#but you have to understand her upbringing

[vinsmoke-js-66]

I agree with a lot of this analysis, but for some parts I have alternate takes that I have very rarely seen discussed and I want to... I guess sound them out? Not saying your take is wrong, obviously. These are also my personal interpretations, and maybe you can respond back about them.

I considered that there is the possibility of Judge asking all of that to Luffy quite literally because he don't know any better. Maybe he was shouting "Why don't you answer?" not because he's just ranting like a madman, but because it's actually a genuine question.

You did mention that his point of view may have been the result of upbringing. Rather than lashing out, what if he has just never been made to see otherwise? It reads to me like whatever he has seen in life only bolsters the ideas he has been raised with, and that only made him want to cut out empathy/mercy even more.

Some of the villains started out innocent and became twisted because of outside influence. Linlin and Orochi, for example (and those two being back to back arcs is kind of interesting, especially with both seemingly ending up dead). Suppose the previous king of Germa had been betrayed and killed? Or maybe this kind of ideal was passed down through the generation for centuries?

Maybe the one who had been betrayed was the ancestor from 300 years ago, and for centuries they taught their descendants to distrust others and have no mercy. If that's the case, wouldn't that technically mean that even Judge had no choice in this? If he has never known any other point of view, why would he have any reason to want to behave any differently?

He mentioned that everything he did was for revenge, and then the restoration of Germa. The details of the goal and reason are all rather mysterious, and for all we know for 300 years all the kings have raised their descendants to give their whole lives for this mission.

We don't know much about Germa's past besides that they seemingly have conquered North Blue centuries ago, and that they were a kingdom of science. Since Brook had told us that they had a reputation of having a powerful military, maybe this kind of attitude that idolise "power/strength" is how the royal family of Germa was raised for generations. It doesn't help that the kingdom is even more isolated after their destruction.

I would compare this to Noland and Kalgara's encounter. Noland showed up bringing a worldview that completely turns upside down the tribe's traditional ways. Kalgara very nearly rejected it too, but Noland was able to prove himself and Kalgara was willing to take the chance.

The same goes here. Maybe this is the very first time Judge is truly confronted by something that goes against what he has always known. Luffy is strong, Sanji is also strong now, yet they both value the things that Germa considers to be worthless, and he just doesn't understand why.

In regards to blaming Sanji, the scientist had said that the medicine Sora took didn't undo the lineage factor modifications. The scientists seemingly wasn't able to figure out why Sanji's modifications isn't working, and they may not have been able to connect its cause to Sora's medicine. So not knowing this, it would look like Sora made herself sick for nothing and Sanji just came out a "failure" on his own.

There's very likely pride in here, because if all of them couldn't tell Sora's actions led to this, then they only had themselves or fate to blame for the failure.

For another, it is a fairly common trope in fiction where the father loves the mother so much that he despised his own children when she dies. Especially if the child indirectly is connected to her death (childbirth, or the mother dying from trying to save the child from danger).

Obviously there's still the issue of the direct confrontation with Sora, like why didn't he listen to her? Maybe he really is just a horrible person, but you know. Until canon confirms the facts, I'm personally open to various interpretations.

I'm personally of the opinion that it's not too late to change, which clearly you don't share. I think Oda-sensei had written that it's never too late for anyone until they die.

Villain Analysis: The Garuda Himself

AKA What turns men into monsters; Is it ideology and propaganda? Projection and insecurity? Class and upbringing? Or perhaps, it is all of these combined.

A not-so-quick analysis of Vinsmoke Judge, what makes him so despicable and hate-able, why he works as a villain, what does this mean for Sanji as a character and WCI as an arc, and how the brains of awful men like his work.

Warning: this is very very long (around 2k words) and talks about topics of abuse and imperialism, obviously. Also, a lot of this hinges on personal subjective interpretation of the narrative and speculation, so please be patient.

For starters, let’s get a quick comparison between Judge as a villain and other antagonists throughout One Piece. There’s, in my opinion, something that quickly separates him from the rest.

While most villains in One Piece are often motivated to do horrible things because of personal pathos and experiences, wants, needs, desires and traumatic memories, Judge –at first glance at least, seems to be motivated by something very different: Ideology. He is an imperialist, a fascist, a eugenicist, a classist, a warmonger, and so on and so on.

He is most similar to a villain like Hody Jones in this regard. There’s no personal big event in their lives (that we know of, at least) leading this type of character to their horrible actions, but rather a worldview. Most other antagonists in One Piece are in my opinion written as “person first, ideology second”. They’re often motivated by their own specific experiences, even if they can be assigned an ideology on top of that. But Judge and Hody seem to be more symbolic of broader ideas at their core, so they’re in a sense the odd ones out. They’re the reverse; “ideology first, person second”, almost feeling like they’re representatives of broader harmful structures, rather than being their own individuals.

I think also it’s worth mentioning why the ideology is here, and what it offers in terms of the narrative of Sanji’s abuse. Some might think it was an unnecessary element that isn’t that thematically connected to Sanji’s struggles. Couldn’t his family simply have been abusive, without all that Germa nonsense? Well for starters, it’s mostly here for the pop-cultural Kamen Rider references, yeah. But getting that out of the way, I think Sanji’s suffering is connected to his father’s terrible worldview pretty directly.

For starters, fascism is all about control. It preaches scapegoatism, demonization of “weakness” and fetishization of strength. Judge is a man that runs his family the same way he runs his state; with an iron fist. Sanji’s abuse IS a direct result of him being unable to meet these horrific standards. It also helps that we know Sanji as a kind person, so juxtaposing him to his comically evil literal-supervillain family, makes it simply easier for us to root for Sanji and hate his relatives, from a narrative building perspective. Ideas around masculinity and what an “able body” is in Judge’s eyes, are both part of Sanji’s backstory of abuse. It is also important that the Vinsmokes are royalty, because the first thing we learn about Sanji in One Piece, is that he suffered through great hunger. These people are wealth itself; they have never experienced that hardship.

However, while I think it’s true to an extent that Judge at first is simply “walking ideology” without being much of an actual individual, the way WCI is written, he starts showing interesting cracks behind the mask that reveal hints of specific personal motivations. In other words, the awful person behind the just as awful ideology starts to subtly show, and can be pieced together by looking intently.

As we experience the arc through Sanji’s eyes, Judge is a man who initially seems like an intimidating “strongman”, an impossible-to-read stoic threat, with no thoughts of his own outside cruelty. He’s a walking stereotype without much depth to be found. But slowly, the faults of his character begin to show; he is hasty, he has emotional outbursts, he is pathetic and hypocritical, he is careless and thoughtless, falling easily into Big Mom’s trap. In other words the imperfection and insecurity that Sanji was never able to spot in his father as a scared kid, starts to reveal itself, as Sanji slowly overcomes his fear of this man. He is not terrifying anymore; he is pathetic. And he is human, the worst kind of evil. The image of a man who is as perfectly mechanical as his genetically augmented sons, is shattered. They have no choice in their cruelty (to an extent, at least, due to Judge’s actions no less), but Judge is perfectly capable of compassion. He simply chooses to disregard it. His evil, unlike his sons, is his own choice.

Judge often laments his own humanity, doing so multiple times throughout the arc. He complains about how he can’t bring himself to take “his own son’s life as a father” to Sanji’s face, or often shows his twisted love for the rest of his children. This is a man who wishes nothing more than to be like his so-called “perfect” cruel sons, these unfeeling warriors, soldiers with no fear or sorrow. He fashions himself after them, in a way. But that is not the truth of who he is, and he very very clearly hates that.

This is where his hypocrisy comes in; he punishes Sanji for the very same things he himself is very capable of. To me, that’s kind of the point of the scene of him crying during the assassination, a highlight of his “rules for thee but not for me” behavior. This might sound absurd at first, but don’t misunderstand what I’m about to say. I think out of the three parental figures Sanji has had in his life (Sora, Judge, Zeff) he is the least like his birth father. He is in every sense, much more like the other two. However, no matter how absurd it feels, out of all his sons, Judge is most similar to Sanji. And he hates every second he is reminded of it. Not in the kindness, of course, but in his emotional nature. This is a man who, I think is not a stretch to say, projected on his eight-year-old son.

But here comes the problem, of course. As I said earlier, I think this is a man whose ideology came first. He doesn’t latch onto it to cover up for his insecurities, but rather, they are comorbid, it’s the reverse. The elements he sees in himself as “weakness” are elements that he hates, precisely because they clash with his worldview, not the other way around. The ideology is a result of upbringing, similar to the Celestial Dragons; taught from birth that as royalty he is superior to others, that he deserves everything by existing, that his kingdom’s horrific nationalism is excused due to whatever scapegoatism the Vinsmokes have been propagandizing for centuries. So when he is reminded that these ideas might be false, when he looks at his own “weak” son and realizes he is more like him than he is like his other “perfect” sons, he lashes out in ways the escalate in cruelty. I think he is at his core, a disastrous mix of entitlement and insecurity. After all, secure and happy men don’t fall for such ideas.

There’s an interesting moment right before he gives his last horrid speech where he lists all of the things he hates about Sanji (that scene where Luffy lovingly responds with “Why did he list all the good things about you?”). Before he starts angrily and pointlessly rambling, there’s a panel where he looks down at Sanji, their faces juxtaposed, with his bandages covering one eye; just like Sanji and his hairstyle, and while making a similar facial expression to him. There’s a pause in that moment. I think the narrative is telling us in a way, and if you want to interpret it as such, about the insecurity and projection hiding behind this man’s “strongman” mask. Literally a mask- Big Mom broke his helmet. He is here without it. And of course, he cannot change. He will not change. He will keep acting out his cruelty; it’s too late for horrible old men like him. But not for someone like Sanji. This is the last moment where we see the two reject each other for good. And it’s a reminder of how that man’s shadow no longer looms over Sanji. Sanji can see through him, he sees the real, pathetic, sad man behind the intimidating persona. Maybe he does see himself a little bit too, but he rejects that. He rejects a future where he grows to be like this man.

The last element I want to talk about however, one that I didn’t touch on so far, probably has to do with Sora. There’s two things that stood out to me in regards to Judge’s relationship to Sora that I never see anyone talk about.

The first is the fact that Judge calls Sanji “his greatest failure”. Think about it for a few seconds. Why would a man so self-absorbed not simply blame Sora for what happened? He could have easily gone “Oh, there’s no failure on my part here, my science was perfect! I didn’t make any mistakes; I was simply sabotaged. Sabotaged by a third party.” But he doesn’t. He doesn’t use Sora as a scapegoat. I mean- it wouldn’t have been inaccurate either. The reason Sanji was born human IS because of Sora’s interference, not because of any mistake in the science.  So why? Why does he not do it? Why is Sanji “his mistake”. I simply couldn’t figure it out at first, but then it dawned on me.

If Sanji is “Judge’s mistake”, than it can’t be “Sora’s success”. He is erasing her. He’d rather present himself as someone who messed up, than include her and acknowledge her actions. It’s about taking agency away from her. If HE is the one that failed when it comes to Sanji, he can make it about himself, and take her out of the picture. He can strip her of her power and decision. This is at his a core a man who is obsessed with control. Everyone else exists to serve him, in his eyes.

We see this even further in one of the most interesting and under-analyzed parts of Reiju’s speech to Sanji in WCI. While trying to figure out her father’s behavior, she makes the suggestion to Sanji that right after Sora died “he blamed you for everything that happened, and started to mistreat you accordingly.”

While Reiju is an unreliable in-universe narrator, she is one of the few people close enough to her father to be able to figure out his behavior. And here, she is suggesting that a big part of Sanji’s mistreatment is because, in his twisted mind, Judge blames Sanji for Sora’s death. This to me reads in a couple of ways. For starters, it’s once again taking agency away from her. It couldn’t have been her own decision; it had to be the fault of something or someone else. In this case… their unborn son…? Wild choice on who to blame. But it works in his head; Sora didn’t CHOOSE to disobey him, it was all that child’s fault. But also, it does beg that question again of what happens when you mix that complex villainous humanity with wretched ideology. Did he love Sora? Or is him mourning her just a feeling of loss of something he owned, a loss of ownership and control? Well, if I had to guess, it’s probably a bit of both. And that’s what makes Oda’s villains much, much more interesting to me, compared to simple walking stereotypes. Twisted abusive love expresses itself this way very often. To people like this, genuine feelings of love and horrific desire to control and hurt are the very same. And I think the same can be said for his “successful” children. I do think he loves them, genuinely, but a man like this experiences that emotion through a sense of ownership, control, and an extension of his own ego. It's not that is isn't love, or that it's performative. It is simply twisted, selfish, abusive, but it is there. But Sanji? He doesn't even get that.

God I hope this man suffers a terrible punishment for everything he’s done. An excellent villain, I need him dead and rotting in hell. Whole Peak Island. Thank you Mr. Oda.

[lupamoe]

It's always "haha ruby loves her brother thats incest"

but never "ruby lacks any emotional love and support in her entire life as a bed-ridden kid and skipped the emotional developmental stages of her childhood so she dosen't know whats normal or disgusting, likewise, this makes her like gorou. it's a sign that she will cling desperately to anyone who cares for her the slightest because ruby's 'love for her doctor' is a coping mechanism formed to forget and shield everything she's been through and because she has no options. this makes her genuinely not know the difference between platonic and romantic love as she has never experienced either in her miserable life."

[somnas-writes]

I feel like the High Fae in acotar should’ve looked a little weirder (limbs too long/too thin, eyes too bright, facial features too sharp/perfect etc).

And the high fae are so convinced that everyone wants them when in reality, nobody really does. When Human Feyre falls in love with Tamlin, all her ‘lesser’ fae friends are like “Girl… for real?”

And when the Archeron sisters are all turned into fae, they retain some intrinsic humanity to their appearance. So they’re just the right balance of Human and High Fae.

Feyre still finds herself getting unsettled looking at the high fae too long. when she talks to other fae, to her, they’re human in a way.

Anyways feyre should’ve been anti-class system and hung out with the other fae groups more. She’s a people person get her out into the community.

[pucellerie]

19

19. Worst lie you’ve ever told?

i used to be a massive suicide baiter back in the day #TBH ( as in i used to bait people into thinking i was going to kill myself ) *muscleman voice* you know who ELSE was/is a massive suicide baiter ?!?!!

no but for real in all seriousness i grew from this behavior obviously ( i was a teenager 15-16 when this was happening ) & it took reaping actual consequences for this behavior to realize how humiliating it was to do that like that & there comes a point where the person is just going to be like... Girl whatever. & just to be clear i was genuinely insane back then like making gashes on myself daily drinking household chemicals eating garbage like my threats were believable the way i was acting & i did want to die i did have my attempts but i have to be honest i was most definitely trying to manipulate that person

[notbecauseofvictories]

it's always interesting to talk to my sister, because we can vivisect every single member of our family and their psychology, the dynamics that radiate out from our parents, our grandparents; how it has affected our brothers, parents, aunts and uncles, and even friends, partners....

but when it comes to us---two members of said family, affected by the same dynamics and psychology---we are very carefully silent.

[winged-bat]

thinking about cass having comphet

[zafiro-anyejo]

very few 'parenting' things frustrate me more than parents who give their screaming kids an ipad, but I think "emotionally neglectful for 20 years and then wondering why their kid isn't thriving/adjusting to adulthood well, so they try to make up for it by being an overbearing helicopter parent" might take the cake.

[widevibratobitch]

laalalalala another vent post because i have no therapist to pay for listening to my bullshit

[bavarianmillionaire]

For Retegui I understand your reasoning but the guy will never play for argentina, he just made a choice based on his opportunities? If he were better we all know he would have never chosen italy… and think of africa, 3/4 of the national teams are made of people from the diaspora…I feel like in a way nationality is becoming anachronistic as a concept.

yeah, i actually did some research and found out he was never called up here so i understand that decision too. i get it in football terms but i think i'm speaking more culturally. like, if my parents were, say, spanish, i may feel closer to spanish culture and feel comfortable playing outside of my home country. but having grandparents from another country might not get you close to that culture. it's not so much about the concept of nationality itself, especially in this context where it's easier to move from one country to the other

[5-htagonist]

the boondocks is so good. i dont know what black american archetypal character is missing from that show other than ahhh favorable portrayals of black queerness but 2005 (presumably) cishet man creation so you know how that goes.

[my-castles-crumbling]

I like him

for shower thoughts anon :D - jegulus, marylily, drarry -word count: 661

"It's got to be Ginny," James said, sitting back onto the sofa next to Regulus and sipping at his glass of wine. "I mean...c'mon. He's been looking at her for a while! She's pretty, funny, a damn good Quidditch player..."

"And a redhead," Lily chimed in from the loveseat, winking at her ex-husband.

"And a redhead," James acknowledged, inclining his head with a chuckle. "I'd bet money on her being his girlfriend."

"Sure, she's pretty," Regulus, who was sitting next to James, drawled, "but she used to pine after him! Harry's going to walk in here with Hermione, just you wait. She's pretty as well, and she's smart, and they've been friends for ages."

"Ginny's smart!" James retorted, sounding offended, like Regulus had said something about James's own intelligence.

"Sure, but Hermione's grades are top tier," Regulus shrugged. "Nobody can beat them."

"Hermione's in love with Ron, I guarantee it," Lily said confidently, sipping at her own drink. "Hermione and Harry get on too well. There's no tension there."

"Poor Hermione. Why do the smart ones always fall for the emotionally stunted?" Regulus mumbled, smirking when James shouted 'Oi!'

But after scoffing at his husband, James sighed and addressed the room at large. "Alright. Let's say it's not Ginny or Hermione. Who, then? Cho? Luna?"

Finally, Mary, who was sitting next to Lily, gave a little giggle.

"You have an idea, love?" Lily asked curiously, turning to her wife.

Mary grinned. "No, it's none of my business," she said airily.

"You've known Harry since he was a baby," Regulus replied, rolling his eyes. "Just because you've only officially become his stepmother recently-"

"Ugh, 'stepmother' sounds awful...like I'm going to lock him in a tower..." Mary grimaced.

"Whatever. What're you thinking?" James asked eagerly.

"Isn't it obvious?" Mary said, eyes on Regulus, who gave her an annoyed head shake. "I'd bet my life he walks in with Draco Malfoy."

James and Regulus's sitting room was silent for a long time.

"Nah, that's-"

"There's no fucking way-"

But Regulus was the one who said thoughtfully, "No...she has a point."

James stared at his husband like he had three heads. "Love...Harry hates Draco, you know this! You...you both make fun of Lucius Malfoy together!"

"Yes, it's great bonding," Regulus agreed slowly. "And I'd sooner die than say anything nice about my cousin or her husband. Why do you think I haven't so much as sent them a letter in almost twenty years? But...well, you and Harry are very similar, James."

"Meaning what?" James asked incredulously.

Lily let out a little laugh of understanding. "Meaning he could also fall for the grumpy, pretentious Slytherin with a shit upbringing and a horrible outlook on life and somehow realize that said Slytherin isn't as shit as his family is."

Regulus frowned. "Grumpy?"

James, however, gave Lily an affronted look. "Are you saying that our son inherited my...what? Attraction to Slytherins?"

"Maybe your attraction to people who insult you, too," Mary mumbled from next to Lily, and everyone laughed except James.

"But I-" James began to argue his case, but before he could, there was a crack! outside, and loud voices could be heard.

"...was going to tell them! I just didn't know how!"

"You can't just surprise your family with this, Potter! They may be 'nice people' but they're still capable of going into heart failure!"

"Listen, Malfoy, it's going to be fine. They don't care who I date, as long as I'm-"

"-Happy, yes, well trust me, I'm not going to be making you happy for a long time if this goes poorly because you didn't give them the decency of a warning!"

"Listen, you need to talk quieter, alright? They can probably hear, and..."

And the voices trailed off into whispers, all four adults looked at each other with wide eyes.

"Well....I like him," Mary said, breaking into a grin. "But I'm just the stepmother, so..."

Everyone else groaned and moved towards the dining room.

[bosbas]

Chapter 1: I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game"

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader WC: 2.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, lowkey why do i ship daphne and y/n....

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

May 13, 1812 - You were in Hyde Park less than ten minutes before you saw Daphne Bridgerton's figure out of the corner of your eye. Delighted that she'd joined you earlier than expected, you waved her over.

"Hello, Daph," you greeted cheerfully, scooting over so your best friend could sit beside you on the bench. "I didn't think I'd see you for a few hours, given how many gentlemen asked you to dance last night. Did none of them call?"

Daphne groaned, a scowl set deep on her face, as she took a piece of bread from your basket and broke it into chunks to feed the ducks.

"Don't remind me. Most of them called, actually," she responded. "If only Anthony had let me have three seconds with them I might have been able to discern whether or not I was actually interested. He barged into the sunroom and promptly kicked everyone out. There was not a single suitor left in the room by the time he'd finished!"

You snorted. "Ah, so the overbearing eldest brother is once again to blame."

"Isn't he always?" she responded, too annoyed to match the lightness in your tone.

You just smiled to yourself and fed the ducks silently, knowing Daphne well enough to hide your smile from her, given that she was more than likely fuming at Anthony's constant meddling. You knew he meant well, but he was known to go a bit overboard at times. Well, most times. Especially when it came to Daphne's courtships.

"Anthony's the biggest rake in Mayfair, anyway. I don't know exactly what moral high ground he thinks he's standing on but it's certainly not as sturdy as he assumes," continued Daphne, still upset over that morning's happenings.

"Is it really that bad, Daph?" you said in an attempt to console her. "At least you're not getting hordes of unpleasant men at your doorstep every day. And you know the kinds of men that frequent the ton aren't always the kind you'd want to spend your afternoons with."

"I'm not getting any men at my doorstep! That's the problem!" exclaimed Daphne, exasperated. "I know you might not share the same desires as me, but I would eventually like to get married and have a family."

"I want to find a husband, too," you insisted, your tone bordering on defensive. "I just don't particularly feel bothered to look for one during my first season."

Daphne sobered immediately, coming out of her annoyance toward her brother as she could sense you were upset. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear," she insisted, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. "It was just-"

"I understand," you smiled at her, placing your hand over hers. "I just don't have the same urgency as you do, on account of my father having absolutely no stake in my marital status. No stake in anything about me at all, actually."

It would be a sad sentiment if you weren't used to it. You were an only child, and your mother had died after getting ill when you were only five years old. Your father, of course, was quite busy with the land he managed, and thus most of your upbringing had just been you and your governess. And the Bridgertons, of course.

You had met Daphne when she was eight and you were seven, and the two of you had gotten along splendidly since then. Since you had no real family of your own, bar your absent father, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence at Daphne's insistence. You now found yourself to be a semi-permanent fixture in their house, feeling just as home there as you did at your father's home.

This proximity to the Bridgertons had made you intimately familiar with Anthony's overprotective demeanor. Ever since you and Daphne were young, Anthony had gone out of his way to make sure that his siblings were cared for. Sometimes that included you, too. But unfortunately, he could take it too far sometimes.

"Did you like anyone last night, at least? Your dress was quite magnificent and I know I'm not the only one who noticed," you winked at Daphne.

She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't entirely know. I don't think one dance is enough to know whether I truly like someone," she responded, slumping down on the bench.

"Especially not when Anthony cuts the dance short halfway through," you laughed, recalling the eldest Bridgerton's attempts to thwart Daphne's search for a husband.

But your comment did nothing to lighten the mood. Instead, it seemed to make your friend even more irritated.

"It's my second year out in society! I still don't have a husband. Not even close to it, apparently," continued Daphne, aggressively tossing bits of bread into the pond.

"Well, you have to marry��eventually. Anthony can't keep you away from every man for the rest of your life!" you argued.

But this did little to quell Daphne's annoyance. "He's certainly trying," she muttered.

"We can ship him off to the West Indies for the season," you joked. "Surely he won't be able to interrupt your suitors from halfway across the globe."

Suddenly, Daphne raised her eyebrows, looking at you with a devious smile.

"I was only joking! We can't actually ship him away," you laughed. "Besides, how would the ladies of the ton ever survive without the most desirable bachelor who is always just out of reach?"

Daphne snorted, amused at your dig at Anthony. "No, no, we don't have to ship him away," she said. "But you are correct in saying that I need time away from him to fully explore potential matches."

You hummed in agreement, imagining how much easier life would be for Daphne if her older brother simply... let her be. "Is he going on a hunting trip soon?" you said hopefully.

Your best friend shook her head, still smiling at you like she was plotting something.

"What is it?" you pressed, laughing at her expression.

"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, an expectant look in her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll kill Anthony for you. I’ve only been waiting for you to ask,” you joked.

“No,” Daphne laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Go on then,” you nodded.

“Could you ask him to dance at tomorrow’s ball?”

“Me? Ask him? Are you out of your mind?” you sputtered. You had never danced with Anthony at a ball, and you couldn't fathom the first time you did so being after you were the one to ask him.

“Y/N, please. I can’t just rely on forlorn glances across the ballroom to secure suitors. I need to actually speak with them, and I won’t be able to if Anthony keeps... hovering.”

Granted, hovering was a very generous word for what Anthony was really doing. But still, you looked at her, uncertainty in your eyes. You weren’t particularly keen on asking Anthony to dance, knowing he was famously opposed to marriage at this point in his life. Yes, you had grown up around him, but that didn’t mean he was interested in you at all, and you didn’t want to face that rejection if you could avoid it.

“Don’t give me that look! I promise it’ll work,” cried Daphne, desperate. “Just tell him you feel like dancing but don’t want to give another man the wrong impression since it’s only your first season and you’re still biding your time. Most of which is true.”

She made a good point. You didn’t want the hordes of men that seemed to flock to Daphne just yet. And would one dance really hurt that much?

---

The music in the ballroom pleasantly surrounded you as you stood next to Violet. Daphne had left to dance with Lord Wilson, a bachelor of very distinguished background who seemed to be hanging onto every word your best friend said.

Just as you turned to Violet to comment on how well-suited the pair looked, Anthony stormed over to where you were standing.

"It's unbelievable that she's even giving him the time of day," he said lowly, looking wholly unimpressed by the dance happening a few feet in front of him.

You could feel Anthony growing tense beside you as the seconds ticked by, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Three seconds of his sister speaking with a man and he was ready to explode already? He was worse than you thought.

You saw Daphne lean back as she laughed at something the gentleman said, and you knew you had to act fast before Anthony intervened.

“Oh, the music is wonderful tonight! Anthony, would you care for a dance?”

He tore his gaze away from his sister and looked at you, perplexed.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“I believe I am, Anthony,” you said.

He scoffed, not quite believing you. “That is not very proper of you, Lady L/N.”

“And you are a great authority on propriety, I presume?" you said, a playful edge to your voice. "Given your… adventures as a rake, surely you have a better idea of what is proper than I do.”

Anthony choked at your bold choice of words, not used to people calling him out so publicly. “Y/N! Why do you want to dance with me then, if I'm such a rake?”

You rolled your eyes. “I just enjoy the music and want to dance. And I don’t want to give any other men the wrong impression,” you recited exactly what Daphne had told you to say.

He nodded reluctantly and took your hand. “Very well. One dance, then. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression of me either.”

This was the last time you ever did anything for Daphne. God, how difficult could one man be?

But all of your annoyance faded away once he placed his hand on your hip and spun you around. This was rather nice, you found yourself thinking. You hadn't properly danced at a ball yet, and you couldn't help but think that you'd missed out on a rather enjoyable activity.

The dance was going along quite smoothly, and you and Anthony seemed to be melting together, no longer two individuals but instead moving more like one entity. You were especially enjoying whenever his grip shifted slightly and his hand ran across the small of your back. To be truthful, you were simply having fun.

That is until you felt Anthony shifting you across the dance floor so you could get nearer to Daphne and the gentleman she was dancing with. Feeling Anthony's shoulders tense underneath your gingerly placed hands, you looked up at him.

Looking into his eyes, you raised your eyebrows. "She's fine, you know. You don't have to watch over her every second of every ball."

Anthony rolled his eyes, dismissing your comment. "Of course I do. She's my sister! I have to take care of her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or if she ended up betrothed to a dolt."

"Anthony," you softened your tone. "It's quite alright. It's not all up to you. You've got an entire family to keep her safe. And me, of course."

You could feel his muscles relax under your hands. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I know all of that to be true. I just worry about her. And about you! But luckily there aren't many suitors of yours to scare off."

"Oh," you said, your voice squeakier than you intended. "Thank you?" you questioned. You weren't quite sure how to take his comment.

"No!" he rushed out, immediately realizing what his words sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that. Daphne had just mentioned that you're not as interested in finding someone right now since it's your first season. And I hadn't really seen you dance with anyone at one of these balls before. And-"

"It's no trouble, Anthony," you smiled, giggling at how flustered he'd gotten. "I appreciate the concern nonetheless."

He shook his head, still not believing that he'd been so rude toward you. As much as you were a familiar face around his home, he couldn't quite tease you the way he did Daphne or any of his other sisters, and he was dreadfully embarrassed that he had made you upset, even if just for a moment.

"If you ever want to dance again, just come to me, understood?" he said, his voice turning serious. "I don't need another one of you to worry about."

You could barely contain your laughter as the music came to an end. "Yes, Anthony," you said dutifully, smiling at how silly he was being.

Looking over at Daphne, you were pleased to see that everything had gone to plan and she'd had the chance to talk to Lord Wilson the entire time you'd been with her brother. It was a relief that she'd finally gotten a normal courting experience.

Before Anthony could reach her and wrench her away from her suitor, Daphne rushed over to you, grabbing your arm excitedly.

"Shall we take a turn about the ballroom?" she suggested, leaving you no room to protest as she led you away from her mother and brother.

You laughed at her excitement, glad that your best friend was finally enjoying herself.

"Thank you so much, Y/N, truly," she gushed, squeezing your arm affectionately. "That was absolutely incredible. It's the longest time I've been able to spend with a potential match without Anthony hanging over my shoulder."

"I'm happy to do it," you said amusedly. "He was that lovely, then?"

"Oh, absolutely not," she shook her head. "Lord Wilson was dreadfully boring. But at least now I know! And I don't have to pine over him or wonder what he would be like. I know for certain I'm not interested, and I can focus on finding my true love match."

"That's wonderful, Daph," you laughed. You truly held so much affection for her. It was endearing to see her so excited over spending time with a man she didn't even like.

Suddenly, Daphne slowed her pace. Turning you around, she held both of your hands and took a deep breath. "Yes, it was. Which is why I must ask you to dance with Anthony tomorrow night as well."

"What do you mean? Ask him to dance again? I thought this was only for tonight," you sounded unconvinced. Asking her brother to dance one time had already been enough of a hassle, but having to pretend to need him to dance with you once more was looking like an insurmountable challenge.

"Please, Y/N," she begged. "It's the only way I'll find a husband that isn't someone like Nigel Berbrooke," she added, whispering the last part.

It was true, Anthony seemed to have impossibly high standards that only the most unpleasant bachelor in Mayfair seemed to be able to meet. If you could do anything to protect Daphne from that unpleasant fate, you would do it.

"I suppose I could try tomorrow night. Though I can't promise he'll want to dance with me again. Anthony seemed quite reluctant tonight," you conceded.

"Nonsense," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Anthony loves you dearly, I can't imagine he'd ever turn you down."

"Whatever you say," you responded, unconvinced but unwilling to dampen your best friend's chipper mood. Besides, you had a wonderful time with Anthony tonight. How could another dance possibly go wrong?

—

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[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[vorfreudevortex]

apologies

✧.* gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, yuji, megumi, noritoshi, ino, inumaki, yuta

notes: a somewhat happier resolution and part two of arguments! thank you for reading <3

✧.* check out the fun facts after the attachments for background info about their fights and a look inside my brain hehe!

my masterlist

© vorfreudevortex | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, repost, or otherwise share my work.

satoru cried in his office when he realized that he blamed you for something that wasn't your fault.

suguru's coworker sat on his lap as part of a weird inside joke everyone else at the school has between the two. he has no idea why he was so defensive to you and he truly wasn't cheating. he was so angry that you would believe he cheated that he started calling you out for the first thing he could think of, wearing revealing tops in public. satoru had to call you 8 times before you picked up and let him explain it to you. he's forcing her to transfer to kyoto so she never has the chance to hurt your relationship again (remember that suguru never left and became a teacher alongside satoru in my aus). the pictures sent to the reader leave out how suguru uncomfortably asked her to get off of him shortly after, since they were around other sorcerers and teachers (as politely as he could).

kento came home with so many flowers for you and he still feels awful.

toji's dumbass freaked tf out when you took home your clothes from his place. he was out drinking and gambling and didn't want to tell you. your relationship is rocky for a while but he hasn't gambled since.

choso is still learning communication skills and cried when he realized that he was being mean to you over nothing.

sukuna is a terrible texter and does NOT communicate his feelings well. this is him being vulnerable af with you because he really does love you and has no idea why he was grabbing another girl's ass at the bar. he tried to chase you down after you threw a drink on him, slapped and yelled at him, and ran out.

yuji completely panicked when a curse attacked him out of nowhere when he was out with you. you can't see them and you were so confused and scared that you couldn't move. he just cares about you so much and couldn't stand the fact that you could've died. he made megumi listen to him cry about how mean he was to you for like 3 straight hours.

megumi has no idea how to deal with his emotions and has never been in a relationship before so he literally thought you guys were broken up LMAO. he's trying really hard for you.

in my au toge can speak, just not direct commands, so he still rarely talks unless necessary. i thought it would be nice to have the reader understand that all of his communication skills are terrible and help him work on them.

noritoshi has a terrible outlook on love and relationships from his upbringing so it took him a minute to understand how awful his words were. he truly does love you and wants to marry you. he lowkey constantly thinks about cutting off the kamo clan so they can't control his life anymore.

ino literally cried to nanami after your argument. he's so used to putting jujutsu responsibilities before his own life and feelings, and struggles with having to take care of something that can't be fixed with his power or strength. nanami also called you and apologized for meddling in your relationship, he realized it was inappropriate but he just really cares about you and ino and wants the best for both of you.

yuta literally didn't even realize how insane and controlling he was being until you called him out. after he took you home, he latched onto you with his head crammed in your lap because he was so upset thinking that you might leave him. he swears to himself that he will kill himself before he treats you like that again, and he never does it again.

i don't like when big argument smaus end with "no biggie i forgive you! <3" so i tried to make sure that the reader either made sure they know they fucked up big time, apologized and talked to them face-to-face, they'd never do it again, or you wouldn't forgive them so easily, etc.

sorry this was so long! but i love knowing the background info and author's thoughts for smaus since they can be kind of limiting in content! i think i'll add background info and fun facts after all my future smaus for those who are interested. as always thank you so much for reading ♡

[flux1563]

A true identity ft. Heejin

Tags : squirting (a lot), love at first sight, first time, creampie

Words : 10K+

Heejin stumbled into the crowded café, her nose buried in a dense textbook on quantum mechanics. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the murmur of students discussing assignments and weekend plans. She was lost in her own world of quarks and leptons, oblivious to the hustle and bustle around her.

"Hi, can I sit in front of you?" Y/N said, his voice a smooth blend of accents that hinted at a life spent traveling.

Heejin nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Yeah, of course," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

 Heejin, a lesbian college student, is engrossed in her quantum mechanics textbook at a café when she notices a new customer, Y/N, an international student with tan skin and a charming presence. His confidence and unique features capture her attention, causing her to feel self-conscious and attracted for the first time in years. He approaches her, asking to sit nearby.

Y/N flashed a dazzling smile before sliding into the chair opposite her. He set down his own textbook, something about international economics, and pulled out a sleek laptop. The silence between them was charged with an electric tension that Heejin couldn't ignore. She stole glances at his strong hands as they danced across the keyboard, his fingers moving with a grace she hadn't expected from someone so tall. His eyes remained focused on the screen, the only indication of his presence the occasional furrowing of his brow.

Heejin took a deep breath and closed her quantum mechanics book with a soft thud. "You're not from around here, are you?" she ventured, hoping to break the ice.

Y/N's fingers paused on the keyboard, and he glanced up at her. "Ah, you noticed," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I'm half European and half Asian. My mom's Korean, but my dad's from Spain. I grew up bouncing between Seoul and Madrid."

Heejin felt a spark of curiosity ignite within her. "That must be quite an interesting upbringing," she said, her voice growing a little stronger.

"It has its perks," he replied with a grin. "I can swear in three languages without batting an eye."

Y/N, a new international student with an intriguing mix of European and Asian heritage, sits near Heejin in the café. Heejin, feeling a growing attraction, initiates conversation. He shares his unique background, having lived in both Seoul and Madrid, and they bond over the novelty of his multilingual proficiency in swearing.

Their conversation grew from there, stretching into a tapestry of shared experiences and laughter. Heejin found herself forgetting about her homework, her mind fully engaged with Y/N's tales of bullfights and flamenco nights. His stories painted vivid images in her mind, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the richness of his life experiences.

As the hours passed, the café grew quieter as other students filtered out, leaving only a handful of die-hards still tapping away at their laptops. The barista glanced over at them occasionally, but mostly let them be, enjoying the lightness they brought to the space.

 Heejin and Y/N continue to connect, sharing personal stories and laughter, filling the café with their vibrant energy. As they discuss their individual experiences, a strong bond forms, and Y/N expresses his curiosity about Heejin's life in Korea, revealing his own longing to understand the culture beyond his occasional visits.

Their conversation continued, weaving through the evening shadows until the café's lights began to dim, signaling the approaching closing time. Reluctantly, they gathered their things, the warmth of their newfound camaraderie lingering as they stepped into the cool night air.

"So, what do you like to do for fun around here?" Heejin asked, her curiosity about Y/N's hobbies piqued by their shared love of diverse experiences.

Y/N's eyes lit up at the question. "Well, I've recently picked up swimming," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "There's something about the water that just feels like home."

Heejin felt a shiver of excitement run down her spine. "Really?" she replied. "I can't swim at all. It's always been one of those things I've been meaning to learn, but you know, life gets in the way."

Y/N's smile grew even wider. "Well, it's never too late to start," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "In fact, I'd be happy to teach you. My mother has a private villa with a pool just outside the city. It's the perfect place for lessons."

Heejin's eyes widened with surprise. "A villa? That sounds amazing!"

Y/N nodded. "It is," he assured her. "And the pool is just the right size for learning. Plus, it's pretty secluded. No prying eyes."

 The conversation shifts to hobbies and Y/N reveals his passion for swimming, suggesting to Heejin that he could teach her at his mother's private villa outside the city. Heejin is intrigued and accepts the offer, excited by the prospect of a secluded, private lesson.

SUMMARY^2: Heejin, a lesbian college student, meets Y/N, a tan and attractive international student, in a café. They bond over personal stories and Y/N's multilingual swearing, forming a strong connection. Y/N offers to teach Heejin swimming at his mother's private villa outside Seoul.

Heejin felt a mix of excitement and trepidation at the thought of spending the weekend with this enigmatic stranger. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something undeniably alluring about him, something that called to her adventurous spirit.

"Okay," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Send me the details, and I'll be there."

Y/N pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly navigating the screen. "What's your number?" he asked, extending the device towards her. Heejin recited the digits, her heart pounding as she watched him save her contact. The phone buzzed in his hand, and he handed it back to her with a smile. "Now you have mine," he said. "How about this weekend ?."

"Yes, I can. I'll come on Saturday," Heejin said, the words spilling out before she could second-guess herself. A wave of excitement washed over her as she imagined the weekend ahead, filled with the promise of swimming lessons and stolen moments of quiet companionship.

The days until Saturday seemed to crawl by, each tick of the clock echoing in her ears like a drumbeat. When the fateful day finally arrived, Heejin awoke early, her mind racing with thoughts of Y/N and the mysterious villa that awaited her. She carefully selected her outfit—a modest yet flattering swimsuit and a loose-fitting sundress to wear over it.

 Heejin accepts Y/N's offer for a weekend swimming lesson at his mother's villa. Despite her nerves, she eagerly anticipates the private, secluded setting, choosing an outfit that balances modesty with allure.

With her heart in her throat, Heejin made her way to the address he had sent her, nestled in the lush countryside. The scenic journey took her through winding roads lined with cherry blossoms, their pink petals fluttering like confetti in the breeze. The villa came into view, a picturesque oasis amidst the greenery. It was a modernist masterpiece of glass and steel, with a sprawling pool that gleamed like a sapphire under the early afternoon sun.

Heejin approached the gate, her hand trembling slightly as she typed in the code Y/N had provided. With a soft click, it swung open, revealing a path lined with stepping stones that led to the front door. She followed it, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the serene silence. The door was unlocked, and she pushed it open to reveal an expansive, minimalist living room, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unobstructed view of the pool beyond.

Y/N emerged from a side room, clad in a pair of board shorts and a loose-fitting shirt, his hair damp from what she assumed was a recent shower. "You found it," he said with a grin, his eyes sweeping over her appreciatively. Heejin felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks as she took in his bare feet and the way the fabric clung to his muscular frame.

"Welcome to my mother's sanctuary," he said, gesturing to the pool. "Ready to conquer your fear of water?"

 Heejin arrives at the villa, captivated by its beauty and seclusion. Y/N greets her, and she feels a rush of attraction for his physique. He reaffirms their purpose for the visit: to conquer her fear of water with his swimming lessons.

Heejin nodded, her pulse quickening as she reached into her bag and pulled out the swimsuit she had packed. She slipped into the bathroom, her hands shaking as she unzipped her dress and slid the fabric down her body. The swimsuit she had chosen was simple yet flattering. As she adjusted the straps and smoothed out the material, she couldn't help but think about the last time she had worn something so revealing.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she found Y/N already by the pool, his back to her as he dipped his toes into the water. The sight of his broad shoulders and muscular back sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. He looked up as she approached, his gaze lingering on her figure before he quickly averted his eyes. Heejin felt a sudden urge to turn back, but the excitement of the moment was too potent to resist.

Y/N's eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of her, and before she could say anything, he turned and dove into the pool, the water splashing around him as he submerged himself completely. When he resurfaced, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and a mischievous grin played on his lips. "Come on in, the water's perfect!" he called out.

 Heejin, feeling self-conscious, changes into her swimsuit and joins Y/N by the pool. His lingering gaze and subsequent dive into the water hint at his own attraction and eagerness for their swimming session.

Heejin took a tentative step towards the pool's edge, her heart racing. She could see the outline of his erection pressing against the fabric of his shorts, and she knew that she was the cause of his arousal. A blush spread across her cheeks, but she didn't look away. Instead, she took a deep breath and jumped in after him, the cool water enveloping her body in a gentle embrace. She surfaced with a gasp, her eyes locking onto his as they both treaded water.

Their bodies brushed against each other as they moved closer, the electricity between them palpable. Heejin felt the fabric of her swimsuit stick to her skin, outlining her hardening nipples. Y/N's gaze dropped to her chest before he coughed, clearing his throat awkwardly. "So, about those swimming lessons..."

Heejin couldn't help but laugh, the tension dissipating like bubbles in the water. "Yeah," she said, "let's get started."

Y/N nodded, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He moved closer, placing his hand gently on her back as he began to instruct her on the basics of floating. Heejin, however, had other ideas. With a playful wiggle of her hips, she pushed her ass against his growing arousal, feeling the heat of his body through the thin barrier of their swimsuits.

Y/N's instruction faltered for a moment, his breath hitching as he felt her soft curves pressing against him. "C-concentrate, Heejin," he managed to say, his voice strained.

 Heejin overcomes her nerves and jumps into the pool, where she notices Y/N's attraction to her. Despite the awkwardness, they begin their swimming lesson with Y/N trying to maintain a professional demeanor while Heejin flirts subtly, hinting at her own desires.

Ignoring his protest, she leaned back, her eyes wide with feigned panic. "Oh no, I think I'm drowning!" she exclaimed dramatically, her arms flailing in the water.

Y/N's instincts took over, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to keep her afloat. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she gasped for breath, the sensation sending a bolt of desire through his body. He could feel her heart racing, matching the tempo of his own as they remained entangled in the water.

"You're okay," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. Heejin's eyes searched his, a playful smile playing on her lips as she pushed herself even closer, her legs wrapping around his waist. "You're not fooling anyone, Heejin," he said, his tone low and husky.

Undeterred, she did it again, the friction between them sending a delicious shiver down her spine. Each time she feigned distress, her body brushed against him more deliberately, her movements becoming increasingly sensual. Y/N's resolve began to crack, his body responding to her teasing with a fervor that surprised even him. He knew he should stop her, maintain the innocent facade of their swimming lesson, but the allure of her touch was too great.

"Stop it, I know it," Y/N said, trying to keep his voice firm despite the waver in his tone. His arms tightened around her, his hands sliding down to her hips. He could feel the heat of her skin, the water acting as a thin veil that only heightened the intensity of their contact.

 Heejin playfully pretends to need saving, increasing the physical contact between them and pushing the boundaries of their supposedly innocent swimming lesson. Despite Y/N's attempts to keep things professional, the sexual tension becomes unbearable as their bodies continue to touch and move against each other.

 Heejin meets Y/N for a swimming lesson at a private villa, feeling a growing attraction and anticipation. Upon her arrival, she's drawn to his physique, and their lesson starts amidst unspoken desires. She flirts subtly, and the lesson evolves with increased physical contact and unmistakable sexual tension.

Heejin giggled, the sound music to his ears as she leaned back, her body arching against his. "But the water feels so good," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/N took a deep breath, willing his body to cooperate. "Heejin," he said, his voice a low growl, "I think it's time we take a break from swimming."

With a mischievous grin, Heejin nodded and allowed him to help her out of the water. Her legs felt wobbly on the slick tiles, and she leaned into him for support, her skin glistening with water droplets that sparkled in the sunlight. Y/N's eyes trailed down her body, taking in the way the fabric of her swimsuit clung to her curves. He knew that he had to regain control of the situation before it spiraled out of his grasp.

As they stepped onto the floor, Y/N's restraint snapped. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was as hungry as it was unexpected. Heejin's eyes widened with surprise, but she melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she tried to keep up with the tempo of his kisses. His tongue danced with hers, exploring the depths of her mouth with a passion that left her breathless. She could feel his cock pressing against her thigh, demanding more than she was prepared to give in such a public space.

"Form the beginning, u want this, right?" Y/N murmured against her lips, his breath hot and ragged. His question hung in the air, a declaration wrapped in a whisper.

 Heejin's playfulness leads to a passionate kiss between them, taking the situation beyond swimming lessons. The intensity of their interaction escalates, with both of them acknowledging the underlying desires that have been brewing.

Heejin just smiles and nodded, the tension of their shared desire making her dizzy. She had never felt this way about a man before, but there was something about Y/N that made her want to explore the uncharted waters of her sexuality.

With trembling hands, Y/N reached for the strings of her swimsuit top, his eyes never leaving hers. He gently untied them, revealing the soft mounds of her breasts, the tips already pebbled with arousal. Heejin gasped as the cool air kissed her skin, her nipples hardening against his fingertips as he cupped them, weighing their heft in his palms. She felt a thrill of power as she watched his eyes darken with desire, his pupils dilating until they nearly eclipsed the warm brown iris.

Her own hands found his shirt, her fingertips tracing the ridges of his abs as she pulled it over his head. His muscles rippled under her touch, the sun-kissed skin warm and inviting. He was everything she had ever fantasized about in a man—tall, handsome, and confident—and yet, she had never felt so drawn to anyone before. It was as if a part of her she had buried deep had been suddenly awakened, and she was eager to explore this newfound aspect of herself.

 Heejin's curiosity leads to the removal of their swimsuits, exposing their bodies to each other's hungry gazes. The intimate act of touching and exploring each other's physiques reveals the depth of their mutual attraction and marks the beginning of their sexual journey together.

Heejin felt the heat of his gaze as it traveled over her body, his eyes lingering on her breasts before dropping to her swimsuit bottoms. She could feel her cheeks flush with anticipation as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband, pausing to look up at him for permission. Y/N nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, and she pushed the fabric down her legs, stepping out of it and kicking it away.

Y/N's breathing grew heavier as he took in the sight of her naked form, his own arousal now clearly visible through his board shorts. He reached down and began to tug at the waistband, the fabric straining against his erection. Heejin watched with rapt attention as he revealed himself to her, her eyes widening slightly as she took in the size and girth of his cock. It was nothing like she had ever seen before in her fantasies, and the reality was both terrifying and thrilling.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her skin. He took one of her breasts in his hand, the touch sending a bolt of pleasure through her body. His thumb brushed against her nipple, sending a shiver down her spine as it pebbled beneath his touch.

 The sexual tension culminates in the removal of their last barriers, revealing their naked forms to each other. Heejin's first-hand experience with a male body evokes a mix of fear and excitement as she confronts the reality of Y/N's arousal, setting the stage for their imminent physical intimacy.

"Your boobs are not that big," Y/N said, his voice a mix of wonder and admiration. "But that's perfect size for me." He leaned down, his breath hot against her skin as he took the sensitive peak into his mouth, suckling gently. Heejin gasped, her hands flying to his head to hold him closer, the sensation overwhelming. He switched to the other side, giving it the same tender attention, his tongue flicking and teasing as he worked his magic.

"Ahh... keep doing that, Y/N," Heejin panted, her legs threatening to buckle under the weight of her growing arousal. "My pussy is getting wet each time," she confessed, her voice breathless and needy. She felt his cock twitch against her stomach in response, and she knew she wasn't the only one affected by their passionate dance.

Without a word, Y/N dropped to his knees before her, his eyes never leaving hers as he hooked his thumbs into the sides of her swimsuit bottoms and pulled them down. Heejin stepped out of them, leaving her completely bare before him. The cool air of the villa's living room kissed her skin, sending goosebumps down her spine. Y/N's gaze dropped to her neatly trimmed pubic hair, the folds of her pussy glistening with the promise of what was to come.

 Y/N expresses his appreciation for Heejin's body, focusing on her breasts and eliciting a powerful reaction from her. He then proceeds to remove her swimsuit bottoms, leaving her vulnerable and exposed, while his own desire for her is clearly evident.

He leaned in, his nose brushing against her sensitive flesh as he inhaled deeply. The scent of her arousal filled his senses, a potent aphrodisiac that sent his own desire spiraling. His tongue darted out, tracing the seam of her labia with a gentle touch that made her whimper. Heejin's knees buckled slightly, but Y/N's strong hands held her in place, his grip firm yet reassuring.

"Ahh, so good, Y/N," she gasped, her eyes fluttering closed as he continued to tease her with feather-light kisses and nips. His mouth moved to her clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub as she squirmed under his touch. He could feel her legs tremble, her body poised on the edge of orgasm.

But just as she was about to crest the wave, Y/N pulled away, leaving her panting and needy. "Now, for the real lesson," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. He stood up, towering over her, his eyes never leaving hers as he reached down to cup her cheek. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, sending another shiver down her spine.

Heejin's eyes grew wide as she felt his thumb slide down to her neck, then further, until it brushed against the pulse point between her breasts. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a whisper of breath.

 Y/N begins to perform oral sex on Heejin, eliciting strong reactions of pleasure, but then abruptly stops to announce the 'real lesson'. His intimate touches continue to escalate, leaving her desperate for more, and setting a mysterious tone for what is to come in their sexual exploration.

 Heejin and Y/N kiss passionately, moving beyond swimming lessons. They strip each other, revealing their desires. Y/N appreciates Heejin's body and performs oral sex, stopping to announce a 'real lesson'. The intense interaction leaves Heejin eager for the next phase of their encounter.

Y/N's smile was knowing, his eyes dark with lust. "You'll see," he murmured, as his hand trailed lower, until his fingers brushed against the slickness of her pussy. He traced her folds, his touch feather-light, as if he was learning the contours of a new map. Heejin's eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned softly, her hips bucking against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, before sliding two fingers into her without warning. She was tight, tighter than he had expected, and she gasped as he filled her. He stilled for a moment, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion before he began to move, his fingers exploring her depths with a gentle yet insistent rhythm. Heejin's legs wobbled, but she managed to stay upright, her hands gripping at y/n to keep her balance standing.

"Fuck, you're so good," she moaned, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the tension coil tighter and tighter in her belly. His thumb circled her clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body, and she could feel the beginnings of an orgasm building, a storm brewing on the horizon of her senses. "My pussy is stretching by your fingers," she gasped, her voice ragged with need.

Y/N chuckled against her neck, his breath hot and tickling. "You're so tight, Heejin," he murmured, his voice thick with his own arousal. "I can feel every inch of you around me." He began to pump his fingers in and out of her, the slow, deliberate strokes pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

 Y/N's manual exploration of Heejin's body intensifies, inserting his fingers into her for the first time and bringing her to the brink of orgasm. His skilled touch and gentle dominance leave Heejin desperate for more, her voice filled with ragged desire.

"Your fingers are so big, fuck," Heejin moaned, her eyes flying open to meet his.

Y/N's smile grew wider as he felt her pussy clench around his digits. "You like that?" he asked, his voice a low purr.

"Yes, yes, I'm...I'm going to cum," Heejin panted, her nails digging into his shoulders as the waves of pleasure grew stronger.

Y/N watched as Heejin's body began to tense, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. He knew she was close, and the thought of her coming apart in his arms was almost too much to bear. He increased his pace, his fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot that had her entire body trembling.

"I can't take this anymore," Heejin whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own breathing. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, and her body arched back, pushing her breasts out towards the sky. "I'm cumming..."

Y/N felt her walls tighten around his fingers, the muscles in her pussy clenching in an involuntary spasm as her orgasm took hold. He watched with rapt attention, his own breath catching in his throat as she began to squirt, the clear fluid spurting out and coating his hand. It was a sight he had never seen before, and the raw, unbridled passion of it was intoxicating.

 Heejin reaches climax as Y/N's fingers fill her, the intensity of her orgasm causing her body to convulse and release. The new experience is overwhelming for both, with Y/N visually captivated by her uninhibited response.

Heejin's trembling grew more intense as she rode the waves of pleasure, her nails digging into his skin as she clung to him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her firmly in place as she came, his other hand still working her clit in slow, deliberate circles. The sound of their wet skin slapping together filled the quiet room, a testament to their passionate dance.

When her climax finally subsided, Heejin's legs gave out, and she would have collapsed if not for Y/N's strong embrace. He held her up, her cheek pressed to his chest, as she took deep, gulping breaths, trying to regain her composure. His heart thudded beneath her ear, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding of her own.

"I didn't know you were a squirter, Heejin," Y/N said, his voice filled with amazement as he pulled back slightly to look down at her.

Heejin blushed, her cheeks flaming red as she buried her face in his chest. "I... I don't know it too," she admitted, her voice muffled by his skin. "It was my first time."

Y/N chuckled, his grip on her tightening as he stared down at her. "Well, you're a natural," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Now, it's my turn to give you a taste of what I can do."

 After her first orgasm, Heejin's legs give way, and Y/N holds her up, both marveling at her squirting. Heejin confesses it's her first time experiencing this, and Y/N, impressed, looks forward to giving her another new experience.

With that, Heejin dropped to her knees before him, her eyes never leaving his as she reached for the waistband of his board shorts. He stepped back slightly, allowing her to pull them down, revealing his rock-hard cock that stood tall and proud. It was the first time she had seen one up close, and she couldn't help but feel a mix of trepidation and excitement as she took it in her hands.

Y/N's breath hitched as she began to explore him with her tongue, her movements tentative at first as she traced the veins that snaked along his shaft. The taste of him was unfamiliar, a heady mix of salt and musk that filled her mouth. She marveled at the velvety softness of his skin against the firmness beneath, her curiosity piqued by this foreign yet fascinating landscape.

Without warning, he surged forward, his cock pushing past her lips and filling her mouth. Heejin's eyes went wide with surprise.

Her cough took them both by surprise. It was a sudden, involuntary spasm that sent a jet of saliva and pre-cum spraying onto his abs. Heejin's eyes watered as she pulled back, her cheeks a fiery red. "I'm sorry," she gasped, her voice muffled by her hand as she tried to cover her mouth.

 Heejin, eager to reciprocate, attempts to give Y/N oral sex for the first time, but her inexperience leads to a surprise cough and a messy spray of saliva and pre-cum. Embarrassed, she apologizes, revealing her newness to the act.

Y/N looked down at her, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. "It's okay," he managed to say, his voice strained. He could feel the tension in his body dissipating, the moment of passion giving way to a sudden burst of laughter. "It's your first time with... something that size," he added, trying to keep his tone light.

"Just relax, sweetheart," he murmured, placing a hand on the back of her head and guiding her closer to him once more. This time, he pushed in more slowly, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion. Heejin took a deep breath, her eyes watering as she felt him fill her mouth. The sensation was strange, yet she was eager to please him, to make him feel the same way he had made her feel moments ago.

"That's good, breath through your nose," Y/N said, his voice gentle and soothing. Heejin nodded, taking his advice and finding that it helped ease the discomfort. She took another deep breath, the air flowing in and out of her nostrils as she took more of him in. His grip on her hair tightened slightly, his hips starting to move in a slow, shallow rhythm.

Heejin felt his cock swell in her mouth, the veins pulsing with each heartbeat. She could feel his thighs tense as he tried to maintain control, his breaths growing quicker. She wrapped her hands around the base of his shaft, her thumb playing with the sensitive skin beneath as she took him deeper.

 Heejin, still embarrassed, tries to recover and gives Y/N oral sex again, with his gentle guidance. She adjusts to the sensation and takes him deeper, eager to satisfy him and learning from his instructions. Y/N's body responds visibly, showing signs of approaching climax.

 Y/N explores Heejin intimately, bringing her to a powerful climax through manual stimulation and making her squirt. She confesses her inexperience, and he eagerly awaits the next step. Heejin attempts oral sex, but initially fails due to inexperience. With Y/N's guidance, she successfully performs the act, bringing him pleasure and learning from the experience.

The sound of his moans grew louder, his hips jerking slightly as she found a rhythm that suited them both. His hand on the back of her head grew firmer, guiding her movements as he grew more and more lost in the sensation. "Your mouth is so warm," he groaned, his voice strained.

Heejin felt a thrill of power as she took him deeper, her eyes watering but her determination unwavering. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by passion before. Y/N's hand tightened in her hair, and she knew he was close. She focused on his reactions, the way his breath caught when she hit the right spot, the way his cock twitched against her tongue.

With renewed confidence, Heejin began to move faster, her throat relaxing around his girth. Y/N's moans grew more urgent, his hips thrusting in time with her bobbing head. "Ughh, your throat is tight," he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure.

Suddenly, Heejin felt his cock swell even more in her mouth, and she knew he was on the brink. She braced herself, her eyes watering as she took him as deep as she could. With a roar, Y/N's hips bucked forward, and he came, his hot seed filling her mouth. She tried to swallow it all, eager to show him that she could handle it, but the sheer volume of his release was overwhelming. Some of it spilled out, dribbling down her chin and onto her chest.

 Heejin becomes more adept at giving Y/N oral sex, taking his cock deep and responding to his cues. His pleasure builds until he climaxes, and she eagerly tries to swallow his cum, but the amount overwhelms her, leaving some on her chin and chest.

Heejin looked up at him with a mix of pride and embarrassment, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. Y/N's eyes were glazed with pleasure, a smug smile playing on his lips as he watched her try to contain his cum. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his thumb coming away sticky with his essence. "It's okay," he murmured, his voice gentle. "You did so well."

Heejin felt a rush of gratitude and affection for him, his words easing the self-consciousness that had taken hold of her. She leaned back, her mouth still open slightly, and allowed him to help her to her feet. The warmth of his cum on her chest made her even more aware of her nakedness, her nipples pebbled from the cool air.

"I didn't mean to spoil it," she said, her voice small as she tried to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. "It just... happened."

"Don't worry, Heejin," he said, his voice soothing. "You're doing great.".

With that, Y/N gently turned Heejin around, the water sluicing off her body as he positioned her at the pool's edge.

"Let's go to the next step," he murmured, his voice filled with a primal need that sent a thrill down Heejin's spine. He scooped her up in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the side of the pool. The cool tiles pressed against her back, the heat of her body in stark contrast to the chill beneath her.

 Y/N reassures Heejin after her first blowjob, praising her efforts. He then carries her to the side of the pool for the next stage of their intimate lesson, leaving her feeling a mix of pride and desire.

Y/N took a moment to appreciate the sight of her, his eyes devouring every inch of her bare flesh as the sun danced across her skin. He positioned himself between her legs, his cock still hard and slick from their earlier encounter. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through her.

Heejin nodded, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation. She had never done this before, never been with a man, but there was something about Y/N that made her feel safe, made her want to explore this new aspect of herself.

Y/N positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, his hands gripping her hips tightly. He paused, waiting for her nod, and when it came, he pushed forward, inch by inch, filling her with a pressure she had never felt before. Heejin's eyes squeezed shut as she felt herself stretch around him, the sensation both painful and incredibly arousing. She took a deep breath and pushed back, urging him to continue, her body hungry for the connection she had been craving.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice strained as he pushed into her, feeling her walls clench around him. He could see the determination on her face, the way her teeth were digging into her bottom lip as she took him deeper and deeper.

"I know it's big," Heejin said, her eyes never leaving his, "but I want all of it, Y/N." Her voice was filled with a mix of need and challenge, and he knew she was ready to take him completely.

 Heejin expresses her readiness, and Y/N gently penetrates her, both of them feeling the intense sensation of her first time with a man. His size overwhelms her initially, but she remains eager and determined to experience everything with him.

With a groan that was almost a growl, Y/N pushed the last of his length into her, feeling her body stretch and yield to his invasion. He held still for a moment, giving her a chance to adjust to the sensation. He could feel her pussy clench around him, her muscles tightening and releasing in a silent plea for more. "You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Fuck, you're so big," Heejin gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt herself stretched to the limit. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure and pain through her body, a heady mix that had her clinging to him tightly. His grip on her hips was firm, guiding her movements as he began to pick up the pace.

"I'm cumming," she panted, her nails digging into his skin as she felt the familiar tension building. "I'm going to squirt again." The words were barely a whisper, but they had the desired effect. Y/N groaned, his strokes becoming more erratic as he felt her pussy begin to pulse around him. He could feel the warmth of her juices coating his cock, the sensation driving him closer to the edge.

 Y/N and Heejin engage in passionate sex, with him filling her completely. Despite the initial pain, she finds pleasure in the act, prompting her to squirt again. This response intensifies his desire, leading to a climax.

Heejin's eyes flew open, her pupils dilated with lust as she watched him lose control. The power she had over him was intoxicating, and she pushed back with renewed vigor, her hips rising to meet his with each powerful thrust. Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt the first spasm, her pussy tightening around his cock. "Cum for me, Heejin," he growled, his voice deep and demanding.

The words were like a trigger, and she let go, her body convulsing in a powerful orgasm that had her screaming out his name. She felt the warmth of her juices flood around him, the sensation of his cock pulsing inside her setting off another wave of pleasure.

"Good girl," Y/N murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he increased his pace. He didn't wait for Heejin's orgasm to end; instead, he used it to fuel his own, pushing into her harder and faster with each stroke.

Heejin could feel another climax building, her pussy spasming around his cock as she continued to squirt. The sensation was overwhelming, a never-ending crescendo of pleasure that had her panting and whimpering. Y/N's eyes never left hers, his gaze locked onto hers as if he was trying to absorb every ounce of her passion.

 Heejin's second orgasm is triggered by Y/N's praise, leading to more intense sexual activity. Her squirting enhances his experience, pushing him closer to his own climax as they maintain deep, penetrative eye contact throughout.

"I'm going to cum, Heejin," he finally said, his voice tight with the effort of holding back. Heejin could see the strain in his face, the way his muscles stood out as he held himself above her, his body taut with tension. She felt a thrill at the knowledge that she had brought him to this point, that she had the power to make him lose control.

"Cum inside me," she whispered, the words a breathy plea that seemed to echo through the quiet afternoon air. "I brought the pill," she reminded him, her voice filled with a mix of urgency and need.

Y/N's eyes snapped to hers, his pupils dilated with desire. He knew she was on birth control, but the thought of coming inside her, of marking her in that most intimate of ways, was too tempting to resist. He nodded, his jaw clenched as he pushed into her one final time, his cock pulsing with the force of his release.

Heejin felt the warmth of his cum fill her, a sensation that was at once strange and exhilarating. Her own orgasm seemed to go on forever, her pussy contracting around him as he emptied himself into her. They stayed like that for a moment, locked in their passionate embrace, the world outside the villa fading away.

 As Y/N reaches the brink of his climax, Heejin whispers for him to cum inside her. He succumbs to the temptation, filling her as she experiences a prolonged orgasm. The intimacy of the moment connects them deeply.

As they both began to come down from their peak, Y/N leaned in to kiss her, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was as possessive as it was tender. His cock remained buried deep inside her, the evidence of their union mingling with her own juices. Heejin kissed him back, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure.

Slowly, Y/N pulled out, his cock slipping from her with a wet sound that made her shiver.

Heejin's pussy continued to spasm, releasing more of her juices onto the tile. She looked down in amazement as she felt a gush of liquid leave her, her body seemingly unable to contain the intensity of the orgasm that had just taken over her. "Wow," she murmured, her voice filled with wonder.

Y/N chuckled, a mix of amazement and satisfaction in the sound. "You're incredible," he said, his voice low and gruff. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his tongue tasting himself on her lips. He could feel her squirting again, her body reacting to the sudden emptiness.

When they broke the kiss, Heejin leaned back into his embrace, her body boneless and pliant. He wrapped his arms around her, his cock still semi-hard against her stomach, and they stood there, panting and sated, for a moment. The sound of their breathing and the gentle lapping of the water against the side of the pool filled the silence.

"That was..." she began, but her voice trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe the intensity of what they had just shared.

 After climaxing, Heejin and Y/N share a deep, passionate kiss. Her pussy continues to spasm, releasing more fluid, prompting Y/N's amazement. They embrace, with Heejin at a loss for words to express her feelings. The serene atmosphere of the poolside is a stark contrast to their intense sexual encounter.

"Amazon," Y/N said, filling in the blank for her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chest pressing into her back as they both took a moment to catch their breaths. Heejin leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body envelop her, his cock still semi-erect and sticky against her skin.

They stood there for a long moment, the only sound the gentle lapping of the water against the side of the pool. The coolness of the tiles beneath them was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and Heejin could feel the sweat beginning to dry on her skin.

Heejin's heart was racing, her thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions and sensations. She had never felt so alive, so connected to another person before. The way Y/N had made love to her, with such passion and tenderness, had left her feeling cherished and desired in a way she had never experienced.

Y/N kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin gently as he held her tight. "You're something else," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "I've never felt anything like that."

Heejin shivered, her pussy clenching around the emptiness where his cock had just been. The sensation sent a fresh wave of arousal through her body, making her want him again. She turned in his arms, her hands sliding up his chest as she looked into his eyes.

Y/N could see the desire in her gaze, the unspoken request that he continue to explore her body. He smirked, his thumb brushing over her hardened nipple, watching as she inhaled sharply. "Looks like someone enjoyed herself," he said, his voice a low tease that had her cheeks flushing once more.

Heejin didn't respond, instead leaning into his touch as he began to play with her sensitive peak. His other hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her clit and beginning to rub it in slow circles. The feeling was exquisite, the gentle pressure making her squirt again and again. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes fluttering shut as she tried to keep quiet, not wanting to break the spell that had fallen over them.

Y/N chuckled, his breath warm against her neck as he kissed her gently. "You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration. "It's like your body was made for this." His thumb flicked her clit, sending another spasm of pleasure through her. Heejin's legs began to shake, her orgasms coming closer together as he worked his magic.

Her moans grew louder, despite her efforts to remain silent, and Y/N took it as a challenge. He pinched her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. His other hand never stopped moving, his fingers sliding easily through her wetness as she grew more and more aroused.

Heejin felt like she was on the brink of something incredible, her body taut with the need for release. She clung to him, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to get closer, to feel more. Y/N's chuckles grew into moans of his own, his cock growing hard once again as he felt her pussy contract around his fingers.

With one final, firm pinch, Heejin's body gave in, her pussy spasming as she came, squirting all over his hand. He held her tightly, his own arousal evident in his grip as he watched her ride out the waves of pleasure. When she finally went limp in his arms, he kissed her forehead, his eyes shining with affection and lust.

"You're a natural," he said, his voice a soft whisper against her skin. "But I'm not done with you yet." He scooped her up and carried her to a lounge chair by the poolside, laying her down gently. Heejin looked up at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure and anticipation.

Without a word, Y/N positioned himself between her legs and sank into her again, their bodies slippery with water and cum. The sound of their skin slapping together filled the air, punctuated by their ragged breaths and gasps of pleasure. Heejin's body was already primed for another round, and she eagerly welcomed him back inside.

Their movements grew more frantic as they lost themselves in the rhythm of their bodies, their kisses deep and all-consuming. Y/N's hand found her clit once more, his thumb flicking it with expert precision. She moaned into his mouth, her body arching off the chair as she came again, her juices mixing with the pool water beneath them.

They didn't stop there. Y/N picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her into the villa. They explored each room with an unbridled passion, leaving a trail of wetness and stickiness in their wake. On the plush carpet in the living room, against the cold marble of the kitchen counter, and even in the soft embrace of the velvet curtains in the study, they fucked with an urgency that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

Their lovemaking was raw and uninhibited, each room revealing new ways to satisfy their insatiable hunger for each other. In the bedroom, Y/N bent Heejin over the bed, her ass in the air as he pounded into her from behind. She could feel his sperm coating her insides, mixing with her squirt as he filled her up once again.

The scent of sex filled the air, a musky perfume that seemed to cling to every surface. The villa was no longer a serene retreat but a playground for their desires, each room holding a new adventure. In the shower, the hot water cascaded over their bodies as he took her from behind, her moans echoing off the tiles as she came yet again.

Their bodies were a tapestry of sensations, a blend of pleasure and pain that only served to heighten their arousal. The sound of their passion filled the air, a symphony of flesh slapping together and the sweet cries of release. They didn't care if they were heard; they were lost in their own world, a world where only they and their insatiable desires mattered.

As they moved from room to room, their bodies grew sticky with a mix of sweat and cum. They were a blur of motion, a dance of lust that knew no bounds. Heejin felt a thrill with every new position, every new sensation that Y/N introduced her to.

In the library, he bent her over a dusty bookshelf, the scent of old leather and paper mixing with the musk of their desire. Heejin's moans grew louder as he pounded into her from behind, the books rattling with each thrust. Her palms pressed against the cool wood, her legs trembling as she tried to keep herself steady. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes raking over her body as he watched his cock disappear and reappear with each stroke.

They moved to the dining room next, the long mahogany table serving as their stage. Heejin lay on her back, her legs spread wide as Y/N feasted on her pussy, his tongue delving into her folds with a hunger that surprised even her. She squirmed beneath him, the sensation of his tongue against her clit making her squirt once more. He lapped it up greedily, his eyes never leaving hers as he brought her to another shattering orgasm.

In the media room, with the glow of the giant TV screen casting an eerie light over their naked bodies, Heejin found herself straddling him on the plush couch. She rode him with an abandon she never knew she had, her tits bouncing with each bounce as she took him deep. The leather was sticky with their combined fluids, and the sound of their bodies coming together was almost obscene in the otherwise silent room.

Y/N's fingers dug into her hips as he watched her ride him, his cock disappearing into her tight pussy. He could feel her muscles tightening around him, the anticipation of her climax building with each passing second. "I want to feel you come around my cock," he said, his voice gruff with need. Heejin nodded, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she worked herself closer to the edge.

When it finally hit, it was like a lightning bolt, her pussy clenching around him as she screamed out her pleasure. He followed her over, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with his hot seed. They collapsed onto the couch, their bodies slick with sweat and cum, their hearts racing with the intensity of their passion.

For a moment, they lay there, panting and spent, the sound of their breathing the only thing breaking the silence. But it wasn't long before they were on the move again, their bodies craving more, the thrill of exploration and discovery driving them from one room to the next.

In the kitchen, they fucked standing up, the cold marble of the island countertop sending a delicious shiver through Heejin's body as Y/N pounded into her from behind. She could see their reflection in the gleaming stainless steel appliances, their bodies moving in a carnally beautiful ballet of lust. The smell of sex mingled with the faint scent of the leftover lunch, a heady combination that only served to drive them closer to the edge.

They stumbled into the gym, the sound of their footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. Y/N bent her over the treadmill, her hands grasping the handles as he took her from behind once more. The machine whirred to life under their combined weight, adding an unexpected rhythm to their lovemaking. Heejin's breasts bounced with each thrust, her nipples grazing the cool metal, sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, each stroke bringing them closer to the brink of ecstasy. "I'm going to cum," she panted, her voice filled with a desperation that was almost painful.

"Do it," he growled, his own orgasm building. "Let me feel you come all over me."

With a scream that echoed through the cavernous space, Heejin's body tensed, her pussy clamping down around his cock as she squirted all over the gleaming black rubber. Y/N groaned, the feeling of her release pushing him over the edge. He came hard, filling her once again, their combined fluids spilling onto the treadmill's belt.

They staggered out of the gym, their legs unsteady as they moved through the villa.

"The jacuzzi," Heejin suggested, her voice low and needy. Y/N nodded, his eyes dark with desire as they made their way to the outdoor terrace. The water was steaming, the jets bubbling invitingly, and they slid into it with sighs of relief. The warmth of the water was a balm to their overheated skin, and they cuddled together, their limbs entwined.

The jets massaged their bodies, the water swirling around them as they kissed lazily. The tension that had built up over the last few hours began to melt away, their passion giving way to a gentle affection that was just as potent. Y/N reached down, his hand finding Heejin's clit, and began to rub it gently. She moaned into his mouth, her body responding immediately to his touch.

Their lovemaking in the jacuzzi was slower, more deliberate. They took their time, savoring each sensation, each touch. The warmth of the water made them feel as if they were floating, their movements languid and sensuous. Y/N slid into her, her pussy clenching around him as if it had been made for him. Heejin's eyes rolled back in her head, her body going limp with pleasure.

They moved together in a rhythm as old as time, their bodies fitting together perfectly. The water sloshed around them as they kissed and touched, their cries of pleasure muffled by the steady hum of the jets. The moon was high in the sky, casting a silver glow over their entwined forms. It was a moment out of a dream, a perfect culmination to their afternoon of exploration.

Finally, they reached their peak, their bodies shaking with the intensity of their orgasms. Heejin's pussy clamped down around Y/N's cock, milking him dry as he filled her with his cum. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling in the cool night air, their hearts racing in time with the beat of their shared passion.

After they had cleaned themselves off in the shower, they moved to the bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the plush comforter. Y/N pulled Heejin into his arms, their bodies still sticky with cum and sweat. They lay there, their breathing gradually slowing as the afterglow of their lovemaking washed over them.

Heejin felt a sense of belonging, a warmth that spread through her chest as she nestled into the crook of his neck. She had never felt so connected to someone, so seen and understood. Y/N's arms tightened around her, his breaths growing deep and even as he drifted off to sleep.

Her heart pounding in her chest, she gathered her courage and whispered the words that had been playing on her mind since their first kiss. "Y/N," she began, her voice barely a murmur. He stirred slightly, his grip on her waist loosening as he turned to face her. "Before this," she swallowed hard, "I was a lesbian. I only knew the touch of toys, never a real cock."

His eyes searched hers, a mix of curiosity and something deeper, something that made her stomach flip-flop. "This was my first time with a man," she confessed, her voice shaking with emotion. "And I'm so grateful it was you. You gave me an experience that was... beyond anything I could have imagined."

Y/N's gaze softened, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her hip. "And I'm grateful for you, Heejin," he said, his voice thick with sincerity. "You're so beautiful, so responsive. I've never felt anything like this before." He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "And you don't have to change for me. I'm just happy to be a part of your journey."

Her heart swelled with affection for him, and she knew she had made the right decision. She had found something in him that she had never felt before, something that made her question the boundaries she had set for herself. "You're the first cock to ever enter me," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. "And you've given me so much pleasure. I don't think I could ever go back to just being with women now."

Y/N's eyes lit up with a fierce possessiveness that made her pussy throb once again. "So be my girl, Heejin," he said, his voice low and commanding. "You're already craving for my cock, aren't you?" His hand slid down her body, his fingers finding her clit and giving it a firm squeeze. Heejin gasped, her body arching into his touch.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue danced with hers, tasting the sweetness of their combined release. "I'll make sure you're always satisfied," he murmured against her lips. "My cock is yours whenever you need it."

With those words, Heejin felt something inside her shift. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew that she wanted Y/N to be a part of it. She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes," she breathed. "I'll be your girl."

Y/N's smile was triumphant, his eyes gleaming with lust. He rolled her onto her back, his cock already hardening again. "Good," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Because I'm not done with you yet." He positioned himself between her legs, his cock sliding into her once more.

This time, there was no hesitation, no awkwardness. They moved together with an ease that belied their newness to one another, their bodies speaking a language that needed no words. Heejin's hips rose to meet his, her pussy eager to be filled once again.

Their lovemaking was a declaration, a promise of what was to come. They explored each other's bodies with a ravenous hunger, each touch and kiss a vow to never let go. The room was filled with their passionate cries, a symphony of love and lust that seemed to resonate through the very air.

As they reached their climax, their bodies shuddering with the force of their shared pleasure, Heejin knew that she had made the right choice. With Y/N, she had found a new world of sensations, a place where she could truly be herself.

And as she felt his warmth fill her up once more, she realized that she was no longer just a lesbian. She was a woman in love, a woman who knew the true power of sexual exploration and the beauty of letting go of her preconceived notions. She was a woman who craved the touch of a man, who craved Y/N's cock, and who was ready to face whatever the future had in store for them.

They fucked into the night, their bodies a tapestry of pleasure and pain, each orgasm more intense than the last. When the sun finally began to peek over the horizon, their bodies exhausted, they collapsed onto the bed, their limbs tangled together.

Y/N's chest rose and fell with each deep breath, his arms tight around her as she lay sprawled across him. He could feel her heart racing, matching the rhythm of his own. The room was filled with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady aroma that seemed to cling to every surface.

Heejin's eyes fluttered closed, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had been building with each orgasm. She felt boneless, her muscles relaxing into the softness of the bed. The warmth of Y/N's body was comforting, his skin sticky with their combined fluids.

As she drifted in and out of sleep, she felt his movements beside her. Y/N was already awake, his hand sliding over her body in a gentle caress. She opened her eyes to find him looking down at her, his expression a mix of concern and desire. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

"I can't move," she admitted with a sleepy smile. "My body feels so heavy."

Y/N chuckled, his hand tracing the curve of her waist. "You're just overwhelmed with pleasure." He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his laughter a warm rumble against her skin. 

[chxrryhansen]

2. Rafe x innocent (and kinda naive/ airhead?) reader where reader and rafe are dating (still very new) and reader keeps reminding him she wants to wait longer (when they are making out/feeling each other up) and he keeps trying to go further, so he tells/manipulates her that it’s not normal for girls to not want to go further and something could be wrong, so he “checks” her (rubbing her clit and fingering her) and asking things like “does that feel good?” “Doesn’t that make you want more?” “Something probably is wrong if you want me to stop”, just so he can convince her to say she wants more (so then he fucks her).   

-💎

ur asks have me going FERAL. your brain is so beautiful and it must be treasured and protected at all costs. i actually hate the way i wrote this but i was too far in to change it by the time i realised i didn’t like it😒😒 nevertheless, this is a long one guys so buckle up!! (1.5k words!!!😱😱)

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

you and rafe had only been dating for a few weeks, relationships were pretty much a whole new thing for you since your upbringing hadn’t really allowed it. you hadn’t had sex before, ever. and rafe wasn’t going to be patient for much longer, the furthest you two had went is making out, when it got heated you pulled back.. pushing him away and saying you didn’t feel well.

rafe was getting desperate, you didn’t even realise what you did to him. he was painfully hard most of the time since you were oblivious to how sexual you were being. such as bending over right infront of his face, showing him your cutesy pink panties or accidentally grinding against his cock when you squeezed past him in the kitchen. rafes frustration was at its peak and he couldn’t take it any longer.

rafe stretched his arm around your waist as you both lay in bed watching tv, biting his lip in thought before reaching out to grip your jaw gently, turning you to face him. he leant forward, catching your lips in a deep kiss, it didn’t take long knowing rafe before it got heated, as his tongue began battling your own for dominance you pulled away, taking deep breaths as you stared up at him with big innocent eyes.

“what’s wrong, pretty girl?” he muttered, lifting his thumb to wipe his drool from your mouth.

“n-nothing rafe, i just.. i don’t… i can’t go any further with you, i-i don’t think i’m ready for that.” rafe’s patience was out of the window by now, all rational thoughts evaporating as his cock grew harder, straining against his pants, desperate to be inside your sweet cunt.

“baby…” he sighed. “this isn’t normal.”

you stared at him with a confused expression, your eyebrows knitted. “i-i don’t understand, did i do something?”

he was quick to shut that thought down “no, no, no, my sweet girl, it’s more about what you didn’t do. see, other girls your age…they love being good for their daddy’s, and i just don’t think you are being good f’ me.” tears began to whell up in your eyes, his negative feedback not sitting right in your stomach. “daddy?” you questioned gently, your bottom lip wobbling.

“yeah, i’m your daddy, baby. and i think it’s about time you start calling me that. it’s true, no? i take care of you, i feed you, pay for your clothes, hell, i even take you to the bathroom. i may aswell be your daddy, so that’s what your gonna’ call me from now on, you got that?” he speaks softly, not wanting to discourage you or push you further away but needing to be firm enough so you understand. he’s testing the waters. seeing how easy it is to control your sweet mind in ways only a man like him could.

“i mean.. yeah, that-that makes sense i guess.”

a sly smile appears on his face, his thumb wiping a salty tear from your cheek “good girl.” he lifts your skirt with one hand, pushing into your panties and rubbing your clit, you gasp in surprise at the new sensation. “daddy! w-what are you doing?” you ask in shock.

rafe sighs “daddy needs to give you a check up baby, just to make sure nothin’s wrong. all i need to do is rub that sweet button of yours and fuck my fingers into your pretty pussy, mkay?” your cunt involuntarily clenches around nothing. “mkay, daddy.” you moan. rafes fingers stray from your clit to your entrance, his cock growing impeccably harder from the feel of your wetness, your pussy leaking around his hand.

“d-daddy, feels s’ good.” you whimper as he pushes his fingers into your hole, your walls clenching instinctively around his thick digits. “yeah? you like that? you like it when daddy fingers your sweet pussy?” he groan into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

he picks up his pace, fingering you roughly until the knot in your stomach begins to tighten, you grab at his wrist, pushing him away, which doesn’t really do much since your strength is no match for his own. “daddy! stop, i-i think i’m gonna’ pee.” you whine, embarrassment flooding through your veins. your cheeks flushed from the humiliation.

he lets out a small laugh, his famous smirk still painted across his face “no baby, your not gonna’ pee.. your gonna’ cum. your gonna’ cum with my fingers deep inside your cunt. ask me. ask daddy for permission.” he growls, a flip switching inside his brain. “p-please daddy, make me cum, please can i cum? please please please.” you beg, tears streaming down your face as you try desperately to hold back.

“cum.”

he growls, watching as your legs begin to shake, your pussy sucking his fingers further into your cunt. you cry out as your body spasms, a thick creamy fluid leaking out of you and into rafes palm. “that’s it, let it all out. dirty fuckin’ girl. creaming all over your daddy’s fingers.”

your breathing begins to slow as you come down from your orgasm although rafe keeps his fingers deep inside your pussy, catching you in a deep kiss. he takes your hand in his own and leads it down towards his cock, making you instantly recoil. rafe lets out a mixed groan of annoyance and sigh of disappointment under his breath. you look towards the bed, feeling guilty as ever. he turns you to face him again, his pretty blues simmering in darkness. “listen. pretty baby, i was trying to be nice earlier but… i think there is something wrong with you. all the other girls your age wanna’ fuck daddy, so why don’t you? i’ve been so patient with you sweets but, the clock’s tickin’.”

rafes fingers begin to fuck into you once again at a rapid pace, your whimpers and cries filling the room as he fucks you with his fingers. “see? doesn’t that feel good? doesn’t that make you want more?” you nod your head, dazed with pleasure. not even fully understanding his questions. “good girl.” he mutters before taking his cock out of his pants, before you even realise whats happening, rafe had removed his fingers and crawled on top of you, pushing the mushroom tip of his swollen fat cock against your entrance.

your eyes burst open in shock at the feeling “wait, wait, wait, da-DADDY! Oh fuck!” you practically screamed as rafe bottomed out in your pussy with a single thrust. essentially, popping your cherry. his hand is quick to cover your mouth as he glares down at you from above. his sanity is long gone by now, the crazed look on his face scaring you into submission.

“shut the fuck up. i-i’m done playing games now. your gonna’ shut your pretty little mouth and-and daddy’s gonna’ fuck your cunt until he cums deep inside you, okay?” you didn’t respond seeming as his hand was covering your mouth.

he lifted his palm from your mouth before quickly striking you across the face, you cried out as your skin began to fluster due to the impact of his hit. he swiftly gripped your jaw making you look him in the eyes once more “you-you fuckin’ answer me when i’m talkin’ to you. you nod your fuckin’ head when daddy asks you a question.” this time you were quick to nod your head, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed a “y-yes daddy.”

if anything they just seemed to turn rafe on even more. “good… good girl.” he groaned before pummelling his cock further into your cunt, he began thrusting at a rapid pace, fucking you so hard the headboard began to bash against the wall. your screams of pleasure probably being heard for miles. “ohhhh shit, you see that, you fuckin’ slut?” he pointed your face towards where your cunt and his cock connected, a pool of pink cream surrounding the base of his cock, a mixture of blood and cum. you were too far gone to talk at this point, moans and whimpers spilling out of your lips as you simply nodded your head, your eyes rolling back.

“fuck i can’t believe you tried to hide this shit from me, tried to hide how much of a greedy fuckin’ cock slut you are. it’s okay though baby, daddy loves when you turn into a desperate little whore. gonna’ have you writhing on this fat cock every day of the week from now on.”