#bridgerton smutmas

[fayes-fics]

A Close Shave

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict’s wife tries to help him get clean shaven…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI due to brief mention of vaginal sex, flirting, teasing, shaving.

Word Count: 0.8k omg actually a Drabble holy shit, shame it’s not any of the Drabbles I’m supposed to be writing

Authors Note: Unbetaed. This is not what I’m supposed to be writing at all. Just a silly tiny piece, based on this anon fic request from 4 months ago. I hope you enjoy Nonny, although at this point you probably don’t even remember sending the ask lol <3

“Stop that”, you admonish playfully as his hands run heavily down your sides and grasp your hips, pulling you onto the growing bulge in his trousers.

“Then don’t sit on me in such an appealing way, my love,” he smiles crookedly, a clump of shaving cream sliding down his neck at the movement.

“Benedict, are you really trying to distract a woman holding a cutthroat razor?” you raise an eyebrow waving your hand slightly to show the weapon you wield.

“Your offer to shave me was not meant to include you straddling me like this,” he answers drolly.

“How else am I supposed to do it?” you frown, looking at the chair he is reclined in and your surroundings.

“Stand behind my head?” he chuckles as if the answer is obvious.

“But then your face would be upside down, and I wouldn't be able to see under your chin; that’s a stupid idea,” you sniff dismissively.

“Well, I’m quite sure a barber would not be allowed to practice if they tried this technique,” he jests gently, his hands wrapping around your back, running fingers across your spine.

“What a shame for them. It’s really a rather nice seat,” you smirk and lightly gyrate your hips, pressing down on his rapidly hardening cock.

“You are just doing this for sport, aren’t you?” He shakes his head slightly in disapproval but doesn’t exactly look upset about it.

“Maybe,” you singsong, “but hold still, darling. You want to look nice for the ball later, do you not?”

“I want to fuck you more,” he says casually, but with a tone he knows flusters you every time.

“Benedict Bridgerton!!” You exclaim in mock outrage. Then lean down and whisper in his ear, “you had better. I’m not wearing any underwear today.”

His groan is lewd, and his hands flex on your body. “For god's sake, remove this shaving cream at once. We need to go to bed right now,” he asserts, pushing his pelvis up against you so much your feet leave the ground.

“Oh, I’m sorry, husband. I will only have sex with freshly shaven men today….” you tease, running a hand up the sheet covering his chest. “So lay still, and if you let me get this done, there will be time before we have to get ready.”

He is suddenly quiet and compliant.

You take a calming breath, then start to shave near his left ear. Little gentle motions as you hear his stubble rasp under the blade, wiping the cream onto the damp rag to your side. You make steady progress and just listen to the sound of his breathing, humming gently to yourself to maintain focus. But after a while, you just can’t resist a little flirtation, a slight tease.

“You are a very handsome man, husband,” you sigh as you watch more of his face being revealed.

“Don’t”, he warns, muffled, trying not to move his lips or face too much as you pass the sharp instrument over the round of his chin.

“What? I just speak the truth,” you shrug, lowering your face right over his. “Can I not tell my husband how attractive I find him? How much he arouses me?” You are goading him now.

His breath is a harsh exhale of hot air across your lips, and there is a pained noise from the very back of his throat. “Stop teasing me,” he grouses, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, husband, that’s not a tease,” you chuckle. “A tease would be telling you I sat in the window and touched myself watching you fence with your brothers earlier. So very commanding with your epee.”

He growls and roughly pushes away the hand that holds the razor, and in surprise, you lose your hold on it, and it clatters to the floor loudly. He grips your wrist, breathing heavily, staring at you, lips parted slightly. “You did what?”

“You heard me,” you reply, feeling a little triumphant.

He roughly tugs your dress upwards around your thighs, grabs your hips, and you squeak as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion, wrapping your legs around him. He commandingly strides out of the bathroom and towards your bed. You feel his chest heaving against yours, his cock branding hot through his trousers at your inner thigh.

He throws you down on the bed, his face still half-covered in shaving cream. Crawling over your body.

“I believe I said I would only fuck a freshly shaven husband,” you point out, but your panting reveals the lie behind the words.

He gives up fighting the layers of your dress and just grabs the material and rips it all the way to your hip with a heated snarl.

“Sorry darling, half-shaved will have to do. You can’t tell me you touched yourself and not expect this,” his tone low and dangerous. You wind your arms tight around his shoulders, hands clutching the back of his neck as he unbuttons his trousers roughly and spears into you hard, hot, and so very invasive.

“Fuckkkk,” you call out with a gusty exhale, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. God, you will never tire of that feeling.

An hour later, when Eloise asks why you have whipped cream on your neck, you realise you missed a cleanup spot. Benedict’s smirk is priceless.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

[silverhallow]

On the fourth day of Smutmas the Smut fairy gave to me...

Phillip and Eloise getting reacquainted after a week apart... and playing some new games....

@sirphillipcranestanaccount there you go 😂

[fayes-fics]

Driven to Distraction

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (sort of...), modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. An eventful ride home from a Christmas Eve party...

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), fingering, voyeurism/exhibitionism, masturbation, one use of derogatory language, arguing as foreplay, sort of a threesome... sort of.

Word Count: 2.5k

1k followers build-a-blurb prompt: Anthony 👅 Smut 😡 enemies to lovers 🥳 party 🚗 car/carriage sex Smutmas Kink: Day 3 - Voyeurism/Exhibitionism Smutmas Dialogue Prompt: "There's no way I'm letting you spend Christmas alone"

Authors Note: Well... I have no excuse for this. This is sort of fulfilling a 1k follower celebration Build a Blurb request and Day 3 of @hallownightsblog 12 Days of Smutmas. Thanks to @makaylan for beta reading this. Err, enjoy <3

Your sequin dress catches the light as your stride out of the opulent country house Christmas party. A fire of golden indignance.

“Don’t fucking follow me, Bridgerton,” you spit out over your shoulder.

“Don’t walk away from me; we are not done here,” Anthony shoots back, almost breaking into a jog to catch up with your pace as you charge out the main door.

You stalk onto the driveway, fold your arms and cock a hip, shooting daggers at him. You wish you had brought a coat with you tonight; it's freezing out now. But you don't want to admit to that chink in your proverbial armour, don’t want to give an inch in this stupid, petty argument. You know it's twisted, but nothing gives you more of an illicit thrill than sparring with this man.

An s-class Mercedes pulls up almost silently next to you as if summoned from thin air. It must be his, as he nods to the driver; that just seems to fuel your irritation.

“Get in the car,” he sighs.

“No.”

“Get in the bloody car, y/n,” he grouses. “How else are you going to get back to London?”

“I’ll order an Uber or call a cab,” you sniff.

“Out here in the sticks? On Christmas Eve? To go forty miles? Yeah, good luck with that,” he snarks.

He's right, and you hate it. You were supposed to go home in your friend's car, but she was last seen headed upstairs with her tongue down the host's throat. You doubt you’ll see her again until well after Boxing Day.

You narrow your eyes at him, then wordlessly wrench open the rear door to his fancy car, sliding into the seat with a sour expression and throwing aside your clutch bag. He opens the driver's door, which momentarily confuses you, exchanges a couple of words with the driver then huffs a hollow laugh as he climbs in on the other side of the backseat.

The car glides away almost silently, the gravel driveway crunching under the tyres the only audible noise. You stare out the window, posture stiff, fuming, refusing to look over at him, watching the blur of trees reflected in the headlights as you zip down a narrow country lane. The heated leather seat is doing wonders to warm your legs, but you don't want to give away any sense of contentment.

“Not going to talk to me?” he needles after a few tense minutes.

You don’t dignify a response.

“Fine,” he sighs, “at least tell me where you want dropping off.”

“My flat is fine,” you sniff.

“Who is there?”

“No one,” you frown.

“Nope, not dropping you there,” he grouses.

“Why not?” you cry indignantly.

“There's no way I'm letting you spend Christmas alone. You will come to Bridgerton House,” he states plainly.

“No, I won't,” you scoff. “Drop me home.”

“No. We can stop there to pick up a few things if you wish, but then we drive on to mine.”

This is why you hate this man in almost equal measure to your attraction to him. The way he expects the world to bend to his will. It makes you so angry you want to try and fuck the arrogance right out of him. The one time you had sex before, a few months ago now, it was admittedly bloody fantastic.

“You are not the boss of me!” you volley back.

“No, you’re right; if I were your boss, you’d actually have to fucking listen to me and do what I say,” he spits.

“Hah!” you laugh bitterly, “I’d never do what you told me. In fact, I’d always go the polar opposite.”

“Fine,” he retorts, “keep your fucking knickers on, then.”

“Excuse me?!?” You finally look over at him, and his chest is heaving.

“You heard me,” his eyes flash at you.

He has you stuck; in order to do the exact opposite of what he’s saying and win this petty argument, you’ll need to remove your knickers.

You are never one to back down in a fight. And you need to fuck him again so bad your skin itches.

Pushing up slightly, you pull up your sequined minidress just enough to grab your underwear and slide it down your legs.

You say nothing but look at him defiantly. You see his pupils dilate and his chest heave as you do exactly what both of you want.

“Keep your legs shut,” he orders gruffly.

You have no choice. You open them, your jaw squared.

He sinks into the footwell in front of you, and your breath hitches. These huge, luxury cars always have acres of room in the back, and this one is no exception. Your seat must be almost three feet from the passenger one in front.

“Close them harder,” he growls up at you.

Your dress rides up around your hips as you splay your knees wide. His eyes drop to between your legs, and you suddenly feel a throb there as he licks his lips.

“Don’t you fucking dare kiss me,” he snarls, his fiery gaze back on your face.

He’s well and truly got you there.

With a raised eyebrow, you lean forward, grab both ends of his undone bowtie, and roughly pull him to you, your mouth slanting over his.

“No tongues,” he mumbles against your lips, and your mouth opens hot on his, tongues meeting and almost biting each with the intensity.

“Don’t you dare touch my pussy,” you whisper against his cheek, joining in the game, and his whole body flexes.

You gasp as he expertly brushes your clit. So turned on and electric hot.

“I suppose you’d hate it if I ate you out,” he murmurs hotly, his thumb swirling a teasing pattern that makes you want to bite him.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you breathe unevenly, settling back into the chair as he dips down and roughly tugs your hips forward, pushing your legs even wider.

Suddenly you remember you are not alone. There’s a driver, likely listening to everything the two of you are saying. You glance in the rearview mirror, and your breath catches. He is looking right at you, his eyes so intense.

That isn’t a chauffeur at all.

That is Anthony’s brother. Benedict.

Anthony’s tongue ploughs into you, and you cry out as his swirls wet and questing around your clit. He definitely knows what he is doing.

But you don’t look away from the mirror. In fact, you lick your bottom lip lasciviously, then bite down. By god, you want him to watch you. Be the voyeur as his brother makes you come; give him something to remember. There's a hint of blush high on his cheeks as he quickly looks back at the road—his sudden rash of bashfulness just makes you want this even more.

You fist Anthony's hair, and he growls against your inner thigh as you direct his movements, taking your pleasure as much as he is giving it. He tilts your pelvis and moves lower into your heated flesh, his nose nudging your clit as his mouth covers your pussy, gently pressing his tongue into your body just a fraction, your walls clinging to him; his invasion feels like so much and yet also not enough. You glance down as you breathe heavily, feeling a ghost of stubble on his cheek, chafing the sensitive skin around your labia.

As Anthony tongue fucks you steadily, your eyes drift back to the mirror, knowing Benedict is cataloguing every look on your face. He shifts slightly in his seat, and you hear a change in the revs as his foot slips for a second. The idea he is hard and wanting is a depth charge of lust. You moan loudly as much for him as the man expertly taking you somewhere pleasurable.

Anthony moves back to your clit, running increasingly narrow circles right over your sensitive nub. For what feels like ages, he is swirling, teasing, changing pressure and bearing down harder with every noise you make, his hand almost bruisingly wrapped around your thigh.

You writhe and pant, your gaze pinging between the delicious sight of chestnut hair buried between your legs beneath you and the wanton eyes of the driver in front. You silently mouth his name in the reflection, staring him down. You watch as his pupils dilate even more.

You fight the potent, heady urge to push yourself into Anthony’s face, not to let him even breathe unless it's into your body. You want him to drown in you. He growls as your manicured nails scrape heavy on his scalp, his mouth open wide, sucking your flesh, his tongue lapping flat and broad.

You pant as you realise Benedict has taken one hand off the wheel, and you guess by the angle of his elbow he is palming his erection.

“Yes, don't stop,” you murmur, your voice throaty and rasping. It's a double meaning for both of them, and you stare Benedict down in the mirror, nodding, goading him to touch himself, almost wishing you could watch. From this angle, all you can see is the motion of his arm, and somehow that makes it all the more appealing. That you have to imagine him, hard cock in hand, relying on the car’s technology to take over as his concentration slips.

Anthony’s panting breaths buzz against your clit as he furrows on, and you take to shamelessly grinding yourself on his face. He sucks your clit hard between his lips, then uses a little edge of his teeth to nip at the tip, and you kick out a leg against the window, the tink of your stiletto against the glass making Benedict swerve until the car course-corrects for him.

“Be careful,” Anthony gruffs, pulling away a fraction and grasping the leather seat next to you as leverage.

You smirk at Benedict in the mirror, shaking your head slightly, and he raises his eyebrows challengingly as if blaming you.

“Touch yourself,” you call softly, knowing they will both interpret it as a command for themselves, which is precisely what you want. You hear a trouser zip, and the heady thought that you have no idea who’s, just excites you beyond belief.

Anthony redoubles his efforts, making filthy sodden noises as he pulls your swollen bud hard into his mouth. Suddenly two fingers plunge inside you, hooking deep, and you can't help but cry out.

“Fuck yesssss,” you stutter, eyes rolling back and your whole body flexing.

You can feel an almost magnetic pull inside, the start of a fluttering in your channel, as he finds that spongy spot that makes you lose all sense and drags harshly against it with a come hither motion. You pant open-mouthed as the sensation makes every muscle in your body clamp down hard, tensing, every fibre of your being taut and shaking. You don't break your heated gaze with Benedict the whole time, seeing out of the corner of your eye the play of taut muscle rippling in his white dress shirt, knowing that he must have his cock in a vice-like grip.

You are extra vocal, knowing it is making Anthony preens with pride at his skills and giving Benedict fuel for his masturbatory movements.

“Don't you dare come all over my hand and face,” Anthony snarls, knowing he has you close to the edge now, twisting his head slightly to kiss the sensitive skin where your thigh meets your pelvis.

“I’d never give you the damn satisfaction,” you yap back breathily, eyes glinting in the flashes of overhead lamps as you enter the motorway.

Luckily, you clamp your thighs hard against Anthony’s ears just as Benedict growls, presumably at the idea that you will orgasm soon. Come with me, you mouth urgently to his reflection as he presses hard on the accelerator, the car zipping along now on the fast road back into town, everything outside the window a blur and the engine a soft purr in the background.

Just to tease everyone, including yourself, you spider a hand down inside your dress and pinch your nipple, shuddering and moaning as you do. It's for Benedict as much as Anthony—he can see it in the reflection. Anthony glances up at you just as you look down at him, his eyes blazing lustfully as his face shines with your juices.

“You are such a wanton little slut,” his voice is low and dangerous, and you instantly know that he knows. Knows what you have been doing with his little brother. And the slur you usually find so utterly insulting just rockets you higher when it drips from his decadent tongue.

“Don't you dare fucking call me that,” you hiss, but it’s undermined by the way you bite your lip almost to the point of drawing blood and writhe so lewdly in your seat, so desperate for that last bit of suction and friction to get you off.

“I'll call you what you are,” he menaces, then his mouth is back on you with more than an edge of teeth this time, and it's what pushes you over the precipice he has been dangling you over. You fight to keep your eyes open and on Benedict's face, his neck corded, and pulse hammering as your world narrows down to the rushing in your ears, the throb of your heartbeat in your chest and the burning pulsing ache around your clit.

“Fuck Bridgerton!!” you scream, and then you are convulsing, your eyes screwing shut as you bare down on Anthony’s face, knowing you are leaking all over him but not caring; you can feel him lapping hard at you, rousing filthy noises spilling from his throat as he drinks from your body. The sensation seems to last forever, notching across your skin, tensing and releasing in waves that you ride, undulating against his jaw, grabbing his hair in tufts until he growls harshly. As you float away, breathing heavily, his body jerks against you as you realise he has just made himself come too.

The car smells of sinful sex as you slowly come back into your mind. The realisation of what you have done hits you as Anthony slides back into the seat next to you, refastening his fly. You steal a glance in the rear-view mirror, but Benedict's eyes are on the road, steadfastly refusing to meet yours, and you sense he has the same mutual feelings of guilt you do.

“If you want to fuck my brother too,” Anthony drawls, running a hand through his hair, “all you have to do is ask.”

You blush deeply and look down, ashamed, picking at the edges of your manicure.

“No answer is an answer, y/n,” he chuckles darkly.

You just bite your lip and pull down your dress as far as it will go.

“You shouldn't feel ashamed,” Anthony intuits, “part of the reason I like you so fucking much is your wild side. I have no problem with it,” he adds casually. He leans in; his voice is velvety as he utters the last devasting line. “Especially if you let me watch.”

Benedict almost crashes the car at that.

After a brief stop at your place, it’s on to Bridgerton House for quite the most spirited, adventurous Christmas break you have ever had.

Anthony & Benedict taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @queenofmean14 (if you want to be added to my taglist drop me a message)

[fayes-fics]

un cadeau de Noël

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Benedict catches you red-handed playing with a new present on Christmas Eve.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, sex toys, masturbation, nipple play, orgasm, smidge of vaginal fingering and vaginal sex.

Word Count: 1.5k

Smutmas Kink: Day 7 - Sex Toys

Authors Note: Unbetaed. This is my VERY LATE submission for Day 7 of @hallownightsblog 12 Days of Smutmas. SORRY!! Just going to use the same image for all Modern Smutmas Ben fics lol. This is also dedicated to @chaoticcalzoneranchsports just because ;) Enjoy <3

“What are you do…?” He stops mid-sentence, frozen in the doorway.

You squeal and toss what you are using aside, scrambling to cover yourself in the duvet, but there’s no way around it. You’ve been caught red-handed. Trying out a new toy you purchased on a whim. A private Christmas present for yourself that you couldn't wait until tomorrow to unwrap. The telltale buzz continues as you fumble under the cover to find the damn thing and turn it off.

He was supposed to be out having drinks with friends on Christmas Eve. He has come home a lot earlier than you were expecting.

“Oh, please. Don’t stop on my account,” his whole cadence has changed. It’s teasing, deep and very troublesome. He knows precisely what you are doing.

He rounds the bed to your side and, with a quirked eyebrow, whips back the duvet. There by your knee is your new sleek vibe buzzing away insistently against the mattress as you lay naked from the waist down, your T-shirt rucked up around your ribs. He smirks crookedly, and his eyebrow raises higher, his gaze feeling heavy and heated as it roams your body.

“What do we have here? Hmm?” a large hand scoops up the toy and holds it in his palm. “That’s quite powerful,” he adds offhand, the noise it emits changing pitch as it buzzes in his grip.

You say nothing, biting your lip and keeping your thighs squeezed together. Embarrassed he caught you.

“Take off your t-shirt.” It’s not a request; it’s an order.

You instantly do so, still not saying a word. You are not wearing a bra, so now you are completely naked. He perches on the edge of the bed, his clothed hip touching your naked one as he fiddles with the buttons on the toy, choosing a subtle setting pulsing in waves.

You gasp and moan as he presses the toy against your nipple, it puckers instantly, and he smiles predatory at the sight.

“Can’t believe you ignored your nipples,” he chides mildly, “they are just so very sensitive, aren’t they?”

You nod, biting your lip, breath catching at the sensation rippling out from the point.

“Cat got your tongue tonight?” he teases, swirling the silicone tip lightly around your areola.

“What do you want me to say?” you ask shakily on an exhale.

“Well, you can start by telling me why you felt the need to hide this from me…” his voice rich and pitched to arouse.

He leans forward and replaces the vibe with his tongue, licking a warm wet stripe over your nub, your soft moan turning guttural as he bites it gently.

“…Then maybe end with telling me what you were thinking about when you had this thing buzzing against your swollen little clit,” his murmur like velvet against your breasts, his hands rounding your kneecaps and pulling them apart.

“I… I didn't know how you’d feel about it,” you stumble honestly, groaning as he rolls the toy to your other nipple.

“Didn't know how I’d feel about a beautiful woman pleasuring herself?” he responds incredulously, but his expression is playful.

“No… I mean, this isn't because I'm not satisfied with what we….” you falter, the toy distracting you, uncertain of what to say.

“I never thought you weren't,” he chuckles richly, swirling the vibe lower over your ribcage. “I do, however, think you are an insatiable little minx, and that is part of the reason I just can't resist you,” he rejoinders, that dangerous smile still there as he inches the vibe lower, passing over your belly button.

You breathe unevenly, gripping the duvet with one hand, the other landing on his thigh and squeezing, loving the feel of latent toned muscle. With a skilled finger, he flicks to a stronger setting on the toy just as it buzzes over the patch of trimmed, neat pubic hair.

“You didn't answer the other half of my question,” he prompts, giving you a pointed look.

“What was it?” you query honestly, barely remembering your name, let alone what he said, anticipation simmering low and honeyed in your belly.

“You didn't tell me what you were thinking about…” he trailers the vibe over your mons so achingly slowly “…when you were doing this,” and he spears the soft tip right against your clitoral hood, making you cry out loudly.

It's like a liquid hot flame has licked your body, and you want to both jump away and burn in its intensity. You feel the vibration travelling through to your bones.

“Tell me, or I stop,” he warns lowly.

“You… I was thinking of you” you rush out, your whole body flexing against the tide of sensations rippling through you, nipples aching to be touched.

His smile turns triumphant, and he twirls the vibe against your labia as you pant.

“What about me?” he inquires darkly. “Be precise.”

“Your hands on my breasts, your tongue in my mouth,” you rush out, “your cock inside me,” you add quieter, knowing your cheeks are burning at the admission.

“Mmmm, that sounds wonderful,” he licks his lips sinfully, and his eyes rake over your body. “Do you want me to fuck you right now y/n?”

“Oh god, yes, please,” rushes out of your mouth before you can think.

“Hmm, maybe after you have come at least once,” he declares, running the toy lower over your opening and pushing it in a fraction, the buzz echoing up the walls of your pussy.

Your lower lip feels almost bruised from biting as he leans forward and plucks it from under your tooth. You can't look away as he inches closer, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead. Then his lips are on yours, warm and soft, teasing with a gentle kiss as he slides the vibe out and up against your clit again, just as he opens your mouth with his and teases you with his tongue. You moan into him, and he swallows the noise, deepening the kiss as you writhe against the sensation.

“Like that…. Yes?” his voice soft as he pulls away from the kiss but keeps his face inches from yours, cataloguing every expression passing over your features with a crooked smile as he turns up the vibration, and you writhe harder, nodding in agreement.

The instinct to close your legs against the intense sensations kicks in, and the hand on your face moves. He pulls your leg up and around his body, trapping your foot between his thighs so you are pinned almost obscenely open.

“I love to see you like this,” he rumbles, his hand returning to caress your cheek with warm fingers “your pupils blown, your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen and wet from kissing me.”

You were already halfway there when he interrupted your play; now, as he again ratchets up the setting on the vibe, you are hurtling fast towards a climax. Your mouth falls open as you take gulping breaths, staring at his handsome face that’s observing you.

“Touch me, Ben,” you plead.

“I am,” he challenges teasingly, fingertips caressing the soft skin in front of your ear.

“No,” you whine petulantly, “my nipples…” pushing your breasts up for his attention.

He huffs a laugh but obliges, those talented long fingers moving to snag gently against the nipple closest to him. He pinches it gently between his thumb and forefinger, and you close your eyes and push up against him, a sinful noise escaping your lips with every pant.

“Like that… is that what you need?”

You nod vigorously, biting your lip and writhing against the vibe, so close to something extraordinary. He swaps his fingers to your other nipple, and you moan his name.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “come for me.”

“So close,” you whisper.

“Mmm, I can tell,” he responds, and the hand leaves your nipple and trails down your abdomen, leaving little gossamer lines of heat where his fingertips brush. He presses a single finger inside you, and you moan loudly at the sudden invasion. But just as soon as it's there, he withdraws and brings it to his lips.

“I just wanted a taste,” he teases, and you convulse as you watch that wettened finger disappear between his lips. The noise he makes as your taste blooms on his tongue is enough to push you over the vibe buzzing so hard and insistently where he holds it.

His mouth catches yours in a sinful kiss as you start to vocalise, swallowing your cries, your taste thick on his tongue. Your world contracts to a pinpoint of white heat around your clit, then explodes into a hundred stars behind your eyelids as you screw your eyes shut, your whole core convulsing.

There is a flurry of movement around you, and the vibe is tossed aside. You hear him jump up and fight off his clothing, your body still fluttering when he surges into you in one strong, athletic move.

“Bennnn!!” you scream out; he feels huge and so steely inside you.

“Merry fucking Christmas, darling,” he chuckles, looping your legs over his forearms and pressing you hard into the mattress.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

[silverhallow]

On the 5th day of Smutmas the smut fairy gave to me...

Edward coming home from a family dinner and studying to find a rather beautiful woman in his bed... who happens to be his best friends sister... and object of his most recent fantasies...

Can he behave himself? or is it one pre-christmas treat that is just far too tempting...

[silverhallow]

On the Second day of Smutmas the Smut Fairy gave to me...

Benedict and Sophie having been flirting for ages and on a Christmas night out Sophie's had enough and is ready to take what she wants...

and tells Benedict in great detail what she wants to do him...

Prompt: Dirty Talk

[silverhallow]

I have all 12 of my 12 days of Smutmas done...

50K of pure smut...

and i've got three more stories I wanna write randomly as well...

hehehe

[silverhallow]

On the 6th day of Smutmas the smut fairy gave to me…

Benedict coming home after a long day at work and finding his pregnant wife in the bath taking care of herself…

And what is a man to do?

[silverhallow]

On thé final day of smutmas the smut fair gave to me…

Benedict and Sophie having a very naughty Christmas…

Benedict is a smooth talking menace and we love him for it…

Coincidentally this is also my 300th fic 😂😂

[silverhallow]

On thé 11th day of smutmas the smut fairy gave to me…

Anthony teasing the hell out of a bound and blindfolded Kate…

[silverhallow]

On the 9th day of Smutmas the smut fairy gave to me:

Benedict Bridgerton, Photographer... finally getting the photoshoot he wanted with the woman of his desires...

Who turns into A very naughty little Elf makes it a shoot that neither of them want to forget...

[silverhallow]

On the 7th day of smutmas the smut fairy gave to me...

Kate and Sophie exchanging presents...

and then Sophie catching Kate using said present... and then Kate catching Sophie with her hands in her pants... (Literally)

and it all tumbles from there

[silverhallow]

On the third day of smutmas the smut fairy gave to me…

Michael and Francesca teasing the fuck out of each other in front her family at a Christmas party.

Before they snap…

[silverhallow]

Smutmas is gonna be my favourite week (and i won't hide it)

😂😂 it’s not all Benophie mind! Franchael are thé stars of todays when it comes out later today!!

[silverhallow]

Gentle reminder

12 days of Smutmas starts tomorrow everyone!

🎄🎄🎄🧑‍🎄🤶🎅🏻🤶🧑‍🎄🎅🏻🎄🎄🎄

[silverhallow]

Happy Fucking Smutmas!!!

Valuable Opinion

Smutmas Day 1: Strip Tease/Lingerie

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Benedict’s opinion on festive lingerie is revelatory.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, dirty talk, minor d/s tones, cunnilingus, mention of vaginal sex, flirting, lingerie.

Word Count: 2.2k sorry I can’t do drabbles it appears

Smutmas Theme: Lingerie

Dialogue Prompt: “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but do I look fuckable?”

Authors Note: Day 1 Contribution to 12 Days Of Bridgerton Smutmas hosted by @hallownightsblog. I used this gif even though it’s regency not modern cos 1) Benedict on a sofa 2) that eyebrow twitch. The fleeting mention of car sex in this could probably be a fic in itself tbh, but that’s for another time lol. Enjoy <3

“Okay. I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but do I look fuckable in this?” You screw your eyes shut, embarrassed the words have even left your mouth. You hold your robe open towards the man sitting on your sofa.

In desperation, and with your flatmate Kate still not home yet, you turn to the only other person around before your date, Kate’s boyfriend’s gay brother, who came over to help her with something Christmas-related.

Benedict splutters into his drink.

“Fucking hell, give a guy some warning,” he mutters heavily, and when you peel your eyes open again, he is looking down, shaking his sleeve, attempting to remove some whiskey splashes.

“What?! Kate told me you’re into men; I figured a gay guy would be able to help me decide if this is sexy enough?” You shrug, retying the robe you wear, and going to pour him another drink on autopilot.

“I am into men, yes, but I am not gay,” his voice uneven, “I am bisexual. There is a difference.”

“Oh, so you….” You feel your cheeks burning as you pass him the fresh glass.

“Yes, I am also into women too,” he supplies, as it’s your turn to splutter.

“Oh god, I’m so so sorry,” your cheeks blushing hard.

“Don’t be… it was, well, it just took me by surprise, that’s all. We’ve only met once before,” he reminds you.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” you mumble into your robe. “I’m just so nervous about this third date tonight….”

“Ahhh, the third date is the sex date,” he chuckles knowingly.

“Exactly,” you shuffle awkwardly.

“Well… speaking as a red-blooded male, who does indeed also find women attractive,” he begins, pointedly raising an eyebrow, his voice dropping into a range that makes your skin break into goosebumps and your nipples pebble. “From what I saw, I would say he is a fortunate man.”

You feel your heart pound as he follows it up with a teasing crooked smile and a quick wink.

“But,” he lingers on the last syllable of that word and looks up at you through long lashes, taking a sip of his drink, “if you need a second opinion, I could check again for you.” There is no mistaking the heat or intention in his tone.

Before you know what you are doing, you are standing in front of the twinkling Christmas tree and untying the robe again. Your breath is shallow and fast. You probably shouldn’t do it, but damn if this man isn’t gorgeous. When you thought he was gay, you could dismiss your attraction. Now, those hooded hazy blue eyes are concentrated on you and his broad chest is rising and falling faster than before. Well, this is an opportunity you can’t deny yourself. Screw your date.

This time the whole robe comes off, and you let it slip from your shoulders to a heap on the polished wood floor.

The lingerie set is a somewhat festive dark green and lacy; a balcony demi cup just covering your nipples, a tiny matching thong and a garter belt holding up sheer black stockings. You have been waxed and exfoliated to within an inch of your life, and you know your just moisturised skin glows in the soft light of the tree.

His gaze is so heavy you swear you can feel it slide over your body. You see his fingers twitch and his eyebrow raise a tick before he schools his face. His eyes give him away, though, now just a ring of blue around inky black pupils.

He exhales heavily. “I stand by my first opinion,” his voice cracks on the last word.

Unsure what possesses you, you saunter a couple of steps towards him, swaying your hips in the heels you wear. Then whip around, so your back is to him. A guttural noise sticks in his throat. The crest of euphoria it causes in your veins is like an intoxicating drug.

“Does it look ok from this side, too?” you simper over your shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you see that he is trying to rearrange his jeans subtly.

“Certainly,” he assures. “You, if you don’t mind me saying, have a fantastic arse.” The words are muttered fiercely, and every inch of your body feels alive. Dear god, you want to fuck this man until your teeth rattle.

You slowly turn back around; correction, you gyrate, tilting your pelvis down and rolling your hips. There is no mistaking the message you are now transmitting, either.

He growls, his eyes trained on your thong.

“Thank you for your valuable opinion Mr Bridgerton,” you drawl, emphasising his last name, elongating each syllable as if it were a delicious treat to savour.

He looks up, his gaze meeting yours, and there is heat and fire.

“Won’t you be late for your date…” he teases.

“Perhaps I’ve lost interest in it,” you shoot back coquettishly and gently pull your lower lip under your teeth.

“What a pity to waste such a sexy outfit,” he gusts, his hips twitching a touch, making the leather of your sofa creak.

There’s a palpable tension in the air that is thick and dark like molasses. You’re both goading each other now.

“Yes, such a shame,” you concur with mock sincerity, “I should go change, I suppose…” it’s as open of an invitation as you are willing to give him.

He snaps and takes it.

“Get in my lap. Right now,” Benedict orders quietly but commandingly through gritted teeth.

You can’t help the triumphant smirk that dances across your lips. “Make me,” you challenge, eyeing the doorway, knowing you could run and right now, he might just pursue you.

His nostrils flare, and his large hands (how have you never noticed how large his hands are before?) slide down over his thighs as he leans forward.

“If you want me to chase you, you will lose that race,” his voice is steely but heated, his eyes glittering.

There is an electric slide of want down your spine, and you shiver at the thought of him pinning you down victorious, his chest heaving against yours.

Again the air crackles with tension as you take a step towards him but intentionally look at the open doorway as if considering your options.

“What would you do if I win?” you inquire softly, looking back down at him.

“Whatever you want me to,” he exhales seductively, and the thought makes your stomach flip. You want to strip off your thong and ride that beautiful face until your thighs shake.

“And if I lose…?” you murmur.

His right hand shoots forward, and a single knuckle trails a hot line down over your belly button; your abdomen ripples like molten fire across your skin.

“You do exactly what I tell you to,” he answers, “like a good girl.”

You can’t help it. You flood your underwear.

“So tell me…” he intones, the knuckle now rubbing across the top of your thong, “are you going to climb into my lap or are you going to run?”

“I’m going to run,” you whisper breathily.

His knuckle falls away from your skin, but there is another leather creak from the sofa as he moves further forward. You are standing between his knees now. He is looking up at your face and is so devastatingly handsome you want to swoon against him.

“That was a tactical error,” he smirks lowly, “the only advantage you had was the element of surprise.”

“Indeed,” you agree, and your hands shoot out and shove his shoulders roughly, causing him to fall back against the sofa. You immediately straddle his lap and settle onto his slightly splayed thighs. “Surprise!” you rejoinder with a lopsided smile of your own.

“You little minx,” he growls as your hands pin his shoulder down, and you rock forward in his lap, dragging your thong over the bulge in his jeans.

Those large warm hands land on the dip of your waist, and you moan at the sensation. He pulls you snugly against his front, and you feel all sorts of lean muscle as he tilts his face to yours. All you see are his lips, ready to be kissed.

You cup his jaw and press your mouth down onto his.

Instantly you are swept into a passionate kiss, his mouth moving hot and insistent. Parrying for the upper hand, a peak of tongue meeting yours as you pant into each other’s open mouths.

His huge hands slide over your skin and cross over behind your back, embracing you tight. The insistent bulge is crushing the lace of your thong, rasping it against your clit in the most delightful way.

“We are going to fuck,” he states with a clarity you find refreshing, “but not here. If Kate walks in, as she is due to any minute now, this may scar her for life.” He points out, a thumb running over your lips. “So you had better tell me which is your bedroom or grab a coat and get in my car right now.”

“Why should I get in your car?” You frown.

“Because,” his lips are hot on the shell of your ear now, “I intend to make you scream, and I assume you probably don’t want to do that after your flatmate is home.”

He makes a very good point.

“I, on the other hand, live alone. And don’t care what my neighbours think,” he shrugs, raising a seductive eyebrow.

Your coat and evening bag are already in the hallway for your now-abandoned date. Benedict watches as you think about the options he presents.

“Or I can walk away, and we can pretend this never happened…” he offers neutrally, removing his hands from your skin and holding them up and away, giving you an out and telling you in shorthand this is all about what you want.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you growl, and he smirks, the hands falling back to your waist. “What car do you have?”

“Jaguar EV,” he answers, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You slick bastard,” you grumble, knowing you want a ride in it and a ride on him.

You climb out of his lap and go to your coat rack.

“Coming….?” You call from the hallway as you button up your coat.

He springs out of the seat and practically chases you to his car.

It’s sleek, understated and incredibly alluring, just like its owner. It’s a smooth, sophisticated ride too, and as he pulls up at a quiet overlook point on the way to his, you soon find out he is as well.

As you lean back against his steering wheel, him biting your nipples as you come shuddering on his delicious cock, you know this is something you definitely want more of.

——

You wake up in his flat the next day, and it feels like it’s the most natural place for you to be. Just as Benedict has you laid out naked on his oversized white quartz kitchen island, Kate calls you; he makes you answer it despite what he is doing.

“So someone isn’t home. How was the date?” Kate asks smugly with a giggle.

“He’s a fucking revelation,” you answer with a partial truth, even if you obfuscate who you are referring to. Benedict lightly bites your inner thigh with a rich chuckle.

“Wow, I’m glad for you, y/n,” she peals with laughter. “Wait, before you disappear back into sexual bliss, you didn’t happen to see Ant’s brother Ben before you left, did you? He was supposed to be here but never showed up.”

“I’m sure Ben didn’t forget; something probably came up,” you assure, not knowing how to answer in any other way, the man in question currently doing his level best to make you moan as he drags a heavy tongue over your folds.

“Ah well, I’ll call him,” she dismisses. “So I’ll see you, what, tomorrow maybe?”

“Sure, call him. And, umm, maybe see you in two days. This guy is something else, Kate,” you whisper conspiratorially. You know he is preening now.

Suddenly the phone is wrenched from your grip.

“Kate, it’s Ben; just a few things,” Benedict drawls as your mouth drops open in shock. “One, I would never stand you up. Two, please learn the difference between gay and bisexual. And three,” his face disappears between your legs again, “please don’t call us for at least, hmm, three days. In fact, don’t expect to see either of us until Christmas. Ok byeeee,” and he hangs up the phone, tossing it aside and spears his tongue right against your clit.

“Ben!” You yell and pull him up by gripping his hair at his scalp.

“What?!? And owww, by the way,” he pouts, signalling to his hair.

“What the fuck did you just do?!?!” You splutter breathlessly.

He shrugs demurely. “I killed many birds with one stone. Kate now knows about us and will tell the others; we have privacy.”

You have no answer; you just stare at him, mind-boggling from the whiplash of experiences.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” he argues pointedly, “I’m rather busy until at least Christmas, so please don’t interrupt me again,” he smiles devastatingly, and then he is back lapping your clit harshly, holding your hips down as you writhe and scream.

You come in record time.

What a Merry Christmas, indeed.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld