#benedict angst

you loved the adrenaline of the dark room.

in there, everyone who was inside was a mystery, reduced to movements and sounds, to hands gripping a little too tight, touches that were meant to be momentary, lips that brushed skin longer than they should and vanished before they could be claimed.

the dark made everything easier, not like the large and bright bridgerton dining room. there was nowhere to hide there. your families were practically one, which meant there was no escaping the monthly dinners lady bridgerton hosted. no polite excuses, no convenient illness. you were expected.

and hungover.

at least no one seemed to notice. the table buzzed with conversations, everyone absorbed into their own chatter. your mother leaned toward violet bridgerton, voices low and conspiratorial. your father sat next to anthony, the two of them deep in discussion, nothing serious by the way they both laughed from time to time.

colin had your older brother's full attention, he was probably talking about his travels again, and your younger sister was enjoying eloise and penelope's company, talking far too fast for someone who clearly hadn't spent the morning battling nausea and regret.

no one was looking at you.

or at least that's what you thought.

while you were doing this revision of everyone at the table.

benedict reached for the bottle of wine and tipped it toward your glass. you noticed too late, his wrists was already turning, the bottle tipping and the red liquid filling your glass. just the sight of it made your stomach lurch. if that wine touched your lips, you were certain you'd throw up right there. no more alcohol. possibly not ever again. or at least until next weekend, when selective amnesia would set in.

—rough morning?

you pushed the glass away when he finished filling it. benedict smirked.

—you could say that.

—let me guess, —benedict said, leaning back in his chair, —last night seemed like a brilliant idea at the time.

you exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to drop your head onto the table, so you just pressed your lips together into a guilty smile and nodded. the chatter around you continued, everyone unaware that you were fighting for your life over a glass of wine. benedict looked like he was enjoying every second of it.

—brave of you, —he added, —to show up today.

—i had no other choice. i would have been dragged here anyway.

benedict's smile showed that he was entertained.

—kicking and screaming, i imagine.

—barely conscious.

you and him shared a quiet laugh. he lifted his glass in a mock toast, taking a sip of his wine. your stomach twisted at the idea.

—cruel —you mumbled, reaching for your water instead. then, as casually as you could, you added, —they say you're in search for a wife.

benedict rolled his eyes and shook his head as if the very idea physically hurt him, —they say many things. most of them wildly untrue, —he through gritted teeth, looking toward lady bridgerton at the head of the table.

violet smiled, —benedict is trying, —he let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair, —trying is a first step.

you hid your smile behind your glass of water. if nothing else, it was a comfort to know that even the bridgertons weren't immune to family expectations. especially benedict who had a lifestyle not so different from yours. the parties, the alcohol... you glanced at him over your glass. he looked relaxed enough, but you knew better. some people weren't meant to be contained.

while the conversation went on around you, you gulped, feeling all the memories from last night coming at you at once.

the room was completely dark. you'd taken the last sip of your drink without thinking before tossing the empty glass aside and letting it shatter. then sound came first, music low, laughter somewhere close, but especially it was a mix of soft moans and deep groans. bodies moved unseen, close enough that you felt their heat without touch.

you bumped into them without warning. two bodies, tangled together, breathless. one of them laughed softly, surprised, and his hand grabbed your waist. not rough, but inviting. you were pulled into the space between them like it was the most natural thing in the world. his fingers brushed your hair back from your shoulders and his lips were suddenly on the curve of your neck.

your fingers tightened around your water glass and you exhaled slowly, forcing yourself back into the bridgerton dining room.

your hand lifted, finding the other man's your neck and you also pulled him closer to you. the space closed, their bodies pressing you tight. the man at your neck nipped at your skin there, enough to make you gasp, while the other cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he pulled you into a kiss that stole whatever air you had left.

then hands loosened and one of them slipped away, laughter fading as the other man was drawn elsewhere and you were left alone with the man who had been kissing you. not that you complained, he kissed like he was starving, hands that held your cheeks slid down to your neck, fingers pressing at the base.

your hands moved without permission, finding buttons and working them open. the dark hid his face but it sharpened everything else. his chest beneath your palms was hard, broad shoulders framed his body, the muscles in his arm tensed as he caged you against a wall and helped you to turn around.

the long fabric of your dress wrinkled beneath his hands. you felt the press of his chest behind you as he pulled down his pants just enough.

you shifted in your chair, adjusting your corset as discreetly as you could. you looked around the table, no one seemed to notice. had it gotten hotter here?

his thrusts were just as his kisses, desperate, as if slowing down was never an option. your sounds mixed with everyone else's in that room, your hand flew to the back of his head as his mouth found your neck. his sounds were deep, groans coming straight out of his chest. his hand came up again, firm at your neck to turn your face aside so he could kiss you. his hips were relentless, smacking against your ass again and again.

you took a sip of your water.

the way his fingers went inside your mouth, how he seemed exactly where to touch and how. one of his hands sneaking between your legs when he felt you were close, the way his arms held you when your legs started shaking. and the only thing he said, most of the people in those rooms never talked, but he murmured one single thing before he left...

—i had fun, —benedict said.

your head snapped, eyes shooting straight to the man sitting in front of you, —what?

everyone looked at you, benedict did too, surprised by your sudden interruption.

—at colin and penelope's wedding. i had fun, —he repeated.

and he said in the same way that had been murmured into your skin the night before.

you forced a smile and nodded, but your heart raced, loud in your ears, and the bridgerton dining room felt smaller. one of your hands went to your stomach as you focused on your breathing, —i couldn't agree more, oh, i'm...

you reached for your glass of water and accidentally knocked it instead. you stood, pushing back your chair. at the same moment, benedict stood too. everyone looked between the two of you, confused, but benedict saved it by lifting one hand and calling the service.

—no harm done, my dear, —violet said warmly.

you pressed your lips into a smile, eyes anywhere but on him.

—if you'll excuse me, i need some air...

you walked to the garden, before anyone could think to ask questions. the doors closed behind you, shutting the sound of the conversation, and the air of the night hit your face, cold and comforting. you stepped onto the grass and took a deep breath, then another, and then you realized you weren't calming down. you were nervously pacing around and the air that you've been taking in was from hyperventilating.

your face changed when you saw him crossing the garden to you. heat rushed to your cheeks and you couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. before you could think of it, you started walking to him.

—are you...?

you pushed him by his shoulders, —where were you last night?

he looked down at your hands on his chest, then back at your face. he had never seen you like this before, —with my family. at dinner.

you let out a short laugh, —you know that's not what i meant.

benedict squinted. of everyone at that table, he was the one person who understood you in ways that only you and him knew. you and benedict had the same... hobbies. the same hunger for noise, and crowds and dark places. it had always been there, between you two. you never asked each other questions because you already knew the answer would look a lot like your own.

—i went out. why? —he finally replied.

—and what were you doing going out on the other side of the town? —you shot back.

—how do you...?

you didn't answer, instead you bit the inside of your cheeks, looking at benedict, waiting for him to realize. his brow furrowed, then slowly smoothed and all of a sudden it didn't feel like he was looking at you standing in the garden anymore, it felt like the shape of your hands gripping his shirt, the sound of your breath in his ear and the way you moved against him without hesitation.

without lights.

—you, —he stated.

the heat on your face intensified. you covered it with both hands like you could hide from it and you started pacing again. it hadn't been some stranger, not someone in the dark you'd never see in the daylight. it was benedict.

benedict who had known you since you were children, who had been beside you at these same dinners, across these same tables, exchanging jokes and rolling your eyes at the same boring parties. he wasn't supposed to exist in that other world.

—what were you doing there? —he asked, almost accusing.

you turned around to look at him, defensive, —what do you mean what was i doing there? that's my part of the town, i live there. you, on the other hand, were really far away from yours. i have never seen you at that party before!

he stayed quiet, letting you pace around, mumbling things he couldn't really understand, something about not knowing anyone, about that being the whole point.

—why is it so bad?

you stopped pacing again, frustration rising again. you turned again to face him fully, —because you're not some stranger i'll never know, benedict, —your hands lifted for a second like you were about to gesture, then fell uselessly back to your sides, —you're you. you sit across from me at dinner. you know my family. our mothers talk. i see you all the time. i can't walk back into that house and look at you like everything's normal when i remember...

—when you remember what? tell me.

benedict took a step closer, not enough to touch you yet. the garden felt smaller and you were suddenly aware of how tall benedict was, how broad his shoulders were. his tone wasn't gentle anymore, there was something curious in it, something teasing.

—i, —you started, then stopped, looking at him, —don't do that.

—do what? —he asked, taking another step, like he knew exactly what it did to you

—i'm serious, ben, —you mumbled. your back straightened but your feet didn't move, they didn't even try to leave which only annoyed you more.

—remember what? —he repeated, lower this time.

benedict was close enough, holding his own hands behind his back. so close that if you leaned, you'd touch him.

—i remember, —you swallowed, —i remember your hands... and... your mouth, and... —you looked down in embarrassment, but immediately after you did, one of benedict's hand held up your chin, tilting your face up and forcing your eyes back to his, —... and the way you touched me.

—don't look away, —benedict said, thumb resting against your jaw, —you're acting like we did something terrible. like you regret it, —his eyes searched for yours, —do you?

you shook your head, eyes moving from his eyes to his mouth. benedict tilted his head, nodding. he closed the distance slowly, making sure you saw it coming. this time there was no anonymity to hide behind, it was just benedict kissing you in the big backyard of the bridgerton house.

benedict's hands slid to the small of your back, and before you realized what he was doing, he guided you backward. your shoulders met the stone of the mansion's facade and he caged you with his body. just above you, a high window was half open, and through it you could hear everything from inside the dining room. your mother's voice. colin's laugh...

and outside, benedict put two of his fingers inside his mouth in the most sinful way a man could ever. you grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss because you knew it was going to be hard to keep it quiet once he started sliding his hand up your thigh. you gasped into his mouth once his fingers went inside you, his thumb connecting to your clit.

you clung to him, your forehead pressed against his when the kiss broke, both of you breathing too hard, —ben, —you moaned, your grip on him tightened.

—i know, i know, —he said, shushing you as his fingers curled inside you.

the open window above you let out another burst of laughter, glasses clinking, someone calling for more wine. life continued while you melt in benedict's hands. his thumb draw circles on your clit, two of his fingers when in and out of you, making your legs shake. it felt even better now, knowing it was him who was touching you, being able to look at him in the eyes when you came.

you threw your head back, resting it against the facade, trying to catch your breath.

—feeling better? —benedict asked, kissing the mountains of your breasts showing from the neckline of your dress.

you nodded, biting your lower lip.

—has anyone seen benedict? —lady bridgerton said inside the dining room.

you and benedict looked at each other in panic as you remember where you were. then his hands were on you again, but this time fixing your dress, his knuckles brushed your sides and smoothed the fabric where it had bunched at your waist.

—hold still, —he whispered.

—i am holding still, —you whispered back.

you were smoothing his suit lapels and straightening his collar. his hands were resting on your waist again, looking at the door, hoping your families would take a second longer before they sent someone looking for you. you yanked benedict down by his lapels and kissed him. he kissed you back, hands sliding from your waist to your back, pulling you close again.

you pushed him by his shoulders, —you are insatiable.

he huffed a laugh, —you were the one who kissed me again!

and you did it one more time, grabbing him by the same place. he stumbled forward with a surprised laugh, one hand against the stone facade behind you. the other one caught your hand on instinct.

you smoothed his lapels one last time, though they were worse than before. benedict fixed your hair with clumsy fingers, both of you trying not to kiss each other again.

—now, —you said, —we behave.

The dress (for design and shape) that Benedict had bought you was gorgeous. A lilac colour. Jewels of a deeper shade of purple around the collar and sleeves. It was slim fitted. Tapering out marginally towards the end. A mask of similar colours. Light in the centre and going to a darker purple around the edges. Laced gloves of a darker shade adorning yourself too.

A carriage had come to pick you up from your house at 6:30. Well, the usual spot that you would get picked up from anyway. Letting you arrive at the starting time of 7. You place the mask on whilst you take the journey. Nerves getting the better of you. You had been to a handful of these balls by this point. You were unsure why you were so anxious about this particular one.

Thanking the driver when he arrives at the Bridgerton residence and heading out of the grand carriage. You take in a breath. Starting up the staircase to the doorway. A gentlemen motions the direction for your arrival once you enter the household. Going inside a hall with ornate decorations covering it.

You will never get used to the beauty inside these houses.

The downside of you going to a masked ball meant that you had no clue who you wear looking for when it came to the Bridgerton's. More specifically Benedict. You take in a breath. Trying to search for any sort of familiarity of the people you were seeing. You do recognise one person. Though you wish you hadn't. The bright red hair of the Featherington girl being obvious. No mask could hide that. You only prayed that she did not recognise you too.

A few men come up to you. No. A lot of men came up to you. You had an appealing figure and kind eyes. The two things your current outfit did justice for. So when a couple of the men asked for a dance you couldn't say no. Your dance card was empty so you had no feasible reason to deny them.

The fourth dance had come and gone. Parting ways with the gentlemen who had danced with you. Going back to your solitary corner. Hoping you wouldn't get asked to go back out onto the dance floor.

You pick at the few grapes on the table beside you. Watching as the live band gets ready for their next song. You watch as they quickly exchange talk with each other. Starting to play the next tune. You give out a sigh of relief. You were free from this dance. You turn back to the table. Picking a few more grapes. You take note of someone next to you but pay them no mind. That is until they start speaking.

"I'm glad the dress fits you". You turn your head to the side. A man dressed in black. Unbuttoned shirt showing off his chest. Black mask though you can still see the blue of his eyes. You give him a smile.

"I'm impressed you recognised me. I'm struggling to figure out who anyone is". He gives you a smile. Eyes watching the dancers as he speaks to you.

"I wouldn't be too impressed. I recognise you as I picked out the material for your dress myself. Though I'm sure I'd have recognised you from your beauty . Especially after seeing you on the dance floor". You face him. A smile gently passing your lips as you dance your eyes over his features.

"You saw me make a fall of myself whilst dancing with your guests?"

"I did". His head turns to you. Meeting your eyes. A kind silence falling between the two of you as the next dance starts up. Watching the dancers fall in relatively perfect unison.

The silence being broken as another gentlemen comes over to the two of you. "Benedict". A familiar voice. You squint your eyes slightly. Like that will help you recognise the character behind his mask.

"Collin". He speaks. Mocking his brothers tone of voice.

"Mother wants to introduce you to a young lady". You can practically hear the older Brdigerton roll his eyes.

"For heavens sake. I told her to stop with her insistent match making".

"She is concerned as she hasn't seen you dance once yet with a young lady".

"I don't like dancing. She surely knows this by now". He whines. You give a small laugh. Hand coming up and covering your mouth. Drawing the attention of the brothers to you. Fuck. You make the even more fatal mistake of making eye contact with them both. Double fuck. "Miss Florence. Would-"

"Nope".

"Will you at least let me finish asking my question?" You give out a sigh. Turning to fully face him. A hand motioning out as a means for him to continue. "Would you give me the honour to dance with you?"

"No". You answer. No room for pause to consider his question. "You saw how I dance. I am awful".

"Nothing a good teacher can't show you". He holds a hand out towards you. A couple of rings adorning his fingers. "And I happen to be an excellent teacher".

"You just said you hate dancing".

"With a passion. But I never said I was bad at it". You bite the inside of your bottom lip. Trying not to smile at his cheesiness. Placing your gloved hand in his. Just in time for the music to have stopped playing and a new dance to start.

He takes you to the floor. Starting to be surrounded by more couples. "Just keep your eyes on me and follow my lead". He speaks in a calming tone. You nod. Watching him as the music starts. Doing as he said. You are genuinely surprised by the lack of times you stumble over his feet.

The dance comes to a close. He takes your hand as he leads you back to where he dragged you from. The comfort of a corner near the food stall. Back to Collin who waits patiently for both your arrivals.

"If it makes you feel better ma'am - I've seen and danced with much worse dancers then yourself". The younger brother speaks. "You seem to at least know the difference between your left and your right". You give a small laugh. Folding your arms over yourself.

"At least I've got that going for me". You speak. Watching the dancers once again. Paying no real mind to the boys as they chat away with each other. Though your quickly pulled into their conversation when Benedict grabs your arm. Unsure if it was a warning or a means to pull you away.

"Incoming". He announces. You look around. Trying to find who he was quickly dragging you away from. Then you hear her voice. The hostess Mrs Bridgerton.

"Benedcit dear!" She says. He turns back to face her. He sadly didn't manage his escape with you.

"Mother". He says. A smile on his lips as he prepares himself for the bombard of questions.

"Who is this lovely lady I saw you dancing with?"

"Isabella Smith".

"Of course!" She says. A glee in her voice as she looks at you. "Benedict told me he had given you your invitation. Oh I'm so glad you could make it". She smiles at you. Turning her attention back to her son. It was this point you realise Collin had managed to escape his mothers grasps. Sneaky bastard.

"Benedict I have a very kind girl who has been dying to meet you. Let me introduce you to her". Though he was wearing a mask you could see the amount of annoyance he had written all over his face. An emotion his mother didn't see. Or was choosing to ignore. You bring your hands out. Kindly wrapping them around his arm.

"Benedict here was just about to show me the beautiful trees you have growing outside. I saw them when I first arrived though I was concerned about going out there by myself". You give her a small smile. "Is that ok Lady Bridgerton?" She looks at you. Then her son. A confused but happy smile coming over her lips. She considered you family. Like Penelope. So she saw no reason as to why you couldn't go with him.

"Yes of course. Have fun you two". Benedict takes this opportunity to turn. You following as your arm is linked with his. Taking you both out into the cold England air. You now regret saying to go outside given the chilled nature outside. He takes you to a tree. Two swing seats hanging from its branches.

"You are an absolute life saver". You smile at him. Letting him have his arm back as he moves a small distance from you.

"I am aware". You take refuge onto the swing. Using your foot to swing you back and forth softly. "Think of it as payment for teaching me to dance". He gives a small chuckle. Sitting in the swing next to you. Your eyes following his. "You didn't tell me you had swings at your house". He narrows his eyes. Amusement bewitching them.

"I didn't think it'd be relevant in conversation". You give a small nod. Swaying back and forth on the swing. Gentle strokes of your foot making you move. He takes in a breath. Standing up. You watch as he goes in front of you. "Hold on".

"Ben what are you doing?" He takes the seat of the swing you are sat on. Pulling it up. "Benedict!" You give out a squeal as he pushes you. Higher then you were expecting. Hands gripping the rope of the swing. Laughing as he continues pushing you.

"You really did save me back there you know". He says. Hand coming out and rhythmically pushing you. "She is determined that I am to marry this year". He empathises the word. A sour tone to it.

"Its only January".

"Exactly". He pushes again. "I've still got 11 months of her crap. Goodness knows how she'll be if I don't find a wife this year". Pushes. Silence falling between you both.

"Why haven't you gotten married yet?" He takes in a breath. Giving a defeated sigh.

"I have to court someone in the same class as me. I get on much better with those lower then me but my mother would throw a fit if she thought I was marrying someone under our class. Yet I'm meant to let them bear my children and take on my family name with someone I'll likely have nothing in common with. All because they are part of the same social stature as me".

Silence as he continues to push the swing. You take in a breath. Brain thinking through his options. "Why don't we get married?" He stops pushing the swing. Letting it slow down.

"Excuse me?" Coming to a fall halt before you repeat yourself.

"It makes sense does it not? We get on well. And your mother seems to believe I am of high enough class that she invited me to her party. She would approve of me and it would mean that she leaves you alone". He watches you. Silently watches.

"That might work". He speaks. "You wouldn't have a dowry though. Not that I would mind but for the purpose of our marriage you would need a dowry of sorts".

"I could scrounge up some money. Enough to make a plentiful dowry".

"What about your family?"

"They are old enough to look after themselves. Though I would keep an eye on them. But if I was your wife then I could go and tend to them. I would not need to hide that part of my life from you. I could go and see them freely. Make sure they are eating well and actually caring for themselves before they make their own lives". He nods at your answer. Coming and kneeling before you. His hands going to your knees as he looks up at you. "What about Lord Bridgerton?"

"I can deal with Anthony. I'll make him understand. You don't need to worry about him". He watches your eyes. "This might actually work. Good God". You give out a small chuckle. "When shall we proclaim our proposal?" You bring your hands to your lap. Eyes looking down at him.

"That would depend on how soon you want to get married. We've known each other for a while now so a proposal sooner wouldn't be too strange. Though we should wait for the ceremony. Don't want people to suspect that I'm pregnant with a hasty wedding".

"I agree". He gently taps his finger against your leg. Thinking through the options. "Why don't we tell mother now?" You hiccup out a breath. "It makes the most sense. Tell her I proposed to you whilst we were out here". You give a nod. A smile in agreement at his plan.

"Smart boy. Do you have a ring?"

"No". You squint your eyes. Thinking of an alternative. "We can just tell her that the proposal was an unplanned thing and that it just happened. That I wasn't expecting to propose to you but I was so caught up in my feelings that I blurted it out. I will get you a ring to confirm our engagement however we do not need one for tonight". You give a nod. Drawing in your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Fuck are we actually going to get married?"

"Yes". He brings his hands up. Cupping either side of your face. "You will soon be Mrs Isabella Bridgerton". You give out an almost nervous laugh. Hands coming up to take his wrists. He leans forward. Kissing you oh so softly. Your eyes falling shut. It was a small kiss. One that only lasted a few moments before he moves away.

"We should go inside and find your family to tell them the news". You speak in an excited tone. He nods. His thumb stroking over your cheekbone.

"I'd rather stay out here a while longer. Away from the chaos we both know will happen as soon as we announce our engagement". You give a small laugh. Nodding in agreement. His lips find yours again. Slow kisses being exchanged between the both of you. He breaks the kiss first. Eyes going over your features. Your lips puffy. Cheeks reddened. He smiles. His eyes lighting up behind that damn mask as he sees the mess he's made of you. Without even lifting a finger.

"We should go in now. Or else we'll get carried away and we'll do something that high society folks would never dream of doing".

"Would that be so bad?" He tilts his head to look at you. You certainly were inviting. He leans forward. A long kiss. Making you fall into him. Hands gripping onto his wrists. He moves away again. Eyes finding yours behind your own mask.

"Tonight you are a lady. I should treat you with that much respect". You give him a pout. Causing him to give a low chuckle. "Once we are married you can abuse the power you have over me and use me whenever and however you like". His voice is low. Ragged. You smile at his words. Planting your lips to his. Him reluctantly breaking the kiss. "Come on. Let us go and tell my family the news". He gives you one last and quick kiss. Standing up as he holds his hands towards you.

You go back into the party. His hand on your lower back as he speaks lowly to you. Whispering into your ear. "I am going to go and find Anthony. Have a chat with him before we break the news to the others. We don't want him causing a scene in front of everyone". You nod. Turning to him. Meeting his eyes a final time before he makes his way through the crowd of dancing men and woman. Locating his brother.

You don't know what was said between the two brothers but you deem that it must've taken a while to convince the older one that this was a good plan. The fact that you saw them both emerge once again at the end of the party rather then the five minutes Benedict had promised he'd be. Your new fiance comes over to you. Telling you to stay behind after the party guests go. You will tell the rest of the family then.

Soon you are left with yourself and the five eldest Bridgerton siblings. Anthony, Benedict, Collin, Daphne, and Eloise. Plus Lady Bridgerton

Benedict calls the family together. Before they all part ways to bed. He takes in a breath. "I have some news for you all". He pauses a moment. Either for dramatic effect or to build his nerves up. You aren't entirely sure. "I'm engaged". The look on each of his relatives faces is wonderful. Shock. Happiness. Concern. A mixture of all three. He looks towards you. A hand outstretched.

"Isabella and I got engaged a few hours ago". You take his hand. Linking your fingers with his as your other hand takes his upper arm into your palm.

"I'm confused". Violet says. "Why didn't you tell me you two were courting? I wouldn't have tried to set you up with so many woman if I had realised you were already seeing someone".

"I tried telling you that I wasn't interested but you took it as me not wanting to see girls. Not as me already seeing someone". She nods. A confused nod but it seems to pass as a good enough explanation.

"Well you both have my blessing".

"And my blessing too". You hear Anthony say. Looking at him. He meets your eyes. Somehow giving you a stern yet kind look. "Both of you have my blessing". A pang of happiness goes through you. This was going to work. Violet smiles gleefully.

"My goodness! We have a wedding to plan!"

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There was a screeching noise, followed by the distinctive scratch of metal on metal.

The whole world went spinning before your eyes; a blur of dark skies and the blink of two strong lights blurring everything around you.

Your head was warm. It was hot and pounding with a pressure that built on the spot directly above your eyebrows and made you feel dizzy and sick to the stomach.

You felt like throwing up and passing out all at the same time.

The noise was loud coming from your right. It hurt your ears and made you cringe as you were helplessly thrown aside, lunging forward but stopping midway by something that held to your chest and made it even harder to breathe.

When everything stopped moving, it was sudden and painful. You were trapped; your head and arms hanging sideways as the lack of movement made you perfectly aware of each and every aching spot of your body.

There was something dripping down your face; something that reeked with the smell of iron and that felt hot and sticky against your forehead. You tried to lift your hands to touch it, but your arms hurt too much to move. Your eyes couldn’t focus, and there were strong lights pointed at your face, making it even harder to see anything but a white blur.

You moved your head to the side with difficulty and managed to distinguish a streak of dark brown hair from the blackness surrounding you.

Your heart gave such a painful squeeze that you thought it was stopping inside your chest.

“Tom-“ you murmured with difficulty, unable to so much as form a sentence. There was a sharp ache in your throat afterwards that made you stop trying to speak altogether.

Panic started rising on your chest, cutting your breaths short and causing you to hyperventilate. The image of the man beside you covered in blood and pressed tightly against your surroundings made you want to scream and cry and do something.

Instead you just tried to breathe, failing to inhale and exhale and feeling the desperation rush through you until it became too unbearable and you passed out.

…

Benedict’s heart was beating so painfully against his ribs that for a moment he couldn’t feel anything but the radiating ache that shot through his entire body and settled on his chest.

His feet slid through the white linoleum floor and he cringed at the squeakiness of his shoes against it. The hospital was rather empty for a friday evening, but there were still people looking at him in recognition, and he had to force himself to be polite as he reached the receptionist’s desk; his breaths coming out in short, sharp puffs.

“I’m looking for (Y/N) Cumberbatch?” Benedict managed to say, his words wounding him even more than the phone call he’d received about twenty minutes before.

“Visiting hours are over,” the woman behind the desk said nonchalantly, and Benedict felt his hands clench as he exhaled shakily.

“I’m her husband. I’ve just received a call, I-“ he stated desperately, his hands shaking even though they were closed tightly. He’d broken into a cold sweat, his head feeling slightly dizzy as he eyed the woman with pleading eyes and silently prayed to god for some kind of miracle. “Please,” Benedict begged, and the woman rolled her eyes but complied, opening a drawer and reading through the files. She focused on it for a few seconds until her whole expression seemed to change, leaving a slightly shocked one on its place.

“I… Mr. Cumberbatch,” she murmured to herself in recognition and then looked up at him with an embarrassed flush to her face, bowing her head a bit in apology. “I’m so sorry… She- Mrs. Cumberbatch is on room 104.”

Benedict was on his way before she could even give him the directions. He made two sharp turns and reached the room he’d been looking for in only a couple of minutes. The door was similar to all the others, but looking at it made his stomach turn.

He opened the door and the image before him made him momentarily forget how to breathe.

You were lying unconscious on the hospital bed looking almost as white as the sheets covering your body. Your left arm was wrapped in a cast and your face was covered in purple bruises and scratches. Benedict didn’t even want to think about how you’d gotten them as he approached the bed carefully.

He lifted his fingers to touch your face but stopped the motion midway, afraid that the slightest touch might hurt you. He felt a sickening dizziness take over him and had to sit down on the chair beside you, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead. His breaths were still ragged, so he focused on trying to even them out as he allowed his head to touch the wall behind him, closing his eyes.

“God…” Benedict murmured, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be just fine. The panic was still on his system, but not as latent as it had been when the hospital had first called him to give him the news, now settling into a dull throbbing at the back of his head

Benedict was just beginning to calm down when the door to your room opened and he jumped slightly and opened his eyes to see a man clad in hospital clothes coming in.

“Mr. Cumberbatch,” the man nodded in greeting and Benedict ignored his blurry vision and stood up, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans in order to shake the doctor’s hands. “I’m Dr. Harold Campbell, head of Neurosurgery,” he introduced himself, and Benedict felt a cold chill run through his spine at the mention of his specialty.

“What happened, doctor?” Benedict was surprised with the steadiness of his voice. He shoved his hands into his pockets because he didn’t know what to do with them, and when Dr. Campbell motioned with his head to the exit, Benedict followed warily.

“Your wife and her friend were involved in a car crash this evening,” the doctor said soon after he’d closed the door. “Mrs. Cumberbatch has a broken arm and a few bruises, but nothing too serious.” He said to Benedict’s relief, and he felt a weight being lifted from his chest.

And then it dawned on him- “Wait… Friend?” The hospital hadn’t mentioned anything about a friend when they’d called him, neither had you when you’d talked to him before the accident. “There was someone else with her?” Benedict asked confusedly.

Dr. Campbell looked at him with a dreadful expression that made Benedict’s blood go cold. The man in front of him looked down at the medical reports he had in his hands and nodded. “Yes, she was accompanied by someone…” the doctor said absently, looking for the name on the paper before looking up and frowning. “Mr. Thomas Hiddleston. Are you familiar with the name?”

Benedict drew another shaky breath before nodding grimly.

…

It hurt. Everything did; your arms, legs, face and eyes.

There was a throbbing at the back of your head that you couldn’t ignore and that made you groan. The noise - quiet as it was - made your throat scratch and itch, and you felt the urge to cough, but the ache on your chest was so great that you ended up just gasping in pain.

“(Y/N),” someone whispered, and you tried to open your eyes to look at them, but your eyelids seemed to be glued together. When you finally managed to open them, your vision was blurry and your surroundings were too bright, making a panic rise on your stomach and your breathing become faster. “It’s alright, love. You’re okay,” the voice spoke again, and you felt a pang of familiarity at the sound of it that kept you from totally giving in to the desperation.

A hand came to rest on your head, and you flinched away from its touch for the shortest of seconds before you saw a blur of kind greenish eyes and realised that you knew exactly who it was.

“Ben-“ you tried to say, but it came out as a quiet, painful murmur.

“Shh. There’s no need to talk, love. I’m right here,” he said soothingly, and you drew a shaky breath before calming down considerably.

You closed your eyes again for a moment and relished on the feeling of Benedict’s fingers rubbing gently against your skin. God, you’d missed him.

“What happened?” you asked after a while in silence, your voice still coming out low and raspy from disuse.

You looked up to see Benedict sigh. “You were in an accident, love,” he explained, and you looked at him confusedly for a second before the memories started flooding your brain all at once.

It was too overwhelming. You remembered a dark road and the strong light of a car coming towards you; the screeching of tires and the ringing, unbearable silence that followed.

Lastly, you remembered a flash of dark hair and greenish blue eyes, and then the memories of blood - too much blood - made itself present along with a rising panic that made it even harder to breathe.

“Tom,” you said shakily, your voice much stronger than before. You faintly remembered having asked your best friend to drive you home that night, and the guilt and worry started rising inside you when Benedict eyed you with sadness in his eyes. “Where’s Tom?”

Benedict didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to break the news for you, mostly because he hadn’t really completely absorbed the facts yet. He took a few breaths and tried not to break in front of you. You’d gone through too much already.

The truth was that Tom Hiddleston was your best friend. He had been long before you and Benedict had started dating; before you’d even met him. He and Benedict were great friends as well, as it had been Tom who’d introduced you to each other.

The three of you were almost inseparable, and the events of the past night had shocked Benedict beyond imagination. He hadn’t been ready for what he’d been told just as much as you weren’t ready to hear it now.

“I- He’s going through surgery right now…” Benedict said slowly, afraid of your reaction. He watched as you inhaled sharply, biting your lower lip to keep it from trembling too much.

Your eyes burned with the wake of tears, and you let out a small whimper at the news. “What’s wrong with him?” you asked, your voice coming out high pitched and wavering.

Benedict took another deep breath before answering. “He hit his head hard during the crash.” He looked away from you. It helped if he didn’t have to look at your face while telling you this; made it easier not to cry right then and there. “They, uh… They detected a brain hemorrhage, and, um…” Benedict hat to look up to the ceiling to keep from letting the tears down his cheeks. His hands were on his hips, gripping each side of his shirt with force. Saying it felt a hundred times worse than hearing it, and he felt a pang of sympathy for Dr. Campbell, who probably had to go through this more times than he could count every single day. “They’re doing the best they can to keep him alive,” he said at last, his eyes watery as he looked back at you.

You were sobbing silently, a hand pressed hard against your mouth as your shoulders shook. Your eyes were red like your face when you closed them, and you felt the thick tears run down your cheeks in heaps. “Oh god, no,” you whispered as you broke down in front of your husband, who couldn’t contain his own tears anymore either.

Benedict sat at the side of your bed and put an arm around your shoulders. The contact hurt almost too much, but you sought his comfort nonetheless, trying to concentrate on the warmth of his arms and the aching of your wounds to try and forget about the prospect of losing your only best friend.

…

“Who is he?” Benedict asked, his voice low and dangerous as he looked at the policemen and doctors standing in front of him. Their eyes were cast downwards, their faces clearly contorted in fear as they listened to Benedict’s threatening tone.

It was the middle of the night, and Benedict had just left your side. You’d finally fallen asleep, and he was standing on one of the hospital’s meeting rooms with an array of people surrounding him.

He’d been agonising over that question for hours. Benedict hadn’t wanted to worry you, but he’d been informed that the driver of the other car responsible for the crash had been taken into the same hospital, and was currently going through surgery, as was Tom.

“Mr. Cumberbatch, you have to calm down,” the police chief was standing directly in front of Benedict with a slightly tense posture.

“Calm down? My apologies, officer, but the last thing you should be expecting right now is for me to be calm,” Benedict retorted firmly, his eyes shining with an anger that didn’t suit him at all. “You’re telling me that someone was purposefully trying to hurt my wife and my friend, and you want me to fucking calm down?” he said loudly, towering over the man’s small frame.

The police had come not long after Benedict had arrived at the hospital. They’d been investigating the scene the crash had taken place at, and after thoroughly examining the security cameras, had concluded that the accident had indeed been intentional.

“Now, I’m not going to ask again. Who. is. he?” Benedict asked, infatuating the last three words and looking at the chief in a way that left him no choice but to comply to his demands.

The police chief sighed in defeat, running a hand through his bald head before speaking. “I believe you know him,” he said, and if Benedict though that information was shocking, the officer’s next words rendered him speechless. “It’s Trent Davis,” he said, and the entire room went silent.

Benedict clenched and unclenched his jaw twice before he even dared to speak. His fingers were pressed so tightly against his palms that his knuckles were white and his nails were digging into his skin.

“So you’re saying that bastard dared come near my wife even despite the restraining order?” he asked lowly, his voice dark and rough. The police chief looked white as a sheet as he looked up at Benedict’s eyes, and the other occupants of the room only stayed silent as they watched the scene. “I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him,” Benedict growled, and the chief only gulped, holding onto his belt like it was the only thing giving him strength.

“I- We know it’s hard to receive such news, but I can guarantee you that the we will do everything in our power to arrest the man that tried to kill your wife,” the chief offered meekly, careful not to further piss Benedict off. “But for now all we can do is wait for the surgery to be over,” he finished carefully, and watched as Benedict looked at him with complete rage and stormed off the room, still with his hands clenched; still feeling the painful ache in his heart at the prospect of losing you.

…

The next week was as painful as the first one you’d spent awake.

Your muscles were sore and your broken arm was hurting under its cast in a way that you could almost feel the spot where it had been broken.

Benedict hadn’t left your bedside for one second, having someone bring a small bag with his belongings to spend as long as he needed by your side and cancelling any interviews and events in the near future despite your protests.

The day you were going to be discharged from the hospital finally arrived though.

You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror and couldn’t help but lift a hand to touch the yellow and greenish bruises on your face.

It looked like you’d been beaten or something of the sort, and you winced as you dug a little bit too hard into one of your wounds.

“Ready, love?” Benedict appeared on the doorframe with a tired expression on his face - he hadn’t slept properly in quite a while - and you nodded.

The two of you left the building feeling relieved but pained at the same time.

It was two days before you were cleared to leave that you’d received the news that Tom was going to be kept in life support.

His condition hadn’t gotten worse, but it hadn’t gotten better either. He still hadn’t woken up, and the doctors suspected that if he did so soon, the pain would be too unbearable, so they’d decided it would be better for him to be kept asleep.

You were feeling tired and drained when you and Benedict got home. You were dying to take a shower, but the prospect of having to cover your cast and ask for Benedict’s help to clean yourself sounded too tiresome, so you chose to just lay in bed instead.

Sleep never came though, so you ended up looking at the ceiling while Benedict ran a careful hand through your hair. “How are you feeling now, love?” he asked after a while, and you leaned further into his chest.

“I’m fine, I guess…” you answered, taking his free hand into yours and examining it absently. “I’ve been having these flashes of memories from the night of the accident,” you admitted, and felt Benedict turn his head to look down at you.

“What did you remember?”

You took a deep breath. “This is going to sound really unlikely, but, I um… I think the driver of the other car wanted to hit us,” you said in a small voice, and watched as Benedict’s hand clenched against your own as he frowned. “I don’t know who would want to do that, but…” you sighed. The images of that night were too blurry, but you swore you remembered Tom pressing hard on the horn and trying to steer your car out of the other driver’s way; could still feel the desperation when you’d realised that the other car moved to be in front of you again. “Well, forget it. It’s probably only my imagination…” you tried to reassure Benedict, though those thoughts were still bothering you in your head.

His hands resumed their caress on your hair and he sighed beside you. “I need to tell you something…” Benedict said as you looked up at him, confusion etched on your face. “You’re right,” he said simply and you frowned as well. What the hell was he talking about? “About the accident being intentional,” Benedict said quietly and you tensed against him. You hadn’t expected him to believe you, much less agree with you.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, distancing yourself from him just enough to be able to look at him from a better angle.

He sighed again, looking anywhere but at your face. “It… It was Davis,” he said, and you immediately felt your blood go cold. You felt an instinctive urge to touch the scar on your forearm, but kept from it as you looked deep into Benedict’s eyes and realised that he was actually telling the truth.

“Wha-… How…?” was all you managed to say as you looked at Benedict expectantly.

“He was taken to the hospital as well,” he said and you gasped, covering your mouth with your hands. There were tears forming in your eyes and you felt the urge to punch something. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” your voice was wavering when you asked and Benedict only gave you a sad look. He sighed and took your hands into his, rubbing his thumb gently against your skin.

“Because I love you, and I didn’t want you to ever have to think of that son of a bitch again,” he said, looking at you with the most painful expression.

“Oh my god,” you whispered almost inaudibly, burying your face in your hands. “Tom, he… It’s all my fault,” you said and felt Benedict’s hands immediately grip your wrists and pull your hands away from your face so you could look at him.

“Don't you ever say that, (Y/N),” he said very seriously, and you could only look at the intensity of his gaze, the tears forming on your eyes and blurring your vision. “This isn’t your fault. None of it was.” He looked defeated, so you only nodded and wrapped your arms around him, clinging to his shirt and burying your head into the curve of his neck. “I’m sorry, (Y/N),” Benedict said, but you shook your head vigorously as if to say ‘you don’t have to apologize’.

Benedict didn't know how to ask you.

You had been friends for a long time, your families were practically one. Always so united, your mamas took walks every afternoon, gossiping about the ton and your fathers had been friends since childhood. You and Benedict were bound to meet.

You and he grew up together. You were friends with his siblings, you had held sleepovers with his sisters and won cricket matches against his brothers. Lady Violet Bridgerton loved you like a daughter and your mother loved Benedict like a son.

But your friendship with him had always been special.

When you were twelve, you ran away together to camp on the riverbank, just because Benedict wanted to draw the moon reflecting in the water at night. The following year, despite the scolding you received for your river adventure, you and Benedict sneaked onto private land just to pluck a few petals from the summer sunflowers to get him the perfect shade of yellow.

You and Benedict were very close. Of course, there had always been rumors about what kind of relationship you two had and that Lady Whistledown had only added more fuel to the fire writing about you two in her pamphlets. You and him never cared about that, and neither your families but it was true that you two have had to face some uncomfortable conversations with them about it.

That's why Benedict didn't know how to ask you. You had a lot of trust in each other, you had always supported his artistic vocation but perhaps this was too much.

—Oh, thank God you've come. I am in need of a model —. It was the first thing Benedict said to you when you entered his studio. The maid closed the door behind you, leaving you alone with him. Thank goodness the Bridgertons' service was very discreet, if anyone found out that you and him were alone in a room it would cause quite a scandal.

—Good evening to you too, Benedict.

—My apologies. Good evening —. He leaned to kiss your cheek.— I need a model —. He let you know one more time.

—How have you been? Very stressed from what I can tell —. You tried to have a normal conversation with him before you paid attention to what he required.

—Indeed.

You sighed. —Well, what is it? I thought we were going for a walk.

He nodded. —We can go outside later. But I need to get this done by tomorrow and I feel like I'm losing my mind.

—And...?

—I need practice female form.

You slowly nodded. You were aware that Benedict had been recently attending this art academy, you were happy that he was finally able to pursue his passion and you couldn't deny that within the characteristic desperation of the artists, he looked very attractive. Benedict's hair was a mess, his white shirt was half-open, his sleeves were rolled up. He would never have allowed himself be seen in society like that and you were grateful because otherwise he would have all the girls after him.

—And you want me to...?

—Pose for me.

You weren't quite sure how to do it but it seemed easy and fun. All the times he had drawn you, he had done it when you were distracted, reading, having tea with his sisters... The pencil moved effortlessly across the paper when he saw you laughing with Daphne or playing with the cards that Colin had brought back from his trip to Spain. He was already too embarrassed to admit each time he drew you and Anthony teased him by saying that if he didn't propose to you, he would show you his drawings, and Benedict's heart skipped a beat because he knew that his older brother was not known for being a joker.

Benedict still didn't know how he was going to ask you, maybe it was better to just let it out.

—And what shall I do? Just stand here? Like this? —You laughed and made a dramatic pose like the ones you saw in the paintings in the gallery you visited together.

—I need you to ...

Benedict swallowed nervously. He looked down at your dress and then directly into your eyes. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to finish. You also looked at your dress to see if there was something wrong with it.

—Benedict I don't think I understand what you are trying to say—

—I need to practice naked female form.

Benedict immediately noticed your horrified face. He wanted to go back seconds ago when he hadn't even asked but if it wasn't you, who would it be? —I will not draw your face. No one will know it is you. It will be purely professional, I just need a few minutes.

You bit the inside of your cheeks and decided to trust him when he said that it would be for professional purposes only. The unfinished nude sketches that made your cheeks burn when you saw them as you entered his studio showed you that Benedict found no inspiration in the bodies of the academy models. After a nervous swallowing, you nodded and Benedict's face lit up. He hugged you but you didn't have time to hug him back because he quickly went to prepare the canvas.

—Is the door locked? —You asked him as you shed the little jacket that covered your shoulders along with your gloves. Benedict rushed off to lock it and before he returned to his position behind the canvas. You called his name and gulped, your hands failing in their attempts to unzip your own dress. —May I please get some help?

—Oh, yes, of course. My apologies.

Benedict stood behind you, his fingers brushing the skin on your back as he began to slowly unzip it until the dress slid down your body and fell at your feet. Benedict felt like he had to look away, as if in a few seconds you would not be completely exposed to his eyes. He offered you his hand to help you get up on a small pedestal that he had in his studio. Once you got rid of your underwear, you felt vulnerable but not as vulnerable as when Benedict ran his eyes over your body from his position and with the paintbrush already in his hand.

He let out all the air he had in his lungs, he couldn't take his eyes off you. Benedict could not deny that he had imagined it on many occasions, but reality far surpassed his imagination.

—What... What should I do, Benedict? —You hugged yourself.

—Put your arms down and stand like that. You look perfect, darling.

Your cheeks burned after that. You did as he said. His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration as his eyes went from the canvas to you and back to the canvas. Benedict asked you to turn around and he squeezed his eyes tightly after seeing your bare ass. Purely professional, this was purely professional, he had to remind himself.

Benedict grabbed a wooden chair and walked over to you. Your heart skipped a beat once he was so close to your naked body and he felt the exact same. He placed the chair next to you and invited you to sit on it. He nodded slowly when you did, focusing on the new position of your body. Benedict went back behind the canvas and made a few sketches.

He cleared his throat. —Would it be possible if you... Could you spread your legs?

Your cheeks grew hot and you squeezed your thighs together.

The knot you had in your stomach got tighter and you felt your chest rise and fall slowly thanks to your deep breathing. You straightened your back in the chair and you did as Benedict asked. You felt the air of the room caressing you in that warm and wet area and he held his breath, his chest puffing out as your legs slowly opened for him.

—You are beautiful, darling. Do not be ashamed —. Every new inch he discovered of your body made you look more perfect in his eyes. It was as nice to see you as it was to paint you.

Your cheeks grew even hotter but this time it wasn't just your cheeks, your whole body was in flames starting with the area between your legs that was so exposed to his eyes.

—Could we try another position?

You nodded, relieved, you were sure it was painfully obvious the way you had gotten wet and you just hoped he was busy enough to not notice.

He dropped the paintbrush and got up from the stool on which he was sitting. Benedict felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter with each step he took closer to your naked body. You moved in the chair out of nervousness. Benedict leaned slightly over you. —May I? —He asked before touching your leg. His voice made you shiver, he was so close, you felt his hand brush against the skin of your thigh. You nodded and looked up at him while he repositioned your leg. Benedict's eyes meet yours, so helpless, his lifelong friend, was that innocence in your eyes, or was that...?

Lust.

Your hand grabbed the back of Benedict's head and pressed his lips against yours. His eyes widened in surprise but immediately after, his hands went to cup your cheeks as he fell to his knees in front of you. You opened your legs so he could place himself between them and be closer to you. The shameless hands of your friend traveled down your neck until they reached your breasts. You moaned against his mouth once he gave them a gentle squeeze, the soft palm of his hand brushing against your nipples.

Benedict left a trail of soft kisses from your cheeks to your collarbones and your breasts. He took one in his mouth as his hand played with the other, his tongue moving in circles around your nipple and sucking on it at the same time. Your breathing quickened and your lips parted to let out soft moans when Benedict's teeth brushed your sensitive nipple.

He let go with a pop sound and watched you gasp for air. Benedict placed his hands on the inside of your thighs and caressed your skin there before he slowly pushed them to open even further. His hands prepared you for him, his eyes asked for your permission. You nodded and Benedict flashed you a smile, that was all he needed. He peppered your thighs with kisses, taking small bites and kissing your sore skin afterwards. Your breathing deepened as his mouth got closer to where you needed him the most. He was so close he could smell you and oh Lord, his dick got hard as a rock at that moment.

You took a sharp breath when he licked from your entrance to your clit and savored your juices in his mouth. The image was completely sinful, his blue eyes were locked on you while his lips sucked on your bundle of nerves, his hands forced your legs to stay open for him. Your head was thrown back, your mouth was open in a perfect "O" form, your fingers digging into his scalp. Once he noticed the desperation in the way your hips rolled against his mouth, two of his fingers entered you easily. You stifled a loud moan, throwing a hand over your mouth.

Benedict hummed, sending vibrations to your clit.

—Talk to me. How does this feel? —He required.

—So good. It feels... —You bit down your lower lip, his fingers sank deeper. —It feels like heaven.

He was satisfied with your answer.

Benedict fucked you with his fingers until you had to grab his wrist to get him to stop, it was too much. Your legs closed around his head but his lips were still attached to your clit and he didn't stop until he heard how your moans turned into whines and cries, not until he noticed how your back arched off the chair and your chest rose and fell uncontrolled thanks to your panting. Benedict didn't stop, not until he felt how your pussy was clenching so hard that almost pushed his fingers out of you and he heard you moan his name one last time as your grip on his hair tightened.

He gave you all the time you needed to catch your breath, kissing your legs and intertwining his fingers with yours while you came down from your high. Benedict's blue eyes were locked on you making every effort to later recall every single part of you.

—How are you feeling, darling? —Benedict stood on his feet and held your hands so that you would stand up as well. Before you could answer his question, you both realized how your legs were shaking and laughed. At the same time, you felt Benedict's grip on your hands grow stronger to keep you from falling.

Benedict leaned in and kissed your lips in the sweetest possible way. The tickling sensation in your body that you felt when you were naked in front of him had turned into a different kind of tickling, now focused on your stomach. It was so familiar, you had felt it so many times when you looked at him but now, with his lips on yours and his hands treating you with so much affection and care, it was different.

You could confirm that it was not only lust but also love.

You hummed against his lips. —Wait, did you finish your drawing?

It had been a month since your engagement to Benedict. He had taken the proposal as a good way to escape his mothers madness in many ways. Meaning he could come and see you rather then staying inside the house with her insisting on how to create the perfect wedding.

You and Benedict knew that for this plan to be pulled off properly you would need new clothes. A makeover. So he got his friend Madame Delacroix to create you new outfits. Ones that a lady of high society would wear on a daily basis. This way you could go and visit his mother and talk about discussions of weddings wearing something proper for the ton that was casual rather then the extravagant gowns you would wear during the parties.

Though you planned your wedding to be the autumn of this year. Giving you time to find a venue and obtain a dress. Your wedding day was approaching you. Seven months away.

You knew that your engagement had been made public. The Bridgertons were a high society family. Plus you needed permission from the queen (which she had granted you the week earlier). So everyone knew of your engagement to the Benedict Bridgerton.

You sat in the Bridgertons home. Violet telling you her plans for this grand wedding of yours. That she knew a wonderful seamstress who could make you the most elegant of gowns. A smile being permanently on her face as she discusses this with you. A teacup in her hand as her excitement fills the room.

A knock at the door briefly breaks the conversation. Proceeding as one of the maids comes in. A newsletter upon a silver plate being carried into the room. She thanks the maid. Picking up the letter adorning the tray. Talking still whilst her eyes skim the front page. Eloise comes into the room.

"Was that Lady Whistledown?" Violet stops her chatting. Not saying anything. Not to you or her daughter. She brings her eyes up. The happy look in her eye had changed as she looks at you. A look you've never seen on her before.

"Go and get Benedict for me Eloise".

"Can I not read the newest Whistledown first?"

"Go and get him". She turn to look at her daughter. A sternness in her voice. "Please". She gives her a smile. Forced but kind as she looks at her. Eloise gives out an annoyed groan. Slumping out of the room. She turns back to face you. That look back on her face.

"Everything ok Lady Bridgerton?" She tilts her head. Standing before closing the short distance between the two of you. Handing over the letter. You take it from her. Eyes moving from hers to the paper. Reading the front page. The part you think she's focusing on anyway.

'Dearest gentle reader,

there has been many fascination recently about a certain Miss Isabella Smith who I'm sure everyone is aware of. Having made her first appearance at a ball hosted by Jonathon Duely. Plus how she recently attended the Bridgerton ball only a few days ago. Miss Smith has certainly taken the ton by storm. Seemingly to have appeared from nowhere.

Well, dear reader, that is where I come into play. I have heard rumours that Miss Smith may not be all that she makes out to be. Fooling high society into playing her twisted game of fantasy. I regret to inform you that she is in fact a woman of a very low class. Unmarried and no money or title to her name.

Now, I must admit to you that I am unsure of what her intentions are. But I can only assume it was to lure a poor, innocent man into wedding her with the falsehood of a dowry. I just hope that I have managed to tell you all before she has gotten her way into one of their heads already.

I do hope to see you again next time.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown'

Your mind is running wild. Eyes frantic as they go to the pages. Then go to look at Violet. "I can explain".

"I want you out of my house. I don't want to see you again".

"Please. Please let me explain". You plead with her. Standing up. She takes a step back.

"I do not trust you near myself or my children. Leave before I say something we will both regret". You look at her. A pang hurting through your whole chest. But you respect her wishes. Giving a small nod. You place the letter onto the table.

"Thank you for making me feel like part of the family. I loved every second of it. I- I am so sorry for the pain I have caused you". You start to leave. Heading straight to the front door. You exit through the front house. Going to the carriage that had been assigned as yours. Telling the driver you would like to be taken back home. You don't look behind you as he starts driving away. You may have changed your mind once you saw Benedict run out the house. Trying to catch up with you.

You get about a mile away. The fields by your house coming up. After this you would be home. You'd have to put on a happy face. Tell the girls that the wedding was off. That the promise of a better life was over. You call to the driver. Asking him to stop. He does. Turning around in his seat as you get yourself out of the carriage.

"Everything ok Miss Smith?"

"Yes". You go round to the front. Smiling up at him. "I want to walk the rest of the way. That is all. Clear my head". He gives a nod. Eyes going up the length of street.

"Are you sure ma'am? It can be a dangerous place around here". You nod. Bringing a hand up and gently squeezing his lower leg.

"Thank you. I'll be fine. I'm used to these parts". He nods. Watching you as you start to make your way through the fields. Hearing him turn the carriage around. The soft clicking of horse hooves hitting the ground as he travels away.

You start down the road. Needing to cross over the few field to get back home. The closer you get the more you feel your heart breaking. The reality of what just happened creeping up on you. You get about 3/4 of the way home before you break down. Kneeling in the grass and dirt of the field. Head bent as you cry. Tears of heartbreak. Over the life you could have had and the man you have lost. You stay there and weep. Enough tears to water the ground for decades to come.

Minutes pass. No sign of life passes you as you stay in your misery. Crying so hard that you begin to think you are hallucinating. Hearing someone calling out your name. This was a clear sign that you had to pull yourself together. You sit up. Wiping your eyes. You needed to get home.

"Isabella!" You knit your brow. No. That wasn't in your head. Or the wind. Someone was trying to find you. You stand. Turning to look around. Seeing a figure. It wasn't overly late. But given the time of year the sun at already started setting. So it was hard for you to make out who it was exactly. Though you had a pretty good guess of who it might be.

"Benedict". You whisper his name. Carried in the wind as you start to run towards him. Fresh tears flying past your cheeks as you lift up the front of your dress. Him matching your speed of run as the two of you collide into an embrace. Going to the ground as your legs fall from under you. The cold grass of the floor being a contrast to his warm arms wrapped around your torso. You hide your face into his chest as he holds you close to him. Stroking down your hair as he rests his head into your shoulder. You grip to him. Your hands curling into his sides. Gripping the fabric of his shirt.

"What did my mother say to you?" He break the silence quickly. You speak into his chest. Muffled speech. He moves. His hands coming and finding your cheeks. Making you look at him. Finding his warm eyes in the cold darkness. You give a small sniff. Trying to level out your thoughts.

"She told me to leave her house and that she didn't trust me around herself or her family. She said she never wanted to see me again". Your voice breaks. He watches you. Thumb coming out and wiping your tears for you. "I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry". You splutter. "I never meant to hurt you". He shakes his head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I am a grown man. You made your status very clear to me when we met and I kept talking to you because I wanted to. You have nothing to be sorry for". You give a nod. Managing to speak through broken breaths.

"You should get back to your family. Forget about me. Go back and pretend ignorance of who I am". He shakes his head. "You have to Ben. Please".

"I'm not leaving my future wife". You give a scoff. Shaking your head.

"We can't get married Benedict. Not after everything. Go back home. Meet a nice woman. One who will make you laugh and have your children. Who your family will approve of". He presses his lips to yours. Hard. Like you were the oxygen he needed to stay alive. Moving away. His nose nearly touching yours as he speaks to you.

"I do not care about status or wealth. I will explain to my family that this is not some cruel prank played for your benefit. That our time spent together was true. Tell them that our feelings aren't from any trick or deceit. That they are honest feelings that we have for each other. That no matter what woman my mother matches me with - I will never love her as much as I love you". Your eyes flutter. A different sensation running through your chest. Pain but... it felt like it was healing your heart. You swallow. Eyes flitting between his.

"You love me?" Your voice a whisper. His brow scrunches slightly. As if he thought you mad to doubt his affections for you.

"Of course I love you". Your hands go to his face. Pressing your lips to his. Harsh as you smash your mouth onto his. He falls semi backwards. One arm quickly darting to balance himself up as the other wraps around your waist. Holding you close to him. You lift your dress up. Allowing you to straddle his waist better as your tongues start exploring each other. One hand traveling down and resting on his chest. The other remaining on his cheek.

His mouth moves. Breaking from yours. Kissing at the bareness of your neck. Your hand traveling from his cheek to his hair as he bruises your skin. Your hips starting to grind against him. Looking up at you with those eyes. A smile on his lips as he watches you start to fuck yourself on his lap. "Need you. Please Benedict". His smile grows wider and cockier. The hand from around your waist moves. Coming in front of him. Pulling up the length of your dress. His fingers playing with the top of your underwear.

"These will need to come off". You nod. Rolling yourself to the side. Pushing your undergarments down the length of your legs. He does the same. Pulling his trousers down enough to expose his hardened cock. You straddle him again. His hands going to your hips. You take his dick in your hand. Lining him up with yourself. Slowly sinking down onto him.

"Oh fuck". You let out a drawn out moan. Eyes fluttering shut as you sink down fully onto him. Your hands going to his shoulders. Letting yourself adjust to the stretch. Feeling yourself tighten around him just from the feeling of him inside you.

"If I knew how you'd react I would have declared my love for you months ago". He sadistically mocks.

"Oh shut up". You bring a hand to his hair. Gripping it hard. Mouth meeting his once again. A chuckle turned moan emitting through his mouth into yours. Mouths pressed together as you start to slowly grind onto his length. His hands tightening around your hips. With each motion you feel his grip get harsher.

You move from the kiss. Hands going to his shoulders as you continue to ride him. You meet his eyes. They've grown darker. Watching you as you move yourself onto him. Soft whines leaving your lips with the movements. Feeling yourself building up around him.

"Shh". He speaks. "Let me help you Isa". Your eyes fall shut. tilting your head to the side. His hands helping you ride him as you start to lose your rhythm.

You put your head forward. Resting it onto his chest. You try and stop the unholy noises escaping you. Panting out groans and pleas. Your orgasm building up so quickly you don't have time to warn him. Tightening around him.

"Holy shit". You cry out. A moan escaping your lips as your legs give out from under you. Holding yourself up on his shoulders as he continues to move you on him. Resting your head into him as your orgasm turns to overstimulation. His hands still moving your hips. Feeling him come in and out of your sensitive hole.

"Cant wait until we're married". He speaks lowly into your ear. "I'll get to fuck my seed into you. Whenever I want". You grip his shoulders. Tightening around him at his words. "Is that what you want? Want me to fucking breed you?"

"Please. Please Ben". Your voice comes out as a quiet whine. Focusing on words to make sure to get the correct ones out. His hand comes up to your hair. Pulling it so he can see your face. His lips meeting yours. A one sided kiss as your too fucked out to focus on anything but his dick. His one hand still moving you.

"When you are my wife I'll fill you up. I'll fuck a baby into you on our wedding night". You tighten around him again. Causing him to smile. "Keep doing that and I might need to give you my cum now". You give a devious smile. Tightening yourself around him. His hand in your hair tightens. A playful moan leaving your throat as you bite your bottom lip.

"Fucking hell. Think you can cum again for me?" You nod. "Yeah pretty girl? Going to give me another orgasm?" You nod again. His remaining hand moves from your hip. Your body still grinding with the rhythm he had set for you. Going to where the two of you meet. Rubbing circles quickly and precisely onto your clit.

"Oh fuuuck". You groan. Hands gripping his shoulders as you feel your second high hit you. Just as suddenly as the last one but twice the bliss. His hand gripping your hair. Holding you from hiding as he watches your face contort from bliss.

His movements grow sloppy. Riding your high out before he pulls out from you. Just in time as he spills his load directly onto your pubic bone. The hand that was down there scoops up the liquid. Bringing his fingers up.

You open your mouth instinctively. Letting him place his cum covered fingers onto your tongue. Wrapping your lips around the digits. "Such a good girl. Can't let a drop go to waste now can we". You shake your head. Shutting your eyes. His grip on your hair softening. Letting you rest your head back onto his shoulder. He moves your hips slightly. Allowing him to put himself back into his trousers before stroking your hair as you both bathe in each others comfort. Your eyes shut as you nuzzle into him.

"Do you really want to get married?" Your voice no more then a whisper.

"Its what people who are in love do isn't it?" You give a gentle nod of agreement.

"What about your family?"

"I'll talk to them. I convinced Anthony. I can convince the others".

"And your mother?" You move from his shoulder. Turning to face him. "She was really annoyed Benedict". He brings his hand to your cheek. Stroking it with his thumb.

"I'll talk to her. She was just concerned. Mothers instinct. I'll tell her that everything is ok and that we are still to be wed. She may be annoyed but she loves love. She'll come around". You give a nod. Opening your mouth to start speaking again. He shakes his head. "Can we just take this moment of silence away from mothers and siblings and everyone and enjoy this time together? Please?" You take in a breath. Giving a small nod.

He shuffles. Lying down as he takes you to lie on top of him. Your legs either side of his hips as your head goes to his upper chest. His arms wrapped around you. Holding you tightly to him. "I love you Mr Bridgerton". He smiles in the darkness. A murmur answering you back.

"I love you too Isabella".

THE END - FOR NOW

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