#sensual-benedict-whispers

[gracieheartspedro]

About You

how to help gaza

pairing: colin bridgerton x f!reader, brief benedict bridgerton x reader action

description: finally ready to get off the marriage mart, your family arranges a marriage to a bridgerton. but not the one you have always desired.

word count: 2.4k words

author’s note: hiiii folks. this is part one so more coming soon. I wrote it in an hour after I watched pt1 of season 3. I only edited it a couple times. plus there’s a lack of colin content on this website. so i’m here, filling the void ❤️

You had waited for this night your whole life. The night you would be proposed to. 

Your mother had ensured you wore your finest gown, a soft purple dress with beautiful sparkles and embellishments. She even gifted you a necklace your grandmother had worn the night of her engagement. 

It was a huge moment for everyone involved. But you could not help but feel a pit in your stomach. You wanted to call them nerves, but it was more so you knew you were making a mistake. 

When you arrive at Lady Danbury’s estate, you and your parents step out of a horse-drawn carriage and into a beautifully decorated ball. The candles lined the entrance, and red and white roses encapsulated the entire space. 

You did the typical introductions and curtsies. You thanked Lady Danbury for throwing such a captivating event for your special moment. She smiled and told you that it had to be mesmerizing for such anticipation. You felt light-headed thinking of all the eyes that would be on you tonight. 

You found your way to the ballroom, where ladies and gentlemen alike were already dancing. You find your way around the room, instantly finding a group of ladies you had made acquaintance with before. The four of you chat and they all share that they cannot wait to watch the Bridgerton boy propose to you in front of the masses. 

It makes you sick to your stomach. 

You excuse yourself to find some lemonade on one of the many tables. You would prefer some champagne, but alcohol does not make it right for you. It does not allow any clarity. So, you stand alone, trying to collect your thoughts and not freak out too much before anything happens. 

“There’s my gem.”

His voice is deeper when it’s right in one of your ringlet curls. It also doesn’t help that he’s saying it for your ears only, making the comment even more sensual. 

Colin Bridgerton was terrible at being just your friend. He was always too close to you, always searching you out in a crowd, and constantly waiting around for you at social events. 

He had been doing it for years before he disappeared on a world tour. You knew your time on the marriage mart was over when your mother and father, a Duke and Duchess, pulled aside Violet Bridgerton and begged her to pawn one of her sons off onto you. And while she would have easily convinced Colin, he was in Italy learning about The Pantheon and had stated he had no intentions marrying. 

So, Benedict would have to do.

You turn to face the taller gentleman, ensuring your posture was fixed to that of a Lady. 

“Mister Bridgerton, what do I owe the pleasure?” You falter to formalities, rather than your normal banter with him. You knew people would be watching you like a hawk, as tonight was the night Benedict was going to try to secure a proposal. 

“I have not seen you in a year and suddenly you speaking to me as if I am a stranger,” His voice is confident, but his eyes read the same insecure boy you remember. 

You let out a sly chuckle, “Well, we practically are at this point, are we not? You are the Ton’s most eligible bachelor as soon as you returned from your tour  and I feel like the man gracing me with his presence is not the man I once knew.”

He seems taken aback by your comments, his face dropping a bit. 

“I’ve been hearing whispers amongst the Ton that you’re getting a proposal,” He halts, taking a sip of the lemonade slid between his fingers, “From my brother?”

You hear the jealousy laced in his voice, but you try your best not to call him out on it. You turn around, still shoulder-to-shoulder with the man. “One can only hope, Mister Bridgerton. It would only be my pleasure to join the family.”

“As Benedict’s missus?”

You want to scream at him, but your trained politeness is engrained deep within every fiber of your being. 

“Well, I have you know, that it was arranged by your Mama and my parents. It is simply a way to join our families. You know my Mama and yours have always taken to one another. I did not know you would have such an issue with it.”

Before he can say more, you spot Benedict across the ballroom chatting with Eloise and Francesca. He meets your eyes and gives you a curt nod and smirk. You nod back, knowing that he would approach you once the conversation concludes. You had this whole act down to a science. 

Because that’s what it was for you. An act. A way to make your parents get off your back. It was no love match, it was only practical. Benedict was a gentleman, into the arts, comfortable with moving away from the city. He was everything you needed, just not what you wanted. 

“I leave for a bit of time and suddenly my own brother is courting my best friend,” Colin groans, shifting in his spot. You return your gaze back to him, trying to understand why tonight had to be the night that he fought for you. The term best friend had a bite to it, as well. While you were a lady, you had already shared a kiss with a few boys, including Colin. While you two were underage and not able to make such distinct decisions on marriage, you knew that the feelings you had for him were shared. 

What was so frustrating was that he could never actually confess such feelings. You could see it in his eyes when you glanced his way, but the words never slipped his lips. He only shot flirtations at you and then there was no action as a follow-up. It made your mind race and spin. You started to believe that it was not flirtations at all and it was all just teasing.

“I think you are missing out on the key point in your conjecture, Colin,” You lick your lips, moving only a bit closer to him so no one can hear your words, “You left me. I stayed here and pondered what another season would be like without you. And of course, at the very end of such an event, you decide to be cruel.”

“How am I being cruel, Miss? I am simply stating that you are choosing someone I care about for expedience and not for love.”

“You are being cruel by approaching me and acting like you are even half aware of the circumstances you are speaking of.”

He chuckles, trying not to entertain your comments. “I am well aware that you have always wanted a love match. You know that is not what you are getting with Benedict, Gem.”

Your throat tightens because you know he is right. You have dreamed of a love match since you were a precocious child, enduring all the teasing him and Eloise about it. 

And you knew deep down that the love match you wanted was with him. 

The damn nickname he gave you years ago continues to get a rise. You can feel your face get flushed, the heat rising all the way down your neck and chest. 

“Who said I needed a love match, Mister Bridgerton?!”

You never meant to be loud, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, you realize everyone staring your way. You had seriously messed up. 

Colin did not even look away from your completely shell-shocked expression. He was not focused on the glares and whispers, he only cared that the woman he was in love with was about to marry his brother. He could not let that happen. 

The feeling of embarrassment made every part of your body jittery. You decided that the exit seemed like the best option, so you made your way past everyone and ran to the back garden of the Danbury estate. The flowers that lined the railings made the tears in your vision sparkle like fireworks. 

You try your best to suppress the useless waterworks, but the emotions get the best of you. You felt humiliated that you had to explain your motives to a man who hardly knew you anymore. What does he know?

You find a corner to hide in, making sure your face is hidden away from the exit. When you hear footsteps approach, you pray it’s not a Bridgerton. Sadly, you’re disappointed. 

“What did Colin say to you?”

You remove your cream glove, ensuring no tear touches such an expensive fabric. You needed to collect yourself a bit before turning to face Benedict. So you dab your eyes with your fingertips and spin to face him. He looks concerned, his hand reaching for yours. 

“I am so sorry, Lord Bridgerton. He got the better of me and he still knows how best to irritate me,” your eyes well up again with tears, “I do apologize for not being more put together.”

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “Do not apologize. I expected him to be a bit tormented by the whole situation.”

You furrow your brows, quizzically. “What ever do you mean?”

“Well, he told my Mama last season that he did not want to marry because you were courting Lord Jacques. That is why he left early for his travels.”

The revelation makes your heart skip a beat, “Why would him marrying have anything to do with me?”

You try to play dumb so maybe you could get more out of the man, but instead of answering you, he just shakes his head. His focus drops, and as soon as you lose fixation on his actions, you notice Colin loitering around the exit. You drop Benedict’s hand and sidestep to get the man in your line of vision. 

“You have never been good at hide and seek, Mister Bridgerton,” You say with spite, “Step into the light.”

His slow meander only makes you more angry. 

“Now, why is my brother alone with my best friend in the garden? Seems like a scandal waiting to happen.” 

Benedict snickers, “Seems like we were never alone, brother. You appear to be around every waiting corner.”

You cross your arms, annoyed with both men and sick of the mortification. You could not help but appreciate Benedict’s snarky nature, it has always thrown Colin off his game. You clear your throat, bringing their eyes to you. 

“I wish to understand why you lied to me about leaving early last season.” 

Colin’s disposition changes as soon as you say it. Last season, Colin left abruptly and wrote you saying it was because of a learning opportunity in Vienna. You took his word for it, but based on what Benedict had just told you, that was a lie. 

“Pardon m-”

“Colin, why did you lie about leaving the season early?”

“Gem, I really do not know where you got this information.”

“Oh, give me a break, Colin. You told me and Anthony that you did not wish to marry unless a girl like her came around. When you realized she was interested in another, you left.” 

Colin races forward, grabbing onto the man to your left. He tugs his vest coat and brings him inches from his own face. The action rattles you, but you remain composed. 

“I told you that in confidence!”

“And you are making her upset with your mind games! If you had just said what your heart’s truth was, you would be the one celebrated tonight. Instead, you stand by and fume over a woman you can no longer have.”

Colin clenches his teeth, “Who said I can no longer?”

Your stomach flips, unsure of how Colin could be so possessive of you. Benedict seems shocked as well because he nudges the man off of him and glances over at you. You realize that this is Colin’s way of confessing his intentions, but you cannot believe that he has to say it on the night of your engagement.

“You are brazen to concur such a thing.”

Colin finally looks at you, taking note of your shaky voice. “So, you are going to marry him?”

The unsettle in your heart has never gone away ever since you were told about the arrangement. You knew that your heart was telling you to run the other way, but you did not want to let down your family. You had taken kindly to Benedict, promenading almost every other day to get to know one another. 

“I have not been asked yet, so I am not quit-”

Colin steps forward taking your hand, “What if I asked you first? Would you accept me? My hand, I mean?”

Benedict steps forward, touching his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Gem, will you marry me?”

A tear slips past your lashes, your heart just about exploding within your chest. Colin’s eyes are desperate, pleading with you.  You are not sure what to say, every possible word escaping you. 

You realize you are panting, the breath leaving your lips labored in panic. You flick your sights over to Benedict, who is stunned but not trying to get Colin to retract his query. You revert your gaze back to Colin’s deep blue eyes.

“Why now?”

He takes a deep breath, “Because I am absolutely useless with my emotions and I have only humiliated myself when I express them. I did not think you would ever consider my hand and had I known that you thought kindly of me I would have told you the first moment you debuted. But I cowered in silence, hoping the emotions I have felt since I was a child would subside. But I have searched every corner of this world and I did not find one lady that made me feel the same emotions I feel when I even just look your way. I hate that it took me so long to realize that you are the only woman I will ever really… love.”

The confession is exactly what you need to change your mind. Because you felt the exact same way. All this time you have been running from the emotions you felt every moment Colin stared in your direction. You thought them immature and vain. But every time you watched him dance with another, the fire within you would burn. You were sick of loving him from far away. 

“The Ton believes me to be promised to Benedict. The embarrassment he will suffer if I accept your proposal could be deafening-”

“Do not worry about me, Miss,” Benedict says, pacing with his hands on his hips, “I could never fully live with myself coming between two lovers. I only waiting for him to realize what we have all been subjected to the last 3 years.”

Colin smirks at him, “And what’s that?”

“The torture of loving someone and not giving in to temptation.”

[natti-ice]

Hi lovely!

Could I ask for a Benedict fic where him and reader get pretty messy with the his paints? 💕🥹

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, nudity, sensual touching, kissing, implied sex (1k words)

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

You had met Benedict at a social event this past season and the two of you got on very well, any time you saw each other in passing you had to stop and make conversation. You felt at ease with him, he was so down to Earth unlike most of the uptight socialites of the city. You were very fond of him in general and it seemed he felt the same about you. Not to mention the fact you were also very attracted to him. He often spoke to you about his art and his passion for finding the beauty in life, he showed you his work book of sketches, all of random things he found beautiful even if most people don't.

Today on a casual stroll in the park, Benedict casually asked you if you would like to be the subject of one of his paintings, you had never thought of modeling before but it intrigued you. You were always curious on how people viewed you and this would show you his perspective of you, so you agreed. He brought you back to his studio and showed you some of paintings he had hanging around by artists that inspired him, then he lead you over to the center of the room where he had a large sheet of white paper spread across the floor. You assumed it was to protect his floors from any paint drippings but you were quite wrong.

"This is our canvas for today, my lady" Benedict smiles

You chuckle and furrow your brows a bit "I'm sorry what? Are you going to draw a life size version of me?"

"No, dear" he laughs softly "I'm going to paint with you. I want to use your body as a brush, if that's okay with you of course" he adds that last part in quickly to reassure you can pull out at any time. There's a sparkle in his eyes as he explains how he wants to cover your nude bodies in paint and roll around making an abstract design. "So, what do you say?" His voice is filled with hope, he desperately wants you to say yes.

You think about his offer for a moment, the thought of being naked with him excites you but also makes you very nervous. You have only known him a short amount of time but you trust him a lot, you nod with a soft smile "okay, I'm in."

"Excellent" he grins and claps his hands together once "you can get undressed while I prepare the paints." he gives you a comforting smile then turns around and walks to the back of his studio where he keeps his paint. You slowly start to undress, you feel the butterflies in your stomach intensifying as you shed each piece of clothing. Finally naked, you fold your clothes neatly and set them on a small sofa nearby. The window of the studio is cracked out letting in a soft breeze, you feel goosebumps grow on your bare skin and your nipples become erect.

A few moments later, Benedict came back carrying a tray with small cans full of paint "alright here we are-" he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, his eyes wide in surprise as he takes all of you in "wow... you're absolutely breathtaking" his voice is so soft it's almost a whisper

You chuckle nervously, you feel your whole body start to heat up "um, thank you, sir" you wrap your arms around your body, very aware of how exposed you are. He steps closer to you and sets the tray on a small table, he picks up a can filled with red paint and holds it up to you.

"May I?" He asks for permission, you nod slightly giving him full access to your body. He dips two fingers into the paint and slowly runs them along your collar bone, it slowly starts to drip down your front as your body temperature melts the paint. He works his way down your body, streaking the red all over you, his fingertips ever so slightly graze your nipples sending a shiver down your spine. "Beautiful" he whispers softly before setting the paint canister down and began to strip his clothes off.

You watched him closely as each article of clothing flew from his body leaving him bare in front of you. He gripped your arm softly and turned you around, he slowly poured some of the paint down your back letting it cascade down your back. He presses himself against your back slightly, you can feel his breath tickling your neck as he began to place soft hot kisses along the side. He used one hand to rub the red all over your back, a gasp caught in your throat as his larges hands rubbed soft circles on your ass.

When he finished he turned you around to face him, he picked up a can of blue paint and handed it to you "now you do me" his voice soft but laced with something more sensual. You take the can and start to smear blue all over his body, trying desperately to avoid his intimate areas as best as possible even if it was staring right at you. Once he was blue from the neck down he gently took your hand and brought you down to the paper on the floor. "Lay back, darling," he instructed playfully "we're gonna roll around a bit" he chuckles before rolling on top of you, his arms wrapped around your body as he goes in for a kiss.

Things escalated quickly from there, paint began to adorn the paper as you two made love. Shades of blue and red mixed together leaving streaks of purple behind, hand prints of different colors could be seen throughout the paper. Moans filled the studio, there was also the occasional sound of paper ripping when things became too intense. When it was all said and done, Benedict framed the work and even put it up in a gallery. People always asked how he created such an abstract piece of art, he came up with a story of how he just started throwing paint at the canvas. Only you and him ever knew the truth.

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[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 11 - Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none really... a little bit of kissing interruptus.

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is a slightly transitional chapter after the seismic events in Chapter 10. Our couple have no regrets but cannot get time alone as our intrepid trio journeys to Aubrey Hall. Yes, here beginnith our latest trope: secret relationship! Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Portsmouth, UK, September 1939

Waking up in Benedict’s arms for a second time is a thoroughly different experience, a handsome smile creasing his face.

“Good morning,” he rumbles, and you feel it buzz in your cheekbone resting on his pectoral.

“Good morning,” you whisper, tilting to kiss his lips.

You want to burrow into his warmth, his naked body, curl around him like a vine. Forget the world; just exist with him here in this warm cocoon. His hand slides up your back, pulling you snugger into him as you kiss - languid, sensual, tongues touching, a stirring you can feel between your legs and in him where your thigh is draped over his lap.

Just as you are about to get lost in this, in him, there is a rapid-fire knocking on the door.

“Wakey, wakey, lazy bones! Let me in!” Eloise’s voice calls, muffled in the corridor outside.

You both swing your heads towards the door, then back to each other in almost comic unison, jumping apart as if burned, exchanging panicked looks as you scurry out of bed.

“Give me a minute,” Benedict grouses loudly for her benefit.

Then, there is a flurry of hushed movement as you fling open suitcases and rapidly throw on the nearest clothing. ‘Bed!’ you mouth, signalling for him to help. You work together in unison to make the bed, not to the point it doesn't look slept in, but certainly not the tangle of sheets from tumultuous lovemaking that it was. Belatedly, you realise you should have put a makeshift pile on the floor as if he slept there.

It's less than a minute from when you were naked in each other’s arms to Benedict opening the door to Eloise, you on the other side of the room attempting nonchalance. She wanders in, looking blissed out but also a little worse for wear, an apparent hangover clinging to her edges as she retrieves a hairbrush from her suitcase. You want to ask how her night was, but her frown stops you. 

“Doesn’t look like anyone slept on the floor…” she comments suspiciously as she pulls up to the mirror. 

“I am, in fact, capable of tidying away blankets and pillows after I use them, sister,” Benedict sighs and rolls his eyes, looking out the window. “It is what I was doing when you so rudely woke up half the hotel, in fact,” he lies.

Eloise sticks her tongue out at him in the mirror, which he roundly ignores.

“Your brother is a true gentleman,” you defend, staying intentionally vague, standing behind her and using the mirror as well to touch up your appearance. 

It's your turn to receive the Eloise look of scornful derision before you steer to a new, safer topic. 

“So, how was your night with Phillip?” you tease affably.

“Oh, he’s wonderful,” a wistful look claiming her face. A secret little smile you have never seen before. “We had such a memorable night.”

“Aaaand I don’t need to hear this,” Benedict deadpans. “I’ll see you ladies downstairs for breakfast…” is his parting shot as he heads for the door. 

But as Eloise leans down to grab a hairpin, launching into a whole story, he winks at you in the reflection, and your heart skips a beat.

——

“So, ready to party your life away in London?” Eloise chirps as the train trundles through rural Hampshire a few hours later. “It's not Paris, but it will do….”

“I thought we were going to your country home?” you frown.

“Well, yes, for a few days. But we can head back up to Bridgerton House for the weekend,” Eloise grins. “Phillip might be in town by then….” You chuckle at her lack of subtlety. “And we can find you a nice man!” she adds.

There is a scrunch of a newspaper diagonally across from you as Benedict’s grip tightens on the broadsheet he is holding, his face wholly obscured behind it.

“Oh, I don't know..” you attempt to laugh it off. “I think I might give that whole party lifestyle a rest.”

“Nonsense! You are not really a married lady, you know,” Eloise withers, rolling her eyes. “And you can take that off now,” she nods to your ring finger.

“Oh…” you fumble, touching it instinctively, the soft lamplight within the compartment making the gold glint brightly. “I thought it safer to wear it while we are still in transit,” you bluff, knowing Benedict is paying full attention to your conversation now, even as he hides behind The Times.

She frowns. “You have your residency now. The British government will not bother tracking you down with this war effort. You could get divorced tomorrow, and literally, nothing would happen,” she opines imperiously as if suddenly an expert on immigration matters.

“Better safe than sorry, Eloise,” Benedict pipes up, folding down the paper and removing his reading glasses with that lecturing elder brother air. His ring catches the sunlight as he does, making something bloom in your ribs to see it.

Just as Eloise goes to dispute it, her face instead lights up from the passing trolley service. “Oooh, snacks!” she exclaims distractedly, craning to look out into the corridor, allowing you to smile your thanks softly at Benedict unseen. His responding lopsided smile has your stomach vaulting.

Then Eloise is on her feet, chasing the attendant that rumbled past your compartment, apparently keen for refreshments. As soon as she is out of sight, you reach a hand across to him. He leans forward and grasps it with both of his.

“We will have time alone at Aubrey Hall, I promise,” he whispers earnestly, his eyes imploring, bringing your hand to his lips and making you stutter as he brushes warm lips over the back of your fingers.

“I want to touch you, Benedict…” you confess ardently, “all the time. So very much…”

His face is a storm of bridled intensity at your words, his pupils dilating rapidly. “As do I….” his words impassioned, even as his expression clouds wincingly, and you know where his thoughts have slid.

“But, Eloise…” you nod, understanding, reluctantly withdrawing your hand and sitting back, a tingle still on your fingers from his lips.

There is no way either of you wants to raise what is happening or what has happened yet. Neither of you is sure of anything except this magnetic pull between you—yearning to be together, alone.

“Yes…” he sighs, pained, slumping back into his seat just as the lady in question twirls back in, hands full with Cadbury's bars and a Fry’s Peppermint Cream.

“I thought you hated Peppermint Cream?” Benedict frowns as Eloise hands you both a Cadbury and immediately unwraps the Fry’s bar for herself, taking a big bite.

“I may be reassessing its merits,” she sniffs before leaning in to whisper to you, muffled around her mouthful. “It’s Phillip's favourite,” she divulges before staring dreamily out the window.

You have never known Eloise to change her mind about anything in the time you have known her, especially not from a man’s opinion. You just shrug at Benedict, conveying your equal surprise. Clearly, this one might be a serious contender.

—

Walking the connecting overhead path to Waterloo Junction for your onward train to Kent, you are startled when Benedict grabs your hand and places it into his coat pocket. You soon realise in the glass reflection ahead that the swish of the open fabric means the connection of your hands is unseen. 

Your heart pounds in your ears as you walk beside Eloise, her none the wiser as your palms grip each other, fingers laced. When you glance up at him briefly, you see the ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips, but he keeps looking ahead as if nothing unusual is happening. 

You want to kiss the little dimple right there at his sheer genius.

—

The onward leg only takes an hour and is filled with amiable chat, mostly about books and films. Soon, you are alighting the train at a charming rural village stop, the platform ablaze with neatly potted late summer plants of reds and yellows.

But you are struck with a sudden wave of nerves as a sleek car awaits you. You are not long away from meeting the rest of the Bridgerton family. Strictly, your family now too.

“Does anyone know?” You ask Eloise as the driver loads your cases into the boot.

“Know what?”

“That Benedict and I are married…?” You spell out, surprised she didn’t follow your train of thought. 

“Oh. Well. I didn’t call or telegram,” she twists to look at Benedict as he places your day bag on top of his. “Did you tell mother?”

He scoffs. “God, no. Not something I could begin to explain over the phone.”

“So what do we say? Or do?” You ask, subconsciously toying with your ring.

Benedict walks over and places comforting hands on your shoulders. It takes all of your willpower not to lean into him. “Don't worry. Follow my lead. I don’t think we can or should lie.” 

Less than a minute into the car ride, you sandwiched between the siblings, Eloise’s eyes flutter closed, face lolling against the glass. You signal to Benedict, and when he twists to see, his hand grabs your kneecap, fingers wrapping around and caressing the ticklish skin near the crease at the back of your knee. Something about this stolen moment is exciting, elicit, and endlessly arousing.

“I cannot go more than an hour in your presence without wanting to touch you,” he whispers, leaning close, his words a hot gust into your ear that has you melting.

“Same,” you murmur back, your hand sliding over his, mapping the raised veins with your fingertips, memories of the last night tumbling through your mind, those strong hands running over your naked flesh, grasping. It makes your breath hitch audibly.

“What are you thinking about?” His voice is a honeyed rumble that makes every hair on your forearms stand on end. He probably knows, but you confirm it anyway.

“Last night…” you mouth, turning your face into him so his lips brush your cheek. His grip tightens, and his breath rags into your hair.

“It's all I have thought about since…” he confesses; your chest flutters as his hand slides a fraction higher on your leg, playing with your hem. Every fibre of your being is calling for him. You want him to keep going, slide all the way up your thighs and touch you… but Eloise stirs, and instantly, his touch is gone, and you are left bereft. 

—

To call Aubrey Hall a country house is ridiculous. Your jaw drops as the car sweeps up a long gravel driveway to an enormous, handsome pile of a manor estate.

“Oh my god, Eloise,” you smack her arm lightly. “How rich are you!?”

She laughs. “What, that my brother is a Viscount doesn't give that away?” she guffaws.

“Well, I thought maybe it was an honourary title or something…” you mutter, feeling slightly embarrassed you don't know the full ins and outs of the British aristocracy you have clearly married into, entirely without knowing.

“Don't be intimidated,” Benedict soothes. “We are just a large family who inherited a big pile. I promise we aren't stuffy or cold.” You want to squeeze his hand for being so empathetic and reassuring.

“Or inbred!” Eloise cackles as the car stops, and you notice a beautiful, elegant middle-aged woman waving from the steps.

“Our mother,” Benedict elucidates before Eloise throws the door open and jogs up to hug the lady, who looks overjoyed to be reunited with her daughter after months away. You can tell Eloise is happy, too, even if her joy is more understated.

Benedict is by your side when you are out of the vehicle. A pillar of support, even if not touching you.

“Mum…” Eloise pulls her down the steps. “This is y/n!”

“Oh, it's wonderful to meet you!” the lady greets, pulling you into a welcoming hug that smells lavender and lilac. “I have heard so much!”

“Same!” you chime back.

Then it is Benedict’s turn to hug her; you swear there is an extra glint in her eye as if he is her favourite. However, you notice he keeps his left hand in his pocket throughout.

“Thank you for bringing them back safe, darling,” she reaches up and pats his hair affectionately as if he is still a child, not a grown man in his late twenties.

“We would have made it home perfectly safe without him, mother,” Eloise gripes with her trademark mettle.

“Eloise Bridgerton, you would have absconded to Saint Tropez if your brother were not there. Don't even lie about that,” Violet chides lovingly, and you can't help but giggle.

“Don't take her side!” Elose decries.

“Come on, it's true,” you laugh, bumping her gently with your shoulder as you walk in through the doors.

It is a beautiful stately home, but at the same time, it seems less imposing on the inside; it looks lived in and loved. A house that is full of family and life.

“You will meet the rest of the family later today,” Violet advises. “Well, minus our brave Viscount, who is in London with Churchill, and Daphne, who lives with her husband.”

“And Fran,” Eloise adds.

“Yes, Francesca is staying with her cousins in Bath,” Violet counsels as she guides you into their parlour.

“She’s barely my sister,” Eloise jests, dropping onto a sofa and grabbing a glass of water from a carafe on the coffee table.

Violet just shoots her an exasperated look while offering you a seat, too. “Eloise told me you were engaged, not already married,” Violet addresses as you get comfortable.

Benedict springs from across the room. “Ahhh, about that….” he placates with his left hand aloft.

“Is that also a ring I see on your finger, Benedict Bridgerton?!” Violet splutters.

“Mother, I can explain….”

And thus, he recounts the events of the last few days. Violet listening intently, looking, in turn, shocked, dumbfounded and proud. Of course, Benedict omits the whole part of the fact you are together romantically. Well, sort of. You think. You are dying to be alone with him so you can talk. Or perhaps do other more exciting things. That idle thought makes your cheeks flush.

“I am so very grateful to your son, Viscountess Bridgerton,” you jump in as much as to steer your own wayward thoughts away from dangerous waters. “Without him, I would likely still be stuck in France, all alone.”

His eyes dance with warmth as you glance at him, wanting to grab his hand and lace your fingers. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Violet has the most intrigued look as she observes her son carefully—the all-knowing eye of a matriarch.

“Well, I am so grateful you are safe, my dear,” she turns to you. “And please, for goodness sake, call me Violet. You are welcome to remain with us as long as you need or desire. You are family now, after all. At least for as long as you wish to be considered such,” she concludes, seeming to choose her words very carefully.

“Thank you, Violet,” you murmur, so grateful, already feeling a warm glow from her hospitality. “I could not be more honoured to be here for as long as you will all have me,” your eyes drifting back to Benedict as you say it.

The tender look on his face makes you touch your wedding ring idly with your thumb, and your heart leaps as he does the same. Although you swear you can feel the weight of Violet’s stare as you do so.

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[duvetfawn]

A Warm Welcome

- Masterlist

INTRODUCTION: After a long day, you come home to find Benedict Cumberbatch in the kitchen, cooking dinner with an endearing mix of focus and charm. What begins as playful banter quickly ignites into something far more intimate, as Benedict willingly surrenders himself to your control. In a sensual evening filled with vulnerability and passion, the two of you explore trust, desire, and the balance of power, leaving no boundary of connection or devotion untouched.

PAIRING: sub!Benedict Cumberbatch x fem!dom!reader

WARNINGS: SMUT, mdni, oral sex (reader receiving), dirty talk, penetrative sex.

WORD COUNT: 3k

A/N: Hello people! Thanks for all the reblogs and likes! I'm so happy my work is getting recognition. This one was a request from my best friend (thank you Bianca for assigning me this!) Please keep in mind the reader is dominant here and it might not be for everyone. Again thank you so much! Sorry about grammar mistakes if there are any.

The smell of garlic and fresh herbs greeted you the moment you stepped through the door, an immediate comfort after a long day. The familiar warmth of the flat wrapped around you like an embrace, but it was the figure in the kitchen that truly caught your attention. Benedict, clad in a loose gray sweater and dark jeans, stood by the stove, focused entirely on the task before him. His curls were slightly disheveled, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with flour—a telltale sign he’d been kneading something earlier.

“You’re home,” he said, glancing up with that soft smile that never failed to make your heart flutter. His voice, deep and soothing, held a note of relief, as if the day had been incomplete until you’d walked through the door.

“And you’re cooking,” you replied, shrugging off your coat. “Should I be worried?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and shook his head. “I’ll have you know, I’m quite capable in the kitchen. You might even be impressed.”

You leaned against the doorway, watching him move. There was an ease in the way he handled himself, his gestures deliberate and precise yet unhurried. The sight of him like this—at home, relaxed, and completely unguarded—was one you cherished more than you could put into words.

“What are you making?” you asked, crossing the room to peek over his shoulder.

“Something simple,” he said, gesturing to a pan where butter sizzled and garlic caramelized. “Pasta with a cream sauce, a bit of basil, and, if I don’t burn it, chicken.”

You hummed in approval, standing so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him. He turned his head slightly, and your eyes met. For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence thick with unspoken tension. His gaze lingered on your lips before darting back up to meet your eyes, a flush creeping up his neck.

“Something on your mind?” you teased, your voice low and playful.

Benedict swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but he didn’t look away. “Only that you’re distracting,” he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

You reached out, running a finger along the edge of his jaw, feeling the faint stubble beneath your touch. “And what are you going to do about it?” you asked, tilting your head.

His breath hitched, but instead of answering, he turned off the stove and set the spoon down. The clatter of metal against the counter seemed louder than it was, a sharp contrast to the electric silence between you. Slowly, deliberately, he faced you, his hands coming to rest lightly on your hips.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your lips curved into a smile as you leaned in, closing the distance between you. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of lips that quickly turned heated. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, matching your own.

“You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you murmured against his lips, your fingers sliding into his hair.

He nodded, his breath warm against your cheek. “Can you blame me?” he asked, his tone somewhere between exasperation and adoration. “You make it impossible to focus.”

“Good,” you said, pushing him gently but firmly until his back hit the counter. 

You pressed against him, the edge of the counter digging into his back as you deepened the kiss. His lips parted beneath yours, and you took full advantage, your tongue brushing against his, eliciting a soft, breathy sound from him. His hands gripped your hips tighter, as if trying to anchor himself to you, but you could feel the way his body softened under your touch, surrendering.

“Turn around,” you whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to speak.

He blinked at you, his expression somewhere between surprise and intrigue, but he complied, twisting to face the counter. His breath hitched as your arms slid around his waist from behind, your palms pressing against his abdomen. Slowly, you ran your hands upward, savoring the feel of his body beneath the soft fabric of his sweater.

“You’re far too tense for someone who’s been cooking dinner,” you murmured, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

A shiver ran through him, and he let out a shaky laugh. “Well, you’re not exactly helping me relax.”

“Oh, but I plan to,” you said, your voice teasing as your fingers dipped lower, tracing the waistband of his jeans.

His head fell back slightly, exposing the long line of his neck, and you couldn’t resist the temptation. You pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot just below his ear, then another, letting your teeth graze his skin lightly. The quiet groan that escaped him sent a thrill through you, and you felt his grip tighten on the edge of the counter.

“You like that,” you said, not a question but a statement.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Too much, maybe.”

You smiled against his skin, then tugged gently on his sweater. “Off.”

He turned his head to glance at you, his eyes dark with anticipation. There was no hesitation as he pulled the sweater over his head, leaving his chest bare. You took a moment to admire him, the defined lines of his shoulders and torso, the way his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

“Beautiful,” you said, running your hands over his back. His skin was warm to the touch, and he let out a quiet sigh as your nails lightly scraped down his spine. “You’re so good at following instructions.”

He turned his head slightly, a smirk playing at his lips despite the flush on his cheeks. “So you want to take the lead, huh?”

Your response was immediate and firm. “You’re mine tonight. All of you. Understand?”

His eyes flickered with something that looked like both surrender and excitement. “Yes,” he said softly. Then, louder, “Yes, ma’am.”

You grinned, your dominance only spurring you further. With a gentle but firm push, you turned him back toward you and nudged him toward the center of the kitchen. His movements were fluid but obedient, and it thrilled you to see the normally commanding actor so completely at your mercy.

You guided him backward until his legs hit the dining chair that sat in the corner of the kitchen. With a light push on his shoulders, you eased him down into the seat. Benedict looked up at you, his hair tousled, his lips slightly swollen from your earlier kisses. There was something intoxicating about seeing him like this—composed yet unraveling, his sharp, angular features softened by the heat of the moment.

“Stay there,” you said firmly, your voice low and commanding.

He obeyed, his hands resting on his thighs, his gaze fixed on you as if you were the only thing in the world. You could see the tension in his body, the way his fingers twitched, like he was holding back the urge to reach for you. You stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, letting him feel the weight of your presence.

“You’ve been so good for me,” you murmured, leaning down until your faces were inches apart. Your fingers brushed along his jawline, tracing the sharp angles, then tilted his chin up slightly. “Do you want to keep being good for me, Benedict?”

His breath caught, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Whatever you want.”

You smiled, your thumb running over his bottom lip. “Good,” you said.

Your hands slid to his shoulders, and with a gentle but insistent push, you guided him lower, until he was kneeling on the floor in front of you. The sight of him like this—on his knees, looking up at you with such raw desire—made your breath hitch. He rested his hands on your thighs, waiting, watching, his lips slightly parted as if he were ready to speak but unsure of what to say.

“Do you want me?” you asked, your voice softer now but no less commanding.

“Always,” he replied without hesitation, the sincerity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

You reached for his hand, guiding it to the waistband of your trousers. “Then show me.”

His fingers worked quickly, yet carefully, undoing the button and sliding the fabric down your legs. He hesitated for a moment, his hands lingering at the edge of your underwear, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, silently asking for permission.

“Go on,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

His hands slipped beneath the fabric, and you let out a quiet sigh as his fingers brushed your skin. He took his time, easing the fabric down and letting it pool around your ankles. You stepped out of them, and he moved closer, his hands settling on your hips.

“Smother me,” he said, his voice low and breathless. “Let me make you feel good.”

The rawness in his tone sent a surge of heat through you, and you obliged, lowering yourself onto the chair and spreading your legs just enough to give him access. His hands slid along your thighs, his touch reverent yet possessive, and then his lips followed, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin.

When his mouth finally reached you, you couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped. He was slow at first, deliberate, his tongue moving in gentle strokes that built a steady rhythm. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he worked, and the sounds he made—soft, muffled groans of pleasure—only heightened your own.

“Yes,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Just like that.”

He responded with a hum of approval, the vibrations sending a jolt through you. His tongue dipped lower, exploring, teasing, and you felt your grip on his hair tighten. You rocked your hips against him, chasing the pressure, and he moaned, the sound guttural and desperate.

“You like this, don’t you?” you said, your voice unsteady but laced with authority. “You like being on your knees for me.”

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. “I love it,” he said, his voice rough. “I love making you feel this way.”

“Then don’t stop,” you commanded.

Your fingers tightened in Benedict’s hair as his tongue moved with unrelenting precision, each flick and stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His hands, strong yet trembling slightly with need, gripped your thighs to keep you steady as he worked, his desperation to please you palpable in every movement.

“Yes,” you murmured, your voice breathy and commanding. “Just like that. You’re so good for me, Benedict.”

At your praise, he groaned against you, the vibration pulling another moan from your lips. You could feel the heat rising in you, your body tightening with every expert movement of his tongue. The way he looked up at you—his pupils blown wide with desire, his cheeks flushed—only added to the fire coursing through you.

“You’re mine,” you said, your voice growing steadier as your dominance took over. “Do you understand?”

He nodded against you, his nose brushing your sensitive skin as he mumbled, “Yes. Yours. Always.”

Your hips rolled against his mouth, and his grip on your thighs tightened in response, his enthusiasm only growing. The sounds he made—half-growls, half-muffled whimpers—filled the room, mixing with your own gasps and sighs. You tugged at his hair, guiding him exactly where you wanted, and he obeyed without hesitation, his submission utterly complete.

“That’s it,” you whispered, your thighs beginning to shake as the tension inside you reached its peak. “Don’t stop, Benedict. Don’t you dare stop.”

He didn’t. If anything, he pushed harder, his tongue working you with even more fervor, his hands grounding you as your body tensed. When the climax hit, it was overwhelming, your head falling back, your lips parting as you cried out. Benedict didn’t let up, riding out every wave of your release until you were trembling beneath his touch.

Finally, you tugged at his hair gently, pulling him back. He looked up at you, his lips glistening, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The expression on his face was one of pure adoration mixed with raw hunger.

“You’re perfect,” you said, cupping his face in your hands and brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping back to yours. “Anything for you,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “Anything you want.”

You smirked, pulling him to his feet. His knees wobbled slightly, and you steadied him, your hands running up his chest.

With one hand, you reached for the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button and sliding the zipper down with practiced ease. His breath hitched as you pushed the denim down his hips, leaving him standing before you in nothing but his boxer briefs. You took a moment to admire him—the way his body seemed to tremble with anticipation, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Off,” you commanded, gesturing to the last remaining barrier between you.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red, before obeying. As the fabric fell to the floor, you stepped closer, your hands sliding over his bare skin. He shivered beneath your touch, his body responding to every little movement, every brush of your fingertips.

“You’ve been so good for me tonight,” you said, guiding him toward the table. “Now, let me reward you.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes locked on yours as you pushed him gently onto his back. His body stretched out beneath you, vulnerable yet undeniably beautiful. You climbed onto the table, straddling him, and leaned down until your lips were a breath away from his.

“Are you ready?” you asked, your voice low and teasing.

“For you?” he said, his hands sliding up your thighs. “Always.”

You lowered yourself over him, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. His hands roamed your body, reverent and desperate, fingers pressing into your skin as though grounding himself in this moment. The table creaked softly beneath you, but neither of you paid it any mind. His breath came in short gasps as you broke the kiss, moving your lips down his jawline and to the sensitive spot just below his ear.

“Benedict,” you whispered, your voice firm but dripping with affection. “Do you trust me?”

“Completely,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

“Good,” you said, sitting up slightly to remove the last of your clothing. His gaze swept over you, his lips parting as he drank in the sight of you. His fingers twitched against your thighs, and you smirked, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“Hands above your head,” you commanded softly but firmly. “I want to see how obedient you can be.”

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face—not reluctance, but anticipation—and then he complied, stretching his arms above him and gripping the edge of the table. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his vulnerability making him all the more enticing.

“You look so beautiful like this,” you said, your hands gliding down his chest, fingers grazing over his taut muscles. His breath hitched as your touch lingered on his stomach before trailing lower. “Do you have any idea how much I love seeing you give in to me?”

He swallowed hard, his voice cracking slightly as he replied, “Tell me. Show me.”

You smiled, shifting your hips until you were poised over him, your body brushing against his in the most tantalizing way. His head tipped back, a soft groan escaping his lips as you rolled your hips slowly, teasing him with just enough pressure to drive him mad but not enough to give him what he craved.

“You want more, don’t you?” you teased, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper.

“Yes,” he breathed, his hands tightening on the table. “Please, I—”

“Patience,” you interrupted, leaning down to kiss his throat, your teeth grazing his skin. “I decide when and how you get what you want.”

His entire body tensed beneath you, and you felt a surge of satisfaction at the way he responded so readily to your control. You shifted again, this time taking him fully, and the sharp intake of breath that followed was music to your ears. His hands twitched against the edge of the table, and you could see the strain in his arms as he fought to keep them in place.

“Good,” you praised, moving slowly, deliberately. “You’re doing so well for me.”

His response was a choked moan, his head falling back against the wood as his body surrendered completely. You set a steady rhythm, your movements calculated to draw out every ounce of pleasure, every sound that escaped his lips. His hips bucked slightly, a silent plea for more, but you held firm, maintaining your control.

“Tell me what you need,” you said, your tone both commanding and affectionate.

“You,” he gasped, his voice raw. “Everything. All of you. Please.”

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Then take it.”

The night unfolded in a dance of give and take, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. You pushed him to his limits, and he gave you everything, his submission a gift that left you both breathless and utterly sated by the time the evening drew to a close. As you lay tangled together afterward, the warmth of his body against yours, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that moments like this were yours to cherish.

“Still think I’m distracting?” you asked, your voice light with teasing.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Always,” he said. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on another episode of stories I'm too sleep deprived to write: Jekyll and Hyde Bridgerton boys au

Since the Bridgerton boys tend to get so bipolar around their love interest, what if it was actually a day/night curse that only true love can... blend in.

Take Anthony, Benedict and Colin, respectable gentlemen by day, rakes by night.

During daylight, Anthony is respectfully courting Edwina and trading barbs with Kate, but during any night time ball he's cornering Kate in dark libraries and whispering sensually in her ear about all the things he wants to do to her. Kate finds him distasteful at first, easily cluing in that during daylight hours, Anthony is too rational to attempt to seduce her, and running away from him during night time balls, but his changes in mood are getting out of hand, she's taken to staying at home for the past number of balls and Edwina swears that Viscount Bridgerton is beginning to scare her. The less of Kate he sees at night, the more his ungentleman side wants to have her. And Kate is running out of options to avoid him, she's falling for him and if she doesn't do something drastic she's going to end up ruined, or worse, married to the insufferable man, so in a last ditch attempt to save herself she's just announced she's going to India... Now Anthony's unrestrained side has started blending in with his good one in an attempt to stop Kate from leaving him and it's not good, not good at all

Benedict thought he was spared the most unsavory sides of the curse, some night time debauchery here and there was a small price to pay for keeping his reputation as the ton's darling. That until he met the lady in silver, and for the first time the wild side of the curse got out of control. The one that got away drove his nocturnal self mad with want. For 2 years he fought against it only for Sophie Beckett to bring it out of him more strongly than before. Sophie Beckett isn't scared of anything, she should be scared of Benedict, who gets her a job in the morning, then demands she be his mistress at night. But she's figured that even at his worst she can push him back and he won't hurt her. Sure he's determined to help her establish herself independently during daylight and demands she depend only on him during his nighttime adventures, but Sophie is strong, she's dealt with worse. At least until gentlemen daylight Benedict starts seducing her in a very rakish way. And wild untamed nighttime Benedict starts romancing her like a gentleman in love

Colin... Well Colin has always known he's cursed. He learned to work around it, keeping his darker nature under control with decadent food and debauched travels and the occasional gambling. Until Penelope Featherington asked his nighttime self for a kiss and got in the way of his neatly laid plans. Penelope is clever, too clever, his daylight self might hate her, but oh his nighttime self can't live without her and she thrives on it. Truly it irks Colin to know that she prefers him at his worst during the night and rejects his at his best during daylight. She with her lady Whistledown secrets, smiling as she indulges his every hungry whim during secret nighttime meetings and then pretends the man she's taken for lover is not Colin Bridgerton. If she didn't frustrate him so, he might think himself inlove with her. Penelope Featherington knows Colin's secret, truthfully she doesn't mind if he knows hers, as lady Whistledown its only fair that he knows she can ruin his life if he dares to ruin hers. His nighttime self is fun, savage, and completely enamored with her body, nothing like daylight Colin. Penelope adores that side of him. Part of her doesn't even want to admit they're the same person because Daylight Colin is the popular charmer of the ton who can't even look her in the eye and calls her his dear friend. But nighttime Colin is hers and he doesn't demand anything out of her as her lover, truly its the best arrangement in the world... That is until an overprotective Colin Bridgerton ravishes her in a carriage and proposes marriage in front of all her family, all in the same morning. Could it be his two personalities are blending??

And Gregory Bridgerton, he's seventeen and afraid, very afraid about when he'll reach a point where his curse will be triggered and what that will mean for his best friend Lucy Abernathy. Because Greg knows he's going to respect Lucy till the day he dies, but he also knows he can't live without her and he can almost feel the want in his bones, how little it would take for his Lucy to be his undoing and the reason he needs to lock himself up at night... It's going to happen eventually but Gregory hopes it takes longer than a few years, for Lucy's sake and for his own.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

can you suggest fics with love confessions/first kiss

Hey Nonny!

It's not much, but I do have enough fics compiled for a new Love Confessions list! Check these out, and also have a look-see at my other lists below! I just recently posted Part two of my First Kiss list, so enjoy that as well!!

As usual, suggestions are welcome, friends!

LOVE CONFESSIONS Pt. 6

Love Confessions / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. (Fluff Version)

... / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / ...

Love Confessions Pt. 3

Love Confessions Pt. 4

Love Confessions Pt. 5

Christmas-Time Love Confessions

First Kiss (Updated March 24/23)

First Kiss Pt 2

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo (E, 8,849 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Hiatus, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Dog Tags, Military, Homophobia, Gay Bashing, POV First Person Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Undercover, Haircuts, Flashbacks, Touching, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Metaphors, Introspection, Hand Jobs, On the Couch, John’s Past, Angst with Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John are still trying to adjust to Sherlock's return from his hiatus when John's friend Bill Murray brings them a case. Someone is targeting the LGBTQA+ members of Bill's unit. John and Sherlock go undercover at the unit, but when they end up having to flirt to flush out the suspect, Sherlock realizes he's in over his head.

A Comprehensive Taxonomy of Tobacco-Ash by Silvergirl (E, 11,475 w., 2 Ch. || No TRF AU || Cranky Sherlock, Alternating POV’s, Self-Esteem Issues, Jealous John, Pining John, Confessions, First Kiss, Frottage, Bed Sharing, Sensuality, Cuddling, Touching) – A handsome academic approaches Sherlock about publishing his magnum opus on tobacco-ash in a prestigious scientific journal. Sherlock is quite flattered and flustered, and John’s nose is out of joint.In this little AU there is no Fall and no Mary. Instead, there is humor and smut. Truly a disproportionate amount of smut.

Both Sides Now by Silvergirl (M, 14,724 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TEH / Reunion Fix-It, Bed Sharing, First Kiss / Time, Undercover John, Couple for a Case, Assassin Mary, Big Brother Mycroft, Norfolk Coast, Angry John, First Kiss, Worried Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Alternating POV, Infidelity, Meddling Mycroft, Emotional Love Making, Matchmaker Mycroft) – Sherlock, undercover on the Norfolk coast, texts that he needs help; John is still seething after Sherlock’s gambit in the train car, and he refuses. When Sherlock goes missing, Mycroft sends John in to pose as Sherlock’s bit on the side.

The Slow Dance and Death of a Carbon Copy by batslikepastel (T, 15,576 w., 8 Ch. || Angst with Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Mental Health Issues, Mary is Not Nice, Idiots in Love, Eventual Fluff, Developing Relationship, Alcoholism, Love Confessions, BAMF John, First Kiss) – He hasn’t talked to Sherlock outside the bedroom since that first night. Today, though, when Sherlock painstakingly makes John’s favourite breakfast- eggs Benedict- he smiles delightedly and kisses his cheek. “Thanks, Mary.” The first sign of delusion.

Swallow the Night by ArwaMachine (E, 87,873 w., 15 Ch. || TSo3/Stag Night Fix It, TAB/S4 Divergence, Toplock, Mutual Pining, PWP, Drunk / Public Sex, Anal Fingering/Sex, Alcohol-Induced Amnesia, Everyone Knows Except Them, Emotional Love Confession, Demisexual Sherlock, Internalized Homophobia [John], Parentlock with Rosie, First Kiss, Drug Relapse, Infidelity, Texting, Masturbation, Oblivious John, Emotional Love Making, Angst with Happy Ending, Dreams and Nightmares) – “Do you know how long,” John panted, his cheek scraping against the wall, looking back at Sherlock through half-closed eyes, “I’ve wanted this?” Sherlock pressed himself against John’s back, biting at John’s ear. “Not nearly as long as I have,” he whispered.

Bakers with Benefits by Raina_at (E, 88,130 w., 14 Ch. || Great British Bake Off AU || Strangers to Lovers, Switchlock, Friends with Benefits, Mentions of Alcoholism / Past Drug Use, Banter, Flirting, Fluff, Light Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Past Sherlock/Victor, Mutual Pining, POV Sherlock, Obsessive Sherlock, John’s Bum) – Sherlock Holmes has a successful YouTube baking channel, but what he really wants is his own bakery. When an old friend sends him a call for the very first Great British Bake Off, he seizes the opportunity to finally win a sponsor for his bakery. Here's the plan: Win Bake Off, get the bakery, don't fall in love with the handsome Army doctor at the neighbouring station. Easy.

Drawn to Stars by Silvergirl (E, 109,272 w., 60 Ch. || S4 Compliant to TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock’s Italian Adventure, Sherlock/OC and Johnlock, Jealous John, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, First Kiss/Time, Idiots in Love, 3 Part Story, Slow Burn, Inexperienced Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock, Introspection, Multiple Alternating First and Third Person POV, Separation and Reconciliation, Emotional Love Making, Love Confessions via Letters, Angst with Happy Ending) – After the Culverton Smith case Sherlock is clean, working, and looking for a romantic partner—since John has told him that’s what he needs. Shame John didn’t mention he was interested in that role himself, before Sherlock went off to Rome with a gorgeous Italian copper to try to fall in love and become a complete human being.  Part 1 of the Drawn to Stars series

[benedictscorner]

Benophie AU: enemies to lovers (modern times)

!!WRITTEN BY LIA!! (twitter: benedictslady)

"𝓢𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓶𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼, 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓴, 𝔀𝓱𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝔂𝓪?"

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Sophie was searching for her clothes around the room, walking around with only an oversize T-shirt covering her petite body. HIS T-shirt: she wasn't home, she wasn't where she was supposed to be at that hour and she knew that who was waiting for her would be really mad at her. And it was all his damn fault. His, the rain, his, the cold, his, the weather, did she say his???

A gasp left her lips when she heard the door of the bedroom, behind her, opened and she recognized those steps, that breath and that cologne that hit her nostrils the second he entered the room: a shiver ran on her back when he let out a chuckle and a small noise, like a shift, was heard, sign that he was leaning against the doorframe.

"And here I thought I'd be the one to leave after last night, but here you are, already gathering your belongings. Why, do I scare you that much, Beckett?"

That deep voice. That deep, dark, sensual voice that used to mess with her head since the very first day she met him. Used and still did. She tried everything, she tried to focus on her life, on herself, but he always found a way to be there and tantalize her.

Sophie inhaled a deep breath and breathed it out, before gathering all her courage and turning to face him: his dark curly long nest, his big deep blue eyes, hidden behind a pair of black glasses, his muscular and sculpted body covered by a grey, a bit ruined sweater, a pair of black pants, which were a bit dirty with dust and his feet were comfortable inside a pair of black socks. Benedict Bridgerton. Her archenemy. Her thorn on her side. She hated him with all her might, with every cell in her body...but she always ended up in his grasp, always arguing, with him always having the last word. She wanted to punch him on the face so bad, but also wanted him to grab her and kiss her as if no one was there to separate them, stop them, as if they weren't the hero's and villain's sidekicks anymore. Just them, just Sophie and Benedict. In a perfect world...but she knew that this world was far from perfect.

When her brown eyes spotted her folded clothes inside his muscular arms, she immediately, almost ran, to him and grabbed them and, before he could even speak, went to hide in the bathroom in the room, locking herself inside with a swift motion. Another chuckle of his could be heard, while his steps approached the door: she knew, she knew, that if he would ever dare to open that door...it would be the end for her. And oh, if he would dare, that's one of the reasons she hated him.

"So, Beckett...are you, perhaps, hungry? I mean, we didn't eat much last night, seeing what happened. And I must say, Beckett...you're quite the allure when you yell at me: those red cheeks of yours, how those veins on your small neck show up, how I get you all riled up. You're a sight to behold, Beck-"

"I'm going back to him. Thank you for letting me use your house as a shelter for the night."

She cut him off, she knew where he was heading and she wouldn't allow that. Never. She wanted, oh how much she wanted him to continue, to let his filthy words get to her, bringing her down to her knees in front of him, to open that damn door...but it was only her heart whispering to the brain, who locked the door and threw away the key. No, she knew better. She couldn't. She mustn't.

After taking off that oversized T-shirt that was intoxicating her with his scent, almost making her feel dizzy, she wore her cable knit beige sweater, messing up her dark brown long curls a bit before pulling them out her sweater's neck. Something surprised her: silence. It was weird, he would usually use one of his comebacks to win their conversations. But all she heard was him cleaning his troath and his back leaning against the wall next to the door, before he spoke up again and she was sure, but convinced that it was only her imagination tricking her, that she heard a slight sense of sadness in his voice. No, Sophie. It was her subconscious wanting to make fun of her. How foolish she was.

"Ah...So you're still going to crawl back to him, hm? And forgetting what he did- Oh no, wait, right, what he didn't do last night? Beckett, you'd be a damn soaked and freezing mess right now, laying down on that cold road, if it wasn't for me. And where was your High Mighty, oh so dear, hero? I know where he was, not there to save you and your damn ass-"

"Didn't I already thank you, Bridgerton? I'm his sidekick, I have to go back and I accepted the risk of that position when I accepted it, so yes, I almost-"

"Oh no, you take that 'almost' back, Beckett dear"

"-I almost died there on that cold street from hypothermia because of the damn weather, the damn air and the damn rain, and yes, I survived because of you. So thank you, Bridgerton, again, but I can handle myself and my life. These are my risks, that I take and I do not need you to teach me how to live my life-"

"BUT I CAN'T JUST STAND THERE AND WATCH HIM RUIN YOU, SOPHIE!"

She gasped as her delicate hands stopped buttoning her pair of pants that she wore while talking back to him. He yelled. She never heard him yelling, not even while fighting him. And, most important, he never used her name. Always her surname. And it felt...so forbidden, but also so damn good. She wanted him to say it again, and again, and again, oh she also wished for him to moan it, but her brain scolded her heart once again, repeating how idiotic she was being. She gulped and she heard him inahling and exhaling deeply while turning and resting his forehead on the bathroom's door, his heavy breathes filling the silence, before his voice filled it again.

"Sophie, I can't. I stood back when I saw you losing fights against the villain, since I'm his sidekick, but...it wasn't any fight of ours last night. Damn it, he sent you to fix one of his problems, clean his mess, like always! Six men against one of you. Six, Sophie! Goddamn it, you took all of on your shoulders, all of those beatings- Jesus Christ, they even had guns and fights and, as much as I admire you for fighting by yourself, I just- I couldn't-..."

She was dumbstruck. He was...worried for her? Hell, he even sounded scared. Afraid. But for her? When she heard a noise out of the door, coming from his lips, her heart stopped immediately: a sob. That was a sob...right? She didn't imagine that. She even pinched her arm, but she heard another one the second later. No, her mind wasn't tricking her this time. He was sobbing. Her archenemy was crying and she was the cause of it- well, not really her, but she was blaming herself as always.

"Sophie, I couldn't let them hurt you. Or take you away from the world, from...me. Who would beat me up if you would be gone, hm? Who would I tantalize everytime? Who would scold me for being who I am? Who would I admire for their courage whenever they take all the world on their shoulders? Who would I-"

"Benedict-"

"No, Sophie, damn it, don't interrupt me, I've kept this hidden for too long! Who would I keep falling for, if you wouldn't be here anymore?' Who would I feel butterflies for, who would I fight for? You don't know, do you? The things you do to me- God, those things. Oh, how I tried to push them aside, in the back corner of my mind, away, only to protect you. I am not...a good person, I never was, but with you, Sophie, you make me feel like I can redeem myself. You make me feel alive, like if I'm learning to love all once again. You...You make me feel human while the whole world yells me that I am a beast. We are both tainted, we are both taking our bosses mistakes and problems on our backs, we are slowly destroying ourselves piece by piece. But I'm tired of doing it alone and I'm sure you are too. We are too young for this cruel world, Sophie Beckett, and I know that I'm a hotheaded, heartless, dumb, foolish, thickheaded bastard, but Good Heavens, I want to be a hotheaded, dumb, foolish, thickheaded bastard with you- And the only reason I'd be heartless while being next to you, it'd be literally, because I'd grab the first weapon I'd find and tear my chest open until I bleed, only to let you in and let your small delicate hand grab my heart. It's already yours, you may just take it, Sophie. It has been yours since the start"

She was the one sobbing right now. Her whole world crumbled down and she made a choice, the one that was screaming from the back of her head, inside that basement hidden from her brain, but now? Now she was letting her heart speak and she was sending her brain to Hell. She didn't want to listen to it anymore. She wanted her heart. She wanted him. She wanted Benedict Bridgerton. No. She loved Benedict Bridgerton.

After finally buttoning those damn jeans of hers, she started to try and open the bathroom's door, failing because of her head reeling, her tears streaming down her cheeks and her heart racing. A gasp left her lips when Benedict broke down the door and she saw his panting, tall figure, his big deep blue eyes red and puffy from crying but also filled with a desire. Desire to hold her. Have her. Love her.

The moment he grabbed her face with his big warm hands and their lips met, everything disappeared and they were alone. They weren't archenemies anymore. They weren't sidekicks. They were themselves. They were Sophie and Benedict. Benedict and Sophie. They were finally free. They were humans. And all they wanted was a life with eachother and to forget about their problems, healing and helping one another.

A gasp, which transformed into a giggle a second later, left Sophie's lips when she felt Benedict's strong arms lifting her up and making her sit on the sink, still during their kiss, while her small hands found their way on his dark curly long nest, grabbing onto it and messing it up, as if it wasn't messy already, and she was sure to feel him smiling in the kiss and heard him chuckling, before he backed off to meet her brown eyes with his big deep blue ones, both of them panting and holding onto eachother, like if they would disappear in a snap. They both started to laugh, a laugh filled with happiness, freedom, love, joy, contentment and relief. She blushed when he sighed as he nuzzled his head against the crook of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses from there to her ear, slowly and enjoying the way she would squirm under him and her soft moans, before leaving a last, long, loving kiss on her ear, exhaling there like if he had just been released by a big chain and a big ball holding him away from her. He smiled and rested his chin on her shoulder, whispering those words who caused her to feel butterflies- no, a whole zoo inside of her stomach, while her cheeks turned redder than a strawberry.

"You're my favourite sin, Beckett"

!! WRITTEN BY LIA !! (twitter: benedictslady)

[thebabblingbrookenook]

Again

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Summary: Modern AU - Reader has a sleepy, sensual night with Benedict. 

Warnings: 18+ Smut , Explicit Language, Graphic Sexual Depictions

Word Count: 2.1K

Author’s Note: This little fic was heavily inspired by a song that has refused to leave my head for months. It’s called We’ve Been Loving In Silence by MARO . I highly suggest you check it out before reading. It sets the mood for sure. A big thank you to @colettebronte for the beta read. You are a lifesaver, my friend. I hope you all enjoy. Please feel free to leave a comment or reblog telling me what you thought. I love hearing from you all! Artwork was painted by Sergey Galanter, and made into an edit by a friend of mine.

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Eyes fluttering open, the stillness of the night settled in around you. A light breeze whispered over your face from the cracked window across the room. The air held the beginnings of Autumn, inviting goosebumps to meet its caress on the surface of your skin. On another sleepless evening, it might have been enough to coax you from the bed, rising to close the access to the outside world. But tonight, the comforting warmth of a broad, strong body draped itself over you, seeping into the bare skin of your back, lulling you home to join it in slumber.

Your sated muscles sank deeper into the mattress, heavy from blissful exertion, unwilling to drag you away from the firm arms that held you, enveloping you completely in the safety of their vast reach. The entwined limbs of your lower-bodies clung to each other beneath the soft cotton sheets that smelled faintly of lavender and… him. It was a scent so intoxicating that you were lost to it every time it invaded your senses. Your body, wide awake with the knowledge of his proximity, nestled deeper into him, chasing the memories that now flooded your mind. Your chest drew in a greedy inhale, pulling his essence into your lungs. The echo of his hands on your body from just hours before started to quicken your heart, sending a low, simmering burn pulsing through your veins.

Being with him was something you would never tire of. Exploring each other’s bodies, a limitless adventure, always resulting in self-discovery. It was like running. Not the harsh pounding of feet on pavement, but the effortless strides of freedom found in childhood as you dashed across an open field. The endless energy of youth that propelled you forward, no exhaustion in sight. The high that tingled down your spine as your lungs expanded to capacity, filling every cell in your body with its drug of choice - oxygen. He was your drug of choice, and you felt like running again.

Looking to the bedside table, you squinted, trying to read the numbers on the face of the clock, made hazy by the dimly lit room. Ten past three… It would be hours yet until the sun reappeared. The demands of the day to come were begging you to find sleep again, but they were immediately silenced by the press of his soft lips against the tender spot just below your ear. He had joined you in barely lucid consciousness. 

In that moment, you were skin to skin. And nothing else mattered…

There were no words, they weren’t needed. You were loving in silence, talking with your bodies. He was fluent in the way you moved, in the ways you needed to be touched. From his breathing alone, you knew a yearning was building inside him. The dampened heat from his heavy exhales spread along your neck, over your collarbones, settling on the tops of your waiting breasts, saturating you in his desire.

 His grip around you tightened, pulling you in and tucking you perfectly into the crook of his body. The length of him, from chest to ankles, pressed flush against your backside, sent shivers of anticipation rippling through you with need. Your foot stroked delicately along the lean muscle of his calf, pleading with him to continue finding his pleasure. In the search for his own, he would expertly deliver yours on a silver platter. 

Mercifully, he answered your body’s unspoken request, pressing his lips into the top of your shoulder. Your hair was gently pulled away from your neck so that his path could be explored with more fervor. His tongue reached out, brushing against salty flesh, pulling you deeper into his mouth for a better taste. When his teeth nipped your ear, his panted breaths all you could hear, your hand clamped down on the arm he used to pin you to him.

A release of warm, slick desire made its way from deep inside you, dripping out in search of him. Your hips began to rock in blind desperation, pushing back to meet his rigid arousal. His hands were there to guide you within seconds. Those long, elegant fingers squeezed at the supple flesh on your side, branding your skin with his favorite shade of red. The guttural sound that rumbled in his chest when he felt your wetness coating his lap - it was enough to make you clench with need. You could rub against him like this for the rest of time and it would still never be enough. 

The collection of whimpers and whines that he plied from you echoed around the dark room. Your body was greedy for him. The growing need was almost painful as his skillful touch teased and tortured you to within an inch of sanity. He savored the feel of you beneath his palms, taking his time to glide over your curves. When his hand came to knead your breast, you arched toward his hold, a silent offering for him to take as he pleased. Your nipples stood alert as he pinched and pulled, capturing them between his thumb and forefinger. You could feel his own pebbled at your back and your mouth watered at the thought of twirling your tongue around them. The action always drove him senseless, working him into a frenzy of lust that usually ended in a screaming release for both of you. 

Reaching between you, your hand closed around the expanse of his smooth, steely cock. So warm and ready. His skin was slicked from your wetness, and your fingers easily glided up and down the length of him. You would have given almost anything to take him in your mouth at that moment. To hear the sweet gasps that left his lips when you hummed around him. 

He stilled your movement, replacing your hand with his own, rubbing himself back and forth through the folds of your weeping pussy. His tip was so tantalizingly close to where you wanted him to be buried, but before he would cross that threshold he wanted to see your eyes. Using the hand that wasn’t already clutching at your waist, he gripped your neck, tilting your face back so that he could capture your lips with his.

Even with only the faint light trickling in through the still open window, his stormy eyes were vibrant as they peered into yours. Sometimes if you weren’t careful, you could feel yourself devling so deep into those circles of hazy blue that it felt like you might slip through a portal to another world. A world that no doubt was ruled by magic and creation.

You opened your mouth wider for him, inviting his tongue to invade you. The taste of him blinded you for a moment while you shared the same air. When you finally felt him push inside your body, you moaned into his mouth, shuttering slightly in his arms. Slowly, he inched deeper and deeper. In and out. Push and pull. Your bodies swayed in unison. He was wrapped around you so tight, so secure. You were pinned helplessly against his torso, completely at the mercy of the steady rocking of his hips as they jutted into the globe of your backside.

The walls of your channel squeezed in protest every time you felt him leaving your body. You knew he would come right back, but even that split second of emptiness was too much to bear. 

Sliding his hand down your tummy, he plunged his agile fingers between your legs, finding your swollen, pulsing clit with ease. He rubbed, circling you with the perfect pressure - the perfect speed. His teeth nipped at the place where your shoulder met your neck, his other hand rolling your nipple in time with the movement of his hips. So much was happening, you couldn’t pick a favorite. That is, until his large hand splayed out over the skin of your inner thigh and pulled your leg open, draping it behind you over his hip. 

Suddenly, he was deeper. Reaching new places. Hitting a spot inside of you that made you stop breathing. The hand that moved between your legs picked up speed, rubbing you into oblivion. A shiver, that had nothing to do with the cold breeze kissing your skin, nearly sent you into convulsions. You were about to detonate around him, incinerating the bed beneath you. The unexpected smack, and harsh grip of your ass were what sealed your fate. The adrenaline that coursed through you dissolved any remaining restraint you possessed, thrusting you so high that you momentarily developed a fear of heights. 

A twitching sensation from inside your already pulsing walls dragged you reluctantly back to consciousness. He was still nested deep within you, waiting patiently for you to come back to him. The need to kiss him again was so strong that you didn’t know if you were even the one controlling your own body as you turned to claim his lips. You wanted to be facing him, your chests pressed together, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders.

As if he had read your thoughts, he withdrew himself from you, scooping you up and turning you to face him. He hitched your leg over his waist, immediately poised to slide right back where he belonged - home. 

You had so much more access to him this way. Your hands effortlessly found their way into his messy brown hair, pulling his face down so that your lips could dance again. His lids clenched shut as you sunk yourself back around his throbbing cock. The lines that crinkled on the outer edges of his eyes were your favorite things in the world. They were evidence of his easy smiles, like the secret one he was currently pressing into the crook of your neck. They reminded you of the moments of joy that you had already experienced together, and all the moments still yet to come. The life that you’d have together, shaped by love, trust, and respect. As your hair turned grey, and your hearing faded, you prayed that those lines that framed his soulful eyes continued to deepen.

His arms hugged around your torso again, giving him enough purchase to thrust into you with a little more force. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, you could count the beats through his skin. 

Your hands began to seduce every part of him they could reach. Every curve, every contour, every crooked line of his body felt like a part of you. Every freckle and scar were permanently embedded into your heart. His story soaked into your soul, like ink absorbing through your fingerprints, impossible to be ever washed away. 

Both of your breaths were coming short and heavy, panting into each other’s mouths between crushing kisses. The sounds he made became your new religion as he continued to worship you with every unyielding thrust.

He pushed your entwined hands down to where your bodies connected and released your fingers, guiding them, encouraging you to massage yourself. Both of his hands were now free to roam. His massive palm cupped the cheek of the leg that was thrown over his hip, pushing you closer together, helping you grind against him and the movements of your own hand nestled between you.

His other hand wound into your hair, yanking your head back and exposing your neck to his assault. His mouth devoured your flesh, licking and biting, sucking you into his mouth, no doubt marking you as his. When his head dipped to take your nipple between his teeth, you came undone again. Your cunt locked around him like a venus fly trap, swallowing him whole. Your muscles fluttered and coaxed him into release, reveling in the feel of his warmth that coated your womb.

Removing your fingers that were still wedged between you, he brought them to his lips and sucked them into his mouth. He shivered when he tasted your combined arousal, lapping up the excess like it was a rare delicacy. You watched him in awe with pupils the size of saucers. Everything he did, everything he was, made you ache with longing for him. 

To your dismay, he pulled free from your body. Wrapping you in his embrace, he shifted to lay on his back, and settled you flat atop him. Your cheek rested on his smooth chest, still panting from the exertion of your love making. His fingers brushed lazily through your hair, down your spine, and found their home at the small of your back. 

The sound of his heartbeat and his steady breathing were your own personal lullaby. He fell asleep after placing one last kiss on the top of your head. You were following close behind. 

You were almost completely under when another cool gust of air made its way through the window. Your lashes fluttered open, but when you felt the heat from Benedict’s chest seeping into your skin, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You were in his arms. Skin on skin. Nothing else mattered.

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@faye-tale @eleanor-bradstreet @musicismyoxygen84 @heeyyyou @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @queenofmean14 @bridgertontess​

[burnthoneydrops]

What Time Has Done (Part XII) Benedict Bridgerton x Original Character Series

Synopsis: The Castillons chose a drama filled night to return to society, part of which was out of their control

Requested: No

Word Count: 2283

Warnings: None, but lmk if i missed any :))

A/N: Ahh! I'm sorry the wait was so long! This semester really kicked my ass! But I'm done in a week and a half so here's to hoping I get more writing time over the summer!!

As we all know, there is nothing this author loves more than a scandal. Tonight’s soiree is sure to have more than its fair share, thanks to the recently widowed Lady Trowbridge. Some may call her celebrations too provocative, and I would caution any young lady from getting too caught up in the sensual nature of her fetes. For one scandalous move between an unwed couple, a wayward touch, or heaven forbid, a kiss, would banish any young lady from society in a trail of ruin. 

Lady Whistledown 

Benedict 

“Mr. Bridgerton,” Mr. Granville opens the front door, a full glass in hand, “come in, come in”. 

“I do not know what I was expecting, but it surely was not this,” Benedict comments as he is led to a room full of models and artists, the light warm and the energy much calmer than most high society gatherings. 

“Simply a gathering of like-minded souls. Here, let me show you what I’ve been working on”. 

“They speak of war abroad as if it will distract from inequities at home,” a man comments from his position behind a canvas. 

“They do not need war to be distracted. Why, this Whistledown’s enough to turn their eyes from the needs of ordinary people,” the woman next to him replies. 

“What do you think?” Mr. Granville questions, grabbing Benedict’s attention away from the pair’s intellectual conversation. 

“It is a far shout from Somerset House, I must say,” Benedict smiles at the work in front of him. 

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Granville replies, laughing. 

“And I must say, I’m truly jealous,” Benedict continues, catching Granville’s eye, “Is this your life?”

“There are advantages to being the second-born. Heirs have the responsibility. Second sons have the fun. So, why not have some fun?” Granville gestures Benedict away. 

Emmeline

My mind feels even foggier than it has the past couple of days, much to my dismay, as I had thought that getting back out into the world might open my mind once again past the suffocating walls of our house. Unfortunately, it appears as if I was mistaken. Mama insisted that we are not to waste any more of the season and are therefore to start attending events again. It was just our luck that one of our maids had found the invitation to tonight’s event under our evergrowing mail stack, or we might not have made it at all. Though the crowd feels cramped in the main room for the evening, I cannot help spotting a yellow dress on a girl of similar redheaded nature and I make a beeline for her, leaving Josephine at the entrance. I mutter a quick apology to her before turning my head back to my original target and whisper a quiet thank you to my lucky stars that she is standing alone. 

“Quite the evening, is it not?” I start, tapping her elbow with my gloved hand. Once she realises it is me, she opens the space between her side and her arm, allowing me to link my arm through hers. 

“Emmeline! Goodness, where have you been?” She exclaims a little too loudly for my liking, so I take the opportunity to poke her in the ribs before I continue. 

“Not so loud, will you? I have only just entered, I do not need my presence announced to the entire ton at once,” I sigh, looking around to see if we had captured anyone’s attention. Thankfully, the band is midsong, so no one is any the wiser. 

“Well pardon me if one of my closest friends has just appeared out of nowhere after an extended leave of absence,” Penelope counters. 

“Yes, you must forgive me for that”. 

“Forgiveness might come much easier if I am aware of the reason behind it?” She tries. 

“I am afraid I cannot divulge that information at this moment,” I frown, knowing it wasn’t the answer she was looking for. I want to tell her all my darkest secrets right then and there, as she seems to have a way of making one open up about all their repressed traumas, but I fear hers’ might not be the only open ears and the last thing I need is Lady Whistledown hovering over my family again. 

“Our host looks a bit fussy,” A voice comments from behind the both of us. I turn the both of us to look behind us and cringe at who it happens to be. “Do you think if he goes to bed we all have to leave?” Colin continues. 

“It was lucky the lady produced an heir before the old earl croaked, no?” I respond, having heard whispers around the room of the hostesses’ unfortunate late husband. 

“Miss Castillon,” Colin remarks, as if just having noticed my presence. “How remarkable to see you out and about. By the time that has passed since our last encounter, I thought you had caught some debilitating illness that should cause you to never see the light of day again”. 

“Colin!” Penelope exclaims. 

“No need for dramatics Pen, it’s all right. Wonderful as always to see you Mr. Bridgerton,” I say, half suppressing a smile. 

“Is your father among the company tonight, Miss Castillon?” Colin asks. 

“He is not. He is still recovering so Mama thought it best to leave him be at home,” I reply, hoping the illness is a good enough cover up for the time being. 

“Ah, I see. Is there to be a grand welcoming back for you, or are you to remain here all evening?” Colin questions. 

“I am quite content here in Miss Featherington’s company, thank you very much,” I smile at Pen. 

“Very well, I look forward to possibly hearing about what has kept you so isolated as of late. I have been trying to get in front of Miss Thompson all evening. Surely she is not that interested in Lord Rutledge, can she?” 

“I think what Miss Thompson is interested in is a swift rescue indeed,” Penelope replies, glancing at her cousin across the dance floor. 

“Indeed,” Colin begins the walk over. 

“Oh! Colin, I did not mean-” but it is too late, he is already making his way over to Miss Thompson, leaving Penelope and I to our reserved conversation once again. I catch the disappointed look in her eye and wonder how many times I have been seen making that same face. Though it has come to my attention that the Bridgerton pack seems to be down one usual member. 

“Looking for someone?” Penelope breaks me out of my search, my eyes ceasing to gaze across the dance floor. 

“No! No in particular, just seeing if there is any news I can gather visually while I am here,” I lie, though not very well apparently, as Penelope gives me a raised eyebrow and a coughed out laugh. 

“You are not the greatest liar Miss Castillon,” she replies. I cringe, knowing she is right, but wondering how obvious I came across in my encounter in the street with Benedict. Or my conversation with Colin just mere moments ago. What a horrible friend I am, here with one of my closest friends since my return and all I can think about is myself. I hardly think I have asked her a question since I’ve arrived. 

“Any news that I should be informed of in my absence, Pen?” I ask. 

“Daphne appears to be caught in a love triangle of sorts,” she replies and I gasp lightly. 

“Was she not smitten with the duke mere days ago?” 

“She was, and then Prince Fredrich got in the way”. 

I was sure that despite the Prince, Daphne and Simon were fated to be together, but it seems like my judgement was misplaced. I raise an eyebrow at Pen and she raises hers back, a small, knowing smile spreading its edges across her face. A laugh escapes the both of us and some of the gentlemen are staring at us now, but I cannot be stopped, for it was not like any of them were going to request a dance with me anyway. While a mysterious woman may be of intrigue to them, as far as they are aware, my mysterious disappearance was due to an illness of sorts. That is something no one wishes to touch. 

The couples glide their way across the dance floor, a few sharing heart-filled smiles and glances, and I am reminded of one of the main reasons I love watching society. Love can be a beautiful thing, when it is allowed, and there are many opportunities for it to be made here. The suffocating presence of societal standards may stunt it at times, but when it is truly allowed to grow, it is beautiful. 

“Does Daphne look unwell to you?” Penelope asks as something has caught her attention across the way. Anthony is guiding Daphne toward their family, him grabbing her arm while she looks lost in thought. 

“Worried about something, no doubt. She was only gone for a short while, I cannot imagine what happened to cause such upset”. 

Benedict

Benedict sits behind the same canvas before, and whereas most of the guests have departed, he stays, sketching the same two women. He stares intently at the charcoal in hand, trying to manoeuvre it in just a way to accomplish what he wants, but he never seems to be fully satisfied. He takes the drink from his side table and sips it quickly before putting it back down to refocus himself. The art is not going to draw itself. 

“You have great potential-” Granville starts. 

“It is nothing!” Benedict stops him abruptly, running his hands down his face. 

“For such a staunch critic of others, you certainly lack a clear eye for your own work,” Granville continues, looking down at the frustrated gentleman next to him. 

“It’s the lines,” Benedict jabs the canvas with the charcoal, “they’re not what they are supposed to be”. 

“Oh, take the compliment, Bridgerton. There’s no expectation or judgement here. You are free to be yourself here, if that is what you should like. That’s what works for me at least. And I haven’t been dissatisfied with my lines in…quite some time,” the two share a laugh. 

“Well, I’ve done worse I suppose, really,” he looks around the room, then, having noticed 

the lack of other participants, “I seem to have enjoyed myself a bit too much this evening. I should be on my way”. 

“If you wish,” Granville tilts his head, taking a drag from his cigar. “But you are welcome back anytime, for practice or for conversation. Should you find the need to talk about anything else that may be disrupting your lines”. Granville looks to the young gentleman as he grabs his coat. Benedict sighs, shaking his head. The conversation would drag on for too long if he were to truly divulge everything going on in his mind; at least he thinks it would. “You are allowed to follow your inspiration, Benedict. I’ll see you out”. 

Penelope and Eloise

A tap on Penelope’s window alerts her to the presence of someone down on the street below, and with a glance downward she is greeted by Eloise, waving frantically for her to join her on the cobblestone. Penelope holds the front door closed behind her, looking worriedly at Eloise who holds a notebook and an excited smile. 

“I have a theory,” Eloise states, opening the notebook. 

“Eloise it is quite late-”

“A good theory! About Lady Whistledown. I thought she had to be a servant, but I was wrong, quite wrong. Because who truly has the time and means to be that remarkable? Who would actually be invited to all the parties, able to hear things unnoticed by others?” “Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow,” Penelope tries again but is ignored. 

“Lady Whistledown is someone free and unencumbered by society. She is a single woman of means, better yet, she might be a widow. I was thinking, what if it were Miss Castillon. Think about it! She disappears for three years, to study literature no less, and upon her resurgence into society, Lady Whistledown emerges- ”

“Eloise, I do not care! People have real, mature problems that have nothing to do with the identity of some silly writer.”

“And you are so mature now?” 

“I am of age. I am out in society, which means that yes, I do have mature problems to worry about, such as marriage”. 

“You should not care about marriage-”

“And what if I do!” Penelope cuts Eloise short. “I cannot expect you to understand, not 

everyone can be a pretty Bridgerton!” Eloise, with tears welling in her eyes, backs away to the front gate. “Eloise, wait! I did not mean-” but she is gone. 

Dearest Reader, 

It seems as if my identity is being called into question once again. How I am amused by the theories of possibility that float about the ton, but I assure you, there have been no correct guesses to date. A rather interesting one is that I may in fact be Miss Emmeline Castillon. A three year departure may have done many things for her, but grant her this power of quill and paper it has not. While it may appear as though her recent exit from society may have been due to a familial illness, it has come to this author’s attention that there might be more shame involved than a potential illness would supply. The Castillon family has found themselves in a great deal of debt, which has forced them into the shadows. How ever will they recover? This author is dying to know. 

-Lady Whistledown

[sensual-benedict-whispers]

Posting Guidelines

When sending in submissions, please include which Benedict Cumberbatch character you want along with what you want them to say.

Please do your best to use good grammar! It’s okay if you have some mistakes, I can (and will) fix any grammar issues when making the post with your submission!

I’m iffy about doing sensual posts for the real people Benedict Cumberbatch has played (Alan Turing from The Imitation Game, Bill Bulger from Black Mass, Stephen Hawking from Hawking, and Louis Wann from The Electrical Life of Louis Wann) so I may not allow submissions for those characters. I will not allow submissions for Paul Marshall (Benedict’s rapist character in Atonement). Benedict’s other characters (yes, even the animal/creature characters) are fair game though!

Despite the blog’s name and description of being sensual, I do accept SFW submissions as well as NSFW submissions!

[silverhallow]

Art of Misunderstanding

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett

summary: Sophie agrees to help Benedict out with his final photography piece but after seeing an ex girlfriend appear, her jealously takes over.

warnings: Jealously, misunderstanding, pining, not actually unrequited love.

word count: 1496 words

author's note: written for Anon for Ash's Drabbles, prompt 20, "we had a contract"

Sophie knew it was a bad idea to agree to it, to agree to be his model for his project when she felt the way she did about him. She had hoped that it would be the opportunity she needed to get him to see her as more than just a friend. 

They’d been next door neighbours for years, their father’s had known one another when they were children and Sophie’s father had helped Violet with the kids when Edmund had died.

Despite the years age gap between Sophie and Benedict they’d always been close, but from the age of about 16 Sophie had developed a crush on Benedict but by the time she was 20, she was head over heels in love with him but was too afraid to say anything to him.

She didn’t want to lose their friendship but it was getting harder now, she’d seen the girls he’d been with previously and always felt inferior to them. They’d been tall, leggy brunettes, elegant and sophisticated and well she… was petite, top heavy and whilst she was pretty she didn’t feel like she was anything special to look at.

It was why she’d agreed to this, why she agreed to be Benedict’s model for his final year project, why she’d signed the contract agreeing to it, to being paid for her time.

She’d hoped it was a chance for Benedict to see her as more than a friend, as a woman, as a woman he wanted to be with.

The photography had been going well, or so Sophie thought, they were flirting more, he’d been a bit more hands on in the last session, moving her into the positions he wanted to photograph rather than asking her to move.

It had given her hope like she’d not felt before, she’d hoped that it meant that perhaps he’d started to see her in a different light but when she’d gotten there later on the next day, every piece of hope she’d felt left her body and her heart leaving her feel worse than she’d ever felt before.

She’d gotten there a little early hoping to talk to Benedict, there was an art exhibition opening and she’d been invited and gotten two tickets and was hoping to invite him as a date but she saw Tessa, who she thought was his ex-girlfriend leaving, giving him a light peck on the lips and thanking him for whatever it was and promising to make it up to him next time and Sophie wanted to run away.

She’d thought Benedict and Tessa broke up because she cheated on him, so what on earth was he doing back with her.

It was all she could think about through the session, she was distracted and Benedict could tell, her face wasn’t the same, she didn’t have the same smile, her eyes were glazed over and her body was taut and full of tension.

“Soph, you need to relax, these are supposed to be sensual not… tension filled” he said walking over to her as she lay on the chaise in the silk dress.

Sophie had barely heard him, her mind was whirring too busy wondering what on earth she was doing there, why she was putting herself through this and if she should just move on and give up. 

She didn’t even realise that Benedict had made his way over to her, he wanted to try and remove the tension from her shoulders, from her entire body if he could have his way.

“Earth to Sophie…” he said as he got closer to her and let his hands trail up her arms, towards her shoulders and rested them there, touching her bare skin.

Sophie jumped as she felt his touch and the way he’d leaned in, his breath on her neck as he whispered her name and Sophie couldn’t help but think that he’d been here with Tessa, that he was back with Tessa and now he was flirting with her, touching her.

“No…” She said as she jumped back to her senses, she couldn’t, “I can’t…” she said jumping to her feet and grabbing the dressing gown that she’d worn out of the changing rooms to give her some cover.

“Can’t what?” Benedict said confused

“Do this, I can’t do this anymore! I’m sorry Ben but I can’t do this anymore, you… you’ll have to find someone else” Sophie said starting to move out of the way.

“But… but…. but…We have a contract!” Benedict stammered, the last part of the sentence came out very weakly. 

“If that’s all you care about then i’ll pay you back!” Sophie snapped 

“That… that’s not what I meant…” Benedict said “I don’t get what the problem is, everything was fine yesterday! I thought… i thought things were getting better, we were getting…” he moved a step closer to her, trying to each out for her again, to touch her once more “you know… closer…” 

“Ben… no just…” Sophie said jumping backwards “no just ask Tessa, I’m sure she won’t mind doing this for you, this entire project… why even ask me to do this when you’ve got women like Tessa coming over, this is more their forte than your friend” she nearly sneered, the last word coming out somewhere between a choked sob and hiss.

“Tessa? What the fuck would I want her for?”

“The same thing you got last night” Sophie snapped “she cheats on you and you let her back into your bed…” she said shaking her head and walking away from him

“What… is that… is that what you think?” he said shocked

“Why else would she be here this early, kissing you on the lips and promising to make it worth your while… next time”

“She came asking for help restoring her camera roll, she’d had problems with her camera and she stupidly opened the disposable roll and I was able to rescue it for her meaning she didn’t have to start her entire project again or fail her course. It’s the second time she’s done something like that…” Benedict explained “she dropped it off last night and called in this morning to pick it up, she didn’t stop the night, she wanted to but i refused to let her”

Sophie scoffed “whatever, it doesn’t matter Ben. I can’t do this anymore, it’s… it’s too much just get someone else to do the last part. It’s not like you’re taking photos of my face anyway”

“Sophie don’t… please… I don’t understand… things were good… what… what happened? Are you jealous of Tessa? Things were fine until you saw her leaving and kissing me today” he asked

“N…no…” she stammered her face away from him.

“Sophie…” Benedict said moving closer to her again “do you know why I asked you to do this… this is not exactly a project that you ask your best friend to do… sensual and sexy photos of a female form… getting progressively more seductive as time goes on? The course has models that it usually pays for to do this… models they usually use and I came to ask you…” 

“Why?” Sophie asked, stopping, completely shocked.

“Because I want you! Because i’ve been in love with you since I was 17 years old! But you’ve never looked at me like that, I just wanted a few memories, moments of thinking you wanted me in the same way! It was more than I could ever hope to experience in real life so if it was just for a few hours over the space of a few weeks I wanted to pretend that you wanted me too!” 

“But Gen… Tessa… Lucy?”

“All broke up with me or cheated on me because they knew they’d never compete with you! I went for girls who were so decidedly not you in hope that i’d be able to move on… but Soph… I don’t want to lose you as a friend, you’re the best thing in my life, if this… if this is all too much… then… it…”

Benedict didn’t get anything else out before Sophie had decided to throw caution to the wind and threw herself at him kissing him.

He was shocked but responded enthusiastically, his arms wrapped around her waist before eventually coming to his sense and putting her down “does this… does this mean what I think it means?”

“Oh god yes, I’ve loved you since I was 16, I agreed to this because I thought maybe you’d finally see me as a woman, as someone more than just your childhood friend, the girl next door… as a woman you wanted…” Sophie said.

“Oh Soph…” he said tugging at the dressing gown “if you knew what i’ve seen you as, what i’ve dreamt you as… how you’ve starred in my fantasies and my dreams” 

“Oh really… care to share?” she purred

Benedict smirked capturing her lips once more with a searing kiss “oh most fucking definitely…”

[moremysteriesthantragedies]

Unmarked Grave

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Trigger Warnings for unreality/dream logic, sensuality, feelings of being trapped, symbolism connected to internalized homophobia and abuse, themes of death and being buried, blood, draining, and religious (Catholic) elements.

There was the sound of crunching beneath two pairs of feet before Max could finally see again. 

Max found himself standing within that yard, the dead sycamore tree's branches swaying above his head. He wore his black boots, firmly buried within the slick leaves and crunching the grass beneath. Though he was certain the leaves had come from the tree before him, the tree itself looked as if it’d been dead for years. 

The house looked decrepit from there, with a couple of white shingles missing and several stains on its surface. Still, regardless of these inflictions, it shone brightly in the setting sun, which cast a long light onto Max’s back and illuminated the objects sitting by the tree.

Headstones for pets and smaller pebbles for toys with crudely carved names in their surfaces were scattered underneath the tree. Several branches had fallen there as well, the pointed and discarded things grasping for the graves with slender fingers from beneath the leaves. The stones were all various shades and sizes, with their only similarity being their gray coloring. Yet, Max couldn't help but notice that one of them stood out more than the rest, pushed to the back and remaining completely unmarked. 

"You've lost a lot over the years, haven't you?" Sam's voice asked, causing Max to turn to the figure beside him. 

A white man with red cheeks and a Rudolph like nose stood there, eyes creasing with smile lines. His outfit was red to match, with a beanie on his head and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck for warmth. The rest of him was as pale as snow, his lips chapped and his mouth trembling with cold. 

"Hello again. It's so nice to see you after all this time," he said, wavy and strawberry bangs bobbing as he spoke. 

“You as well.”

Max's heart began to beat slowly, turning back to the unmarked grave. It was mostly buried beneath the leaves, leading him to believe his original assumption may have been made too hastily. But, it was impossible to tell from where he stood. The only distinct feature the gravestone had was the large and partial crack at its top, looking like a log just waiting to be split in half.  

Max’s feet and hands remained firmly in place, even as the wind attempted to clear the leaves without success. They were beginning to pile onto Max’s feet as he just stared. The two stood there slanted, the tree in the middle of that steep hill. 

"Like I said, you've lost a lot. But do you even know what you've lost?" Sam asked, lips pulled into a smile. 

The action only made them crack more, bleeding out onto the fuzz beneath his bottom lip. Though Sam didn’t seem to notice, keeping his expression as friendly as always, no matter the circumstance. 

With raised brows and some reluctance, Max looked closer at the names on the graves. They weren’t recognizable as the name of pets long since forgotten, but, instead, of people. He spotted Sam’s name there, along with several others. Some were full names, others simply first names or nicknames. 

Although, another grave besides the unmarked grave stood there as an outlier. It was placed front and center and was the tallest grave of them all, the cross on its top aiding in that height. It read in a far more professional inscription "Magdalene Benedict". 

"Mother," Max whispered, the wind picking up again. 

It brushed through both their hair and threatened to bury the other graves as it managed to take several leaves with it. 

"Jude-"

"Stop calling me that," Max said, head snapping to him. 

The wind had gone silent, and Sam’s eyes wide as he stared directly at Max. 

"Look."

Sam pointed to the covered grave without so much as glancing at it himself. A few leaves had been carried off it, revealing the first letter of the name engraved at its front. There was a cross on its top as well, though it had become a victim to the crack and most of it had crumbled off. 

Max burst forward, attempting to uncover it to read the full name. He could feel a pricking on his shoulders as he did so, soon accompanied by a full on downpour. The leaves melded together with the liquid now soaking through them, and only the ones beneath Max’s bent form remained dry. 

He clawed and clawed at the leaves without so much as making a dent in the pile. The only thing that ever revealed itself was that J and, later, that U. Thunder and lightning crackled in the distance, the boom reverberating in Max’s ears. 

Max flinched back, rushing to Sam and holding onto him for dear life. Though Max didn’t remember Sam having one on his person, Sam was now holding a black umbrella to match his blackened clothes. 

“Sam, please, please make it stop,” Max said, tears falling down his face and fingers digging into the fabric of Sam’s coat, “Have I not repented so many times to you? How many years must this torment me until it stops? She’s dead, shouldn’t that be enough?”

Sam’s hand came up, stroking Max’s now drenched head slowly. Looking up at him, Sam’s features had become sharp, and most of his upper face was hidden beneath the dark gloom of his umbrella. 

“This isn’t about repentance, Max. I think we both know what this is about,” he said and Max pulled himself up from his almost kneeling position. 

The two made eye contact, and it was as if Max could see a whole other world within Sam’s eyes. The reflection of the barren yard there had become a sunny and verdant springtime scene, with beautiful flowers growing alongside an Albany white fence. The tree had been reborn as well, lush leaves swaying in the wind. Max could hear it so clearly, along with the chirping of birds and the sound of faint laughter that rang through the yard like bells. 

Max hadn’t realized how close he had come to Sam as he viewed the scene, and, before he knew it, their lips were locking together. The kiss was passionate, as if Max were trying to suck the scene out of Sam’s eyes, or otherwise meld into it somehow. Sam kissed him in turn, arms wrapping around Max’s middle with a tight squeeze.

Their eyes remained open, giving Max a perfect view of the shifting scene. He saw visions of himself and Sam sitting at that garden, of them relaxing on that porch as the seasons passed before they became as old and as withered as the tree in front of them. 

As the kiss went on, Max pressed deeper and deeper into Sam’s lips. The visions had stopped but he wanted more. What would the future have looked like if Sam had stayed in his life? Would they be dating now, married, did they even truly love each other in the first place? The taste and the smell of iron filled Max’s senses, and he only understood why when there was a sudden wetness present on his mouth.

Max pulled away, gasping for air as he found his mouth dripping with ichor. Finally able to see Sam’s face, he realized the man’s skin had only become paler, the rosiness of his cheeks and nose having disappeared entirely. Sam’s lips were dry with blood, as drained as the rest of him and losing their plumpness. 

Max pulled back, stumbling about and nearly tripping several times over the branches beneath his feet.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to. It was just a mistake. I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry!” he said, hands coming up to cover the sides of his face.

“Max?” a voice calmly broke in.

Max continued to fumble around until the person grabbed his shoulders. The man managed to catch him before he fell, ankles becoming entangled. 

“Max,” the man repeated, grip tightening though never hurting, “That woman is gone now, she can’t hurt you anymore.”

Stilling, Max was meant with a paler version of himself, muscles relaxing as the man’s cold chill soothed the sweaty heat that was building up in Max’s body. Max weakly attempted to pull away, hands shaking.

“B-but I,” he began and the man interrupted. 

“Max. Everything is fine. The kiss felt good, didn’t it? And we both wanted it. Does anything else truly matter besides this?”

Max stared at the man’s smiling face for a good minute. Max’s disgruntled expression relaxed when the man did not retract his words.

“I suppose not but I, I didn’t mean to,” Max said and the man laughed.

“I know you didn't. It's alright. I forgive you, Max.”

Max looked up into his eyeless face. Unlike with Sam, when Max looked where the man’s eyes should be, he saw nothing but an endless void. 

Max took a step back, and then another. Before he knew what was happening, and forgetting the state of his legs, the man allowed Max to pull away and he stumbled. Max danced among the gravestones, making it to the final, “unmarked” grave before falling straight onto his back. The moment it came into contact with the leaves, he fell straight through, others coming to replace those that were scattered and burying him underneath.

Taglist: @caxycreations, @perasperaadastrawriting

[fayes-fics]

Congrats! You are an incredible writer! I love the way you write smut - tender, romantic, dirty, rough, playful - you’re the queen of it all.

My request:

“I can never seem to get enough of you.”

From Benedict “Menace” Bridgerton.

Benedict + I can never seem to get enough of you

March 2023 Mini Drabbles Masterpost

Hello lovely!!

Thank you so much for your lovely, kind words! 🫶🫶

So this one ended up romantic and Shakespearean. I hope you don't mind! 😁🧡🧡

This is the last one I will do tonight. Thank you all so much for reading and submitting. I will respond to your kind notes tomorrow. I really hope I haven't annoyed anyone by writing 5.2k of drabbles in 12 hours. 🫣

You’ve had plenty of sex in your life, but no one has made love to you the way he does. So utterly devoted, each kiss a tattoo on your heart, each touch a benediction, a prayer to you and your body. He makes you feel alive, wanted, and so cherished. You fear no one else would ever compare.

“I can never seem to get enough of you,” he whispers against the skin of your belly, and you know it’s more than true. He is as addicted to you as you are to him, an almost toxic sensual codependency. Something in your dynamic together is too beguiling to resist.

“Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie,” his voice rumbles as he slips your thighs over his shoulders and shoots you a smouldering glance from between your legs. No one has quoted Shakespeare before in bed. And not a play either, a rather obscure poem. He knows that you know exactly what the quote is; your shared interest in the Bard being something that brought you together in the first place, after having been in each others’ mutual orbit for a few years as you stumbled through your twenties. 

You have certainly never experienced A Midsummer Nights' Dream quite as vividly as you did that night with him last summer. When you sat outside the Regents Open Air Theatre, hidden among a patch of dense foliage, listening to the players bring the play to life, both of you mouthing the words to each other before the line were even spoken, fucking gently and so slow under the blanket of summer stars.

“I can never seem to get enough of you, too,” you whisper back as he crawls back up your body, having made you scream and cry and pull his hair as you writhed under his talented tongue. Never a truer word spoken. This man is engraved in your soul.

And when he takes you to the Globe the next night, you weep as your private tour culminates in his proposal centre stage, just the two of you by flickering torch lights, the tour guide making themselves scarce at the right moment.

I would not wish any companion in the world but you is engraved inside the rings you exchange six months later.

[komnenid]

@gvlsahs continued from x (blame tumblr)

Gülsah’s effusive praise brought a bright gleam to wreath Agnes’ mouth, laughter to spill lawlessly from her breast. It had, indeed, been an age since they last parted – Anna recalled the salt breeze stinging at her beestung lips as the Ottomans’ fleet of magnificent ships glided out from the Prosphorion, billowing under the languid Constantinople sun, bearing Byzantine gold and benedictions and precious relics in their wooden underbellies. For a fleeting moment Anna had felt her eyes burn with hot tears, rolling over her hand as brought two fingers to her lips, a sinuous, sensual prayer, a reverent adieu. Then, it had seemed an impossibility that she, an imperial princess, should ever see the silken sirens she had grown to adore, the family that would soon become an adversary of the Empire; but Fate had seen her so gloriously apportioned, saddled with riches and blazing with divinity, that Gülsah should now be a guest of her adopted kingdom.

Whatever eyes be upon them, condemning the odious, extravagant bond between two Easterners, the Queen damned them; pressing Gülsah into her chest and ringing with laughter at her taunt. ‘I would be sorry indeed if they did not. Come, I know that you will not try the wine, but you must try the granatus. My brother, Prince Louis, brought it from his sojourn to Castile, and I think you will love it as well as you love me.’ Anna interwove their hands, jeweled fingers clinking together and secured with warm affection, as she led the Sultana toward the banqueting table, spangling with delicacies and silver goblets aplenty.

A jongluer approached to fill the lady’s cups, as Anna turned to her companion, ‘pray, tell me of your son. Whispers hath reached mine ears that he was hatched, rather than born, as recounted by one of my lord king's devout priests, akin to Zeus's own mother. I said this couldn’t possibly be true, yet when I gaze upon thy delicate frame, it appears you have not borne any offspring at all. What concealed secrets have you for a I, a woman whose crimson cramps are unfailing?’ As if to prove her point, Anna laid her hands flat against her belly, spreading her fingers across the blue-and-gold band across her waist.

[sea-owl]

OK I'm gonna throw you a curveball. My prompt is falling in love with someone's mind (their work) before realizing you're in love physically too and the couple is Benelope (Benedict and Penelope)

Huh, you know as much as the fandom loves using Penelope as the Bridgerton bicycle (I'm sorry Pen. I love you. You're my favorite but it's true.) I don't think I've really seen this one done as a serious couple. Which is saying something because I've read throuple Anthony/Kate/Penelope fanfiction before.

Alright let me give a crack at it.

Penelope was in love.

Not actual love per say. She wasn't in love with a person, more so she was in love with someone's work.

Their was a painter that the Bridgertons favored, so much so that he had at least one painting in almost every room in the house. It was his art that Penelope loved.

They were mostly landscapes but Penelope got a sense of longing, and searching from each one. Each stroke of paint brought life to the painting as a whole. Hidden object littered each painting this artist did, and there was one constant in each one.

Hidden among each painting was a red haired nymph. Often tiny and far away. If the viewer didn't look closely they would miss her red curls and curvy figure.

In a way these paintings reminded Penelope of her writing, every small piece fitting together to create a beautiful piece and in weird way they both made her feel seen.

"I take it you like the painting?"

Penelope jumped. "Oh Mr. Bridgerton, I'm sorry I didn't see you there."

Benedict Bridgerton gave a laugh. "It's alright Miss Featherington."

"And yes I do. The painter your family hired is quite talented. The paintings are beautiful."

Benedict fully faces her. "You think they're beautiful?"

Penelope nodded. "Yes. I especially love the little nymph in each one. It's too bad she's always so far away."

Benedict bit his lip, glancing back and forth between the painting and Penelope. "He has a painting of the nymph he's currently working on. I can show you."

Penelope's eyes widened. "I wouldn't want to intrude. And wouldn't it be rude if he hasn't finished yet?"

"He wouldn't mind."

Ten minutes later Penelope found herself in a studio in the Bridgerton home. Canvases of finished and unfinished paintings littered the room. In the middle was the unfinished painting of the nymph.

Penelope stared at painting of the nymph. The nymph herself was painted, all it needed was the background. But the thing that took her breath away was that it was her, or inspired by her at the very least. The nymph sensually laid out in a meadow of flowers with nothing more covering her than a scrap of green cloth. She looked peaceful, her red curls splayed around her head like a halo. The way Benedict painted the light around her gave the nymph an almost angelic glow.

"Benedict did you paint all of these?"

Penelope looked back at Benedict, who was shyly not looking at her. One arm, half exposed from him rolling up his sleeves, held her attention. To be honest she has never really thought of him like that before. Oh yes she knew he could be a rake, had heard the whispers in the ballrooms, and has written about it multiple times in her column, but to actually have those thoughts yourself -

Huh. Maybe Penelope was in love.

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Phaenna (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The Gem by the citizens of Sparta

Age- 17 (immortal)

Location- Sparta, Olympius

Personality- She's headstrong, confident, bold, and a little feisty with a sassy attitude to match! She loves her independence & is happily single.

Phaenna lives in the state of Sparta in a gorgeous mansion that's the living definition of opulence! The front door is made out of platinum with a glittering gold doorknob. Inside, the interior design theme is "Olympian Glamour" complete with opulent furnishings & over the top accents like velvets, metallics, and rich color palettes like reds, purples, & blues. The staircase is made entirely out of Imperial Gold. In her main closet, a grand chandelier made of various gemstones hangs from the ceiling. She also has another closet for just her jewelry. She also owns a condo in the Chant du Cygne neighborhood of New Olympus. Phaenna has a few pets- all with gemstone inspired names. There's two black sphynx cats named Onyx & Obsidian, a thai cat named Pearl, an afghan hound named Peridot, and the newest addition- a baby griffin named Zirconia.

She has the standard abilities of a goddess. As the goddess of jewels, her powers and abilities include kosmimatakinesis (summoning & manipulating jewelry), object transmutation, using jewelry/gems as weapons, repairing jewelry with just a touch of her hand, gemstone manipulation (as well as the properties in them), & she can transform her entire physical body into any gemstone.

Her go-to drink is her usual at The Roasted Bean- a large cinnamon & caramel creme frappuccino. She also likes watermelon margaritas, lemon-lime soda, honey pineapple cocktails, piña colada slushies, and classic martinis.

She has her own glamour doll collectible!

Phaenna has a functioning kitchen, but it's rarely used. It's a quasi storage space for some of her things like her extensive fabergè egg collection. She can't cook, so her food comes from dining out & ordering in.

Her favorite breakfast meal she loves ordering through chariot service are the coconut pancakes with banana & creme fraiche, miso croque madames, espresso waffles (made with almond flour) with a mocha chocolate syrup, & eggs benedict.

Her favorite "toy" that she has is her bedazzler! Phaenna loves bedazzling things around her place like the collars for her pets, the wheel in her car, her stovetop, and the back of her many leather & jean jackets.

Phaenna really admires Theia (Titaness of sight & heavenly light). She was even more than ecstatic when she discovered that she'd be under her mentorship. She also admires Rhapso (goddess of sewing).

In the pantheon Phaenna's good friends with The Graces (especially Aglaia), Ganymede (god of homosexual love & desire), Eleutheria (Lulu) (goddess of liberty), Aeolus (god of wind), Pandaisia (goddess of banquets), Tyche (goddess of luck), Philyra (goddess of perfume, paper, & beauty), Aerin (goddess of the ethereal), The Hesperides, Aoide (goddess of voice & song), Ditus (god of bisexuality, effeminacy, & fertility), Eupraxia (goddess of well-being & success), Notus (god of the south wind), Peitho (goddess of persuasion & sensuality), Hemera (goddess of the day), The Muses, Móda (goddess of fashion), and Aphrodite (goddess of love & beauty). She's also friends with two of Helios' daughters- Lampetia & Phaethusa.

Phaenna doesn't like Pheme (goddess of fame), hating the fact that she's a fan of her Diamond Ave. jeweled clutches.

She used to be close with her twin sister Cleta (goddess of whispers). Phaenna is also not close with her mother Kósmima (goddess of adornment). She views her mom as more of a flighty acquaintance than an actual maternal figure. That hasn't stopped Phaenna from sending money to Kósmima each month to help with the rent for her apartment. She feels uneasy about the possibility of her own mother being jealous of her- due to all the success Phaenna has achieved, despite her status as a minor deity.

For work she writes for Kytheria, Regalia, & Modern Olympus magazine. Phaenna also models for/endorses Euryphaessa, La Petit Amour, Luxuria, Maison du Drame, Swimsilk, Paloma, House of Muse, No.3 & Co., Graces' Glam, Pure Muse, and Persuasions. She's had many thoughts of starting up her own jewelry brand, but no concrete plans have been made.

She has nearly half a million followers on Fatestagram & 250,000 subscribers on PanopTube. Her most viewed video on the video sharing website was her updated closet tour- which has 3 million total views!

Phaenna has however gained some attention with the release of her nail polish brand (being sold in drugstores & all Olmorfia locations) called Glimmer & Shimmer Glaze. All the nail polishes are in sparkly and glittery shades. Her personal favorite color is "Confetti Canvas," a multi-colored shade.

In her free time (other than bedazzling) she loves going out clubbing, partying, & shopping, doing pilates, acrylic painting, pottery, swimming, and embroidery.

She made the best dressed list at the Olympian Gala during the event’s “The Jewel” theme. Phaenna walked the gold carpet wearing a custom made halterneck gown made with over 8,000 freshwater pearls & diamonds- complete with diamond studded heels, a Diamond Ave. jeweled clutch, and soft & subtle make-up with her hair in a high bouncy ponytail. The dress is now archived, displayed in the New Olympus Museum of Modern Art!

Phaenna's favorite meals include seared scallops & baby spinach with a spiced pomegranate glaze, roast duck with blackberry-orange sauce, and arugula & sweet potato salad sprinkled with goat cheese and drizzled in honey mustard dressing. She also loves olympian sized cajun fries from Olympic Chef!

"The brighter the better, right? More sparkle, more shine, more costly!"