bridgerton imagines.

the muse: benedict bridgerton.

"would you stop moving?"
"would you hurry up? by the time you're finished, i'll be greying!"
"too late. you already are, old woman."
y/n rises from the podium in which she once posed on and covers herself with the shawl nearby.
"you are the worst artist in the world,"
she declares.
benedict rolls his eyes at her dramatic flair,
which is only one of the many things he admires about y/n l/n.
he watches as she eyes the canvas he's been painting on,
which now shows y/n's lovely figure posed to perfection.
"oh, wow,"
she commends in that quiet way.
it is as close to a compliment that benedict will receive from this fiery woman.
"perhaps you are not all that terrible."
benedict wraps an arm around y/n's waist to pull her down into his lap.
she obliges with a giggle,
letting her own arms wrap themselves around his neck.
"is this how you view me? truly?"
"it is how you are,"
benedict admits.
"if you are astounded by your beauty, well...imagine how i feel everyday."
the woman of astonishing elegance rolls her eyes but benedict can tell by her lovely smile just how flattered she is.
"you are charming, benedict, but i have not forgotten about your prior comment. old woman,"
she mocks.
benedict laughs loudly,
which is contagious enough for y/n to fall beside herself with giggles as well.
it is only when he catches his breath that he allows himself to kiss her collarbone.
"would it be so bad? to be old and grey together?"
y/n's smile falters and suddenly,
she stands in a hurry to leave.
"you speak in absurdities, benedict."
before she can gather the remainder of her things and leave the studio for good,
benedict reaches for her hand.
she stills because it is a tender touch.
how could she will herself to be free of it?
"what? what did i do?"
"you speak of us like there is such a thing."
benedict shakes his head in confusion.
"am i mad for assuming such?"
y/n turns to him,
exasperated and pained.
"yes! you...you do not understand because you are a hungered artist but in time, you will see. you will find a woman better suited for you."
gathering the courage,
y/n rips her hand free from his grasp.
"y/n...do not go, please. sit and—and talk through this with me. make me understand so i can free your burdens!"
she shakes her head.
"you are in need of a muse. that is all i am. what more is there to understand?"
it is the last thing that is said before y/n opens the door and shuts it.
benedict is alone now,
left with an unfinished piece of art and a heavy heart.
***
"what do you think she wants?"
"she is probably intimidated. i mean...how would mother react if you brought her home?"
benedict eyes anthony and sighs.
he is right,
unfortunately.
"it is not as though she is a-a godless woman. she is kind, graceful, incredibly intelligent. she is considerate and thoughtful and self assured. the only thing she is missing, and hardly, is a worthless title."
"worthless as it may be, brother, it is still necessary."
benedict falls backwards into his chair with a heavy sigh.
"what do you advise me to do?"
anthony looks up from the paperwork beneath his elbows and rubs his eyes rather frustratedly.
"how desperate are you for this woman? be honest with only yourself: could you live without her?"
benedict thinks about it,
then parts his lips to speak,
but anthony has raised a palm to stop him.
benedict has always hated when his brother has done this,
put his hand up to prevent him from speaking further.
so every time,
benedict speaks,
"she is the better half of me."
anthony sighs.
"think on it and truly think, benedict, then return to me. before you put your all into this woman, remember that there are possibly greater matches for you should you wish to seek them."
benedict knows now that he's being dismissed by his older brother,
so he leaves with the words ringing in his mind.
he blames the ache in his chest on bourbon he so desperately gorged himself on.
and as he lies in his bed,
head spinning and heart heavy,
he tries to think of his life before y/n.
it was positively boring,
sure.
there was hardly anything for him to look forward to,
besides the occasional inspiration to create.
when he met y/n,
it was not a spur of the moment romance.
it was slow,
it took its time building,
and all he remembers is being a man of yearning.
he would ache for her attention,
wish for her touch to his starving skin,
sate himself on the image of her posing.
it was only when he asked her to pose for him alone,
her as the muse and him the starving artist,
did the pining truly begin.
he had never been so dedicated in his craft.
every stroke was a promise,
every color an oath,
everything he did was meticulously planned to tell her without ever uttering the words aloud:
my heart beats for you.
it was only when he realized that he was nearing completion of this painting,
that it meant his time with y/n would come to an end.
so he did the cowardly thing and prolonged their time together by pretending as though there were details that needed to be added.
between the silence,
benedict found the courage to create conversation.
and how easily it flowed,
like they had known each other all their lives.
it was comfortable and easy.
creating for her,
being near her,
it was the easiest thing in the world.
y/n made him a better man.
she encouraged his art and implored him to venture beyond his comfort zone.
she asked inquisitive questions that worked his brain in a way that had never been worked before.
she kissed the worst parts of himself,
made him new.
so, no,
he thinks to himself.
i cannot live without her.
for i only began living for her.
***
y/n thanks the skies for crying for her tonight.
it seems she cannot produce anymore tears that lessen this misery inside of her.
the talk of growing old and grey with benedict had brought her most clandestine thoughts to light.
it was jarring,
to hear benedict speak so freely about the things she held so secretly.
it was fun to live and love in secret.
to be his muse and hold his hands dried over with paint.
to kiss his scars and promise better one day.
they had never talked of what would become of them.
benedict would marry one day and unfortunately,
it would not be to y/n l/n.
she is merely an artist by proxy.
she has no title nor money to offer.
how could she fit in with his family when he could find someone better suited for him?
y/n nestles her head against the pillow to her side and finds remnants of his scent still ingrained there.
to say she misses him would be an understatement.
as though her thoughts have conjured the man in which she can never have,
he knocks on her door at this very late hour.
y/n opens it to reveal him standing amidst the rain,
drenched down to the bone.
"y/n—"
she holds her palm up to stop him,
and he does.
benedict stills,
not moving a muscle nor spilling over with the words he wants to say.
"don't talk. don't say anything."
she pauses,
benedict obeys.
"just come in,"
she says through a sigh of defeat.
benedict does as he's told and enters the warmth of y/n's bedroom that will forever feel like his own heaven.
he turns to face her when he is completely inside,
leaving her to guide them through this difficult silence.
y/n comes to where this man deprived of his love stands and she moves her heavenly hand up to where his buttons remain.
he watches as each button comes undone.
he wonders if she can hear the breath getting caught in his throat beneath her actions.
y/n removes him of the soaked shirt and begins to do the very same to his damp pants.
now that he has been shed of his clothes,
he stands an even more helpless man than he was when he arrived.
y/n does not say anything,
but she does not have to.
benedict locks eyes with hers and understands what he is to do now.
he reaches for her with a steady hand that finds the strap of her dress,
removing it from her shoulder.
the left side of her dress falls just below her collarbone,
leaving benedict to do the very same to the right.
when the strap is freed from her shoulder,
her dress falls to her feet.
y/n steps out of it,
leaving benedict to be but a gaping mess of a man.
what ensues that night is nothing titillating or nearly salacious.
instead,
what unfolds is much more vulnerable and speaks to a deeper connection between the two;
it runs to their cores,
sewing their souls into one.
the two do not indulge in their carnal desires,
but simply lie together as one.
barren of cloth that shields them,
barren of any facades,
they are free to be their true selves in this silence. 
this is deeper than lust or simple want,
it is love.
benedict shudders beneath this realization and brings a comforting hand to y/n's head,
where he guides his lips to her forehead.
she lies still against his chest,
listening to the symphony of his heart and wishing she could join him there.
"y/n?"
benedict whispers so softly,
it is hardly speaking.
"yes?"
"i...i do love you. i cannot live without you so please, do not make me try."
y/n looks up to benedict and presses a gentle kiss to his collarbone,
the same way he has done many times to her own.
"is it enough?"
benedict asks now that she has yet to speak.
"is it enough that i love you? is it enough to stay with me until...until we are old and grey and my hands are achy from all the creating i will do in your honor?" 
when she still has yet to say anything,
benedict presses his lips to her temple and prays,
"y/n, i love you. let it be enough."
"it is enough,"
she finally speaks through a quivering voice.
"it is enough for me if it is enough for you."
benedict shifts himself until he is facing her head on,
gathering her angelic face between his stained hands,
and nodding.
"oh, you are enough for me. every person you will become, everything you are now, it is enough."
like the heavens parting open in the sky above,
a smile imprints itself against y/n's lips.
benedict cannot help but to become overwhelmed with the beauty of it,
which is his excuse for kissing her all over.
y/n laughs loudly beneath his fast, loving lips that plant kisses all over her skin,
promising to blossom in time with their love.
"you must make me a promise, benedict,"
y/n says now with hands raking through his hair,
growing ticklish beneath his lips against her stomach.
"i will make you many promises, my love. whatever you wish,"
he vows.
y/n looks down at him and asks,
"whatever happens, you must promise that you will never stop creating. that you will paint forever, until your hands are stiff."
benedict kisses back up the length of her abdomen,
kisses her collarbone,
kisses her jaw,
and just before he finds her lips,
he says,
"i promise. i promise that i will paint and that you will be my muse until my very last breath."