protest weakly, not exactly hating the idea of being trapped in a remote cottage in the mountains with the man who has haunted your dreams for more years than you care to remember.

“This place is warm,” he points to the roaring fireplace. “And well stocked, in more ways than one,” he adds, gesturing to the kitchenette full of supplies and, with a flourish, to the small selection of single malt bottles on a nearby shelf. “There’s even some festive decor,” he argues.

You are entertained that he believes some sprigs of holly, which he has obviously collected on one of his hikes, count as Christmas decorations. Although, to be fair, wrapped around the bookshelves and candles the way it is, it does look lovely.

‘Yes, but… there's also only one bed,” you argue, nodding to the not-exactly sizable double bed at the other end of the room, partially obscured by a room-dividing bookshelf. Even as you mention it, your belly has a warm fizz at the fleeting thought of waking up pressed against him.

“I can sleep on the sofa,” he says hurriedly in a reassuring tone.

“Ben, don't be ridiculous. You are six feet tall, and that thing is barely five. We are not so young we can just sleep anywhere and still be okay anymore,” you remind him.

“Yeah, thanks for that reminder,” he deadpans.

“We are grown-ups; we can share a bed,” trying to keep your tone breezy, but it feels like the reassurance is for yourself as much as him.

You pretend not to see how he swallows thickly at your suggestion, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily.

“If it makes you more comfortable, I can fashion a barrier with some throw cushions,” you shrug, a short nervous laugh bubbling up as you secretly chastise yourself for suggesting such a thing.

“No, no,” he rushes out very quickly. “What I mean is… it’s not a big bed, so by the time we do that, we would both be clinging to the edges. Let’s just, as you say, be adults about this and share the best we can.”

“Agreed.” You give a business-like nod, wanting to change the topic.

“Besides, the night is young,” he states, clapping and rubbing his hands together as if reading your mind. “What do you say we cook dinner together? Then, well, it’s card games or jigsaw puzzles, I’m afraid,” he skews his mouth with an apologetic twist.

“Sounds delightful on all counts,” you assure and bump him with your shoulder.

The evening seems to fly by, and the snowstorm outside somewhat abates as you make a delicious spaghetti bolognese together. Even though it's a tiny kitchen space, you make it work, moving around each other with an almost balletic fluidity as soft music plays from a Bluetooth speaker. There's no Wi-Fi or even much phone signal out here, but he came prepared with songs loaded onto his laptop. You exchange easy chat about mutual friends and what has been happening since you last saw one another a few weeks before.

As you sit down to eat together, the conversation flow continues. It's one of those meals you sop up the sauce from your plate with the warm bread rolls you serve as a side. Lingering in your chairs long after eating is complete, chatting amiably and animatedly about anything, everything and nothing all at once, with a delicious bottle of scotch.

Later, you take turns in the bathroom, cleaning teeth and changing into pyjama bottoms, and then you drift to the living room area. You watch as Benedict pours you both a nightcap into scotch glasses and glance outside to see the storm has picked up again, large clumps of fluffy snow gather in the corner of the window pane; you feel very cosy in this small but perfectly formed little rustic cottage.

“So, how have you been entertaining yourself all alone here for the last four nights?” you inquire, enjoying the smooth, smoky burn of the single malt.

Benedict is now sprawled across the nearby armchair in the most Benedict way, legs akimbo.

“I’ve read two books, and I’ve slept for nine hours every night,” he confesses, taking a sip of his drink and looking at you over the top of his glass.

The room feels like it's getting warmer regardless of the fire; how much is due to the delightful fog of whisky in your veins versus the handsome man across from you is indecipherable.

“Are you not lonely?” you blurt out.

“I live alone in London. What's the difference?” his brow knitting in confusion.

“Alone in the city is very different to alone out here,” you offer, “you can’t be that lonely when you’re only twenty feet from your neighbour through a wall.”

“Hmm, never thought about it like that,” his mien turns thoughtful, scratching his palm on the shadow of stubble on his chin.

You hear the rasp from where you sit, and you almost squeak in surprise as your treacherous mind supplies a vivid snapshot of that stubble teasing the soft skin of your lower belly as he looks up at you with a seductive smirk. You have to shake your head to get rid of it.

“Fear of murder out here is different,” you offer, trying to reroute your thoughts.

“Morbid,” he shoots back, raising an eyebrow with a bemused expression on his face.

“Out here, no one can hear you scream,” you jest, aping the movie line.

He guffaws into his glass. “Sometimes that can be a good thing.”

“Murder?!”

“The ability to scream and not be heard,” he clarifies, his tone markedly more languid than before.

“Painting not going well?” you ask with a chuckle.

“It’s going great, but not what I was referring to,” he argues, and you can’t seem to look away from his mouth all of a sudden.

Damn, how much whisky have you had?

“Had a girl here, Bridgerton?” your venture, a flutter in your chest even as you ask.

“Not until now,” he scoffs, but the intensity in his hazy blue stare causes a riot in your stomach.

You have to look down at your feet before you do something stupid, like climb into his lap and suck on his luscious bottom lip.

“Have you been masturbating loudly?” you quip, still looking down, the thought leaving your lips before you can censor it.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, making you look back at him—big mistake. His eyes look stormy, and you can see a vein in his neck pulsing hard. Like you’ve awoken something.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” you stutter even as your mind floods with images of just that—him stroking his cock and panting, preferably your name.

The atmosphere feels a little too thick, and you briefly curl your lip into your mouth and bite it to give yourself something else to focus on.

“More whisky?” you offer, standing up and changing the subject.

“Sure.” He holds out his glass, and you swear his fingers intentionally slot between yours as he passes it to you.

You use the few moments it takes to refill your drinks, with your back turned, to gather your thoughts and slow your breathing. Having served, you sink onto the couch again but intentionally shift to face him more directly. The alcohol makes you bold and intrigued to know where this might go. He seems to do the same, his feet looping over the armchair's edge and almost touching yours.

“Hey, do you remember that summer when we were, l think, maybe twelve and…”

“Excuse me, point of order,” you butt in, “If you were twelve, I was ten. OK? Continue…” you motion with your hands for him to go on.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me I am older,” he snarks and skews his mouth into an affectionate pout.

“You are welcome, old man,” you tease with a slight smirk.

“Well, anyway… do you remember that summer Colin came home with headlice? And Ant’s answer was to shave all of our heads? Mum almost had a heart attack when she walked in on that. She was forever grateful he’d only gotten around to doing us three boys. She might have died if we’d made it down to Daph or El…” he is laughing heartily around his scotch glass at the memory.

“Remember it?!?” you pipe up, “of course I do! Don't you remember you were trying to push me in front of your sisters in Ant’s barber line? You seemed concerned to ensure I either got rid of or never got them in the first place; I don't remember which,” you laugh, an ache of fond nostalgia in your chest at little Benedict.

“Well, of course, I’ve always looked out for you,” he rolls his eyes as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You smile a genuinely warm smile at him. He's been a wonderful person in your life for as long as you can remember.

“But you’ve always looked out for me too. I remember you brought me a Malteser every day when I was sick with the mumps.”

“I did?!” your voice incredulous; you do not remember doing so.

“Yes, and I've never forgotten it,” he voices sincerely before he takes a draw of his drink. “But then there is so much about you that is unforgettable, isn't there?” he adds, looking at you with an intensity you don't know what to do with.

“Stop it,” you answer bashfully, embarrassed to meet his gaze, staring beyond his shoulder at the snow falling heavily and sticking to the window in fluffy clumps. “And if we’re on this flattery train, what about you? You think I don’t know it’s been you sending me an ‘anonymous’ rose every single Valentine's Day?”

He gapes at you in surprise. “Wait, how did you know it’s from me?’”

“You are the sweetest person I know. It could never be anyone but you, Ben.” You shrug as if the answer is obvious, “and I know it was never out of pity for the times I’m single because you sent one those years I was with Dan, which used to make him so mad, by the way, and when I was with Julian and Paul….”

“Urgh, Dan deserved to be mad,” his tone dismissive, and his face ticked, “I always hated him.”

“You hated everyone I dated, that you met anyway,” you point out, that fact just dawning on your as you speak it.

“But him the most,” he grouses with a sour expression.

“Why?”

“‘Cos he got the closest to marrying you. And I really didn’t want to have to do that whole stand-up in church and object thing. But, by god, I would have.”

His powerful words stun you; you had no idea how deep his feelings on the subject ran.

“Y… you would?” you stutter.

His eyes are so intense now. Even as he takes a swig, he doesn't look away. “He was not worthy of you,” he declares, slow and deliberate, enunciating each word crisply.

“So, who is?” you ask quietly as you take a sip, the question echoing hollowly in your glass.

“I haven't met anyone yet,” he notes with finality.

You had no idea he had judged every single one of your boyfriends and, what’s more, found all of them to be somehow lacking. In hindsight, he was correct, but he never said anything to you at the time, and you can't decide if you want to hold that against him. It might have saved you a lot of heartache and possibly a lot of money.

“Well, if you meet someone that has the Benedict seal of approval, you’ll be sure to send them my way, yeah?” you volley, your voice light.

He breaks into a smile that makes something flutter strong in your ribcage.

“Certainly. I hope you don't mind waiting until possibly your eighties for me to find a worthy suitor,” he jokes.

“Oh god, really?” you groan, “but I can’t not have sex until then,” you lament and kick your legs out as if in a fit of pique.

“Oh, you can have all the sex you want,” he lobbies back, waving his hand dismissively, “you just can’t fall in love,” his eyes twinkle with mischief you’ve always found beguiling.

“Duly noted,” you giggle.

There is a beat where you just look at each other with a shared fondness that makes your heart ache a little—perhaps under different circumstances, he could be the one person worthy of you, as he puts it.

“Well, that is the last log on the fire dying down. I'm not going out in that damn snow to fetch more, so I think the safest thing to do is get under the covers before it gets too cold in here.” he opines.

“Ben, it's 10:30 pm… really?” you whine, “are you really going to bed already, grandpa?” but as you complain, you stifle a yawn.

“Haha, I saw that yawn!” he retorts triumphantly, “and I've got news for you, missy. You are going to bed too.” He grabs both of your hands and easily hauls you off the sofa.

“Why?!?” you scoff but are secretly enthralled when he rounds behind you, his sizable hands landing warm on your hips and propelling you towards the bedroom area.

“Because I’m not having you crawl under the covers later bringing in all that cold air with you, nope, no thank you, not happening,” he chimes over your shoulder.

“So I have to go to bed now?!” you throw your hands up in the air, but he keeps propelling you forward.

“Yup,” he grins, popping the ‘p’ rather obnoxiously.

You capitulate with a weary sigh. “Urghhh, fine. But I will be up reading for a few more hours, so I hope you can sleep with the light on.”

“Fine with me,” he chuckles, herding you towards the bed. “I once slept in your dorm room when your flatmate was having a full-on dance party. I think I can sleep through your reading.”

You collapse onto the bed giggling at that memory, tugging off your shoes and socks but nothing else as he does the same. He pulls the covers back, and you both settle under, still in your fleecy jumpers. Without your socks, however, your feet feel freezing, and with a wicked grin, you cook up a solution.

“Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with your feet?!? Why are they so cold!!” he exclaims as your toes wrap around his exposed ankle.

He twists to try and get away from you, but your feet chase him under the covers, you laughing, him shrieking.

“My hands are cold too,” you chortle, clamping them onto his surprisingly muscular forearm.

He squeals in the most undignified manner, trying to shake your grip, but you just limpet on harder, giggling in that way only tipsy people do.

There is the most delightful resulting tussle, him trying to wrestle your hands and feet away as you try your damndest to keep them on him—the duvet entwining around all of your limbs.

You end up with his weight and warmth partially on top of you, pinning you down, him triumphantly ensnaring your wrists and holding your hands firmly onto the pillow. Your joint heavy breathing and giggles slowly die out as you stare at each other. Your faces have never been so close before. You have no doubt your pupils are as blown as his, and you are certain that he can feel the racing heartbeat at your wrists where he pins you down. His breath is warm on your cheek.

After a few silent moments, his gaze drops to your mouth; he suddenly mutters an apology and starts to pull away.

As if in slow motion, you push up and press your lips to his. You are not thinking at all, just going with your instinct. His lips are warm and plush, and you want more. So much more.

You feel the moment his whole body freezes; he is stunned in the truest sense of the word.

You pull back quickly, sinking into the pillow under him.

“Oh god. I’m so, so sorry,” you whisper, mortified, “please forgive me, I….”

Your words die out as he makes a noise you’ve never heard before. It seems to come from deep inside him, making every hair on your body stand on end.

Then he is on you. Closing the gap between you and capturing your lips with a passion that steals your breath and thoughts. He is kissing so hard, so quickly, you feel lightheaded, pressing you into the mattress under his body. His lips open over yours, his tongue teasing against your lips. He tastes of toothpaste, traces of whiskey and something that is all him, and you flood your underwear; there's also a noise from your throat that doesn’t sound human. He kisses like a storm, hot and electric, and you want to drown in him.

Suddenly his hands are everywhere, and so yours follow suit. It’s a desperate clambering of wanting more. Before you can completely acknowledge it, his hands are questing under your jumper, squeezing your waist, sliding up and over your bra, and tweaking a nipple as his tongue parries with yours.

“Please, please take this off,” he implores passionately into your mouth, tugging at your top. His voice, this close and breathless, is lethal. He is everywhere, surrounding and covering you, and your focus narrows to just him as he sits up to peel off his jumper and t-shirt together, exposing his torso. You freeze. Your arms crossed, halfway through taking off yours.

“Fucking hell,” you exhale before you can stop yourself.

You figured Benedict would be in shape from the feel of his body when you hug, but you haven't seen him shirtless in a long time, and just how much in shape he is, is a revelation. He smiles demurely at your outburst, which makes you want him even more if that were possible.

“Take yours off,” he sounds impatient, and you realise you are still frozen in the same position. You quickly whip yours over your head; his responding noise is your new favourite sound. You feel so grateful you only brought nice underwear on this trip; your lacy bra appears to work for him.

“The knickers match,” you murmur, revelling in the flash in his eye.

You grab his hand and move it to the drawstring on your pyjamas. His long slender fingers pluck the bow tied there; his gaze is on your face the whole time, his kiss-damp lips glowing softly in the low light. You breathe deeply and can’t look away from his captivating face. When the string relents, he winks. Rather than pull them down, his hand quests inside and between your legs.

You gasp and buck up off the pillow as warm, strong fingers press on your clit through the lacy fabric. You know he can feel your heat, just how wet the material is.

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he rumbles low and sinful as his fingers tease a circle over your clit. “Although this seems unreal - I half assume I’m going to wake up in a minute with my hand wrapped around my cock, alone.”

Hearing him say the word cock makes you moan. He licks his lips, and his fingers curl firmer on you.

“Tell me this is real; I’m not dreaming again,” he pleads fervently, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing your air. He is achingly beautiful this close up, his eyes just a thin ring blazing around dark inky pupils staring into your depths. This man has always been able to make you feel seen, but this close, this intense, it feels like he’s peering into your soul.

“You’re not dreaming, Ben,” you reply shakily, trying not to lose all composure at what the word ‘again’ might imply as he gradually tortures you with unhurried, steady movements.

He is watching your face, so closely observing, cataloguing your micro-expressions. His fingers move, spidering along the lace trim before pushing under the fabric this time, sliding down through your trimmed pubic hair and into your naked, soaked folds.

“Ben!” You call out, grasping that strong forearm again, biting your lip and staring into his fiery gaze.

“What do you need?” he questions. It’s the first time anyone has ever asked you that in bed.

“You,” you reply honestly.

“You have me, 110% you have me,” he asserts in a tone that melts something in your chest. “As if you don't know it, you’ve had me for many years,” he admits as his hand slides lower. You cry out as he pushes two fingers just a fraction inside you.

“Fuck, you are on fire,” he exclaims, a shaky exhale across your lips.

“Only for you,” you answer, knowing you’ve never been this turned on before in your life.

He growls, actually growls. And then his lips are back on yours in the most potent kiss yet. You pulse around him and groan into his mouth as he sinks his fingers deeper. When the kiss ends, you glance down your body, seeing the stiff peaks of your nipples poking insistently through the lace and his sinewy forearm buried into your pyjama bottoms.

“Do you like what you see?” his voice a velvety tease.

“I’d like it even more if we were naked,” you respond honestly.

He chuckles at that, and his lips descend, dropping light kisses down your neck as his fingers tease you, surging in and out of your body so achingly slow. His thumb rests on your clit, a little nudge of pressure every time his fingers rock into your channel.

“I need to make you come like I need air,” he confesses, his voice resonant, his warm breath skittering over the sensitive skin of your throat. It’s the hottest thing you've ever heard.

“Please do…” it’s a quiet plea.

You feel the curve of his cheek as he smiles, and the fingers inside you flex.

“I suppose if you’d like to be more naked, then I’d better strip you down first,” he remarks, gently withdrawing his fingers.

Warm hands hook into your underwear, and he scooches away, pulling them down your legs, taking your PJs with them. Suddenly, the image that flashed in your mind earlier becomes a reality, his stubbly chin grazing your belly as he crawls back over you.

“You look amazing,” he sighs over your belly button and leans his forehead on your stomach as he takes a deep breath. “You smell it too.”

He runs his nose and lips over your skin as he surges up and nuzzles your bra, pleading with his eyes for you to remove it as he pulls the straps down over your arms, kissing along the lacy cup edge.

When his lips wrap around one of your nipples, you grab his hair and push up against him, the swoop of sensation in your belly like riding a rollercoaster, the thrill tingling along the back of your scalp.

He moves to lay beside you, and you watch the duvet move as he strips off his bottoms under it. Suddenly there is a thick wave of body heat as he rolls next to you; you feel something sizeable and solid brand your hip.

“Oh, Ben,” slips out on instinct, but he stops your questing hand.

“Not yet,” he shakes his head and smirks at your corresponding pout. “When you have come, preferably screaming, then you can touch my cock. Okay?”

You physically feel the shiver down your spine at that line. Who even says things like that?

He smiles against your temple as he slips his fingers back into you, and you moan at the sensation. He curls his body around you, legs twining around your right one to hold you open. That cock is still rigid on your hip; it feels sizeable and delicious.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing a circle over your clit his fingers stroking in a come hither motion.

“This… exactly what you are doing,” you reply breathlessly, “just please don't stop and maybe go a little harder?” you request timidly.

He smirks and pushes his fingers deeper; his motions get stronger and faster. You close your eyes and nod, licking your lips.

“Yes, that oh god Ben, thattttt,” you stumble as his magical fingers spiral you higher.

When they jab a spot inside, a bloom of pleasure hits you, and your eyes fly open, going wide.

“Oh, that’s the spot,” he preens, redoubling his efforts as you start to pant loudly, clinging to his arm and whining his name—the hot and intense pleasure building remarkably fast.

“That’s it come on,” he encourages, whispering into your hairline right above your ear; his tone is both soothing and achingly filthy.

“Ben… I,” your words morph into needy noises, drunk on the sensations rippling through your body, fanning out from his fingers buried inside you.

“Yes, yes,” he hisses, “you’re close now; I can feel it. Look at me,” he orders.

And you do. Mouth hanging open, squirming on his fingers, feeling something primal washing over you. His eyes burn into yours.

“Don’t fight it,” he warns.

It's almost like permission; you feel something inside you give way. You scream loudly as a tide of orgasm washes over you. Blood rushes in your ears, and you feel his leg bear down over the apex of your thigh, holding your pelvis onto the bed as you cry and convulse. Your body fights his fingers, trying to push them out as your whole channel clenches in strong waves.

After a few moments of deep breaths, you open your eyes, and he kisses your cheek, then your lips.

“Wow… that was…. absolutely amazing,” he confides, kissing more. “And it's a damn good thing no one can hear us here. You scream like a horror movie queen, and I mean that with all the very best compliments.”

You laugh a little abashed and bury your face into his armpit, loving the smell of his deodorant and just him.

“Your turn,” you mumble, deciding to be bold and snake a hand down your side to grab his cock at your hip.

It’s large and thick enough your fingers don’t quite meet when you wrap around it. It makes your insides melt at the thought of how it would feel sliding into you. He makes the neediest huffing noises as you twist onto your side to face him and begin an unhurried rhythm, watching that pretty cock twitch in your hand.

You tease him with a gentle twisting motion, squeezing a little as you reach his head, swiping a thumb over the bead of precum that appears, gently massaging his frenulum as he lets out a faint moan. His hand covers yours, stilling your movements.

“This is so wonderful, but I need you to stop if you want sex. Do you want to… have sex?” he asks so demurely your heart clenches.

“Yes, Ben, please,” you whisper.

“I didn't bring any condoms with me,” he says quietly, “I didn't think I’d meet another soul up here, let alone well…” he trails off, pitching forward, so his lips are warm on your cheek.

“I didn't either, but I'm on the Pill,” you shrug. You've never had first-time sex without a condom, but this man isn't a stranger; he's a lifelong friend, and you trust him with your life.

“I know,” he says softly, kissing your nose.

“Wait, how do you know that?” your brow knitting lightly.

“I know everything about you,” he asserts against your skin, staring into your eyes. “How you take your tea - English breakfast before 2pm, Earl Grey after, both with milk and one sugar. I know how the tip of your tongue here,” he softly trails his nose over the corner of your mouth, “sticks out of your mouth when you type on your laptop. I know you always loop your glasses into the neckline of your top,” a finger tracing gently over the swell of your breast, “and somehow always forget they are there and have a ten-second panic every time.” He laughs gently. “I even know how you prefer plain Hobnobs over chocolate; I have no idea why, and you are so wrong on that, by the way,” he shoots you a devastating lopsided grin. “And I know you are on the Pill because I've watched you take them religiously for years; when I stay at yours, and you make coffee in the morning, it’s the first thing you take before your multivitamin.”

His casual recounting of so many little, human things that make you, you, astounds you. This man knows you better than you know yourself, and you get a weird swooping sensation in your chest. Of elation that you've finally figured it out, he might just be the one - your human, but also a crushing regret you haven't done so sooner. You could have been doing this, intimately entwined with this wonderful, thoughtful, sensitive, handsome man, for so many years.

Not wanting to waste any more opportunity and so very desperate to have him inside you, you use all your strength to roll him onto his back and climb on top. Surprised and aroused, he looks up at you devotedly, his pupils blown wide.

Silently and without breaking eye contact, you reach between your bodies, line up his weeping beautiful cock, and sink onto him without another thought. The needy noise he makes is like poetry.

He feels perfect, and you close your eyes to revel in being stretched around him, a solid hot presence filling you up and holding you so open. Just the perfect length and girth for you, almost like his cock was made for you.

Warm hands grasp your hips, and your eyes fly open and look down at him, his expression pleading with you to move. Gradually you rise up, then drop down just once, savouring the sensations as he drags against your walls.

“You feel perfect,” he groans “please….”

You know what he is asking, begging for - more. Something in you wants to draw this out, go so achingly slow both of you get mindless. Luxuriate in this carnal, sensual meeting.

“Talk to me,” you implore, starting a leisurely pace.

“What about?” you watch him glance down between your bodies, watching his cock disappear into you as you sink down.

“Talk to me, Ben,” you repeat but pointedly, grabbing his chin to look at you and raising an eyebrow.

There's a lightbulb of understanding behind his eyes, and that killer crooked smile spreads across his face.

“You like my voice, don't you?” he says, pitched low, and you bite your lip, grabbing his hands as leverage for your movements.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, gasping as the pleasure grows between your legs just as he says those few words.

“I know,” he smirks, “I’ve known for years.”

You look at him in surprise. “Wait, how?” you breathe, disbelieving.

He grabs your shoulders and pulls you down on top of him: so much heat and warm flesh.

“I have noticed your pupils dilate every time I drop my voice just like this,” he murmurs low and sinful into your ear. “The temptation to say so many dirty things has been so strong. God, I love it when you are aroused, and you think you can hide it. I knew you were getting wet; it would take all my willpower not to grab and kiss you senselessly. Especially those days when you are only in a little floaty skirt, I could actually smell it. Delicious and sweet and so fucking sexy. That little squirm you would do. How you move your body is fucking sinful. And now I get to enjoy it. You riding me like this. Fuck, if this isn't every fantasy I've ever had coming true.”

By the time his filthy soliloquy is done, you are panting hard, not from the exertion as you rock on him but the way he has pushed you so close to orgasm with so little effort - just his voice and words.

“Ben,” you shudder, “I….” words fail as you feel your body flush.

“I can feel you are fluttering. Are you going to come so soon?” he exhales, impressed. “Oh god, please, please do it,” he urges. “I need to feel it.”

You sit up and reach down to touch your clit, and he swears at the sight. You are tipping over the edge, stilling your movement as you sit with him at your hilt and clench around him. He feels impossibly huge inside you, twitching and pulsing.

“Fuckkkkkkkk,” he groans long and loud, clenching his teeth. You know he is also fighting the urge to come, wanting this to last much longer.

Greedy for more, for another stronger climax, you go to move again, but he stops you.

“Please don't move, not yet,” he pleads, grabbing your hips and quelling your movement. “I need… a few moments, please.”

You smile down at him indulgently and link your hands again, bringing the back of his hand to your mouth and kissing it delicately. Then to be a tease, you envelop his middle finger in your mouth, running your tongue over it, tasting his tangy skin. He growls as you add his pointer finger and suck hard, staring down at him heatedly.

“This isn't really helping,” he warns reluctantly with a playful pout.

You let his fingers slip out of your mouth and guide his hand to your breasts, pressing his now-damp fingers against your nipple. He enthusiastically grips your flesh, and you throw your head back and moan as he teases your sensitive buds, pinching them between his fingertips. You gyrate your hips, dragging his tip against your cervix.

There is another growl, and suddenly you are tipped over onto the mattress, him still buried inside you. He grabs your legs and loops his arms under them, pulling your body so open under him.

“Hold onto me… twine your arms around me,” he instructs.

You do, fingers digging into his smooth, muscular torso. Panting in anticipation; at the feel of him holding you down, his pelvis crushed against your engorged clit.

He begins to move, and you can't help but make noises; he just overwhelms all your senses. His kisses, his skin, his arms, your legs held high and wide. He is almost delicate in his motion, but you can tell he is holding back.

“Don't be too gentle, Ben,” you beg, bringing one hand up to cup his jaw and running your thumb over his bottom lip. “Please just fuck me.”

His mouth captures your thumb, and you gasp as he spears into you hard. You hiss your approval as he crowds over you to kiss you fiercely. Then everything is a haze as your mind switches off, and you are rooted in your body, chasing sensation as he takes you hard. He feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as you lay under him, pinned and almost helpless to this onslaught but wanting nothing more than being right where you are. For a first time together, it’s not awkward or timid; it's exciting and mindblowing but somehow still safe, knowing you can trust him with everything, including your body.

Between kisses, there are whispered encouragements against lips and hands grasping so tight to each other as movements become more frantic and fast. He is hitting your clit on each stroke and panting, so present in the moment, eyes boring into yours. You know he is so close, hanging by a thread when he screws his eyes shut and pleads with you to come with him. A few more strokes and it is happening, your orgasm hitting you hard and breaking over your body in waves, fanning out from your core as you clench around him, making your muscles spasm and your toes curl. You feel him coming hard, too, a warm bloom inside you as he jerks a few heavy thrusts, then stills, mouth open over yours and huffing gulps of air as he twitches.

After a few moments of deep breaths and slumped limbs, he pulls his face up to kiss you tenderly.

“Wow,” he breathes, and you giggle and nod your head. “Why haven't we been doing that for the last god knows how many years?” he shakes his head, his voice a little ragged and rough-edged.

“I don't know, but we should be doing a lot more of it,” you respond brightly, “make up for lost time?”

He laughs warmly and agrees, taking his weight off you and rolling and rearranging your bodies so you are both on your sides, facing each other, hands laced together, noses touching. And that is how you fall asleep.

—

You awaken to dazzling sunlight streaming in, reflecting off all the snow. You wince against the brightness and clamp your eyes shut, burrowing back into Benedict. You feel surrounded, in the best sense of the word. He is a warm solid presence behind your back, an arm slung around the dip of your waist, a hand curled around your breast, legs entangled, downy hair tickling your calves. And best of all, a hard cock nestles the back of your thighs. You flex your hips and shuffle until his tip is poised right at your entrance. He stirs, and there is a hot exhale on the back of your neck.

“Get inside me, please,” you petition quietly, voice scratchy from sleep.

Wordlessly, he rolls his hips, surging into your body in one swift stroke. You moan so loudly that he huffs a laugh, then stills, buried inside you.

“Now go back to sleep,” he grumbles affectionately, arm pulling you into him tighter, your whole body flush to his, curling his legs up so you are almost in the fetal position.

“Like this?!” your tone incredulous, as his fingernails trace an idle ellipsis around your areola.

“Mmm hmmm,” his hum vibrates into your spine.

“Bennnn…” you protest, clenching around him, so he groans deeply.

“I promise to fuck you so hard you forget your name… later, if you let me sleep just a little more,” he proposes, nuzzling your hair.

What a lovely thought. You lay still in his arms for a few minutes, but his cock holding you open is far too distracting.

“Bennn…” you try again.

“Shhhhh…” he reacts, but you can tell he's not sleepy anymore; there is a smile on the nape of your neck.

“You feel too good; I can’t sleep,” you whine, slightly petulant.

“You’re not even trying,” he chuckles richly.

“You can't do this to me,” you wheedle, your breath hitching triumphantly as he tilts his pelvis and slips a fraction deeper.

“If I fuck you right now, will you stop complaining?” his tone laced with amusement.

“Hmmm, maybe,” you shoot back, twisting to glance at him over your shoulder, seeing his eyes dancing with mirth.

Your lips meet, and it's a breathy passionate kiss, all open mouths and tongues, teasing each other and fighting for dominance.

As your mouths dance, he starts to move at a languid pace, just rocking into your body gently, and it’s the best wake-up you have ever had. You cover his hand on your breast, and he intuits what you are asking, squeezing the swell, your nipple snagged between his middle and pointer finger. You break the kiss, and his teeth gently skim the cord on your neck as he speeds up a little.

“Will you wake me up like this every day, please?” you sigh, not thinking about the implications of your words, just drunk on the sensation.

“Happily,” he rumbles and spears a little stronger, making you call out his name.

“The sound I really want to wake up to though….” his voice teasing and low. “is this one…” and his hand slips from your breast to between your legs.

You moan and writhe in his strong hold, little sparks of pleasure firing where he touches.

“That’s it, that’s the sound,” he encourages as you both move together in sync.

It’s a wonderfully sensual experience, growing in intensity until he rolls you over onto your front, still inside you, fucking into you from behind, covering your entire body with his. His hand is trapped between your body and the mattress while teasing your clit.

“Oh god, Ben,” you cry as he seems to slide deeper than ever, your thigh trapped shut together, his legs bracketing yours, using all his effort to drive into you, the tone shifting from languid to vigorous. You’ve never been taken in this position before, and at this angle, he is hitting all the right spots inside you to make your eyes roll back and bite the pillow.

It hurtles you fast, beginning to pant raggedly, and you urge him on, asking for more and harder, and he obliges, thrusting so strong your whole body rolls and the bed squeaks loudly in protest. Your voice becomes one long moaning sound; you are pushing back onto his cock as much as possible, a chorus of please don't stop as he drives you fast towards a climax. His body is bowed, breathing hot puffs of air across your upper back, with an occasional kiss, his lips soft and wet.

He holds you on a precipice for a moment; you crane to look back at his face pleadingly; his expression is wild and so gorgeous it catches your breath.

“You are magnificent,” he rasps against your skin.

Then the hand not on your clit suddenly spanks your butt cheek while his teeth sink into the top of your trapezius muscle, pushing you over the edge, calling his name as you pulsate hard around him. Him grunting and thrusting deeper, fighting your clenching muscles. Then he stills, and every muscle tenses as he empties into your body, almost shaking from the intensity.

He collapses onto your back, breathing in wracked sounds.

“Fucking hell,” you both say almost in unison, then giggle at your matching assessment of the experience.

He pulls out of you reluctantly and flops down onto the mattress to your left, wrapping an arm around you and manoeuvring so are the little spoon once again.

“That was intense,” he voices, and you make a noise of agreement, lacing your fingers with his and holding your joined hands up, watching his fingers sink between yours and curve over, his fingertips resting on your palm.

“We are awesome at sex,” you opine. Benedict chuckles at that, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “And you know what that means?”

“What?” his tone lilting.

“We just have to keep doing it all the time,” you observe with a mock, burdened sigh.

“What a terrible hardship for us,” he concurs with an ironic laugh, nuzzling your neck with a grin on his face. __

Half an hour later, you have showered together - which proved almost as distracting as morning sex until the hot water tank ran out, and you jumped out squealing as the water turned ice cold - and are now leisurely making brunch. You both only wear towelling robes you stole from your Glasgow hotel room, the fireplace roaring again. You agree to go for a walk in the snow later, neither of you mentioning booking your flight home.

“Wait, why is this sofa so bloody uncomfortable” you bemoan, taking a sip of coffee and flicking idly through a book you took from a shelf. “I don't remember it being this bad last night,” you ponder aloud.

“Well, you had had a couple of whiskeys by then,” Benedict points out as he cooks an amazing-smelling breakfast a few feet away in the kitchenette.

“True, but honestly, what is going on with it?” you grumble, putting the book aside, not yet sufficiently caffeinated.

“Sofa beds tend not to be comfortable. As either a sofa or a bed,” he rattles out, flipping a slice of bacon in the pan.

You grind to a halt in your efforts to get comfy.

“Sofa bed…?” You echo out loud.

He suddenly freezes and realises what he has admitted.

“Benedict bloody Bridgerton!!” you exclaim loudly, standing up, “did you trick me into sharing your bed?!?”

He turns around slowly, knowing he is foiled and pulls a sheepish face.

“Yeahhhh, a lil bit…” he admits as you gape at him, attempting his most winning remorseful smile. “But, in my defence…” he adds, waving the spatula, “you are the one who kissed me first. I just stacked the deck; you drew the first card.”

He expertly swerves the cushion you throw at him before flicking off the stove and pushing aside the pan.

“Right…” he charges at you as you squeal.

He corners you with ease in the compact space and throws you over his shoulder.

“We are using this stupid sofa bed right now,” he instructs and, rather attractively, casually flicks a handle on the side with his foot to open it. He practically throws you onto the (admitted thin, rather uncomfortable) bed and tugs open your robe, snaking his way down your body and throwing your legs over his shoulder, shooting you a molten hot gaze from between your thighs.

You have no arguments with this development. None whatsoever.

—

You return to that tiny cottage every year for that same week as a ritual—a little private anniversary. Sometimes you stay through New Year, just the two of you ringing in the entire festive season.

He buys it for you as a wedding gift, and you cry at the sentimentality of the man buying you the place you first got together. (One thing you do early on - buy a new, comfortable sofa.)

It becomes a haven for your lives together, even when you have to bring cots and camp beds for your children, all sleeping communally in that one room. (You don’t tell them, but all of your children are named after characters in an obscure old book he finds hidden in the rafters when you are renovating while pregnant with your firstborn.)

Nothing brings you more joy than when you can escape to that little cottage in the Highlands. You never tell anyone besides your children where it is—it’s your escape, your sanctuary. The “somewhere only we know,” as Benedict always called it.

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[fiction-is-life]

Congratulations again on 500 followers! 🥂 You are so generous in sharing your talents with us ☺️

For a blurb, you know I have to prompt my two all time favorite things: Benedict Bridgerton and angst 😜 #122 from the list “I’m not going anywhere.” 💙

Touchstone of Our Character

Author's Note: Thank you soooooo much!! You are such an amazing writer and I am so honored that you would want to read my writing (especially angst since you are the Queen of angst)! Thank you for all of your support and I hope you like this little blurb!

Summary: “Dreams are the touchstones of our character.” -Henry David Thoreau

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Regency

Warnings: Nightmares, mention of death (in a dream), cheating

~

Benedict felt movement beside him that roused him from his slumber.  He still was not used to having someone sleep beside him every night, even though he had married (Y/N) over six months ago.  His old bachelor habits died hard, he supposed.  He couldn’t say it had started as a love match - his marriage to you - but he had quickly found a thousand reasons to love his wife.

While gazing at his wife, he quickly ascertained the reason that he had been awoken.  Your brow was furrowed and troubled, and your legs thrashed around under the blankets.  As he watched, you became increasingly frantic, obviously having some sort of terrible dream.

He reached over to grasp your silk-laiden arm (having opted for a long-sleeve night dress as it was winter), and gave it a small shake.  He whispered, “My love, wake up, it is just a dream.”

You woke with a cry, saying, “He’s dead.  You have killed him!  My love, come back, please!”  Your eyes were unfocused, and Benedict knew you were still fighting against whatever foe your dream held, so he shushed you gently, rocking you back and forth until you stopped shouting, opting for tears instead.

“Hush, darling, no one is dead,” he soothed, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.  His heart tugged at the thought that you had been dreaming of him, and that you were now distraught over the thought of his passing.  He kissed your hair and your forehead, anywhere he could reach, trying to show you that he was alive and well.  “I am here.  I am not going anywhere.”

You simply collapsed in his arms, sobbing even harder at these words, spoken so sweetly by the brother of the man you loved, of whom you dreamt every night.

~

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