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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 5 months ago

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Dark words and warm hugs

A/N: Benedict steals a poem from underneath your nose to get on your nerves, willing to read it out to the entire family. But he does not expect the poem to be as sad as it turns out to be. Hurt/Comfort fanfic with mostly Benedict and (Y/N), but Colin, Eloise, Hyacinth and Gregory also play a role in it. (I have left open what exactly the poem is about so that everyone can put a spark of themselves into this! I hug you all!)

“Benedict! Give. It. BACK!”

Decisively you stomped after your brother who was scurrying into the living-room like a giddy cookie thief, holding a folded sheet of paper in his hand. Hyacinth looked up in wonder from the pianoforte, while Gregory and Colin stopped swinging wooden swords at each other. Eloise didn’t even bother raising her eyes from her book, quite contrary to your mother who dropped the newspaper onto the table before her so suddenly that the paper got wrinkled. Sighing loudly, she followed her second youngest daughter and her second eldest son with attentive eyes to make sense of the sudden commotion.

Benedict quickly took shelter behind one of the sofas and teasingly waved the paper in his hand, when you came to a halt on the other side of the piece of furniture.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he taunted, the smugness making his smirk seem almost devilish, “now be a good sister and stay right where you are! We are civilized people after all!”

“So civilized,” you fired back at him with a force that made your mother flinch and Colin blink, “that you come into my room and steal poems from under my nose! It is not ready, give it back to me!”

“Now, now, that is a very serious accusation, dearest sister! I did not steal a single thing, I simply picked it up to- HGH!” The unexpected manoeuvre to jump on the sofa and attempt to grab your brother behind it failed, when Benedict circled it fast enough to end up behind the backrest of the one standing on the other side of the room. Next to it, your mother was sitting at a small table, watching you both with growing surprise.

“(Y/N), would you please refrain from climbing on the furniture with your shoes on!” She chastised half-heartedly, too enraptured in the quick changing of positions you and your brother were engaged in at the very moment to think of ending it all with one simple order.

Your shoulders slumped down and your voice was tinted by utter disappointment when you directed your complaint at your mother. “Mamma, how can you tell me off when my so called brother is the one who is acting like a complete child-“

“Oh, scarry moon, oh splendid field-“

“NOO!!” You screamed so loud that Gregory actually yelped in pain and proceeded to cover his ears. Benedict giggled like a three year old as he interrupted his aloud reading of your verses to escape yet another one of your attempts to get your hands on him. You ended up on opposite sides of the sofa, Eloise was reading on, and she did not seem happy about the disruption.

“Can’t you take your shenanigans outside?” She groaned, when you had circled her sofa twice, Benedict still giggling and you still huffing in frustration.

“Why is not one of my beloved siblings considering to help me??” You called out in frustration, glaring daggers at your smirking brother who thought himself invincible in that very moment.

“Perhaps they are all as excited as I am to hear what our dear sister puts onto paper on this lovely, lovely morning!” Benedict declared, as he tried to peek another glance at the dark lines covering the page.

“Well, perhaps it is not meant for either of your eyes to see nor ears to hear!!” You extended your hand meaningfully to demand your poem back from your brother, but he merely made a pitiful grimace and sucked in the air through his teeth apologetically.

“Ah, see, (Y/N), the problem is that that only intrigues me even more.”

And with that he resumed his reading – silently at the very least – as he continued to stumble away from your attempts to get him to stop. Until he did actually stop. His expression changed entirely, from humorous to serious, and he looked up from the paper with blue eyes full of remorse. That only made it worse for you.

“(Y/N), I…”

“Are you happy now??” You shouted, feeling anger put its feeble hands around your throat and suffocate your voice with tears and shame. “You think everything is so funny! Well, sometimes it’s not!” Deeply hurt, you ripped the paper out of his hands and threw your fists against his chest once with force. He barely moved from the impact, but shrunk in on himself nevertheless, his eyes dripping with regret and his lips growing hard.

You didn’t wait for another word from anyone of your shocked family, turned on your heels and hurried out of the grand room to find solace and shelter in your own space. You heard Benedict shout your name again, but did not look back. With the back of your hand you brushed away the tears that threatened to fall, as you ran up the stairs, far away from the shame that was left in the room with everyone else. You shut the door behind you, turned the key in the lock and hid yourself in your bed to cry and to forget about it all – the shame, Benedict’s look of horror when he realized what you had written, but mostly the thing itself. You promised yourself never to write about such matters again, if the only outcome was the incomprehension of everyone you cared about.

It hurt you especially that it had been Benedict who had reacted that way. Anthony, alright, Daphne, sure. But Benedict? You’d always considered him to be the most empathetic Bridgerton, the softest and sweetest. But apparently his understanding knew its limits as well. You wanted him to come to your room and make it all better again, but at the same time you didn’t want him anywhere near you in that moment. You were not sure, you’d be able to take it if you brother were to treat this matter as if it disgusted him, as if you disgusted him.

No, for now, all that was left for you was your pillow and the safe warmth of your blanket.

It did not take long for Benedict to come to your door and knock as carefully as if he was knocking on a wound he did not mean to worsen any further.

“(Y/N)?”

You put a pillow over your head and tried to sink deeper into your sheets to disappear from the face of the earth forever.

“(Y/N), can I please talk to you? Please?”

As always, your brother’s gentle voice made you feel weak and defenceless and stirred the need to be held and cradled by him for many hours until nothing hurt anymore. But this time, his voice also carried a needle with it that stung you in the lungs and made it harder to breathe.

“Go away,” you called weakly, your own words making you sad enough to bring tears to your eyes. You did not actually want him to go, but you were also scared to face his judgement on your words.

You could hear your brother let out a shuddered breath before your door – he was not used to you telling him to ‘go away’ in a serious manner and it hurt him like an actual weapon. His pain only worsened your own, since it all seemed to come from you; you were the source of all the pain that circulated in the Bridgerton mansion that very day and you did not know how to make it stop.

“(Y/N), please,” Benedict asked again, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “Can I please be there for you right now? Please. Please.”

The pauses between his words made your tears roll down your cheeks big and hot and painful. Why did your brother have to use lines that made your insides feel weaker than pie filling? Of course, you wanted him to be there for you. You did not want him to think less of you. You did not want to see an ounce of wariness in his eyes. All you wanted was for him to forget you’d ever written the lines of that day. Perhaps, he would grant you that wish…

“Wait,” you sniffed out shakily and got up from your bed. With a thumping heart in your chest, you walked to the door and unlocked it, only to then make a run for your bed again in order to hide your tear stained face from Benedict’s curious eyes.

You heard the door creak as it opened and the gentle click when it closed again. Footsteps approached the bed carefully and came to a halt right next to you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, when you felt the mattress move beneath his weight and turned you face away, when your brother lifted the light blanket you were hiding beneath to slip underneath it as well. He let it fall around the two of you, the light of the day bright enough to make everything perfectly visible under the textile’s protection.

“Hey,” he breathed out in a consoling tone, his hand gently curling around your shoulder. Your lips turned into a thin line to keep quiet, but a sob shook your body so violently that nothing could have contained or concealed it. “Oh, (Y/N), it’s alright. It’s going to be alright. I am here!” You wanted to stay turned away from your brother, but he repeated such nice calming words while rubbing over your back that you would have needed a heart of stone to remain indifferent. Violently, you turned around and threw your arms around him, your following sobs muffled by his white shirt. He wrapped his arms around you as tightly as possible and carded his fingers through your hair, repeating a calming noise until your sobs turned from earthquakes into human noises again that allowed you to speak.

“I am sorry I hit you!” You stuttered into your brother’s arm, holding on to his shoulders for dear life to un-hug the way you’d pushed him earlier. Benedict made a disregarding noise and rubbed your back a few times to convince you of how little it meant to him.

“Please, (Y/N), you had every right to be angry with me. There is nothing you need to feel sorry for. I should never have read that poem. You did not want me to do it and I did not respect that. It is I who is sorry. Truly sorry!” It was his turn to bury his face in your shoulder and hold on to your shoulders, asking for forgiveness with every fragile breath that blew against your ear. It saddened you so much that fresh tears sprang to your eyes. You copied his movement from earlier and started rubbing up and down his back to soothe him. Apparently he had been just as scared as you had been that you might treat him coldly or with little understanding. The thought seemed ridiculous to you now – as if that could ever have truly happened with you or Benedict.

“At the same time, I am glad I read it, (Y/N). I am glad I got to see the fears you are apparently dealing with all by yourself. They are very substantial and best not shouldered alone.” For the first time since he’d entered your room, you moved your face in front of his, letting him see the wreckage of your puffy eyes and witnessing the red-rimmed ones of his. You gently pushed your ever-cold fingers against his cheeks and felt your lips twitch, when his eye-lids closed in relief.

“I was scared you might think them weird. Or rather … me!” You admitted, breathing out calmly when your brother’s hands moved up to cup your face. He opened his blue eyes and looked at you fondly.

“Nothing could ever make me think you weird,” he stated with emotion in his voice. “You are my sister and I will tease you for the rest of your days, but unless you drink exotic tea from Greece, I will never ever think you weird!”

That actually made you laugh despite the tear-heavy weight on your voice. His features immediately grew lighter again and his lips curled upwards.

“And I must say,” he continued, “the dark issue aside – it was a really good poem.”

“You think so?” You asked surprised, your eyes growing wider.

He nodded meaningfully. “Yes! You have a way with words, (Y/N). It is a talent you should pursue further! Don’t be scared of the dark parts it might reveal within you. But never forget to talk to me about it…”

“In fact,” you looked him in the eyes, lifting the blanket a little with your hand to be able to look at them directly, without any fabric getting in the way, “I was going to ask you to forget you’ve ever read the one from this morning… I don’t wish to remember it myself!”

Benedict narrowed his eyes for a moment, before he made a quick gesture next to his head, accompanied by a grimace. “Done!” He exclaimed. “I have successfully forgotten everything about it.”

You were about to roll your eyes, when he gasped loudly. “In fact I seem to have forgotten everything else as well. How did I get here? Why are we under this blanket? Who are you??”

Biting your tongue usually helped, when you wanted to keep from laughing, but not when it came to Benedict. A grin worked its way on your face as you tried to grab a hold of his gesticulating hands. “Ben, stop!”

“Where am I? Who am I??” He threw the blanket off the two of you, allowing for you both to breathe fresh air again and get blinded by daylight, as you tried to get a hold on your exaggerating brother.

“Ben!!” You chuckled, fighting to keep him on the mattress as he moved into a sitting position.

“I am not even sure of what I am anymore! A cat, a man, a weasel??”

“You are so silly!” You groaned through your laughter, sitting up as well and placing your hands on his shoulders.

Benedict squinted his eyes at you insecurely and stopped his little act, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “Not too silly, I hope.”

You remembered the words you had fired at him earlier, about how everything seemed to be funny to him. Apparently you had scratched at his core with that statement. Regret came over you again and you slumped in on yourself slightly. To make up for it, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pushed your head against his, humming when you felt one of his arms warm on your own.

“No, brother, you are not too silly for me!”

He gently rubbed his hand over your arm for a while, indulging in the hug for a few moments, before he suddenly made his upper body fall back on the sheets, taking you down with him. With a quiet shriek, you fell on his chest, laughing brightly, when his hands grabbed for you and pulled you entirely on top of him. His glinting blue eyes promised schemes of mischief and fun.

“How about we make you fly again, like when you were little?”

You scoffed meaningfully and pushed yourself up slightly, you fingers digging into his collarbone making him flinch – something you noted with a little smirk. “I am way too heavy for that now, brother!”

“Says who?”

“Says I!” You squeezed his sides playfully, making him yelp and bark out a breathy laugh. You waggled your eyebrows at him.

“I think there are better ways to entertain ourselves now!”

“Don’t even think about it!” He threatened with a determined look in his eyes. But your position gave you quite the advantage, so there was little he could do, when your hands decided to find their way past his arms and into his armpits, forcing him to throw his head back with deep, hearty laughter.

“NO PLEASE!” He giggled instantly, turning his head from left to right and trying to push you off, which included getting his hands on your knees and squeezing them rapidly. That was unfortunately a counter attack that worked quite well on you and so you found yourself pinned underneath him way too quickly, doomed to suffer at the hands of the ingenious tickler your brother was, always had been and always would be.

“Oh how the turn tables,” he laughed, as his hands wandered up and down your shaking sides, reducing you to a giggling mess and leaving you no chance to wiggle out from underneath him.

You were laughing so hard, you barely heard your door opening a crack with Colin peering inside, the younger siblings and Eloise by his side. Benedict only noticed it, when Colin whispered something to Hyacinth and Gregory and they came storming in with a war cry, jumping on top of their older brother and trying to push him off of you. Benedict’s exaggerated wails of terror and your younger siblings rather quirky attempts to overpower him made your laughter only increase. Benedict felt compelled to raise his arms and shout “I am not touching her!” to prove himself innocent of your hysterics, but that only made matters easier for the legacy of siblings at your service now. Hyacinth used the opening to start tickling underneath Benedict’s arms, while Gregory pushed at your brother to make him fall over. Benedict couldn’t keep from chuckling at Hyacinth’ technique, but grabbed Gregory, your knight in shining armour to subdue him to some tickling of his own. This was when Colin emerged into the room, with Eloise following suit, both of them pointing fingers at Benedict.

“We see the advance-guard has been overpowered. But we will not be such easy targets!”

Eloise cackled smugly, when she saw Benedict’s expression turn quite horrified at the outlook of such a team fighting against him and immediately let go off the giggling Gregoy. You wrapped your arms around your youngest brother and bit your lip in anticipation of what was to come next. It moved you that the other four had come to help you. It moved you that Benedict had come up to make things alright again, but things would look even brighter, in your opinion, if your second oldest brother would have to fight off an entire Bridgerton army at your service.

Benedict seemed to reconsider his options and huffed out a scared little chuckle, raising his hands. “Now… we’re all good friends here, are we not?”

Eloise, Colin, Hyacinth and Gregory all looked at you with expectant brows and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “I’d say… on him!”

Benedict made a choked noise in his throat and grabbed his chest to convey the amount of betrayal he felt. “You too, Brutus?” But he winked at you and he was already laughing at his siblings’ antics before anyone of the others had come near to touching him. With a loud war cry they wrestled him onto the sheets and proceeded to tickle him wherever they could reach. Eloise was expertly subduing his knees to spidery tickles, while Hyacinth squeezed his legs and Gregory and Colin dug their hands into all the open spots on his upper body. Benedict had probably not known how hard he could laugh, but it was highly infectious and forced you all to chuckle alongside him. You put an end to their attack rather quickly and tried to wrap your arms around them all at the same time to pull them all into a big hug.

No matter what fears sometimes kept you gnawing at the end of your pencil as you wrote into your books, nothing was greater a remedy to your anxiety than the family you had. And when Benedict pulled you into his arms, still warm from laughing, you weren’t scared of a thing in the world.

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