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lovedrunkheadcanons · 1 year

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(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

Rated M

My Dearest Duch,

I come with the most splendid news. After some thinking, I have decided to spend holiday in Tokyo next week and will be paying you a visit. How marvellous! I know it’s been a while, so why don’t we catch up over a nice cup of tea. I’ll write later in lieu of my arrival. Keep the kettle on for me.

Till then, Butch (C.T.) XoXoX

Hannah’s eyes hungrily re-read the letter for the fourth consecutive time at breakfast. The parchment was dated three days ago, but she wondered whether there was a mistake. It had been almost two years since they last spoke with each other. Why on God’s green earth would Cressida want to see her? Here, in Japan of all places? Hannah was flummoxed. Her whole life she had been tossed around Europe like a crumpled brown paper parcel, constantly hopping from one dilapidated convent to the next, hidden away from the world, and not once had her cousin come to visit her, much less pick up a pen and write a letter, but there it was. In her hand. ‘Duch’ and ‘Butch.’ Blimey, those were names she hadn’t heard in ages.

“Are you feeling alright, ma’am?” Makoto said, genuine concern in her tone. “Is the food not to your liking?”

Hannah looked up at the housekeeper setting down a fresh pot of coffee and hurriedly folded up the letter, slipping it back inside its Graveur linen envelope, the two Thames sirens waxed in the center.

“Oh, no, not at all, Makoto-san,” Hannah said, a little startled. She gave the housekeeper a small smile. “The food is quite good. Delicious even. No need to make a fuss.”

“A fuss?” Satoru yawned, at last emerging from the hallway. “Better not be a fuss.”

Hannah watched the Six Eyes wielder stride into the parlor and kneel down at the low table, rubbing his tired eyelids. It was officially late June. Unlike most mornings when he came in wearing a plain tee and sweatpants, Satoru had chosen instead to wear a loose fitting, dark ebony yukata, a matching obi tied around his waist. The weather bring hot, there was no nagajuban. The front showed off his bare neck and collarbone rather handsomely.

Then she saw his eyes land on the envelope.

“What’s that?”

Hannah grew tense.

“N-Nothing,” she lied, her eyes deflecting off his collarbone, and hid the opened parchment under the table on her lap (as though he couldn’t see). “Lady Inumaki has invited me over for lunch again. That’s all.”

Satoru let out a soft grunt, and began piling his bowl with rice and strips of raw tuna, dropping the topic. Makoto poured coffee into his mug. He took a bite of food and glanced timidly at his wife sitting across.

“So…How’d you sleep last night?”

Hannah met his gaze and quickly shied away.

“Fine,” she answered. “You?”

Satoru also looked down, shrugging.

“Fine.”

They were both liars. Truth was neither of them had gotten any sleep. Following the kiss, the train ride home had been excruciatingly awkward and their conversation brief. All they managed to get in wordwise was a quick “Goodnight” before dashing inside their respective rooms. The awkwardness had yet to settle, turning almost frigid. Like a giant wall of ice had been forcibly wedged between them, impossible to break. They were no better than strangers.

Their odd behavior made Makoto uneasy as she prepared breakfast, but the housekeeper hadn’t the slightest inclination what was going on. Her young master and mistress had been getting along so well lately. What could’ve caused such a disturbance?

Taking a couple bites of rice, Satoru fiddled with his plate and coughed into his fist.

“I’ve been assigned another mission.”

Hannah looked up. “Oh? Where to?”

“Okinawa. There’s been another curse sighting.” He said this with the least amount of enthusiasm. “My flight leaves this afternoon. I could be gone awhile, so you and Makoto will be in charge of things till I get back.”

Hannah bowed her head, looking at the table. “I see.”

“You sure you’ll be alright?”

She shrugged. “It’s no different from all the other times. Makoto and I will manage fine on our own.”

Satoru gave a nod. “I’ll have my cell. If you need me for any reason —”

“Don’t hesitate to call,” Hannah finished, having heard this speech a thousand times, but she struggled to hide her disappointment. “But do hurry back, please.”

Satoru couldn’t help but chuckle. “Aw, why so glum, Princess? I thought you’d be happy having the place to yourself again.”

Rather than laugh along with his joke, Hannah shook her head and went back to eating her meal.

“It isn’t the same without you here.”

There were a million and one ways to interpret that single sentence, but they weren’t going to discuss it then, choosing instead to finish their breakfast in relative, albeit less awkward, silence.

The kiss was not brought up.

With Satoru gone, Cressida arrived at the Gojo estate not two days later.

“Duch!” she cried gaily, rushing to take off her shoes after Hannah’s polite request (those heels would ruin the tatami). Elegant in an eau-de-nil Chanel suit and bowler hat, Cressida set down her bulky looking briefcase and purse, her many charm bracelets jangling like bells, and kissed her young cousin on both cheeks. “My, I guess what they say isn’t true. You really can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

The sorcerer's wife tried not to wince at the backhanded compliment and wished Satoru was there with her. While the rift between them had not abated, his presence would’ve been a great comfort because Cressida hadn’t changed one bit it seemed; posh, beautiful, and conceited as ever. Her ‘sow’s ear’ comment was in reference to the kimono. Hannah had chosen a tsumugi instead of a yukata. While the jacquarded silk wouldn’t keep her cool from the summer heat, it would, with any luck, leave an indelible impression on Cressida, who wasn’t shy about her love of expensive clothing. The kimono itself was light blue and covered head to toe in paisley motifs, while a black fukuro obi, filigreed with gold medallions and phoenixes, secured her waistline. The combination was pleasing, but more formal than necessary, yet somehow Hannah knew her cousin wouldn’t know enough about Japanese customs to call her out on it. As the cherry on top, Makoto suggested she wear a pair of dainty Georgian style earrings, plated in gold.

“Cressida,” Hannah greeted apprehensively, finding it strange she no longer had to curtsy when addressing her cousin. “I hope your flight wasn’t long.”

Lady Cressida shriveled her nose. “My flight was dreadful, thank you for asking. I tried convincing Papa I take another boat, but naturally he said no. Seems he has forgotten a Thames’ place is in the water, not the air.” Smoothing her skirt, she walked over to the Jakuchū painting of the Gojo family tree, looking interested, but was unable to read the gold kanji scrawled along the branches. She then turned around to look back at Hannah and clapped her hands together. “Anywho, show me around this charming little house of yours, Duch. I want the full royal tour.”

Hannah led Cressida through the many washi-paneled rooms and rush-covered hallways, giving more or less the same history lesson Makoto had given her when she first entered the ‘little’ samurai house. She showed her the kamidana room housing the bronzed Buddhist altar, the English dining room, the reception hall decorated with the tokonoma alcove and three katana swords whose hilts were carved of jade. However Cressida, like a military sergeant blessed with a watchmaker’s eye for detail, took her time inspecting Hannah’s closet, checking to see it ticked all the essential boxes. She went through each rack and drawer one by one, making selections, taking careful notes, before finishing her inspection with a curt, “Yes, I suppose these will do.”

The wardrobe having passed the test, the two women put their shoes back on and enjoyed a short promenade around the gardens, and as they walked, Cressida shared with Hannah her recent travels. She had sailed many oceans, yachting at Monaco then South Africa then finally Thailand, spending her year on a never-ending holiday, with exception to her recent flight to Japan. “I’m staying at the Seiyo Ginza,” she dolefully carried on. “Have you heard of it? I found their wine selections most superb.” Hannah said no, doubting the hotel Cressida was residing at was cheap. If it wasn’t £1,500 a night and over five stars, then her cousin wanted no part in it.

Makoto had tea and a light meal waiting for them in the reception hall. Kneeling at a low table, Hannah could better appreciate Cressida’s new haircut. Her once long raven locks had been shorn into a chic bob, the edges curling around her face, making her look like a 1920s flapper. The Chanel suit only enhanced the effect. “Oh, can’t tell you how relieved I was to chop it all off,” she delighted, looking through the end of a compact mirror as she reapplied her favorite red lipstick. Cressida had no qualms being fawned over and adored. “Always hated having long hair.” She smashed her lips together and placed the rouge back in her purse. “That bloody harp.”

Hannah visibly perked up. “You brought it with you?

Cressida closed the lid of her mirror in dramatic fashion and rolled her bewitching blue eyes. “Of course I brought it with me. I'm its keeper now, aren’t I?” She traded in her compact mirror for an enameled cigarette case. “By the way, do you mind if I have a light? I know the Japanese aren’t antagonistic towards smoking.”

With some reluctance, Hannah gave Cressida the go ahead to light her cigarette. The tobacco leaves were infused with cloves, emitting an incense-like aroma, snapping and crackling from the flame. Apparently they were a popular brand from Indonesia, but Hannah slid open a second partition wall in case the fragrance lingered. Makoto would have a fit.

“And Atticus?” she said upon sitting back down. “Have you heard from him at all?”

Cressida sighed insouciantly and took a generous drag. “Last I spoke with my brother, he was in Egypt. You remember that archeological dig they uncovered back in March, the one believing to be Queen Nefertiti’s lost tomb? Made international news?” She pointed her cigarette at Hannah. “That was Atticus. As you can imagine, Papa was quite pleased, but he’s never satisfied for long after a heist. Sent him to South America to begin scavenging the Pacific for shipwrecks. I assume that’s where he is now, but who knows. We don’t talk much these days.”

The Thames heiress reached for a lone plate and flicked her ashes on it, and Hannah saw one of the many charms on her bracelets, the initials V.A. dangling from a gold chain next to a lock and key. Sympathy welled within her. She said the next sentence aloud without thinking.

“I’m sorry about Vera.”

Cressida's body ceased all functionality, her complexion turning pale like a dead person’s.

The room became quiet, save for the ticking of the clock. Perhaps she’d been over analyzing, but Hannah swore she saw her cousin’s bottom lip quiver for a second, then stiffen in a hard line. Cressida knew how to keep her emotions in check, but those pained blue eyes staring back at her were the eyes of someone who had experienced an unbearable loss. Hannah regretted her words.

“Gosh, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No!” Cressida snapped out of her stupor and took her cousin’s hand. “Please, I want to talk about her…I…I don’t do it enough honestly.”

The story was a sad one. Lady Vera Avery was one of the sorcerers who died at the Louvre last October alongside Ivan Lebowitz. She was Lord Belgaven’s only daughter and Cressida’s best friend since childhood, however Hannah discovered the true nature of their relationship by accident, on the night of Cressida’s coming-out ball.

Wasserton, with its Roman colonnades and grand marble staircases, had been a product of the late 18th century sometime before the Napoleonic Era. Alexander Thames II had been the genius behind its construction, and being a brilliant architect, had incorporated a bevy of secret passageways and tunnels that connected possibly every room and cranny, including the servant’s bedroom Hannah resided during her visits. She had found the hidden door under the rug at six years old. Fast forward eight years later when Hannah was again staying at Wasserton - by then her third visit - she had used the same hidden door to sneak around the mansion and watch the opulent ball happening downstairs. Like Cinderella trapped in the cellar, she had not been allowed to attend.

High above where no one could see her, Hannah watched the opulent party from the air vents. She hummed dreamily to the music as lords and ladies waltzed and fox-trotted effortlessly around the ballroom, diamonds sparkling, flasks of champagne bubbling, laughter and merriment being had. There was an endless flow of conversation milling about which greatly excited Hannah. She paid rapturous attention to the young gentleman asking the young debutantes to dance and tried imagining a world where Elizabeth Thames had not lost her virtue to an unnamed man. Then perhaps a dashing young suitor would be asking her for a dance. Sadly, it was not to be.

At the stroke of midnight, Hannah made the lonely return to her room by candlelight but soon encountered a bump in the road. Apparently, she was not the only one scurrying around the walls like a mouse that night. Someone else was utilizing the tunnels too.

And it wasn’t merely to snoop.

Hannah would’ve avoided them if she could, but the two debs were blocking her way. Caught in a rush of passion, they had already stripped themselves of their gowns, white chiffon piled on the floor, tiaras slipping off, lips locked in a searing kiss, under the pretense they were alone. They were not.

Vera spotted Hannah first and froze like a deer in the headlights, parting quickly from her lover.

“What is it, love? What’s the matter?” Cressida turned around to see her cousin standing there, staring wide-eyed and .

The cat was officially out of the bag.

Like members of an exclusionary club, the British haut monde bestowed nicknames to each other, a simple way of indicating who was in and who was out. Few questioned why Cressida went by the name “Butch,” naively assuming it had something to do with her expertise sporting a hunter’s rifle, or her passion for equestrianism, or the cavalier way she held her cigarette, acting more tomboy than ‘posh girl.’ Lady Cressida Thames? A lesbian? Why, don’t be ridiculous. She didn’t fit the stereotype. Her raven black hair was far too long and lusciously curled. Her clothes, ultra feminine with nothing less than Parisian couture and three-inch heels, face dolled in a full head of makeup to accentuate her tempting blue eyes, which she used to flirt with the men almost as much as she did the women. Stunningly beautiful. This in mind, no one suspected Cressida’s sexuality to be anything other than straight. The nickname “Butch” was nothing more than a bit of harmless fun, an inside joke, a gaff.

Ah, but looks can be deceiving.

While she may have had every reason, Hannah did not rat out Cressida to her uncle, and in doing so had formed a secret alliance. That was also around the time Cressida began calling her “Duch.” She meant it as a term of endearment, and Hannah understood that now, but there was a time when she took it as an insult. An illegitimate, Hannah would never become a duchess or inherit a title. So when it was revealed that she was to marry the Gojo heir and not Cressida, Hannah thought her uncle had gone barking mad. Cressida Thames was his only daughter and pressed with every advantage; looks, money, prestige, and more importantly, magic. She had all the ingredients required of a sorcerer’s wife. It was expectant upon her to marry well, and perhaps that was what Lord Thames had up his sleeve. Sorcerer families needed heirs to keep the bloodlines going. For his daughter, that meant female lovers were out of the question, making the circumstances surrounding Vera’s death almost too suspect to ignore.

“My father did it. I know he did,” Cressida said bitterly, jaw clenched. “He knew Vera wouldn’t survive the mission and persuaded the Association to send her anyway.” Her hands balled into fists. “Someone betrayed us.”

“Not me,” Hannah blurted without meaning. “It wasn’t me, I promise.”

Cressida offered her cousin a strained smile. “No, Duch. I know it wasn’t you, but you see,” she swallowed the lump in her throat and took a staggered breath, “Vera was my everything, and now that she’s dead I feel lost. My one great happiness is gone.”

Hannah solemnly bowed her head. Much could be said about sin and damnation, about marriage belonging solely to one man and one woman, the New Testament and the Old. Hannah knew all the theological arguments, she knew Matthew 19 and Mark 10, but she also knew God was love. And if God was love, then was it right to suggest that those who abided in love, also abided in God? Did Cressida’s unwavering love for Vera amount to anything? Hannah often pondered these questions, but kept them buried in her heart. Now was not the time for philosophizing.

“I’m sorry, Cressida.” she said, but knowing what else to say. “I truly am.”

Cressida unfurled a handkerchief and wiped an escaped tear from her eye.

“Yes, well, crying about it won’t do us any good. Let’s change subject before my mascara runs.” She sniffed and rummaged her purse for another cigarette. “Talk to me about this elusive husband of yours. Is he descent?”

Hannah withheld little. She told Cressida almost everything. The night he saved her from the curse on her way back to her dorm; Their morning jogs and training sessions; Watching movies together; The tumultuous night at the theater; The baseball game, the indirect kiss, then the skyline of Tokyo, followed by the actual kiss; Her lack of self-confidence, which was directly linked to her virginity. And in the midst of her rambling, Hannah for the first time contemplated how many partners Satoru has had.

“I hate to break your heart, Duch, but men like him don’t come wearing chastity belts. I wager he’s plucked the bloom off every rose in the garden.”

Hannah's heart plummeted at that. “You really think so?”

“Think so?” Cressida said with a laugh. “I know so.”

But how? Hannah found herself wondering. Was that really a fair judgment, to accuse someone of being a roaming Lothario without ever having met him? Satoru was secretive, yes, but as far as Hannah knew, he’d mentioned nothing of past lovers. And while he happened to be a shameless flirt, the gestures never quite reached the levels Cressida was implying, either that, or her husband had taken great care not to sweet-talk the ladies whenever she was around. Even still, the assumption felt off. Everytime Satoru went away on a mission, he always returned the day he had promised, not at a designated time of course, but usually before sunset. When he wasn’t away, he spent most of his days relaxing at home and training with Hannah. And more recently, they had begun the long, overdue process of renovating the estate; shoji panels needed replacing every few years, and since they now were in the rainy month of June, they had begun checking the 200 year old house for leaks and mildew. In the past week alone, they had invited a flood of carpenters, gardeners, inspectors, and financiers into their home, and Hannah was tasked with more work than before, seeing to that the property was kept ship-shape. There were people to see, correspondence to answer, checkbooks to balance. Satoru couldn’t have time for lovers. They were far too busy. But still there was that unsettling voice in the back of her head, relentlessly badgering her: “You won’t measure up. He’ll find someone better."

Hannah looked up at her cousin for guidance.

“What do I do?”

Cressida rested her cigarette on a plate and propped her chin. “Hmm, you said he kissed you, didn’t he?” Hannah nodded. “Yes, but how did he kiss you?”

“W-What? What does that have to — ”

“Did he force himself on you, Duch? Threaten you? Touch you inappropriately? Men can be dogs when it comes to that sort of thing.”

Hannah vehemently denied this. “No, no, he didn’t force himself on me at all. In fact he…” she paused. “He apologized afterwards.”

Cressida raised both brows, looking astonished. “Really? That’s rather odd. You sure it wasn’t your imagination playing tricks on you?"

Hannah shook her head. “No, I remember now. He said, ‘sorry’ before teleporting us back down.” He had said it so softly in fact she almost didn’t hear him, but Satoru had said it: “Gomen.”

“Heavens, then it must be serious.”

“What’s serious?”

The Thames heiress picked up her cigarette again, choosing not to answer and inhaled another puff of tobacco-clove.

“You know, I slept with a man once,” she confessed, veering slightly off topic. “Just to try it. See what all the talk was about.”

Hannah was in the middle of taking a sip of tea, and being unprepared for the comment, nearly had it go down the wrong pipe. “And…was it nice?” she coughed, clearing her throat.

Cressida gestured with a lazy, sinuous shrug.

“No, not really. He was a bit too soft for my tastes. Almost like riding a miniature pony.” She made a wry shape with her mouth. “Only I couldn’t decide whether he rode me, or I rode him.” Then breaking into a great bellyful of laughter, she threw back her head and gave Hannah a knowing wink, but poor Hannah couldn’t find it in herself to laugh along.

“I wish I knew what I was doing?” she huffed, frustrated by her inexperience. “I know nothing about men.”

Cressida let out a snort. “Men aren’t complicated, Hannah. And they certainly don’t apologize after kissing someone unless their intentions are forthcoming, so I wouldn’t reach for the lifejacket just yet. Be honest with him and he’ll be honest with you.” The Thames heiress finished her second cigarette and stood up. “Anywho, I didn’t come all this way to gossip. I’ve brought you something.” She walked over to Hannah, carrying the bulky briefcase she came in with. It looked heavy. “Consider it my late wedding present.”

Hannah gave her cousin a skeptical look as she set the leather case down beside her and returned to her seat. Lying it flat on the ground, Hannah unjoined the clasps, popped open the lid, and gasped.

Inside were two tiaras: A kokoshnik faceted with emerald cabochons and rows of diamonds, mimicking the appearance of fish scales. Hannah recognized it immediately. This was the tiara adorning her mother in many of the portraits at Wasserton, including her favorite that hung in the East library, pairing nicely with the emerald necklace that now sat in a glass case in her closet. However, the other tiara she did not recognize. Its garland structure bore semblance to curling ocean waves crashing into the sea. Tiny briolette diamonds hung off the edges like sparkling water drops. She could hardly speak, they were so enchanting.

This was no simple wedding gift.

“Cressida, how on earth did you get these?”

The heiress looked mighty pleased with herself.

“Why I smuggled them, of course. Had to make sure Papa wouldn’t notice anything gone awry. Lord knows he has enough jewels. I dare say, my accomplice was rather thorough this time. He even managed to forge the signatures.” She whipped out the selling documents from her purse and placed them squarely on the table. Signed on two black lines was Hannah’s fake signature alongside Lord Thames’. “I believe these now legally belong to you.”

Utterly mystified, Hannah carefully pried the emerald diadem from its velvet moorings, admiring the lapidarist’s fine handiwork, shifting it side to side to watch the fire dance inside the precious stones. The weight felt both heavier and lighter than expected. She didn’t know much about jewels, but she knew these gems were of the highest quality.

“I can’t wear them in public, you know?” she admitted woefully, twirling the diamonds. “It isn’t appropriate for people outside the Imperial Family to wear tiaras.”

“So?” The heiress shrugged. “I never said you had to wear them. The point is that they’re yours.”

“Why though?” Hannah insisted. “You’ve never shown charity to me like this before? Why bother now?”

“Because.” Cressida’s face became frighteningly stern. There was a storm in her ocean blue eyes that could not be quelled. “I never got to thank you properly for safeguarding Vera’s virtue back then, and while we may not have treated you as such, you were a Thames before you were anyone else. I don’t care what the law states.” She tapped the selling documents with her long manicured fingers. “This is as much your birthright as it is mine. And besides.” Her voice lowered. “They took my one great happiness from me. They don’t get to take anything, from anyone, ever again. Mark my words.”

Having nothing more to say, Hannah looked down her lap and continued admiring her mother’s tiara. Cressida may have been vain and stuck up and unfairly judgemental, but her loyalty held no bounds. She could be trusted.

“And Hannah?” the heiress added. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Hmm?” Hannah looked up from the tiaras.

Cressida leaned over the table, dropping to the softest whisper. “You haven't told them the truth, have you? About…us?

Hannah knew what Cressida meant and grew solemn. “No,” she mouthed. “I’ve said nothing.”

“Good.” The heiress nodded approvingly. “You know the rules: Audi, vide, tace.”

The sorcerer’s wife tried hiding her dismay, “Yes, Cressida,” and looked down at the tiara in her lap. It felt heavier than it did a second ago as the Latin emptied her mouth. “Audi, vide, tace.”

Chapter Contents

#Gojo Takes a Wife #satoru x oc #jjk fanfic #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #satoru gojo #satoru x wife #Satoru x fem oc #Satoru Gojo x female oc #romance #arranged marriage

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