#Bridgerton au

[memoldy]

Violets excitement at their engagement has me SOBBING 😭💕

[joonieskinks]

Simon “please will you be my fake girlfriend” Riley

Simon couldn’t be happier for John. Finally, he’s met a woman whose head over heels for him, who will stick around during the hard times. The man deserves this, deserves her. It’s about time they got married after all.

Today is his wedding day, and Simon was actually delighted to receive an invite. Although he had to dress up a bit for the event and all, he didn’t mind. It was for one of his greatest friends, and the energy in the room was so positive, so supportive. He can honestly say he felt happy to be here.

That was until he spotted eager mamas eyeing him at the reception, no doubt coming over to set him up with their daughters. Nope- he was not having that whatsoever. He went into full panic mode, trying to avoid their eyes, their presence that was ever closing in on him. Simon turned straight around and made his way to the bar where he found you.

“Gosh, how long does it take to find white wine-?” You complain under your breath before the handsome stranger from the corner of your eye interrupts you.

“Pleasewillyoubemyfakegirlfriend?” The rather tall man asks frantically as your eyes finally meet. Yours, rather confused, and his, rather desperate.

“Uh- sure?” You laugh nervously as you sip your wine that just arrived.

“Great- M’ Simon, I’m from England, I work in the military, we’ve been together six months, ‘right love?.” He explains rather quickly, eyes darting back and forth between you and the mamas rapidly approaching.

But you get the message.

“You can call me that “love” of yours, I work for the government if you should know and you have to act like you want me for this to work, Simon.” You pull him down by his tie to whisper in his ear.

“If you want them to stay away, touch me.” You kiss his cheek and pull away, performing with a laugh.

It disarms Simon how effortless you make this seem, how quick witted you are - this mysterious yet willing woman at the bar. You’ve truly peaked his interest and he’s so grateful. So yea, absolutely he will touch you, a gorgeous woman in this gorgeous dress.

Simon takes you by the waist, pulling you to his body, whispering back how beautiful you look. It makes you blush, looking back at him rather surprised. He’s equally surprised by his own bold actions, but he plays it off good enough and smiles. Glancing at your pink cheeks with a “good” as you’re both interrupted.

“Simon, darling! There you are!” One woman says.

“I’ve been looking for you! May I present my daughter, Bridgette. She’s a nurse in London as a matter of fact.” Another states proudly.

“I’m terribly sorry, mam”, you interrupt, turning towards Simon and tidying up his tie. Your fingers brushing up against his chest, his throat, it gives him shivers. Any excuse to touch him really was your thought process-

“But I’m afraid he’s already spoken for. As of six months ago tonight, actually. Isn’t that right, darling?.” A proud smile on your face, and Simon just thinks you’re absolutely hypnotizing. Tongue in cheek, yes, but he already wants it to be real, to be yours. He just hopes you’ll say yes to dinner after this, and that you actually didn’t accompany anyone here.

“Yea, this is my girlfriend…” he starts, completely blanking.

My God, he didn’t even know your name, and yet he’s utterly entranced. Talk about a backwards way to start off a relationship.

“Y/N,” you stick out a hand to the mama and her nurse daughter, but they just painfully smile, clearly trying to decline “politely”. With that, they mutter an excuse and walk away, already sniffing for the next eligible bachelor around this evening.

“Well. That’s that then. You’re very welcome, boyfriend dearest.” You tease, bringing your wine glass back up to your lips, admiring his features. He really is a handsome man, it surprises you he doesn’t have anyone special in his life.

“Thank you for your help, Y/N.” He says your name on purpose, he wants to test it out on his tongue. He finds he rather likes it. You do as well.

“Can I get you another drink? On me…” Simon shyly asks, leaning against the bar.

“If it means you’ll stay and have one with me, then yes.” You flirt, waiting for his reaction. Alas, a blush appears on his cheeks. It makes you smile, a big, gorgeous man like this- yet he’s rather timid. It’s sweet really.

“It’s nice to meet you Simon, formally.” You stick out your hand for him to shake. His eyes meet your own and he smiles before taking it. Your hands are so soft, he wants to touch you always if it’s like this.

“Likewise, love.”

You two spent the rest of the night together, by the bar chatting, walking through the gardens getting to know one another, he asked you to dance. Hell, even Price and his new bride thought you two were together by the end of the night.

It took an official date or two, but eventually you were.

Who knows, maybe you two would be the next to get hitched. Simon certainly hopes so.

[thinkinonsense]

Bewitched

��⋆࿐໋ james logan howlett ✦ bridgerton au series

bewitched masterlist

cw: 1800s mentality on marriage and women, pinning, bickering, enemies to lovers

pairing: viscount!logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: as of right now, i'm not sure how long this series will be but i'm so excited for it! i tried to make the reader as universal as possible but i did have to give her some sort of last name, so if that isn't your thing, you can always change it to fit. after the set up, i'll probably drop the last name.

bridgerton lore: ton (high society), debuting (when you begin dating/looking for a partner), spinster (an unmarried woman)

main masterlist

in early june, everyone returned back to england for this season and whispers of a french woman joining the ton spread around. one morning at breakfast, marie howlett was reading one of the gossip columns aloud to her family when her eldest brother, james walked into join them at the table.

"it says she's staying with her aunt, lady worthington. she is four and twenty and the only child. her passions are literature and painting. apparently, the queen has one of her paintings in her home..."

"she sounds lovely. doesn't she, james?" their mother said, hoping her boy was listening.

"she's a spinster." he says, eating some of the fruit on the table. "that's not viscountess material."

"the queen seems to find her to be diamond material." marie jabs.

james has never fallen for one of the diamonds. sure, their beauty is prominent and sometimes they can hold an intellectual conversation but for the most part they are simply shoved forward so the queen can take credit for their marriage.

"i have more important priorities this season."

"well, this season you should prioritize finding a viscountess." their mother bit at him.

during this time every year his mother gives james the same speech over and over again. the marriage speech. ever since his father died during battle, james has been plagued with not only his grief but also the weight of replacing his father and eventually having to find a replacement for his mother as well. instead of focusing on marriage, james kept himself busy either working or traveling and keeping his family afloat.

"mama, i promise i will find a wife at some point." james sighs. "i just haven't met anyone that can handle being my viscountess."

"what about the red headed girl from last season? you seemed to fancy her quite a bit."

"she married lord summers this past spring."

"and the munroe girl?"

"she's interested in mister brooks."

all his mother does is sigh in response to the news. he takes this as the perfect chance to escape the interrogation.

luckily for james, there was always an excuse to avoid marriage. in the past he's gotten close to making that walk down the aisle but something always held him back. he's never believed much in love or marriage past it's convenience. sure, he believed it was the blueprint of life, to take a wife and start a family but his marriage is seen as a much bigger deal.

all the mamas in the ton were practically throwing their daughters in his direction. at balls, he's always forcing marie to dance with him because if not, he will be forced to socialize with these young unintellectual girls who only value him for his money and title. james didn't want to have to nurture these girls. he would take care of his wife but he wanted someone who was independent from him.

ever since his father died in the war, james has always been guarded of his feelings. especially, when it came to love. when he went with his mother to identify his father's body, james swore on that day that he would never let love destroy him like it did his mother.

"remember, marie is debuting tonight at the first ball of the season." his mother called after him. "don't be late."

"i wouldn't miss it." he smiles at his little sister before dashing out the door and back to his study.

˖⋆࿐໋

a rainbow of silks are spread across your bed as you try to figure out what to wear tonight. if your mother was here, she would know exactly what would look best on you. it's only been three months since her passing yet the ache in your chest grows stronger day by day.

"what are you thinking of wearing tonight?" your aunt asks, lingering in the doorway.

"i'm not sure yet." you sigh, picking at the pretty gowns. "i like the light blue one."

arguably, it was the prettiest in the pile. so simple, you hoped to blend in among the wash of colors in the room tonight. the boning of the corset poked the left side of your ribs a little but beauty is pain.

as you got ready, the nerves started to kick in. by now you should be on your second or third child and pregnant with the next. why was love taking so long to find you?

ever since you were a little girl, you were a hopeless romantic. dreaming of your first kiss and getting married to your knight in shining armor. back home, there was a cruel joke that you were the girl before the wife. you get just close enough before they end it. afraid that the curse would travel with you.

"don't worry." you aunt hums, brushing your hair. "the queen picked you as her diamond for a reason."

"i know, i know." you nod, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. "i just wish mother was here with me."

"i do too, dear."

"she should've seen me married."

a small tear rolls down your pink painted cheeks. it feels like you let her down by not taking a husband before her illness got worse.

men have it so easy. there's no pressure from society put on them. you can marry at fifty to a nineteen year old if you so please because you know that they will marry you out of fear and desperation.

"who says she can't?" your aunts smile reflected in the mirror. "she's still looking down on you, probably working on sending you a lord or a duke for a husband as we speak."

"amusing." you giggle.

"imagine a viscount or a prince!"

both of you laugh at the possibility. viscounts and princes were usually swept up quickly in high society. all of them probably have pregnant wives by now.

"don't get too ahead of yourself."

˖⋆࿐໋

the queens ball was unlike anything you had ever seen. beautiful gardens, bright lights, and people gathered everywhere. inside the ballroom, the chandelier lights almost blind you.

like a hawk, lady chamberlain spots you two. she is an older lady and a close family friend. you haven't seen her since you were a little girl, surprised that she was able to recognize you.

"lady worthington and miss bowery, lovely to see you here!" the woman smiled, wrapping her arms around both of you.

"hello, lady chamberlain." you smile, feeling slightly at ease seeing a familiar face here.

"you look marvelous, sweetie." she smiles, taking in your appearance. at least someone appreciated all the bells and whistles that went into your dress for this evening. "truly like a diamond."

"thank you." you curtsy. a warm rose color rises to the surface of your cheeks at her compliment.

"let's go find that viscount i've told your aunt about." she says.

suddenly, she's pulling you and your aunt over to meet everyone.

quite some time has passed and yet you've only met barton's and a few lords. from one eligible bachelor to the next, it was the same process. you introduce yourself, dance, ask a bit about each other, jump into talks of marriage and children. it was all a bit overwhelming to say the least.

there's no news on a prince yet but lady chamberlain was holding out for a viscount while your aunt held out for a duke. meanwhile, you just needed someone with charm and charisma to save you from these godawful men of the ton.

"i'm going to get a drink." you announce, one the music ends.

in one of the dim corners of the room there was a refreshment table where you poured a hefty amount of wine into your glass and down as much of it –in a very unlady like manner– as you could before another person could find you.

it wasn't long until someone behind you clears their voice loudly.

"i was unaware that they taught women to drink like soldiers in france..."

you spin around quickly to face the man in front of you. he is gorgeous and... huge. dawned in white puffy shirt and a tight black vest with detailed buttons. he towered over you intimidatingly with a small smirk creeping on his lips from shocked expression.

"i-i deeply apologize, my lord. it was just grape juice." you laugh nervously, avoiding his piercing stare.

"hm..." he hums, lifting his hand up and letting his thumb swiftly glide under your lip to catch the bit of liquid there. you watch in awe as he licks the bit of wine off his thumb with a soft groan. "they must make 'grape juice' different in france."

never in your whole life have you been left so speechless. a gentleman has never done more so than touch your hand, let alone act so scandalous. with a satisfied smirk, the man walks away to join a small group of young women. thank goodness that no one seemed to have noticed.

"miss bowery!" lady chamberlain called after you. "i want you to come meet the howletts."

swiftly, you get back to her as she approach a mother and daughter. both of them were stunningly and wore expensive looking gowns with luxurious jewels. lady chamberlains wide smile only made you grow more anxious.

"meet lady howlett and her daughter, the honorable, marie howlett." lady chamberlain introduced.

"lovely to meet you." you say, bowing gracefully before them.

"where is viscount james?" lady chamberlain asks.

"oh! he should be around here somewhere..." the woman looked behind the two of you until she flagged someone down. “there he is!”

the moment that you looked up at the viscount, you feared your heart might explode right then and there. silently pray to the gods above that he won't mention your previous encounter.

"miss bowery, this is my son, viscount james logan howlett." lady howlett announces proudly.

"what a pleasure to meet you, miss bowery." james smirked, trying to get a rise out of you.

"as is it for me, my lord." you curtsy politely, feeling hot under his gaze.

a cloud of lust fogs james mind at the words, my lord fell from your pretty, slightly berry colored lips. the lower his eyes drift from your face, the tighter his trousers get. every exquisite curve is highlighted by the way that the silk fell on your frame, reminding him of the goddesses he had only seen in the finest of paintings.

"might you wish to accompany me to a dance?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

you nod, offering him your gloved hand in return.

the two of you make your way to the dance floor with everyone else. the orchestra begins and you quickly fall in sync with each other.

"how are you enjoying england?" james asks.

"it's quite lovely." you lie.

"better than france?" he questioned with a small tilt of his head.

"no." you giggle softly. "nowhere on earth is better than home."

"i suppose i cannot argue with that."

"have you journed to france?"

"once. when i was younger, i went with my father. he loved france."

"that's why my mother left england. she fell in love with my father when she visited france."

"they must be true romantics."

"oh, most definitely." you smile.

carefully, logan spins you twice. never letting you stumble over your own two feet like most men would.

"i truly am sorry for earlier, my lord. that was completely unacceptable for a–"

"it's alright, sweetheart." the viscount cut you off with a chuckle. "your secret is safe with me."

james looks down to see your big round eyes sparkle up at him with great appreciation. there's a unique feeling blooming deep in his chest that he can't quite put his finger on.

"i heard from some mamas that you are seeking to wed this season." you say, looking elsewhere as the two of you pull apart.

"seeking is such a complex word." he sighs amusingly.

"i imagine it would be difficult to find a future viscountess."

"you have no idea."

all around you, you can see the women openly fawning over the viscount. some fan themselves while other clutch their jewels with either anger at you or lust for him. any of those women would duel to be in your shoes right now.

"do you have a desire to be viscountess?" his question made your heartbeat increase, pounding in your chest.

as a young girl, you watched your family struggle in order to survive so it would be a lie to say that you don't dream of having a title. you have a father back in france to take care of in his elderly age. but love was your main desire. you would marry a sweet common man as long as he loved you.

"i desire to be loved." you tell him.

the answer caught james off guard. the women of the ton had no issue telling him to his face that they want his tittle or money. none of those women actually cared about love.

"well, my darling, you are quite the fool to be seeking out something as pure as love in a place such as this." james says, pulling you so close that you can feel his heartbeat in his chest and his eyes darken.

"don't be so cock-sure, viscount howlett. i am no fool at all." you glare angrily up at him. "i wish you well on your journey to find such a bird-witted viscountess."

the song ends and you are quick to make an exit. hot on your heels, james follows you outside. perhaps you shouldn't have insulted the viscount to his face but you didn't quite care anymore. this night has been a bust and you aren't any closer to marriage then you were before walking in here.

"miss, bowery..." a man calls, capturing your attention. "would you accompany me to a dance?"

based on the man's appearance, he seems even more important that the viscount. he was definitely the opposite of james. this man wore light grey in places where james wore black. this man had a sweet smile where james had a scowl.

"her dance card is full." the voice behind you threatened.

the gentleman's face fell a little.

"actually, i have one last spot open on my dance card." you smile, showing him the tag tied to your right wrist which had exactly one spot open. "i would love to accompany you..."

"prince harrison." he grins.

you hum, offering your hand. the prince leans down and kissed your gloved fingers before sweeping you off to the dance floor again.

james fumed as he watched you walk away with the prince. lady howlett spots her son alone and walks over to him.

“please tell me that you did not scare off this seasons diamond, james.” lady howlett asked in a low whisper.

“i’m gonna call a carriage” he growls, annoyed.

“dear!”

his mother called after him but he couldn’t care to turn around and stay here any longer.

˖⋆࿐໋

on the carriage ride alone, james is stuck with the image of you. your beauty and the pain in your eyes when james called you a fool. oddly enough, james enjoyed the way you bit back at him. he just wishes that he hadn’t offended you.

apparently you must not be that hurt if you accepted a dance from harrison of all people. not because he wanted to court you but because harrison was barely considered a prince and was a poor excuse of a man. never having to lift a finger a day in his life. never knowing a single struggle. the prince was insufferable.

perhaps it was in james best interest to forget about the beautiful woman he met this evening. she is this seasons diamond after all, desired by too many. james wasn't known to chase the things he desired.

──★

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[lqveharrington]

Masquerade Ball | D.M.

summary: The Malfoys hold a masquerade ball in hopes of finding Draco a wife.

pairing: prince!draco malfoy x lady!potter!reader

includes: use of Y/N, mutual pinning, both oblivious, really just fluff with a tiny bit of angst

a/n: it’s like a mix of benedict’s story but not

As a child, Draco never understood how important he was to England’s society. He was always confined within the palace walls—forced to attend endless galas and balls hosted by his parents until his feet ached. Perhaps he could have escaped those obligations when he was younger, but now, he was trapped in a cycle of socializing with eligible maidens in hopes of finding a wife.

He had tried running away once at the age of seven but ran back to his mother the moment he encountered a beggar at the palace gates. It was then he realized how sheltered he truly was, unaware of the hardships beyond the gilded walls.

When Draco once questioned his status withing the kingdom, Lucius merely replied, "You will rule when you turn two and twenty." As the sole heir with no sibling, the weight of the kingdom rested squarely on Draco's shoulders.

Yet, as the years ticked closer to his inevitable coronation, he made no progress in finding a bride. Lucius' patience began to wane, culminating in the grand decision to host a masquerade ball to enhance his son's chances of courting a suitable queen.

And of course, Draco had words to say about the situation.

He adjusted his dark suit and spun the silver ring on his finger, meeting his mother's eyes through the standing mirror. "Mother—"

"Do not fuss, Draco," Narcissa chided gently, wiping invisible dust off her son's perfectly pressed suit. "Your father has made up his mind. You are to take the throne in two years. This must be done."

"And if I find no one?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, tilting his head at the piece of hair sticking out. It wouldn’t lay flat if he tried gelling it down.

"Then we will try again next month," She said softly, squeezing his arm. She looked between his eyes and sighed, "Please, try, my love."

"They don't care for me, mother," Draco muttered and turned to face her, rolling his shoulders back—already dreading dancing with women who want the fame and fortune. "They care about being a queen."

"Which is why it is a masquerade ball," Narcissa explained and grabbed the mask that resembled a peacock. "You will blend with the crowd, your identity hidden." She slipped the mask over his head and patted his cheek. "Get to know them without the burden of your title."

"And you believe this will work?"

"I do!" She smiled brightly and stepped away from him, ready to make her arrival with her husband. Narcissa gave him a reassuring smile and nodded. "Tu es très beau, Draco. Just... be yourself."

Draco gave her a weak smile and watched her leave his room, letting his shoulders slouch down the second the door shut. He ran his fingers through his hair again and let his mind dwell on thoughts that were unbearable.

"When has that ever worked out for me?" He muttered underneath his breath, looking in the mirror again to notice the only identifiable thing about him was his piercing silver eyes.

"Papa, why are you staring at me like that?" You asked, adjusting your flowing gown while your mother fussed with your hair.

"Yes, James, what are you staring at her for?" Lily inquired with an arched brow, perfectly pinning your hair into a dolled up bun and slipping a silver rose in its center.

"Nothing." James grumbled and fiddled with the peacock feathers on the end of your mask, thumbing the string. "Just... be safe, alright? This is your first time attending one of the King's socials without us. What if you get kidnapped?"

"James!" Lily gasped and smacked her husband on the chest, snatching the mask from him and handing it to you instead.

"Papa!" You laughed and kissed his cheek, pulling the mask over your head. "I'll be fine. Hermione and Ginny will be there, and Harry too." You pull your curls free from the mask and tilt your head at the mirror, touching up minor details such as the skewed mask and stray pieces of hair. "Besides, I doubt I'll dance much. Champagne and people-watching sounds far more appealing."

"Maybe mingle a little," Lily suggested and pinched her fingers together, leaning into her husband’s touch. "It's for the young Malfoy to find a wife, after all."

"I'm not fraternizing with Draco," You huffed and adjusted the silver necklace resting on your collarbone, the setting sun shining across the jewelry. "Harry and he practically hate each other. Not exactly ideal courtship material."

"Imagine you as queen," James mused and pretended to command a group of handmaids to fetch more books for your extensive library. You were always going to be a bookworm like your mother and he bet you would do anything to have a room the size of the palace for your books.

"James!" Lily scolded jokingly once more before smiling softly at you, clasping your hands in hers. "Just be safe, Y/N."

"Of course," You squeezed her hands and smiled back before heading out the door, tilting your head as you called out for your brother. "Harry!"

James winced as your voice echoed throughout the foyer, Lily letting a small laugh slip through. "Bloody hell, that girl can shout.”

"Why does this place look fancier than usual?" Ron grumbled, glancing around the grand ballroom adorned with glittering chandeliers and cascading drapes.

It wasn't odd to see the palace all dolled up, but everything looked so much more expensive and one of a kind. Like it was an even more special experience. There were pyramids of champagne in every corner and in the center of the ballroom was one of the largest orchestra groups you’ve seen in years.

"Because it's a masquerade ball, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on his arm, making him kiss her cheek to make up for his remark. "Honestly."

"So, Y/N," Ginny nudged your shoulder—a mischievous smile decorating her face—ignoring Harry’s warning look. "Anyone you're hoping to dance with tonight?"

"I don’t think so, Gin.” You push your mask up and stare at all the people entering the palace. Even they were surprised at all the added decorations.

"Boring," Ginny teased before leaning into Harry and whispering something inaudible, making you roll your eyes at the two of them. If they had to be so in love, they shouldn’t do it in front of you.

Just as you opened your mouth to retort the sickening sweet scene, trumpets blared from the top of the staircase, redirecting everyone's attention to the far end of the ballroom where Lucius and Narcissa stood—the couple adorning their own masks.

"Please welcome His Majesty, the King, and Her Majesty, the Queen!"

Lucius made quick remarks about the importance of the evening before a sly grin appeared on his face, earning quiet whispers from the audience. "Enjoy yourselves tonight! For who knows when the prince will arrive..."

The whispers only intensified at the mention of the prince arriving at a later time. Could he possibly be avoiding the event himself? But that would make sense, not when the event was for him.

"Interesting," Hermione murmured as if she read your mind, making your brows raise in amusement.

"What is?" Ron asked.

"Draco isn't here for his own ball," She noted, glancing around the room for any signs of the prince.

You huff and push her toward her beloved. You would make sure Hermione had a good time rather than dwell on something that didn’t matter too much. If you had to see your brother and Ginny be all lovey, you would have Ron and Hermione do the same.

"Go dance with Ron."

Hermione sighed and took Ron's outstretched hand before looking back at you, narrowing her eyes. "Do not be a wallflower tonight. I expect you to dance with someone at least once.”

You shrug your shoulders and watch her disappear into the dancing crowd before spinning toward one of the many towers of champagne. Unfortunately, someone just had to come find you.

"Lady Y/N!" A familiar voice called out, making you freeze at how awful this coincidence was. It wasn’t like you could’ve avoided the man for too long, especially when the whole bloody kingdom was invited to the ball.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." You muttered under your breath and presented a fake smile to him, hands clenching by your sides in annoyance as you gave him a short curtsey. "Lord Cormac."

"How delightful to see you!" Cormac grinned and eyed you up and down like you were his next meal, your mind and body hating everything about him. "Would you like to accompany me this evening?"

Your eyes widened in fear and disgust, mind racing millions per hour to find a plausible excuse. “Actually—“

"Is there a problem?" A smooth, unfamiliar voice interrupted your pathetic excuse, allowing you to recollect your thoughts.

Cormac's grin faltered at the sudden interruption, taking a short step back at the sight of the taller man. "We were talking."

"I believe the lady declined," The newcomer said evenly, keeping his face as schooled as possible.

Cormac huffed but retreated in annoyance, making you grin. You turned to the stranger to find him staring McLaggen down until the boy finally moved to the other side of the ballroom. His mask obscured most of his face, but his silver eyes gleamed with amusement and victory. Funny, you found his McLaggen’s obedience quite amusing as well.

"My knight and shining armor." You quipped and tucked your hands behind your back, taking small steps toward the champagne tower you were supposed to be minutes ago. "Have we met?"

"Not officially," He smirked beneath his mask and followed, copying your small movements. "A masquerade ball is about knowing someone without truly knowing them, isn't it?” He took two glasses from the tower and handed you one—doing his best not to knock any other glasses down. “Forgive me for keeping my identity a secret.”

"Then I'll do the same, my knight." You give june a curt nod before taking a sip, the drink fizzing down your throat.

"Is that what I am now?" He chuckled and looked at you from above the rim of his own drink, silver eyes shining with interest.

You grin, "Yes."

He hummed and tilted his head at you, "Then you shall be my Ivy.”

"Unique." You raise your brows and take another sip of champagne. "Why Ivy?"

"You're dressed in a deep green," He noted. "And as unassuming as you may look, I sense there's poison beneath."

"You say that like you know me already," You narrowed your eyes playfully, placing your glass back on a passing tray as a song finished.

"A quick interaction is all one needs." He countered and finished off his champagne. He waited for the music to start up again before offering you a hand, "Care to dance?"

Without a second thought, you took his hand and readied yourself in the starting position, joining the rest of the partners on the floor. Your right hand was gently clasped in his left and his hand was warm on your waist.

It all felt different than the other times you’ve danced. It felt comfortable.

You tilted your head up as he spun you around, your eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me about yourself."

"Well, I’m an only child," He said as you moved to walk around one another, eyes still locked onto yours. "Rarely left home unless dragged to events like these. Not much of an exciting life."

"Surely there's more. Friends? Acquaintances?" You press and take hold of his hand as he glides you across the ballroom—each note from the orchestra filling the background.

"Most used me for status." He admitted and quickly adjusted his mask and hold on you. "I learned from it.” You nodded and lightly held onto his arms when he dipped you, faces mere inches from one another. He pulled you up, “And you?"

"One older brother. Protective to a fault. Thinks every man is a threat." You rolled your eyes and separate yourself from him, letting him follow before clasping his left hand again. "I’ll admit, I came to the ball to be with friends.” You follow his steps as the dancers created a gorgeous pattern from above. “Dancing wasn't on the agenda, but... this isn't terrible.”

He smiled at your confession before remembering what the point of this ball was for. "What are your thoughts on the prince?"

"He can be...” You hesitated and looked around like the prince himself could hear you. “Difficult."

"Difficult?" He echoed and tilted his head to the side in interest.

"My brother has always had a grudge against him." You explained before spinning, heels clicking against the marble flooring. "I've had to endure their spats. Not the best memories. But it's not like I'll speak to him tonight."

He chuckled softly, silver eyes glinting behind his mask. "You never know. Masquerades are full of surprises."

And as you danced together, the room blurred began to blur, the weight of titles and expectation fading into the music and laughter. You found yourself relaxing, allowing the mysterious man to guide you across the floor with ease. His hand on your waist was steady yet respectful, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying a ball.

"You're a good dancer," You remarked, glancing up at him through your mask—his blonde hair perfectly combed except for a small curl at the front.

"I've had years of practice," He replied smoothly. "Though I usually find these events unbearable. This is... different."

You smiled. It’s like you had the same thoughts. "Perhaps the mask makes it easier to be yourself. No judgements. No expectations."

He hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you. "Perhaps. Or perhaps its the company."

Heat crept up your neck, and you glanced away, spotting Ginny grinning at you from the sidelines. You shot her a playful glare before focusing back on your partner. "Careful, my knight. Flattery might get you into trouble."

"Is that a risk you're willing to let me take?" He teased and dipped you, your eyes quickly darting to his lips before meeting his eyes again with your wide ones.

Before you could respond, the music shifted, signaling the end of the dance. He gently released you, bowing with a flourish. "Thank you for the dance, Ivy."

You curtsied in return, heart pounding from whatever feeling you just experienced. "The pleasure was mine, Knight."

As you parted ways, you found yourself glancing back at him, only to see he was doing the same. You quickly turned, chastising yourself for the flutter in your chest.

Draco leaned against a column, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. There was something about the girl—the way she challenged him, spoke without pretense. He shook his head. It was foolish to dwell on a fleeting interaction. Yet... He couldn't ignore the way his chest tightened at the thought of her laughter.

"Enjoying yourself?" Blaise sidled up next to him, nursing a glass of champagne.

Draco kept his eyes locked on the many guests in the ballroom, scouring the place for his Ivy. He wasn’t sure if this was what his mother told him about when he was younger. That maybe those silly fairy tales were true.

"Surprisingly," Draco admitted and let out a small chuckle. "Met someone... intriguing."

Blaise arched a brow, "Do tell."

Draco merely smirked, "Just someone worth dancing with.”

The night wore on with more dances, laughter, and champagne than you anticipated. Yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to the silver-eyed stranger. When you finally decided to seek fresh air, you slipped out to the palace gardens, the cool breeze a welcome relief.

"Running away?" A familiar voice drawled, your insides warming at the sound.

You turned, finding him seated on a marble bench beneath a canopy of roses. "Escaping," You corrected and fiddled with your necklace. "Balls can be… suffocating."

"Agreed," He nodded and patted the space beside him, tilting his head at you. "Care to join me?"

Hesitating only a moment, you sat down, the silence between you comfortable. Stars glittered above, and for a while, neither of you spoke. It felt nice.

"Why Ivy?" You asked suddenly. You were sure there was something more to the nickname than what he previously said.

He chuckled and leaned back on the bench. "Told you. Your dress. The presence you carry. You cling to walls but have thorns when approached. Fascinating contrast."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, humoring him. "And you? You're alright with Knight?"

"You said it yourself. Rescuing you from McLaggen was quite the heroic act." He grinned and met your eyes.

Laughing, you nudged him with your shoulder. "Hardly slaying dragons."

"Ah, but you never know." He mused, gaze drifting to the sky and tracing the stars his mother taught him about all these years. "Like I said, masquerades are full of surprises."

You glanced at him, wondering what he meant by that, but the sound of the final dance being announced interrupted your thoughts.

"One more?" He offered, standing and extending his hand.

"Why not?" Taking it, you let him lead you back inside with a smile your swore would hurt your cheeks the next day.

The ballroom felt different this time. More intimate. As you danced, you realized you didn't want the night to end. There was something inexplicably magnetic about him, something you couldn't place but didn't want to let go of.

"Do you think we'll meet again after tonight?" You ventured and glance between his eyes.

He hesitated, something flickering in his gaze. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's best we don't. Some things are better left as a beautiful memory."

Your heart sank at the thought of truly knowing who your knight was. "I suppose that's true."

As the music reached its crescendo, he leaned in, voice a mere whisper against your ear. "Thank you for tonight, Ivy."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, bowing deeply. And then, just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

You stood frozen, scanning the room, but he was gone.

"Y/N! There you are!" Hermione’s voice suddenly filled the space as she grabbed your arm. "The prince is about to reveal himself. Come on!"

Reluctantly, you followed her to the front of the crowd, mind half-heartedly paying attention to the reveal of the prince. Trumpets blared once more, and the King stepped forward, his wife grinning brightly by his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending. Now, allow me to present my son, your future king. Prince Draco."

Your breath caught as a figure ascended the stairs. The crowd parted, and there he stood—silver eyes, blonde hair, and the very same mask now resting in his hand.

Your heart stopped.

No. It couldn't be.

His gaze swept over the crowd... and landed on you. His expression mirrored your shock, realization dawning.

You were Ivy.

And he was Draco.

Neither of you spoke. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the middle of the grand ballroom.

Masquerades, you thought dazedly, really were full of surprises.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[laremsworld]

*Anthony after finding out that Eloise and Francesca are both gay*

Anthony: So you actually like girls and you actually like girls, too?

Eloise and Francesca: *nodding shyly*

Anthony: great, just great. İs there anyone in this house who actually likes boys?

Benedict:

Everyone:

Benedict: Well, now that you brought it up…

[shegetsburned]

❝ the duke’s proposal ❞ w. satoru gojo 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dearest gentle readers. the time has come for us to place our bets for the upcoming social season! marriage-minded mamas must consider the oldest of the gojo’s family thrilled to conquer hearts with his wits and undeniable charm. having officially announced his wish to find a bride, we certainly hope to see the young rake, on the dance floor, turn the tides and find a wife after much seasons of avoiding his duty. may the best lady win! • — a/n. i know @grumpchua asked for this and i believe it will feed some of y’all, so here’s the food <3

.nsfw.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who you’ve known ever since your debut and has been a inconvenience in your life for quite a while. like a tick biting into your flesh, only bringing trouble and worry for yourself. truth is, the duke loved pestering you about failed courting attempts or clumsy men coming to steal your hand, only to fall with them into a life of misery and depths. you undoubtedly did not attract the smartest and wealthiest of them all and satoru took advantage of this unwanted success.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who’s audacious. far from being a gentleman. the cockiest of all rakes. you did not only despise the man, you thought he was without honour, unromantic and arrogant. lord satoru was, in fact, everything you thought he was, but loved to show you personally every single one of his flaws.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, despite your best efforts, thought no better but to follow you around at every ball and "unexpectedly" bump into you at the market or when you walked out of the modiste. lord gojo was high in the instep, purposely shoving his strength of character and title in unfortunate suitors’ faces every time they deemed to approach you. needless to say, he took pleasure in crushing your chances of ever securing a proposal.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who has never really shown any interest in you, before. he would rather amuse himself by courting pretty debutantes only to leave them hanging and being chased by the impatient mamas of the ton. that was until his status caught up to him and forced the man to consider a serious marriage proposal. unfortunately for you, an idea blossomed into the young rake’s mind when he realized his need to find a bride was more urgent than he hoped to be.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, one evening, during a tranquil promenade, abruptly stops and steals you from your mama, offering his hand for you to finish your walk beside him. he obviously had a plan and it involved the lady that despised him the most in this entire ton: you— and who would be better than you to not catch feelings and be able to execute his plan perfectly?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who proposes an alliance. knowing you only attract the worst suitors possible, he assures you that more eligible men will throw themselves at your feet when they see the famous duke gojo court you. he swears it’ll only be temporary until he can find a suitable bride of his own without hundreds of ladies begging for his attention when you’re wrapped around his arm. you’ll be found desirable and he’ll have the peace he desires. what could possibly go wrong?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who, for the first days, tries harder than any other years you’ve known him. the first day, your carriage’s waiting downstairs to meet him in the parc. he’s holding your umbrella above your head the whole time and acting like quite the gentleman, for once. he laughs with you, readjusts your hair and takes care of every single one of your needs. this masquerade goes on for two weeks where, each day, he surprises you with gorgeous flowers, kind gestures and words you would’ve never thought to hear. until one night, it’s an invite to his mansion that’s waiting for you, which you accept thinking it’ll just be another public appearance with him by your side. oh, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who welcomes you in his home, one gentle hand resting against the back of your corset to escort you to the ballroom where people were gathered and seemed to be enjoying their evening. everything would’ve seemed in order if not for the many men eyeing you from across the room. it seemed odd now, considering you hadn’t had this kind of attention for weeks, but it also seemed like satoru’s plan had worked and you couldn’t be more satisfied.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who listens to you converse with one of the gentlemen who had introduced himself to you. he seemed kind, polite, educated and of high status, which couldn’t have been more perfect if it hadn’t been for the duke terminating the conversation with a harsh remark and by guiding you to the dance floor without even writing his name on the card around your wrist. he had lost his temper in a matter of seconds and you were more than surprised by his lack of manners.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who tries to convince you to play along but you know this is entirely about something else. his grip around your waist and hand has never been so tight. he’s pulling you closer until his breath tickles your face and his words are whispers when he reminds you that your deal isn’t over and you’ll have to wait until you are allowed to let yourself be courted by other men. you try to respond but he spins you around gracefully. his fingers trail your column when he catches you and before you know it, you’re dancing with him and no one else is in the room.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose deep gaze startles you. he hasn’t left your eyes and does not plan to until he gets a proper response from you. satoru’s piercing blue eyes linger on your lips with a cocky smirk and you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast. he had never shown this facet of his before and it made your chest flutter. would he have preferred your attention was entirely on him, this evening, and not on the handsome suitor that had caught yours? no. you hated him. he was tricking you to make it seem real.. right?

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo whose tension is enough to fill the room with curious whispers surrounding your odd pair. you two made it seem like you had shared more than simple dinners and promises. in front of everyone, you looked used to being so intimate with satoru, but you were trembling in your shoes when he leaned forward, grazing his lips against your ear to try and make you understand that he wouldn’t allow any suitors to approach you just yet.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who pulls you away from the crowd, stealing you away to his bedchamber in front of indiscreet pairs of eyes. he seems more impatient than ever when his instinct takes over and, god, your innocence has an unexpected hold on him. you question satoru with incomprehension in your eyes until he finally closes the door to answer you.

₊˚ପ⊹ duke!gojo who skillfully shows you everything you’ve been missing and every little sinful activity he’s been partaking in with innocent debutantes such as yourself. only this time, he means it. his hands touch every sensitive spot, his lips cover yours and trail down to your exposed chest. his fingers slipped under your dress, letting him discover your body with your help as you take him in, whining at his insensitive touch.

you’ll never know, that night, if duke satoru gojo meant to lose his mind over you in front of everyone else for his scheme and personal gain or if it had been purely accidental and you had just mesmerized the rake in a matter of weeks to the point where he couldn’t think about anything else but to have you in his bed for the rest of his life.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[madamechrissy]

Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you - in this chap it's Satoru Gojo x random girl, Nanami x you It's messy and will get messier.

♔ Warnings: Sex, infidelity, mentions of disordered eating of the reader, descriptions of reader physically (just ties in with the story here) cheating on both ends, cruelty from Duke Gojo, cunnilingus, fingering, first time blow jobs, toxic attraction. OOC. ANGST. SO MUCH TENSION. More Mr. Nanami. Gojo is TERRIBLE still, you're warned

♔ Word count this chap: 10k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you, and now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage. Royal AU, dark bridgerton vibes, Cruel Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Gojo is awful at first, HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

A/N: Half Gojo's POV, Half yours. LONG ONE

Part Four - Masterlist - Playlist

Part Five: The Masquerade

Your POV

 It’s the night of the Gojo manor masquerade, it’s so odd to think this is where you’d met Mr. Nanami years ago, in this cold man’s manor, long before you two were betrothed. Sometimes you wish you had just ran off with Mr. Nanami that night, but it was a foolish little idea, wasn’t it? How could you have happiness like that, when this is where you live.

After that night you’ve completely avoided the Duke, he has not just disgusted you, you’ve disgusted yourself with your reaction. You’d laid there for hours that night, and at some point Gojo had come into your room, you had acted asleep, of course so as not to face him.

It was late in the night, long past those disgusting noises you had to hear of Gojo and his Mistress, so you assumed they were asleep. You were just able to breathe finally, just able to exist a bit without feeling that tightness in your chest. Then he was there, you struggle to stay still as you hear your door open, hear it creaking gently in the night.

You could hear his footsteps in the night, bare feet padding along the old floors of the room, then he’d just stood there, like some creep, well he was, wasn’t he? A confusing, evil, cruel ass of a man. A man that had ripped your dress to shreds, and the worst part is you had been thrilled, you’d never felt more alive then when he’d consumed you.

You felt horrible, thinking of Nanami, someone you could see some future with, some happiness, his tired eyes and smirk on those lips. The way you felt so fucking safe in his arms. Not stupid Gojo, not the damned Duke who absolutely ruined your life, that wrecked your psyche. As confident and strong as you act, the Duke had single handedly destroyed so much.

Now he back tracks his words, shouldn’t have said this, shouldn’t have said that, but it’s poor, sad excuses. You cannot allow yourself to fall victim to him again.

He is leaning over you now, and your eyelashes flutter just a bit when he pulls your blanket up over your body, up on your shoulders, before you hear him sigh just a bit, brushing the backs of his fingers on your cheek. You want to smack him, you want to jump up, but then he’d know you were pretending, so you just lay there, exhaling and trying to keep still.

After a moment he’s gone, just like he was never there, leaving your cheek burning from the odd touch, and your mind more confused at this man. What even was his problem, why would he come here after fucking his whore, why would he watch you as you sleep!? The man who hates you so.

You shake off that weird night, and you had not said a word to him all day, even going so far as to eat breakfast in complete silence. He had just looked at you every so often, and you’d peeked back, raising a brow, expecting some nasty remark or comment, but he’d not said a single word. You’re not sure it’s much better than his cruelty, this weird silence.

You stand before the mirror in your room, your heart racing as your maid and Nan dress you in the gown of a glittery silver, the fabric shimmering like stars. It’s so very beautiful. Mei and Utahime absolutely did impeccably. It fits you so perfectly, cinched in with beautiful jewels along the bodice, it’s surely the finest thing you have ever worn or even seen.

“My, you’re a vision, your grace!” The maid says, and you smile at her, feeling yourself flush under the praise.

“Indeed, you’ll be the belle of the ball. Like a Princess.” Nan says then, and you twirl a bit, watching the light catching the flouncing skirts.

“You two are most kind. I do feel most lovely in this.” You admit, as you look at your reflection in the gilded mirror. Your hair is piled high on your head, adorned with a diamond tiara that sparkles brightly. You look like a princess, like a vision from a fairytale that’s come to life, and for a moment, you let yourself believe in the illusion.

Your mask is a thing of beauty as Nan ties it around your face, a delicate little creation of lace and velvet that covers the top half of your face, leaving only your eyes and lips exposed. You feel so mysterious with it, as if you could be anyone you want, and who would you want to be?

It feels as if you lose yourself more and more here.

You glide down the grand staircase now, the silk of your gown whispering against the marble as you descend into the masquerade ball, the violinists and cellists making the most beautiful melodies, mingling with the cacophony of laughter and conversation. As you step down further, the room is full of ladies in white, and gentlemen in black, dancing and mingling in pretty patterns.

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you step down, curious if Mr. Nanami may make an appearance, curious if your ‘husband’ would pretend to be kind or not. His mother is here, along with your parents. As you enter the ballroom at the last step, your lace gloved hand on the bannister, heads turn and eyes follow your every movement, until they’re all looking at you.

Well everyone but one person, Satoru Gojo, he’s laughing with those bright white teeth, in his white suit, different from every other man in black, along with a dark blue cape and dark blue  mask, covering half his face. You can feel the air change, as they’re looking at you, and everything quiets. There are whispers then, as you nervously stand there, alone and in the center of attention.

‘The Duchess!’

‘She looks like a Princess!’

‘Beautiful!’

‘Breathtaking, look at that gown…’

You smile at them, as they look to you in awe, the many masked women and men, amongst a sea of butlers, waitresses and performers, no one moves a muscle. You see the familiar figure of Lord Geto and Lady Shoko, waving at you, and you look further, until you see his strong figure, in a suit that’s fit to him like a glove, those hazel lazy eyes twinkling.

You smile shyly as you see his lips part in shock, and you then watch everyone stare at Duke Gojo, someone tapping his shoulder then, and he looks to where you’re standing now, amongst the whispers. You expect the same coldness in his gaze as usual, but when his eyes land on you, something in them flickers.

For a moment, he’s stunned, his hand frozen mid-gesture, as they fall slowly, and he slowly walks toward you, as you now nervously fiddle with your own gloves, in front of your lap. You know he’ll try to ruin your confidence, even in this moment where hundreds of people are staring at your gown, your tiara, your beauty, but you know the damage the Duke can do.

He’ll show them what they need, he’ll pretend to hold your hand and smile as if you’re both great, but the coldness he emits will freeze you. He steps up one step now, holding his hand out now, eyes glimmering a shocking blue as he looks every inch of you over, making you nervous. Is he looking for some lack of perfection? Is he looking for something to mock?

“Duchess.” He says hoarsely, clearing his throat, and you hesitantly put your hand in his, gasping a bit when he pulls you towards him, your glittering heels stepping onto the floor below.

“Duke.” You respond, curtseying then, and Duke Gojo bows at the waist, then his lips part, then close. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he leads you to the dance floor now, and the people gush over the two of you.

If only they knew, the real man, that looks so charming and fun, that’s so elegantly holding you at your waist with one hand, the other up, and you put your little one in his, which swallows yours. You suck in a breath as Gojo just stares at you then, as the music starts once more, and everyone’s gaze is on you both.

He begins to lead you into a waltz, elegant in his steps, your heels and his dress shoes clicking and echoing on the floor, as the music softly crescendos, and you’re spinning, in a dance with your fake husband. You keep your eyes affixed to his elegantly tied cravat as your body gets dizzy, as you brace for the blow.

He says your name, and you tense, looking up then. “I hope I am adequate looking tonight, Duke.” You murmur, and he turns you, before pulling you against him, dipping you over his arm, then slowly back up.

“You know what you look like, you had everyone in the room with their mouths open, what do you need a compliment from me?” He says then, through his terse lips, and you scoff, rolling your eyes behind your mask.

“I do not expect one, I expected you to say passable or the like.” You retort, and he laughs, his grip on your waist tightening and making you wince a bit, as his gaze burns you.

“You look… you look…” He sighs then, spinning you once more, and now your back is against him, his hand on your tummy, as one of his hands slides down your cheek, your neck, before spinning you back, your leg over his now. He grips your leg over your skirts, bending you low again, and your breaths come in quick pants.

“Not passable? Oh dear. I’m so sorry, husband.” You whisper, right against his lips, then you smirk at his glare. “I’m sure someone here will call me beautiful.”

Satoru’s grip gets tighter, as everyone starts dancing around you now, and the room is lively again. You see your parents by the buffet with Satoru’s mother and stepdad, watching you all curiously, then when you’re facing Satoru again, his eyes are lidded, snowy white lashes lowered over them. His hand is trembling slightly as it holds onto you.

“Is your lover here?” He demands, and you smile softly.

“How many of your lovers are here?” You counter, earning a scoff.

“Tch, insolent brat.” You scowl.

“Man whore.” He grits his teeth.

“You’re just a whore, then.” Your own eyes narrow as you spin once more, away from him, and he watches you with his fists clenched, as your gown glitters from the chandeliers above, bouncing light all over. You bow down, as does he, then your hands join once more.

“Can’t wait for this dance to end.” You say, and he’s sighing, a hand slipping up your back and making you tremble. “I know you also wish it was done.”

“You think you know me at all?” His voice is softer now, and your eyes lock, as you feel it, something just different now.

“You hate me, so I imagine having me in your arms is quite the task.” He brings you up then, off the ground spinning you, and you hate how you actually enjoy it. “Careful, don’t hurt-”

“You weigh nothing, stupid fucking girl. Less than nothing as you continue to ignore your meals in front of me.” His hiss is dark, and you sigh, looking away.

You realize you’re dragging out that comment, and for once you decide perhaps you should stop, Gojo has not said anything else about it since and you’re making it an ongoing issue, one that’s affecting you severely now. You let your anger consume you.  “Very well, I will stop such comments, I am being…”

“You’re fucking beautiful, the most beautiful thing here.” You step back, nearly falling as your mouth opens wide in shock.

“You can’t just say that, it’s not what you think! You’re such a manipulative, confusing ass of a man.” You stomp on his foot then, and he snarls at you, hopping on a leg.

“You stomp my foot for a bloody compliment? Stupid fucking brat.”

“Yes well it’s false, I like you better when you’re honest.”

“Honest!?”

“Indeed, when you tell me how much I disgust you.” His grip is so brutal you feel it through your layers, as it digs in. “What’s wrong Duke?”

“You know how beautiful you are.” He whispers those words, and they feel foreign from his cold lips, and now the song is changing, but he’s just standing there, holding you for a moment. “Do not play stupid.”

“You ever think you’ve knocked down my thoughts of myself!?” You hiss out the words then, and he looks down, backing away and dropping his hands as if you are a fire that burns him.

“As if you’ll take a compliment from me.”

“Because it’s a lie.”

“It’s not!”

“Hello, love birds.” Comes Satoru’s mother then, elegant in her gown, with her stark white hair flowing down in waves, smiling at you both now. “You’re the prettiest lady I’ve seen, why you rival Her Majesty’s style.”

“Oh thank you, Mama.” You say then, kissing her cheeks, and Satoru is still fuming, fucking glaring at you.

“Satoru. How have you been treating your wife?” She asks then, and Satoru scoffs, opening his mouth, but you cut him off.

“He’s been so kind, Mama, truly.” You say, and Duke Gojo scowls at you now, earning his mother’s confusion. People all around are going to get refreshments, talking and mingling. Satoru’s mother has a confused purse to her lips.

“I’ve heard things, from servants and friends alike. That you two share no room together. That Satoru has live in Mistresses? Plural. This isn’t true, is it?” She demands, and Satoru says nothing, he’s still looking at you with disbelief in his eyes, forcing you to clear your throat, smiling brightly.

“You cannot trust gossip, Mama. Oh, hello Mother, Father!” Your parents come over then, and you hug them both politely, you and your parents had a decent relationship, but not too close. They were very about appearances, and trained you to be as well, it’s partly why you hide emotions so well.

There are no warm smiles, but polite ones, they had never been cruel, just they had not spent much time with you growing up. You were raised by governess, Nannies, and the like. You suppose it’s the way of nobility, but you know if you ever had children it would be very, very different.

“I was just asking how the marriage was, you said it’s going well, Duchess?” Satoru’s Mom asks again, and you nod, grabbing Satoru’s hand, and it’s stiff and unyielding, even when you give him a look behind your mask, he’s still staring at you, not saying a goddamn thing.

“It’s going well, isn’t it dear husband?” You ask, earning his lips parting, then closing, as he sighs. Then his hand enwraps yours, and for a moment you enjoy it, huge, enwrapping your little hand, entwining his fingers with yours. You suck in a breath at how good it feels, and how much you hate it.

Duke Gojo’s POV 

Satoru is holding your delicate little hand in his, and it feels so good he can’t stand it, he can’t take it, how good you smell, how good your skin feels, how breathtaking you are. You’re a vision in this silver, glittery gown, you stand out in this sea of people, a diamond doesn’t even begin to describe you. As he danced he’d seen every set of eyes on you.

Even his mother loves you, everyone does, don’t they? And how can they not, when you smile brightly, those tempting lips hiding your true feelings. You look up at him then, with that lacy mask on your perfect face, only making you sexier, making him fill with want he has to shove down. Your glittery eyes, filled with tears just the other day, look right into his fucking soul.

He squeezes your hand back, watching your breasts heave in your dress, pressed up and delectable in that corset, fuck your body was so beautiful, Satoru couldn’t help but picture you when he fucks his mistress now. Now that he’s tasted you!? He wishes he could every day, fuck he wants to worship you on his goddamn knees.

But he can’t, can he?

Why are you lying for him, after what he’s done, what he’s said!? Saying you’re a pig, when you’re the complete opposite, making you not even eat in front of him. It breaks him, his cruelty and its effects, watching you slimmer and slimmer because he was evil and lied. Even if you’ve forgiven him, how will he forgive himself?

How can he forgive himself for your panic attack when he said the cruelest things, or the wedding night when he smacked your precious face, leaving a huge red hand print? You should hate him, fuck you should hate him more. That was his goal, for you to hate him, and he succeeded. To protect himself, because you look so much like her, so much…

So much like the love of his life that destroyed him. Fuck if you two weren’t related, she was all he could see when he first saw you, at that masquerade years ago, you were young. That night she had destroyed him, that night she had slept right with Satoru’s own father, and fuck if Satoru wasn’t glad that man was dead. She’d had no shame either.

As soon as Satoru became Duke, he sent her far away, and then who’s there but you and you’re the spitting image damn near. You were softer, prettier, not nearly as practiced and seductive, but seeing you had made him sick. Then your confidence and poise made you even more similar to her, she had Satoru ready to destroy the world for her.

He’d spent his entire money on her, he’d given her everything, only to have found her one day with his father, because his father had more money. Satoru had never forgiven him, even on his fucking death bed, and he let his dad know then that he will never give him an heir. That disgusting man had died in horror, and Satoru had just fucking grinned.

But fuck if you’re not more beautiful, and she was a gorgeous girl, but your energy, everything about you makes it worse. Now he knows you have some lover, and it brings it all back, he imagines you riding someone, he imagines you as the one who did that to him, that made him cold. Because of her Satoru closed himself off, drowned himself in alcohol, gambling and whores.

And he was living that life just fine until you.

Now, however, as he sees the dulling of your brightness, he knows what he’s done is so fucking wrong, but he’s too far gone in this, and now you’re rightfully gone. You moved on so quickly, to someone who surely worships you, and Satoru thinks maybe that’s for the best, no chance of you two ever being together, in any way, shape or form.

But when he’d kissed you?

Satoru had never felt anything like it, not when he kissed who he thought he ‘loved’ and Satoru had never tasted anything like your honeyed arousal on his tongue. As a man who gets sucked, who fucks rough, all he can think is having you gush down his mouth, down his tongue, he things of it as he strokes himself after his Mistress failed to make him cum.

He’d snuck in your room and watched you, with tears irritating his blue eyes, as you looked so tiny, so fragile, shivering in the cold. Having to listen to him, having to see him, he’s cruel, he’s terrible. You did nothing to deserve it. And you’re so fucking strong, so composed, so determined, you thrive even as he tried to shoot you down. He can’t even understand you.

It’s too late, isn’t it… and even if not, could Satoru not hate you, when you remind him so much of everything he hates? Could he ever even express an emotion, could he even compliment you, no you think they’re fake, and he understands. Even on your wedding night, looking so beautiful it made him ache, he’d lied, and you’d so easily believed that lie.

Why would you lie for him?

Take the opportunity, let his mother reprimand him, let him be made a fool of, he deserves the worst. Perhaps the worst is just beginning for him, now that he knows you have someone that makes you so happy. Your marks on those lush breasts, your slick wet cunt he knows someone licked, touched before him, it makes him furious, so furious, but he can do nothing.

“Indeed, we are doing well.” Satoru says softly, and you both talk to your family about a dinner coming, before you smile prettily up at Satoru.

“Could we get refreshments? My throat is parched, husband.” You say, and he just nods, leading you to the table where there was punch, and he did not ever wanna let your hand go. But you pull it away, leaving him empty. “I’m sorry, I just needed to get away, you don’t have to get me a drink.”

“Why?” He demands then, fists clenching on either side of him. You blink a bit, before pouring your own drink, Satoru would never even afford you a kindness like that, fuck he treats you like shit, he loathes himself more every moment.

“No need to cause a scene. I figure it best we handle an annulment after some time, especially if you wish to keep my dowry. I know you’re rich, but we technically are even richer.” You sip some lemonade, sighing, and he watches a little droplet fall down, right to your chin. He delicately swipes it off, and watches your intake of breath, your eyes darting to his.

“Why do you care if I have your dowry?”

“I figure it’s why you want to stay married. This gives us both what we want, me my freedom, you the dowry, and you never have to look at me again.” Your words are like a punch to the gut, how cold and detached you sound.

“Freedom to marry?” Satoru asks softly, pouring his own drink with trembling hands, usually so sure, but you have this stupid effect.

“Possibly, one day.” You get a soft, dreamy smile, as the chandeliers reflect off your glowing, soft skin, your gorgeous gown. You look like a Princess, perhaps more beautiful than one, not that he’d say it. Not that you’d want it from his cruel lips. But he knows someone else here will say it, and will whisper it in your delicate little ear.

Fuck he hates himself.

He hates you.

“Married to some baker?” He says, and you giggle then, fuck you’re so bratty, how you’d bragged about your breasts, about cumming, you confused the living fuck out of him. Intrigued him. Filled him with need.

Fuck.

“Maybe, Duke.” You would never call him his name, would you? Well unless you were cooing to your stupid puppy. “I think we’ve made our presence known, we should be free to spend the evening apart.”

He blinks rapidly, as you smile a bit into the crowd, and go to leave, but he stops you with a hand on your little waist, stiff and jeweled in that corset, making you pause, looking up curiously. “You are off to see your lover, like a whore?”

You smile then, that mean little smile that is full of hatred. “I will absolutely see him tonight. When he compliments me, it’s sincere, you know. Not for show.”

“You’re stupid. You’re fucking stupid.” He whispers, earning your glare now, your hand shoving his chest, burning through his dress shirt, starch and stiff. He imagines actually touching you, making love to you, doing the things you would do without him, watching that pretty face cumming? Fuck.…

“Duke Gojo, go have fun yourself, be discreet for appearances please. It’s not like I care. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” You peel his hand off, and it drops, as he turns and watches you glide through the damn crowd, a sea of ladies and gentlemen, and all that stands out is you.

Your skirts swish as your perfect silhouette disappears, and everyone greets you, everyone signs your goddamn dance card, including Suguru, who he knows has it bad for you. Fuck Suguru would have been good for you, but you’re stuck with a man you don’t want, aren’t you?

You don’t want Satoru at all. You’re the only woman who hasn’t. But he pushed you there, and now he has to watch everyone fawn over his wife, a woman he’ll never have, who he didn’t want. A woman he hates, because not just how she looks, how she acts, but what she’s doing, making him feel things he swore he never would, and then when he sees you light up…

That smile brightens the giant ballroom, as you’re in a man’s arms during the next set, a tall blond man with broad shoulders, and he’s grinning along with you, his hand on the small of your back, as the other caresses your cheek for a second. Just a second but he saw it. He sees your blush even far away, how you giggle, how your head tilts to the side.

That’s him, isn’t it?

You will never look at Satoru like that, why would you anyway? What’s he done to make you smile, laugh, or have any joy, all he does and continues to do is treat you like dirt, worse than dirt, kick you down. And you blossom in this man’s arms, and Satoru’s picturing you with him, under him, and it makes him sick.

One of the lady’s he’d fucked a long time ago comes to him now, asking him to sign her dance card, and Satoru decides to throw himself into the dance, to flirt with her, to smirk. To whisper in the shell of her ear, making her shiver as his fingers brush her upper back. Women were games to him, soft and easy, aside from you.

He hates himself.

He hates how you confuse him.

He hates you.

Your POV

Shaking off the very odd interaction with the Duke, you are now dancing in Nanami Kento’s arms, and he has a surprising grace - well was it surprising? - the man exudes elegance. But as a businessman unaccustomed to such events, he is a perfect dancer, and you can’t help but giggle every time he looks at you, earning his soft chuckle as you both turn about the ballroom.

“Imagine seeing you here?” He says then, and you giggle once more.

“Imagine, Mr. Nanami. Meeting here.” You tease back.

“I missed you and it was only a day, sweet girl.” His voice is husky now, and your heart is thudding in your chest, as you melt into the dance, almost tripping over your normally sure feet. Your gloved hand in his clutches tightly, your other hand on his chest, where he wore the most handsome black suit.

“You surely make me a blushing mess.” You say softly, earning a glint in those hazel depths, his big hand tightening just a bit on your waist.

“I’m honored to have such an effect on the most beautiful lady I’ve seen.” You look down a bit, nearly tripping, and he catches you with ease, chuckling a bit. “You surely know you’re a vision tonight.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nanami. You also look quite dashing, you know Sir.” You say now, as he spins you gently, pulling your back against his chest, and then your eyes catch him.

The Duke.

His blue eyes are boring into you across the room, staring straight at you, to the point you can feel that gaze like a brand. He’s dancing with a lovely lady in a white dress and a white mask, and you watch his fingers slip up her back then, as he bends down to whisper in her ear. You blink a bit, taking a breath and then looking away, up at Nanami behind you.

“You are an even more skilled dancer than last time, Sir. Do you have a secret hobby, amongst the rest?” You ask then, teasingly, and Nanami scoffs a bit, spinning you back around, pulling you close for a moment before you both step back. He bows and you curtsey as the song ends.

“No hobby, darling. You give me too much credit.” He goes to touch your hand, then pulls back, realizing he can’t, and you watch his jaw tense, that Adam’s apple bob a bit. You frown.

“I’m sorry you cannot take my hand, Kento.” You whisper, looking away and clutching your layered gown tightly. “It’s selfish you see?”

“Darling, I’ll be fine. You’re not a bit selfish.” You look back to him, as you see his hands open and close at the sides, before they land in his trouser pockets, and your heart aches, your mind swirling in confusion.

As the music starts to die down later that night, and you’ve made several rounds with everyone, currently finishing a set with Lord Geto, you notice the Duke’s eyes on you again as he’s just laughing and leaning against a wall, and the girl is blatantly against him.

“He’s still being terrible, isn’t he? Fuck, any better at all?” You sigh, looking up at Lord Geto, who had danced twice with Lady Shoko, which put quite a smile on your face, but they seemed just friends for now. She had headed home and you two had danced a beautiful quadrille, dancing with Suguru was always so fun.

“He’s slightly better. I suppose. I told him we would annul the marriage in time, and he seemed… angry? It’s hard to understand him.”

“Mmm. I suppose. He’s never really acted this way, aside from a long time ago, he did have someone break his heart. I never met her though.”

“Duke Gojo had a heart?” Geto grins at that, and you both laugh a bit, as he leads you to get a drink, pouring one for you.

“I suppose he did. Here, love.” You take it thankfully, sighing as the cool condensation of the glass hits your lips.

“You’re a gem, Lord Geto.” You say, brushing his shoulder with your hand and smiling brightly.

“And you’re a diamond. Clearly, look at you, glittering everywhere.” You giggle softly, shaking your head.

“That’s sweat, probably, my Lord.” Geto rolls his chocolate eyes with a smirk, and then you pay attention, as the entire masquerade shifts.

People are kissing everywhere, as the music gets heavier, and much of the older ladies and gentlemen leave. This was around the time you had to leave as a young lady, but now you were in full view, as they now brought out several ladies, scandalously dressed and dancing. As the ballroom clears out slowly and others are sneaking into little alcoves.

“Oh… Is this…”  You trail off nervously.

“This is how these tend to go. Horny ton members.” He teases, and then studies your features. “What do you think of such things, Duchess?”

“I’m not quite sure.” You see the dancers saunter by, one comes to you, brushing her pretty nails along your cheek, smiling at you, and making you flush. She then comes to Geto, a hand on his chest, dragging him by his tie. He looks at you, and you wave him off.

“I should stay with you.” He says, and you shake your head with laughter as the dancer pouts.

“You have fun, Lord Geto. Not too much though.” He snorts, finishing his drink and then kissing your hand.

“Find me if you need me, Duchess. Holy… you bend that way!?”

You turn away in a fit of laughter, as alcoholic drinks are now being served, and you can feel the tension in the air as you sip on bubbly champagne. The whispers of scandal and passion whirl in your ears as the music builds to a crescendo, the dancers in the middle of the ballroom now, for all to see, as people in their masks are hiding their identities, kissing in dark shadowy corners.

You see Nanami again, and you walk back over that way, passing Satoru kissing now in his own corner, and you watch his long fingers dance along her waist, and for just a moment you feel them like they’re touching you. His eyes are shut, his pretty face concentrated as her head lolls over to the side, and he’s kissing her neck, before they open, and catch you watching.

You pause, breaths coming in little pants as he pauses his kisses, his hands sliding down her slowly, as he watches you so intently, his eyes going down your body, drinking you inch by inch. You are just frozen, and why? Why do you care, he’s not yours, you don’t want him.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

When he’s grabbing at her ass blatantly, you do look away, walking by quickly, past more and more couples kissing, caressing, sighing. Is this what you missed as a young, unmarried lady, you wonder? Where there were hundreds and hundreds of people, there were about fifty left, and all quite busy.

You hear the rustle of silk and satin mixing with the low murmur of sultry whispers and cries, as you’re right in the middle of it, your heart racing with the thrill of it all, shocked by what you see. But Satoru’s image is burned in your brain, and you fucking hate it. You don’t want him. You don’t care.

He’s disgusting and cruel.

You shake off such an odd feeling, as the night reaches its peak, the music changes, the tempo slowing to a seductive crawl, and it almost gets hard to breath, as you walk over to Nanami now, and he smiles over a glass of neat whiskey, sitting down in one of the arm chairs. He pats his leg, and you look around nervously, slipping off your gloves and clutching them.

“I believe you can feel a bit more free tonight, Darling.” He says, and you nervously sit on one of his thighs, squealing as he pulls you against him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I fear I’ll still be under scrutiny.” You whisper, looking around, but you realize several people aren’t with their partners, some are with multiple partners even, two men kissing on one woman’s neck, two women on one man's lap. “I’m the only one wearing silver, Nanami.”

“Indeed you are.” He chuckles warmly, pulling you down softly, kissing your lips, and you exhale against them, how good it feels. “These events tend to be secret, as they do not wish their secrets shared.”

“You are rather familiar with these, Sir!”

“Mmm, I’ve been to some events with my business.”

“And what is it that you do?” You ask, leaning against him, your fingers brushing up and down his chest. You sip your champagne, and he takes the glass, setting it on the table along with his whiskey, pulling you closer, so close you feel how hot he is, how hard that body is.

“I tend to do a little of everything, up to and including baking cookies with a Duchess. I’m rather important.” You grin then, as your heart swells, as his hands touch you over your layers of gossamer and satin. One hand reaches down and runs up your calf, over your white stockings, and you sigh in pleasure.

“You are important to have such a baking partner, Sir.” His face is more serious now, though, behind that mask that you want to rip off, to see his handsome face, as his hand rests on your thigh, and you feel your core tense, heat building as he’s so, so close to where you’re currently getting wetter and wetter.

“Should I have such an angel on my lap?” He whispers, sliding even further, until he’s right where your lace pantalets sit, and he’s slipping his thumb down into that waistband, watching your every expression. You nervously cling to him, rolling your hips just  a bit, and he exhales. “You’re so wet, darling, is this all for me?”

You hear it then, Nanami clearly wants you for himself, and you know that’s foolish for now, but you want to have that dream, of you and a man that wants you, that is so obsessed with you, and it makes your mind fuzzy as the champagne. You whimper when he finds your clit, rubbing in little circles, between damp folds, and you can barely form a word, clutching onto his shirt tightly.

“It is, Mr. Nanami…”

“Kento.”

“Kento. Mnh! Kento…” You whine out, as he’s rubbing you now with two fingers, flicking back and forth as he plays your cunt in public, right under your pretty ball gown, with your damn husband somewhere. It feels so wanton, so naughty, but so fucking good you’re dripping, craving more and more, gasping as he watches you, hungry eyes glinting in the dark.

“Mmm, so beautiful darling, that face when you feel so good? And it’s me making you feel that way?” He moans softly, the sound does things to you, and you find your lips against him now, pressing so deeply, wanting more, more, more of him, of his sure touch, of his sexy voice.

You gasp when he sinks a finger inside of you, right in this ballroom, and your walls are fluttering around it. “It is, Kento… it is.”

Duke Gojo’s POV

Satoru walks by, as he intends on being alone to rekindle the passionate encounters he and Lady Elaine used to have. She’s married to a rather old man who cannot take care of her needs, who is he not to assist? He’s grabbing a bottle of the finest wine, as he passes by to head up the stairs, then he stops in his tracks.

His heart drops to his stomach, his head pounding with the blood pressure that rises when he sees you, in your gorgeous fucking gown, on that man’s lap. Your slender arms are wrapped around his neck, one hand in his blond locks, and it’s like a stab in the chest, he stops right in his tracks, fuck he wants to grab you by your perfect little neck and yank you off him.

Satoru wants to bend you over something, beat your ass (fuck what does that look like!?) until you sob, pretty tears, then fuck you so good your tiara clatters to the goddamn floor. He wants to fuck you so good you can’t speak, can’t run that mouth, can’t do anything but drool. He wants to kill this man who dares to fucking touch you, wants to kill him right in front of you.

He feels the anger roll through him in waves, hot fury and something else… he’s hard under his trousers, straining against the stiff fabric as he watches your hips roll under those flouncy layers, as he watches your head fall back, and that man kiss your throat. Duke Gojo wants to do that, he wants to kiss you, touch you, so badly precum leaks against his pants.

But he can never have you.

You’re so out of reach, and he caused it all.

The man’s hand, bruised and cut and in no way a gentleman, grabs you so familiarly, the other mysteriously missing, but he watches your skirt rise and fall, then he knows. He’s fingering you wantonly, like you’re some whore, not a whole fucking Duchess, not his wife. He has no care of who sees you like it, and you clearly are enjoying, fuck he can damn near sense your desire.

He remembers it, how hot you got, how wet, only for a moment, glistening out of your perfect pussy, and he craves it so badly he can’t think, how good would it feel inside of you, to break you, to cum inside you? Something Satoru hadn’t done since her, along with licking a woman’s cunt, it’s not that he didn’t love it, it’s that it was too much to bear.

That overwhelming need to have cum spraying on his face again, and with you, who looks just fucking like her. Was he cursed, to not just repeat this vicious memory over and again, but worse, because he needs you more than her even. And he at least had her, for that time, constantly begging her, pleading with her, for affection, for her touches, for her looks.

Satoru was pathetic with her.

Now he’s more pathetic for you.

“Is everything all right, your grace?” Lady Elaine asks softly, and he notices her then, eager and ready to fuck clearly. But all he can think of is tasting you between your thighs, but you have another man’s hand there.

Fuck you, fuck this, fuck his thoughts.

“Nothing is wrong, let’s go, love.” He says softly, yes he calls her love, but he calls you Duchess, or bitch or something cold. Just as you call him Duke, or something colder.

He stomps by, passing you, and you pull your lips off the man long enough to look to him, fuck he’d been fondling Elaine right in front of you, shameless as you looked, with something in your gaze he couldn’t place. Not hurt truly, not even curiosity, what was that look you gave him, burned into his goddamn brain, as he takes her to his room.

Satoru has her naked in quick haste, she has a beautiful body, but for some goddamn reason he thinks of you, he can’t stop thinking of you, wishing he was the one fingering your eager cunt under your skirts. Why, why, why!? Why do you do this to him, you don’t want him, do you? How could you? How could you want him? If you did, it was physical, it was nothing else.

He’s not even good enough for you.

Is anyone good enough to look upon your pretty face, to taste your sweetness, to caress your soft skin? He imagines your eyes looking at him with desire, not with goddamn hatred, as he kisses Lady Elaine, as he slides his fingers into her cunt, which is soaking wet. He wishes it was tighter, like yours, he wishes he could feel it. Would he ever even get to touch you again?

Satoru flips Lady Elaine around, not being able to stand her face, pretty as it was, instead fingering her as she’s face forward against his wall. He’s listening to her moans, they should be sexy, shouldn’t they? Then why does he have to stroke himself, from the base to the tip of his huge cock, as he shuts his eyes and imagines rubbing that tip between your plump lips.

Why does that get him hard, not Lady Elaines’ rather lucious ass pressing out, her head thrown back, as Satoru’s mask brushes against the back of her neck. Why do you torture him existing? He told you, he wishes you didn’t exist, he remembers as he slides into her entrance, and she sucks him in greedily, and Satoru’s hands are on either side of her body as he fucks into her, braced on the cold door of his room.

Do you know you’re all he thinks of as he fucks her pussy?

Would you care?

Why should you?

Will you get fucked tonight, will you lose your innocence to him, to that man that you light up for? Does Satoru have any say in that, when he pushed you there? But the thought crushes him, as he rests his head down on her bare shoulder, as he fucks her against her cervix, and she’s screaming out, cumming all over him. All he thinks of is you.

All he thinks of is how he’s ruined everything.

All he thinks is how he’s a fucking idiot, for fucking this girl he cares nothing for, when he wants you, fuck he wants you. And it just gets worse every moment he breathes, and as he struggles to focus, rubbing her clit in circles, all he can do is imagine your pussy pulsing around him, your wetness down the ridges and veins of his cock, but you’re going to be that way with him that damn man.

Satoru ignores the tears pricking his blue eyes, fucking her harder and harder, chasing a feeling of anything other than you, other than you sitting on that goddamn man’s lap in your beautiful dress.

Your POV

You hate how you feel when you watch Satoru walk by, when you’d seen pain in his goddamn gaze, and for what!? It’s not as if he doesn’t have another woman he’s with, what’s this four in the short time you’ve had the unfortunate circumstance of being his ‘wife’. What did it matter you finally had some pleasure, with a man who cherishes you, who plays you so well.

You turn back to Nanami, eyes fluttering shut as he crooks his fingers up, and you’re so close you hold back, gasping, thighs tightening around his hand. “Mr. Nanami… somewhere private?”

“Of course, Darling. I got carried away.” He says softly, inhaling, pulling his hands out of you and helping you stand up. “It’s your home, Duchess. Where to?”

“My chambers, if you’re comfortable? Is it too… mad?” You ask softly, and he cups your face, bending down, his mask brushing right against yours as you both stand in the ballroom.

“Of course not, darling. You lead the way.” You take his hand, biting your lower lip nervously as you lead him through the corridors, up the winding staircases to where you must pass Satoru’s chambers to get to you own, hearing loud moans of a woman. You ignore whatever you feel, continuing to pull Nanami into your room, alone, shutting the door behind you.

You both stand there, breathless now, and your lips brush back against each other, the kiss is soft at first, tentative, then it deepens, growing more passionate and desperate with each passing second. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and you can feel the thump of his heart against your chest, echoing the rhythm of yours, his hands roaming your body.

Nanami Kento pulls back, sucking in a breath, and taking off your mask carefully, licking his glossy lips and exhaling. “You’re so beautiful, darling. I feel I’m having another dream, in my Duchess chambers.”

“Oh, Kento…” You take his mask off gently, heart racing as you feel heat washing through you, along with the alcohol spreading heat in your body.

“What does my darling want? I’m at your command.” Nanami’s handsome face looks down at you, and you take a shaky breath, sliding your hands up his strong shoulders.

“Your darling would like to see you. Please.” He steps back, and you’re eagerly helping him undress, taking off his suit jacket, then his vest and shirt, until he’s bare chested, and he’s gorgeous. You feel your tummy tighten as you look at him, so built like a statue of a god, muscles thick and sinewy under golden skin. “Oh my, Kento you’re so beautiful.”

“Me, Duchess? You.” He huskily says, pulling you against him, bending low and kissing you, as you feel his hands unlacing your corset deftly. You soon are just in your skirts, which he gently takes off with great care, leaving you in pantalets and a chemise. “Darlin, look at you.”

“I see you, Kento, I see you.” He blinks a bit, gulping audibly, before pressing you against the door of your own room, you feel the cold wood press against your back as he slips down to his knees, and you gasp as he pulls your pantalets down.

“And I see you, darling. So wet, so ready. Do you want to cum on my mouth again?” He asks, and you whimper then, nodding eagerly, clinging your hands to bare, hot shoulders.

“I want to make love, Nanami.”

“Darling…”

“You’ll make me wait? Not at my command?” You feel his chuckle against your inner thigh.

“I’ll let you go further tonight, but not just yet. Let me enjoy my time?” You nod then, embarrassed you’re so eager, as you look at his handsome face and he’s pushing your chemise, silky up your thighs, and pulling a thigh over his shoulder. “Good girl.”

Good girl!?

You can’t take it, as soon as his tongue slides up your slit, you’re screaming out, moaning so loud it’s ridiculous, you’re so ready you can’t stand it. And Nanami is staring up at you, pulling back and grinning. “Darling, your husband is next door.”

“Shit.”

“You cuss like a man.” He kisses your clit, and you struggle not to scream out again, but you fail.

“He doesn’t care.”

“Mmm, let’s be a little quiet, wild girl.” You nod then, and he’s drinking you up now, your wetness pouring into his hot mouth, and your eyes roll back, toes curling in those glittery heels you still have on, rolling your hips for more. Nanami eagerly licks and sucks your little clit into his mouth, and you struggle not to scream, but fuck it feels so good.

Duke Gojo’s POV

Are you moaning in there!?

He hears you, wanton little whore that you are, he wants to be the one that makes you cum, fuck he’d make you cum so good you’d forget whatever he has done, you’d know nothing. You wouldn’t speak, if he had time with you, you wouldn’t even make those little moans, you’d be screaming.

Satoru is still pumping in and out of Lady Elaine, on her hands and knees in his bed, he’d been going at it for some time, but now he’s furious. How dare you be moaning with another man, what are you doing, and would he ever get a fucking chance to try?

How could he when he’s still inside a woman.

He’s no better than you, no he’s worse.

The tragedy of listening to you and picturing you just makes him fuck her harder, as her moans grow loud in the room, do you hear in your chambers he wonders, do you even care? Do you care about anything but surely dripping out cum down another man’s mouth, or worse?

Fuck he hates his thoughts, why are they always of you!?

Your POV

You hear Satoru’s moans as you’re pressed against the door, as Nanami is working on you, but you shove them out of your mind, what do you care, Satoru is no matter, not when you’re cumming so good. Not when you’re shattering over Nanami’s handsome face, knees so weak he has to catch you so you don’t fall as you scr4eam out your climax.

“Kento!” You cry out loudly, and Kento moans softly, pulling back, standing and kissing you deeply, and you flip him then, pressing him against the door.

“Darling?”

“My turn.” You unbuckle his leather belt, and he’s breathing heavy, thick muscled chest rising up and down as you work him, as you push down his trousers, your eyes locking on his.

“Darling…”

“I know you won’t make love to me yet, but will you let me pleasure you? Please?” You ask softly, and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes dark with lust, and he nods a bit, making you smile softly.

“Wanton girl, you’ll end me.” You giggle softly, as his pants fall away, revealing his cock, it’s huge and thick, with a reddened tip that’s leaking something white and pearly on the tip, and you bite your lip at the sight, your pussy clenching with anticipation.

“Kento… you’re so…”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, no. It’s so big.” You say, blushing yourself, stroking him hesitantly, watching him suck in a breath, clinging to you.

“Fuck, let’s have you sit, I don’t want your knees hurt?” You think of that then, of Satoru’s mistress sucking him on her knees, and it fills you with something you hate. You lead him to the bed, and sit on it, looking up at him now, hands clutching your red silk blankets.

"Show me what to do, please?"

Kento nods, his hand reaching out to guide your head. “Open your mouth, darling.” He orders softly, and you obey, earning a moan. “I’m dreaming. Okay darling, lick and suck what you can, if it’s too much, tap my thigh. Yes?”

You nod eagerly, tongue out and ready, and soon he’s guiding his tip in, and you’re taking his length in, feeling the heat and the velvet of his skin on your tongue. He groans, a sound that goes straight to your core, making you want to do more, making you want to make him feel as good as he’s made you feel.

“Fuck… darling don’t go too deep.” You pull back a bit, suction popping as you let go for a moment.

“You taste good, Kento.”

Nanami moans, bending down to kiss you for a moment, cupping your face, hands rough. “Darling you’re so perfect, fuck. We can stop here.”

“No, please. Please.” He nods then, opening your mouth with two fingers, shoving his thick cock back in you.

“Play with yourself, darling.” You look up, eyes wide, pulling back again.

“Um…”

“Oh fuck… rub it like I rub you?” You nervously slide up your chemise, finding your clit and whining out, so sensitive it twitches. “That’s it, that’s my girl.”

He shoves his cock back in, and you take more of him in, looking up at him, seeing the desire and pleasure on his handsome face, his cheeks hollowing as he’s stroking your hair now, his eyes on yours as he watches you suck him off. It’s oddly intimate, it feels so good to pleasure him you’re wet again.

Is this what that girl did to Satoru?

You hear him, Satoru is moaning again.

Your tummy clenches as you ignore it, as you focus on sucking Nanami, and your finger circling your clit, struggling to take more. “Breathe through your nose, darling.”

You follow his instruction, and your eyes water as you suck, but you keep going, because you want to please him, you want to feel him come apart in your mouth, like he’s done to you. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, stroking as you suck, and he’s bucking into your mouth, his hips jerking, as he groans.

“Darling you’re so good at this, fuck. Fuck… darling, I’m close.”

You pull back, shaky. “Can I drink you, like you do me?”

“I’m dreaming, fuck maybe I’ve died.” You giggle then, a bit breathless, still rubbing your clit, as he pulls your hair, still clad with that tiara, heavy on your head, on your heart. “You can, but if you don’t enjoy it, please tell me.”

“I am sure I will.” He’s back in your mouth, and you’re rubbing faster, until you’re cumming from your own touch, and he’s groaning, fucking your mouth, but it’s different than you saw with Satoru, he’s gentle, he’s soft, he’s caring.

Satoru…

Fuck Satoru.

“I’m cumming, darling, ah- fuck…” Nanami groans then, pulling back a bit, then your mouth is filled with thick, salty liquid. You choke a bit at first, but suck it all down, feeling his tip quivering, and he’s groaning, his handsome face contorted in pleasure, stong hands shaking. “Darling… oh my god…”

“Was it good?” You ask after a moment, coughing a bit and swiping your lips, your answer is him on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, kissing you over and over, fingering you again, with two fingers. “Kento!”

“Good!? Good? No. Perfect.”

Perfect.

Hmm.

Why does this word hurt?

“Kento… Kento!” You’re whimpering and oversensitive, as he pumps his fingers, looking down into your eyes. “Please… inside me.”

“Not yet, but soon. I promise. I want you to be sure.” You sigh, shakily nodding, and he’s fingering you harder, scissoring in and out until you’re screaming out, as he’s kissing you, drinking your every cry, until you’ve soaked him. Soon he’s easing out, and his breaths are labored as he caresses your cheek. “Jesus, you’re too good for this Earth.”

“I’m not, I absolutely just sinned so many sins.” He laughs, his sexy little laugh, his handsome grin that fills you with warmth.

“Too angelic looking to be a real sinner.”

“Indeed, Sir!”

Soon you’re in your night shift, and Nanami is back dressed, and you’re seeing him out, kissing him over and over. “I’ll dream of you until we meet again.”

“As will I, Kento.” You say softly, and he is hugging you so tightly, as you walk out into the cold halls, and Kento bows to you, as he walks away, a distant shadowy figure. You take several breaths, tasting him still on your tongue, leaning your back against the hallway walls, struggling to come to.

You’re buzzed, you’d sucked a man, you’d wanted to go even further… what were you doing?

Was it the right thing?

You enjoyed it so much, but something gnaws at you, as the door to Satoru’s room opens, and he steps out, sweaty and shirtless. You stand there, still, as his eyes meet yours in the night. You both just stand there, staring at each other, and you expect him to call you a whore, to say his nasty fucking words. But he doesn’t, he walks to you, he presses you into that wall, leaning over you.

You just look up at him, eyes wide, and his blue eyes torturously analyze you, emotions making them glossy, as he then punches that wall next to you, chest shaking as he lets out a shaky breath. And you touch his bare chest, nails digging in, as you stare up at him, tears pricking your eyes, as you know what he’s done, and what you have done.

Both of you shouldn’t care.

What’s it matter?

Why can’t you breathe around him!?

“Did you have a good night, Duke?” You whisper, earning his broken laugh, as he leans down and cups your face, tears on his long white lashes.

“Did you, Duchess?” He asks, so soft it’s like it’s not his voice, and you just look away, unable to face those brilliant, insane blue eyes.

“Good night, Duke.” You say then, turning, and opening your door knob, for him to grab you by the waist, shoving you against him, and your head leans back, as you eagerly rock against him. You hate it, your reaction, as he’s sobbing against your ear, as you’re sobbing against the cold night air.

“Good night?” He whispers brokenly, and you just nod, shoulders shaking. “Good night… good night!?” He’s pulling your hair, as he’s pressing you so hard against him you can’t fucking breathe, you are so consumed by him, you’d bend over right here and have him fuck into you.

What’s wrong with you!?

You can never!

“Yes… um… is something…”

“Wrong? Everything’s fucking wrong. I can only imagine licking your perfect cunt as I’m fucking her. I can’t get you out of my goddamn head.” He curses, sliding your chemise up and you’re trembling, thighs shaking. “Please just let me taste you, please… just once. Please.”

At his begging, at his insane desire, you just nod then, spreading your thighs, this is insane, it’s insane… “Taste me, then.”

“Fuck.” He’s swirling his fingers along your clit, and you damn near cum from that, throbbing so hard it hurts, as Satoru Gojo’s fingers shove up into you, and all you can imagine is his cock, and you’re crying out, trembling, as he moans. “Fuck, fuck I hate you.”

“I h-hate you too. I do. Fuck!” You’re grinding your cunt on his hand, and he’s so hard against you back, as he’s pulling his fingers out then, and you bend over, gasping as you turn, watching him suck you off his fingers, closing his pretty eyes, white lashes fluttering.

“Goddammit. Goddammit.” He curses, shoving you against the wall now, and you look up at him in shock. “Fuck you, Duchess.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, Satoru!” He pauses then.

“Satoru?”

“Duke. Duke Gojo. Fuck you.” You shove more and more, and he moans, resting his head on yours before he disappears into his room, and you’re left in shock, in confusion, in disgust.

What is this?

Who is he!?

Who are you.

Enjoy the shitshow, dear Masochistic readers.

Part 6 here

[milkiisss]

For those that aren’t here from my twitter, I’m planning on posting Bridgerton Lads AU Drabbles for each of the Li’s!!

Caleb’s is done and should be posted at some point today, but I thought it would be worth mentioning that if they get popular enough, I plan on making Spicy Pt. 2’s for all of them!! Below are the tropes you can expect for each Li.

- Caleb; Childhood Friends to Lovers (Posted 02/24)

- Rafayel; Fake Dating/Matchmaker gone wrong

- Zayne; Running from a scandal (will most likely be a bit spicy in pt. 1 regardless)

- Sylus; Marriage of Convenience

- Xavier; The Prince and the “Commoner”

Stay tuned!!! 🤭🤭 You can follow my twitter for updates!

[jestersjitters]

Mini Bridgerton au

Sanji would be Anthony, looking for the Diamond of the season to take her as his wife.

Meanwhile, Zoro comes from abroad with his father and sister to find a husband for Perona, (Mihawk's heritage is in danger after his "divorce" with Shanks and they need to join another family as soon as possible).

This is not meant to be a serious au, I was just watching bridgerton and it gave me a laugh to imagine him as a Zosan. (And I have thought who the other characters will be, except for Franky, Brook and Jimbe)

Sanji vendría a ser Anthony, buscando al Diamante de la temporada para tenerla como esposa.

Mientras tanto, Zoro viene del extranjero con su padre y hermana para buscarle marido a Perona, (el patrimonio de Mihawk peligra después de su "divorcio" con Shanks y necesitan unirse a otra familia cuanto antes)

Esto no busca ser un au serio, solo estaba viendo bridgerton y me dio risa imaginarlo como un Zosan. (Y tengo pensado quiénes serán los demás personajes, excepto por Franky, Brook y Jimbe)

Open Comissions Comics

Open commissions fanart

[elephantlovemedleys]

And then his heart skipped a beat, because all of a sudden everything felt right.

He loved her. He didn't know how it had happened, only that it was true.

[heedeungism]

synopsis: riki knows you better than anyone else. includes: bridgerton au (barely), a little women reference, confessions of love, pre-marital kissing (the scandal!), gross old men, arranged marriage notes: @hoes4hoseok i hope you enjoy my timothee chalamification of riki, this one's for you girl🩷

there’s a thin line between love and friendship. your mother says she was friends with your father before she ever learned to love him, never in the way the poets rave, but in a way that made her life easier. in her words, “a love match is as rare as a diamond, dear. you shouldn’t hold out hope of one should it ruin your debut.”

it’s a shame, you think, that you can love someone so deeply and yet there’s no guarantee they’ll share the sentiment, nor a chance to see if what you feel is dwindling infatuation or true unyielding devotion. it’s improper to explore your options, greedy to want more than expected, and childish to yearn for love. yet you do.

your debut season approaches fast, and with it, the heavy promise of your hand to baron mortimer weighs your heart down like an anchor keeping you from daydreaming of the things you had read and researched about love.  he’s wealthy, titled, and twice your age. he would give your family a more comfortable life, save you from the shame of becoming a spinster if you do not find another suitable match your first season, and seems to be respectable enough despite his intent to marry you, a soon-to-be debutante he set his eyes upon years ago. it’s unnerving, but your mother speaks of him without disdain, so you keep your anxieties about his character at bay.

unfortunately, your dearest friend plagues your mind just so. riki’s return from oxford approaches with the same swiftness as your debut. you dread the idea of no longer having the liberty to write to him or paint him when he’s a willing muse, as it would be improper to do so while promised to another. for that reason you have yet to write to him since your last letter a week ago, where in it you bid him the gentlest farewell you could to help ease the ache in your heart.

you aren’t sure if he even received it, as he has not written back, but you suppose it’s for the best.

at least you believe that until he’s before you with unkempt hair and a haunted look in his tormented gaze. 

“tell me it is not true.” he says, chest rising and falling as if he had run from oxford to mayfair on foot, though perhaps he had been traveling by carriage since he received the letter clutched between his fingers. “tell me you are not marrying that man.”

you are unsure of how to respond, your lips parting hut no words leaving them. you turn toward your ladies maid, who blinks wildly as she receives the message, placing your hairpin down and hastening out of the room past the viscount’s son. the door clicks and yet his gaze remains unyielding, you finally speak, “you are back early, mr nishimura.”

riki had always been exceedingly easy to read, only to you, he used to pout. this moment is no different, and you can see how hard it is for him to wrap his head around his title leaving your lips instead of his name, but he recovers enough to repeat himself, “tell me.”

you place a hand on your stomach, squeezed by a corset that you suspect is why you can’t seem to catch your breath, “i will not lie to you.”

his brows furrow, his teeth peeking from his plump lips as they part in disgust and frustration, “he is old.”

“yes, i am aware of lord mortimer’s age.” you say with a similar frustration on your tongue that is heavily withheld by your propriety, “my mother saw it pertinent i educate myself before our marriage.”

“you cannot marry him.” riki says, and the frustration in your blood blooms into something more, something worse.

“that is not your decision to make.” you state, mindlessly flattening invisible wrinkles in your dress as he takes a step closer, only for you to fortify the distance with one of your own in the same direction, “not any more than it is mine.”

“you…” he loses his words as his hand clenches and releases at his side like he longs to reach for you, “you do not want this.”

“what i want does not matter to my parents anymore than it should to you,” you state, attempting to tuck the loose strand of hair that your ladies maid hadn’t the time to fit into your updo behind your ear, only for it to fall right back into place against your cheekbone, “lord mortimer is wealthy, he will give me a comfortable life.”

“do you not deserve a happy one?” riki asks, and you feel the cracks in your chest widen. instinctively, you fight the tremble of your chin and the tug in your brow as tears attempt to fit through the open crevice of your act.

“no, don’t—“ you shake your eyes, turning away from him as your arms drop to your sides, “don’t do that. i have accepted my future, i do not need you planting doubts in my mind.”

“what use would planting them do when i can see they’ve already taken root far before i arrived here?” you overlook the step he takes, nor how large his stride is. he only takes one yet it makes all the difference, as he feels infinitely closer than before. just as you feared he would.

“stop it.” you say, masked inside a heavy exhale, yet a plea all the same. “you should be visiting with your sisters, i’m sure they missed you dearly—“

“don’t marry him.” he says, and you finally look at him.

“what?” you ask despite knowing exactly what he said, you want to hear him say it again to make sure it wasn’t in your head.

he shakes his head, taking another step closer, “don’t marry him.”

“you…” he doesn't have to explain what he means, your childish hopes of love that you’d hidden so deep in your conscience do so for him. your heart sings as his eyes flick between your own and then down the bridge of your nose and lower, but your mind refuses to bend as your heart does. you shake your head, shuffling back to salvage whatever distance you can, “no.”

“yes.” he responds in kind, dropping the letter and closing the distance between the two of you to grab your hands. his next words are paired with the act of him flattening your palm against his chest, keeping it there while he grasps the other in his much larger hand, “you can’t marry him.”

“you are being cruel.” you try to pull away, but his grip is firm and you know that if you meet his gaze you won’t be able to fight it anymore.

there’s a sickening silence as his thumb draws shapes on the back of your hand, you can feel his heartbeat. it’s strong, and its pace only feeds your own heart wanton promises of devotion you had only ever been told were too rare to expect in your lifetime, “tell me you do not want me.”

the suddenness of his demand lowers your guard for just long enough for your heart to find the upper ground and force your eyes into his sights, he repeats himself, “tell me you do not want me and i will leave you to marry lord mortimer.” his words are punctuated by the hand not holding yours to his heart grasping the side of your jaw, his thumb moving against your warmed cheek, “tell me and i will never speak to you again, just as you requested in your letter. you will never have to see me and i won’t—“

“i don’t want that.” the words leave your lips without warning, but it’s too late to take them back by the time they reach his ears. you shake your head, “i don’t—i don’t want to marry, i want to paint and read and—“

he listens as your supposed acceptance crumbles beneath his gaze, chest heaving under your palm. “—i want to do all of those things with you, i do. the baron has my parents under his wretched thumb and i cannot bear it, i cannot—“ a sharp inhale rakes your body, a mix of a sob and a desperate but fruitless attempt to regain composure, “i don’t want you to go away, i want you to stay here with me and—“

his lips meet yours with a firmness that sets your heart aflame, and when he pulls away just enough to look at you your heart finally lands the finishing blow in its fight against your mind. your hand lingers on his chest as the one he uses to keep it there moves to mirror its counterpart on the other side of your jaw.

you barely glance down at his lips before they’re on yours again, a welcome experience that you hope you can experience over and over until you’re utterly familiar, but now you're not sure how to reciprocate. the novels you’ve read did little to educate you on the experience, much less prepare you for it to occur with the boy you’d found yourself longing for through the years. 

the gasp you let out when his hand moves from your jaw to your waist to tug you closer is silenced by his lips attaching themselves to yours like he’d spent a lifetime wishing to taste you.

he pulls away, yet he doesn't seem keen on keeping the distance, his nose brushing yours as he promises, “i will speak to your parents—”

the mention of them has your guts turning painfully enough to rip you away from him, nausea hitting you like a bullet through your throat, “i should not have done that.”

“i kissed you—“ his statement does little to quell your sickness, and the wavering grate in your voice as you interrupt him is telling of that. “that changes nothing.” your fingers move to your hair, the pin keeping it in place falling to the floor as you tug, “i am ruined. forget marrying the baron, i cannot marry anyone.”

“was i not clear?” he asks, and when you look at him with frustrated reluctance he continues, “should i gut myself? place my heart in your hands to have you understand how you haunt me?”

“we cannot marry.” you say, bottom lip trembling, “i will not be a consequence of your actions. it is not your duty to marry me when i am the only one ruined.”

riki’s jaw shifts as if your words brought him only fury, “i do not care for duty, i care for you.” 

“you are young, riki. you are not expected to marry for at least—“

“i want to.” he states firmly, “you said you wanted me to stay, so i am staying. i will dance with you at balls. i will send flowers and call on you every morning. i will promenade alongside you for as long as it takes. i…”

he moves towards you, thumbs brushing away the tears under your eyes as his forehead meets yours, “i am yours, do with me what you will.”

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[whiterosesforher]

𓍼 ⋮ A LOVE TO LAST ( L.HS )

𝒾 : may I present to you dearest reader, ethan bridgerton, the gentle viscount, and your childhood best friend. 【 ˚⊱☁️⊰˚ 】

♯ 𝓱𝓮𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 | 𝓌 : 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢.

disclaimer ‣ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🩷 this is a fanfiction inspired by the backstory of violet and edmund originally from the bridgerton series book and show. most elements are purposely altered. ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

❤︎ ... lady whistledown ; dearest readers, i hope you do indulge in this meaningful love story. ۶ৎ / 𝓌𝒸 ┈ • ┈ 14.2k💗

( ‧˚꒰🦪꒱༘⋆ ) write to lady whistledown ✒️៹

You sit in the drawing room, the faint hum of your mother’s words. It is late in the afternoon, and sunlight pours in through the tall windows, casting golden streaks over the pale blue wallpaper.

Your hands rest on your lap, clasped tightly, though you feel restless. You’ve been here for an hour, enduring yet another lecture from your mother about duty and expectations.

You are now 17 and just had your debut into the marriage mart, yet you are considered unlucky for you don't have much of suitors, like a wallflower hanging around the edges of the ballroom without a dance partner.

You are the only child to a baron and baroness, it is not surprising for you that your mother is trying hard to secure you a beneficial match.

��Violet,” she begins, her voice sharp, “you must remember that you are not just any young woman. You are a Ledger. Your actions reflect upon this family.”

You nod, though your thoughts wander. The heavy air of the room makes you yearn for the garden outside, where the roses are blooming and the scent of fresh earth and sunshine feels far more welcoming than the constraints of these walls.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your mother’s voice snaps you back to the present.

“Of course, Mother,” you reply, offering a polite smile. It’s a practiced expression, one you wear often when her sharp words cut into you.

Her eyes narrow, but before she can continue, the door opens, and the tension in the room shifts. Your father steps in, his presence filling the space with warmth.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks, his tone light, though he’s fully aware of what’s happening.

“Not at all,” you answer quickly, relief washing over you.

Your mother sighs, rising from her seat. “You spoil her, you know,” she tells your father as she moves toward the door. “She must learn what is expected of her if she is to find a suitable match.”

As soon as the door closes behind her, your father smiles at you, his shoulders relaxing. “Don’t let her bother you too much, beauty,” he says, crossing the room to sit beside you.

“I try not to,” you admit, leaning slightly toward him. "But it seems my every move is scrutinized."

You paused for a moment, deep in thought before continuing with a sincere tone as you look up at your father, “I want to marry someone I truly love, Daddy. Not out of duty.”

“That’s because your mother worries for you in her own way,” he says, though you can tell even he doesn’t fully believe it. “But Beauty, if a marriage from true love is what you want, then that you shall get. Hold on to that.”

His words stay with you as the days pass. Your mother continues her efforts to mold you into the perfect young lady with less laughter, fewer whims, more poise. But your father’s encouragement reminds you of what you truly want.

It’s in the evenings, during the rare moments of quiet, when you feel most at peace. You often escape to the garden, where the scent of heather lingers in the air. You close your eyes and imagine a future that feels far away, one that is filled with love, laughter, and freedom.

But reality always has a way of pulling you back. Balls and promenading to attract suitors becomes a routine, each one blurring into the next. The men of the ton always speak of their estates, their wealth, their ambitions, but none of them speak to your heart.

Until one evening, when a letter sent to your father arrives, mentioning the death of an old friend reported by his own son that is now a Viscount, a name mentioned in passing sparks curiosity, and it sounds oddly familiar to you. Ethan Bridgerton. “Oh heavens! Send our sincerest condolences to Ethan! A Viscount after his father, a family friend,” your mother says with approval, her lips curling into a satisfied smile.

“A Bridgerton is a fine match,” she tells you. "They are a family of impeccable standing and tremendous wealth.

But you barely listen, still thinking of how familiar that name is, maybe because he's a family friend. A strange sensation stirs within you, for a reason you can't figure out.

And then it hit you, the last name Bridgerton, a family that is a close old friend to yours, the boy who irritated you to the ends of the earth when you were 8. Oh how you clearly remember the day you first met that wretched young man. You hate him, but you do feel bad for him, for the death of his father who was close to you and your family.

The Ledgers' country estate was abuzz with excitement that morning. The Bridgertons were visiting. A long-standing family friendship it is but these visits are quite rare.

You stood at the edge of the garden, your small fingers deftly moving as you arranged the handpicked flowers into the vase. It is the learning task your governess made you do today. A peaceful breeze carried the scent of the nearby lavender bushes, and the muffled sounds of conversation from the drawing room floated out through the open windows.

“Violet, dear, come meet our guests!” Your mother’s cheerful call interrupted your concentration. You left your vase reluctantly and smoothed out your dress before making your way back toward the house.

Inside the grand entryway, the adults had already gathered. Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton stood near the fireplace, their warmth filling the room as they exchanged pleasantries with your parents. Beside them were their children, a crowd of faces, some shy, some openly curious.

“Lord and Lady Ledger, thank you for having us,” Viscountess Bridgerton said, her voice carrying a note of genuine affection. She gestured to the group of children around her. “And these, as you know, are our children. Billie, Ethan, George, and Hugo.”

Ethan. You noticed him immediately, a boy around your age, his dark hair slightly unruly and his grin mischievous, even as he gave a polite bow. His eyes darted around the room, restless and alive.

“Go on, children,” The Viscount Bridgerton urged. “Take some time to explore while we talk.”

With a collective cheer, the Bridgerton boys were off, their laughter echoing down the hallways as they raced through the house while the eldest sister remained. You hesitated, lingering near the adults, but your mother gave you a gentle nudge.

“Go on, Violet. You may also go play.”

Taking your mother’s advice, you returned to the garden, eager to enjoy the quiet once more instead of playing with them. Settling back into your spot beneath the shade of a willow tree, you resumed your flower arranging. The sunlight danced across your hands as you worked, content in the solitude.

That peace didn’t last.

As the sun climbed higher, you decided to fetch a drink from the house. Gathering your things, you made your way back toward the garden entrance. But as you stepped beneath the archway leading inside, a strange creaking sound caught your attention.

You barely had time to glance upward before it happened.

A cascade of white powder—soft and choking—poured down on you, coating your hair, your dress, and every inch of exposed skin. It took you a moment to realize what it was, well it was flour. You froze in shock, the vase you're hugging falling from your arms.

Laughter erupted above you. You craned your neck to see the source of the chaos, and there they were, the Bridgerton boys leaning over the balcony. Leading the charge was none other than Ethan, his grin wider than ever, his hands gripping the now empty bucket.

“Ethan Bridgerton!” you shouted, your little voice sharp enough to rival your mother’s scolding tone.

The laughter only grew louder. Ethan’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned on the railing. “I think you wear white rather well, Miss Ledger,” he teased, his tone mockingly polite.

Your cheeks burned with indignation, though it was hard to tell if it was from embarrassment or fury. “You are absolutely insufferable!” you declared, shaking the flour from your hair as best as you could.

Ethan cupped his hands around his mouth and called down, “We’ll call it even if you come up here and try it on one of us!”

The audacity of him! You picked up a small stone and was about to throw it upwards to him but your Governess caught you in time and stopped you, lecturing you softly.

You stormed back toward the house, stomping your small feet, determined to find your mother and father and report this appalling behavior while your Governess followed behind, calling out to you while you ignored her.

Your brow furrowed, lips tightening into an unbidden sneer at the remembrance of the memory. You could still hear cackling of the Bridgerton boys as you stood there, cheeks burning, fists clenched. How utterly insufferable he had been.

“Violet, are you quite finished daydreaming?” Your mother’s voice snapped you out of your reverie. She swept into the room with the grace of a swan, her brow slightly pinched in disapproval. “You’ll have no time for idle thoughts this afternoon. There’s far too much to do before tonight’s ball.”

Ah, another ball. You sat up straighter, smoothing your skirts as if that would erase the petulant expression that had betrayed your thoughts only moments before.

“Yes, Mother,” you replied demurely, though you felt a pang of irritation at the constant reminders of your duty.

Your mother was already issuing orders to the servants bustling through the house. One carried a trunk of shimmering gowns to your room; another balanced a tray of jewelled hairpins and satin gloves. “Come now, Violet, let us get you ready,” she urged, her tone brisk but expectant.

You followed her upstairs to your chambers, where your maid had begun laying out a pale blue gown adorned with delicate silver thread. The fabric shimmered like starlight as it caught the late afternoon sun streaming through the window. “This will suit you perfectly, miss,” your maid said, smoothing the gown with practiced hands.

The preparations began in earnest. First, the gown, layers upon layers of skirts, petticoats, and corsets. You stood patiently as your maid and another servant laced the stays tightly, drawing your waist into the fashionable silhouette of the time.

“Breathe, Violet,” your mother instructed coolly, though the tug of the laces made it nearly impossible. You did as you were told, though you swore under your breath as the final knot was secured.

Next came the hair. You sat still as your maid worked swiftly, brushing, curling, and pinning each strand into place. Your hair was swept high, adorned with small pearls and a few artful curls left to frame your face. The faint scent of rosewater clung to the air as she finished, a gentle spritz ensuring everything stayed in place for the night ahead.

When it came time to choose your accessories, your mother’s discerning eye moved over the options laid before you. “Not the sapphires,” she said, waving them away. “They’re too heavy for such a delicate gown. The diamonds will do.”

You allowed her to clasp the glittering necklace around your neck, the cool weight of it settling on your skin. A matching bracelet and pair of earrings followed, their brilliance almost blinding in the late afternoon light.

Finally, your gloves were pulled on—soft, white silk that reached just past your elbows. You flexed your fingers to test their fit, feeling a sense of finality as the preparations came to an end.

Your mother gave you a once-over, her critical gaze softening into approval. “You’ll be the most beautiful girl at the ball,” she said.

You caught your reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at you looked polished, elegant, every bit the young lady society demanded her to be. And yet, there was still a flicker of unease.

Tonight is another night of dipping your toes onto the marriage mart, waiting for offers of dances from gentlemen that could turn into suitors if luck is on your side.

The grand ballroom was a symphony of color and light, the hum of lively conversation mingling with the delicate strains of the orchestra. You arrived with your parents, your mother adjusting the hem of your gown as you walked through the crowded entrance.

The ton was out in full force tonight with their glistening jewels, perfectly coiffed hair, and practiced smiles everywhere you looked. Your father exchanged pleasantries with the hosts, and your mother ushered you forward with a whispered reminder “Stand tall and do not turn down any gentleman who approaches.”

You offered polite smiles and nods to those who greeted you, but inside, the familiar feeling of unease settled in your chest. Balls like these were meant to dazzle, to enchant, to connect young ladies like yourself with eligible gentlemen.

But for you, they had always been the same, just a long night of standing alone, sipping lemonade, and looking like as if you're guarding the table, while the rest of the ton danced.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself exactly where you had expected to be, standing by the refreshments table, watching the couples glide across the polished floor with sad envious gaze.

You held a glass of lemonade, its cold condensation dampening your gloved fingers, and sipped it quietly. Your dance card remained empty even after some time of being in the party.

The music swirled around you, a beautiful tune meant for twirling skirts and clasped hands, but to you, it only underscored your role as a wallflower.

You sighed, watching a young lady laugh brightly as her partner spun her in an elegant arc. It wasn’t exactly envy—no, more like a quiet resignation. You weren’t the kind of girl who turned heads or inspired dashing gentlemen to ask for a dance. You were the quiet one, the one who faded into the background.

The air inside the ballroom began to feel stifling, and you longed for a moment of reprieve. Deciding you’d had enough of being a wallflower, you maneuvered through the bustling crowd, clutching your lemonade as you made your way toward the terrace. The promise of fresh air was enough to spur you on.

But as you rounded a corner, your path abruptly collided with someone else’s. Your glass tipped in your hand, its contents spilling forward in a sticky cascade.

“Oh no!” you gasped, stepping back in shock. The man before you, dressed in an immaculate white suit, now bore a large, unmistakable stain across his chest.

He blinked down at himself, then at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Well,” he said lightly, “I suppose I’ve been baptized using a lemonade.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you immediately fumbled for your handkerchief. “I am so, so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t mean to—oh, let me—” You reached forward, your hands trembling as you dabbed uselessly at the fabric of his jacket.

“Please,” he said, his voice gentle as he caught your wrist. “It’s quite alright. No harm done.”

You stilled under his touch, your eyes finally lifting to meet his. Dark brown eyes stared back at you, warm and kind, with a spark of humor that made your heart skip. His face was striking, with sharp features softened by the faintest hint of a smile.

“I still feel dreadful about it,” you murmured, withdrawing your hand but keeping your gaze on his. “You must think me terribly clumsy.”

“Not at all,” he said, stepping back slightly to ease the tension. “I think it’s one of the more memorable introductions I’ve had this evening. If I'm being honest, I've grown tired of the flirty introductions of single ladies tonight encouraged by their eager mamas.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “Introductions?”

He gave a small bow, his grin widening. “Ethan Bridgerton, at your service.”

The name struck you like a bell, and for a moment, the ballroom seemed to blur around you. Memories of a boy holding a bucket of flour, laughter echoing from a high balcony, rushed back to you.

“You,” you said, narrowing your eyes slightly as recognition dawned. “You’re the one who—”

“Dumped flour on your head?” he finished for you, his grin now bordering on boyish mischief. “I do believe that was me. Though, in my defense, it was rather funny.”

Despite your embarrassment, a small laugh escaped you. “I’m not sure I’d agree with that.”

“Well, then,” he said, gesturing to his stained jacket, “I suppose this makes us even. I dumped flour on you, you dumped lemonade on me.”

You tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Perhaps.”

You suddenly realized, with a slight jolt of embarrassment, that you hadn’t even introduced yourself properly yet. Straightening your posture and clasping your hands lightly in front of you, you gave a polite, practiced bow.

“Violet Ledger,” you said, your voice soft but clear. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Viscount Bridgerton.”

Ethan inclined his head with a smile, but before he could respond, the moment between you was abruptly interrupted. A group of young ladies, unmarried and eager, with their mamas trailing behind them had suddenly swept into the scene like a wave. Their eyes sparkled as they took in the handsome Viscount, his presence drawing attention like a moth to a flame.

“Viscount Bridgerton! What a surprise to see you here tonight,” one of the young women gushed, a dazzling smile lighting her face.

Another chimed in, “We didn’t expect to see you so soon after your family’s return to London. How delightful!”

The women surrounded him, their voices a symphony of pleasantries and gentle competition. You stood off to the side, momentarily forgotten, your heart sinking as the reality of your position settled in again. This was what always happened, wasn’t it? Ladies like them, with their bright smiles and effortless charm, were exactly the kind of women gentlemen like Ethan Bridgerton were drawn to.

Ethan, however, didn’t seem particularly charmed by the sudden onslaught. His smile, while polite, no longer reached his eyes. He glanced at you for a brief moment, as if searching for something. Then, in a voice just loud enough for you to hear, he leaned slightly toward you and murmured, “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but before you could respond, he had already begun to step away. He offered the ladies a gracious bow and a few kind words of parting. “Ladies, you’ll have to forgive me. I find myself quite parched after the journey here.”

The mamas behind the girls exchanged a flurry of glances as they urged their daughters to follow him, but the group hesitated just long enough to allow Ethan and you to slip away.

He gestured toward a side door leading out onto the terrace. You followed, your heart pounding in your chest, unsure whether it was from the attention you’d just received or the audacity of his actions. The low murmur of the crowd faded behind you as the cool night air embraced you both, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the ballroom.

As the door closed behind you, Ethan turned to face you with a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Well,” he said, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his jacket, “I daresay I haven’t made an escape that dramatic since my childhood days.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “I think you may have just caused a minor scandal in there.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” he replied, his tone light and amused. “But I assure you, Miss Ledger, it was entirely worth it.”

The two of you stood side by side on the terrace, gazing out over the moonlit gardens in a peaceful, companionable silence. The cool night air was a relief from the overwhelming noise of the ballroom, and for a moment, neither of you felt the need to fill the quiet.

Finally, you gathered your thoughts and spoke, your voice soft and tentative. “Viscount Bridgerton—”

He turned to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he interrupted. “Ethan.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“Call me Ethan,” he repeated, his tone warm and easy.

For a moment, you hesitated, glancing at him uncertainly. But his expression was earnest, and you found yourself nodding. “Very well... Ethan.”

The name felt foreign on your tongue, but also strangely natural, as though it was meant to be spoken in this moment. You adjusted your gloves, casting your gaze down briefly before meeting his eyes once more.

“I wanted to offer my condolences,” you said softly, your tone sincere. “For your father. My family received the news in a letter this morning. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Ethan’s expression faltered, the light in his eyes dimming just slightly. He nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint attempt at a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “It’s been... a difficult adjustment, but I suppose it’s to be expected. My father was a great man. Filling his shoes is no small task.”

You nodded solemnly, not entirely sure what to say. “It must have been hard to inherit the title so suddenly.”

“It was,” he admitted, his gaze drifting back toward the gardens. “But as the eldest son, it was always expected of me. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

The weight in his voice was unmistakable, and for a brief moment, you glimpsed the burden he carried—one that went far beyond the responsibilities of being a viscount. You wanted to offer some kind of comfort, but words felt insufficient.

So instead, you reached out hesitantly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Unruly for a lady who's all alone with a man, but you couldn't care less. He looked at you then, and the sadness in his expression softened into something quieter, something more grateful.

“Thank you,” he said again, his voice low. “Truly.”

You offered him a small smile, hoping it conveyed everything you couldn’t put into words.

Ever since then, you were never able to get rid of the man. A beautiful friendship blooming between the two of you.

Ethan had been nearby, escorting a dance partner to her seat. As she departed, he turned to you, his smile playful.

“Miss Ledger, are you always this determined to blend in with the curtains?” he teased, glancing at the floral drapes behind you.

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned, before you chuckled softly. “It’s called being observant, Viscount Bridgerton. You should try it some time, I bet it would help in making you wiser.”

“Ah, but you see,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes bright with amusement. “The observant ones always have the most to say. They simply haven’t been asked yet.”

You laughed lightly, surprised at his wit. “And what would you like me to say then, my lord?”

His grin widened. “That you’ll grant me the honor of this next dance, of course.”

The following week, your paths crossed again during a morning promenade in the park. Ethan had joined you unexpectedly, claiming he needed a distraction from the paperwork piling up on his desk.

As you walked along the gravel paths, he pointed out the ducks waddling near the pond, remarking on how they seemed far more organized than the members of Parliament.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You truly have a talent for finding humor in the most mundane things, Ethan.”

“And you,” he replied, his tone softer, “have a talent for making even the dullest promenades feel like a grand adventure.”

The morning sun casts a golden glow across the stables as you made your way toward your horse, the light filtering through the wooden beams and glinting off the rows of neatly arranged saddles.

Ethan was already there, his sleeves rolled up and his jacket slung casually over a nearby post. He greeted you with a bright grin, one that always seemed to make your heart beat just a little faster.

“You’re late,” he teased, his tone warm and familiar. “I was beginning to think you’d left me to ride alone.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “I’m not late; you’re just too early. Honestly, don’t you have anything better to do than loiter in the stables?”

“Nothing better than helping my favorite partner in crime prepare for a ride,” he quipped, grabbing the saddle and hoisting it effortlessly onto your horse’s back.

You chuckled, though the flutter in your chest was impossible to ignore. He moved with an ease that spoke of years of riding, his hands deft as he adjusted the straps and tightened the girth. Watching him like this, so at home and so...him, made you forget for a moment how much he’d come to mean to you.

As you worked together, the conversation turned light and aimless, a pleasant back-and-forth of teasing and shared stories. But then, as he led your horse out into the sunlight, the topic shifted.

“So,” Ethan began, his tone casual as he patted the horse’s neck, “have you noticed how everyone seems to assume we’re something we’re not?” He laughed, the sound soft and carefree. “It’s ridiculous, really. Can you imagine? You and me?”

Your heart sank, the words hitting you like a cold gust of wind. You forced a laugh to match his, hoping it didn’t sound as hollow as it felt. “Ridiculous,” you echoed, though your voice faltered ever so slightly.

Ethan didn’t seem to notice. He was already climbing onto his horse, the sun catching the golden strands of his hair as he settled into the saddle. “They’ll talk about anything, won’t they? It’s absurd. You’re my closest friend, Violet. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.”

Your grip tightened around the reins of your horse as you climbed into the saddle, your fingers trembling slightly. His words replayed in your mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Closest friend. Nothing more.

You smiled anyway, because what else could you do? “Yes, absurd indeed,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced over at you, his expression soft and unassuming. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” you said quickly, too quickly. You tugged on the reins, urging your horse forward. “Come on, let’s see if you can keep up with me for once.”

Ethan grinned, the same easy smile that always lit up his face. “You’re on.”

And just like that, the moment passed, but as the wind rushes and the landscape blurs around you, the ache in your chest remained, showing you the reality of how you expected something more from nothing.

At another ball, you found yourself at the edge of the dance floor again, but this time, Ethan’s gaze found yours across the room. He was engaged in a conversation with a group of gentlemen, yet his attention seemed to waver as he glanced your way.

You have been sneakily avoiding him after that day, always finding an excuse to be busy just so you could turn his invitations down. You did what you had to do. You had already fallen deep for the Viscount, and he's nowhere near reciprocating your feelings. He made that clear.

The strings of the orchestra swelled, and all of a sudden, someone swept you to the dancefloor, and you found yourself in Ethan’s arms once again, gliding across. His touch was gentle, his movements effortless as he led you through the steps of the waltz.

“You’re avoiding me,” he remarked, his voice low and just for you.

You glanced up at him, searching his face. “Am I?”

He nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. “Do you find my presence disturbing now?”

“I suppose I do,” you lied, feeling the warmth of his hand resting lightly on your waist. You do not want to tell him the real reason.

As the music continued, you felt a shift in the air between you, something unspoken yet palpable. Then, as the dance neared its end, he leaned in ever so slightly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Violet,” he murmured, his tone both hesitant and sincere, “I think I feel something more for you.”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond, the music reached its crescendo, and the dance ended. The partners switched, and suddenly, Ethan was gone, replaced by another gentleman.

You moved through the motions of the next dance, your mind racing and your heart pounding. The moment the music ceased, you turned, scanning the crowd for Ethan’s familiar figure.

He was walking away, his tall frame weaving through the throngs of guests. You quickly stepped forward, attempting to follow him, but the sea of people seemed to conspire against you.

“Miss Ledger, how lovely to see you,” someone greeted, blocking your path.

You forced a polite smile and nodded, excusing yourself as quickly as you could. But by the time you reached the edge of the ballroom, Ethan was nowhere to be seen.

Sighing, you stood still for a moment, the crowd swirling around you. The evening’s events replayed in your mind, leaving you with a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty.

Where had he gone? And why had he chosen that moment to reveal his feelings?

The morning light streamed through the windows of the drawing room as you carefully played a simple melody on the piano, the gentle notes filling the air. Your mother, Baroness Vivian Ledger, stood behind you, silent but watchful. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment before she sighed deeply, breaking the quiet.

“Violet,” she began, her tone calm but firm. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Viscount Bridgerton?”

You froze for a moment, your fingers hovering over the keys. Turning to face her, you blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, Mother?”

She folded her arms, her expression unwavering. “You’ve been promenading together, dancing at countless balls, and I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Do not play coy with me, Violet. Why hasn’t he called on you yet?”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you quickly turned back to the piano, your hands fidgeting with the keys. “Why would he call on me?” you muttered, attempting to downplay the fluttering in your chest. “We’re just friends.”

Your mother let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “Just friends? Don’t be ridiculous, a gentleman doesn’t spend that much time with a lady, nor look at her the way he looks at you, if he only sees her as a friend.”

Before you could respond, the doors to the drawing room creaked open, and a servant stepped in, bowing slightly. “Miss Violet Ledger, you have a caller.”

Your heart leapt to your throat as two footmen entered carrying extravagant bouquets of flowers, bright colors with delicate arrangements. They placed them carefully on the table. It was heathers, your favorite flower, filling the room with their sweet fragrance.

And then he appeared. Ethan Bridgerton stepped into the room, impeccably dressed and wearing his usual polite smile. His eyes flicked to yours, warm and steady, before he turned his attention to your mother.

“Baroness Ledger,” he greeted with a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

Your mother’s face lit up with genuine delight. She had always been fond of Ethan, treating him almost like a son during the times the Bridgertons had visited your family. “Ethan, my dear boy,” she said warmly, gesturing for him to sit. “Come, you two have a seat. I’ll have refreshments brought in for you.”

Ethan offered a nod of thanks as your mother ushered you both to the couch and sat beside each other. Your mother lingered for a moment before retreating to the other side of the room, a clear signal that she intended to give the two of you some privacy while still keeping a watchful eye.

“I hope the flowers are to your liking? They're your favorite, Heathers,” you stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “You’re calling on me?” you blurted out, disbelief clear in your voice.

Ethan turned to you, his smile softening into something more personal, more earnest. “Of course I am,” he replied simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your heart raced, and for a moment, you struggled to find words. Everything about this felt too surreal to be true.

“Well,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think—”

He chuckled softly, leaning in just enough for his voice to lower, though not enough to cross the boundaries of propriety. “You didn’t think I’d call on you after all this time?” You blinked, at a loss for words, as his gaze held yours.

“But you made it clear to me,” you said, your tone soft but tinged with disbelief. “You would never see me as something more than a friend, and last night after telling me that you actually hold deeper feelings for me, you just… vanished.”

Ethan’s gaze softened, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face. “That’s true,” he admitted, leaning slightly forward. “And for that, I owe you an apology. It wasn’t my intention to leave you wondering. But, Violet” his voice steadied firm, “I left because I already knew what I had to do.”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words. “And what was that?”

“To court you,” he said simply, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I knew from the moment we met that you were unlike anyone I’d ever known, yet I kept denying it, wanting to preserve our friendship. But last night, as we danced, after weeks of you ignoring me, it became clear to me that I want more than just your friendship, Violet. I want your partnership, your trust, your love. I wasted no time this morning because I knew I needed to see you and make my intentions clear.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and you were certain he could see the way your hands trembled slightly in your lap. Before you could respond, Ethan reached out, taking your hand gently in his.

“And so,” he continued, his expression sincere and unwavering, “I am here now to ask for your hand in marriage.”

The room seemed to fall silent, the weight of his proposal filling the air. Your heart raced, your mind spinning. Marriage. It wasn’t just an idea or a possibility, it is here now, being offered by a man who had somehow become everything you’d ever wanted. A marriage of love match.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

His smile broke into something brighter, almost relieved, as if he’d been holding his breath. “You’ve made me the happiest man in all of England, Violet.”

“Ethan? Why me?” you couldn't help but ask, the question escaping your lips before you could stop it.

His smile grew even wider, and he let out a soft chuckle, his brown eyes glimmering with warmth as they fixed on yours. “Why not you?” he replied, his tone light but full of conviction.

You blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his answer. Before you could respond, “Violet,” he started, his voice growing softer but no less certain. “At first glance, you seem quiet and boring if I'm being frank. But the more I watched, the more I realized how wrong that was.”

His words made your breath catch, and you felt the familiar warmth creeping into your cheeks.

“You aren’t just quiet, Violet,” he continued, his tone deepening with emotion. “You’re thoughtful. You observe, you listen, and you understand things most people overlook. Your mind is a place of quiet wisdom, and your heart—” He paused, his gaze softening as he searched your face. “Your heart is deeper than the ocean. Once someone has the privilege of knowing you, truly knowing you, they realize just how extraordinary you are.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The sincerity in his voice, the intensity of his gaze, it was all warming.

“I admire how you care for the people around you, even in the smallest ways,” Ethan continued, his voice steady but full of feeling. “The way you remember the things that matter to them, the way you make them feel seen, even when you don’t say much. How your kindness isn’t loud or showy but so deeply rooted in who you are.”

He took your hand then, holding it between both of his, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “And I admire you because, when I’m with you, I feel like I’ve finally found something I’ve been searching for my whole life.”

You felt your chest tighten, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. His words were unlike anything you’d ever heard, his love unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

“So, why not you?” Ethan said again, his voice quieter now but no less resolute. “Why wouldn’t I choose the woman who’s shown me what it means to truly love and be loved?”

Your voice broke as you finally whispered, “Ethan…”

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your fingers. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Violet. Everything I never knew I needed.”

Before you could say another word, the door to the drawing room opened, and your father stepped inside. His eyes quickly swept over the scene, Ethan holding your hand, the bouquet of flowers on the table, and the unmistakable atmosphere of a momentous occasion. Right behind him is your mother, who stood up from being seated in the other side of the room, her sharp gaze instantly assessing the situation.

“What’s this?” your father asked, his tone curious but warm.

Ethan stood immediately, straightening his coat and offering a respectful bow. “Baron, Baroness, good morning. I hope you don’t mind my calling on your daughter.”

Your father’s gaze flickered between the two of you before landing on Ethan. “I take it this visit is of a particular nature, Bridgerton?”

Ethan nodded, his confidence unwavering. “It does, Lord Bridgerton. I’ve come to ask for Violet’s hand in marriage. She has already given her consent, and I would be honored to receive yours as well.”

Your father paused, his expression unreadable as he regarded Ethan. Then, slowly, a smile crept onto his face. “I must say, Bridgerton, you’ve caught me by surprise. But I can’t say I’m displeased. You’ve been like a son to us for years, and I can think of no one more fitting to marry my daughter.”

Ethan’s shoulders relaxed visibly, his smile widening as he extended his hand. “Thank you, sir. I will do everything in my power to make her happy.”

As the two men shook hands, your mother stepped forward, her sharp eyes softening as they settled on you. “Is this truly what you want, Violet?” she asked gently.

You nodded, your voice steady as you replied, “It is, Mother. Very much so.”

Vivian’s lips curled into a faint smile, her voice losing some of its usual edge. “Then I’m happy for you, my dear. You’ve made a fine choice.”

With a nod of approval, your mother returned to stand beside your father, her expression soft yet resolute.

“Then it’s settled,” the baron declared, his smile broadening. “We have a wedding to plan.”

Ethan turned back to you, his eyes shining with affection and excitement.

Ethan gently tosses you onto the bed, making you laugh. He licked his lips as he stood by the edge of the bed, watching as your chest heave up and down in anticipation, "You know," he said softly, "This is our honeymoon. I can finally do whatever I want to you,” he gives you a mischievous grin. Tonight is the night after your wedding, a memorable occasion that officially bound you and him as husband and wife.

He yanked his top free with impatient, fumbling hands. The fabric strained against the hurried movements, a few threads snapping as he tore the shirt open.

The buttons popped loose, some scattering to the floor, but he didn't stop to care. He shrugged the garment off his shoulders in one swift, almost frantic motion, tossing it aside like he was so eager to get rid of it.

Slowly, he leaned forward, one knee sinking into the mattress, followed by the other. His movements were deliberate, almost predatory, as his hands pressed into the bed to steady himself. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he crawled forward, and hovered on top of you.

Ethan cupped your face gently with one hand “I’ll be gentle, just follow my lead, alright?” you nodded your head in response and he kissed you carefully as if you're a fragile thing.

It was slow and romantic, but you needed more, so you let out a muffled soft moan, pulling him closer by the back of his neck and you felt his lips curl up into a smile while kissing you more eagerly now.

Your breathing got heavier as he licked and explored the insides of your mouth, shoving his tongue further to taste you, his warm breath mingling with yours, making you dizzy.

Your combined spit soon started dripping down your chin. His warm hands caress your sides in a way that it ignites a fire inside you. The both of you leaned back to catch your breaths, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

He dipped his head down to pepper kisses all over your skin. He's had enough of you being fully clothed in your white dress, “Can I take this off you?” he asked to which you lazily nod.

He helped you out of your corset and dress, leaving you with nothing but your underwear. His eyes twinkled once he set his gaze upon your exposed plump breasts.

Out of nowhere, you were shying away from his hungry gaze, your hands quickly covering your breasts in embarrassment, cheeks blushing profusely. However, he was still quicker than you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head swiftly using one hand.

“Don’t, don't hide your pretty body from me. It's beautiful and I'm here to worship it.” He whispered, erasing every doubt in your head. You can only nod in response, staring into his eyes while your foreheads touched each other, as if in an unbreakable trance.

You feel the excitement and arousal bubbled up in you, your thighs instinctively pressing up against each other as your underwear soiled.

Ethan smirked, “You’re wet, aren't you?” he asked, forcing your legs apart using his strong arms, eliciting a loud whine from you. You never expected intimacy would feel this good.

He dipped his head again to nuzzle on your neck, licking the skin with his warm tongue before sucking on it, purposefully leaving marks.

Your back arches and he took advantage of this to attack your neck more, grinding the bulge on his pants against your covered core. Oh how you love the things he's doing to you right now.

He trails wet kisses down until he reaches your chest, sticking his tongue out and licking up your cleavage. You were almost certain your heart clawed out of your chest from how hard it's beating, and he only looks up at you with those eyes you love so much all while pressing the most tantalizing kiss right on your left nipple, silently telling you that all of you, even the most private parts, now belongs to him.

You couldn’t take your eyes away from him even if you try to, you watch every bit of his movements down your body. He envelops your nipple using his soft lips. He swirls his tongue around it and sucks hard, his other hand coming up to play with your other breast.

The moans coming out of your lips only encouraged him more as he shamelessly sucked your tits like a hungry man, lustful eyes looking up at you, corner of his lips smiling. He delivered a strong squeeze to your boob just to see your pained expression.

He switched his mouth, sucking the other one and playing the wet breast using his hands. He circles the swollen nipple before pinching it right after. You whined in pain at his harsh play on your mounds, making him tweak your nipple gently to soothe it.

Grazing your nipples with his teeth as he started alternating between the two in a fast manner had you whimpering and squirming underneath him. When you continued to squirm around, he firmly held you in place, gripping your waist.

“Stop moving, darling,” He instructed, hands sneaking down from your waist to your panties. For a moment, you had no idea what he was about to do, but an audible gasp left your lips when he ripped your underwear with such ease, immediately throwing the torn fabric away.

He placed his head in between your legs, kissing your inner thigh. He sucked in a breath as he heard your sweet helpless whimper. You grab a fistful of his hair, pulling on them and crying out when he pushed your legs up to bite and suck harshly on the soft flesh of your inner thighs. You are sure that you'll wake up tomorrow with your thighs and legs decorated in purple red marks.

Ethan is shameless when it comes to his possessive nature, even mumbling the word ‘mine’ nonstop underneath his breath. He stopped as he reached up to your private part, taking a deep breath and inhaling the aroma of your wetness, “Goodness, you smell so fucking delicious, darling.”

You propped yourself up using your arms to peek down at your husband, the sight of him staring in awe at your core, smelling it while licking his lips. He then purposely blew hard on your soaked cunt, surprising you and making your body jolt at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Ethan please,” you pleaded desperately, “Yes, darling? What do you need? Say it.” He asked breathily, dark eyes still fixated on your pussy as he whispered directly on it, “How beautiful.”

In a desperate attempt, you took advantage of having his hair fisted on your hand and pushed his head into your pussy, bucking your hips forward to shove it on him. He growled and immediately started lapping at your pussy as if it's his last meal. You throw your head back, eyes closed at the euphoria you're feeling.

“Fucking sweet pussy” Ethan groaned, going completely feral, not holding back as he devoured you, licking, sucking, biting, and slurping on your folds, while holding your legs apart to make sure you remain bare and open to him.

His nose nudged on your clit as he slipped his tongue in your clenching hole, wiggling the wet muscle around your walls. “All mine,” he groaned with each lick, sending vibrations on your cunt.

The last straw was when he slurped your folds before biting your clit gently, sending you over the edge with a loud scream, eyes rolling back and legs shaking as he teased you by torturing your poor clit more.

He laps up your juices happily, making sure to catch every drop on his mouth. Even if your legs were already shaking in his hands while he holds them up, your cunt clenching around his tongue. He shoved it as deep as he could.

He couldn't stop, it's like he's trapped in an enchantment, or perhaps he's just really too pussy drunk to even stop and give your poor cunt a rest.

With his movements getting rougher, you took it upon yourself to snap him out of his trance and push his head away with all the remaining strength you have. Successfully prying his head from your swollen overstimulated core and closing your legs to prevent him from diving back in.

His mouth all the way down to his chin glimmers with your essence as he gives you a playful grin, almost laughing at the state you're in.

His big bright eyes observed you, wanting this image of you to imprint on his brain. You looked like an absolute goddess brought down by heaven for him. A flower he is to help bloom more and to cherish forever.

You, his now wife, laid there bare to him, body having slight trembles of aftershock from the orgasm he just gave you, your cheeks tinted with natural blush, skin sweaty, lips parted while panting, eyes closed, and your hair a mess on the pillows on your head.

What a heavenly sight, and Ethan’s raging hard on is a testament to it. But he’s nowhere near done with you yet, for the show is only starting. Now that he finally tasted you, he is more than eager to know how you would feel wrapped around his length.

As you felt him move around, your eyes snap back open curiously, only to see him getting rid of his last piece of clothing, his pants and drawers in one go, discarded onto the floor with no care.

Your eyes widen at the sight of his manhood, slapping his abdomen with how hard it is, the tip is red and leaking so much precum, it shows just how much he's been waiting for this moment. You sit up clumsily even if your legs were still shaking just to get a closer look of it.

Your shaky hand slowly reached out to it but stopped mid air, hesitating, you really have no idea what to do. So you looked up at your husband, “Ethan, may I?” you asked shyly.

Thank god your husband was able to understand you without making you say it out loud because you might just die in shame, “Of course, darling. Go ahead.” He smiled down at you and you could've sworn he got more handsome with his hair messy and sticking to his wet forehead, lips pink and glistening with your juices and that stupid gentle eyes he has on right now.

He took your hand and guide it to his length, wrapping your hand around the thickness of the base, “Start slowly, move your hand up and down,” he instructed and you followed, moving your hand up and down in a slow pace.

He groans softly as your hand pumped his cock, he offered you a satisfied smile, his eyes half-lidded as he enjoys the gentle stroking. "You're going to make me cum so much, darling... I can feel it already.”

Encouraged by his words, you gained more confidence and started pumping him faster, "Shit... you're gonna make me bust like this?" He groans loudly, throwing his head back against the rock as you pump his length aggressively. His hips lift slightly to meet your strokes, his length hardening like steel with each pump of your hand. "You wanna see me nut, baby?”

You nodded, your eyes eager which only had his length twitching on your hold. He sucked in a sharp breath as you leaned down to press a gentle kiss on his tip before trailing kisses down the rest of his length.

You swirled your tongue before taking him inside your warm mouth, a loud guttural moan escaping his throat when he saw your lips envelop his length and hollow your cheeks sucking him in so desperately.

“Shit, play with my balls,” he commanded, guiding your hand to massage his balls while your mouth eagerly sucked half of his length. Suddenly he grips the back of your head, shoving you down, his length hitting the back of your throat making you gag, “Fuck yes, choke on my dick, darling.”

The sight of you gagging, your eyes wet with tears as you look up helplessly at him. You moaned around his length, the vibrations shooting straight up his cock.

He’s sweating profusely all over, taking big deep breaths while looking down at you. His eyes lustful but filled with fondness. But before he could even reach his orgasm, you took his length out of your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asked, caressing the top of your head, “Need a second to breathe,” you admitted softly while panting, sitting up to recollect yourself.

He smiled understandingly at you, a gentle smile that contrasts his sinister words, “That’s fine, but I'm nowhere near done with you.” He said and your eyes widened, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“W-wha–” You tried to ask but he cut you off as he slammed his lips against yours again, licking the insides of your mouth with his tongue before pulling back, “You think I’d let you go now that I got a taste of you? Without feeling that sweet cunt grip my length?”

“But–” you protested but he shushed you with his finger, leaning his face so close that your warm breaths mingled, “Shh, you can take it. Trust me, yeah?”

His tone is seductive, wooing you to trust him even though you already knew that the moment you say yes, he'll pounce on you like a wild animal. But deep inside, you wouldn't really mind, right?

“Yes,” you whispered so quietly it was almost inaudible. He pushed you back down, his body caging you in. Your body responds to him fast, legs spreading wide and wrapping around his waist, his hips grinding against yours.

Ethan asked, grinding the tip of his cock up and down your folds, your juices lubricating his length. “Ready, darling?” he asked and you gave him a nervous nod in response, your hands pressing on his chest to brace yourself.

He didn't waste any time, he entered your needy hole, his length pushing past your hymen and splitting you open. He immediately bottomed out. Your back arched, your eyes shut tight, while you screamed at the uncomfortable pain. You tried soothing yourself by clawing at his chest.

Ethan moans out loud, giving no care about the servants around the mansion who could all probably hear the coupling. The way your walls clenched his huge size, “Jesus darling, you feel so good,” he sighed in relief.

He gave you some time to adjust before teasing you again, “Look, darling,” he helped you raise your head a bit to make you watch where you both are connected. He pulled back all the way to the tip only to slam back in harder as you gasped. His hand pressing your lower stomach where the outline of his cock is prominent, “It reached so deep.”

“You’re so big,” you cried out, and he only laughed softly at you, “You love it, darling.”

He started ramming into your hole, making your breasts bounce and jiggle with each thrust. He reached forward to suck your left boob once again with no gentleness. Growling and grazing his teeth on the sensitive nub while fucking you like a wild animal.

“Mine, all mine, my beautiful wife,” he mumbled while he sucked your mounds.

“Goodness– Ethan!” you panted heavily, hands moving to grip the bedsheets as he abused your pussy, pushing so deep and hard as if he's shaping your walls into that shape of his cock.

You felt pure bliss, like you're in heaven, and just when you thought it couldn't be any better, Ethan reached his hand down to use his thumb, rubbing your clit in tight circles that made you cry out and squirm on his hold.

“Don’t you dare move. You're gonna lay there and take what I give you.” he sternly said as his free hand gripped your hip in a bruising hold, holding you down and preventing you to squirm away from this touch.

“Good girl, stay still for me, yeah?” He coo before pushing himself impossibly deeper, you swear you could feel him in your womb now, his hips flush against yours while still circling your clit.

Ethan kept mumbling about how good you feel around him, it was addicting how he seems to lose his mind over fucking you.

The room echoed with the sounds of wet skin slapping, and the combined moans and groans from you and him. Everything feels so hot and your nostrils were overwhelmed by the smell of sex.

You felt another coil in your lower stomach that's about to snap and you could no longer hold it, “Ethan, I'm gonna–” you warned him but before you could even finish, the coil snapped and your juices came gushing out all over his length, soaking his abdomen and balls.

You arched off the bed and your eyes roll to the back of your head so hard. You cried out, tears rolling down your cheek that he immediately licked, the taste of your salty tears knowing he's the cause of it in a good way pushed him closer to the edge.

Your spent pussy pulsated while he continues to aggressively pound you, trying to reach his own high. With one final thrust shooting ropes after ropes of cum inside your womb.

He stills inside you while filling you up, his length twitching while you both tried to regulate your breathing.

When he pulled out, his load came dripping out of your fluttering hole. You whimpered at the sudden empty feeling. But your husband was quick to scoop up his cum and shove it back inside you using his fingers.

Ethan rolled over to lay beside you, turning his body to the side to wrap you in his arms, pulling you close, “Are you alright, darling?” he asked in concern, giving your forehead a gentle kiss.

Your body was engulfed in a profound warmth, Ethan being so sweet and caring after fucking you into oblivion. He whispered sweet praises into your ear making you laugh softly.

And you fell asleep in that position, drifting off while your husband whispers sweet nothings into your ear, soothing you and making sure you feel secured and safe.

16 years into the marriage, and the Bridgerton mansion brimmed with life. Laughter echoed from every corner as well as the occasional scolding of multiple governesses trying (and failing) to impose order. You stood by the grand staircase, a hand resting protectively over your swollen belly, your other hand gripped the banister as you surveyed the chaos with an amused smile.

“Atticus!” Your husband’s voice boomed as he stepped out of the study, his tone caught between exasperation and pride. “How is it that you can manage the accounts better than half the estate staff, but you cannot get ahold of your siblings that are on the verge of turning the house into a battlefield while I'm busy?”

Atticus, now a strikingly handsome and serious young man at sixteen, appeared from around the corner with a calm expression, though his lips twitched in amusement. “They need to keep busy, Father. It’s an essential part of their education.”

“Perhaps,” Ethan replied dryly, “but I doubt orchestrating another impromptu chasing game qualifies as productive.”

Atticus shrugged and turned, nearly bumping into Caleb, who was sprinting down the hallway with a mischievous grin.

At thirteen, Caleb was all energy and unpredictability, and he carried himself like a boy constantly on the verge of some grand adventure—or disaster. “Out of my way, Atticus!” he shouted, clutching a poorly folded map as if it contained the secrets of the world. “I’m exploring!”

“You’re going to explore a broken vase if you’re not careful!” You called, shaking your head but unable to hide the smile on your lips.

Not far behind, seven-year-old Giovann charged after Caleb with a makeshift sword, his laughter ringing out like music. “You can’t explore without a knight, Caleb! I’m your protector!” he declared, wielding the wooden sword with as much ferocity as a child could muster.

Benjamin, at fourteen, strolled into the drawing room, humming softly as he carried an armful of paper and brushes. His kind and artistic nature stood out starkly amidst the chaos, and he settled himself by the window, carefully setting up his materials. “Mother,” he said brightly, glancing up at you, “I think I’ll paint the garden today. Dorothea’s been complaining that the roses don’t look vibrant enough.”

“You’re going to paint the garden again?” Dorothea’s voice chimed in from the doorway. At eleven, she exuded poise and wit, her beauty and sharp intellect often leaving her siblings scrambling to keep up. She arched a brow as she crossed her arms, a knowing smile on her lips. “Why don’t you paint Caleb tripping over his own feet instead? That would be far more entertaining.”

Benjamin smirked, dipping his brush into the paint. “I’d need to create a series for that, Thea—it happens far too often to capture in just one painting.”

“Very funny,” Caleb shot back, his head poking into the room just long enough to glare at his older brother before he vanished again, Giovann still hot on his heels.

Dorothea shook her head, her long dark hair swaying elegantly as she moved to make you sit beside her in front of the piano, “Mother, I don’t know how you manage all of us,” she said softly, though there was a hint of teasing in her voice.

You chuckled and gently stroked your daughter’s hair. “I manage because I have to. And because I wouldn’t trade any of you for the world, even when you drive me mad.”

Ethan appeared beside you then, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist as he surveyed the scene. “Do you think this little one,” he said, nodding towards your rounded belly, his hands caressing it ever so softly, “will be just as much trouble as the rest of them?”

You let out a sigh, leaning against him. “I have no doubt about it.”

Ethan smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. But the soft moment was quickly interrupted by the disturbance of your restless children.

A loud and jarring sound from the piano made all of you jump. Both you and Ethan turned your heads in alarm to see Giovann standing by the piano, gleefully slamming his little fingers across the keys with no concern for melody. Dorothea, who had been tidying her music sheets, froze, her expression darkening as her blood pressure spiked.

“Giovann!” she yelled, her voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos. She stormed toward him, her posture rigid with irritation. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you know how long it takes to tune that piano?!”

Giovann, entirely unbothered, shot her a cheeky grin. “It’s not my fault you’re always playing boring old songs, Thea.”

That was enough to send Dorothea chasing after him, her scolding echoing throughout the room as Giovann scrambled out of reach, still laughing. “Come back here! I swear, Giovann, I’m going to—!”

Sighing, you shook her head fondly while rubbing your temple. Ethan chuckled, leaning closer, “And to think, you said this baby would be just as much trouble. I’m starting to wonder if it could possibly be worse.”

Meanwhile, Atticus had settled on the couch, a picture of calm amidst the commotion. He lazily reached for a macaron from a nearby snack plate, casually biting into it.

“Hey!” Benjamin’s dismayed voice rang out. He stood by the window, his unfinished painting of the snack plate now ruined. His brush dropped to his side as he whined, stomping his feet, “I was painting that!”

Atticus only smirked, unbothered by his younger brother’s frustration. “Too bad,” he said with a shrug, continuing to munch on the macaron with no remorse.

Benjamin huffed, his face falling into a pout as he picked up his brush again, muttering something about “barbarians ruining art.”

Before he could retreat fully into his sulk, Caleb came bouncing into the room. The boy tackled Atticus without hesitation, snatching the macaron right out of his hands.

“You–” Atticus protested, glaring at his younger brother.

Caleb grinned mischievously, holding the half-eaten macaron like a trophy. “What’s yours is mine, big brother.”

Atticus lunged after him, sending the two into a playful scuffle as they tumbled onto the floor, much to Benjamin’s dismay.

“Could you not wrestle in the middle of the room?” Benjamin groaned, setting his palette down and crossing his arms. “Some of us here are trying to work!”

Caleb only laughed, dodging Atticus’ grab and tossing the macaron up in the air before catching it in his mouth. Atticus groaned in defeat, flopping back onto the couch.

You turned your head to glance at your husband, lips twitching into a smile, “You see? This is what you started, they all got that stubborn teasing manner from you,” you teased.

Ethan laughed, “I don’t know, darling. I think we’ve created something rather perfect.”

Ethan rose from his seat, brushing his hand on your chin. He turned to his eldest son with a warm smile, “Atticus, come with me. I’ll need your company for some hunting practice.”

Atticus nodded, standing from his chair. The two grabbed their shotguns and headed out of the mansion. They strode along the estate grounds, and their path took them past a patch of vibrant flowers just outside in front of the mansion, where Ethan stopped abruptly.

“Wait here a moment,” Ethan said, kneeling by the flower patch. His hand carefully selected a few sprigs of heather, the delicate blooms swaying lightly in the breeze.

“Your mother’s favorite,” he murmured with a fond smile, holding the flowers up to inspect them, “They’re quite lovely, are they not?”

Atticus, crouched a few steps away picking his own flowers, glancing up as he smiled briefly, “Dorothea would be jealous if we returned with nothing for her.”

As Ethan stood, a low hum buzzed past his face that he tried to swat away, but it only agitated it, stinging him in the neck before flying away. “Ugh this bloody–” he muttered as he caress his stung neck.

Atticus glanced curiously while still picking flowers, “What is it, father?” he asked but got no answer. This made him stop his movements to look up at his father.

Atticus stood up, his own set of flowers in hand. “Father?” he asked, noticing Ethan’s unusual stillness.

Ethan didn’t respond.

“Father?” Atticus repeated, his voice more urgent now. Ethan turned to face him, but something was terribly wrong. His face had grown pale, his lips slightly parted as though he couldn’t quite catch his breath. Veins bulged along his neck as his chest heaved in an uneven rhythm.

“Father!” Atticus shouted, dropping the flowers to the ground and rushing to his father’s side. Ethan staggered, his legs buckling beneath him as he collapsed onto the grass.

Atticus knelt beside him, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he gripped Ethan’s shoulders. “Help! Somebody help!” he screamed, his voice echoing across the estate grounds.

A shout that reached the insides of a mansion, reaching you and disrupting your focus from reading a book, sitting on the couch. You know your children's voice so well, and Atticus’ urgent shouts alarmed you. It made you rose swiftly despite the weight of your pregnancy.

You immediately hurried out the door, heart pounding so fast in your chest as you followed the sound of Atticus’ panicked voice outside.

The sight of Ethan lying there in the grass made your heart stop. For a moment, your mind refused to accept it—this couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be happening.

Your chest tightened, and it felt as if the air around you had vanished. You tried to breathe, but all you could feel was the sharp sting of panic gripping your lungs. You ran to them in a hurry.

As soon as your knees hit the ground hard, you didn’t notice the pain. All you could focus on was Ethan’s face, pale and strained, his lips parted as he struggled to breathe.

“No, no, don't leave me,” you whispered, your voice shaking as your trembling hands reached for him, holding his body in your arms. His skin was clammy and cold under your touch, a jarring contrast to the warmth you’d known your entire life.

“Ethan,” you choked, your voice breaking. “Breathe, please, just breathe.” The words felt useless, hollow, as though saying them could somehow force air back into his lungs.

Your tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t care. Your fingers brushed his face, his hair, his neck, desperately searching for something—anything—that might save him.

You were powerless, and the weight of that realization crushed you. It clawed at your chest, making it hard to breathe yourself. Your mind screamed at you to do something, but what could you do? You were helpless. Completely and utterly helpless, “No, no, no, no, no.”

When his hand rose weakly, brushing against your cheek, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces. It was such a small, gentle gesture, yet it carried the weight of everything he couldn’t say. His lips moved, but no words came, and his eyes, filled with a pain you couldn’t take away, stared into yours.

“No, Ethan,” you pleaded, shaking your head as if denying it could stop the inevitable. “No, please. Please, don’t leave me.”

His hand dropped to the side, lifeless, and you froze. The silence that followed was deafening, drowning out the world around you. You shook him, called his name again, “Ethan? Ethan!” your voice growing louder and more frantic, but there was no response.

A sob tore from your throat, raw and unrelenting “No! Oh god! Please,” your entire body shook as you cradled him, pressing your forehead to his, as though holding him close might somehow bring him back. The world felt like it was collapsing around you, and the pain—oh, the damn pain—it’s unbearable. It ripped you, leaving you hollow and broken.

When you turned your head, you saw them, your children, standing at the entrance of the house, their innocent faces filled with confusion and fear. A fresh wave of agony surged through you, but you forced it down. “Atticus,” you rasped, your voice trembling. “The children… take them inside. They… they cannot see this.”

He didn’t move, his face pale and stricken. “Go!” you cried, snapping him out of his daze. He stumbled to his feet, his steps unsteady, and hurried toward the others, herding them away.

You turned back to Ethan, your tears falling freely onto his still face. The love of your life, the man who had been your world, was gone. And you didn’t know how you were supposed to survive without him.

The maids ushered you inside the house distant murmurs of servants and the echo of footsteps as they moved about in quiet urgency. Ethan's body was taken care of, and a doctor was already called to confirm his death. You sat at the bottom of the staircase, your body trembling, your mind a storm of disbelief and anguish.

The maids’ hands rested on your arms, trying to steady you, but their touch felt distant just like everything else.

Your tears blurred your vision as you clutched the bannister for support. The weight of Ethan’s absence was unbearable, suffocating, pressing down on you until it felt as if you couldn’t breathe.

His laughter, his voice, his presence, everything is gone. Every memory of him felt like a dagger to your heart, and the pain was suffocating. You gasped, your sobs uncontrollable, your chest heaving as you rocked back and forth, overwhelmed by grief.

“Ma’am, please,” one of the maids said softly, her voice trembling with concern as she knelt beside you. “You must rest.”

But you couldn’t rest. How could you, when the love of your life had been ripped away from you? When the last memory of him was the light fading from his eyes?

And then it hit, a sharp, sudden pain in your abdomen. It was so intense it took your breath away, and your hands flew to your stomach instinctively. The maids stiffened, their faces pale with alarm.

“My lady!” one of them cried, her voice shaking as she grasped your shoulders.

You tried to speak, but the words were swallowed by a fresh wave of pain. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before—an ache so deep it seemed to pull you apart, and yet it paled in comparison to the gaping hole in your chest.

Your breathing became erratic, your sobs mingling with gasps as you clutched your stomach. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. “Not now.” But your body had other plans, and the pain intensified, rippling through you with each passing moment.

The maids surrounded you, their voices frantic as they tried to calm you, their hands gentle but firm as they guided you away from the stairs. “It’s the baby,” one of them said, her voice filled with urgency. “She’s in labor. Quickly, someone fetch the midwife!”

Luckily, the children weren't here to witness all of this. They're all taken care off by Atticus on the other side of the mansion, keeping them away from this traumatic scene.

The realization sent another wave of emotion crashing over you. This was Ethan’s child—the one he would never meet, never hold, never name. He wasn't able to live up to the birth. The thought was unbearable, and you cried harder, the tears falling faster as the pain in your heart joined with the pain in your body.

“It hurts,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. The maids tried to reassure you, their words soft and soothing, but nothing they said could touch the agony that consumed you.

The sharp contractions made your legs give out, and you collapsed to your knees, your body trembling as another wave of pain tore through you. “I can’t do this,” you sobbed, shaking your head as the maids worked to lift you. “He’s gone, and I… I can’t do this without him.”

But you had no choice. The baby was coming, and your body refused to wait for your grief to subside. As the maids helped you to your feet, your heart shattered all over again. Ethan should have been here. He should have been the one holding your hand, whispering words of comfort, and waiting to meet his child.

Instead, you were left with a hollow ache and a pain that would never fade. And as the contractions grew stronger, you clung to the only thought that gave you strength– this baby, this piece of Ethan, was all you had left. You had to keep going for the both of you.

The air in the room was thick with tension and urgency, the voices of the midwife and maids blending into a blur of noise as you lay on the bed, soaked in your own sweat and trembling. Every muscle in your body screamed with exhaustion, the contractions relentless and unforgiving.

You clutched the sheets, gasping through gritted teeth as another wave of pain wracked your body. It was unbearable, almost blinding, yet it still couldn’t drown out the ache in your chest—the hollow, consuming void left by Ethan’s absence.

“Just one more push, my lady,” the midwife urged, her voice steady but insistent.

Your breath hitched as you braced yourself, every ounce of your strength pooling into this final effort. The pain was overwhelming, but you forced yourself to keep going, your thoughts consumed by a single, agonizing truth, that Ethan would never see this child. He would never hear their cries, hold them, or whisper their name with love.

Tears streamed down your face as you let out a guttural cry, pushing with everything you had left. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, the room holding its breath, and then—

A sharp, piercing wail filled the air.

“It’s a girl,” the midwife announced, her tone warm and triumphant as she held up the tiny, squirming infant.

You collapsed back against the pillows, utterly spent, your body trembling from the effort. The maids bustled around you, wiping your brow and whispering soothing words, but their voices barely registered. All you could hear was the sound of your baby’s cries, sharp and desperate.

The midwife approached, carefully placing the newborn in your arms. You stared down at her, your breath catching as you took in her tiny features—the delicate curve of her nose, the soft flush of her cheeks, and the way her tiny fists curled against the blanket. She was so small, so fragile, and she looks just like Ethan.

Your tears came faster now, dripping onto the blanket as you cradled her close. “Heather,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you ran a finger gently along her cheek. “Her name is Heather.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. The midwife and maids exchanged glances, their expressions softening with understanding.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as a fresh wave of sorrow washed over you. “My favorite flower” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “He died with them in his hands… for me.”

Your tears blurred your vision as you pressed a kiss to Heather’s forehead, your heart breaking and mending all at once. She was a piece of Ethan, a reminder of the love you had shared and the life you had built together.

Heather stirred in your arms, her cries softening into tiny, contented murmurs. You closed your eyes, the exhaustion finally pulling at you.

The drawing room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves outside the window. You sat on the couch, staring out into the vast, empty garden. The sunset light filtered through the window, but it felt cold to you. Everything did. You’d been sitting there for hours, unmoving.

This is the first time you actually left your room, for you have been non functional since the day your husband died. Even detaching yourself from your children, suffering with the grief paired by your post-partum depression.

The sound of cautious footsteps broke the silence, and you knew before turning who it was. Atticus. Your eldest.

He approached slowly, his tall frame carrying an air of hesitation. "You look well," he said softly, his voice gentle as if afraid to disturb the fragile stillness around you.

You didn’t turn to him but blinked slowly, registering his words. You responded in a voice that was distant, detached, and empty. “I slept. I bathed. I went for a walk outdoors. I saw the children. I made myself useful in embroidery.” Each word was recited mechanically, as though you were listing chores you had completed, but there was no life behind them.

Atticus gave a tight-lipped smile, though you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Perhaps you could join us today for a family dinner,” he offered cautiously, his tone carefully measured.

You shook your head once, your gaze dropping to your hands, and your eyes closed tightly against the swell of emotions that were always lurking, ready to suffocate you.

“I know this is hard,” Atticus began again, his voice cracking just slightly, betraying his youth and the burden he now carried as the man of the house. “I know you miss him—but we all miss him.”

The words pierced you, a fresh wound on top of the endless ache. Before he could continue, your trembling voice cut him off, fragile and breaking. “Please.”

Atticus hesitated but tried again, his concern for you outweighing his fear of upsetting you. “Mother, I think—”

“Atticus,” you said as you looked at him for the first time, your eyes wet with unshed tears. “This is it. This—this is my best. I’m doing my best.”

The weight of your grief spilled out, your words trembling as your voice broke. “Every day, I get up. I get dressed. I feed myself. I try to breathe in and out.” You paused, your chest heaving as you tried to steady yourself, but the tears came anyway, hot and relentless.

“I force myself to stop by the nursery,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you gasped for air, “But all I keep thinking about is how sorry I am for little baby Heather, because she will never know Ethan’s laugh. Or the way he smiled. Or how it felt to be hugged in his arms.”

The tears fell freely now, and you covered your mouth with a trembling hand, the pain suffocating. “All I could think of,” you choked out, “is how sorry I am for thinking that this baby did not do me the kindness of killing me so that I could be with my husband.”

You looked up at Atticus then, your eyes brimming with sorrow and a deep, unbearable pain. Your voice softened into a whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “Ethan was the air that I breathed… and now there’s no air. So don’t ask me to do better,” you said, your voice breaking once more. “I’m doing my best.”

Atticus’ expression crumbled as he stood there, unable to respond. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he looked down at his hands, helpless and aching for his mother. He wanted to say something, to comfort you, but there was nothing he could say that would fill the void Ethan left behind.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with grief, until finally, Atticus nodded once, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Without another word, he turned and left the room, leaving you to stare once more into the void, clutching your broken heart as tightly as you held onto the memory of your husband.

Servants flitted about, adjusting gowns, fluffing skirts, and arranging jewelry on the vanity. You stood beside Dorothea, your hands gentle as you fastened the final pin in her hair. Her dark locks gleamed, swept into an elegant updo that framed her youthful, radiant face.

It has been eight years since the passing of Ethan. And today, your daughter is on her second season in the marriage mart.

Your daughter sat poised, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of anticipation and nerves. The soft pastel blue gown she wore was a masterpiece, flowing like water and adorned with intricate lace. It suited her perfectly.

You glanced at her through the mirror, pride swelling in your chest. “You look flawless, my dear,” you said warmly, smoothing a strand of hair that dared to fall out of place. “Today is your day. I just know it.”

Dorothea turned to you, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Mama. I truly hope this season will bring what I’m looking for.”

You could see the longing in her eyes, the same longing you had once carried when you were her age. A love match. A marriage not of convenience or obligation but of true affection. It was rare, yes, but you believed your daughter deserved nothing less.

“You will find it, Dorothea,” you assured her, your voice steady and filled with quiet confidence. “I have no doubt.”

The peaceful moment was interrupted when the door to the room burst open with a dramatic thud. “Dorothea!! You. Must. Make. Haste!” Elisa's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative, as she stormed in, punctuating every word with an exaggerated stomp of her foot.

Both you and Dorothea flinched at the sudden intrusion, but when Elisa came into view—her cheeks flushed with urgency, her hands on her hips like a soldier commanding an army—you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Elisa!” Dorothea exclaimed, half in shock and half in amusement.

“What?” Elisa shot back, her tone exasperated. “You’re going to make us late! Again! Do you want every member of the ton to think we Bridgertons have no sense of time?”

Her mock scolding sent Dorothea into peals of laughter, and you joined in, shaking your head fondly at Elisa’s theatrics.

Over the years, Elisa had become as much your child as the others. Though she wasn’t born into your family, you adopted her and loved her fiercely. She also fit right in with her spirited, unapologetic nature.

Dorothea stood, her gown flowing gracefully as she stepped toward Elisa. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!” she said with a grin.

Elisa crossed her arms, satisfied, though a playful smirk tugged at her lips. “Good. You’ll thank me later when we're not late to the ball and the ton won't stare and silently judge us.

You watched them both with a smile that only grew as they teased each other. It wasn’t the life you had once envisioned when Ethan was still by your side, but it was still a life full of love and joy. Your children who are each unique, lively, and wonderful in their own way were your everything.

As Dorothea moved toward the door, you called out softly, stopping her for just a moment. She turned, and you reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Good luck, my darling,” you said, your voice tinged with hope and pride. “May this season bring you everything your heart desires.”

Dorothea’s smile softened, and she nodded, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. “Thank you, Mama.”

The other children joined you as you descended down the stairs with Elisa and Dorothea. The boys immediately offering their arms to link each of the ladies in the family. Atticus coming to escort you with a smile.

Ethan may have been gone, but his legacy lived on in each of your children. And as long as they were by your side, you knew you could carry on.

[memoldy]

They are so in love that I’m in love with their love

[laremsworld]

İt is the year 2040. Bridgerton Season 7 just aired. Gregory Bridgerton is happily married to his Lucy. Daphne already has grandchildren and Anthony’s daughter just had her debut.

Shonda Rhimes looks at 50 years old Luke Thompson anf goes “you know what, İ feel like Benedict’s Story needs more built-up time. Let’s make Season 8 about Anthony’s daughter.”

[shegetsburned]

❝ the prince’s jewel ❞ w. ryomen sukuna 𝜗𝜚.

BRIDGERTON AU⌇

• — dear gentle reader. this author feels not all is fit to print when so much is already known by far too many members of the ton when it comes to the mighty prince sukuna. though delighted by the frenzy of competition, this author believes that the prince will not participate in any courting exchange, despite his great desire to sire an heir or perhaps his desire to be known as the ton’s number one rake.

.nsfw.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who’s known throughout the whole kingdom to be a ruthless but laid-back ruler, having little to no interest in his subjects. barely governing as it is, he prefers to enjoy the wealth that his title has given him without an ounce of empathy for his poor subordinates. boredom has brought him to london where he believes to find at least some sort of entertainment to pass his time.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who has no shame showing himself at the entrances of brothels and shady bars with ladies wrapped around his arms. never denying any of his endeavours and laughing in the face of scandals. when his name makes the header of the society’s paper, his grin grows the more larger.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who believes that, if he is to be married, his highness deserves none other than the diamond of the season, chosen by the queen for her beauty, elegance, purity and grace; you.

he has absolutely everything to envy; perfect musculature, charm, alluring beauty, enormous wealth and bewitching gaze which, without a doubt, attracts most ladies on display. he has many choices and doesn’t want to settle for any pathetic young girl that would throw herself at his feet. the diamond has to be his.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who, as soon as he laid eyes on you, never hid his desire to rip your pretty dress apart with his perverted gaze. as you gracefully walked before the queen, his eyes travelled from your lips, trailing down to your appetizing curves moulded by your tight corset. the gown you wore had every man in the room breaking their neck to catch a glimpse of the diamond.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who has learned about the custom of a man calling upon a lady and visiting her at her home, which he is way too indifferent to do. instead, sukuna sends you tons of enormous bouquets. gorgeous flowers that mostly scare off callers from their beauty and expansiveness. he might refuse to visit, but his gifts are enough for you to consider his proposal rather quickly.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who couldn’t care less about etiquettes or manners. you danced with another man? he’d immediately interrupt the two of you, groping your gown and pulling you closer with a nasty smirk. another suitor’s writing his name on your dance card? prince sukuna stares him down, tearing the piece of paper and pulling the string around your wrist to whisper in your ears insanities none would dare hear in a ballroom.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna whose favourite past time is to lead you in the pleasure garden, making sure every suitor, every mama and every lady of the ton has seen you walk beside the prince to the dark walk. he’s always determined to take it a step further. wether it’s with a curious hand on your ass, with his teeth around your earlobe or with his lips tasting your neck, his addiction is the more clearer.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who has shown everyone that none other than him should court you and you let him. you let him have a hold on you and on your chances of ever securing a proposal with another suitor. most indeed believe prince sukuna has already stolen your honor even though, despite his most inappropriate gestures, hasn’t declared you his just yet. torturing you with sneaky glances and provocating promises became rather quickly the talk of the ton which suited him entirely.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who, after several weeks, finally called on you. you’re more than surprised when he bribes your chaperone to let you two talk in private. without lying to himself or to you, he explains the reasons for his visit. truth is, the prince’s tired of waiting and he wants to consume your innocence while he still can.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who has you riding his entire length in your bed chamber. innocent puffy lips whining and moaning out his name. tits bouncing frenetically while his claws spreads your ass, leaving an odious mark. an inexperienced debutante like you, euphorically drunk on his dick, had the prince sukuna going for hours. hickies and teeth marks covered your chaste figure, officially claiming you as his. his hands explored every inch of your skin, planting his nails into the fat of your ass every time you bounced on him to lead you further down so you felt him deeper.

₊˚ପ⊹ prince!sukuna who, after an intense session of fucking and taking your innocence away, doesn’t bother helping you clean up, enjoying the sight of your messed up hair and teared-up dress. he leaves you exhausted in your wet sheets, with the promise of stealing you away to his kingdom the next time you would see him. the only thing he left behind is a lecherous diamond eager for her prince to come back and take much more than just her innocence.

© shegetsburned 2024 please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own

[madamechrissy]

Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you, you x Nanami, Satoru Gojo x some hoes

♔ Warnings: Heavy, heavy fucking angst, jealousy, smacking, cunnilingus, fingering, loss of virginity, toxic attraction, Gojo is toxic, reader is toxic. OOC. SO MUCH TENSION. Say hello to Mr. Nanami again. Split POV. SLOW BURN remember that.

♔ Word count this chap: 12.2k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you, and now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage. Royal AU, dark bridgerton vibes, Cruel Gojo x reader. OOC Set in 1800s England. Slow burn, enemies to lovers. Gojo is awful at first, HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you - Don't read this if you want a nice Gojo lol.

Comments/ reblogs always appreciated 🥰

Part Six- Masterlist - Playlist

Part Seven- Like a Black Hole

Satoru’s POV

That night

Satoru stomps away from your door, hating the sounds of your sobs, they break him so, tears annoyingly cloying to his own white lashes. He brushes them back as he furiously turns then, clinging to the banister, trying to catch a breath. He’d just had you in his arms, fuck! He just had your lips on his, he just watched your beautiful face as he made you cum, him, Satoru, not…

Not the other man in your heart.

Satoru thought for one moment he could have you, he could truly have you, fuck it’s so maddening, how much he wants you, how he still tastes that honeyed arousal all over his tongue, can still smell how sweet you are, can still feel that soft, silky skin on his fingers. You’ve sank into him, so much so it’s impossible to think of anything else but you.

He had only even invited them earlier in the morning because you’d hurt him so fucking much, looking at him with that cold, icy look. ‘You’ll never be any of my firsts.’ You’d said it so coldly, and you were right, he wasn’t any of them, not a single fucking one, aside from your horrible first kiss, a kiss he’d barely brushed those lips, avoiding pressing too much, because even then…

Even then he’d wanted you.

That first night, when he’d left you so hurt, so broken with his cruelty, and he’d seen you in that chemise, those stockings covering those perfect legs, your nipples pressed against that silk… even then he’d craved you. But he couldn’t fall for it, no he had to hurt you, had to make you hate him, and he wished he didn't succeed so damn well.

Satoru feels so stupid, so stupid, god he just wants to hold you!? Hold someone, and fuck if he hadn’t done that in so goddamn long, not since her, not since Adelia. The goddamn doppelganger of you, the woman who ruined him, she was the last to elicit such feelings, but the difference was…

He wants you more, fuck kissing you was better than anything he’d ever felt, and pleasing you had him so close he almost came right in that carriage just drinking up that wetness. When your eyes looked at him in those gardens earlier, when he started to see what your mother had done to you, what he had inadvertently made worse, the pain he’d wrought, it killed him.

Those eyes that glittered under that soft moonlight, that looked at him with such desire in that dark carriage, and fuck when he carried you in, it made him think, that wedding night, when he refused to. Fuck why couldn’t he carry you, why did he do this, make it to where he’s begging to taste his own wife, begging for anything from you, so pathetic, you make him desperate just existing.

Where he’d thought he could fuck women and forget you, even when they all pale in comparison, he can’t stomach it tonight. He knows you’ll run off to that man tomorrow, fuck you’ll probably lose your innocence to him, he would not care, he would not care if he had to be second, if he had to beg for just some of your affection. He would still do it, because nothing felt as good as you.

If he could have just stayed away.

How can he stay away from you though?

He had you, in his arms, hands on your backside as he pressed you against the wall, and fuck it took everything not to fuck you there, you were so close to just being his if even for tonight. Until his previous actions, filled with pettiness and hurt, came back to haunt him, and he worries now he can never fix this, fix this goddamn mess he caused himself.

How was Satoru to know he’d fucking fall for the woman he wanted to hate so bad? How would he know he cannot hate you, not one bit, because all you’ve done is stay strong and brilliant no matter the horrible shit he threw at you so fucking casually, how you got a mouth right back, how your back was so fucking straight as you threw your knives back at him.

How you so easily found someone clearly enamored, how could you not, just look at you, the most beautiful creature he’d seen, yet he’d told you that you were unattractive, passable, average. You’d take all those hits and it clearly broke you, though you didn’t show it, he could tell when your face fell, when he felt your shoulders shake with sobs.

He was horrible.

Was he any better than his piece of shit father? He certainly was not good enough for you, and if he had any care whatsoever for you, he would tell you to go be with that man, he’d leave you be. He’s allow you some happiness, but Satoru is selfish, fuck he’s selfish, to try to drag you into his black hole, to make you suffocate with his anger, with his words, with his falsehoods.

You deserved to be happy, you deserved to bake cookies and have some man fawn over you, fuck you deserved the world, and all he’s given you is suffering. For one moment he thought something could change, be repaired, when he’d held your hand under that tablecloth, when he’d finally done one decent thing for you, a pathetic, paltry thing.

It wasn’t enough, of course, but he thought briefly how beautiful it felt, to live in the lie of being in love with each other, to be together truly, not to live this… what was this exactly? What was it that Satoru Gojo, the Duke, had brought upon both of you? This sadness, this sorrow, this anger, it was all of his doing.

Even when you’d seen Satoru fingering that maid in those gardens on your damn wedding day, even when he ignored you during that ceremony, you genuinely tried to be with him at your wedding night. You’d brushed that hair until it was shimmering, you’d had color on your cheeks and lips, clearly done by your Nan. You’d worn the most beautiful, sexy little thing, and he’d told you lies boldly.

He’d heard your sobs when he left that night, he pictured you, so small and helpless, so devastated, and he’d thought ‘good’ because crisis averted, you hated him, and he’d never fall in love. But then he couldn’t stop craving you, the more you pushed him away, the more you ignored him, he couldn’t help but want your words, your touch, even if it was a smack in his face, a curse word.

You consumed him before, but it worsens with every interaction, especially when he could be so sweet with you, just for that beautiful moment, when he could tell you how pretty you are, truly. When he could drink in your beautiful soul, that is what sets you so apart from any woman he’d known, that kindness in your soul to a creature like him who could never deserve it.

You’d covered for him, you’d forgiven him for some of his actions, how could you forgive him, how could you? Don’t you realize he doesn’t deserve it, even if he craves it, even if he needs it, but you opened to him, he watched you open, even though he knows you’re so scared to, and you should be, because what does he do, but disappoint you, time and again.

He stomps down the stairs of his manor, feeling it so cold and empty before you got here, and now you bring so much to it, he even loves sitting with you at breakfast, he’d not tell you so. He’d like it even more if you ate, like he’d forced you to this morning, a paltry attempt at righting things, when he just causes more and more anguish, this time unwillingly.

Satoru hates himself.

“You!” Satoru first heads to the butler, who is serving these two women more of Satoru’s champagne. “That’s it, you can find employment elsewhere. Read the room, goddammit man.”

“Your grace!”

“No, stay the night, and I’ll have a stipend for you ready with recommendations, you’re lucky you’ll even get that. After this, I never want to see your face again.” The butler leaves quickly, Satoru wanted to be much more cruel, but he knew the man had family, so his stipend would be generous.

But fuck that insolent butler.

The girls look at Satoru, smiling curiously, infuriating him worse. You’re so much more beautiful, so much more class in you, even when you’re being a wanton little whore, you out class and out shine everyone. How could he even stomach another woman now that he’s felt you cumming, now that he’s drank you?

“And you two, leave.”

The girls stop giggling then, looking at each other, then at Satoru, curiously. “Whatever do you mean, Satoru? Clearly… she’s not even here! She ran away like a little-”

“Do not speak of her.” He says through gritted teeth, yanking their glasses of wine out of their hands. “You have no right to speak about a Duchess, not either of you, not one word.”

“She’s clearly upstairs now, why ruin the fun?” Lady Elaine says, and Satoru’s mistress scowls.

“Because he wants her, he speaks of her-”

“Yes I want her, why the fuck wouldn’t I!?” He says then, so tired of this annoying, insecure and cloying mistress. She starts to sniffle, tears down her face. “Jesus, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of nicely for the month, so you can find another man to do so. Bloody hell you’re annoying.”

“It’s not just that, Satoru-”

“Don’t call me by my first name.” He says then, through his teeth. “I’ll ready a carriage for both of you.”

“Duke Gojo…” Lady Elaine says softly, and he rolls his blue eyes, looking at her seriously. “You do know she was with a man that night?”

“Yes I damn well know, and I was fucking you.” His - former? - mistress pouts again, lip trembling, so goddamn annoying.

“Yes, but you’re a Duke, and a man. Surely-”

“You’re married, Lady Elaine. Want you husband to know I fucked you on your hands and knees last night, my seed spilt all over your backside?” Satoru asks then, with a white brow shot up, and she gasps, sputtering. “Didn’t think so. Do not speak ill of my wife.”

“Your wife!? You both don’t even-”

“Enough. Get your things.” Satoru stomps off, asking his attendant to ready a carriage to take these annoying women home, even though he knows it matters naught, that you’re already done with him right now. He still can’t touch them, can’t look upon them, can’t hear their words about you, wrought from jealousy.

But he’d said worse things.

How can he call you a whore when you do what he’s pushed you to, when if he’d just been the smallest bit kind, you’d have been under him instead? When you both clearly had the most intense connection he’d ever felt, when he lost himself in your pretty eyes, when he lost himself in your kisses.

So now, the Duke Gojo, lies in his cold, empty bed, staring up at the ceiling, painted with intricate angels that he studies, when the angel he wants to study cries in the room next to him. The candles on his nightstands cast flickering shadows across the room, and he feels his coldness, he shivers, aching for a body he’d never held.

Satoru wasn’t a man that cried, not after what she’d done to him, he’d made sure to stop any emotions from that point, to become a cold version of himself. Even his best friends, Shoko and Suguru, had not been as close to him, had noticed his change, long before you, they just did not realize the depth of his cruelty. You have been punished for just looking the way you do.

Prettier than any angel on his ceiling, which blur through his intense emotions, as his heart thuds in his chest, as it feels like someone is squeezing it like a vise. The tears stream down his cheeks, unnoticed by anyone but himself, as he thinks of your rejection, your pain, and the chasm he’s created between you two, the one he thought he could repair just by pleasing you.

He’s such a fucking fool, even then, you’d asked him to explain, you were going to give him a chance, but how could he express it, express his pain and inadvertently his stupidity. How could he ever hope to build something or repair something he himself destroyed before it ever started? Satoru has never felt so helpless, so lost, this wound of seeing you like this hurts more than her cheating on him.

So Satoru cries quietly, not wanting anyone to hear his weakness, his sorrow. It’s a stark contrast to the man he’s always portrayed to the world, to you, this cold, unfeeling man. No, for you he burns, fuck he yearns for you every moment he breathes, every second his heart beats, and now he feels you slip through the fingers you should have never been in.

You have cracked his mask somehow, you’ve seen who he truly is, even if for that one beautiful moment, or who he was before her. That terrifies him because now he knows he’s not immune to love, no matter how much he closed himself off, no matter how much he threw himself into pleasure, he’s not immune to the pain, and it’s a worse pain than he’s ever felt, the aching in his heart for you.

He thought he knew what love was with her, with Adelia. Fuck even her name makes him sick, even her teary eyes as he paid her an enormous amount to leave the country and never come back. As she’d pleaded her damn way, trying to convince him it was his father’s fault, and sure it was, but he’d walked right in on her, riding his damn father and moaning, laughing about Satoru.

His dad had brushed it off with a cruel laugh, he’d always made sure to have several mistresses around, and Satoru watched his mother endure, watching the pain in her eyes, as he knew his mother fell in love with his dad. And he always wondered how she had, but now he saw it, now he knew.

Satoru had become like the person he hates the most in this world, he parades mistresses right in front of you, fuck even his father had kept his actions to the bed chamber, not right in the open. Satoru left that door open for you to see, for it to hurt you, so you’d never try to know him, so that you’d hate him, even his piece of shit father had more class.

How did you kiss him, after he did this to you? How could you even look at Satoru Gojo, were you that much of an angel? Were you that kind hearted, to the point of being foolish… you are foolish to have kissed him back, to have let him touch you, to have cried out his name.

‘Satoru, Satoru!’

Fuck.

He slams a hand over his face, feeling the cold air blow through the windows, he should shut it but he just cannot, he cannot move, he’d like to freeze to death, he’d like to let you be free of him. Maybe he should actually give you that annulment now, let you live your happy life, it’s what you deserve, you don’t deserve him, his cruelty, his confusion.

But he’s too selfish.

He’s always been good at pushing people away, but you’ve stuck now, like a thorn in his side that’s burrowed deep into his heart, despite his best efforts of keeping you so far. Just one look from your eyes, just one brush of his big hand on your waist, over those corsets you wear so tight, fuck he wants to rip them off you, see you fully, completely, not in bits and pieces, the full picture of you.

Has that man seen you fully?

Satoru is sure he had, fuck he saw your breasts first, as you had so blatantly said, coming home with marks and smirking at him, Satoru had made even you act cruel, and he did deserve your cruelty. He did not deserve the slightest kindness, and even now he will not even open up, because he doesn’t know where to start, it’s no excuse for his treatment of you, an innocent young lady with a heart too kind.

The bed feels like a prison, the silk sheets a mockery of the warmth and comfort he craves, the warmth of your delicate body, one that drives him to insanity. He’s been so lost in his own despair for so long, now he feels so much regret for hurting the one person he’s grown to need so desperately.

Duke Gojo is a mess for you, for a woman he does not deserve, and likely ruined any chance of ever having. 

You’ve tried to ignore him, to push him away, but he can’t bear it, he would never let you, even though he should, not when he constantly needs to feel your skin, taste your tears as he kisses you, tears he brings. He was truly cruel, more cruel than anyone he can fathom, not allowing you to breathe without him invading your space.

It takes everything not to keep begging to come into your room, to not just unlock that goddamn door, he has the keys, and kiss his apologies all over your body. To make you feel so good maybe you could forget, for just a moment, the endless anguish he has brought on you. But he knows it’s wrong, he knows all of this is wrong, he knows it’s likely too late for stupid, pathetic apologies.

He knows you’re in your room, just as he’s in his, both of you suffering in your own silent hell, one of his making. Misery, for what, when he could have had happiness, happiness with you, but because you looked like Adelia he treated you like he would her, no worse than he had her. And what had you done, but be a bright and hopeful bride?

He remembers hating you as you both courted, but he held it in check, thinking surely he had time to marry anyone, but the family bonds pushed and pushed you. God forbid a woman becomes of age and a parent doesn’t throw them to the wolves, and thrown to this wolf you have been, not even knowing what sex was, not even knowing your body’s reactions.

But fuck if Satoru did not want to know every inch of your body, fuck if he wouldn’t just lick you every day and nothing in return, if only you would stay in his arms. And this is what he feared, to be so desperate, to be so pathetic, but pushing you away had not prevented it, not one bit, not when you were designed so perfectly, not when your beauty made his heart falter.

Not when he wanted to know you, truly know you, what made you tick, what made you laugh, what made you cry. Aside from him. He laughs bitterly, turning to his side and hugging the pillow tightly, resting his face on it, imagining himself holding you instead. What would it be like to have you in his arms, not writhing and trying to fight him, but to…

To sleep next to you.

Eventually, the tears slow to a stop, and his eyelids grow heavy. He’s exhausted from the emotional turmoil, the fight with his own desires and the pain of his reality. As he drifts towards unconsciousness, he’s vaguely aware of light footsteps outside his door, so he shuts his eyes, white lashes fluttering, his lips parted as he exhales, feeling your presence.

He keeps his breathing even, pretending to sleep, not wanting to face you, not like this, he hopes you cannot tell he’s cried. When you enter the room, he can smell your sweet scent, like cherries in the sunlight, it’s unreal how sweet you always smell, he could find you anywhere.

He imagines how the candlelight must be illuminating your features just so, imagines if your own eyes are red and puffy from your own tears. You’ve come to check on him, and he can feel the compassion radiating from you, despite everything, despite the fact you should feel nothing.

Your kindness as you close the window, clearly sensing it’s a chilled night, it’s something he does not deserve. And when you exhale, bending low, he feels the softness of your strands of hair against his bare skin. God, he wants to pull you down for a kiss, to capture those full, pretty lips on his own. God even your hair smells so good, as you blow out his candle, engulfing you both in darkness.

When you pull that blanket over him, so caringly, it’s like a knife twisting in his gut, the guilt of what he’s done not just to such a sweet human being, but to a woman he’s feeling things for. Conflicting, intense, terrifying things, and now he knows that all the pushing away just caused you both pain, yet here you are.

Why do you care?

All Satoru is, is this monster, a despicable monster in the dark that’s ruined everything, ruined you fucking life, as you tuck him in, as you tentatively brush his snowy white hair back with careful fingers. For a moment, he considers reaching out to you, pulling you into his arms, but he stops himself.

He doesn’t deserve your comfort, not after what he’s done, he deserves nothing but suffering, not your caresses, not your kisses, and maybe you would fall for him if he did pull you close, maybe you’d melt like you do. Against your will, just as his feelings are for you, as both of you fight the one thing that feels so natural, like breathing, yet breathing is so difficult without you.

Without you near Satoru feels empty, but how can he expect you to fill a void you have no clue of? How can he even expect you now, as he lies there, feigning sleep, and you’re brushing your sweet fingers down one of his high cheekbones. He feels your touch, your gaze on him, the warmth of your presence in his chilly room, in his freezing cold heart.

This is more than he deserves, getting to drink you in, after he’d heard you sob in that room, after he watched the crestfallen look on your face, and all he could do was beg for you, be pathetic. As his dad told him so often when he was younger, ‘Satoru, you’re just pathetic, look at you’ and then he’d made that so true.

But you deserve better than Satoru Gojo’s long standing issues, his anger that was directed at you.

Why are you here!?

With a sigh, you quietly leave the room now, the door clicking shut behind you. Satoru’s eyes remain closed, his heart feeling like it’s been shattered into a million pieces, the emotion stuck in his throat as he clings to that pillow, snug and warm under the blanket you’d draped over him, picturing your beautiful face.

He needed to fucking make this right, you don’t deserve this, even if you chose another man. Satoru can’t change the past, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to make up for it, to see if he could make you happy, to see if he could stop fucking everything up so royally.

But for now, he’s just a man in his bed, a man who’s lost the one thing he never knew he wanted, the one thing he never knew could make him feel so alive and so destroyed all at once.

You.

And so, he lies there, his thoughts racing, until finally, sleep claims him, the first real rest he’s had in what feels like an eternity, brought on by your sweet caresses. But, even in his dreams, you’re there, your sad eyes looking at him with a mix of anger and disappointment. He wishes he could apologize, could explain, could do anything to take it all back.

Where would Satoru Gojo begin?

But all he can do is sleep for now, and those dreams of kissing you, begging for you, as you run off with another man, with that blond man with rough hands, and he’s just sobbing, on his knees. You look at him kindly, and tell him you have no hatred for him, just merely no love, before you dance away, flitting like a pretty little butterfly, as he reaches out, grasping air.

Would this be his fate, constantly wishing that he’d not ruined something, ran it into the fucking ground before he began, only to watch you happy, finally, so far away from him? It would leave him alone, with these endless women, drowning in their moans and alcohol, struggling to forget you, something he chose, Satoru chose all of this.

How could Satoru even breathe if you’re not here?

Your POV

“Where are you going?” Satoru asks the next morning, your neck is sore from tossing and turning, you’re exhausted from the lack of sleep, as you stand in your light blue day dress and bonnet. Satoru is sitting at the white grand piano in the drawing room, pecking keys with his long fingers, in a melancholy tune.

You have to admit it’s quite beautiful however, as he peers up at you, and hits those keys harder and harder, in a crescendo as he towers those notes down, lower and lower. His hands cross each other as he peers right at you, with those stormy blue eyes, and you feel yourself tense as you remember last night, when you’d been in his arms, against the wall.

Fuck he’d made you feel so insane, like an all consuming madness, and then you realized it before it was too late, that you were a fool. You’d been willing to give this man everything and all he’d given you was some pleasure, some attention, were you truly so pathetic that it only took that? Were you so keen to excuse the endless insults, the endless parade of women?

The endless torture this beautiful man who plays the piano so expertly, as he’d played you, it’s as if you’re fading off listening to it.

“I’m off to take a walk to town, it’s been so long. Hello, Satoru.” You coo at your puppy, who is running in circles around your feet, and you’re giggling at his cute expressions as he plays. Duke Gojo is staring seriously at you, his jaw clenched, his lips together tightly, studying you so carefully. “What are your plans, Duke?”

“My plans?” He laughs hoarsely, coming up then, the note ending in a high pitched screech as he walks toward you, drinking you in with that azure gaze, as if he remembered everywhere he kissed.

You are a horrible person.

You are such a fucking fool.

If Satoru Gojo just touches you a certain way, you melt in his arms, you are just like putty, ready to be molded for one of his whims. And how can you be so apt to do so!? How do you have no self control with this man, you, who has had so much control her entire life, you, who has always been the picture perfect lady, but now you do not know yourself.

“My plans are worrying where you’ll be.” His husky voice breaks you out of your reverie, as he tilts your chin up with two fingers, as his vulnerable words and looks threaten to ruin you.

“Why worry about me?” You whisper back, and he sighs, leaning down, forcing you to step back, making him glare.

“Why worry? Did last night mean nothing to you!?” You laugh then, harshly and without humor.

“Of course I thought it meant something, but it did not to you!”

“Yes it did! You have no idea-”

“Duke Gojo, stop this, just stop this game. You’ve gotten my hatred, you said you never wanted to lay with me, you get that as well. You get everything you initially asked for, why can’t you leave me alone?” You demand then, tears threatening, your chest heaving with shallow breaths, throat so tight.

He grabs your shoulders with his huge, warm hands, as you shiver from the coldness of your soul. “Because it’s not true, it’s not true at all. How could I not want you!?”

“You can’t just say that. And it matters naught, so what if you want my body finally, you do not even know me.” He blinks then, brows drawing together, his snowy long lashes low over his eyes.

“I know you very well. Did you forget?” He’s caressing up the sides of your breasts now, and you tremble, shaking your head.

“Not my body, me. Do you know a single thing, do you care to? Just because you… find my body attractive, at least I’m assuming…”

“Your body is fucking gorgeous. I want to see all of it.” He’s pulling you against him now, and you shake your head, trying to ease out of his grip.

“You don’t know me. You won’t open up to me. You don’t care about anything, and you hated me until you decided you want to what, fuck me first? Claim me? It means nothing.”

“Then stay, then stay and let me try to get to know you. Please.” You want to, fuck you want to, but you can’t fold so easily for this man, for this cruel monster, even if for once he’s kind, you cannot trust him. The man that had so coldly ruined you the first night, the night of your wedding.

How could you forget?

Sobbing on that goddamn floor, then him being so nasty, flaunting Catherine, fucking a random woman on the table, telling you not to exist!? His nasty demeanor, his cruel words, and you could still see yourself making love to him, letting his insane passion consume you both. The borderline of hatred and passion that threatens to destroy you from the inside out.

“You made your choice for us before you even knew me.” You say softly then, as tears fall down your face, and you watch him visibly gulp.

“Please, it can’t be too late. Please.”

“Then tell me, give me something! Fuck, anything Satoru!” You shove at him, and he shuts down, right in front of your eyes, driving you fucking crazy. You sigh, shaking your head. “You shut me out, and expect me to open up? That’s such bullshit.”

“Just don’t go, I’ll do anything, don’t see him.”

“And you-”

“I sent them home! Immediately. For good.” He says, and you gasp at that, blinking rapidly, your heart thrumming in your chest.

“You… immediately?” You ask then, as he confirms what you wondered at before.

Satoru nods then, cupping your face, and you hate what his touch does, not just physically… but emotionally. You crave comfort in the man that brought you all of this pain, as you shut your eyes, mentally steeling yourself for what you’d have to do. To turn him down, when everything in your body craves him, because you just can’t keep going on like this.

“One right thing changes nothing.” You say softly, and watch him be crushed, watch you crush him with your words. You don’t want to say this, you want to believe him, forgive him, kiss him… fuck you want to be that fake couple you all were, to believe the dream, but you’re not that stupid.

“So I can’t ever earn your forgiveness?” He asks softly, and you sigh, looking away then.

“I’ll forgive you, I already have forgiven some things… but it changes nothing. We will not be together soon, and we both can move on from this.”

His face hardens, his grip tight on you. “From ‘this’ What, torture of having to be with me?”

“Yes!” You snap then, turning away and taking several breaths. “Now I have to ruin the happiness I have, because I was a fucking idiot for you.”

He follows you to the door, slamming it now, pressing against your body, his hard body consuming your small one, hands gripping your waist, burning you, everything Satoru Gojo did burned you. You burn for his touch, for his kisses, even if you fucking hate him, even if you hate yourself for it. He’s shooting desire hot through you as his breath against your neck makes you shiver.

“I’ll do anything, let me pleasure you again? Please.” He’s begging, the man who said he’d never want you, gripping you between your thighs over your layers, and you’re whimpering against your will.

“We cannot.” You whisper, making him sigh, kissing against your neck, rubbing against your heat, having you dripping in moments. “We must not. We will not be together, it’s what you wanted.”

“I didn’t know what I wanted.” You exhale, head falling back, as he constantly pulls you to him, like some moth to his flame, as you ache to feel him, as you feel him slowly wrecking your psyche, in this endless push and pull, that will only end in you being crushed. “I’d die to feel you again. Anything you want I’ll do.”

Fuck.

“You won’t open up, you won’t… explain… fuck.” Satoru’s kissing hungrily on your neck, as your hand press against the door, and you’re throbbing around nothing, fuck it would feel so good to let him. You suck in a breath, shake your head, steeling yourself. “I’m seeing him.”

“Please, don’t, I can’t stand it. Please.” His desperation nearly gets you, Satoru could stab you, make you bleed, then whine in your ear and you’d forgive him, you’re so stupid for this toxic man. You hate your body’s reactions, you hate your heart faltering for him.

“I have to tell him what I’ve done.”

“What, let your husband make you cum harder than you ever have?” His words against your ear threaten to destroy your resolve, until you turn around, shoving him back, ignoring the shrunken pupils, making his eyes look insane. Ignoring those glossy lips and his beautiful face.

“It’s not right. None of this is.”

“How is it not right? It’s what we’re supposed to be doing. Fuck, more… if you’d just let me show you, I could make you feel even better-”

“It’s just physical, that’s it, some… reaction.” You take several breaths, as you watch Satoru’s face fall. “It will likely ruin my only happiness, what we did, so you’ll see me sad and depressed again. But not for long, because I can’t wait to annul this marriage, to be free of you.”

He blinks back emotions of his own, and your heart shatters at the glossiness in his eyes. “Give me a fucking chance first!”

“You do not care for me, not one bit! You do not love me. You just want my body, that’s not enough Satoru.”

“As if he doesn’t just want your body.”

“You’re wrong. I suggest you invite those ladies back over, because you’ll not have me in your bed. I can’t fucking take that sort of pain, I was so stupid last night, thank god they came.”

Satoru slams his hand on the door by the side of your head, glaring down at you now. “Fuck that! You know that’s-”

“Let me go.” You say then, through gritted teeth, and he rakes a hand through his white hair, sputtering.

“So there’s just no fucking chance at you?” He says then, and you turn away, hand on the door knob, shoulders shaking as you hold in your sobs. “Answer me, insolent fucking brat.”

You say nothing, walking out the doors then, leaving his devastated face that you can’t stand to see, ignoring his protests as you go to devastate another man with your stupid actions.

“Darling!” Nanami Kento answers the door to his apartments with a grin, but when he sees your serious face, it falters, then his blond brows draw together, that strong jaw tightening. “Is something wrong?”

“Can we talk, Kento?” You ask softly, and you watch him gulp, nodding tersely, letting you in and shutting the door behind you both. Your heart is racing in your chest, stomach feeling so sick, as you think of what you’ll have to say.

“What’s wrong? Did I cross a line last time?” He says, and your heart hurts so badly you damn near can’t breathe, clutching your chest as he stands in front of you, and you feel the walls closing in, dreading hurting him.

“No, not at all. Not one bit. No, you are… Kento, I…”

“Do you need to sit?”

“I… n-no, I should say this and then get out of your sight, surely.” Kento frowns in confusion, a line forming as his brow knits in concern.

“Nothing would make me want you out of my sight.” He whispers, and you shut your eyes as he’s deftly holding your arms in his rough, warm grip.

“I was intimate with Duke Gojo.” He blinks then, gasping, his lips falling apart as he steps back, and you feel like collapsing under your stupid actions, hugging yourself as you watch his face fall.

“You were what with him? What do you mean!?” He chokes out the words, and you take a breath for courage.

“He pleasured me. As you have.” He turns then, raking a hand through his blonde hair, scoffing. “I have wronged you, severely-”

“You let him touch you? Why would you, I don’t fucking understand, the man that said you’re a pig, the one that fucks women in front of you? The man that had you afraid to eat a goddamn cookie?” He is speaking through his teeth, glaring then, and you shrink back, tears welling up in your eyes, as you feel disgusted at yourself.

“I’m so sorry, Kento. I had to tell you, it wouldn’t be right if I continued on, and you had no knowledge.”

“I… what… you… why…”

“I wanted to thank you.” You’re sniffling, tears rushing hot down your cheeks as you watch the pain on his features. “For making me feel so special, for listening to me, for being… so many of my firsts. I am only sorry you met me, that you got hurt by me, please forget about me. Please live your life, and find someone worthy, so that I will be just a bad memory.”

His mouth opens, brows raised, as you cover your face, sobbing into them, turning away then and stumbling to the door. “Where are you going?”

“To leave, so you can forget me. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me.”

“And you’ll be with him?”

“No. I’ll get an annulment, for I cannot go on with him. But it matters naught, it’s no longer something you should worry for. I deserve no kindness.” You choke on a cry then, hand on the knob, but his stops over yours, making you shiver, as he cups your face then, tilting your head. He swipes your tears softly, further breaking your heart, that you’re such a fucking fool.

“Are you running away, Duchess?” He whispers, and you look at him in confusion.

“You cannot want to look upon me. Did you not hear what I’ve done!?”

“You did something with your husband. I expected you to have already been intimate with him, it was surprising when you were not. Did you not think I knew such a role as a… the other man… would not entail that? I’m more surprised you let someone so terrible touch you. Please come talk.”

You gasp, turning a bit towards him. “You do not need to help me with the annulment, with anything. I’m horrible! Don’t you see!?”

“You are not horrible.” You laugh without humor, as you look at his tired, sweet hazel eyes, that are way too fucking kind.

“I am! I let him, I did, don’t you understand I was disloyal?”

“So what, you wanted to feel desired by the man who made you feel so terrible? It’s an entire trauma response. You can’t blame yourself.” He’s caressing your face, and you can’t stand it, can’t stand what you’ve done.

“You’re being too nice! You should hate me!” You shove at his hard chest then, as you struggle more and more to breathe, hands numb, so numb you have to shake them, and he frowns at you, lines in his cheeks deepening.

“Hate you? How could I hate you? You came to tell me, you clearly care for our relationship. I knew this was a possibility. You think I don’t want you now?”

“How can you! How can you!? Nanami…. Fuck I can’t… fuck…” You’re gasping for breath, your throat so tight, like something is sitting on your chest, you nearly collapse, and Nanami holds you then, as you cannot speak.

“Darling, what’s wrong? Please, sit. What can I do?” How can he be so kind to you, you don’t deserve it, any of it. You’re the awful woman who almost laid with Gojo, after everything. You open your mouth to speak, but now you’re feeling fuzzy, as you can’t get a breath. “What can I do!?”

“As-as-”

“Asthma?” He asks gruffly, and you barely manage a nod, as you are seeing black spots, as you’re fading. He rushes off then, coming back with hot black coffee steaming in one of his ceramic cups. “Here, please, drink.”

You gratefully put your lips to the rim of the cup, sipping and then coughing into your hand, so embarrassing, but he urges you to drink again, as you cough up more and more, air flowing finally to your lungs. He continues to feed you sips, deftly unlacing your corset with his free hand, rubbing your back, as you start to come to, with greedy breaths.

You take a deep one, tears dripping off your lashes as you look at him, at his exhale of relief. “Fuck, you terrified me. Are you okay?”

“Thank you… how did you…”

“My nephew has it as well. I should have noticed sooner, you always rub your throat here.” His thumbs brush against your throat, and you swallow nervously, overwhelmed, starting to get upset again, but Nanami is brushing your hair back gently, sighing. “You do not need to get that upset, it makes it so much worse.”

“How can I not be upset that I wronged a man like you!? I hate myself, I hate myself so much!” You’re sobbing holding your hands to your face now, and Nanami gently takes them down, tilting your chin up, and you slowly try to come to, breasts heaving up and down.

“Do not say such things. I do not hate you.” He says softly, his voice breaking in the middle, eyes glimmering with his own emotions, Nanami was always so calm, so collected, but now…

“I hate me enough for you too. Your life would be better if you never met me, if I never-” He slams his lips on yours then, hands gripping your wrists tightly, and you sink into him, into the kiss, before yanking away. “I don’t deserve your kisses! I don’t deserve any attention from you!”

“Will you let me decide what you deserve?” He whispers, pulling you closer, until you’re flush against his chest. “I wish you did not hate yourself, because I feel quite the opposite. I love so much about you, your smile, how you are so different from other nobles, you’re so humble, so sweet. I love your laugh, and how comfortable your presence is.”

“Nanami, you can’t like me. You can’t.” You sniffle more, and he’s got an arm wrapped around your waist, making you feel so safe, so loved almost, when you don’t feel you deserve it. You watch him sigh, as he kisses your forehead, and your eyelashes flutter shut. “You cannot be fine with this, you deserve someone you can have fully, not in pieces!”

“I’d take pieces of you over any whole person.” You kiss him back fervently now, straddling his lap, as your tears flow down your face, and he’s kissing them, his hands ripping off your corset then, shocking you for a moment as you catch a breath.

“Why do you care? Why do you want me?” You ask, through your tears, and he cups your face, gazing at you so seriously, as you feel him hard against you.

“Why wouldn’t I want you? I ache for you, you’re all I can think of, wishing you were here, with me, not with him. Not being destroyed, to the point of hating yourself. Wishing to see that light in those eyes, that girl I met.” You sniffle again, teeth clenching, hands gripping in his hair, as you both taste each other’s breaths.

“She’s dead and gone, Kento.” You whisper brokenly, and he shakes his head, pulling you even closer, so close you can’t breathe.

“She is not, she is right here.” Kento’s hands slide up your stocking clad thighs, pulling you firmer on him. “You will not let this ruin you. I will only leave this if you do not… want me.”

“Kento, how could I not!? How could anyone not want you!”

“I say the same to you. Can you not see what I do?” He kisses you again, and you exhale against his lips, as your tongues meet, as he’s undressing you right on his living room floor, as you’re fervently unbuttoning his shirt, kissing down his chest, his hot skin, earning his sexy soft moans. “Darling… you’re upset. I must stop.”

“Yes I’m upset, I’m upset I hurt you.” You say hoarsely, running your hands down every hard muscle. “I’m upset I was an idiot. A whore.”

“You are no whore.” He says angrily, and you shake your head.

“Oh, I’ve become one lately. Look at me? What I’ve done, hurting you-”

“Let me decide what I can and cannot take.”

“Then take me.” He pauses, at your insanely bold words, as your pulse pounds so hard you can feel it thrumming your whole body like a beat of a drum. “If you want me, take me.”

“If I want you? You speak so foolishly at times, as if you have no clue your effects, as if I haven’t dreamed of this.” You’re in his arms now, as he easily carries you to his bed, kissing you over and over, taking off the remnants of your dress, slipping his fingers down your slit, watching you arch up, gasping. “The nights where I dream of tasting you again.”

“But I…”

“I care not what happened.” Kento’s hot lips trail down your stomach, as his mouth finds you, and it’s harder than he’d gone before, desperate strokes of a skilled tongue, his thick fingers stretching your entrance, and you’re clinging to him, screaming out and shaking.

“Kento! Mmm!” You’re so close, as he pumps those fingers in and out, as he looks up at you, flicking the tip of his tongue on your clit, watching you as you cum, as you lose yourself in him, in his affection, in his care, and you yank on him, pulling him up. “Please, please, please.”

“What you do to me…” He slides up you, fully naked, as you reach down to his thick length, but he halts you, grabbing your wrist, pinning it above your head, studying you. “You must be sure, I do not want you to regret this.”

You take more breaths, as your addled mind runs everywhere, as you see the man that could love you, that cares, so much he forgives your foolishness, then as you shut your eyes, you see Satoru Gojo’s brilliant blue eyes. The sadness in them, the mystery, the coldness, just yesterday you’d been with him, so close to losing your virginity.

“We can stop. I can pleasure you more, sweet girl.” Nanami says, and you look up at him, as he cups your face, as his blond hair falls over his brow just so, a man that is open, that cares, that has not faltered. A man that just made you cum, who you just adore, and now you feel his hot length on your inner thigh. You raise your hips, biting your lower lip, and watching his eyes shut as he moans.

“I want you to be my first, Nanami Kento. You.” You say then, and gasp when he reaches down, rubbing the tip of his cock against you, and he tenses, the hand bracing himself entangling in your hair.

“I only have so much willpower, I will not deny my Darling what she asks.” You melt, smiling up at him, and he smiles just a bit, leaning down, his weight heavy on you. “Just always be honest with me. Will you promise?”

“I promise, I swear, I will be honest.”

“Even if it… hurts me.”

You choke up again, caressing his handsome face with a free hand. “Even if it hurts, I swear.”

“And this may hurt for a moment. Will you forgive me?” You nod then, gasping in shock and pain when his thick length presses inside your eager little entrance, breaking that little barrier so deep, and he pauses, groaning, resting his head on yours as you’re crying in pain. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. Please, give it a moment.”

You feel the burn, as Nanami reaches down, grabbing one of your thighs, pressing in deeper, you feel every emotion known to man as you realize what you’re doing, and that Satoru will hate you. As you feel too full, far too full, so stretched as he pulls back, then presses in again, your teeth clenching from the pain. Nanami looks at you, worry and pleasure mixing on his face.

“You’re too tiny, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You feel so perfect.”

Perfect, huh?

“Please, let me…” Nanami finds your clit, as he kisses down your throat, and you’re staring at his ceiling, hating yourself, hating all that you feel, and wanting to forget it all. You feel him sucking on your throat, right where Satoru had, as you grow wetter under his ministrations, as you feel him sinking deeper, and it starts to hurt less just a bit.

You hate yourself as he moans, as he looks down lovingly at you, concern in his gaze, as he eases back, then slides in again, and you gasp, as it starts to feel good, clinging to his waist. He’s exhaling, kissing you softly, releasing your clit to grab your breasts, to kiss on them, to gently suck a nipple into his mouth. He rolls his hips just so, hitting a spot deep that feels good.

“Ah! Mmm… I… that feels…” He smiles just a bit, pressing kisses on your lush breasts, sliding one hand to cup your face. “Feels… good.”

“I want you to feel good, sweet girl. I want to feel your perfect little pussy tighten around me.” His husky words, along with the motions of his hips, start to work you up, as your body accommodates, as you stretch around his cock, and get wetter. “You’re so beautiful, darling, you feel so good.”

You melt under his praise, as he now pumps into you, more steady, so deep you feel him completely, as he sinks fully in, moaning and cupping your face with both his hands, eyes looking into yours as he works his hips. Nanami Kento is gently making love to you, touching you everywhere he can, kissing your body everywhere he can, as you fall more into it, into the feelings.

The pressure in your tummy.

The slickness of your pussy.

The trembling of your thighs around his hips.

The way he looks at you.

“Darling… darling let me feel you, let me feel you cum on me.” He says softly, urging you, pressing your thighs up and hitting deeper, making your toes curl, your eyes roll back, as he moves quicker. “Please, let me feel you, my love. Please.”

My love.

You blink a bit, eyes focusing, as your hands pull on his hips, as you feel your body rising higher and higher, like when he pleasures you, but more intensely. “Kento, I think I’m-”

“I feel it, let go love, let go.” He whispers, and you do let go, shattering and cumming around him, and he groans loudly, stilling inside of you, as he watches your face, sighing, his eyes flitting back and forth. “Oh, you’re so beautiful.”

“Kento…” You blink away tears, and he kisses you once more.

“I’m close, darling, you’re too tight, too perfect. Can you cum once more?” He asks softly, and you nod, gasping out when he fucks you harder, tip dragging against that same spot, and you cum again, getting so wet, as he pulls out, huffing, stroking his cock now.

Soon stringy white ropes are spread on your belly, and you’re trembling, overwhelmed by what just occurred. You blanch when you notice blood, leaning up the bed and gasping, for Nanami to shake his head, running his free hand up and down your shoulder.

“Darling, it’s normal the first time. Are you all right?” He asks, so concerned, and your world closes in on you.

You’ll just hurt him more!

You just did this, you just lay with a man, who is not your husband, a man you were so sure would hate you, would never want you again. You can’t quite comprehend what even has happened. Nanami is cleaning you, holding you tightly to him, stroking your hair, and you want to sink into his embrace, but you’re so confused, so disoriented, you just take a few breaths.

“Did I hurt you? Please, speak to me.” His concern makes your tummy flip, makes you feel so sick almost as it sinks in.

“It hurt at first, but then it felt really good.” He exhales, squeezing your body tight against him.

“Oh I’m so relieved, I was so worried I hurt you.” You shake your head, and he tilts your chin up, looking down at you. “Darling, thank you for this, for trusting me with something so precious.”

You smile tremulously, as you run your hands through his hair. “Thank you for being so careful with me.”

“Was I? I worry I went too rough.”

“No, you always make me feel precious.” He kisses your cheeks, as you come down, as you collect yourself, and your reality sets in.

“I’m falling in love with you.” You gasp, mouth wide open, tilting your head back to stare incredulously, seeing his cheeks flush. “You need not say it back, I know you are conflicted, I know you’re so hurt from him still. But I needed you to know, I would have never taken your innocence if I did not feel that way, if I did not feel so much love in my heart.”

Your heart breaks, and you can’t stop the onslaught of fresh tears, fuck how many times have you cried today? As you realize his feelings are deeper than you knew, and you have feelings too but you’re so confused, so overwhelmed by Satoru Gojo, and his feverish effects. You cannot make heads to tails your feelings, you cannot put anything together properly.

“Darling it’s fine, I just had to let you know. How badly I wish I could hold you all night long.” You bury your face against him as he soothes you, as he rocks you, as you feel so different, as you’re sore, as your heart is being pulled into so many directions you think it will combust.

“I wish you could hold me all night.” You say, and he kisses you once more, swiping those tears. “I do not deserve you.”

“You deserve much more than you think. You deserve to be happy.”

Happy.

What was happy?

Was it being in Nanami’s arms, in these brief moments of reprieve? Was it baking cookies, was it his sweet kisses, was it feeling loved, was it hearing Nanami Kento is falling in love? Why then, do you feel so fucking sad, as you think of what Satoru will say, how he will feel. Why do you care, when he fucked how many women!? Why do you care!

Why is he in your goddamn head? As you’ve made love to another man, as Nanami took all your firsts, and as he’s whispering sweet encouragement in your ear, as he helps you dress. As Nanami is kissing you over and over, and your body is so sensitive, as you try to make any sense of anything.

“I have news of the annulment, fuck I got distracted.” You giggle a bit, softly, blushing, and Nanami grins. “There it is, a little laugh for me.”

“Oh, Kento…” You lean up, kissing his chin, as you both sway as if to dance alone in Nanami’s quiet, warm living room, imagining a world where this was your home, how would that feel? “You forgiving me, it makes no sense, but I am glad that you did. I would miss you so dearly.”

“And I would miss you. He has agreed to meet next week, will you be able to do so? Are you ready to try to leave?” You nod then, even as this sinking feeling pulls, you shove it far, far away. You and Satoru were toxic, you hated each other, you were horrible, you both cheated on each other, then hurt each other, and others.

It must end before it begins.

“I wish I could take you back to my room, hold you all night… I wish you didn’t have to go…”

“Nanami, this is what I meant, you’re hurt.”

“I am stronger than you seem to think. I told you, you’re worth any pain.”

“I don’t want you in pain.” You sigh, kissing him over and over, soft and sweet little pecks, and Nanami finally lets you go, brushing your hair back.

“The pleasure of being in your company, of being inside you-” Your breath catches, as he’s whispering in your ear. “Eclipses any pain.”

You sigh, snuggling against him. “Kento, you’re too good for this world.”

“Nonsense. Please be safe, please see me soon. I count the moments until our next meeting, before you even leave.” You both hold hands, and you smile shyly, as you step out into the evening air. “Are you fine to walk, it’s getting dark.”

“I am fine, it’s not far. Good night Kento.”

“Good night darling.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk away, as you are trembling, as the world crashes on you, as you realize you entangle an even larger web than before, as you realize it’s all going to end up with everyone hurt.

You still hate yourself, even if Nanami thinks he loves you.

You walk in the manor, and see Satoru there, at the dinner table, sipping on a drink, looking at you, at first hopeful, then analyzing, his eyes everywhere, and he stands, gripping the glass so hard it shatters into a million tiny pieces. You stand there, sullen and silent, not bragging like before, not in some delicious mood, no you hate yourself more and more.

Satoru walks to you, long strides with his tall legs, until he’s facing you, until his hessian boots touch your slippered feet, and he tilts your chin up, seeing the marks Nanami left, and he chuckles darkly. He grabs you by your hair, pulling tightly, forcing you to look him right in his broken blue eyes, you gulp as you do, as you feel so horrible you can’t take it.

And why.

Why?

He’d done this since the beginning!

Why!?

Why do you care.

Why…

“You fucked him, didn’t you!?” He demands, and all you can do is look down, as he cups your face, with emotions screwing up his beautiful face. “You fucked him, just say it, just say it.”

“I did.” You whisper, and he lets you go roughly, walking to the table, pulling everything off and it crashes to the floor. You tense as you watch him, as you feel yourself already tight in your throat again, you feel your body going numb as you watch him pace, hands in his snowy white hair.

“How could you!? How could you! I sent them home, I’ve waited all day for you, and you were letting another man take your virginity!?” You just sob, brokenly, into your hands, shocked your eyes have wetness left.

“We will… be not together… soon. Annulment. I’m getting one. What does it matter what I do?” You say, in a hoarse, weak voice, and Satoru scowls, grabbing you by your arms then.

“Why would you not give me a chance!”

“Why would you not give me a chance when we met! As soon as we met, you decided this all!” You shove him off you, and smack him then, only for him to smack you right back, shoving you against the table, bare of anything, his face full of rage as you both bear handprints on your faces.

“You stupid fucking girl. So stupid. I begged for you, I was pathetic for you, bloody hell I despise you. I hate you so fucking much.” He’s squeezing your face, and you just cry, eyes shutting.

“I deserve your hatred, as you deserve mine. We both are nothing to each other, nothing! Do you see!?”

“Oh, I see, crystal fucking clear. I’m not good enough, am I?”

Your eyes go wide. “What!? No, you’re just fucking cruel Gojo! You’re mean, you’re nasty, you think eating me out makes it all okay! No!”

“And what sort of whore fucks a man like that, huh?” You glare up at him.

“You, you’re the sort of whore, huh! Fucking mad it wasn’t you?”

“Fuck you. Fuck you.” He’s squeezing you so hard you think you really might break, as you both breathe each other’s air, as you grow light headed, as every inch of you ignites for a man that can’t be yours, a man that hates you. “You exist to destroy me, I knew it from the beginning.”

“You keep saying things like this, as if you did not wish for this, for us to do nothing, I am fulfilling your wishes!”

“All I wished was to know you, to touch you, to be near you, and all you do is crush me. Just like-” He stops then, and you look up at him, eyes fucking burning, as your own hands stop shoving him, just resting, feeling his heart pound against you at an insane rate.

“Just like who?” You ask softly, and he scoffs, leaning low, his lips hovering right over yours, and you hate how you still ache, even after everything, even knowing this was nothing, you want him, you want him.

Why do you?

Why?

Why did you do this?

Why!?

Why do you care?

Why…

“I’ll never open up again to you. Go be a little slut and open your legs for whoever you want, see if I ask to come near you.” You grit your teeth.

“Good! I don’t want you!”

“Good, I will never want you!

“Good!”

“Fuck you, Duchess.” He pulls your hair hard again, and kisses you deeply, overtaking you, bruising your lips, and you gasp, and let him, let his tongue ruin your mouth, let his teeth bite you. He bites your lips so hard you bleed, so you bite him back, and then he shoves you off, chest heaving, red beading his pink pouty mouth. “I hate you.”

“I hate you.” You whisper back, and you hate that it’s a lie, you hate that you care, you hate that his pain hurts you. “I chose someone who loves me.”

“Loves you!? Ha! You’re so stupid.”

“Why, because I think someone could? You just fear no one will ever love you, and I wonder why, maybe because you’re horrible!”

He kisses you again, and you cling to him, tasting the iron of your blood mixing, as you’re moaning, and fuck it feels good. Fuck it’s heady and insanity, and fuck you can’t explain it. It has to stop, it has to. “You’re horrible, a stupid whore. A cold hearted bitch.” He whispers, pulling so hard you think he’ll rip your hair out.

“You helped make me this way.” You bite him again, and he slaps you again, earning you just getting wetter as you smack the fuck out of him back with a loud clack in the air. And damned if you're not wetter than you had with Nanami inside you. Fuck Satoru. Fuck him.

“Hate you so much.” He’s squeezing your throat, and you whimper, earning his soft moan. “Hate you little whore.”

“I h-hate you, Satoru. I’m glad I did it. You get… a taste of… your own fucking medicine, huh?” You whisper, as he squeezes, as he grabs your ass, pressing you against his thigh, and you grind helplessly.

He groans, feeling your heat on his leg, feeling you soak his trousers. “Pathetic, nasty slut, can’t help yourself, can you?”

You suck in a breath, as he presses his thigh up, and you could cum from that. Fuck he’s right, you are, a pathetic slut for this heinous man. “You’re pathetic, man whore, fuck you.”

“I’ll go fuck this entire brothel.” He shoves you then, and you’re coughing, as he walks away, grabbing his coat, and you follow him, furious.

“Oh no surprises there, what do I care, Satoru! What do I even fucking care what you do! Soon you’ll never have to see me again.”

He stares at you, hurt blatant in his eyes, before steeling himself, and you see him, the cold Duke Gojo again.

“Good, I can’t fucking wait.”

Gojo’s POV

Satoru Gojo has two women sucking on his cock that night, as he sips his whiskey, as he thinks of you, of your gorgeous face, covered with his red handprint, as he thinks of leaving handprints all over your slutty body. As he thinks of fucking you better than your silly baker surely did, as he thinks of fucking you so good you scream for him, that you’re convulsing.

Stupid slutty brat, that he still wants, even as he watches the two women make out over his tip, swapping his precum between their mouths. As he pictures another man taking what was his, as he thinks of killing that man, tearing him apart, he sips more of his whiskey, burning a trail down his throat.

“You taste so yummy, your Grace!” One girl giggles, looking up at Satoru and licking her lower lip.

“You do indeed, your grace.” He hums, as they set his glass down, pulling them both to him, each on one thigh.

“Play with each other, would you? Wanna see you both kissing.” Satoru says, and they giggle and kiss, as Satoru runs a hand down their backs, and the liquor has run through him, and he’s just a little dizzy. As he shuts his eyes and pictures fucking your stupid whore mouth until you drool.

Fuck why can’t he stop thinking of you, after you crushed him!?

Why!

Why does he care?

Why!?

Why does Satoru still want you, when he said he never would in the first place, when he swore to himself he was done forever with any women.

Why…

Why do you hurt him so?

Why.

Satoru has two women on a gaudy red bed in a brothel, and he figures fuck it then, fingering one, when he kisses down the other’s stomach, and she gasps as he flicks a tongue over her folds. She’s whimpering, pulling at his hair, like you did, because what did it matter anymore? You weren’t special, you were nothing, you didn’t give a fuck about him.

You fucked someone, who knows maybe he came in you, maybe he’d get you pregnant, maybe you’d go live with him and have babies. Maybe you’d be happy, and if Satoru had love, the love you want, the love you think is real, he’d happily let you go. But Satoru hates you so much now, fuck he hates you, hates how you’ve made him feel things again, just to destroy him.

He’s lapping up this woman, who’s squirting her pleasure all on his face, as the other girl is screaming out, cumming around his fingers, and all he can think of is your taste, is your pretty face. It makes him that much harder, as he dives down on the other woman, while the woman he’d just had cum sinks to her knees, sucking his cock, and he fucks her throat.

When Satoru fucks into one of the women, he doesn’t know their names, he doesn’t care, not when he cried over you, not when you broke him, not when he’s watching the other woman lick her cunt. Not when they’re laying on top of each other, and he’s fucking one, then the other, not even then does he care to know their names, not even then can he forget you.

Satoru can never get over you, the one that was never his. And he wanted it this way, didn’t he? Now he’d never get you, what a fool he was to have thought so, not when you’re in the arms of another, not when you gave yourself away, not when he still would take you, still would die to have you

 The girl who brushed his hair back and tucked him in, who were you truly? You were right, Satoru did not know you, and you did not know him, all he knows is that he burns for you.

All he knows is that he can’t cum, not when he’s picturing you instead, not when he wishes he could feel your needy, slutty cunt with his cock. He can’t even be disgusted by you, you’re too goddamn gorgeous, he wants you too much, he’d take you anyway, he’d take you right after you fucked someone.

And he hates himself for it. Satoru hates himself, and he hates you. He hates that he feels something, he hates that he feels so much, he detests your pretty face, he can’t take your haunting looks. He hates that he understands what you did, that he can’t blame you even in his fury, because you did what he pushed you to do. You just reacted to him, and here he was.

He was a fool.

How could he think a couple right actions would save something that never even got started? How could these two pretty women not do hardly a thing, in any goddamn position, in any pressure on his cock, as he tries to fall into them, to hide the pain, the darkness, that sucks him in, the darkness of his feelings.

You are a black hole, you suck him in and leave nothing.

Your POV

Satoru Gojo is a black hole, he sucks you in, and leaves you with nothing, he scatters you into pieces, crashing to the earth with the weight of his gravity. Satoru Gojo hates you, and he’s fucking his whores, and you can’t stop thinking of him, of the pain in his eyes, in the words he said, so mysterious, in the way the man grabs you, looks at you, with anger, with lust with…

Not love.

It was not love, it could not be, no Nanami loves you, Nanami treats you so right, Nanami cares. Even after all you’ve done, he cares. And you should not feel bad for your actions, you should not feel bad for wanting to be loved, not when you’re with this black hole of a human being.

Then why does it hurt so bad?

Why?

Why do you picture him on top of you?

Why!?

You hate yourself, and you hate yourself so deeply, it’s like you’re unrecognizable, like there’s nothing of you left. Satoru Gojo saps the air from your lungs, he makes you burn for him against your own goddamn will, he makes you question yourself, he consumes you. With his stupid blue eyes, with his demeaning, nasty words that excite you.

Even as you touch your cheek, feeling the sting of his hand, still throbbing from his hits, your nipples tighten in response. You’d lost your virginity today, but you lost more than that, you’ve lost yourself, as you stare at the ceiling, alone in this empty goddamn room, in the cold house, and you rub your throat, as you struggle to catch a breath.

But how could you breathe with Satoru near?

Why did you wish he could take your breath away, why would you gladly give it to him, when he does not deserve it, why do you hate yourself more than you did this morning? Why do you see him, and his stupid pretty face, why does the biting kiss of his cruel lips do more to you than anything else? Why do the very thoughts of him have you panting in your bed.

Your heavy eyes shut, tired of crying, as you fall into a dreamless sleep, as you sink into the cold sheets of your bed, a bed that feels like a prison. In a home that doesn’t feel like a home, but feels like pure hell, hell that you just want to drown in, for a chance to see Satoru’s evil goddamn soul. For him to let you in.

Why are you like this?

Why…

ao3 chap : https://archiveofourown.org/works/58976983/chapters/152639695

A/N: Well... mmhmm. Hope you all um, enjoyed!? This traumatic ass insane chapter. Did you think they were going to make progress yet? Oh no, dear readers it's a toxic, enemies to lovers slow burn. I put alot of work into this so I hope it shows <3 I put these out very fast, but I do not enjoy the pushiness of some people demanding chapters out even quicker! I'm writing 10k plus chaps in less than a week lol. Please respectful when asking for updates.

Love you all SO MUCH. I can't wait to read your thoughts, I just love them :)

Until next time, dear Masochistic readers.

Part Eight