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basset-babe · 5 months ago

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five times: the three point five.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, anger, frustration, maybe hurtful words, smut!, endearing names during, (semi?) public sex, praise, explicit language, fingering, societal pressure rant

word count: 3.2k+

a/n: heh i finished season 3 heh i'm in (series) bridgerton bliss heh so diz iz smut pls enjoy!

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last.

pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

the three point five.

But it didn't feel right. Benedict just sinking down the velvet cushion chair, his mind stirred. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should do something, a sense of urgency gnawing at his insides.

With a sudden burst of determination, he shot up from the chair, nearly knocking over the glass of champagne on the near side table. Without a second glance at the luscious party or the puzzled expressions of the guests, he made a beeline for the door.

As Benedict pushed through onto the street, the cacophony of the party faded behind him. The crisp night air hit his face, sharpening his focus. He ignored the calls of their acquaintances and other partygoers who were gathered in the rooms, their faces blurred into indistinct shapes as he hurried past.

"Bridgerton! Where are you going?" someone shouted, but he paid no heed.

Benedict's footsteps quickened as he navigated through the dimly lit streets, each step a beat in the frantic rhythm of his heart. The city around him seemed a world apart from the glittering townhouse he had left behind. Here, shadows loomed large, and the quiet was punctuated only by the distant sounds of life continuing in other corners of the city. He scanned the shadows, heart pounding. Y/N was here somewhere. He just knew it.

"Y/N!" he called out, his voice breaking the stillness. No response. He took a few steps further into the garden, the soft crunch of gravel under his feet the only sound accompanying him.

"Y/N, please!" he called again, louder this time, desperation edging his tone. Still, nothing. The garden seemed vast and empty, the shadows playing tricks on his eyes.

Then, by the shops, he saw her silhouette. She was by a lamp post with her back to him, shoulders stiff, her cloaked figure barely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the trees. He felt a pang of guilt and longing. He had to make this right.

"Y/N," he said once more, softer now, as if speaking too loudly would shatter her already fragile state. He took a hesitant step towards her. "Please, just listen to me."

She didn’t move, didn’t turn to face him. Her silence, heavy and palpable, filled the space between them, echoing louder than any words she could have spoken. The memory of their confrontation at the party played over and over in his mind – the sting of her harsh words, the intensity of her anger, the rawness of her hurt. Each moment replayed like a relentless loop, haunting him with regret. He longed to rewind time, to undo the pain he had caused.

The gossip sheet had been the final straw. His name splashed across the scandalous pages, seen kissing Lady Arnold, while all of the ton knew he was actively courting Miss Y/N. The look on her face when she saw it had been devastating. Accusations flew, voices rose, and the bitter sting of betrayal hung in the room air.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice trembling. "I never meant to hurt you. Please, Y/N, look at me."

She remained motionless, her back still to him, the tension between them palpable, hanging heavy in the air like an unspoken accusation. Benedict hesitated, each step closer feeling like a tentative negotiation with the silence that enveloped them. He paused a moment, weighing his next move, acutely aware of the fragile thread that still tethered them together.

As he stood there, uncertainty gnawed at him. He wanted to bridge the distance, to erase the hurt that lay between them. Yet, the fear of shattering what little remained held him back. His hand hovered in the air, fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and comfort, to mend the rift he had unwittingly deepened.

But words failed him, swallowed by the weight of their shared history and the unspoken emotions that lingered in the space between them. Benedict searched for a way to break the silence, to convey the depths of his regret without risking further damage. Each heartbeat stretched the moment, until finally, he found his voice, tentative and raw with emotion.

"Lady Arnold and I… we shared a brief dalliance. It was a period of self-discovery for me," He elucidated regarding his now scandalized association. "There came a time when she developed feelings for me, but I reveled in my independence. That was until I became utterly captivated by you. When I saw you for the first time, I was astonished to see your family amongst the ton, but never did I anticipate encountering you, Y/N. With your grace and beauty so exquisite, you appeared beyond my grasp, yet I felt compelled to pursue you nonetheless."

Y/N felt a tempest of emotions swirling within her as she absorbed his words. She took a deep, steadying breath before responding, trying to calm her racing heart. "I... I find myself at a loss for words. Your candor has always been something I admired, and I am grateful for your honesty. But this revelation is quite overwhelming and rather sudden."

He took a step closer, his eyes fervently searching hers for understanding. "I am fully aware of how daunting this must be, but I could no longer keep my feelings concealed. Meeting you altered the very fabric of my existence. Lady Arnold is a relic of my past, but you... you embody my present and my future."

Y/N's words spilled forth in a torrent of anger and frustration, her voice trembling with emotion. "But what of the scandal? The relentless gossip of the ton? I am but a woman, Benedict. The ton is far less forgiving to me than it is to you!" Her frustration simmered beneath the surface, barely contained. "You must understand, my reputation hangs by a thread. A single misstep, and I am cast aside, deemed unworthy of respect. Society demands I conform, be a paragon of virtue, a mere homemaker, and nothing more. My worth reduced to how well I can maintain a household, marry advantageously, and produce heirs."

She paced with agitation, each step a declaration of defiance against societal expectations. "You, as a man, have the luxury of making mistakes, of being celebrated as a rogue in drawing rooms and clubs. Meanwhile, every action of mine is scrutinized, dissected, and condemned. Stepping outside the bounds of propriety threatens not just my reputation but my very existence in this suffocating world. The ton is merciless to women who dare to challenge its rigid norms."

Y/N paused, her eyes flashing with unshed tears of anger and injustice. "I am constantly reminded that my sole purpose is to secure a respectable marriage, to be a submissive wife and dutiful mother. Any ambition beyond that is deemed scandalous, improper. The freedom you take for granted is a distant dream for me, a privilege I may never attain. Do you comprehend the weight of all this? To defy this conservative society is a battle for my very identity, for my right to exist as more than society's pawn!" Her voice cracked with raw emotion, the depth of her anger laid bare. The enormity of the challenge ahead loomed large, and she awaited Benedict's response with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability, daring him to understand the gravity of her plight.

Benedict's eyes locked onto hers with unwavering resolve, "I understand the gravity of what you are saying, Y/N. The societal constraints placed upon you are both unjust and formidable. The double standards are abhorrent, and I cannot pretend to fully comprehend the weight you bear."

He took her hands in his, his voice gentle yet firm. "But know this: I do not take lightly what I am asking of you. I see your strength, your intelligence, and your grace, all of which transcend the narrow confines society seeks to impose upon you. You are so much more than a mere homemaker, and you deserve to be seen and valued for all that you are."

Benedict paused, his eyes softening as he continued. "I cannot change the society we live in overnight, but I can promise you that I will stand by your side through the whispers of this very scandal. We will face the ton together, and I will protect your honor and dignity with every fiber of my being."

He gently clasped her hand, his touch a balm to her anxiety. "Let them gossip and speculate. I am prepared to face any adversity, endure any scandal, if it means I can be with you."

Y/N met his intense gaze, searching for any trace of doubt. "Are you genuinely ready for that? To withstand the scrutiny and judgment? For once we embark on this path, there will be no retreat."

He squeezed her hand, his resolve unwavering. "I am more ready than ever. You are worth every challenge, every whispered condemnation. I love you, Y/N. And I am resolved to fight for us, regardless of the cost--"

Benedict's intent profession of his love was cut as Y/N kissed him. His eyes widened in shock but closed as he felt her soft wine-tinged lips in his.

His initial shock melted into a surge of warmth that spread through his entire being. For a fleeting moment, the world around them faded into insignificance, leaving only the sensation of her touch and the taste of her on his lips.

He fervently responded to her kiss, his hands instinctively finding hers, pulling her closer. The moment seemed suspended in time, filled with the heady mix of desire and tenderness. His mind raced with unspoken words of love, now rendered unnecessary by this spontaneous and passionate gesture from Y/N.

As their kiss deepened, Benedict's senses heightened, acutely aware of every detail—the softness of her lips, the faint floral scent of her hair, the warmth of her breath mingling with his. It was a dance of intimacy, a silent exchange of emotions that spoke volumes beyond any words could convey.

Their surroundings faded into obscurity as Benedict and Y/N surrendered to the intoxicating pull of their embrace. The cool touch of the ivy-surrounded shop door against Y/N's back contrasted with the warmth radiating from Benedict's body, igniting a fire of desire between them.

Benedict, towering over her with a commanding presence, deepened the kiss with a hunger that mirrored his longing. His hands, large and gentle, roamed with purpose—tracing the curve of her waist, skimming along her spine, sending shivers of anticipation through her body.

Y/N's own hands trembled as they explored Benedict's form, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair and tracing the strong lines of his jaw. Every touch was electric, every caress a testament to their shared passion and unspoken yearning.

Their kiss deepened further, each tender exploration of lips and tongues igniting passion that neither could deny. Benedict's hands, firm yet gentle, explored the contours of Y/N's body with a reverence born of adoration and desire. His fingertips traced the curve of her back, eliciting a soft gasp from her as he pulled her closer, molding their bodies together in a seamless fit.

Y/N's back pressed against the cool wood of the shop door, a stark contrast to the heat that surged between them. She felt the solid strength of Benedict's chest against hers, his heartbeat echoing her own racing pulse. Her hands, trembling with need, traced the strong lines of his shoulders, then slid down his chest, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.

Their bodies pressed closer together, the urgency of their desire palpable in the air. Benedict's lips continued their trail of heated kisses, moving from Y/N's chin to the curve of her neck, where he traced delicate patterns with the tip of his tongue. Benedict moved her cloak aside and her sleeve down. His hands, strong and possessive, slid down her back, pulling her hips against his with an unspoken need.

Y/N's breath hitched as she felt friction between them, her fingers threading through Benedict's hair, urging him closer. Each sensation, from the soft pressure of his lips to the warmth of his touch, sent waves of pleasure coursing through her veins. She surrendered to the overwhelming intensity of their connection, her own hands exploring the contours of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her touch.

Lost in the haze of desire, Benedict whispered words of adoration against her skin, his voice husky with longing. "Be mine," he breathed, his lips trailing back up to capture hers in a searing kiss. Their mouths melded together hungrily, tongues tangling in a dance, igniting sparks of electricity that seemed to arc between them. In that moment, beneath the canopy of ivy and flowers, they were consumed by the passion that had simmered between them for so long. It was a moment of surrender, of giving in to the primal need that bound them together, transcending any societal expectations or judgments.

Time seemed to stand still as they reveled in the ecstasy of each other's touch, their bodies moving in a symphony of desire and longing. Benedict's touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He savored the taste of her lips, the intoxicating scent of her skin, imprinting every sensation into his memory.

Y/N's leg gracefully lifted, curling around Benedict's side as she drew herself closer to him, as if wishing to remove space around them for the nth time. His hand gently traced the edge of her skirt, his gaze meeting hers as her kiss-dazed eyes fluttered open. Their eyes remained locked, speaking volumes in the silent exchange of desire. With a nod of affirmation, she conveyed her consent. Benedict's expression held a mixture of reverence and need, his movements careful and deliberate as he lifted her leg slightly, allowing his touch to travel further up, tracing the intricate patterns of her stockings.

Benedict's touch was tender, his fingers tracing the delicate lace that adorned the edge of Y/N's stockings. The fabric was smooth beneath his touch, a contrast to the warmth of her skin as his hand moved upward with a feather-light caress. Y/N's breath caught in anticipation, her heartbeat quickening with each gentle stroke along her thigh.

Y/N's lips parted slightly, a soft moan escaping as she leaned closer to him, her hand finding its way to rest against his chest. The sensation of his fingers against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, igniting a deeper yearning within her. Y/N bit her lip to suppress her soft whimpers as Benedict's fingers touched her velvet core. "I have never been touched...like this." Y/N says in between catching her breath and quieting herself down.

As her chemise rose, granting Benedict to caress her already dripping entrance, "Never?" He asks as he withdraws his hand from her skirts and licks his glistening slick-coated fingers, "But you taste so sweet like ambrosia, my lady. So delectable, all this nectar for me to savour." He smirks as his flustered lady hangs her mouth agape at his provocative statement.

"Well, I haven't--I never really...I just--" Y/N blushes and fails to complete her words as she looks at the handsome gentleman basking in her virgin sex. Benedict's lips curved into a knowing smile as he pressed against hers with a fervent intensity. His index finger trails the sensitive bud down towards teasing her entrance. Y/N moans in their kiss as her state rendered her sensitive. Her hand grasps his arm as Benedict rubs her clit in circular motions.

"Such a goddess, my darling, my muse." Benedict whispers in her ear as their kiss breaks and Y/N breaths harder, pressing her cheek by Benedict's ear where he can, now, hear her suppressed moans and hitched breaths as she feels pure ecstasy under his touch.

"Ben-Bendict, what is happen-happening to me?" She whispers as she feels her abdomen in knots as he rubs faster. "Let it go, love. Finish for me." Benedict says as he notices you swell on his fingertips. Y/N mind buzzes listlessly as she reaches her climax. Her hips bucking as Benedict now inserts two digits in her cunt leaving Y/N mewling as his fingers speed up, thumb circling her clit, the others buried as far as he can as she rides her high.

Her body surrenders to the rising tide within. With eyes tightly closed, Y/N utter Benedict's name as her core begins to pulse around his touch, her hands grabbing tightly, her every muscle tensing. Her hips arch once more, swept away as the crescendo washes over.

A dribble of wetness runs down Benedict's palm, Y/N's chemise and thighs as the lady feels her mind float away. Distantly, she can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as she catches her breath remembering they are still by the shop door near the square. Satiated, Y/N slowly brings her leg down but too shaky to balance.

Y/N is startled as a warm hand circles her waist, bringing her abruptly back into reality. Benedict looms over her, shielding her to any passerby, with his chest heaving, too. The two were lucky that it's quite possibly the dead of night. No one could've seen what ecstatic pleasure just unfolded between them at all.

As they finally parted, breathless and flushed with desire, Benedict gazed into Y/N's eyes with newfound reverence. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, "I never knew I could feel this way. You've utterly bewitched me." With gentle care, he rolled up her sleeves and adjusted her cloak, his fingers lingering on the fabric as if reluctant to let her go.

Y/N followed his hands, then met his gaze, her eyes glassy and her cheeks tinted with a delicate blush. She could feel the intensity of the moment, the weight of their pining hanging in the air. "And you've captured me in ways I never imagined possible, Benedict," she murmured, her voice trembling with her throat dry. Her heart pounded in her chest, a wild rhythm that echoed her racing thoughts.

"The Bridgertons are hosting a ball in a few days' time, and I know you will be attending," he said, his voice a mix of hope and yearning. Y/N nodded in response, her heart pounding in anticipation. "Might I have the honor of a dance, my lady?"

Y/N amusingly quipped, "Of course—just as long as you promise not to step on my toes."

Benedict chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I promise to let you lead, as long as you promise me one thing," he said, leaning in closer, his breath warm against her skin.

"And what might that be?" she asked, her curiosity piqued, her pulse quickening.

"Save me every dance," he whispered, his words carrying the weight of his desire, sending a delightful shiver down her spine. The intensity of his gaze made her feel like the only woman in the world.

With a playful smile, she replied, "Only if you promise to sweep me off my feet."

Benedict's smile widened, his heart swelling with joy. "It's a promise, my lady," he vowed, his voice low and filled with promise.

Their laughter mingled together, a harmonious blend of shared joy and anticipation, as they contemplated the upcoming ball—a night destined to overflow with enchantment, passion, and moments that quicken the heart. The atmosphere hummed with unspoken sentiments and burgeoning emotions, each glance and touch affirming the deepening connection between them.

The two walked to the street corner as a footman was hailed for Y/N's carriage. As Benedict took her hand to bid farewell as the carriage arrived, he brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing a tender kiss across it. "Until then," he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Until then," she echoed, her voice a whisper of promise.

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