#benedict brink

[digitalfountains]

Irene Guarenas by Benedict Brink

- Purple Magazine, Fall/Winter 2018

[les-larmes-d-eros]

Photo Benedict Brink, in "Look, Touch"

[ortodelmondo]

© Benedict Brink - From Look, Touch - Courtesy of Libraryman

[credenzafart]

[ashipiko]

HALLO ASHI 💙 Uh so idk if u wanna do an oc interaction or nah but IF U ARE CAN WE GET NIKOS THOUGHTS ON HOPPER? I NEED TO KNOW WHATS GOIN ON IN THE STUPID BRAIN OF HIS‼️

—“Niko, what’s your opinion on Hopper?” 🦊

“You noticed? D’aww, Carrots, I thought I was good at keeping my relationships lowkey… Oh well. It’s fine if only you know, ‘cause you’re special~. So sure, I know that bunny from RSA.

We met after the culture fair during VDC, and something something happened along the way that caused a little fox to get stuck in the infirmary instead of getting some cash. Not my fault, so it’s not important. If I’m being completely honest, I thought that rabbit hated me, heh. But we kept running into eachother somehow, and every single time he would strike up a conversation or call me out from the crowd. It freaks me out how he can just do that, honestly… Weirdly enough, his pumped-up energy he has no matter what he’s doing is kind of admirable, though. …B-But not for me. Obviously.

Nowadays, I think the cottontail hates me a little less. I always just found him as a cute rabbit to play around with, but now I find that he’s a pretty swell person to talk to. I should probably see if he’s willing to hang out sometime.

You’re surprised that I’m hanging out with an RSA kid, huh? Ha, don’t tell anyone, though. I’d probably get my tail chopped off if people knew I kept in contact with a goodie two shoes.

…But you’re not asking because you saw a suspiciously lost student around campus, are you? …Are you?

…Ha. Sorry Carrots, I’ll be back. I’m getting a call~.”

[d-targaryenshoe]

So Entirely Bridgerton - Benedict Bridgerton

Word Count: 1031

Summary: A woman becomes with child, yet the child's father might feel unsatisfied at times, will he not?

Benedict Bridgerton had never been one to do things by halves, and this included annoying you.

From the moment you met, it was clear that Benedict had an irrepressible, almost childlike energy that he often directed towards you, much to your chagrin.

Now, as you were well into your pregnancy, Benedict's antics had only increased in both frequency and creativity.

"Honestly, Benedict," you sighed one sunny afternoon, reclining on the chaise lounge in your sitting room, "Can you not find something to do?"

You rubbed your swollen belly absentmindedly, your expression a mixture of exasperation and affection.

Benedict, who was attempting to balance a spoon on his nose, looked at you with a wide grin.

"Who else should I annoy if not my wife?" he quipped, causing the spoon to clatter to the floor, making him sigh.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "Perhaps the staff, or better yet, one of your brothers?" you suggested, picking up your embroidery and resuming your work.

"But they don't react quite like you do, my love," Benedict replied, coming to sit beside you.

He placed a hand on your belly, feeling the baby kick. "Besides, I'm doing my duty as a husband. Keeping you entertained and distracted."

"Entertained? More like exasperated," you muttered, though you leaned into his touch.

The truth was, despite Benedict's constant mischief, you loved him dearly.

His playful nature was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place, even if it did drive you to the brink of madness at times.

Benedict's eyes sparkled with mischief as he kissed your temple. "You married me knowing full well what you were getting into," he reminded you. "A Bridgerton through and through."

You laughed softly, your annoyance melting away. "Yes, I suppose I did," you admitted. "But right now, what I need more than anything is some peace."

Benedict sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the chaise. "Peace? How dreadfully boring," he lamented, though he gave you a fond look. "Very well, my dear. I shall endeavor to be the model husband for the remainder of the afternoon."

"I'll believe it when I see it," you teased, but you appreciated his effort.

Benedict might be a handful, but he was also incredibly loving and devoted.

His heart was always in the right place, even if his methods were bizarre.

For a while, Benedict did his best to remain still and quiet, but it was a struggle for him.

You watched him with a mixture of amusement and pity. You knew how hard it was for him to suppress his natural exuberance.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Benedict could bear it no longer.

"Would you like to take a walk in the garden?" he suggested suddenly, sitting up. "The fresh air might do us both some good."

You considered the idea. A walk did sound nice, and it would give Benedict an outlet for his restless energy.

"Alright," you agreed, setting aside your embroidery. "But no running off ahead and leaving me behind. You'll stay by my side."

"Of course, my love," Benedict agreed readily, offering you his arm. "Lead the way."

You made your way outside, the warm afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the lush gardens.

Benedict kept his promise, walking slowly and steadily beside you, his hand never leaving yours.

You strolled among the flowers, enjoying the peace and tranquility.

"You know," you said after a while, "I do appreciate your efforts to keep me entertained. But sometimes, I just need a little space."

"I understand," Benedict said, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I only want to make you happy."

"You do," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "You always do. Even when you're driving me mad."

Benedict laughed, a sound that was full of love and joy. "And you, my dear, make me the happiest man in the world," he said, stopping to kiss you gently. "Even when you're scolding me."

You smiled, feeling a surge of affection for your husband. "Well, it's good to know we're equally matched in that regard," you said.

You continued your walk, enjoying each other's company and the beauty of the garden.

Benedict's energy was still palpable, but he channeled it into more subdued activities, pointing out different flowers and recounting amusing stories.

You found yourself laughing more than you had in days, grateful for your husband's irrepressible spirit.

As you rounded a corner, you came upon a bench nestled beneath a large oak tree.

"Shall we sit for a while?" Benedict suggested, guiding you to the bench.

You nodded, grateful for the rest. As you sat together, Benedict wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

"This is nice," you said softly, resting your head on his shoulder. "Just the two of us, enjoying the moment."

"It is," Benedict agreed, kissing the top of your head. "And it's a moment I'll cherish."

You sat in companionable silence, the sounds of the garden enveloping you.

You closed your eyes, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. Benedict's presence was a comfort, his love a constant reassurance.

"You know," you said after a while, "I think our child is going to have a lot of fun with you as their father."

Benedict chuckled. "I certainly hope so," he said. "I plan to be just as annoying to them as I am to you."

"Poor child," you said with a mock sigh. "They won't stand a chance."

"Or perhaps they'll be just like me," Benedict said with a grin. "And then you'll have two of us to deal with."

You groaned playfully. "Heaven help me," you said, though the thought filled you with warmth. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

You stayed in the garden until the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over everything.

As you made your way back to the house, you felt a sense of contentment settle over you.

Despite Benedict's antics, you knew you were incredibly lucky to have him.

He was your partner, your confidant, and the love of your life.

[cocteau-tween]

benedict brink

[sillygirlsmindpalace]

Professionalism even when you're on the brink of death

Also, I didn't notice this before but I love how Benedict gets slightly startled by Andrew's sudden scream (his hand 🤭)

[pinchofhoney]

perfectly flawed

benedict bridgerton x princess!reader

word count: 2.7k

warning: hurt without comfort, it might be suggestive but there's nothing inappropriate about it (friends with benefits but without any details)

summary: Finding love as a princess comes with its challenges, but becoming a mistress was never part of the plan.

a/n: two things; one, over these few months i forgot what it's like to write something that isn't an academic paper. two, in the process of writing it i forgot that i was supposed to write it based on a song. i suppose i'm already a different person than i was just the week ago when i asked you for your opinion, but regardless, feel welcome to read this,, thing<33

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

London, 18th April 1814

Dearest Readers,

The Season has barely begun, yet the glittering ballrooms of London are already abuzz with whispers and speculation. The cause of this fervour? None other than the captivating niece of Her Majesty. The fairy-like young lady, whose arrival in London coincided with the Season’s beginning, has ignited a flurry of theories.

Is she a princess, a countess, or perhaps a secret agent on a mission? The whispers echo through the salons, each speculation more imaginative than the last. Her regal bearing and the way she holds her fan hint at noble lineage, but her eyes hold secrets that defy easy classification. Could she be a pawn in a political game, or does her purpose lie closer to matters of the heart? Suitors line up, eager to claim her hand, but our debutante remains an unknown figure, casting doubt upon the intentions behind her smile.

Gentlemen of distinction have flocked to her side, vying for her attention. Lord Pembroke, the dashing heir to a vast estate, has been seen trailing her like a devoted puppy. The Duke of Ashford, brooding and aloof, has deigned to engage her in conversation. And then there is Captain Sinclair, whose sea-green eyes promise both danger and adventure.

At Lady Featherington's soirée, our young lady engaged in spirited conversation with none other than Miss Eloise Bridgerton. Their conversation delved into matters of politics—a most unconventional choice. Is our French princess a revolutionary sympathizer, or does she simply relish the thrill of intellectual sparring?

Rest assured, dear readers, that Lady Whistledown shall be your faithful guide through the twists and turns of this unfolding narrative. Prepare your fans and polish your silver spoons, for the London Season has just begun, and in the shadow of the Queen's niece, our world is poised to be turned upside down. Society must brace itself for a whirlwind of speculation, as we stand on the brink of a most intriguing chapter.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

‎

At the very core of the French Empire, you were raised as the epitome of grace and subtlety. With royal blood coursing through your veins, you were groomed to be the perfect lady, the jewel of the imperial court. Every step you took, every word you said, was a careful composition, painting the portrait of an eminent lineage.

From a young age, you were taught the art of etiquette, your days filled with lessons on poise, embroidery, and the subtle language of the fan. Your attire, always impeccable, was the evidence of your status and breeding. The world perceived you as the embodiment of perfection, a delicate blossom requiring protection from the harsh realities beyond the palace walls.

Yet, behind the facade of the devoted princess, a secreted truth blossomed. Beneath the tangled layers of silk and lace, your spirit, unyielding and untamed, stood in defiance of the expectations of courtly life. The allure of royal grandeur held little sway over you, and the burden of societal obligations felt like a daily donning of a suffocating corset.

The shimmering balls and elaborate rituals became stifling, making your heart to ache for those fleeting moments of genuine connection, uncontrolled laughter, and a subtle taste of the forbidden. Although French suitors eagerly fought for your attention and the allure of your family's wealth, your soul yearned for a partner who would daringly challenge the scripted norms, infusing romance with a breath of spontaneous authenticity.

And thus, to address your reluctance to accept the prearranged path, your mother came up with a plan. Sending you to the splendour of London under the watchful eye of the Queen, your beloved aunt, she hoped this change of scenery would guide you towards a dutiful marriage, in line with the expectations befitting your royal lineage. What slipped out of her seemingly perfect idea, however, was the playful nature of fate, particularly when guided by those who avoid predictability. So, your journey to the bustling heart of British metropolis grew with an outcome greatly different from your mother's expectations.

Your aunt, holding the most esteemed position in the United Kingdom, was admired for her wisdom and understanding. But the hours of lessons imparted to you from an early age, combined with your ability to conceal your rebellious nature from the public eye, had transformed you into a pretty great actress. And your performance, crafted over the years, was so convincing that even someone as sharp as the Queen herself failed to see through the carefully constructed act.

But perhaps, this time, you've got too close to the edge, because in the blink of an eye, you found yourself entangled in a situation that, if exposed, would not only scandalize all of England but also cast a shadow over France, where your family hopefully awaited news of your impending marriage.

And how did it all start?

The beginning of your tale remains in the memories of that fateful debutante ball, where a single innocent look changed the course of your luck. It was a brief moment, a shared exchange of glimpse between you and Benedict Bridgerton, that seemed to stretch time itself. In the glimmer of that ballroom, his bright eyes locked onto yours from across the room, and the world around you seemed to slow, as if giving space for something beyond a mere glance.

You had no idea what captivated you about the man who didn't really stand out among the other attendees, but most likely it was this quiet strength of his gaze. The gaze without the typical fascination you'd grown used to as a princess of the French Empire or the usual envy that flickered in the eyes of those desperate to secure a partner who determined their life's worth. Benedict's gaze was just different. It held no trace of the thought that you were merely a silly princess with a title. It carried the feeling that you were a masterpiece, a creation worthy of admiration. And it stirred a yearning within you, an insatiable thirst for freedom and authenticity that your heart had craved for so long.

A brief exchange of words with Benedict at the ball opened your eyes, making you believe that not every man who sought your company was doing so only for your family's wealth. As you danced together, his touch ignited a spark, a fleeting moment of intimacy that lingered long after the music faded into the night, and each stolen glance exchanged across the crowded ballroom carried the weight of unspoken desires. It felt as though the connection that binds soulmates was about to disappear when your paths crossed, signalling that you had, finally, found one another.

And so, it began. A secret affair that grew under the cloak of darkness, far from the prying eyes of nosy socialites waiting to catch a glimpse of scandal. In the hidden corners of London, where shadows whispered secrets and the night sky painted a canvas of stars, you found comfort in the arms of Benedict, a man not necessarily burdened by the weight of societal expectations, yet bound by his own hesitation to commit to anything beyond the present moment.

As the inappropriate meetings became routine, you assumed the role of a mistress, a position you never imagined yourself in, and the only rule you committed to follow during your secret dates was the lack of romantic feelings. Yet, despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of emotional distance, your heart had a way of defying logic. With each stolen moment spent in Benedict's company, you found yourself drawn deeper into the labyrinth of emotions, a labyrinth fraught with longing and desire. What started as a simple agreement, devoid of romantic sentiments, soon evolved into something far more sincere.

And it genuinely scared you.

You walked nervously around the place of your every rendezvous with Benedict, your fingers nervously picking the cuticles near your nail—a gesture unsuitable for the lady you were expected to be. But in the fuss of events that have happened in London so far, such a thing seemed a minor violation. Not only did the task of slipping unnoticed from the royal palace grew increasingly difficult, but the relentless fluttering in your heart at the mere thought of Bridgerton haunted your sleepless nights.

Throughout your life, you had yearned for a love different from the one you had observed in French society. And now, when the opportunity to live your fairy tale presented itself, reality proved to be just an unrequited feeling. While you were happy to see Benedict and yearned for his presence, it seemed he may only crave your body, not the depths of your soul.

You wanted today's meeting to be the last one, a meeting where nothing would happen. Or so you convinced yourself. The purpose was clear: to say goodbye to Benedict and to draw the curtain on a relationship built on fleeting glances and secret meetings. And even though probably the best choice would have been to just stop showing up on these encounters and withdrawing from public spaces where you might cross paths, you didn't want to just pretend that nothing had ever happened between you two. The social season was still around you, and avoiding the consequences of your actions would only complicate everything. Maybe not for Benedict, but for you, for sure.

And then, the silence broken every second by your anxious heartbeat was completely shattered by the sound of footsteps. Turning, you were met with the sight of Benedict Bridgerton approaching with firm strides, and his presence seemed to overshadow your plans to say goodbye when, for a moment, the world seemed to pause as you lost yourself in the intensity of his gaze.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and his touch sent pleasant shivers down your spine. The warmth of his embrace, coupled with the subtle brush of his breath against your skin, stirred conflicting emotions within you. Your heart quickened its pace, betraying the reason you came for this final meeting.

“I've been thinking about you all day,” Benedict whispered, and his breath caressed your delicate skin. But as much as the desire for intimacy flickered within, you held steadfast to the resolution you had set for this meeting.

With a gentle pull, you extricated yourself from his embrace, creating a safe distance between the two of you. The tingling sensation stayed on your skin, as a remaining echo of his touch that resonated through every fibre of your being. “We need to talk,” you said, your voice steadier than your racing heart. Benedict's eyes, once filled with a yearning, now searched yours for an answer to an as yet unspoken question.

“Talk?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of playful intrigue as he arched one of his eyebrows with his signature smile dancing upon his lips. “About what?” he pressed, and with an air of casual confidence, he crossed his arms over his chest as he ambled a few steps to the side. “You're not going to tell me you've fallen in love, are you, princess?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up from within, escaping between your lips before you could hold it back. In an attempt to mirror Benedict's movements, you crossed your arms over your chest, your head shaking with feigned amusement. “Fall in love?” you repeated his words, adopting a tone of playful dismissal. “Don't be ridiculous, of course not,” you declared, adding a scoff at the end, as if to fortify the illusion of light-hearted banter. Hoping to shield your true feelings, now concealed beneath a facade of amusement, you met Benedict's gaze with a look of mock disbelief.

“We should end this relationship,” the words spilled from your lips, hoping your voice wouldn't betray how fast your heart was beating at that moment. “I did not come to London to become just another woman in the arms of the Viscount's son. If my mother were to find out, she'd blame herself for raising me poorly, and that's not the truth,” you began to rationalize, your words flowing as an attempt to justify the decision you had set before both of you. “I have obligations to fulfil, a path to follow, and I won't achieve that by sleeping with you.”

Benedict watched you in silence, not knowing if you were serious. His gaze bore into you, seeking answers within the depths of your eyes.

“Now you're the one being ridiculous,” he retorted, his tone carrying a gentle scolding. Leaning against a nearby counter, he looked at you with a combination of disbelief. “Since when have you cared so deeply about living up to your mother's expectations?”

“I've come to understand that my mother wants what she believes is best for me. As a princess of the French Empire, there are certain expectations I must meet, whether I appreciate them or not,” you said, closing the physical distance between yourself and Benedict. Self-control was what kept your hands from reaching out as you stopped just in front of him. “Think about what would happen if our secret were to be exposed. It would be the end for both of us, and the scandal would echo across the entire continent. The Queen herself would likely seek our demise.” You emphasized your words by pointing a finger at yourself. “I cannot ruin the honour of the entire royal family for a fleeting moment of pleasure.”

Benedict met your gaze with a silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words, yet beneath the veneer of understanding, a flicker of defiance danced in his eyes. “So, what are you saying? You're suddenly prepared to sacrifice your entire life for the expectations of your family that would see you married and bearing children with some man who would likely make you miserable?” he asked, a trace of frustration evident in his voice.

A moment of silence ensued as you fixed your gaze on Benedict. Finally, a disbelieving scoff escaped your lips, and you shook your head. Taking a few steps away, you placed your hands on your hips, a gesture mirroring the internal conflict within you. “Perhaps you haven't noticed yet, Benedict, but I am a woman. And in a world dictated by the whims of men, the role assigned to women is often reduced to that of an obedient wife, tasked with bringing some affluent man's heir into the world. It's not about what I want; it's about what everyone else around me expects.”

As Benedict made a move to step closer, a surge of urgency propelled you to speak before he could interject. “I should be going now. The palace servants are growing increasingly suspicious.”

Despite the assertiveness in your tone, Benedict, keen to the nuances of unspoken emotions, closed the physical gap between you, and his touch went through the delicate fabric of your glove as he gently took your hand. “We can at least end this in a better way,” he suggested, his voice tinged with a suggestive undertone as he met your gaze.

A resolute “No” escaped your lips, infused with an overt firmness born out of the fear that another moment in his gaze might make you give in to your heart's desires. You couldn't afford the risk of surrendering to the tempting pull of his lips once again, the very lips you yearned for. “That's all I wanted to tell you today,” you continued, gently squeezing his hand as if to punctuate your resolve. Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you added, “It's over, but know that every meeting with you has been a pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton. Goodbye.” Articulated so, you withdrew your hand from Benedict's grasp, leaving only the delicate glove in his hold.

With a swift spin, you turned away and your hurried footsteps carrying you out into the rain-soaked streets of London. A quick glance confirmed the absence of prying eyes, making you hasten your pace, putting distance between yourself and the building that housed your shattered heart. As you took each step, the words exchanged at that moment of parting reverberated in your mind. The relation between you and Benedict had ignited sparks of passion and left a sweet ache of longing. Now, the path ahead led you towards the marriage your family desired, a hopeful step to fill the void left by thoughts of Bridgerton.

[seonghwalazia]

tender and divine. | Seonghwa/Reader/Hongjoong | kinktober 03

» summary: It is a heady thing, to hold such power whilst on your knees. Can do nothing but delight in it, with sweat gleaming on your skin and jaw sore from sitting pretty and obedient for near on an hour.

» pairing: Park Seonghwa / AFAB!Reader / Kim Hongjoong

» rating: explicit

» content warning for pwp, blow jobs, spit kink, pet names, praise kink, consensual cucking (hj), hair pulling, lowkey dom!sh + sub!hj, rutting, frottage

» author's note: does a funky dance i think more people should spit in joong's mouth. anyway prompts today were blowjobs + spitting<3

» ao3 link

You can feel the weight of Hongjoong’s eyes from across the room. Suffused with the static air of promises kept, heavy and warm to cling to your exposed skin and send a frisson of delight shooting right through your spine. He watches you almost obsessively, eyes wide and pleading in the dark, desperate little noises slipping free of his parted lips and you can hear the way he shifts in his seat, chair creaking and his feet tapping restlessly on the floor. He’s near the brink already, impatient and ready for the satisfaction long denied him this evening.

You can feel it all, simply from the weight of his stare. But your attention is kept elsewhere, drawn utterly by the man you kneel for, the one whose hands are buried in your fall of hair, and cupping your cheek with such gentle reverence you could weep for it.

“You’re doing so well, angel,” Seonghwa whispers to you, smiling softer than silk when he traces the curve of your cheek with the pad of his thumb. His touch is peaceful, serene; keeping you grounded and safe whilst he bruises the inside of your throat. His mood changes, as the evening plays out, as Hongjoong’s noises grow more desperate or quiet. He slams into your mouth and fucks you harshly when he groans, slows down to wipe your tears and praise you with whispered words of delicious affection every time he wriggles in his seat and presses a palm over the hard rise of his erection through his sweats. Seonghwa plays you both like practiced instruments, with clever fingers and soothing voice that wraps around you like a too-heavy blanket.

And you are grateful for it, in the way tears shine on your lashes when you peek up through them to watch Seonghwa’s face, lovingly tracing the concentrated furrow of his brow and the blissed smile curving his lips. The dusting of a flush high on his cheeks makes your thighs come together, needy to dispel the ache that lingers in your slick and wanting cunt. The thrill of satisfaction doesn't come from carnal delight, but rather the power you hold over them both. From taking Seonghwa to the brink with nothing save a worshipful mouth, to Hongjoong’s whiny moans each time he watches you blink away tears or hears you gag around Seonghwa’s cock.

It is a heady thing, to hold such power whilst on your knees. Can do nothing but delight in it, with sweat gleaming on your skin and jaw sore from sitting pretty and obedient for near on an hour. Warming him, at first; keeping him hard and languid to torture Hongjoong all the more as he is forbidden to touch - himself, or otherwise. Delegated to sit and watch, melting into a puddle of his own torment with lips bitten and face flushed. You cannot tell who he wishes to be more - Seonghwa, with his blissed out smile and wet heat wrapped lovingly around his cock. Or you - on bruised knees but so tenderly treated, cock halfway down your throat that feels like a benediction.

“Beautiful,” Seonghwa croons to you, tracing the line of your jaw and stealing your attention for himself once again. He’s a greedy thing, when all is said and done; behind closed doors, when it’s no one but you three and all that remains is the promise of delectation between needy kisses and wandering hands. Your core flutters at his praise, and you hollow your cheeks to better wrap around his length with a pleased little hum. He tenses, fingers curling until blunted nails rake your skin, and spears himself deeper into the tight sheathe of your throat.

Your breath is stolen but still you moan, deep in your chest, when he pulls out to watch the way your spit shines on the skin of his cock. Soaked, as well as your cheeks and chin and chest; he’s made a mess of you, and you cannot be anything save grateful for it. Seonghwa runs his thumb through the spit coating your chin, eyes bright from lust and the way you wait on baited breath for his next move. Already you miss the weight of his cock in you, thick and cloying on your palate and able to wring impossibly lovely noises from his stricken expression. 

“Nothing prettier than our angel on her knees, ready to serve,” Seonghwa continues after a moment, head tilted to the side and eyes flicking from you to Hongjoong. His expression darkens with a wicked curve of his smirk, and he palms his cock to better show off your slick and salacious work. 

“Always so good for us, love,” he finishes with a low brush of laughter, and you cannot tell who’s ears the words are meant for. Even still you tilt forward, mouth achingly empty and cunt pulsing with every harried beat of your heart. Seonghwa grins, lascivious and heartbreakingly beautiful, before cupping your chin. His fingertips dig into the hinge of your jaw, forcing your mouth open once again. You can barely take a breath before he’s slamming forward, your throat instinctively convulsing around the intrusion and head going breezy. But Seonghwa moans, loud and unashamed, with head thrown back and mouth dropped open to sing your praises with an approximation of your name interspersed with low moans that make your toes curl. Tears spill anew from your stinging eyes, running a river down your cheeks; but still you swallow stubbornly around his cock, breathing through your nose when Seonghwa finds enough mercy to pull out until just the head rests on your tongue, hand roving to bury in your hair before thrusting forward once more.

He fucks you rough, deep; knowing you can take it for nothing else than to please him. It burns you with every pass, throat bulging obscenely and spit drooling from your spread lips to drip down to your naked chest. But Seonghwa is close, balls tightening and chest heaving from the exertion of receiving pleasure that threatens to unravel him, fingers knotting in your hair until he pushes and pulls you along to his rhythm. Fucking your throat until his cock leaks a fountain down the bruised column, Hongjoong’s wail of desperation echoing in your ears as he finally begs with broken words for Seonghwa to let him come.

“Soon,” Seonghwa tells him with a breathless sort of laugh, hips stuttering in their rhythm as he chases his peak. Your throat aches and your head swims from lack of air but you want it - so badly it aches from your cunt to your bones. You want him to spill in your mouth, fill you with his spend and cement his claim over you, your body - everything. 

Seonghwa pulls out just as his climax begins to overtake him, face flushed and eyes heavy-lidded, still he has the presence of mind to grip to his length and use his hand to wrench your jaw open. Eyes locked on yours he jerks himself quickly, the slick sound of his tight fingers gliding over the mess you’ve made of him is loud in your ears, but still you open your mouth and tilt your face skyward, ready and waiting.

He comes with a stuttered moan, releasing on your waiting tongue. Seonghwa’s muscles go taut and you feel each thick rope of his spend land in your mouth, eyes closing at the taste of him. Thick and cloying as it lingers on your palate, thighs trembling and shifting together. He rubs the head of his cock over your lips when he finishes, gasping breaths filling the air and the steady thrum of desire in your core makes you wonder if you could finish just from this, mouth closing and groaning softly at the feel of his come filling every inch.

You dont swallow; instead you wait until the trembling of his hands has ceased and his eyes once more focus on you. He blinks through his haze, grinning sloppily and petting your cheeks. He taps your lips once, and you open your mouth to show him his work; come pooling on your tongue, staining your lips and oh but he’s wrecked you perfectly, throat red and face soaked in spit and tears, still looking up at him with love in your eyes for all he does to you.

He leans down to kiss your forehead softly, petting your hair and rubbing soothing circles into your naked shoulder. It’s hypnotic, your body listing lazily to the side as you sigh, blinking away your tears and nuzzling up into his loving touch. Seonghwa laughs, gentle and sweet, and helps you to your unsteady feet.

“Give it to him, angel,” he tells you, squeezing your hands and turning you around to look at your third piece. Hongjoong looks utterly wrecked, knuckles bleeding white where he grips to the chair, face flushed and you could swear for a moment there are tears in his eyes.

“Please,” he says, lips pressed into a pout, and you feel nothing save mercy for the wet patch over his groin, his cock still hard and straining and you coo and how badly he must ache. You leave the bubble of Seonghwa’s touch to close the distance, hand immediately falling to Hongjoong’s cheek in a tender rub of affection. He’d done so well, and Seonghwa tells him as such, voice soft from where he lays on the bed, watching you both with the languid relaxation of someone basking in their high. Your knee falls between Hongjoong’s thighs, leaning into his chair and looming above him with adoration banked in your gaze.

You cup Hongjoong’s cheek and tilt his face up, eyes shifting from the red of his lips to the red of his cheeks, from his wide and wanting eyes to the way he whispers your name. A thumb dragging his bottom lip down does the trick, his mouth opening obediently and instantly for you; your smile is a sweet one, when you lean down until your mouth hovers just a hair's breadth from his own. The promise of a kiss, your laughter low and hands tender. You take in a sharp breath before cupping his jaw, opening his mouth wider and spitting in his mouth. Slick and divine, your spit and Seonghwa’s come a gift from your mouth to his. And Hongjoong moans - high and loud and unashamed, tongue dipping out to better receive. His lashes flutter at the taste, your fingertips dragging in his skin when he swallows it all down. 

You rake nails through his hair and press a kiss to his forehead, whispering words of praise. “Go on,” you encourage him with a wicked gleam painting the curve of your smile. Hongjoong nods, eagerly, palms connecting instantly to your hips until his fingertips drag deep into the give of your flesh. He pulls you down and pushes himself forward, hips thrusting until he can grind the hard rise of his still-clothed erection against your knee.

His panting breaths fill the room, high-pitched moans from a heaving chest as his eyes scrunch shut. Expression crumpling beautifully, he chases his pleasure by rutting like a hound against your offered leg, keening and quick and slurred-together words of thanks spilling from between bitten lips. Hips jerking forward and up, nails sinking into your hips until you suspect you’ll wear a half-dozen crescents for a few hours after this. He looks up at you like a supplicant at worship, unashamed as he grinds and pants and pathetically laps up any and all of your attention. 

He comes with a cry of your name, back bowing forward until he curls around you, forehead pressing to your sternum and wet and panting breaths puffing against the curve of your breast. His hair is tangled and sweaty, but still your fingers sink into the locks with a coo of his name, Seonghwa’s satisfied laughter curling around you both like languid smoke.

[paolo-streito-1264]

Benedict Brink.

[digitalfountains]

Irene Guarenas by Benedict Brink

- Purple Magazine, Fall/Winter 2018

[les-larmes-d-eros]

Photo Benedict Brink

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

A Realm Divided

In the months following Margaery’s passing, the winds of change swept through the realm. A ship from Tartosa arrived, sent to retrieve Empress Mary and Princess Augusta and bring them back to their homeland. As the day of departure drew near, the quay of Windenburg Harbor became a hub of activity, with crowds of people gathering to bid farewell. Servants bustled about, preparing the cargo for the voyage, while the air was thick with a mix of melancholy and anticipation.

Augusta, poised on the brink of departure, offered a soft smile, her eyes reflecting a hint of nostalgia. “Windenburg will always be a part of me. But my path leads elsewhere now,” she said, her voice laced with both resolve and a touch of sadness.

King Edward, his gaze burdened with concern, responded, “I worry about what lies ahead. This kingdom, this land, is ever on the brink of something unexpected.”

Augusta met his eyes, her tone gentle but firm. “You’ve always been cautious, Edward. It’s why you’re a good king. But remember, you can’t control everything. Sometimes, you have to let the tide carry you where it will.”

Edward nodded thoughtfully, the weight of her words sinking in. “I know. It’s just that with you gone, it feels like one more anchor is being lifted. Mary… she will need you in Tartosa. But I’ll miss having you near.”

Augusta reached out, her voice filled with affection. “And I will miss you, brother. But you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Windenburg is in good hands.”

As the final words hung in the air, King Edward and Augusta embraced, the weight of their shared past and uncertain futures pressing close. Edward felt a pang of longing, but he was comforted by the warmth of his sister’s presence.

“We’ll meet again one day, won’t we?” Edward whispered, his voice tinged with both hope and reluctance.

Augusta smiled against his shoulder, holding him just a bit tighter. “Of course we will,” she replied softly, her words a quiet promise. “Nothing will keep us apart for long.”

In that moment, the world outside their embrace faded away, leaving only the solace they found in each other’s presence. As Augusta held her brother close, her smile lingered, a small yet unwavering beacon of the bond they would always share, no matter the distance.

Edward, Cordelia, and Prince Alvin stood on the beach, watching as the ship bearing Augusta and Mary slipped further from the shore. The vessel’s departure was more than just a farewell; it was a stark reminder of Edward’s pressing need to marry. With Augusta and Mary departing for Tartosa and Margaery now resting under Westsimster Abbey, his household had shrunk dramatically. The emptiness of the beach mirrored the hollow space left in his life, and Edward's thoughts turned grimly to the future. The necessity of finding a new companion to fill the void left by those he had lost weighed heavily on his mind.

As the years moved forward, Windenburg flourished under King Edward’s reign. The kingdom enjoyed a rare period of peace and prosperity, bolstered by strong alliances with Tartosa and Bagley. Edward’s reign saw a golden age of construction and growth. The city's skyline, once sparse, now boasted a profusion of buildings, homes, and churches, thanks to the kingdom’s immense wealth. Taxes were lowered, bringing contentment to the populace, who reveled in the stability and progress of their land.

The alliance with Bagley was fortified by mutual interests, and when Bagley Castle burned down in 1353, Edward generously supported the construction of Bagley Hall. The new royal residence was a marvel of architecture, surpassing its predecessor in grandeur and functionality. Within its walls, King Edward and King Henry of Bagley sealed their alliance with a treaty, their handshake marking the pact with both ceremony and finality.

Yet, as prosperity reigned throughout most of Windenburg, shadows loomed over Britechester Castle. In the spring of 1356, the death of Benedict, Duke of Britechester, cast a pall over the court. Princess Jane, now widowed for the second time, mourned her loss while preparing to face a new chapter. As the Chaplain’s prayers echoed through the halls, Benedict and Jane’s eldest son Richard, at just sixteen, grappled with the daunting responsibilities of his new title. The weight of leadership fell heavily on his young shoulders.

In the wake of Benedict’s death, Princess Jane and her youngest son, Robert, were conveyed to Windenburg Castle. Jane, enveloped in mourning black, felt as if the hand of fate was unrelenting in its cruelty. Her return to court was marked by a deep sense of foreboding Not long after, the court welcomed the Arnold family, returning after years of controversy surrounding Lady Dorthea’s death. Her younger brother, Philip, was bestowed the title of Count of Westfield in a grand public ceremony. Amid the festivities, Edward’s gaze was drawn to Adelaide, Philip’s eighteen year old granddaughter. Her striking beauty and spirited demeanor captivated him instantly.

As summer unfolded, Edward and Adelaide’s connection deepened. Their days were spent exploring the lush gardens of Windenburg Castle and riding horseback along moonlit shores. Their bond grew as they discovered shared passions and a profound emotional connection. For Edward, Adelaide became a beacon of joy and light, a match to his own soul in a world that had seen its share of darkness.

However, tranquility was soon shattered by turmoil in Bagley. In 1358, Lord Roderic Henford, once a trusted advisor to King Henry, ignited a rebellion against his sovereign. The insurrection, swift and brutal, caught Henry’s forces off guard, plunging the realm into chaos. Henford’s army executed surprise attacks on key positions, leaving widespread devastation in their wake.

Bagley's countryside became a relentless battleground, with Henford’s forces encircling the land and laying siege with ferocious determination. The once thriving kingdom was thrown into a state of upheaval, as Henford’s rebellion not only threatened the stability of Bagley but also jeopardized the broader alliances that had ensured peace for Windenburg. The conflict raged on, with heavy casualties on both sides, and the outcome teetered precariously.

At Windenburg Castle, King Edward convened an urgent council to address the crisis. King Henry sat beside him, visibly at a loss and burdened by the weight of his faltering kingdom. Edward, his brow furrowed with concern, offered his counsel, "You must fortify your defenses and seek out potential allies who can shift the balance of power. Strength and unity are your greatest weapons now."

Despite his attempts to provide guidance and support, Edward's words seemed to barely touch the depth of Henry's despair. The rebellion underscored how quickly peace could unravel, casting a long shadow over their hard-won stability. As the council session continued, Henry's silence became a palpable presence in the room, his eyes distant and lost in the weight of the crisis.

As the discussion wound down, Edward glanced at Henry, hoping for some sign of resolution or hope. Instead, he was met with the sight of him staring blankly at the council table, his grief so profound that it seemed to drown out any possibility of immediate action. The weight of their shared predicament pressed heavily on both of them.

[benophieslove]

BENOPHIESLOVE MASTERLIST

all of my works are posted on ao3 under the username @/angiesdiary!!

one shots:

• baby, let's be in love: Sophie's secret is out and Benedict is furious with her. Violet senses that something is wrong after seeing her son walking away from the nursery and decides to take matters into her own hands.

She encourages Benedict to meet a young eligible lady, Mary Edgeware, since it's time for him to find someone to marry. Will her plan to push her son into admitting his feelings for Sophie work?

• in the shadows of desire: Sophie’s first day working at the Bridgerton household seems to be a lot more challenging than she originally thought when Benedict makes an appearance. Their usual banter takes a different turn when Benedict realises they're all alone.

• a forgotten passion: While he's recovering from his cold, Benedict realises he enjoys Sophie's company more and more with each passing day. What happens, though, when Sophie brings up a sensitive topic from his past?

• kiss me underneath the moonlight: With Sophie working for his family, Benedict finds it increasingly difficult to steal moments alone with her. Every time they run into each other, they are inevitably interrupted, leaving them longing for more.

multi-chapters:

• secrets beneath the silk: Sophia Maria Gunningworth is on the brink of her debut season, ready to enchant London's elite with her beauty and charm.

But Sophie keeps a deep secret; her affection for Benedict Bridgerton, a footman in her household who seems to be distancing himself from her with each passing day.

How will she be able to find the balance between her duty and her undoubted love for a man she cannot have?

more to come soon...

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Young at Heart: The Prince (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rated: G, the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed Word count: 1.6k

Masterpost

Summary: A bedtime story for the children takes an unexpected turn.

Author's Note: This beautiful idea came from none other than @angels17324 who knew exactly how Benedict would charm a lady under the guise of entertaining children. I had a lot of fun with this. 💙 Enjoy!

As punishment for their prank in the hallway, the boys were sent straight to bed after dinner and denied their usual bedtime story. They fussed and groaned as you tucked them into their small beds, closely arranged in parallel. Even though they had heeded your advice and insisted they were only following their uncle’s orders (much to Benedict’s horror, their parents’ chagrin, and everyone else’s amusement), they were being disciplined for failing to know better than to disturb the Viscount. 

Thus, the following night they were clamoring for a story, bouncing in their beds until you agreed to act out one of their favorite tales. Neddy pointed you to a well-loved volume of fairy stories and you allowed the boys to push their beds together, the three of them snuggling amidst a fortress of blankets and pillows until they resembled a nest of blinking baby owls. The atmosphere was ripe for magic, with the light of a full moon bathing the room in soft shadows. Your mind was drawn to thoughts of a midnight ball and a shimmering evening of dreams come true. With a candle at your side, you settled into a chair opposite the eager faces and knew precisely which story to turn to. 

The children listened with rapt attention as you relayed to them the sad origins of Ella, a kind heroine forced into a life of servitude by her wicked step family. They giggled as you adopted the whining inflection of the ugly stepsisters, and cheered as you described the array of woodland creatures who sang and danced to help Ella through her chores. Their mouths hung open as you described the transformation of a pumpkin into a carriage, mice into footmen, and rags into a sparkling gown. Performing all the characters’ voices and heightening all of the dramatic action, you led them through the story, feeling a growing sense of pride as their heads slowly began to droop and they burrowed deeper into their blankets. The shadows in the room had grown long and each boy was fighting to keep his eyes open when you reached the final scene.

“From house to house went the Prince. One young woman after another tried to put her foot into the glass slipper, but none could fit. And so the Prince moved on. At last, he came to Cinderella’s house. The first step-sister tried to place her foot in the glass slipper. She tried with all her might, but it simply would not fit. The second step-sister tried to place it on her foot but failed too. ‘Are there no other young women in the house?’ asked the Prince. That is when Cinderella stepped into the room.”

You reverted to the shrill rasp you had devised for the evil stepmother, “‘None who matter!’ hissed the stepmother.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Startled, you nearly dropped the book as you spun to see the source of the unexpected voice from the doorway. The tall figure stepped forward and the moonlit illuminated Benedict, walking toward you with a playful smirk on his face.

As you sat frozen in confusion, he began narrating the story for you. “‘Come here,’ said the Prince, and Cinderella moved to him, sitting in a chair.” He reached your side. Even with the dark and his height, you could see the cheeky points of light in his eyes. You cast a look back at the boys to find their interest mildly piqued by the appearance of their uncle, but they were undeniably hovering on the brink of sleep, reclining back on their pillows. 

“The Prince got down on one knee,” Benedict continued, his tone steady. You held your breath as he knelt to a knee beside you. He was playing the part, acting out the roles as you had. 

“And he tried the glass slipper on her foot.” He raised his brow in a gentle request for permission, which you granted him with a breathless nod. Lifting your skirt just an inch, his long fingers wrapped around your ankle and he held it lightly, miming slipping a shoe over the one you already wore. He beamed up at you with that lopsided grin that made you feel knotted inside. “It fit perfectly.”

When you realized the silence between you was growing unnaturally, perhaps inappropriately long, you cleared your throat, remembering yourself. You glanced quickly down at the book in your hands. “Then, from her pocket, Cinderella took out the other glass slipper.”

Benedict never broke your gaze, his hand still warm on your ankle. “‘I knew it,’ he cried. ‘You are the one.’” 

He was quiet enough that you weren’t sure if the children could hear him. But you also found that you were no longer concerned about the quality of your performance. All your mind could process was the tethering feeling of his soft grip, and the dance of light in his eyes which refused to leave yours.

Some rote part of your memory continued through with the story, though you ceased any attempt to adopt voices. “‘This cannot be!’ yelled the stepmother.”

Still grinning, Benedict concluded the tale. “But it was too late. The Prince knew that Cinderella was the one. He looked into her eyes, and he did not see the cinders in her hair or the ashes on her face. He had found the woman he loved, and they lived happily ever after.” 

The silence that followed was so complete, you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. His smile, his eyes, the ease infusing everything about him, it held you under a spell. Thank goodness for Barney’s small but dramatic yawn which snapped both of your attention back to the children. Benedict carefully placed your foot on the floor. The boys were all fast asleep, limbs sprawled over one another and blankets kicked aside. With a chuckle between you, Benedict held the candle overhead while you gingerly rearranged the children as best you could without waking them, tucking them each beneath their own blanket.

When you were satisfied that they would sleep undisturbed, you led Benedict back out into the hall. 

“Mr. Bridgerton,” you whispered, unsure of precisely what to say. “Thank you for your help with the story. Were you listening the whole time?” You felt yourself start to blush and hoped the dim light would hide it. 

“Long enough,” he shrugged. “You have been untruthful with me.”

Bewildered, you shook your head. “I beg your pardon?”

He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “You said you weren’t an actress, but I just witnessed an exceptional performance.” His quirked brow and unfailing smile clued you in. There seemed to be no limit to this man’s cheekiness, or perhaps it was charm. 

You chose to demure. You already felt odd enough, flustered by the lingering memory of his fingers pressing through your stocking. You would be friendly, but not engage in blatant flirtation. “It’s easy once the story is already written,” you explained. “I’m sure someone read to you like that when you were small.”

He softened. “My father did, yes. Once upon a time.” His smile broadened, coaxing one from you.

“He must have made quite an impression for you to memorize the story. I’d wager not many gentlemen could recite Cinderella if called upon.”

His smirk finally faltered. “I memorized it later. I read it constantly to my sisters when…well, when he passed. From that very book as a matter of fact.”

You bit your tongue. You didn’t know the precise details of the Bridgerton family history, but knew that the former Viscount had died too young and that Neddy was his namesake. To imagine he had left behind children still young enough to need bedtime stories, and to picture Benedict tending to them while managing his own grief, it seized something in your heart. You were ashamed at bringing up such memories and turned your eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The kindness in his tone drew your gaze back up to find him grinning thoughtfully. “Look how useful it is now that the house is full of children again.” Then he squared himself in front of you. “And now that I have found my stage partner, I believe we shall have to combine our theatrical prowess if we’re to keep those miscreants occupied tomorrow. A repeat performance at the puppet theater.”

Your heart climbed into your throat. His proposal made you equal parts terrified and excited. You had never ventured behind the nursery’s puppet theater yourself, but couldn’t deny how appealing it sounded to find yourself crowded into the tight space with him. You tried to keep your voice steady. You shouldn’t be imagining such things. “Mr. Bridgerton. I told you, I cannot improvise.”

He shrugged again, always airy with his demeanor. “Then we shall plan the story ahead of time. What is your schedule for the day?”

“Their parents are taking them to the lake actually, and then they will be mine in the afternoon.” You didn’t have much of an excuse to give him. In fact, some extra hands to help you entertain the children would be a welcome relief. 

He was glowing, creases etched around his eyes from his easy smile. “Perfect. We’ll rehearse and then surprise them.”

You arched a brow. “But if I’m in the theater, who will be minding the children?”

“Colin,” he said dismissively. “It’ll give him something useful to do.”

You wavered, chewing on your lip. There was no reason to refuse his plan other than the fluttering feeling he elicited every time he looked in your direction and your fear of enabling it. He clearly sensed your hesitation and dropped his swaggering stance, gently offering you the choice. “Only if you want to, Miss y/l/n. Perhaps it would be nice to break up your routine.”

You probably should have declined, but your heart spurred on your tongue before your mind could interfere. “Alright. I’ll meet you in the nursery after tea.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @desert-fern @fiction-is-life @kpopstanthot