Disclaimer: Please do not use my fics for any other purpose other than the one for which it was written: personal reading enjoyment. Please do not use my fics as training datasets for AI (ChatGPT has been trained on ao3 fics). Please credit if posting links to the fic/snippets of the fic on other social media sites.
(All follows will be from my main blog as this is a side blog)
List of works:
-> Sophie Baek / Benedict Bridgerton (Bridgerton)
beyond the end of the century (Benophie Omegaverse AU where he recognises her at the lake) <> Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4
devil's knockin' at your door (Benophie Mafia AU) {Complete} <> Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 6.5 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // epilogue
-> Luke Thompson / Yerin Ha (Bridgerton RPF)
twenty-four hours of your thoughts // Read on AO3
-> Frank Langdon/Mel King (The Pitt):
Kingdon microfic August challenge // Read on AO3
Previous writing is here and here.
Prompts:
-> Bridgerton prompts
If using any of the prompts, please credit and link back 💓☺️
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devil's knockin' at your door - epilogue (benophie mafia au)
🔗: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 6.5 //Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9
🏷️: explicit sexual content, lactation, lactation kink
📝: i wrote this for approximately no more than three days. two, in all likelihood. i fell into a slump for days and then finally got my act together. hope you enjoy!
fic dedicated to @bumblebecc because she encouraged me to put down my unhinged kinks on fic <3
Epilogue — one year later
After Sophie lost her parents, she wasn’t sure if she’d properly grieved them. She was too busy trying to survive.
They’d tried their best with her, but the moments she spent with them didn’t give her the sense of security that a crime syndicate boss’s home should. It should’ve felt safe and secure and affluent for the family, and yet to her it felt like she and her mother were left begging for scraps more times than ever.
Her father unilaterally decided to marry Araminta in a deal that saw the Li and Gun clans form a strategic alliance. Her mother didn’t bring anything to the table hence she was discarded as an afterthought.
Sophie — thoughtful, kind, warm-hearted, sharp Sophie — was considered with a level of fondness that Richard decided to dole out behind closed doors but never out in the open. In front of the rest of the crime families, she was acknowledged as his daughter, bore his family name but was kept at a distance.
Sophie understood how little her father cared when her mother was given an eviction notice by him — they’d been having dinner and he announced he was marrying Araminta and that Sophie’s mother, Hae-in, was to make her own living arrangements. He had no trouble reminding her mother of her place in his world, in his life, wrenched away and thrown out of the house she’d spent sixteen years calling a home. Her father had asked Sophie to stay in the Penwood mansion with him and Araminta, and Sophie had refused.
Hae-in had kept on working long after she had Sophie, between bouts of nervous breakdown. She’d managed to save and invest enough to move herself and Sophie into a garden flat she’d purchased — share of freehold, two moderately sized bedrooms, a small shared bathroom, a combined living space with barely enough space outdoors to count as a garden. But it was her own. Hae-in also had the sense to add Sophie to her will and leave her the place in case of her death.
Which eventually came to pass.
To Sophie, moving into the flat with her mother had been a wake-up call. Her father had not bothered to care for her mother and her troubles. She’d been easy to discard, even though her parents had been together up till that point.
It was of no guarantee that she would not be in a similar position for some powerful man down the road.
After her mother died, she cleaned up the flat and rented it out, while she worked under Araminta under the sole guise of getting her inheritance.
All the rental income went into a money saver account that gave her a solid amount to work with. It was better than nothing.
The flat remained in her name even after she married Benedict.
She sat down with him before their wedding and told him about the flat. He said he already knew about it.
Of course he did.
There was little that Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t aware of when it came to her.
He’d suggested that they update the flat into something more modern so that she could charge a better rent for it. Sophie hesitated, given how shitty the London rental market was for the vast majority of renters. Benedict had smiled at her, eyes crinkling at her innocence. And she was promptly reminded of the property magnates that the Bridgertons were legally.
In the end, they’d compromised and done minor upgrades — changing out the steel knobs and handles for brass ones, the sink tap for a boiling hot water one, repainting the door, repainting the walls and ceilings in Tailor Tack and the trim and skirting in Rangwali — and re-listed the flat at a higher rent than before, something Sophie felt comfortable charging without wondering where her investment was going to be recouped from or whether the new tenant would feel ripped off.
The care he put into every single thing never failed to remind her of how deeply she loved him and he her, in the one and half years that they’d been married.
Sophie paced languidly in their living room, waiting for Benedict to get home, little Violet tucked against her shoulder, milk-drunk and fast asleep, snoring quietly in her ear.
The feel of her daughter against her shoulder made her feel warm and calm and more centered than anything else in her life.
Motherhood was no walk in the park, but with full-time staff and two night nurses, she was better off than most people who had children and had to manage on their own.
Little Violet had ended up becoming so spoiled, showered in affection by her aunts and uncles, two of whom were sitting in the living room with her today.
“My turn,” said Michaela, who walked up to her and gently took Violet from her and rested her head on her shoulder. Francesca made grabby motions at Sophie and pulled her down beside her on the expansive sofa. Sophie rested her head on Fran’s shoulder, while Fran wrapped her hands around hers.
Francesca and her wife, Michaela, had both been clamouring for some time alone with Violet so Benedict and Sophie had asked them to spend a few nights over at their place. Michaela and Francesca had taken turns of getting up for the nighttime feeds. Sophie would pump the milk and have it ready and handy for them to feed Violet with while she and Benedict had finally started feeling like human beings instead of shells that resembled them.
Posy had dropped by every week and relieved Sophie while she spent time with her niece.
They’d been more than fortunate to have family nearby. Family who wanted to be around and who dropped things at a moment’s notice to come and see what they’d need.
She and Benedict had also started to get intimate but hadn’t gone back to penetration yet.
He had been exceptionally slow and gentle with her. He’d also been mindful because the birth had been taxing on her body.
The relative ease with which she gave birth — in labour and delivered in under eight hours — had not been reflected in her recovery, which had been long and slow. She’d been cleared for physical intimacy and exercise a month back but Benedict had been cautious.
He’d gently rubbed her back while hugging her during one tearful breakdown where she felt he didn’t feel attracted to her anymore.
“I can barely hold myself back, Sophie, how can you even think that,” he’d groaned in despair, during that particular conversation.
“Truly?” she’d asked.
He’d then looked at her with the kind of hunger that had gotten her pregnant in the first place. They had been mindless enough to have sex wherever they wanted. His face told her if he could, he would resort to the same thing again.
“Slow, Sophie,” he said, bringing their foreheads together in a gentle manner. “We will go slow.”
.
.
It took another hour for Benedict to get home, and the first thing he did was press a kiss to Sophie’s head and blow one to Violet and his sisters and go take a shower. “No outside mess around the baby,” had been their motto since day one.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d spread out on the sofa seated between Sophie and his sisters, Violet still napping away, now on his shoulder.
This version of Benedict was her favourite. A worn shirt and pants, half-wet hair, stubble throughout (it felt divine on her skin), holding their daughter with reverence and love. He loved their daughter so fiercely it made Sophie’s heart swell three sizes too big.
Sophie leaned against Benedict’s shoulder and closed her eyes. She felt him drop a kiss to her head before resuming a conversation with Michaela.
The quiet domesticity of it all caused a phantom ache in Sophie. She’d never dreamed of such happiness, only survival, one foot after another, the next step, how to keep herself safe.
A place to rest, finally. Happier than ever before, if such a thing were possible.
.
.
Long after dinner was finished, Sophie was sat at the antique vanity finishing up her nighttime skincare routine. She was still mindful about not using a retinol cream, given she was breastfeeding, but she was moderately happy with her current routine.
Not that it would matter much because it looked like half her skincare would transfer from her face to the sheets, if the way Benedict was staring at her in the mirror was any indication.
She picked up the hairbrush and slowly ran it through her hair.
Unadulterated hunger. The kind he tempered while he slowly and gently wooed her for years before getting into her personal space and refusing to take no for an answer. Any other man, she’d have kicked to the curb. With Benedict, it was an inevitability.
She’d been on the receiving end of his sexual appetites for years now. Nothing had tamed the fire between them. It’d stoked and been banked till now, but she suspected it wasn’t going to remain that way for long.
She flushed as she remembered the last time they had sex. It was in this very room, their primary suite, and it had been in front of a roaring fire. She’d been eight and half months pregnant, bloated and not feeling very good about herself, given her center of gravity had shifted somewhere beyond her control. They’d had a Christmas Dinner at Bridgerton House, with the entire family, the siblings and their spouses and their children. It had been a chaotic and noisy affair. And so entirely heartwarming for Sophie, who imagined the same thing for next year with a new addition — holding their baby girl in their arms.
Benedict had been eyeing her all evening. Her dress wasn’t quite backless but the back had been…..low. It’d ended somewhere right above her expanded waistline and Benedict had cupped one full breast multiple times throughout the evening, stroking down her back possessively. She’d sat in his lap after dinner — he’d hear no protests about her size or that she’d be heavy — and he’d continued massaging her tits in front of Anthony. Sophie had discreetly reached between them and squeezed his cock, first in warning, the next time in anticipation.
It was like taking a lit match to a powder keg.
She’d ended up on all fours in front of the bedroom fire, belly supported by his hands and by the multitude of cushions dragged from the wingback armchair situated near the arched closed floor-to-ceiling Georgian windows. His grip was firm as he set a maddening pace from behind, and Sophie, in desperation leaned forward on the pillows and held her ass cheeks apart with both hands, so he could fuck her better.
His response was to increase his pace and power and grind everytime he filled her to the hilt.
She’d come on his cock three times before he’d exploded inside her, waited a few minutes and then started to fuck her again.
It was a memorable night.
Sophie in the present set down her hairbrush on the top of the vanity, hair loose and flowing over her shoulders and slowly made her way to Benedict, who’d been waiting for her patiently on the bed. He stretched out a hand and she laid her hand in his as he gently tugged her in.
His eyes roamed over her body, his gaze worshipful.
She was wearing a slip of a nightdress, one destined to end up flung across the room, and an equally thin robe, waiting to be slid down her arms and onto the warm wood floor.
The last few weeks, Benedict would put his mouth on her tits and suck, especially when her breasts felt incredibly heavily despite pumping a lot. It felt erogenous and incredibly intimate and also made them feel closer than ever.
She idly wondered, as she reached for him, if they’d experiment with it tonight too.
She’d purposely not pumped after dinner like usual, just to gauge his reaction. To see if he’d do what she suspected he would.
Benedict trailed his hands over her body and pushed down the silken robe from her shoulders. The wispy material slithered down her arms and onto the floor, as she’d predicted. Her slip came next.
As Benedict’s hands now roved over her naked body and she shifted closer to rub down his shoulders and arms, she wondered why she’d bothered putting on clothes in the first place. Before, almost always she went to bed naked and she woke up naked.
If she did wear an oversized shirt or a slip to bed, in the morning the offending clothing would be bunched at her waist while he situated himself behind her and languidly pushed in, making a home for himself in her body. By the time he’d set a breath-stealing pace, her slip would be bunched underneath her armpits because how dare he be kept from the sight of her beautiful, bountiful, plump breasts bouncing in time with his thrusts?
She kissed him fully, holding his face in both of her hands. With him seated like this, their height difference was minimal. She took advantage of it to deepen the kiss while he smiled into it.
His grip tightened at her back and hips and he pulled her onto the bed. Laid her out like a feast he could never get enough of. He was wearing only a robe and silken sleep pants. The robe dropped behind him, slipping down the edge of the bed to join her robe on the floor. The pants were slung dangerously low and doing nothing to hide the shape of him through the soft material. Rock-hard, thick, long.
Designed to drive her mad.
The last time they had sex in front of the fireplace he’d said she’d still felt as tight as the day he had her for the first time.
She clenched around nothing thinking about how good he would feel after months of not having him inside her.
Benedict in the present pushed down the pyjamas enough to take his cock out and line himself up. The first touch of the head against her clit had her moaning deliriously. She had missed this.
He slowly pushed in. The stretch felt unbelievable. She’d pushed out an eight pound baby and she still felt like she would go mad if he continued to push in so slowly.
When he finally bottomed out, he pressed against her front wall as he shifted slightly and then rested his whole weight on her body. Sophie wrapped her arms tightly around him as she kissed him filthily. “Move,” she begged. Benedict grunted as he complied. Slow pull out, slow push in, light grind as he bottomed out, repeat. The pace got faster. The grind got rougher. She was so wet she was afraid she would soak through the mattress. The squelch was inexplicably loud in the silence of her room, save for the crackling fire at the hearth and their combined grunts and moans.
Benedict adjusted both himself and Sophie as he put his hands underneath her and shifted them both so she laid on the pillows, all without interrupting his pace. He shifted her a little more so her full breasts were lined up to where he could duck and suck on them without straining his neck.
They were leaking already.
Sucking on her tits had been a favourite of his for a while. He’d started doing it when she complained about breast tenderness and heaviness towards the end of her pregnancy and it’d turned them both on so much she’d dry-humped on his thigh to finish while he continued sucking, emptying both of her tits until she was about to come again.
He’d watched her breastfeed their daughter and his heart simultaneously swelled three sizes at the beauty of the bond between them and turned on thinking about sucking on her other breast, the one that Violet wasn’t sucking on.
He’d suggest that on a later date.
For now, he continued his pace — which was getting rougher by the minute — while he closed his lips on her left breast. The milk flowed into his mouth and he moaned. Sweet. Just like his wife.
He couldn’t control himself anymore. He manhandled her tit while he started fucking into her roughly. He could do this his entire life.
He’d make sure she stayed pregnant for the next few years. He never wanted to not drink from her tit for as long as he could help it.
Sophie moaned without restraint. She was already matching his pace, keeping her cunt loose and relaxed for him to plow into. The rippling warmth as she clenched around him, oh he could die like this.
One of her hands was around his back, anchoring him to her, no space for God left between their bodies, the other on his head, threaded through his hair, urging him on.
He drained one breast and switched to the other, sucking deeply as the baby monitor crackled on the bedside table.
Violet let out a whimper that had Sophie stopping, hand still in his hair. “Benedict, wai—”
He didn’t stop. Francesca and Michaela were on baby duty tonight. They could handle Violet while he handled her mother.
Sophie moaned loudly and clenched sharply around him as he bit down on her tit, gently. “They’ve got her, Soph, stop worrying,” he muttered with his mouth full. So good.
Francesca’s voice came through the monitor, softly sushing Violet and asking her if she wants some more milk. Some hiccups later, there was no more noise save for Francesca’s soft singing.
Baby handled and attention now fully on Sophie, he resumed his pace while she came around him, clenching hard. Once. Twice.
Four times.
She was overstimulated and he still asked, “Do you want me to stop?” He ended the question with a rough grind. She whimpered and clenched her eyes and cunt shut. “No,” she whispered.
She wanted to say yes. A part of her did.
But Benedict truly couldn’t get enough.
“You are tighter than before, love. So good, so sweet for me. So giving.” He slowly cupped her jaw and cheek in one hand. “Perfect for me.” Rough thrust, grind. The headboard has been creaking for a while, hitting the wall behind at a steady pace.
“Your tits are perfect,” he panted as he continued fucking her. “I want to suck on one next time when you are feeding her and,” deeper thrust, a wailing sound, a litany of please and Benedict, “I am inside you like this.”
“Yes! Yes please!”
“Whatever I want?” he asked, voice low, hurtling towards his own peak.
Sophie’s eyes were glazed over. Multiple orgasms had wringed her out. She was still clenching around him because she took pride in it, wanting him to find the same pleasure in her as she did in him.
“My body is yours to use as you see fit,” she whispered, voice low and soft in the room.
“Yes, it is,” he agreed, groaning loudly and coming inside her — finally — in hot spurts, for long, long minutes.
Sophie tugged at his shoulders and he let his weight slump on her fully. She wrapped her legs above his waist and secured him to her.
She clenched experimentally and Benedict groaned, releasing even more inside her. “Sophie, please.”
She giggled.
She kissed him languidly, slow and syrupy in the feeling.
Benedict met her eyes. The way he looked at her still made her want to flush and hide. And yet.
He raised one eyebrow, questioning, the ask loud and clear. Another round?
She flushed this time, feeling her face go red and nodded quickly. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and then bent down to press one between her breasts before snuggling in and sinking his face into the soft skin there.
He let out a deep groan of satisfaction, one that reverberated through her body. Her hands kept carding through his hair, pressing him down a little.
The baby monitor remained silent, save for the quiet snoring sounds, undoubtedly from Francesca, who Benedict could already see in his mind’s eye having fallen asleep with Violet on her chest.
Epilogue to devil's knockin' at my door coming later today. I was in a slump and didn't write for days and then sat down and wrote the back half of it in one stretch last night. Weird how this thing works.
almost every comment i received on the last chapter of mafia au on ao3 has been about an epilogue - which tbf i already had a vague inkling of before i posted the chapter - but that is gonna happen now lmao.
epilogue will be posted whenever i finish writing it. which by my pace should be in the next few days.
devil's knockin' at your door - part 9 (benophie mafia au)
🔗: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 6.5 //Part 7 // Part 8
🏷️: none, just fluff
📝: final chapter (for now). thank you for coming along this ride with me!
Mesmerized is a full and complete word to describe how Sophie is feeling right now. Overwhelmed, perhaps, a little. But mesmerized, nonetheless.
She’d organized countless fêtes and soirees and what in the olden days would’ve been a ball for the Bridgertons, both while working as Benedict and Violet’s assistant and also after. After she became his partner and now his fiancee.
To be on the receiving end of that love, to have a party thrown in her honour — well, her and Benedict’s — was quite something.
When they’d told Violet about expecting a child together and being engaged, she hugged them so hard Sophie still wanted to cry remembering that moment. To be embraced with such love after years and years of being assured that love had no place in a world designed for survival. It felt soul-affirming.
She remembered feeling wary of what might have been fleeting affection from Benedict, despite hoping that he was sincere about his feelings. He’d always been so patient with her. No doubt a trait achieved after mediating the business with other business partners, with and without violence.
Now, as Sophie looked around the grand ballroom in Aubrey Hall, Sophie felt the happiness bubbling through her veins.
She’d never hoped to feel safe, had always thought she’d need to keep her armour up. But she didn’t. And she really needn’t. Not anymore.
Violet and Kate had insisted on a large wedding and reception and Benedict had intervened and said they’d like to keep it small and quiet given Sophie’s pregnancy and an overall need to not advertise their good fortune.
Benedict had ramped up Sophie’s security, just as she suspected. At all times, if she was not with him, there would be atleast three bodyguards with her, plainclothes, concealed weapons. Two of them women of a similar height and build to Sophie but that was where the similarities ended. Sophie had sighed in exasperation more than once and then given up. If that is what he wanted to do then so be it.
She didn’t mind, not really, even if it did mean that anywhere she’d earlier be able to go in 10-15 minutes invariably took a lot longer.
Sophie turned her engagement ring around her finger as she surveyed the ballroom. The ballroom flowed out into the expansive lawns and their ceremony for tomorrow was planned to be held nearer to a copse of trees that looked more like a forest than a small cluster of trees. She could spot the trees from where she was standing near the open Crittall doors.
Decorators and florists were putting the finishing touches on the room and were setting up the seating area of the lawn, which would also be converted for the wedding dinner as well.
Neither Kate nor Violet knew the meaning of “intimate wedding”.
“Overwhelmed?” came Benedict’s voice from behind, moments before his arms wound around her waist, pulling her into him.
She folded her arms on top of his, where they rested above her rapidly expanding midsection. “Not quite,” she said, “though it will get there soon enough, I think.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She looked at him, sliding a hand up to rest against his cheek. He leaned into her touch.
Her fiance. He would be her husband tomorrow.
They were expecting a child in another 20 weeks. The thought didn’t seem nearly as fear-inducing now as it had been the day she found out she was pregnant.
They’d moved quite fast once her pregnancy had been confirmed. Benedict had apparently been looking at houses for a while, and he’d found one in Mayfair, a short distance away from where Bridgerton House and the Bruton Street house — now Violet’s residence — stood. His point had been that family was within walking distance should there be an emergency.
The house was so expansive that Sophie, though accustomed to the glamour of Penwood House, found it absurd for two people with a child. It would also involve keeping staff on full time, as opposed to the flat where they’d managed things mostly by themselves.
Sophie didn’t want to think about the deep Bridgerton pockets owning probably billions worth of properties in the London market. Knowing them, it was likely not a new purchase and something they’d owned for a while.
Six bedrooms, three with ensuites, an expansive kitchen with a butlers pantry and a large office because Benedict couldn’t be bothered with separate offices for the both of them — the opulence felt staggering at times.
And yet, as Sophie had sat down with an interior designer to add some warmth in colour to the house (recommended by Daphne of course), it felt like a new beginning for the three of them.
A house that felt like a home. Filled with art and colour and exuding warmth in every stage. So much like Bridgerton House, that Kate had recently added her own touch to. Like Violet’s residence on Bruton Street. Blue and gold and colour as far as the eye could see.
Sophie looked up at Benedict. At five foot one, she was a whole entire foot shorter than him. And yet, he’d only ever made her feel safe and comfortable and warm in his embrace. “Give me a break tomorrow when I need it?” she asked quietly, mindful of Violet standing nearby directing one of caterers on placements.
He kissed her again, slow and fully this time. “Always, love,” he assented.
.
.
They’d been told they needed to spend the night apart and Benedict, never having been one for rules, had paid no heed to it. They’d had a bachelor’s night with his brothers a week back and Sophie had her hen do at a similar time and he had no intention of being separated from his wife-to-be, even if it was for one night.
A few weeks into her second trimester, Sophie’s sexual appetite exploded. With the flames already fanned by Benedict, who himself had a hard time keeping his hands to himself on a good day, it meant they’d be cavorting without paying attention to who might see.
There had been a romp in Daphne’s study the other night when she and Simon had hosted a party for the noble families and crime syndicates. More business than pleasure. Benedict made sure it was pleasurable all the same.
They hadn’t escaped notice, Daphne had wrinkled her nose at them and Simon had a glint in his eye knowing exactly what they’d done.
He’d given Sophie what he’d promised her months back, his spend dripping out of her as they made their way back into the fray, his hand resting possessively around her swollen belly.
If he and Sophie had had sex multiple times a day before she’d gotten pregnant, now it was nonstop. If Sophie did not have him whenever she saw him, it felt like she’d explode.
More than one morning, Benedict had been woken with Sophie swallowing him down. Because she couldn’t help herself, she claimed.
They’d both taken to waking up earlier so Sophie would be satiated accordingly. Often a couple of hours before they both needed to leave the bed.
I have created a monster, Benedict thought fondly, as he watched Sophie put on an oversized worn tee of his and get into the bed beside him. He opened his arms while she crawled into them and buried herself in his embrace, her body and swollen belly adjusting to his form and resting against him. She took a deep breath from where her face was tucked into his neck and reveled in the smell of him. Clean, masculine, faint sweat, laundry detergent.
She looked up at him. His face was open and affectionate. It was not hard to feel like she’d won every lottery possible on earth with this man. With his family.
“I cannot wait to marry you tomorrow,” she whispered into the stillness of the bedroom, lights turned down, a muted glow ever present.
He smiled that crooked grin she loved so much, eyes crinkling as he did so. The one she felt was solely reserved for her.
(It was not. It was also reserved for Eloise and Francesca and Daphne and Hyacinth, but ever since the day she met him, especially for her.)
“Neither can I, love,” he murmured, unwilling to break the peace of the moment.
.
.
The rolling fields of Aubrey Hall had been transformed into a summer flower showcase by virtue of Benedict and Sophie’s wedding the next day. The marquee tent seating three hundred people had been set up a little distance away from the copse of trees they’d picked to get married under. The leafy shade felt calming on the warm summer’s day.
They’d both been emotional as they’d recited their vows and Benedict had slipped her wedding ring on. Sophie choked as she slipped the solid band on to his ring finger.
A half-eternity ring of solid gold, fourteen diamonds in a row, for her. This man was insane, Sophie thought as she examined it after, sitting on his lap as the festivities had continued around them.
They were seated at the family table, surrounded by friends and the lifelong allies of the Bridgertons, forming a protective circle around the newlyweds. Sophie could see out of the corner of her eye security patrolling outside the tent, as if they expected something to go wrong.
Layers upon layers of protection.
Just like Benedict had done for her.
“Do you like the ring,” he asked, voice gravelly, chin hooked on top of her bare shoulder.
“This is too many diamonds, Benedict,” she protested. Now she knew why he asked the jeweller to take her size and make the ring and not let her see it before the wedding.
“It is not enough diamonds, in my opinion,” he refuted, voice warm. “There’s another band I have planned for you after you give birth to our child.”
Child. They were expecting a baby girl. They’d planned to name her after his mother. They hadn’t disclosed the gender to anyone else.
Sophie shook her head. Her husband was insane.
“Insane for you,” he quipped, pressing a swift kiss to her lips. She carded her free hand through his hair and deepened the kiss. Someone hooted, and multiple someones started hollering and clapping.
Sophie broke the kiss laughing and shyly tucked her face alongside his.
“I mean, can you blame me,” said Benedict loudly, shrugging for effect. More laughter, warm and generous came from all across the tent.
Twinkling lights strewn all across the roof of the tent, making it look like starlight. The breeze was cool. It had been almost unbearably hot in the morning, it wasn’t now.
Sophie smoothed her dress down once and adjusted on Benedict’s lap, who tugged her closer and adjusted with her so she was seated more comfortably. She leaned back on bis shoulder, adjusting comfortably.
She’d gone for comfort over everything else at the wedding. Violet had been looking at dresses with flowing skirts but Sophie knew that in her state, she’d find anything ostentatious stifling. So she’d picked a simple dress, off the shoulder, silk and organza, that draped across her form beautifully. Full sweeping skirt, applique flowers made of tulle, a shorter corset adjusted to her changing body. She’d left her hair loose, secured back with a diamond bandeau tiara loaned to her by Violet, diamond earrings and a bracelet.
Her heels had been kicked off the moment she’d sat down with Benedict.
The dinner was almost done, people were chatting animatedly amongst themselves. The band was playing something bright.
Sophie closed her eyes and gripped Benedict’s arms around her tighter. This is everything she’d never hoped for.
A perfect day. Friends and family, joy, laughter, good food, merriment.
She felt Benedict press yet another kiss to the side of her head. She savoured the moment.
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beyond the end of the century - part 4 (benophie omegaverse au)
🔗: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
🏷️: none
📝: many many thanks to @renkyol on helping me out with the accuracy when it comes to wills of an estate that don't involve a title dispute. deeply appreciate all of your knowledge and the effort in helping me out! <3
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Violet sat comfortably on the sofa in the vast living space of My Cottage, Sophie seated beside her, Benedict across from the both of them, as Sophie prepared and poured them both some tea. Her manners were impeccable, from the way she held the teapot to how she stirred the tea to dissolve the sugar and milk to how she handed the cup to both of them. Daphne, she dared to think, was possibly the only one of her daughters whose manners were quite so refined.
(Not that Francesca or Eloise weren’t refined, it was just customary for the both of them, their interests lying elsewhere — Francesca’s in the pianoforte and Eloise’s in books. She might have hope for Hyacinth yet.
Better yet, Hyacinth could shadow Sophie and learn from the best.)
“That is quite an accomplishment for someone who has been cut off from finishing lessons at a young age,” Violet said mildly, voice probing.
Sophie stilled for a moment and then continued stirring her tea. She took a sip, place the cup on her lap and responded, “I have always been observant, my lady, because finishing lessons were of great interest to me, even if I was not allowed to take them.”
“Violet, please. What age did you last take your lessons?”
“Fourteen. My reading and writing tutorials continued till I was sixteen but they were few and far between.”
Her lessons should’ve been managed till she debuted, even after that, especially dance and music, thought Violet.
“Did your father not fight for your corner?” asked Violet, irritated on her behalf. Especially for someone who had such potential and was able to exude such grace with so little training.
Sophie sighed. “He did not want to fight my stepmother on every single thing. She discontinued my dance lessons when I was ten and he said he would resolve it but they didn’t resume.”
Violet looked at Benedict over the rim of her cup. He looked incensed, though he said nothing.
She couldn’t believe a man of nobility such as an Earl, would willingly take on the burden of educating a young girl and then abandon her mid-way. It didn’t make any sense.
“Did you learn French or Latin while you were still being tutored?”
Sophie brightened at that. “I learnt both. I also learnt Korean and can speak it fluently. It was my parents’ native tongue.”
She looked down at her lap, somber at once. “Though my father and I only continued to speak in Korean when it was just the both of us. My stepmother did not appreciate us speaking a language she couldn’t understand.”
Violet eyed Mrs. Wilson, who’d been sitting beside her in a chair, sipping her own cup of tea. They’d have their work cut out for them when they eventually headed back to London.
“She has as much knowledge of art as I do, did you know that, mother?” piped up Benedict.
Sophie flushed and sushed him. “What? It is true! Flattering as it was to be compared to Michaelangelo’s skills.”
Sophie laughed outright, twinkling laugh, head thrown back. And then she just beamed at him.
As if they had forgotten they both had company.
Violet eyed her son once more. He looked…..content. In a way she’d never seen him. His scent calm instead of the agitated one she’d scented all throughout the last season and the beginning of this one. Mixed with Sophie’s rosewater and fresh rainfall scent, it set such an inviting environment. As if beckoning people to come and enjoy their company.
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.
.
After enjoying a nice breakfast tea, Violet took Sophie by the hand and pulled her into her bedroom.
She started gently. “I know the Crabtrees have been chaperoning the both of you but I also know my son. Dearest, you cannot be sharing a bed until the two of you are wed. Or mated. Whichever comes first.”
Sophie pinkened. “Lady Bridgert—”
“Violet. Or mama. Whichever one you prefer.”
Sophie swallowed — what an enormous privilege to be afforded such belief. “Violet.”
Violet smiled and nodded at her to continue.
“We haven’t, that is,” she started and then stopped. She took a deep breath and let it out in one go. “We haven’t done anything aside from simply sleeping on the same bed together. I think we both feel very centered the more time we spend around each other.
It is as if all my anxiety ceases to exist around him. Because he sees me for who I am and I never need to construct a facade around him.”
Violet blinked. Oh.
“I apologize,” Sophie continued, unaware of Violet’s realization, “it was not what we’d intended. It is just…..really hard to stay apart. Even physically.”
Violet took both of her hands in her own.
“You need not apologize,” said Violet. “This is Benedict’s private home and there are no prying eyes. But people talk, especially servants. They keep our secrets but also judge them so you will need to be careful.
She waved in the air. “It will not matter when you’re mated. So just for a little while mor—”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. Now, I have something for you.”
She pulled her to the front of her bed, where Sophie saw a trunk that was definitely not there as she was dressing herself in the morning.
Violet opened the trunk and started taking out some of the items within, while continuing to speak to Sophie. “These are Eloise and Francesca’s from last seasons’ and I made a wild guess that they’d fit you. We might need to hem them because I now think they are both taller than you. But nevertheless I got some things for you so that you wouldn’t have to keep rewearing the one or two dresses.”
Dresses upon dresses. Shoes, more pairs than she could count. Two pelisses, Spencers jackets. And then Violet dug into the bottom and picked out a flat jewellery box. The box was about the size of her palm.
“There aren’t too many pieces in here, just a few pairs of earrings and a couple of bracelets but I thought it’d do before we had some made specifically for you. Here.”
She plucked out a pair of drop earrings. Small, encased in gold, a small diamond on top of each amethyst.
Exactly matching the jewel of her necklace.
Sophie couldn’t even see the jewels properly because of how her eyesight blurred. This was too much. And from a woman she’d met just a few hours ago.
Violet stepped forward and gently threaded the earrings into her ear lobes, one after another.
When she was done, Sophie stepped forward and hugged her, startling her. “Thank you, mama,” she whispered through her tears.
Violet hugged her back. “Oh my darling,” she whispered back, hugging her back and swaying them back and forth. “You need never thank me for anything.”
Benedict stood at the threshold watching the scene as Sophie sniffled into his mother’s shoulder and Violet pressed a kiss to her head.
His heart felt more full than it’d done in a long time.
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The letter from Simon arrived two days later in the evening.
Sophie, Benedict and Violet had enjoyed a wonderful dinner today, filled with laughter and with Violet regaling Sophie with Benedict’s antics from when he was younger.
There was a knock on the door and then a conversation with a runner and then Mr. Crabtree was bringing forward a letter to them, addressed jointly to both Benedict and Violet.
Estate of the Duke of Hastings
Clyvedon
August 19th, 1817
Dearest Violet and Benedict,
I am taking the liberty of addressing the both of you in the same letter since the matter concerned is of the utmost urgency.
Matters concerning wills where there’s a dispute in the title would be directed either to me or to one of the Marquesses in the Queen’s council. Since this is in essence an effort to legitimise Miss Baek following the death of her parents — who for all knowable reasons cannot stand in and claim her as their own — the will shall be examined in the Prerogative Court of Canterbury. Typically, a deacon or a vicar can overlook the proceedings but I have asked the Archbishop of Canterbury to look into the matter.
It should also be noted that Lady Penwood would not have thought to lie to Sophie, either by not showing her the will or by falsifying the records, without the help of the local deacon or vicar. They either incorrectly enforced the will — which is my suspcion — or they falsified the will, in return for a sum.
In either case, this would not bode well for the reputation of the Church, which is why the Archbishop, who surmised the same conclusion as me, agreed to set the nearest date and let us know when the examination can take place.
I have suggested to the Archbishop to communicate with you directly and to send a missive to Bridgerton House, so you do not miss out on the communique. I also suggest coming back to London in three days’ time if you do not hear from either of us by then.
I am making my way in to London and shall already be there by the time you are reading this letter so please direct future communications there.
I look forward to seeing my new sister-in-law-to-be in person soon. Please send her my love and best wishes.
Yours Sincerely,
Simon
Benedict slapped his forehead. Of course the queen’s council wouldn’t examine the will because it wasn’t regarding the Earl’s entail. The new Earl was already in place.
“I forgot about the inheritance court examining wills,” said Benedict sheepishly.
Sophie laid a hand on his thigh below the table and rubbed soothingly. “It is quite alright, Benedict.”
“No, I have been dealing with matters of the estate on Anthony’s behalf for a while now. I also managed when he was at Oxford for three years. I knew this then.”
Violet interjected. “You likely didn’t need to mediate on any wills that didn’t involve a title in all that time, did you?”
Benedict sighed. “No, I didn’t.”
“Then it is quite alright. It is alright to not know the answers. That is why we lean on family in times like this.”
Violet held Sophie and Benedict’s hands in each of hers and gave them a squeeze. Sophie smiled tremulously at her.
Benedict looked at Sophie for a long moment. She looked back. Their tranquil time in the country had come to an end.
“We will be back here before you know it,” said Benedict gently, taking one of Sophie’s hands in his own, rubbing soothingly along the back of it. It was as if he knew what she was thinking about.
The depth of the connection was bringing forth all kinds of theories that Violet was suspecting about the two of them but she didn’t want to share it with them just yet.
“We return tomorrow then?” asked Sophie.
Benedict nodded and Violet smiled warmly at her. “Tomorrow it is. The sooner we get this resolved, the sooner the two of you can begin your life together.”
Together.
That seemed like a promise and a future worth holding on to.
devil's knockin' at your door - part 8 (formerly known as the benophie mafia au)
🔗: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 6.5 //Part 7
🏷️: voyeurism, explicit sexual content, mildly dubious consent (very mild)
📝: i did think twice about writing this but sometimes it just flows out of me and i have stopped fighting my muse to what it wants the story to be. enjoy!! <3
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Five months later
Things had returned to mostly normal in the heart of the mob business. There had been some consternation as to whether the second son, a prominent leader in his own right, of a prominent family, noble, mob boss, be allowed to take things in hand as he well pleased. Even if the head of the family of the woman he killed approved of said killing. But soon parts of the story began to spread — how Araminta had kept Sophie from her legitimate inheritance, had lied about her treatment of her and how Sophie being Benedict’s it was only natural that he’d exact his revenge.
The Bridgertons had entered new agreements with the Wang and Li Conglomerates in China, something they didn’t have access to before. The Featheringtons had been given a courtesy pass into one section of the business — importing antiques — and they had come around from their cold shoulder. Personal anger didn’t quite matter when there was money to be made.
It was one thing to exist in the shadows, but it could never be said that the Bridgertons weren’t fair or that they took more than they should have. They didn’t play by the rules, no one did, but they still had a moral code.
There was a pervasive calmness now.
The kind of calmness that said everything was fine. Until the next upheaval.
Sophie, however, had greater concerns.
She suspected she was pregnant. And it made her nervous.
She was looking at her period tracker on her phone. Usually, her periods were like clockwork, hitting between 26 to 28 days every month, with little variation. Then work stress and Benedict constantly getting hurt stress and Araminta stress made them unpredictable. Her cycle now oscillated between three and half weeks to six weeks.
When she got her period as expected in a twenty-eight day cycle after the two weeks spent at My Cottage, she breathed a sigh of relief. She did find it odd that the next cycle her bleeding lasted only two days and was lighter than usual, but she’d dismissed it out of hand.
Now. She was finding that she hadn’t bled for eleven weeks. Which was odd even for her.
She’d been more tired lately. More sore. Her boobs were slightly fuller but she dismissed that thought too — now she couldn’t help but think of what else she had thought of as less than important.
She had moved into Benedict’s flat almost immediately after returning from Wiltshire. He insisted, very gently, and she agreed, because she liked spending all her time with him, at work and out of it.
So wrapped up in Benedict’s charms, and so relieved with having gotten her period on time, she’d forgotten about booking an appointment to see a gynac for birth control.
He didn’t use protection.
Truth be told, he loved feeling her without a barrier and so did she. It wasn’t responsible of either of them, but they indulged anyway.
She remembered the conversation they’d had back in Wiltshire and she felt calmer now knowing that it wouldn’t be life-ending or precarious as it had been for her mother.
It didn’t mean that she wasn’t shit scared.
The timer went off from where she’d placed her phone on the sink. She turned off the alarm, took a deep breath and look at the two home pregnancy tests she’d picked up at the pharmacy the day before.
“Positive” in one, “Pregnant!” on the other.
She needed to make a doctor’s appointment for a proper estimate of how far along she was, even if she could guess.
And she needed to tell Benedict.
A knock sounded on the door. “Sophie? We are getting close to being invariably late.”
“Yeah, I am almost done,” she called back. She wrapped the two tests in toilet paper and shoved them in the storage beneath the sink, shutting the drawer. Washed her hands, dried them, took a deep breath and opened the door.
Benedict was dressed down today. A blue Henley and dark wash jeans. He looked edible, like he always did to her. But his brows were furrowed. He’d seen the expression on her face.
She rearranged her features into a smile and shook her head. “Nothing, nothing, lets get going, your mother will be cross if we are late.”
He watched her as she took off her bathrobe and put on the midi dress she’d laid out on the bed. She turned her back towards him and he did up the zipper and the small hook at the top of her spine, pressing a kiss there. He then took her hand and moved towards the front door, complaining about his mother. “I don’t know why she wants to do family breakfast on a Friday morning. We all need to get going about our schedules.”
“Probably because we all skipped weekend brunches the last few weeks?”
Silence. Then:
“You may have a point.”
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Brunch at Bridgerton House was a rambunctious affair. It also included their close colleagues like Alfie and John and Mrs. Wilson. Everyone sat in different places in the large dining room and patio. Conversations flowed, as did apertifs that had Sophie looking up at Benedict questioningly.
She was in his — and her — favourite place: his lap. And he gently fed her things and pressed kisses absentmindedly to her head. Kate looked at the two of them and grinned at how happy they both looked. Sophie blushed in response.
Benedict was a generous lover and a doting and caring boyfriend, but it still made her shy. Especially now knowing the toe-curling sex they’d been having had led to this.
A baby.
In this environment.
She could already imagine not being able to go anywhere on her days off without a team of bodyguards tracking her every move. Benedict would not let her out of his sight.
His hand was resting against her lower belly, by chance. She wrapped a hand around his and leaned back against him.
She loved this family and this chaotic environment. She could relax for a bit.
.
.
“Shh, don’t wake her, dearest. She has been looking really tired lately.”
A kiss pressed to her head while he murmured, “She used to be a light sleeper. Now she’s been sleeping really deeply lately.”
Violet hummed noncomittally and looked at Benedict askance. He knew what she was thinking and he didn’t want to have this conversation with his mother when he really needed to have it with Sophie first. He shuffled her closer and watched as she tucked her face into the side of his neck and continued to nap.
She’d been more than tired lately. She’d been sleeping deeply for eight to nine hours and wouldn’t budge. A few weeks ago, she’d had some nausea that abated pretty quickly and then she’d be tired. Her boobs had gotten larger, of course he had noticed. It was the first thing he had noticed about her changing body. He clocked everything.
She’d also not had her period for weeks now. He didn’t say anything, just made sure she was comfortable. Brought her various kinds of tea whenever he could. Rubbed her feet. Didn’t comment when she fell asleep on him on his office couch. Adjusted his hold and kept reading from the iPad.
A little while later, Sophie stirred awake and slowly came back to consciousness with Benedict rubbing a hand down her back, the soothing motion lulling her, the other wrapped around her knees.
The light filtering in through the windows had gotten brighter. Afternoon. Sophie jerked awake, they had an in-person meet scheduled with some other leaders that Benedict needed to attend, alongside Colin.
Benedict tightened his hold and didn’t let her get very far. She turned to look at him and saw the expression on his face — a little worried, trying not to fuss, a little knowing.
He knew.
She sighed. “I think I am pregnant,” she said. Better to just let it out.
“Yeah, I think so too,” he responded, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
She looked at him sharply. “How long have you been suspecting?”
He shrugged, an off-the-cuff motion. “Maybe a month? No longer than that.”
Sophie sat up now fully and Benedict released his hold on her. She leaned against him on the couch. “I am scared, Ben,” she whispered, looking down at her hands.
He was on her immediately. “Don’t be,” he said, voice calm and firm. “It is a good thing, hmm?”
“Too fast for us, I think.”
He chuckled. “Okay, perhaps. But I don’t mind.”
He hesitated before saying the rest. “I wouldn’t be lying if I said I was hoping we’d be having a child soon.”
She looked at him, glaring now, no heat behind her gaze. “You knocked me up.”
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hand. “Very proud of it.”
.
.
They scheduled an appointment with an obstetrician the very next day — connections really did move mountains — and they confirmed through a blood test and a USG that she was indeed pregnant and expecting a child. A little over thirteen weeks along.
“But I bled about two months ago,” said Sophie, confused.
“It was most likely implantation bleeding,” confirmed Dr. Harris, wiping the gel off of her stomach. “You can have a very light period and it would seem like a normal one.” It was certainly what she had.
Benedict sat beside her holding her hand and then took over the cleaning from Dr. Harris. “Is there anything we need to be more careful about moving forward?” he asked.
“I think she is doing alright for now. Any nutritional deficiencies will be addressed when we get back the blood test results in a few days,” she confirmed. She then left the room to give them both some privacy.
Benedict adjusted Sophie’s clothing before holding her, reverently, gently. Hands at the side of her hips, slowly drifting to rub at her lower abdomen, the swell not yet prominent. Sophie suspected she would start showing in a week or two, given her slight figure.
She was delighted by Benedict’s reverence and happiness at her pregnancy, even if her fears had not completely subsided.
They were months into a romantic relationship. She was expecting their first child. She had been careless, yes, but she had not been expecting to get pregnant and now it was making things more serious.
Not that she was not thinking that this relationship wasn’t serious…..but she’d hoped she had more time. She was barely 26.
Though, she mused, looking at Benedict beside her in the car as he held one of her hands in his lap and typed with the other one, he was at an appropriate age to become a father.
He was going to be a dad. She was going to be a mom. It was entirely too much for her to contemplate.
She didn’t even know why she was feeling this panicked. There was no reason to be. She was always going to be safe with him. Their children would be safe with him.
But there was a fear at the pit of her stomach she couldn’t get rid of.
Alfie was sitting at the front. She needed to speak to Benedict alone.
The car stopped in front of their building, leaving Sophie confused. “I thought we were going back to the office?”
Benedict got out and extended a hand to help her out. Eyes laserfocused on her. “No, we are taking the rest of the day off today.” Turning to Alfie, he said, “Text if its anything urgent.” Alfie saluted him and the car slowly pulled away from the curb.
Benedict tugged Sophie along into the building, making their way back to their flat. “I wanted some time alone with you,” he whispered into her ear as he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her back into him. The elevator slowly climbed up the floors.
The moment they were inside the flat and the door locked itself behind them, he pinned her to the empty space beside the door. “What do you think did it,” he asked breathlessly, her hands secured above her head, face buried in her neck, knee against her center.
Sophie moaned helplessly. She could count. She knew exactly what day had gotten her pregnant. Because they hadn’t had sex the rest of the week due to work obligations.
“Anthony’s study in Aubrey Hall,” finished Benedict, a gleam in his eyes as he now looked at her. Sophie shuddered out a moan as she agreed mentally.
It had honestly been so innocent. It wasn’t the first time she’d been in Anthony’s study alone with Benedict, but it was the first time since they’d gotten together and Benedict did not think restraint was something he needed to exercise. His hands had been all over her and she’d been wearing a summer dress, with her hair piled on top of her head. Her dress was unbuttoned down her front, panties hanging off of one ankle as he buried himself inside her, to the hilt, unbothered by anyone coming in. Her bra was somewhere, the dress was practically on the floor and his hands were pressing her firmly. Down, so she could do nothing but take him as he pleased. Thick and fat cock, grinding into her cervix, she’d shuddered helplessly as one of his hands made its way slowly to her clit and rubbed in slow circles, pressing down ever so gently. They were desecrating the settee that had been in the family for atleast three generations.
He played her body like an instrument he’d spent years mastering.
A knock sounded at the door and Sophie jolted, making to get up and cover herself. Benedict quickly caught her hands and pressed them together at the small of her back, thrusting up hard. Sophie closed her eyes and tipped her head back, forgetting the interruption. Entire galaxies flashed behind her eyes with how good he felt inside her.
“Enter,” he said, voice commanding.
Anthony stepped in. He saw them on the settee and quietly closed the door behind him, turning the lock.
Sophie remembered the gleam she’d seen in Anthony’s eyes. Not really a want for her, but more for his brother to have his woman the way he wanted. And Anthony’s approval at it, as his big brother and head of the family.
She tried to free her hands to cover herself from where she was on Benedict’s lap but he wouldn’t release them. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, “Don’t worry about him baby, just focus on me.” Another sharp thrust, pleasure rippling through her with how thick and satisfying he felt inside her.
Anthony had leaned against his desk and started talking to Benedict about something regarding an upcoming meeting with the Wangs. Sophie could barely focus because she was experiencing a prolonged orgasm, one melting into another. She didn’t know how Benedict was even focusing on the conversation.
At some point, she was spread out on the settee. One leg draped over the back of the couch, one leg on the floor, spread wide open as Benedict fucked her languidly, bottoming out every time, grinding in a maddening circle every time he was inside fully. Her breasts were bouncing with every rough thrust and she attempted to cover them, because she could see Anthony still watching them while reading through documents.
“Mm, don’t, Sophie,” said Anthony, as Benedict caught her hands again mid-thrust, finishing with a rough grind.
“Let my brother do what he wants.”
The implication was succinct. She was Benedict’s property. His to do with as he pleased. Fuck wherever he wants, kiss wherever he wanted, keep her naked and willing in full view of everyone else if that is what he desired. It should have made her want to run for the hills. Instead, the approval from the head of the family and Benedict kissing her fingertips in a soothing manner hurtled her into another explosive orgasm. She tightened around Benedict so hard he increased his pace. The thrusts got sloppier and rougher and the settee creaked warningly. She pulled him down to kiss her, freeing one hand to run through his hair as he came down from his own orgasm.
He was breathing heavily in between her breasts when he looked up at Anthony and said something. Anthony made an agreeing sound but she couldn’t register what was being said. She couldn’t hear above her own thundering heartbeat.
Benedict in the present had manhandled on onto the bed, stripping her of her clothes and then shedding his own, buried deep inside her while she wailed out from the overstimulation. He was kissing her wherever he could reach and murmuring sweet nothings, telling her how good she felt, how tight, and how proud he was of her for carrying their child. That he would always keep them safe.
Sophie wrapped her arms and legs around him, overwhelmed with love and feeling the kind of safety she didn’t since she’d come to the realization that she was expecting.
As she came down from the earth-shattering high, Benedict leaned away from her and started rummaging inside the drawer of the bedside table. He came out with something she couldn’t register at first and she jerked back into her own body, feeling cool metal slide onto her ring finger.
“Hmm,” he said, examining her hand where her (his) ring now sat. “Perfect fit.”
She stared at him slack-jawed. This man was constantly surprising her.
He grinned at her expression and then the mischievous look gave way into something tender. “Did you think you’d be giving birth without being married to me, Sophie,” he murmured, leaning back down to kiss her.
She regained her composure enough to wrap one arm around him while examining the ring on the other and sass back, “Technically, you haven’t asked me yet.”
He laughed. Kissed her again and asked, voice gentle and reverent, “Sophie Baek, love of my life, will you marry me?”
Her eyes welled with tears. She’d thought it was too soon for them. For him, maybe for her. But he had a way of always quelling her fears. “I will. I love you, Benedict.”
She returned to examining her ring and said to him in a quiet voice, “Great choice on the ring.” He beamed at her like a schoolboy, receiving praise for a job well done.
“There’s another one, slightly smaller, for an everyday ring,” he said, pressing kisses into her neck.
The ring he’d picked for her was a large oval sapphire in the middle, secured by six prongs, flanked by smaller diamonds of various shapes on either side. It was stunning. Something befitting the fiancee of a mob boss, she’d to admit.
Fiancee, good god.
Sophie closed her eyes, burying her other hand in his hair. Contentment washed over her. Maybe this is the hormonal upheaval she’d to manage for the next few months.
But she knew she didn’t have to do it alone. She hadn’t had to, for quite a while now. But she knew now that she wouldn’t have to wonder at it ever again.
What if Benedict held on to sophie a little while longer when she kissed him under the gazebo the first time? What if his hands were in her hair as he deepened the kiss and he took the mask off?
What if he'd seen her face before she hastily put the mask back on and ran off?
📜: Luke visits Yerin in her run of The Maids in New York.
📝: honest to god i sat down to write a new chapter of the mafia au and this came out. lol. will i be writing more rpf? i doubt it. I obviously have no problem separating fact from fiction given i am writing this fic but i understand a lot of people might so please tread carefully. This is all a figment of my imagination and i had fun with it.
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Luke likes New York in the way that a visitor likes a new city. They visit, they enjoy their stay, they leave. He cannot wait to get back to the comfort of his city, the one he spent the past twenty years calling home.
For his girl, though, he’d cross the ends of the earth to see her perform magic, cast a spell and leave everyone breathless, like she once did him.
He’s been at it for a while. He’s been the struggling artist, the artist who now has some money, if not a lot, the new version of him now that is getting more attention than ever, even in a place that usually doesn’t give a fuck about his presence.
He just had Luke tell him the last week that someone had spotted him on the Tube to which he shrugged. This is London, how else is he gonna get around? Car? The city has functional public transport to prevent that nonsense.
But then it kept happening.
So he made sure he looked as tired and rumpled as possible, so people would feel bad about taking pictures of him. Weaponizing other people’s pity towards him, if you will.
He could also pull the Dan Radcliffe trick of wearing the same thing everyday for six months so nobody would pap him, but he hadn’t reached that level of desperation yet.
(Poor Dan.)
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Wet. The city was wet as he walked down Old Dock Street towards the theater where The Maids was playing. He was dressed mostly in black, glasses on, hair rumpled and umbrella over his head for protection against the light drizzle.
They didn’t have a matinee show until the next day and so the evening show time suited him just fine. People in New York generally don’t care, but he hoped they particularly didn’t care about him tonight. It was about Yerin, and yes her castmates, Phia and Lydia, but to him, always, mostly Yerin.
He still remembers the day he met Yerin over zoom. At that time, he knew he was meeting someone special in his life, but it was mostly relief that they’d found their Sophie. He’d been doing chemistry reads and screen tests with actresses since April and grew frustrated by the time the rollout and press for part 2 of season 3 came out. He’s had a couple of friends tell him that they watched a few of the interviews he did and that he looked like he couldn’t care less about being there, even if he was engaging. He’d accepted the critique because he’d felt that was pretty spot-on.
He never considered leading a season a burden, but without the right partner, especially for a show like Bridgerton, where he took great pride in the show’s ability to tell diverse stories, it would end up with him forcing chemistry like he’d done with a couple of actresses in the first two seasons. It didn’t matter then because they were supposed to be short-term flings for Benedict. It mattered now.
Not to mention that this paycheck would also be life-changing money for him. He’d been stable since booking screen jobs as minor characters but this? This would be a good way to stay stable for a while, should he utilize his earnings correctly.
(Or whatever was left after he paid His Majesty’s Government the requisite taxes. And council taxes. Christ.)
Enter Yerin. They were about to resort to casting someone who was passable when Yerin’s tape landed on the casting director’s desk and they immediately organized a chemistry test.
The first moment he met her in person though? It felt like his soul had come to life. That hug told him, oh good, i’ve finally met you. And he didn’t even know her at all.
He remembered that night at Jess’s with picture-perfect clarity. Laughter, food and him playing the piano in an effort to impress her. She was impressed alright, but moreso, she was open about wanting to connect with him, if at first so that their bond would shine as Benedict and Sophie, then later just as friends. He’d take that.
And now it felt to him that it was a surreal thing to have met Yerin, who had been all the way across the world in Australia, now playing Sophie. The universe worked in magical ways.
She was perfect. As an actress and as a person. But most especially for him.
They had taken their time at it. Usually intimacy scenes were quite the work and especially with Benedict and Sophie’s first time in the season. A week of filming the whole section in episode 5 and all it did was reinforce how strong his and Yerin’s connection really was. It brought them closer together. Getting almost naked in a room full of production crew and pretending to be having sex didn’t feel daunting at all. He kept on checking in with her, making sure she felt comfortable.
He particularly remembered her saying something when they were beneath the sheets having finished that particular scene. I am good, probably because its you, Luke.
Filming the bathtub scene was fun and funny in equal measure. He wasn’t trying to lead anyone on when he said on a podcast in New York that they had fun filming that, because he did. He had also asked for Yerin’s permission before they had gone into the tub because he knew she was so much shorter than him and he’d have to hold on to her. All those jokes of him barely able to hold on to her because she kept slipping from his grasp, he loved that she leaned into his touch.
It felt like such an enormous privilege to have her trust.
He also recalled, he mused as he pushed open the door leading into the theatre, Claudia being quieter than usual when they had the episode screenings. She was normal and bubbly around Yerin and everyone else but quiet and contemplative as she sat on his other side. He hadn’t noticed, frankly, because his attention had been on the screen and on Yerin during the cast screening.
Hannah later took him aside and told him it was because Claudia had a soft spot for him, something besides platonic that she didn’t wanna address, and it signified to her that someone else had truly won him over, even if she wasn’t serious about it.
He shrugged it off. It was Claudia’s business to deal with.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault for developing crushes on people. Never. But it was also their responsibility if they acted on it or not. He had always been relaxed with Claudia and had said nothing when she wanted to monopolize his time prior to Yerin. He was good friends with both her and her partner Cole.
But it didn’t seem like his business especially when she didn’t say anything about it.
The only life he could focus on managing was his own.
“Luke!” exclaimed Phia, coming out from one of the dressing rooms. She jogged up to him and gave him a half-hug, which he returned. He grinned at her and she grinned back. She jerked her head towards another dressing room, door halfway shut. “She’s in there, journaling before the show, like she usually does.”
“Thanks, Phi,” said Luke, smiling, patting her on the shoulder and moving forward.
He knocked on the door and poked his head in to see Yerin focused on the notebook in front of her, scribbling. Her hair was loose and her brow furrowed in concentration, reflecting in the lit mirror in front of her. “Hmm, yes?”
“Room service.”
Yerin spun around and flung herself out of the chair and into his arms. He held her to himself securely as she pressed kisses to his face. “Why did you not tell me you were coming this weekend?!”
“I didn’t know I’d be getting the week off, darling. Turns out I don’t have to be back in London before Friday so thought I’d make the most of it.”
Yerin wiggled out of his arms and he gently set her down in front of him, arms wrapping around her middle. “I am so glad you are here,” she whispered.
He slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers before pressing a kiss to her forehead as she hugged him back. “So am I.”
.
.
She was incandescent. She always was. She was built for this and he’d honestly been hoping to act opposite her on stage for a play for months on end. She’d brought out his best acting and he felt grown as an artist due to her.
She’d been wonderful during the Donmar run and she was amazing here. He hoped silently that they’d have a Broadway transfer like so many West End plays seemed to have, but also knew that it’d be a tough sell because of the short runtime and then Yerin and Phia’s commitments to their respective shows.
He remembered feeling adrift as she went back to Australia when they’d wrapped up filming in early June. He knew she’d be back because she’d already been in talks to come back to London in late August or early September for a West End modern adaptation of The Maids but he also understood the drive of someone to make sure their family felt safe and secure first.
She’d been quite open and honest with him about her financial difficulties growing up and how they’d kept renting and moving from place to place and how that had honestly never been a problem except that the landlords seemed to worsen with time. She and her older brother had been planning to purchase a home for their parents, a detached bungalow that they could finally feel comfortable staying in, even though Yerin and her brother, Eun-ho, had both moved out eons ago. Her windfall from Bridgerton, especially with the stipend to be disbursed following the press tour, would be good enough for them to consider purchasing it.
He knew her practicality and he loved her even more for it but it also felt like the wrong time to tell her that he was in love with her and ask her if she would entertain the thought of a relationship with him?
His opportunity came when the run for The Maids was confirmed and she called him to tell him the details of it.
(She always left him voice notes. If not, then hour long calls.)
And then when she said she was looking for places to rent near the theater on Rightmove, he blurted out, “You could stay with me?”
The silence felt deafening on the other end. Yet something told him not to interrupt it.
Then came her small voice, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said, determinedly. “I have the room, as you know, and I want you to stay here with me.” He swallowed nervously as he said that. They were on a rare long-distance phone call, not Facetime and not a Whatsapp call.
He’d recently put down the deposit on a detached Victorian in Brockley and she was one of the only people who knew that. The house was old and had been on the market for months before being slashed in price and not making him feel like he would be sacrificing his firstborn to pay for it to be renovated. He’d gotten the ground and first floors renovated, the other two floors still needing to be updated. So it was entirely liveable.
She swallowed noisily. And he heard it. And then she said, voice small, “Okay.”
He beamed and laughed and then she laughed too.
“One thing though, the rest of the floors will be renovated in a few months so we might be sharing the ensuite.” Probably should have led with that.
A startled laugh came off the other side. “Luke!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he responded, voice sheepish. “I forgot before I offered to host you.” That was true.
“I think we can manage it,” she said, voice teasing now.
That first evening when she landed in London and came to his house was one of his favourites till date. He hugged her at the door, picked her up and didn’t let go for a long while. She didn’t have to be in rehearsals until later that week and he didn’t have any auditions till the weekend, leaving them both with some rare free time to spend together. They had shared a bottle of wine Luke had picked up from Bordeaux on his way back from his Italy trip a few months ago and Yerin had recounted her and her brother’s exhaustion in dealing with house issues but then overall being happy that her parents had a secure roof on their heads.
Her hands had drifted to rest on his thigh, rubbing him there slowly. He lifted one hand in his and pressed a kiss to her palm, looking her in the eyes.
“Am I reading this wrong,” she asked quietly.
“No,” he said, vehemently, determined to put her self-doubt to rest. “Never. I just—” He stopped, let out a breath and then started again. “I just didn’t want to burden you. Especially when it looked like you were navigating so many changes in such a short span of time.”
She stared at him, that beautiful face open in expression. “I could get through them because of you, Luke.”
He slowly reached for her and pulled her out from her seat at the dining table and into his lap.
This kiss was better than all the ones they’d shared on camera.
Yerin spent the next two months going through the gruelling schedule of 8 shows a week and then ending the night in his (their) bed. She never did take the guest room. She said she’d never slept better.
It should have scared him how deeply intertwined their routines and lives felt at this point and he knew once they went on the press tour things would come under scrutiny from fans but this? This felt sacred and it felt like coming home, after endless years of feeling like he fit nowhere. Not in the country of his birth, nor in the country where he was raised. How befitting it was that it was with this girl, who too felt like she didn’t belong in the places she inhabited. They fit perfectly together.
Sharing a room, sharing a bathroom. Cooking together in their free time together. Him tending to the overgrown garden while she’d sit at the firepit with a hot cup of something and watch him do it.
The house still needed to be fixed - two more floors and four more bedrooms, two of which needed to be turned into bathrooms because what house has six bedrooms and one bathroom? Absurd. But the worry about renovation costs, managing a construction crew while they were both living there, future jobs and how slowly auditions were going, none of it seemed to bother him anymore because he was with her. Because he was not handling things alone anymore.
Luke quietly made his way back to her dressing room where she was already sitting and removing her makeup.
“Do you wanna come out with me for stage door tonight?”
Stage door, where she had a steady stream of fans greeting her every night. He didn’t want to steal her thunder and also, was she sure?
Because he knew that while a great many fans would love that he’d come all this way to support her, a greater many would draw the correct conclusion that they were together. He didn’t mind people knowing because he wasn’t on the internet long enough to see people’s reactions to it but Yerin saw things and he didn’t want some imbecile’s probing comment to bother her.
“I am sure,” she said, looking straight at him. Voice determined.
He knew he’d been less than subtle during the press tour. In the beginning, they gave off the image of two coworkers who got along superbly and had impeccable chemistry. He knew it because their PR team sat behind the interviewers and gave them a thumbs up or a stop sign during the interviews. More thumbs ups than stops.
He’d also been the one to tell Shonda during their sit down chat that he was unwilling to play into his and Yerin’s personal relationship even if selling it meant more eyes on the show and Shonda agreed because she’d gotten to know Luke over the years and knew that him being his naturally effusive self would work better than forcing them both to play into something they wanted to keep private.
Yerin trusted his lead and let him lead. He continued to protect her, like he always did from the day he met her.
He also knew how much he’d slipped towards the end of the press tour, the constant travelling and him wrapping up on Elsinore in between frying his working brain cells. Yerin had a much better poker face than he did but he just didn’t care towards the end. He stared at her unabashedly, touched her bare knee more than a coworker or close friend would have, held her hand too many times, made sure they had strawberries because Yerin was emotional.
Romania might have been his favourite stop of the lot, because she’d finally slept in his arms again in his hotel room after a month of too many conflicting schedules. The world had righted itself.
But it was one thing to hint at things and for viewers and interested fans to pick up on signs and draw a conclusion, and for him to come out with her at stage door and not look at her like she wasn’t the love of his life.
(Of course she was. He’d been in enough relationships with men and woman — how similar to Benedict, he mused — to know what was the real deal. He’d come close to settling down with someone once, and then she’d called things off because she wasn’t ready and he was starkly aware that such a decision should’ve made him feel despair instead of the relief that coursed through his veins.
Its as if his world had been off-axis till the day he met her on that zoom chemistry read. And then it slowly started righting itself more and more as he met her in person for the first time and then as he got to know her better.
He knew that day outside of Jess’s flat that he was looking at his wife and Jess and Tom later admitted to him that they had the same feeling on that first day.
How fortuitously the world worked.
If he’d never been cast as Benedict, if production hadn’t extended their search worldwide, he’d not have met Yerin. Though he now believes he would have met her, perhaps a little while later.)
They were now living together, which prevented them from being spotted out and about. Their relationship had been cemented in the weeks they’d spent together during the press tour, getting impossibly closer. Especially after New York. They were now making solid plans for their future. Ones that involved kids, inviting her parents to stay with them for a while.
They had been taking it slow, at first because Luke didn’t want to spook Yerin, but it had a direction.
She had a couple of things lined up after she finished filming season five and he was particularly excited about getting to be with her on stage next year. They’d both have to negotiate with Shondaland for the months they were supposed to film as well but they’d cross that bridge when they’d come to it.
He had hoped to do more work on films and was pleasantly shocked to have been contacted by Villeneuve for the role of the main antagonist in his new Bond film, which wasn’t supposed to start filming until the next year. He’d wanted to play a less than desirable character for a while now, so he was really interested in it. He loved Dennis’s viewpoint of how he envisioned Jonathan, the villain as. Someone within the British intelligence system who loved his country and eventually became jaded within it and decided to make sure his opinion was heard, over everyone else’s.
He’d hoped he’d get it even if chasing fame wasn’t part of his plan.
When he’d raised it to Yerin she’d expressed her view of things — him landing high profile projects would mean he wouldn’t have to choose between them and passion projects in the future because it would raise his profile as an actor and also give him further financial stability.
Actors sometimes went months between jobs and even if West End rates had improved, they were nowhere near Broadway rates for actors. So a career on film and tv wasn’t something he could dismiss out of hand as the medium had been the one to bring him the kind of security he’d dreamed of.
(Buying a £1.2 million home might be small beer to some, it wasn’t to him.)
“Alright then.”
He followed behind the burly security guard who trailed behind Yerin. He was glad she had someone out there while she signed things for people. He stayed behind the doors while she went out and then came out exactly two minutes later to Yerin’s exclaim of “Look who came to see me!”
Pin drop silence and then a deafening screech. He grinned his charming smile, waved and chatted with the fans and redirected them towards how good Yerin was in the play.
One time he leaned forward to sign the Bridgerton book one fan had given him to sign, and Yerin passed him the pen, and as he signed, she leaned her head on his shoulder once and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, like he usually did. He looked up once and saw they were being filmed.
It didn’t bother him as much as it should have. Even if he’d forgotten to behave himself.
He’d let people draw their own conclusions.
.
.
One whole month later, he hooked his head over Yerin’s shoulder as she sat on his lap on their expansive couch in their living room and scrolled through the comments of the photo collection of her New York run she’d posted to Instagram. She’d posted one set of photos of her and the Maids cast and crew and the other of her having fun and random things she’d snapped in New York. And the other set had too many photos of Luke.
Luke from the back as he walked in front of her, them sharing an ice cream, some aesthetic side shots she’d taken of him.
He tucked his face into the side of her neck. He’d never felt comfortable exposing his private life to the world but he’d never felt this safe either.
They still hadn’t said anything to the world. Aside from a few pictures which could give the impression of being very good friends. Closest friends.
They were happy to let the world believe what they wanted to. They were happy in here by themselves.
.
.
More 📋:
the house Luke purchased in the fic was listed by TB&Co. last year for £1.7 million. I love seeing houses and old houses in particular.
Daniel Radcliffe got infamous for fucking with paps after they stalked him every night at stage door during his run there in 2007 (he was 19) and he wore the same outfit everyday - a jean jacket and pants in the same shade so that paps wouldn't be able to sell new pics of him and lose out on money because they couldn't be fucked about giving him privacy.
Title of the fic is from BTS' One More Night from their new album Arirang. Namjoon said that it wasn't a masterpiece and I vehemently disagree what do you have against this song namjoon you fucking wrote it 😭😭😭 I've had it looped since the day the album dropped.
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been handling a rather busy week this week + got bitten by a semi-grown kitten today (who is half-vaccinated because she caught a cold so her vaccines are delayed till that clears up) so updates on mafia au and omegaverse au will be delayed till next week <3
P.S. not the kitten's fault, we are isolating her so that her cold clears up and she was excited when i picked her up and wanted to spring out of my arms so she did what she usually attempts. should've clocked that. my finger is in a great deal of pain ouch. gonna be getting a tetanus shot + first dose of antirabies in the evening, even though i am pretty sure she doesn't have rabies. (we don't let her out.) doesn't hurt to be safe.
🔗: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 6.5 //Read on AO3
🏷️: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, deepthroating
📝: aka the chapter where you find out exactly what kind of smut the writer likes to read lmao.
at 4700-something words, this is the longest chapter in the fic. there might be some grammatical errors somewhere, i do think i have edited them all out but some might be there. i have been editing this chapter for the past 2 hours and i cannot do it anymore.
hope you enjoy the chapter! as always, wrap it up irl kids. unsafe sex is only cool in the fics.
Dedicated to @bumblebecc who is just as unhinged as i am in smut. thank you for letting me shout about this fic in our dm. <3
Sophie always liked working with her hands. Her old cook — Irma, who came to work at Bridgerton House as one of their chefs — taught her how to bake and cook all kinds of things. When her mother had good days, she’d teach Sophie all of the dishes she grew up eating back home in Seoul.
Now, sitting in the gardens of My Cottage — which was not at all a cottage, mind you — she focused solely on planting seeds and saplings and taking out the weeds along with Mr. Crabtree, who took care of the house and grounds and not on Benedict’s absence.
Benedict. He had done what she should’ve expected he’d do once he knew in detail what had happened to her under Araminta’s care. But she still didn’t expect him to do it.
The Bridgertons had dealings with her cousin, the current Earl, Jonathan Gun. She and Jonathan were distantly related and barely knew each other.
His wife, Cressida, had been an old friend of Eloise’s. Apparently they had a falling out, but when she greeted Sophie as her husband’s cousin, she bore no malice or ill-intent.
She was networking, and Sophie let her do it.
She stood at the back of Araminta and Rosamund’s funeral, hand held firmly in Benedict’s grip. If there was a sentiment that she’d been in the Bridgerton’s employ before, now there was no doubt that she was a part of them.
Rosamund had been fished out of the Thames two days after Araminta’s death was reported within their circles. There were signs of strangulation but most evidence was washed away as the body bloated. Jonathan requested Scotland Yard close the investigation and turn over the body so they could give them proper burials.
Sophie eyed Posy, who stood in the front of the queue, alongside Jonathan and Cressida and her husband Hugh, receiving condolences. Face stoic, for the most part. When she and Benedict reached the front of the line, Posy hugged her tightly, unmindful of her injuries and whispered in her ear fiercely, “We are free, Sophie.”
Sophie gripped her just as tightly. It was like a band had loosened around her chest.
Benedict kept the details of the murders to himself till she asked him for it. He told her and then she finally gave him the entire gory detail of her abuse under Araminta. He had killed for her, he deserved to know everything.
In return, he told her about her getting cheated out of her trust fund, which had been larger than she’d been intially been led to believe. As compensation, Jonathan, who’d been unaware of her trickery, gave her an additional percentage of profits from the business.
She looked up the solicitor who’d told her of the will. It turned out, soon after Araminta’s death, he’d applied for voluntary erasure with the governing board, closed down his practice and left for the countryside permanently. He had not been seen in London or in his country home in Essex since.
Violet had suggested she take a trip along with Eloise to Aubrey Hall, their country seat in Kent. She’d spent one week there before Benedict had lured her to his private country home which he’d called my cottage. She, stupidly, thought it was a cottage.
It was probably only slightly smaller than Aubrey Hall in expanse. This man was an idiot.
Her idiot.
He’d gone to London yesterday and was supposed to be back today. The Crabtrees were to leave on a trip for the next two weeks. They would have security, spread throughout the vast property, just not within the house.
He wanted privacy for a little while, just the two of them.
She could read between the lines.
.
.
She was in the library looking through the collection of books — first editions of Austen and Hardy — when she heard the car pull into the driveway. She stepped out and made her way to the expansive living area as Benedict came in.
He was dressed in a light blue shirt and complimentary jeans, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he looked so good she wanted to jump him. He greeted Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree who made their way out the front door.
They’d be alone for the next several days.
He stopped near the fireplace when he saw her and opened his arms. Sophie speed-walked into him and hugged him tight.
“I have missed you,” said Sophie blearily. She was tired from the gardening. She was tired of waiting for him.
“I have missed you too, baby,” his voice came, low and vibrating through her body from where he’d tucked her beneath his chin.
“I thought you’d be here earlier.”
“So did I, but Anthony wanted me to go over a few things before this break so it took a while.”
“Do you think it is a good idea to be away right now,” asked Sophie, fretting. Much as she wanted time for them both — and be fucked into the mattress by him, if she was being real — she didn’t know if they should be away during a time of upheaval.
Benedict murdering Araminta and Rosamund had some far-reaching repercussions.
The Featheringtons had abided by what Violet told them to, but were still caught off-guard when Araminta was killed. A prominent leader being killed by another influential leader invited a lot of chatter and unease. The Stotters had abided by Anthony’s request and put on a farce to get their son’s engagement broken. The Guns simply said that they’d pruned their tree to keep it in better health.
But the Featheringtons, who had eventually formed a working relationship with Araminta were not consulted for Araminta’s premeditated murder beforehand and they were furious. They had resorted to the social culling — uninviting the Bridgertons from their events and not allowing even Penelope, who had been a close friend of Colin and Eloise’s. to speak with them.
The Wangs and Lis had reached out to Anthony seeking a clearer explanation of what had happened and why it had happened. Anthony was trying to be upfront while reserving details, especially with two family-owned conglomerates who could potentially be an in into the Chinese markets for them.
It had been his idea for Benedict and Sophie to leave London for a few weeks, separately, then spend some time together and remain outside of the chaos.
Sophie, who’d been given a clean bill of health by Dr. Carrera, agreed to it when Anthony told her and Benedict together.
She had some discolouration on account of the car’s impact against the light pole but aside from that, she felt as good as new.
Benedict took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up so she’d meet his eyes. “No better time than the present, Sophie.”
He slowly lowered his face to hers, eyes tracing every movement, and gently kissed her. She ran a hand down his back and kissed him back, opening her mouth to give him better access.
He ran his hands all over her body, up to hold her neck the way he liked so he could kiss her the way he wanted, other hand gently squeezing her breasts and then tugging on her nipples. She moaned breathily into his mouth and he chuckled as he spoke into her mouth, “Oh, we are going to have so much fun, sweetheart.”
He broke the kiss to bend down and pick her up. She wrapped herself around him and kissed his face while he carried her to the bedroom.
Clothes came off with ruthless efficiency, the sight of her small hands helping take off his jeans a startling one. He gently pushed her back to lie on the bed, kissing her throughout, and then he made his way down her body.
Licked and bit his way down her plush breasts and down her stomach and then removed her panties which stuck to her wetly, baring her to his gaze. He eyed her hungrily and then met her eyes.
His usual green eyes were a darker hue now, consumed with want for her.
She nodded her acquiescence. As if she could ever properly tell him no.
He placed a sweet kiss to her pubic bone and to the insides of her thighs and then breathed directly over her entrance. “Please, Ben,” she begged.
Benedict chuckled while he took her clit in his mouth and started sucking.
Benedict licked into her with the attitude of a man who had all the time in the world; languid and slow. Sophie could feel her brain melting out of her ears. It felt incredible having him doing this to her. She didn't know pleasure could make her feel this mindless. It's as if she had no pressing worries, none at all.
He slowly pushed in a finger, gently; she clenched around it so hard he had to press down over his cock on the bed, lest he come before he was inside her. A second finger and then crooking them both along the slightly raised ridge inside and she came so hard she screamed.
He didn't let her up. He wanted her loose and relaxed and boneless — he continued his ministrations, coaxing two more orgasms from her before she pushed at his face and pulled at his arms. He could take a hint.
He slowly crawled up her body, pressing kisses back up along her stomach, chest, neck and then finally her lips.
“Ben, please,” she said, voice hoarse.
He wasted no time. He took himself in hand and coated himself in her release and then slowly started to push in, one hand coming up to gently hold both of her wrists above her head.
Sophie bowed off the bed at the sensation.
She was so wet but the stretch would take some getting used to.
He knew he was larger than average, girthy and long, and she was small in size. He'd barely fit three fingers in the first time. He didn't want to hurt her but a part of him wanted her to ache from being empty after he’d pulled out. He wanted to shape her cunt to fit only his cock.
To be the first and only person to ever do this to her? He felt himself getting harder at the thought, as he pushed in further, bottoming out at the hilt.
“Okay?” He asked, both hands now wrapped around each of hers beside her head.
“Mm hmm,” she moaned, the pain-pleasure making her delirious.
He gently pressed kisses to her whole face and then finally her lips and she messily kissed him back. “Move, please,” she begged.
Breathing into her mouth, he started a steady pace and felt her cant her hips up to take him in better. Clever girl. He'd bottom out, grind in a lazy circle, pull out almost completely and then push back in. Repeatedly. It made her delirious.
She shuddered through another orgasm while he kept up his pace, except now he was more forceful with his thrusts, hands on her hips, sitting up, making sure she would take all of him.
She wailed and chanted Ben Ben Ben in a steady litany, while he fucked her hard enough for the 1790s headboard to start banging against the wall.
He didn't care. He'd replace all of the furniture if required. His girl needed to know only his cock. Nothing else in that sweet, overthinking brain of hers.
He pushed a pillow beneath her hips, moments before he came in her and kept them canted up while he set a rough pace even while he was coming in her.
Cervical penetration being an impossibility was a sad thing to consider, else he was pretty sure he'd spill directly inside her womb. He's sure enough, he thought as he came down from the high and kissed her messily, that he's pounded against her cervix this time.
The thought of her being sore the next day from his fucking made more come spill out of his spent cock.
Sophie pulled at his arms and he leaned his whole weight down on her, still inside her. He kissed the side of her face and tucked himself into her neck.
Good god, he could sleep like this. He could also die like this. A deep satisfaction.
He woke up the next day to Sophie kissing his face and then kissing down his body. He stopped her before she could reach his dick.
“You don't have to.”
“You don't want me to?”
“That's not what I said, baby. My size makes it a little difficult to….do that.”
“I wanna try still, will you teach me?” She asked, doe eyes out in full force.
Benedict groaned as she giggled.
“We stop if it gets too much, alright?”
Sophie's eyes twinkled at him. She nodded and said, “I don't think we will but yes. I agree.”
She took him into his mouth, suckling at the head and looking straight at him. He stared at her with hooded eyes and guided her hands to cover what her mouth couldn't fit.
And then she swallowed him whole, slowly, inch by slow inch, right down to his pubic bone, right down her throat.
He let out of a noisy groan. That throat. All her holes were turning out to be perfect for him.
He threaded his hands through her hair on both sides of her head and guided her. After a few more thrusts, his grip on her hair tightened and he took over. He was now setting the pace of how she’d take him. The glint in Sophie's watering eyes was triumphant, this is what she wanted all along.
“Relax that beautiful throat, baby,” he crooned as he fucked her throat slowly, that soon turned rougher and faster.
Sophie held on to his upper thighs and let him use her the way he wanted.
He started grinding whenever he buried himself entirely, balls hitting her chin, making her moan each time. She fondled his balls and squeezed once. In retailiation, he covered her throat with one hand and squeezed gently. She moaned around his cock more loudly and filthily while he chuckled.
“Oh, perfect girl, you wanna be used like this?” He said between thrusts. “Fucked brainless, can't speak?”. Thrust. Harsh grind. Pull out. Thrust. Repeat. “We can do that sweetheart, we certainly can.”
He braces his legs on the bed and fucked her throat relentlessly. Sophie moaned helplessly as she shuddered through her own orgasm, untouched.
Sounds of sex filled the room. The wet squelch of her throat and throaty moans, his grunts and filthy words just for her. He came with a groan and a grunt and held her face still while he buried himself deep. She moaned uncontrollably and swallowed noisily as he came down her throat.
He continued to come for minutes and he prolonged the sensation by fucking her throat in and out. In and out. She squeezed her throat tight around him and his hand in her hair tightened in response.
He loved how she acted on her instincts (rightly) around him.
When he stopped coming, he pulled out of her mouth, slowly. He was still half hard so he pulled her up and slid inside her dripping cunt in one smooth thrust that had him buried balls deep.
She was so wet, she still wailed at his abrupt entrance.
“That wet from just deepthroating me, baby? I'll fuck your throat every morning then,” he said as he fucked into her and set a punishing pace.
Sophie could do little but hold on to his muscled arms and take what he was giving her. A few minutes later, he flipped them around and railed her into the mattress.
“Did you like that,”she asked shyly, voice hoarse from the harsh fucking. He started laughing. “It was perfect. You're perfect. I need to be deepthroated every day now.”
She smiled through her tears, giddy at his agreement and happiness. “I loved doing that. Swallowing you like this.”
He touched her jaw tenderly as he slowed down his pace. “Your jaw will hurt.”
She replied cheekily, “You can get me an appointment for a mandibular massage then,” eyes twinkling, and he could do nothing but chuckle at her obvious pleasure in pleasuring him.
They spent the majority of the two weeks like this. Barely clothed, fucking whenever they could, wherever they could, eating the cold cuts and sandwiches and pies that Mrs. Crabtree had preprepared and frozen for them.
It's like a lid had been blown off. He couldn't stop touching her and neither could she.
Some of the more memorable times were in front of the blazing fireplace, one finger in her lubed asshole while she was on all fours, while he set a punishing pace from behind. She moaned uncontrollably. Each time he filled her pussy he made sure her hips were canted up so she didn't spill anything.
She was too out of it every time to question him. He knew chances of getting her pregnant were slim. Even when everything went right, it took more than a couple of weeks of fucking. He'd have to continue the same pace when they went back to London and the thought of it kept him excited.
Fucking in a shower was tricky in the best of times but Sophie was slight and maneuvering her so one of her legs was draped across the crook of his elbow, opening her up to him, back to the wall, was not much of a problem. The water cascaded on them from the rainfall showerhead above while he set a pace where she could only cling to him while he fucked her the way he preferred — her being unable to do much but be dicked down by him. It was peaceful and quiet save for their combined grunts and moans.
He loved being in control in bed and she readily gave it up to him.
Having her deepthroat him while he was sitting on the showerseat was not part of his plan, but she relished the taste of her cunt around his cock as she swallowed him the best she could. He let her head bob without directing her the first few minutes before he took over, setting a brutal pace again. She relaxed immediately and opened her throat so he could pound to his heart's content.
She loved him taking control, he could tell. A girl this perfect should be fucked whenever possible and kept close all the time.
The day before they were supposed to leave for London, he woke up with her on top of him. He'd fallen asleep still inside her and he'd already fucked her once, mindlessly, in his sleep, in the middle of the night. Now she was still sleeping. Snoring lightly. He gave a small grin while he observed her. What a precious girl. She trusted him so wholly, he never wanted to do anything to break that trust.
He was already half hard thinking about the night before and the way they went at it for hours.
He was sketching her in her red dress at his mother and sister-in-law’s soiree and she was cockwarming him, sitting fully on his lap. And she was doing a bad job of it. She already come twice and been fucked twice when she was supposed to just keep him wet and warm inside her. He let her come as many times as she wanted, sweetest girl, before he finally finished the sketch, placed it beside him on the bedside cabinet and fucked her into the mattress relentlessly.
He slowly started fucking into her. Without waking, Sophie spread her legs so he could have better access. He didn't want her to wake.
She was sore, he knew. She also liked being sore, she told him so when they were done.
Slow, shallow thrusts and her face was soon tucked into the side of his neck. Good god, she felt so right in his arms. So much bloodshed and violence in his life and she’s the only thing that felt safe and right for him.
Sophie slowly stirred, the slow thrusts waking her up. She blearily looked at him and then laid back down, spreading herself further so he could use her as he’d like. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he quickened his thrusts. She squeezed him once and moaned out as she orgasmed and he followed soon after. He pulled the cover over them both and slowly drifted back to sleep.
“You still sore,” asked Benedict, sitting behind her in the deep, clawfoot tub while gently washing down her front with a loofah. Sophie squirmed a little bit. The water was hot, her boyfriend was warm behind her and she was almost asleep with how relaxed she felt. “A little,” she admitted. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head as she leaned back and pressed her face into his neck, eyes closed.
They had essentially fucked on all surfaces of the house knowing that they weren’t going to run into the caretakers at any point. Alfie was there somewhere on the property, in one of the designated holiday cottages, as was John.
Sophie was pretty sure sex could be mediocre with an inattentive partner, but Benedict was anything but. He had a voracious drive and always wanted to try a new position but ensuring she came first — and multiple times. It was explosive.
Him coming inside her so many times still made her shiver at the thought. Especially when he’d spread her legs and watch his come trickle out and then push it back in with either his fingers or his cock and mutter something about her needing to keep his release inside her warm, wet cunt.
She was so embarrassed now with how wet she was throughout. She’d drip into the floorboards if she wasn’t careful.
But it was also how Benedict made her feel as if her sexual needs were natural and normal. He egged her on and encouraged her in whatever she did and guided her where she didn’t know what to do.
They matched in so many ways.
She should’ve been riding this dick for longer, damn.
Tomorrow, they went back to London, and while she could still spend nights at his flat, if she wanted to, she would be missing the easy domesticity they shared here.
Benedict was surprisingly capable in the kitchen, even if he admitted that more complicated dishes were out of his repertoire. He made her hot drinks and breakfast every day and didn’t let her lift a finger.
She didn’t look at her phone the entire time she’d been here.
She opened her eyes to see him slowly trace her labia, his obscenely large hand under water. She inhaled sharply. Sore as she was, she was not going to stop him. He slipped two fingers in as he pressed a kiss to the side of her temple and she moaned out loud and threw her head back.
It reminded her of his fingers pushing his come back into her pussy. God.
Oh.
Oh shit.
“Ben,” she said, voice tinged with alarm. Benedict leaned forward so he could see her face, “What is it, love?”
“I am not on birth control.”
“I know.”
She stared at him. “We have been having unprotected sex for the past two weeks, Benedict!”
He pulled his lips in in an effort to stop smiling and then helplessly gave her a lopsided smile. A small one. Meant to soothe.
It didn’t soothe.
“This is serious, Benedict. We have only just gotten togeth—”
“—if you leave aside the fact that we’ve been circling each other for the past three years then sure—”
“That is not the point!”
Benedict exhaled and gently turned her to face him. She hooked her legs over his hips, arms around his torso and stared at him.
“When was your last cycle?”
Sophie thought back hard. “I think I am due for my next one in the next few days.”
Silence and then Benedict shrugged. “Alright, there’s a chance then, but I want to say something,” he said and when Sophie went to interrupt him he interjected softly, “Please.”
“Okay, go on.”
“It is not that easy to get pregnant. Even when the fertility of both parties is perfectly intact and all is well and stress levels are low and whatever. Sometimes it is, but most times it is not. It usually takes months of what we’ve been doing the past two weeks.”
Sophie put it together fast. “You wouldn’t mind though.”
“Mind what?”
He was going to make her say it out loud, the bastard. “If we were to find ourselves having a child this early into being together?”
“No. I wouldn’t,” he said, exhaling roughly.
He circled his arms tighter and pulled her closer within the confines of the tub. The mesmerising green of his eyes had her in its grip.
“I wouldn’t mind us having a child right now, because that child would only know our love, magnified. And,” he stopped and looked away for a moment. He then looked back and she could feel how intense his gaze was this time, “it would also mean that you would never be able to leave.”
Sophie softened at that. “I wouldn’t choose to leave even now.”
“I know. But you feared it once.”
“….I did.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Stop worrying about what has yet to happen. Let us cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Sophie squared her shoulders and ran her fingers up, up and intertwined them behind his neck.
“So if I am not pregnant, you wouldn’t object to me getting on some form of birth control, yes?”
Benedict swallowed, pursed his lips and then gave her a grin again, guiltily. He was caught, she thought triumphantly.
“No, I wouldn’t,” he said, hands running down her back. “I wouldn’t mind at all. I do think we can get away with using condoms — if you want to that is.”
“You just wanna knock me up,” she said in mock outrage.
“I think if I say no, I’d be lying, so. Yes, I do,” he shrugged and smiled. “I want to fuck you bare like I did the past few days and I wanna make sure you spill none of my seed and I want that seed to take root. I am a possessive man, especially over you,” he said, voice low and causing her cunt to throb, “and I want to keep you with me at all times till the day both of us depart from this earth,” he finished, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“My beautiful girl,” he said, kissing her again. Water splashed around them as Sophie grasped him lightly, making him hiss, and then guided him inside her again.
She knew that raising a child was no joke and she was still anxious about it but somehow he always managed to turn her brain off with his proximity.
She stopped thinking as Benedict picked up a rapid pace, manhandling her, water spilling out of the bath dangerously.
“You know, you really should be lettin’ me drive,” complained Alfie from the back, face propped up over one fist, arm resting over the open window.
“Oh come on, just let me drive, I barely get to drive anywhere now,” came Benedict’s response from the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other entwined with Sophie’s.
Alfie let out a sigh. “Fine, fine, we are switching after half an hour though. I don’t want a talkin’ to from your mum. She scares the wits out of me.”
Benedict chuckled as did John from the backseat, who snorted.
“What,” asked Alfie, “Violet Bridgerton is scary. No offense, Ben.”
“None taken, she can be scary when she wants to be. She scares me sometimes still.”
“See!”
Sophie laughed outright. It felt so freeing, speeding down the M4, the four of them, this camraderie, its as if their worries were behind them. And most of it was behind them.
She leaned her head on the other window and watched the rolling countryside pass her by.
this next chapter of the devil knockin' at my door is already at 3,700 words and i still have some way to go......damn and this was supposed to be a low-stakes thing lmao
Ended at 4500 words. Which is sorta long for this fic but I have stopped questioning my muse. Some chaps are 1000 words some are 5000 it is what it is.
Will likely increase by 2-300 words because i will be revising it tomorrow before posting. Often i want to elaborate or eliminate some parts to make it flow better, so its better to just let it marinate over time.
this next chapter of the devil knockin' at my door is already at 3,700 words and i still have some way to go......damn and this was supposed to be a low-stakes thing lmao
Sophie was pacing and wringing her hands together as Benedict re-read the letter on the settee in the library. He’d received his mother’s note earlier that evening and wasn’t surprised by her swiftness in action.
If there was one thing in the world Violet Bridgerton believed in, it was love. Love deep enough that her children mated their spouses, it was her one true wish. It was also the reason Benedict had mentioned him mating Sophie in his letter to her, so that she’d know this wasn’t a passing fancy or a dalliance. He did think he was likely jumping the gun with how fast things were moving between him and Sophie, and yet, it didn’t seem fast enough.
Had Sophie been presented at eight and ten like she should have been, and with the dowry that he suspected her father left her in his will, she’d have had a line of suitors around the square, vying for her hand. He would have been one of them, possibly further down the line of eligibility.
Now, in this world, the real world, it wasn’t how it turned out to be. He was a nobleman, an Alpha, a prime at that, she was an Omega and not recognized as nobility even if her father was a nobleman.
The rules of the ton dictated that wealth be preserved with their ranks, regardless of suitability to one another. The shackles of this nonsense had bothered him for years and now he knew why. It was an instinct, almost, as if somewhere deep inside he knew that his mate, the person who’d help him make sense of himself and the world around him, wasn’t present in the familiar trapping.
He set the letter beside him on the settee and approached Sophie, taking her hands in his, pressing kisses to her palms. Her agitated and anxious scent immediately calmed down, softening to her familiar scent.
He held her hands to his chest and gazed at her fondly, “Stop worrying, my love.”
Sophie stared up at him, unabashed in her adoration of him. Here was yet another way she was unlike the ladies of the ton. No shyness, no coy flirtation. She adored him, wanted him and wanted his company. She stared him straight in the face and told him she couldn’t help but notice him. He loved how she just meant what she said.
How could he have ever considered living a life with anyone but her? This beautiful creature. No one else would keep him on his tiptoes.
“You shouldn’t call me that, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Benedict,” he urged again, softly.
She hesitated. “Benedict,” she acquiesced.
“My mother loves love. She loves her children and she wants them to experience the beauty of what love is like. You will like her, just wait and see.”
Sophie gave him an unimpressed look. “Lady Bridgerton is fully aware of the scandal we are about to bring upon your family’s head with this….proposition of yours. So I will not be surprised if she doesn’t like me, I know I wouldn’t had I been in her position.”
Benedict took advantage of her ire to draw her in closer and pull her down on to the seat with him. He rearranged the skirt of the silver dress she was wearing and seated her comfortably. Despite her words, she settled against him, resting her temple against his collarbone.
It was after dinner and everyone had gone to bed. They would not be interrupted now.
He caressed her cheek with one hand, stroking gently, wrapping the other around her waist, securing her to him. He said mildly, “I think you should wait to meet her before you assume things about my mother.”
Her muffled voice came from below, reverberating through him. “I apologize.”
He huffed. “No need, Sophie. I am merely saying, my mother contains magnitudes.” She looked up at him and he continued, voice adoring, “She will adore you.”
He started pressing kisses down her throat now, hungry now at the swell of the tops of her breasts. “She will, I promise,” he said, voice muffled now, as Sophie clung to him.
He’d make sure she stopped overthinking in that beautiful brain of hers for the next little while atleast.
It was becoming harder and harder to hold back, he mused, as he deftly undid the buttons on the back of her dress and pushed down the dress to her waist, Sophie helping him with it. It was so hard to not lay her out on this settee and simply have his way with her. She was his mate after all, he’d throw his lineage into the fire if it meant being with her. But somehow he didn’t say that out loud for not scaring her. She was worried enough, skittish enough, despite being unable to deny this connection between them.
What she needed was to experience pleasure and his mouth on her delectable nipples, tugged into his mouth like it was now, and not think for a little while. He so enjoyed the little cries he’d been able to extract from her, he thought, as he switched from one breast to another.
They were wet from his saliva. There was a mating gland on both sides of her breasts and he simply went with his instinct and bit down. Just a little something to tide them both over and soothe her.
Her protests died down as her scent flooded the room. So beautiful, he thought. He could truly drown in it.
“Benedict, we cannot,” Sophie implored, boneless and liquid in his arms, protesting nothing and yet still reminding him of the precariousness of their situation. He let out a deep groan. “I know, Sophie.”
She looked up at him from where she was tucked against the side of his neck and he observed a glint in her eye. He looked on, amused, as she went ahead and nipped at his gland. His scent — which he’d been told was freshly roasted coffee beans, with a hint of butterscotch — bloomed. Mixing with hers it felt like he could ride out with Napoleon at dawn and come out of the battle unscathed.
.
.
Benedict made the effort the next morning to look more like he was the owner in residence rather than a careless lout. He tied the cravat precisely and carefully inserted the pearl-encrusted pin in the knot to keep it in place. He ran a hand down his waistcoat and looked at himself critically in the mirror. He looked more than presentable.
He did leave his hair tousled. He was still in the comfort of his own home.
He stepped out of his bedroom and made his way to the living area where he saw Sophie — much like yesterday in the library — pacing, albiet slowly. Except she looked so much more beautiful today.
Her hair was long. He hadn’t realized how long until last night when she slept in his arms and he ran his hand through the strands. Inky black like midnight, smooth as silk. Today it was done up in a half-updo, the rest of her hair curled and trailing down her back. A small silver hair ornament glinted on the knot in her hair.
She stopped and turned to look at him when he entered and made his way towards her. She looked so beautiful — in a short-sleeved blue dress with white lace appliqués that he was fairly certain was Francesca’s. She used to wear it quite often while at home before she met either of her suitors her season. She wore a matching sheer blue shawl draped across her arms.
She very much looked like a Bridgerton.
Or what she’d look like when she was his wife. (and mate)
As he got closer, he noticed something glinting off her neck — he stopped. It was the silver chain with an amethyst pendant. The same pendant she wore the night of the masquerade ball.
She had not been wearing it at the lake days prior.
She had a sheepish expression on her face. “I thought if I took it off I would be able to escape your notice for a little while longer.”
Benedict pulled her hands into his own and rubbed them gently. She needed a bracelet and matching earrings, he made a note.
“I don’t think you will ever be able to escape my notice, Sophie, no matter what you do.”
He pulled on her hands towards the door. “Come, she should be here soon. We can take a walk nearby till then.”
She followed.
.
.
Benedict should’ve been a prophet because within ten or fifteen minutes of him and Sophie having taken a turn about the gardens, he heard the distinct hoofs on compacted ground. Since he wasn’t expecting deliveries until the end of the week, he knew it would be his mother.
He intertwined his fingers with Sophie’s and pulled her along as a leisurely pace to greet his mother, who was being helped down from the carriage by Mr. Crabtree.
“Lady Bridgerton, it is so wonderful to see you,” he enthused.
“Ah, Jim, it is always a pleasure to see you and Susan as well,” said Violet as she smiled at him and at Mrs. Crabtree standing behind him.
“Ma’am,” greeted Mrs. Crabtree as she enthusiastically turned her attention to Mrs. Wilson, who alighted from the carriage as well.
Violet was not paying attention though.
Her sole focus was now on her son, who held the hand of the young lady beside him with a comfort she’d not seen from him before.
A place where his soul has come to rest.
The girl looked to be Daphne’s age, perhaps a year or so younger. She was wearing one of Francesca’s dresses from her first season out. No jewellery, no hint of homemade flushes or lip colouring, save for the pendant around her neck and her hair done up fashionably. In all likelihood, having been a maid she’d likely have been accustomed to the latest hairstyles because hers looked perfection itself.
One of the prettiest faces she’d ever seen. Though her beautiful face was currently marred by apprehension and stress.
Quite understandable, if you are meeting your husband-to-be’s mother.
“Mother, it is very good to see you,” Benedict said, letting go of her hand to lean forward and kiss Violet on the cheek.
“May I present Miss Sophie Baek?”
Sophie curtsied elegantly in front of her, a beautiful half-dip reserved for the matriarchs of the ton. “My lady,” she said, a tone of voice as pretty to match the face.
This is the sort of thing that cannot be taught. The curtsey is taught, of course, but the elegance of it is quite inherent. This girl had noble blood coursing through her.
Violet nodded at her and then stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. Rainfall on scorched earth and rosewater, and a faint whiff of lilacs; the last one an artificial perfume meant to compliment her natural scent. Most beautiful.
Everything about this girl was beautiful.
“So pleased to meet you, my dear. Come,” she said, taking her hand and falling in step beside her, “tell me about yourself and then let us see if we can manage ourselves in this situation yet.”
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🔗: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Read on AO3
🏷️: none, cuddling mostly
📝: the next chapter might (probably) will take a little while and will be posted sometime in the next week, so here's an interlude that wouldn't leave my brain. enjoy!!
Benedict’s eyes tracked Sophie across his office. She was looking through the lease agreement he'd asked her to print out but his focus wasn't at work.
It was on her.
He'd never thought he'd find someone he actually loved despite wanting to. Given the line of work his family was involved in, it seemed fantastical to even dream of it.
No, the best he could hope for was someone amicable, the marriage being more a business decision than a love match. His mother, for one, didn't push him. She'd married his father for love and hoped for the same for her children. Despite a business merger sounding more sensible.
Whether a surprising coincidence or not, Daphne and Francesca had made advantageous matches but they'd also married for love. Anthony had dumped Siena, an upcoming jazz singer, so he still had hope there.
He'd stopped sleeping around a year into working with Sophie. She'd fulfilled every single emotional need he'd had from the beginning — understanding him, seeing through him and yet never making him feel less than for harboring wants different from this life. His sexual urges felt so easy to ignore.
Rather, they felt less than fulfilling for him when he’d already met his wife-to-be.
Anthony could tell, in the way that all older brothers could tell with their younger siblings, what was going on. He also took Benedict aside to ensure he knew what he was doing.
Benedict was offended. He didn't recall being this obsessed with a woman. Ever.
Perhaps Tilley. But that faded a couple of months into knowing her.
She couldn’t hold his attention. No one could. No one aside from Sophie.
He'd known Sophie for more than a few years now. She filled his mind in ways he couldn't even articulate.
Today she was wearing an umber-hued skirt that ended at mid-calf, the structure of it flowy and not so rigid. Her blouse was cream, billowy sleeves and tucked into the skirt, showing off the curves on her slight figure. Her hair was down her back today, coming to her waist in waves. Shoes kicked off to the side, as she usually did when she was in his office and they had nowhere to be in the next couple of hours.
(It was his personal favourite thing to witness — how comfortable she got in his presence without him saying a single thing.)
He wanted to ruck up that skirt and push her panties to the side and cup her where she'd be warm and wet.
He'd given her a hug the other day that lasted a little too long — she'd tried to pull back and he'd gently pressed a kiss to her temple and refused to let go.
Her expression after stayed with him.
Guarded, but she wanted to give in. So badly. She escaped as soon as she could.
She felt so right. He wanted that feeling back.
“Mr. Bridgerton, I think all the required elements are there.”
She'd passed every test he'd set her, every test he set for every employee that worked with him closely, but her even more so. He told her personal things, things he didn't share with his siblings — his sexuality, his interest in painting that he rarely got a chance to indulge in, the gallery he owned under a different name. She'd said nothing to no one, not even his sisters.
She had a stepsister, Posy, who was married to Hugh Barnaby. A good person in a shady line of business. An honourable man. She kept in touch with Posy, but kept it quiet, didn't tell the Bridgertons. He knew.
(He always knew. Just as she didn’t know of the security he hired to track her on her off days when she didn’t stay in the flat and just wandered about town.)
She looked happier after seeing Posy, every time.
He surreptitiously adjusted himself and got up from behind his desk and made his way to the sofa. She was all the way across the room near the printer.
Once he'd settled himself, he said, “Come here, let me see.”
She made her way to the sofa absently and then froze when she finally looked at him. She could tell what he was doing.
For months he'd been making advances — a hand on her hip here, on her back there, touching her. She'd not said no.
He grinned that lopsided grin he knew she adored on him and beckoned her. She looked behind her at the door. It was shut closed.
Slowly, she came to stand in front of him and he pulled at her arm and tugged. She ended up on his lap and he wrapped his arms around her waist and right below her breasts. Her breath hitched.
“Benedict,” she said breathily. Oh, she'd sound so good saying his name like that in his bed. He'd tie her down and keep her there for days.
“Hmm?” He asked, face pressed into the crook of her neck. She always smelled so divine. Vanilla and something else. Warm.
His hands drifted. Brushed her breasts with one and her breath stuttered and the other hand pulled up her skirt and settled on her upper thigh. Firm grip. Good.
He let out a deep groan. He felt her shudder. “Hmm, point out the particulars for me, sweetheart.”
“Someone might see,” she whispered.
“Let them,” he said. He then bent forward and whispered into her ear. “If I were to fuck you into this settee they still wouldn't say a word.”
He owned her, in a way. He knew she knew that.
He'd never do anything without her permission. But sometimes his control felt like it was hanging by a thread.
Sophie leaned back into his chest and looked at him. Skittish still, a little scared. He pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek and then hooked his chin over her shoulder.
How he wished he could unbutton that shirt. And the bra. And then work with her looking like that.
But she'd run. And he didn't want that. She needed to be coaxed. He was good at coaxing.
“Tell me your observations, Sophie.”
She took in a breath, inhaling with a full-body shudder, and started reading out the sections that she felt needed further restructuring. He hummed at her melodic voice and mentally noted, eyes closed and tucked into her neck. He could hear her scribbling into the margins with her notes.
“I missed you in my bed yesterday,” he said, when they were in a lull. Her scribbling stopped.
“I shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
“I disagree.”
“You should really be more careful with knife-slinging gang members,” she retorted, voice tight.
He’d ended up with a superficial cut to the side above his stomach. But Sophie got really worried, especially when it wouldn’t stop bleeding. She disinfected and sewed him up — his magnificent, clever assistant — and kept an eye on him for most of the night. In the morning, she got tired and laid her head beside his pillow for a little while.
When he woke up, he saw her angelic face, unmarred with stress and tension and couldn’t help but gently tug her into his arms. She woke up in his vice grip.
She’d managed to keep her distance for approximately 24 hours. Now she was back where she belonged; in his arms.
“Mm, but you don’t want to be in my bed otherwise, so what am I to do?” he half-joked.
She turned around to argue, he leaned forward to steal a kiss.
His hand slid forward, along her jaw, keeping her in place while he kissed her. Chaste and warm and life-affirming.
Her eyes were glazed over when he was done.
“Just stay here for a little bit,” he murmured, palm cupping her small face.
He never did have a kink for size difference but sometimes, seeing the way one whole side of her face fit in his palm, it sent shivers up his spine. She fit perfectly.
He could wait. He had all the time in the world to make her his.
Sophie was pacing and wringing her hands together as Benedict re-read the letter on the settee in the library. He’d received his mother’s note earlier that evening and wasn’t surprised by her swiftness in action.
If there was one thing in the world Violet Bridgerton believed in, it was love. Love deep enough that her children mated their spouses, it was her one true wish. It was also the reason Benedict had mentioned him mating Sophie in his letter to her, so that she’d know this wasn’t a passing fancy or a dalliance. He did think he was likely jumping the gun with how fast things were moving between him and Sophie, and yet, it didn’t seem fast enough.
Had Sophie been presented at eight and ten like she should have been, and with the dowry that he suspected her father left her in his will, she’d have had a line of suitors around the square, vying for her hand. He would have been one of them, possibly further down the line of eligibility.
Now, in this world, the real world, it wasn’t how it turned out to be. He was a nobleman, an Alpha, a prime at that, she was an Omega and not recognized as nobility even if her father was a nobleman.
The rules of the ton dictated that wealth be preserved with their ranks, regardless of suitability to one another. The shackles of this nonsense had bothered him for years and now he knew why. It was an instinct, almost, as if somewhere deep inside he knew that his mate, the person who’d help him make sense of himself and the world around him, wasn’t present in the familiar trapping.
He set the letter beside him on the settee and approached Sophie, taking her hands in his, pressing kisses to her palms. Her agitated and anxious scent immediately calmed down, softening to her familiar scent.
He held her hands to his chest and gazed at her fondly, “Stop worrying, my love.”
Sophie stared up at him, unabashed in her adoration of him. Here was yet another way she was unlike the ladies of the ton. No shyness, no coy flirtation. She adored him, wanted him and wanted his company. She stared him straight in the face and told him she couldn’t help but notice him. He loved how she just meant what she said.
How could he have ever considered living a life with anyone but her? This beautiful creature. No one else would keep him on his tiptoes.
“You shouldn’t call me that, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Benedict,” he urged again, softly.
She hesitated. “Benedict,” she acquiesced.
“My mother loves love. She loves her children and she wants them to experience the beauty of what love is like. You will like her, just wait and see.”
Sophie gave him an unimpressed look. “Lady Bridgerton is fully aware of the scandal we are about to bring upon your family’s head with this….proposition of yours. So I will not be surprised if she doesn’t like me, I know I wouldn’t had I been in her position.”
Benedict took advantage of her ire to draw her in closer and pull her down on to the seat with him. He rearranged the skirt of the silver dress she was wearing and seated her comfortably. Despite her words, she settled against him, resting her temple against his collarbone.
It was after dinner and everyone had gone to bed. They would not be interrupted now.
He caressed her cheek with one hand, stroking gently, wrapping the other around her waist, securing her to him. He said mildly, “I think you should wait to meet her before you assume things about my mother.”
Her muffled voice came from below, reverberating through him. “I apologize.”
He huffed. “No need, Sophie. I am merely saying, my mother contains magnitudes.” She looked up at him and he continued, voice adoring, “She will adore you.”
He started pressing kisses down her throat now, hungry now at the swell of the tops of her breasts. “She will, I promise,” he said, voice muffled now, as Sophie clung to him.
He’d make sure she stopped overthinking in that beautiful brain of hers for the next little while atleast.
It was becoming harder and harder to hold back, he mused, as he deftly undid the buttons on the back of her dress and pushed down the dress to her waist, Sophie helping him with it. It was so hard to not lay her out on this settee and simply have his way with her. She was his mate after all, he’d throw his lineage into the fire if it meant being with her. But somehow he didn’t say that out loud for not scaring her. She was worried enough, skittish enough, despite being unable to deny this connection between them.
What she needed was to experience pleasure and his mouth on her delectable nipples, tugged into his mouth like it was now, and not think for a little while. He so enjoyed the little cries he’d been able to extract from her, he thought, as he switched from one breast to another.
They were wet from his saliva. There was a mating gland on both sides of her breasts and he simply went with his instinct and bit down. Just a little something to tide them both over and soothe her.
Her protests died down as her scent flooded the room. So beautiful, he thought. He could truly drown in it.
“Benedict, we cannot,” Sophie implored, boneless and liquid in his arms, protesting nothing and yet still reminding him of the precariousness of their situation. He let out a deep groan. “I know, Sophie.”
She looked up at him from where she was tucked against the side of his neck and he observed a glint in her eye. He looked on, amused, as she went ahead and nipped at his gland. His scent — which he’d been told was freshly roasted coffee beans, with a hint of butterscotch — bloomed. Mixing with hers it felt like he could ride out with Napoleon at dawn and come out of the battle unscathed.
.
.
Benedict made the effort the next morning to look more like he was the owner in residence rather than a careless lout. He tied the cravat precisely and carefully inserted the pearl-encrusted pin in the knot to keep it in place. He ran a hand down his waistcoat and looked at himself critically in the mirror. He looked more than presentable.
He did leave his hair tousled. He was still in the comfort of his own home.
He stepped out of his bedroom and made his way to the living area where he saw Sophie — much like yesterday in the library — pacing, albiet slowly. Except she looked so much more beautiful today.
Her hair was long. He hadn’t realized how long until last night when she slept in his arms and he ran his hand through the strands. Inky black like midnight, smooth as silk. Today it was done up in a half-updo, the rest of her hair curled and trailing down her back. A small silver hair ornament glinted on the knot in her hair.
She stopped and turned to look at him when he entered and made his way towards her. She looked so beautiful — in a short-sleeved blue dress with white lace appliqués that he was fairly certain was Francesca’s. She used to wear it quite often while at home before she met either of her suitors her season. She wore a matching sheer blue shawl draped across her arms.
She very much looked like a Bridgerton.
Or what she’d look like when she was his wife. (and mate)
As he got closer, he noticed something glinting off her neck — he stopped. It was the silver chain with an amethyst pendant. The same pendant she wore the night of the masquerade ball.
She had not been wearing it at the lake days prior.
She had a sheepish expression on her face. “I thought if I took it off I would be able to escape your notice for a little while longer.”
Benedict pulled her hands into his own and rubbed them gently. She needed a bracelet and matching earrings, he made a note.
“I don’t think you will ever be able to escape my notice, Sophie, no matter what you do.”
He pulled on her hands towards the door. “Come, she should be here soon. We can take a walk nearby till then.”
She followed.
.
.
Benedict should’ve been a prophet because within ten or fifteen minutes of him and Sophie having taken a turn about the gardens, he heard the distinct hoofs on compacted ground. Since he wasn’t expecting deliveries until the end of the week, he knew it would be his mother.
He intertwined his fingers with Sophie’s and pulled her along as a leisurely pace to greet his mother, who was being helped down from the carriage by Mr. Crabtree.
“Lady Bridgerton, it is so wonderful to see you,” he enthused.
“Ah, Jim, it is always a pleasure to see you and Susan as well,” said Violet as she smiled at him and at Mrs. Crabtree standing behind him.
“Ma’am,” greeted Mrs. Crabtree as she enthusiastically turned her attention to Mrs. Wilson, who alighted from the carriage as well.
Violet was not paying attention though.
Her sole focus was now on her son, who held the hand of the young lady beside him with a comfort she’d not seen from him before.
A place where his soul has come to rest.
The girl looked to be Daphne’s age, perhaps a year or so younger. She was wearing one of Francesca’s dresses from her first season out. No jewellery, no hint of homemade flushes or lip colouring, save for the pendant around her neck and her hair done up fashionably. In all likelihood, having been a maid she’d likely have been accustomed to the latest hairstyles because hers looked perfection itself.
One of the prettiest faces she’d ever seen. Though her beautiful face was currently marred by apprehension and stress.
Quite understandable, if you are meeting your husband-to-be’s mother.
“Mother, it is very good to see you,” Benedict said, letting go of her hand to lean forward and kiss Violet on the cheek.
“May I present Miss Sophie Baek?”
Sophie curtsied elegantly in front of her, a beautiful half-dip reserved for the matriarchs of the ton. “My lady,” she said, a tone of voice as pretty to match the face.
This is the sort of thing that cannot be taught. The curtsey is taught, of course, but the elegance of it is quite inherent. This girl had noble blood coursing through her.
Violet nodded at her and then stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. Rainfall on scorched earth and rosewater, and a faint whiff of lilacs; the last one an artificial perfume meant to compliment her natural scent. Most beautiful.
Everything about this girl was beautiful.
“So pleased to meet you, my dear. Come,” she said, taking her hand and falling in step beside her, “tell me about yourself and then let us see if we can manage ourselves in this situation yet.”
