i don’t think yall understand how EXCITED i am for bridgerton season 5
like these level of yearning between fran and michaela better be like something never seen before
they better be the FREAKIEST couple out of every bridgerton sibling bc i know topcesca is in there somewhere like this better be the ammonite film level freak maybe even more bc i wanna see EVERYTHING
i am so so so excited for the “you left me!!” fight scene like oh my god yes girls yearrrnnnn, francesca you dont even know whats coming idk if you can handle all the michookie
this season better be the gayest thing i’ve ever seen ever
You meet Benedict and after falling in front of him in a game of tag, you continue to fall for him in more than ways in one for the rest of your lives.
will contain eventual smut so MDNI (18+)
Age Eight
Sun streams through the trees and down onto the garden where the Bridgerton children are giggling as they chase each other in a game of tag. You watch them from afar, holding onto your mother’s hand as she and Viscountess Bridgerton lead you over to the children to introduce them.
Daphne notices you first, racing over to introduce herself and you hide yourself behind your mother, terrified to actually speak to another child. Your whole life has been spent around adults because you are an only child so you’re not even sure actually sure how to speak to someone your own age.
“I’m Daphne,” she says, peering around your mother but you shut your eyes tight as you press yourself further into your mother’s back as she tries her best to get you off of her. She’s finally able to peel you from her body then forces you to stand in front of her as a boy who looks to be a bit older stands next to her, sticking his hand out for you to shake.
You hesitantly take it and give it a shake, feeling your anxiety lessen only slightly when he smiles at you. You shyly smile back and even though you feel a little more comfortable, you’re still grabbing hold of your mother’s hand when she and Violet turn to head back towards their husbands leaving you alone with the other children.
“I’m Anthony,” the boy introduces himself. “And you are?”
“Y/n,” you reply, your voice barely audible. This is uncharted territory and you’re not entirely sure how to go about speaking to them. You don’t want to come across as too mature because then maybe they won’t want to spend time with you.
“We’re playing tag if you want to join!” Daphne calls out and you nod your head, growing quiet again as you go over and sit on the grass to watch.
You feel safe here in your little bubble. You’re so used to being on your own that it would feel weird playing with anyone besides yourself. It looks fun though, watching the six siblings chase each other around the garden, their giggles picking up again.
They even stop every so often to encourage you to play with them despite the constant shakes of your head. You want to, you really do, but you’re far too clumsy for it and just know that you’ll fall if you partake in their game.
But you join anyway, mostly because your parents are watching. Anthony has decided that you are “it” and now you’re chasing after him, holding your dress up higher than you should so as to not trip on your dress, but it’s deemed rather pointless when you trip anyway in some of the mud that’s still wet from the rain last night.
The giggles suddenly stop and everyone just stares as you lie there, too embarrassed to get up. Well, everyone but Benedict who’s quick to help you to your feet. He wipes what he can off of your dress and when you sink to your knees again because of the pain, he scoops you in your arms and carries you over to where the adults are having tea.
He grabs an empty chair and sets you in it before hurrying to fetch the proper supplies to clean up your scraped knees. He presses a cloth with warm water to your skin and begins to wipe away the dirt from your knees.
This boy doesn’t even know you yet is doing everything in his power to make sure that you’re okay. It warms your heart but at the same time, you feel your cheeks burn as the adults watch the two of you, definitely already planning your wedding in their heads.
“I’m Benedict, by the way,” he introduces himself with a smile. It’s from that moment that you just know that you’re going to be the best of friends.
Age Sixteen
The Bridgerton study is empty besides you and Benedict. You are by the window reading your favorite book again, while he is sitting across from you, sketching his favorite subject, but you keep moving, making it hard for him to get it right. You’re not actually reading, though, talking non-stop which is something that Benedict loves. Especially because you only do it with him.
Over the eight years you have been friends, he has been the only person who you let see the realest form of yourself. He understands you in a way that not everyone does and he feels the same exact way about you.
He feels like he can tell you anything and you won’t judge him. You’ve spent so many days doing exactly this, talking about everything and nothing as you skim your book and Benedict works on a sketch. He’ll never show you what he’s drawing though, and you respect that. Just because you’re friends doesn’t mean he owes that to you.
When he slams the book closed, though, your curiosity gets the best of you. You suddenly have to know what’s inside it, what he’s been drawing this whole time and why he’s been so secretive. So you make a beeline for him, reaching for the book which he holds out of your reach. It starts off aggressive but then becomes progressively more playful as you try to get the book from him, desperate to see what’s on the pages.
If he lets you see it, though, then you’ll know that he’s been drawing you for years and he’s not sure how you’re going to take it. He’ll have to explain that he’s been in love with you for half of his life and he’s afraid that he’s going to ruin the best friendship he’s ever had because of it.
He doesn’t let up, though, holding it out of your grasp and racing around the study, maniacal laughter falling from his lips as he holds it just out of your reach as you continue to call after him. You’ve got him pinned to the desk as you continue to reach for the book, completely oblivious to how he’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon.
You’re so close that he can smell your perfume. He’s always close enough to smell it, but this is different. Your body is pressed against his and if anyone was to come in here and find you in the position, you’d be in huge trouble. But you can’t stop staring at each other’s lips, desperate to know what they feel like even though you know it’s wrong. But that’s what makes you want to do it more.
As soon as your lips are about to meet, the door bursts open and Benedict is so caught off guard that you’re able to steal the sketchbook from his hand and race out of the room, straight past Anthony who is probably the only person who you’d want to catch you like this since he doesn’t ever seem to care.
“So it seems you haven’t told her yet,” he says as he closes the door, making his way over to his younger brother.
“No, and I never will,” Benedict sighs as he turns towards the desk, leaning his palms against it to try and figure out what just happened between the two of you.
Anthony thinks his brother is silly for not telling you the truth. If he had been in his brother’s shoes, you would have known long ago and the second the two of you were able, you’d be engaged. He just can’t understand why Benedict is dragging his feet. A woman as beautiful as yourself will be snatched up as soon as you’re available so he thinks Benedict should be acting fast.
“It would save you from the marriage mart.” Benedict does like that possibility, but he’s not even sure if you feel the same way and too afraid to actually find out.
“Even so, I’m taking this information to the grave.”
“As if the sketchbook she’s got in her hands won’t tell her everything that there is to know.” Benedict’s eyes widen and he’s quick to race out of the room to chase after you to which Anthony just chuckles to himself. He’s so easy.
Age Twenty-Three
You sit at your pottery wheel, grateful for some peace and quiet, working on-well, you don’t exactly know what you’re working on. You just needed to get away from Benedict, especially with having those inappropriate thoughts about him that just won’t go away. Seeing him briefly at the ball only made it worse and now you just need to be alone so you don’t do something you would regret.
The door shuts behind you and you roll your eyes because you know exactly who it is. You can tell just by his footsteps and really wish you could get the courage to tell him to go away. Funny how the very person you’d want to talk to about this is the one you want to ignore.
You don’t deny him, though, as he sits behind you, trying your best to focus when he rests his chin on your shoulder. He’s done this exact thing more times than you can count but this time it feels different. He wraps his arms around your waist which you would normally love, but having him this close is making you feel hot, nervous. Your heart is beating so fast and hard and you really hope he can’t hear it.
“You left,” he says and you feel your heart break a little at how disappointed he sounds.
“Just needed some air,” you reply, trying your best to not sound like your heart is beating out of your chest.
“I missed you.” He scoots even closer so that his chest is pressed to your back and now your skin is on fire. He always says that, but this time, it feels different, like there’s more weight to it and you’re beginning to wonder if he feels the same way even though he probably (definitely) doesn’t. “You left me all alone and I hate to dance with someone else.”
“Oh no, poor Benedict had to dance with a beautiful woman.”
“She had two left feet,” he corrects and your blood is boiling just hearing him talk about another woman. It makes you so angry but little do you know that he has always only had eyes for you and will continue to until he takes his last breath.
“So do I.” You both know that, but Benedict always likes to use it as an excuse to pull you closer. But the one he was dancing with just kept stepping on his feet. His toes still hurt.
“I just like to dance with you. Is that such a crime?” Your skin is burning even more at his compliment and part of you just wants to show him exactly how you feel about him. But you can’t. Not only are you just too shy, but it would also alter your friendship. Not to mention if you were both caught, there would hell to pay. You just can’t risk it. But god, are you dreaming about it.
You’re about to excuse yourself when you feel him push the sleeve of your dress off your shoulder. You let out a gasp but you don’t dare stop him. You’re too stunned to do anything and you also just want to see what he’s going to do.
A foreign sound leaves your mouth when he eventually presses a feather light kiss to the skin. Benedict seems to like it because he continues, peppering your shoulder with kisses, slowly making his way to your neck. He helps you lean your head to the side to give him more room as he hesitantly begins to suck.
Another sound falls from your lips as your pottery wheel stops. Benedict’s hands reach for your now free ones, not even caring if they’re covered in clay. He just wants to feel them in his. This is nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. There’s a strange feeling pooling in your stomach and you have to lean forward to put a stop to it. Just when Benedict’s afraid that he’s made you feel uncomfortable, you turn fully on your stool to face him, your pupils dilated as you scoot closer to him.
“I just don’t want anyone to see it,” you tell him and he nods.
“Good point. Now come here.” He helps you sit in his lap, your bare chest looking so inviting right in front of his face. “How about here?” He asks, his now clay covered hand pointing at the spot right above your breast.
“Or, I could give you one. Yours could be covered up, right?” You ask, your face just inches from his. Your voice is flirty, seductive, and he is loving seeing this side of you.
“Oh, I’d love for you to give me one. Do you want me to teach you?” Benedict is the only one who you’d want to show you. Any time he’s taught you anything, he’s been nothing but polite and gentle.
“Please.” It’s desperate, pleading and he decides that he needs you right now.
“Okay, start by kissing the spot.” Your face falls and that’s when he remembers that you don’t have nearly as much experience as he does. Or any at all. “You don’t know how to kiss do you?” The question is more genuine than anything. Benedict would never laugh at you for something like that. “Come here.”
You lean down as his hands take yours, guiding them to his neck, wrapping your arms around it as his hands rest gently on your waist. Your eyes are already staring at his lips and he can’t believe that no one has tried to kiss you before because he selfishly wants to be your first.
His hands slowly move up your back as he guides you closer, his lips finding yours in a lingering peck before he pulls away. He sees how disappointed you are then pulls you in for another, this one even longer before pulling away yet again.
“Patience,” he demands with a chuckle when he sees you getting impatient. “I’m just warming you up.” He then takes your face in his hands and slowly slots his lips between yours, your hands grabbing onto his shirt, kissing him so desperately, as if you’ve been waiting your entire life for it. And you have. This is something that you’ve been dreaming about for longer than you’d ever care to admit.
You pick it up quickly, sliding your hands into his hair and Benedict decides that this is the best kiss he’s ever had by far. He would have usually moved on by now, but he can’t. Your lips are just too addicting and he can’t seem to get himself to stop until you pull away to catch your breath, breathing so heavily that he can’t help but laugh.
“You’ve gotta breathe, darling,” he says with a chuckle. “Through your nose. Can’t have you passing out on me.” His hands lazily move up and down your waist and you feel like you could melt right there. You’ve both been in the marriage mart for quite some time now and you always wonder how he’s still not found a wife.
You always hear women whispering about him and see how many times he gets approached when the two of you are together. Growing up, you were sure that he’d be married with at least a few children by now. You don’t understand why he can’t just pick one and settle down. Because maybe then, you wouldn’t convince yourself that you had a chance. A chance with Benedict Bridgerton? That will only happen when hell freezes over.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize and lean forward again. You don’t know what’s going on here, but you’re not going to question it. You’re just going to take what he’s willing to give you.
“You don’t have to apologize. Now come here.” You do as he says but this time, he gently takes your face in his hands and kisses you gently this time, like he’s done this exact thing a thousand times as his thumbs rub back and forth against your jaw. “Open,” he whispers against your lips and you listen, opening your mouth just a little bit, gasping as you feel his younger flicking inside.
Your tongue moves with his as he tilts your head back, pushing down on your chin so you’ll open wider so he’ll have more access. You let out another moan and Benedict’s trying his hardest to ignore how hard he’s become. He knows that he can’t possibly take this any farther, but pulls away and brings your head to his neck anyway.
“Kiss me,” he breathes, not following his own advice and only just now trying to catch his breath. You do as he says and kiss his neck, trying to remember what he had done to you just a few moments ago.
You then go in for a gentle suck and feel him squirm underneath you, something hard against you and you pull away to see that he’s adjusting his crotch for reasons unknown to you.
“Did I do something?” You ask and Benedict immediately shakes his head, only realizing now that you’ve never been educated on what goes on between a man and woman, surely unaware that it doesn’t just happen to produce children.
“Of course not, darling.” He knows this is a bad idea because he knows that he’ll want more, the greedy man he is, but he’s going to make sure to not progress so that you’re saved for your husband. A few kisses is one thing, but sex is something entirely different. He knows how big of a deal it is and he certainly wouldn’t want to get you in trouble and even worse, if word were to get out, he’d get an earful from Anthony and lord knows he’s had enough of those to last a lifetime.
“Maybe we should stop,” he says and hates to see pout on your face. “Hey, hey. I had a lovely time. In fact, I’ll dream about this tonight, but I don’t think we should continue.” He’s sure that he sees tears pricking your eyes and his heart is breaking just looking at you. “Only because I think it’d be best to save yourself for your husband.”
You know he’s right, but you really were hoping that he’d be your first, not even caring that you wouldn’t be his. In fact, you’d want him to show you how it’s done because he has so much knowledge. He would be so gentle and sweet and you just know that your future husband will only want to get you into bed for the sole purpose of having a child and he wouldn’t care whether or not you enjoyed yourself. You’ve heard the stories and you’re going to be another one.
“You’re right,” you nod, trying to remind yourself that this is the right thing to do. And you know that this isn’t rejection, but why does it feel like it is?
“I should go.”
“Okay,” you nod and he helps you up from his lap and you both head to the bucket beside the wheel to rinse your hands. It’s small since you’re the only one who usually uses it so his hands keep knocking against yours and as you try your best to not look him in the eye, you can’t help it. He’s staring at you and when you finally look up at him, he motions for you to come closer. Once you’re close enough, he brings his hand up and removes some of the clay that’s dried there.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” He asks and you hate the sad tone in his voice. You’re always so quick to forgive him when he uses it.
“No,” you shake your head. “Now you should go before someone catches you.”
“One more kiss?” He asks. “For the long journey home?” He puckers his lips as he dries his hands.
“You live next door.”
“Then you know just how long the journey is.”
He’s leaning down, puckering his lips even more and you can’t help but give in, pressing your lips to his and he’s quick to grab hold of your waist, pulling you to him as he wraps his arms around you tightly.
He then pulls away only to steal one more peck before fleeing, slamming the door behind him. You watch him race across the grass through the window, not being able to stop yourself from giggling when he slips on the grass and falls forward. He then gets up and hurries to his house before anyone notices that he was gone while you close the curtain and let your kisses replay in your head as you clean up your space before retiring to your room for the rest of the night.
and if i say that The Night We Met should have played for francesca and john instead of benedict and sophie bc that is a SAD SONG !!!! its about LOST love 😭
Benedict Bridgerton and William Ryder: What if you destroy your family honor and yours and become my mistress in a life of uncertainty because if I die or I get bored of you, you will have nothing because I am not smart enough to understand my own privilege and we live off Art? I think it will be neat
