Bridgerton Imagines

Stormy Nights and Warm Beds // B.B.

Whether it was the flash of lightning or rumble of thunder that woke you, you couldn't be certain. One moment you had been sleeping peacefully, and the next you were wide awake.

Sitting up in bed, your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness of your bedroom. The rain batters against the window, providing just enough noise for you not to feel suffocated by the heavy quiet of the room. Beside you, Benedict dreams peacefully. His light snores being a sign of his ignorance to the raging storm outside.

In the depths of his sleep, Benedict reaches for you, a hand wrapping around the top of your thigh. An amused smile crosses your face; his thumb gently rubs across your skin and a small hum of happiness leaves his lips. You capture his hand in yours, bringing to your mouth before any laughter can leave. You press one, two, three kisses to the back of Benedict's hand before placing it back under the covers.

As you slip out from under the covers, an idea crosses your mind. Kneeling back onto the bed, you lean over your beloved, sleeping husband and drop a kiss to the highpoint of his cheek, thrilled at the way Benedict seems to sink into your touch even in his deepest of dreams.

The air is cool around your bare legs as you wander to your dressing table, searching through the many drawers for a candle large enough to burn for a long time. You shiver at the draught cutting through your thin nightdress, briefly turning back to the bed, wondering whether to curl up beside your husband. Instead, you hunt harder for the candle, knowing that sleep was still a long way off now that you had left your bed.

You cheer silently when your fingers wrap around the long stem of an unburnt candle. Setting it up in a candelabra, you light it quickly and whisk it over to the table by the window, placing it down and looking out into the night.

Though it is so dark you could scarcely see a single thing from the window, the pitter-patter of the rain combined with the temperature of the glass, comforts you. In the morning, you know that the grass would be soaked through – the intoxicating scent permeating the morning air. For now, however, you would have to content yourself with the sounds of the storm rumbling around you.

"Darling," A rough voice sounds in the muted light of the room. "Is that you?"

"Benedict," You whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace of the room with loud voices. "What are you doing awake?"

"I could ask you the same thing," He answers. "I reached for you but found your side of the bed empty. Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," You reply, smiling up at your husband as a flash of lightning further highlights his concerned expression. "The storm woke me up."

"It's a bad one," Benedict comments mindlessly, coming up behind you and gathering you in his arms.

"But needed," You whisper, relaxing into his embrace. "The flowers were gasping for something more, and the grass needs it."

Both of you fall silent; the only sound between the both of you being your quiet breaths punctuated by the pouring rain. Benedict's hand start running up and down the length of your arms, eliciting goosebumps as they travel the path they have wandered so many times before. He drops his head, kissing your bare shoulder: once, twice, three times before reaching up and kissing the high point of your cheek – mimicking the very act you had performed not thirty minutes ago.

"It's dark outside, and it's raining," Benedict mumbles, his chest pressed to your back. "My arms are much safer."

"I always feel safe in your arms," You smile, letting yourself be led back to your bed.

The single candle is placed on your bedside table, illuminating the messy sheets as you slide underneath them, finding Benedict there, waiting for you. The pillows are soft, and the sheets have kept your body heat hidden between them. They feel close to heaven against your cold skin. Benedict stretches across you, blowing out the candle with one puff and plunging the room into darkness. He settles back into his side of the bed, grabbing your hand and pulling you to him.

You rest your head on Benedict's bare shoulder, inhaling the final remnants of the cologne he had worn today. The scent brings you an extra form of comfort as Benedict's arms wrap tightly around you, fingers messing with the silken material of your nightdress. The constant motion of his fingers combined with the warmth of the bed and the headiness of Benedict's scent makes your eyes heavy.

Blinking against the sudden tiredness, you run your fingers through the light smattering of chest hair on Benedict. A hand leaves your hip, grabbing your fingers, kisses being placed to the tip of every finger. "You're my whole world, you know," He whispers in the blissful quiet of the room. "I always thought my art would encompass my whole life; the desire to be great, to be remembered. It all faded into the background when I found you."

The weighted words land on your bare skin, sinking into your bones and moulding to your bone marrow as you feel the warmth of Benedict's adoration for you spread through your very being.

Benedict feels the moment you fall asleep. He feels your breathing slow; your limbs relax as you settle further into his arms. Your nose is pressed to his shoulder, your breaths warm against his skin. He smiles down at you indulgently, knowing full well that you haven't comprehended the words he's just said. Heard them, yes. But understood them, most likely not.

Happily, Benedict noses your hair, pressing a myriad of kisses to the top of your head. "None of it matters," He continues. "None of it matters so long as I have you, warm in my bed and safe in my arms."