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fushitoru · 1 month ago

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SEASON OF THORNED ROSES EXTENDED TAGLIST P4

@ibuprofen1barb1e @arulovesitachi @vanyareads @teatimebeliever

chapter 5: the fall a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ gojo comes up with a strange yet tempting arrangement, but the accident that follows it may cause epiphanies for the both of you. (11.8k)

a/n thank you to pookies @/sinn-clair and @/yasu-1234 (they are awesome and here are her works) for beta reading my work :3 ahaha pls forgive me for yapping so much in this chapter. i’ll meet you after the chapter is over for EVEN more yap

prev. the game | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest Gentle Readers,

It is well known across town that a certain gentleman, long absent from London’s bustling thoroughfares, has not graced its streets for a year. One cannot help but ponder how Mister Sukuna Itadori’s travels have fared, as he embarked on what we all know to be that of most enlightening of ventures–a Grand Tour of Europe. Those familiar with such journeys will know that for most young men of the ton, a tour of Europe offers more than just art and culture—it is a playground of indulgence and mischief. Will Mr. Itadori reappear as the brash and impetuous young man we once knew, or has Europe’s charms softened and tempered his spirit into one more befitting of a mature gentleman? This Author has her doubts, but one can never say for sure until a man reenters Society.

Yet, Gentle Reader, while Mr. Itadori’s return may provide fodder for speculation, there is another gentleman who has quietly yet decisively captured the attentions of the ton this season: His Grace, the Duke Nanami. Not only does His Grace possess a title and considerable inheritance—both of which set many hearts aflutter—but he is also known to be a most genteel and dignified young man, whose decorum and good sense have only enhanced his reputation. Many an eager mama and her hopeful daughter now look to him as the ideal suitor. His Grace, however, has been nothing if not a model of decorum—distant, polite, and entirely too elusive.

But therein, dear reader, lies the dilemma. The Duke’s refusal to engage in more than the most cursory conversation with any lady has led many to wonder: has he already chosen his future Duchess in secret, or is he simply too discerning for any of the eager young women who have presented themselves thus far? One thing is certain, though: the house party in the countryside promises to be most entertaining, especially if the Duke chooses that moment to make his intentions clear. One can only hope the object of his affections is prepared to be swept off her feet—or at the very least, that her mama is! Only time will tell, but one thing this Author assures—his next move shall be watched with the greatest anticipation.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Dawn breaks out, bathing the land in a rich, golden hue. It seemed as if the very air of the Gojo estate had significantly altered your sense of slumber; before, it would take you fairly long to wake, preferring to stay well rested until Nobara barged in your room, bellowing at you to get ready.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestone path echoed as you guided your mare along the estate’s carefully tended gardens, resplendent in their display of colorful blooms. The thought flashes across your mind—whichever lady of the ton unfortunate enough to inherit the Gojo surname would certainly find herself living an enviable, lavish lifestyle. If nothing else, the manor, with its outstanding grandeur, would offer sufficient distraction from the trials of an insufferable marriage.

Horse-riding had always been of your taste, providing solace when you needed time to ponder upon your thoughts. The fresh morning air was so different from the stifling confines of your room’s walls, soothing your spirit in a way a fitful sleep could not. Inhaling deeply, the cool morning breeze carried with it the scent of flowers and morning dew, offering a reprieve and reminding you of freedom found in quiet moments.

Mornings always feel like new beginnings to you. The sounds of the chirp and the peace of the feeling that you are currently the only person in the world, suspended in time, soothes you. You walk the path laid out in front of you, getting closer and closer to the woods that were next to the Gojo gardens.

The same ones you had the encounter with Gojo in the river.

You tensed slightly, the memory of your embarrassing fall washing over you like a cold splash of water. Gojo had yet to jest at your expense over it was nothing short of miraculous. No doubt, the teasing would come in time, as inevitable as night following day.

The distant sounds of hooves break you out of your thoughts, as you still, turning your head around to see where the sounds originated. When you finally manage to curve your head (almost) fully to the back, in the soft light of the morning, you see a flash of silver hair.

And groan internally.

"I would not have thought the great Lord Gojo so lacking in charm as to resort to covert stalking," you quip, turning in your saddle to face him.

"Stalking?" His familiar, lazy drawl carried across the air as he approached. "Surely you underestimate me, my lady. A mere smile is all it takes to win hearts."

Reluctantly, you wheeled your horse around to face him properly. "Ah, yes. How could I forget? Your captivating smile alone is surely enough to send every lady into a faint, and not at all the rather handsome fortune attached to your name." You eyed him critically—his attire was casual, much like that day in the library: a white shirt carelessly unbuttoned at the collar, black trousers tailored perfectly. There was a hint of weariness in his eyes, though his insufferable smirk remained firmly in place. His hair was fairly polished–in comparison to his clothes–as if he had gotten ready to go somewhere that didn’t require extravagant garments to be worn.

He tilted his head, his gaze moving past you as he urged his horse toward the woods ahead. "Ah, so you find my smile captivating?"

You bristle, realizing his play of making you follow him to continue the conversation and get the last word. “I find your opinion of yourself entirely too high. I never mentioned that I thought you captivating but that of the handsome sum tied to your name.”

“All I heard was handsome.”

You take a deep breath and hold it, your eyes narrowing at the man trotting carefree in front of you. “Are the ladies really so naive that they would fall for just a captivating smile rather than acknowledge your lack of wit?”

Gojo glanced back at you with a raised brow, his grin only widening as he slowed his pace slightly. "Naive, perhaps. Or maybe they’re wise enough to appreciate the finer things in life. Not everyone is so immune to charm.”

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue in mild irritation as you spurred your horse forward, coming level with him. “Charm without substance only lasts so long, my lord. I daresay one day you’ll meet someone immune to your tricks.”

He chuckled softly, the sound lazy and unbothered, as though you’d merely entertained him with a light jest. "And yet here you are, still engaging with my so-called ‘lack of substance.’ Could it be, perhaps, that you find me more interesting than you care to admit?”

"I find you no more interesting than a mildly amusing book—one that I can close whenever I please," you shot back, though your eyes flicked over his disheveled appearance. “But you, Lord Gojo, do seem rather underdressed for a morning ride. I hope you’re not planning on inflicting yourself on some unsuspecting lady like this.”

His eyes gleamed with that familiar glint of amusement. "Underdressed? Why, I thought you might prefer me this way—unpretentious and free of the heavy trappings of society." He gave a careless wave toward his shirt. "Besides, I’ve work to do today. I’m making rounds over the dukedom."

You raised an eyebrow. “Work? You?” you echoed, voice laden with playful disbelief.

“Hard to believe, I know. I’m more than just a pretty face, as you’ve so kindly pointed out,” he teased, eyes flicking to you briefly before turning back to the path ahead. “Would you care to join me on my rounds? You might learn something about the ‘substance’ you claim I lack.”

You hesitated, but only briefly. The truth was, the Gojo manor had begun to feel more like a cage with each passing day. The endless routine of polite conversations, tea under the watchful eyes of your mama and Duchess Gojo, and waiting for the upcoming house party with the maids and doormen watching for your every move was beginning to wear on you. The walls of the estate, grand as they were, could only offer so much distraction before they imposed on you. The gardens—beautiful and sprawling—had already been walked, the library somewhat explored. You had gone through the motions of being the perfect guest, yet none of it stirred the thrill of adventure that your heart craved.

Your mind drifted back to London, to a time before all the expectation and decorum had weighed so heavily on your shoulders. A year ago, Sukuna had been your partner in rebellion, the one who shared your disdain for society’s rigid rules. The two of you had stolen mornings together, sneaking out on horseback, galloping through the streets and parks as if the ton’s eyes couldn’t reach you. Sukuna, with his wild streak and brash charm, had always encouraged you to live for the moment, to taste freedom in a way that felt dangerously exhilarating. At night, you and him would enjoy stolen moments on a swing.

There had been no chaperones then, no one to watch your every move or to remind you of what was ‘proper.’ You had been free, in a way you never thought possible—a freedom that felt distant now, almost like a dream.

You studied him for a moment, curiosity beginning to outweigh the slight irritation you felt toward his smug demeanor. What exactly did a duke like Gojo do when he wasn’t parading through society, charming every lady within reach? Despite yourself, you were intrigued by the possibility of seeing him in a different light, away from the polished halls and pretenses.

Here, far from the city’s strict social rules, you felt a flicker of that same wildness returning. There were no watchful eyes in the countryside, no endless stream of whispers and gossip to navigate. The Gojo estate, for all its grandeur, was isolated. Out here, you could indulge in a fleeting taste of freedom once more—especially if it meant escaping the suffocating sense of propriety that came with every room of the mansion.

With Gojo, the stakes were different. He wasn’t Sukuna, who lived on the fringes of the ton with his devil-may-care attitude. No, Gojo occupied the very heart of society’s structure—a duke, a man of immense power and wealth, a figure who could easily sweep up any lady of the ton with a glance. Yet here he was, offering you a glimpse of his world beyond the ballroom, beyond the pretense of polite society.

The thought of accompanying him into the village—unaccompanied, and without the constant pressure of reputation—was thrilling in a way you hadn’t expected. It was as if you were being offered another chance to experience the freedom you once shared with Sukuna. Out here, away from the prying eyes of the ton, you could simply… be. There would be no eyes to judge, no chaperones to pull you away. For a few hours, you could escape the suffocating decorum that bound you so tightly, and just breathe.

And perhaps, just perhaps, there was a part of you curious to see what lay beneath Gojo’s surface. Despite all his teasing and arrogance, there had to be more to the man than his carefully cultivated charm. What did the world of a duke truly entail? What responsibilities lay hidden beneath that confident smirk?

“Well?” Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts, a hint of amusement dancing on the edge of his words. “You could always go back to the estate. But if you join me, you might learn something. Something real.”

You met his gaze, curiosity stirring. How much freedom could you taste before the world pulled you back into its orbit?

“And what, pray tell, does this so-called ‘work’ of yours truly entail, my lord? Are you certain it isn’t merely an excuse for you to idly saunter about?” you asked, feigning disinterest even as your heart began to quicken at the thought of leaving the mansion’s confines.

Gojo shrugged. “Managing a dukedom is more than just attending parties, my lady. There are land disputes, tenant needs, crops to inspect. All terribly boring, I assure you,” he drawled, though his teasing tone did little to hide his satisfaction.

“And yet, here you are, inviting me to partake in such ‘dreadful’ tasks.” You arched an eyebrow, testing the waters of this strange proposal.

He cast you a sidelong glance, that insufferable smirk playing on his lips again. “You seemed in need of something less tedious than idle conversation. Besides, I can’t let you think I’m all charm and no substance.”

You scoffed lightly, but the temptation was undeniable. A morning spent away from the watchful eyes of society, away from the restrictions that had grown more suffocating with each passing day, sounded like exactly what you needed.

And so, you nudged your horse forward. "Very well, my lord. Lead the way."

As Gojo turned his horse toward the village, you followed, anticipation swirling within you. For just a little while, you would forget the rigid expectations that clung to your every move. And who knew? You might learn something about the man who was far more than just a smile—or at least, you hoped so.

As you and Gojo rode along the countryside road, the gentle thrum of horse hooves against the dirt path filled the early morning air. The village lay just beyond the hill, but the tranquil quiet of the ride had settled between you for now. You looked at the open landscape, enjoying the rare opportunity to simply exist outside the bounds of society's expectations. While Gojo glanced at you, his gaze briefly lingering before he forced his eyes forward again.

To Gojo, you are an enigma.

There was something about you that drew him in—something beyond the usual appeal of a pretty face and a sharp tongue. He had been thinking and rethinking your diary entries ever since he had discovered them, going over every word in his mind like an irritating riddle. Of course, he knew better than to admit that he had read them, let alone how much those words had unsettled him.

Your thoughts, penned in those private moments, had been both surprising and dangerously radical. They spoke of dissatisfaction with the very society that had molded both of you. Critiques of the ton, its shallow expectations, and even its treatment of women—thoughts that, if discovered by the wrong person, could ruin you. Lady Whistledown wouldn’t need much to twist those words into a scandal, to paint you as a rebel, a woman too difficult for any suitor to consider. You would be exiled from the marriage market in an instant, no longer the diamond the people adored.

Realistically, he could do it, in fact. That is, ruin your image for the rest of high society. Gojo knew he had power over you. He could destroy you if he wanted to, could slip a few words into the right ears and watch as your pristine image crumbled like delicate glass. A small, vindictive part of him—perhaps the part that still bristled at your quick wit and frequent jabs—almost considered it. With the way you have been snarkily snapping back, making a fool out of him, and in general being not a very agreeable person, he, in fact, should have incentive to do so, as a payback.

Of course, Gojo could always be the bigger person. He should let you go, keep his distance, and find a more agreeable match—someone easier, someone less troublesome. It would be the rational thing to do. He was Lord Gojo, heir to the Duke of Gojo, after all. He didn’t need to deal with a woman who questioned him at every turn, who might even challenge his reputation just by association.

He knew he should stop courting you, stop this dance before it spiraled into something neither of you could control. And he didn’t know what exactly to choose.

He cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence. “You seem deep in thought, my lady. I do hope I’m not boring you already.” His tone was light, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity.

You quirked an eyebrow, as if debating whether to entertain his question. “No more than usual, my lord.”

He grinned at your response, but then his expression softened, just slightly. “And here I thought you might have enjoyed escaping the estate for a bit. Surely the quiet countryside must be a relief after the pressures of town.”

You gave a small nod, but your guardedness remained. “It is a relief, but one must still be careful, even out here. There are no watchful eyes, but gossip has a way of traveling regardless.”

Gojo smirked, leaning slightly in his saddle. “I doubt anyone could catch up to us before we make it back for breakfast.”

He watched you from the corner of his eye, gauging your reaction. The morning wasn’t extremely windy, but his eyes took in your hair, how the wind shifted it so that your nape—and the slopes of your back and body—was uncovered. Your torso rocked as both your horses moved on, and you were fidgeting with the reins of your horse with gloved hands. You were a puzzle he couldn’t yet solve, but for some reason, that only made him more determined to try.

With a measured tone, he added, “Tell me, do you ever tire of it all? The expectations, the constant scrutiny. It must be exhausting.”

He watched you closely, curious how you might respond, wondering if you would offer something more than your usual sharp wit. Even if you didn’t, Gojo was prepared to nudge you, just enough to see what truly lay beneath the surface.

You turned your head slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your neck as you gave him a searching look. Unconsciously, your horses had drifted closer together, and as you moved your hair, revealing your simple, unadorned hairstyle from the morning ride, Gojo caught the intoxicating scent of your shampoo.

Sandalwood.

The notes lingered in the cool morning air, drawing him in. He found himself momentarily captivated, closing his eyes to take in the fragrance. It wasn’t until he regained his composure that he realized you were watching him expectantly, waiting for him to respond.

“My apologies,” Gojo cleared his throat, flashing you a semi-apologetic smile. “You were saying?”

You arched a brow at his absent-mindedness but chose not to press the matter. “As I was saying,” you continued with a subtle edge of humor, “it is a lady’s duty to endure the endless gossip and scrutiny of society. After all, we are part of it, are we not? I am a part of that society—diamond or not.” Then, you snarkily remarked, “Though I imagine you know as much about gossip as I do, my lord.”

There it is. Gojo felt the familiar flare of irritation rise within him as you brought up, yet again, that night on the terrace. How many times would you throw that back in his face? Instead of showing how it bothered him, he slipped into a mocking stance, clutching his chest in an exaggerated display of faux hurt. "You wound me, my lady. Can a gentleman truly not express his true sentiments in private company?"

His smirk faltered slightly, but he pressed on, unwilling to let you have the upper hand. "However, I do know more than you think. I hear things all the time. Not everyone is as... mysterious as they pretend to be."

There was an edge in his voice that hadn’t been there before, and he knew you noticed. He didn’t like where this conversation was heading, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not now.

You narrowed your eyes, your tone sharp. "Is that so? Or are you simply adept at making people feel small, my lord?"

Gojo shrugged, keeping his expression casual, though his jaw tightened. Why did you always know exactly how to get under his skin? "I do not belittle, my lady, but observe. And if you're concerned with my words, rest assured I never speak ill of a lady unless she has thoroughly earned it. After all, gossip, for all its flaws, often carries a kernel of truth."

"I see," you replied, voice clipped. "So you place your trust in whatever the ton whispers, so long as it serves your purposes?"

Gojo met your gaze, his voice lowering with intent. "It is not a matter of convenience, my lady, but discernment. Knowing who is genuine and who is merely playing a part."

He saw the way his words hit you, the way your expression flickered. Good. Let it sink in. You’d been sniping at him for days now, and it was about time you felt a little of the sting you so effortlessly delivered.

"And you, Lord Gojo, are the arbiter of what's 'real'?" Your voice rose, sharp as a blade. "Tell me, then—what’s real about you, besides your title and your incessant need to make others feel beneath you?"

The smirk that usually danced on his lips vanished. He felt something sharp coil in his chest—defensiveness, maybe, or frustration. He wasn’t sure anymore. His tone turned cold, dangerous. "Tread carefully, my lady. You are not as untouchable as you might believe. Perhaps others coddle you, treat you with delicacy because they think you fragile, but I am not of their number."

He saw the way his words cut, deeper than he’d intended, and a part of him regretted it. But another part—the part that was tired of always being one step behind in this game you played—felt a grim satisfaction.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t finished. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to an almost dangerous softness. “You think you are the only one who carries burdens? I have duties too—my name, my estate, my people. You may despise me for all you like, but at least I do not pretend that none of it matters."

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the weight of the truths neither of you had spoken before. For a moment, you were speechless, and Gojo couldn’t quite read the expression on your face.

There was a vulnerability in your eyes, something real beneath all the snark and bitterness. It was unsettling. He hadn’t expected to feel any sympathy for you, but seeing that flicker of something raw, something that mirrored the exhaustion he himself felt, made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like.

You finally broke the silence, your voice quieter now. "I never asked for any of this."

Gojo let out a long breath, some of the tension in his body loosening. His voice softened, the sharp edge gone. "Nor did I."

The moment of mutual understanding was fleeting, fragile, and Gojo wasn’t sure if he wanted to dwell on it or forget it entirely. The silence that followed wasn’t quite hostile anymore, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

Straightening in his saddle, Gojo cleared his throat and gestured ahead. "The village lies just ahead. We should proceed before the shops open, unless, of course, you would rather remain here, basking in your righteous discontent."

He smirked, but it felt more like a mask than anything genuine. He needed the banter, the distance it created between you. It was safer than whatever had just passed between you—a moment of weakness he couldn’t afford to dwell on.

You rolled your eyes but gave a small nod, your expression still guarded. "Lead the way, my lord."

Gojo nudged his horse forward, the tension easing just enough for the both of you to fall back into their usual roles. But the memory of that brief, unguarded moment between you lingered in the back of his mind, nagging at him as they rode towards the marketplace.

Soon enough, the dirt road gradually transformed into cobblestones beneath the horses' hooves, the soft clatter of stone replacing the muffled sound of earth. Up ahead, the village began to unfurl itself, a bustling marketplace coming into view, vibrant with the daily hum of activity. Stalls lined the streets, laden with goods—fresh produce, meats, textiles, and trinkets. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fresh bread, roasting chestnuts, and the subtle hint of herbs from the nearby apothecary. Your stomach twisted sharply at the realization that you had yet to break your fast, and the sweet aroma of bread, freshly baked and still warm from the ovens, stirred your hunger even more.

It was a small comfort that you had chosen to appear on Gojo’s rounds in a simple dress. While far from a maid’s garb, it was enough to blend in with the modest attire of the villagers, allowing you to remain somewhat inconspicuous. You imagined what a spectacle it might have been if you had arrived adorned in the usual finery expected of a lady of your status—a diamond strolling through the marketplace like some exotic bird, plumed and out of place. Even if that interpretation wouldn’t be completely wrong.

You stole a glance at Gojo. His attire, though far more refined than that of the villagers, was practical enough for the countryside—a waistcoat and riding cloak that spoke of wealth but not ostentation. He moved with ease through the marketplace, his presence commanding attention without demanding it. Residents and shopkeepers greeted him warmly, others calling out his name with familiarity. It was clear that he was well-known and, more surprisingly, well-liked among the people here.

You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider—acutely aware of every gaze that lingered a moment too long in your direction. Although the villagers were preoccupied with their own business, there was no mistaking the subtle glances thrown your way as you rode alongside Gojo. Perhaps it was the curiosity of seeing a noblewoman in such a humble place, or perhaps it was simply the oddity of your pairing with him.

“Ah, Satoru!” A baker called out from a window in his store, a wide grin on his flour-dusted face. “Come for your usual loaf, I presume?”

Gojo chuckled softly, bringing his horse to a gentle halt. With practiced ease, he dismounted, his movements graceful and assured as he swung his leg over and landed lightly on his heels. The smoothness of the motion caught you off guard—it was almost unsettling how effortlessly he moved, as if every action was calculated yet unforced. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation, knowing full well that you would never manage such a feat with half as much elegance, even with assistance.

He strode toward the baker with the kind of natural ease that spoke of familiarity and comfort, offering the man a warm, familiar smile as they exchanged pleasantries. There was a certain charm in his manner, a fluidity in the way he blended himself into the simple rhythm of village life, so unlike the polished and sometimes disingenuous world of high society. You found yourself watching their conversation, noting how easily he made himself a part of this world—something that unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

You brought your horse to a stop beside his, watching as Gojo clasped the baker’s hand in greeting. “Not today, I’m afraid,” Gojo remarked with a light laugh, his tone amiable, yet restrained, “though the aroma is tempting enough to make one reconsider their resolve.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though the tempting aroma of freshly baked bread was almost enough to make you forget your irritation. You remained silent, feeling somewhat out of place amid Gojo’s easy banter with the villagers. There was something about the way he interacted with them—so at ease, so familiar—that unsettled you. The way the baker addressed him by his given name, Satoru, only added to your bewilderment, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of this was genuine and how much was part of the façade he wielded so effortlessly in society.

“And who might this lovely young lady be?” The baker’s voice drew you from your thoughts. Both men were now looking at you, you the center of attention as the baker looked between you and Gojo expectantly.

Gojo had his arm resting casually on the baker’s shoulder, his usual smirk slipping for a brief moment as he scratched at the back of his head—a gesture that seemed oddly boyish for someone of his station. It was so unlike him that you blinked in surprise. “Ah, this is—”

“Satoru!” Before he could finish, a sharp voice rang out. The next moment, Gojo winced as an older woman smacked him on the back of the head, leaving him clutching it in exaggerated pain. “You’ve found yourself a wife and didn’t think to inform me?”

Gojo turned with a dramatic groan. “No, Mrs. Tanaka, she is not my wife. Must you always strike me so?”

The woman—short in stature but brimming with fiery energy—had her arms crossed, looking up at him with a mixture of affection and reprimand. “And what reason would I have not to, given how you leave everyone guessing?”

Her gaze then shifted to you, her stern expression softening instantly as she hurried over. Taking your hands in hers, she smiled brightly. “Ah, so this is the young lady who’s finally tamed our Satoru.”

You looked between Mrs. Tanaka and Gojo, bewildered, searching for any explanation or protest that might spare you from the implication. But Gojo merely shrugged, an amused—though slightly embarrassed—expression on his face.

Before you could respond, Mrs. Tanaka waved off any attempt at explanation, placing a finger to her lips as though she already knew the truth. “Say no more, my dear. A fine match, indeed.” She then turned to her husband, giving him a pointed look. “Dear, didn’t you say you had some business with Lord Satoru today? Why not invite them into the bakery?”

At the mention of business, Gojo’s expression shifted, and it was almost unnerving how quickly his lighthearted, carefree demeanor gave way to a more serious and focused air. He turned to the baker, his brow slightly furrowed. “Mr. Tanaka, is there another issue with the ledgers? I had thought that those troubles had long since ceased.”

The baker scratched his head sheepishly. “Well, my lord, there have been further claims—false ones, no doubt—regarding the ledgers, particularly in reference to the debt I incurred when I purchased the bakery. I did not wish to trouble you, especially as,” he cast a quick glance at you and nudged Gojo with a knowing grin, “you have a fine lady with you today. But your assistance in resolving the matter would be most appreciated, my lord.”

Gojo’s expression darkened slightly, his jaw tightening as the gravity of the situation became apparent. “Of course, Mr. Tanaka. We shall address it at once. Let us discuss the matter inside.”

Mrs. Tanaka, turning to you with a motherly smile, cooed, “Why don’t you come inside as well, my dear? You look positively famished! Let me prepare something for you.”

As the men disappeared into the back of the bakery to attend to their business, Gojo offering you a brief glance as he followed (as well as an exchange with the baker to have your horses carried to a stable in the village), you were left to follow Mrs. Tanaka’s lead. She guided you to a chair with a gentle, yet insistent, manner, ushering you to sit as though you were a guest of the highest importance. Though her attentiveness was kind, you couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place.

Sitting down, you couldn’t shake the thought—why were you being treated with such familiarity? Yes, Mrs. Tanaka assumed you to be Gojo’s wife, but was the lord you knew, so self-assured and pretentious within society, truly capable of leaving such an impression on these villagers? The notion seemed almost laughable.

You concluded that Gojo must have performed some extraordinary deed—something grand yet deceptively simple, like saving their child from rolling down a hill. A gesture that, while not heroic by any noble standard, had been enough to secure the couple’s undying gratitude. Of course, you mused with a bitter edge, only Gojo could manipulate such a mundane act into a permanent place in their hearts. The thought soured your mood further. It was just like him to charm even the most unsuspecting, innocent villagers into adoring him, using that devilish smile and unearned charisma to weave them into his—--

You were jolted out of your spiraling thoughts, your internal conspiracy theories evaporating at the first whiff of fresh bread. The warm, buttery aroma wafted throughout the room as Mrs. Tanaka made her way towards you, carrying a tray of fresh loaves that looked as good as they smelled–moist and buttery. The sight of the golden-brown crusts made your stomach clench painfully in hunger, reminding you that you had yet to break your fast because of your rendezvous with Gojo.

Mrs. Tanaka set the basket down before you, settling herself across the table, leaning back in her chair with a look of comfortable familiarity as her eyes studied you with quiet observation. Sensing your hesitation, she waved a hand, smiling warmly. “Go on, my dear, help yourself. You’ve yet to break your fast, and it’s no good going hungry.”

With a silent nod of gratitude, you took the invitation, though some part of you briefly wondered what your mother would say if she were to catch you eating so eagerly. But knowing she was nowhere near to scold you for indulgence, you wasted no time. The moment the warm, fresh bread touched your lips, you had to suppress the urge to devour it outright. Though you tried to remain composed, you could not help the small, contented sigh that escaped as the heavenly taste spread across your tongue.

Mrs. Tanaka watched you with delight, the sparkle in her eye showing how your evident enjoyment amused her. You chewed as gracefully as possible, closing your eyes in brief bliss, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Once you had swallowed and could speak without impropriety, you offered her a sincere, “I am deeply grateful to you for your kindness. This bread is truly unlike any I have tasted before.”

The woman waved off your praise with a hearty laugh. “Oh, my dear, you flatter me too much. Have some more! Your words are as sweet as your disposition.”

A flush crept up your neck at her compliment, and for a moment, you were flustered. Despite being praised endlessly by members of the ton for your beauty and title, there was something undeniably genuine in Mrs. Tanaka’s words—an absence of ulterior motives or expectations. She did not seek anything from you: no favor, no power, no advantageous marriage proposal. Her compliment felt simple, warm, and real.

Mrs. Tanaka continued to smile warmly, her gaze soft as she leaned in a little closer, clearly intrigued by the presence of a lady beside Lord Gojo. She took a sip of tea, her fingers tapping lightly against the table as she asked, “So, my dear, where did you meet our Satoru? He’s never brought a lady to our village before.”

The question caught you off guard. You paused for a moment, careful not to reveal too much or seem overly invested in his affairs. “We met in... social circles,” you answered simply, averting your gaze slightly, trying to keep your tone neutral. There was no need to elaborate or dwell on how precisely your paths had crossed—certainly not to Mrs. Tanaka, no matter how kind she seemed.

But Mrs. Tanaka was undeterred by your hesitance, her eyes lighting up with fondness as she spoke again. “Ah, yes, I suppose that would be the case. Though I’ve known him far longer than most in those circles.” She chuckled, a motherly gleam in her eye. “I’ve been with him since birth, you know. I was his nurse—watched him grow from a babe to the man you see now. Heaven knows it wasn’t easy.”

You glanced up, startled at the intimacy of her revelation. The thought of this woman, now sitting across from you, having been a part of his life since his earliest days struck you in a way you hadn’t expected. Gojo had always seemed like an enigma—a man of privilege and power, impossible to know beyond his title and public persona. But here, in the humble setting of this village, Mrs. Tanaka spoke of him as if he were not some distant lord, but a boy she had raised, a person with a story you had never even considered.

“He was the most energetic child,” Mrs. Tanaka continued, her voice fond and nostalgic. “Always getting into mischief, running circles around everyone. He had so much spirit, but oh, the responsibilities placed on those little shoulders were heavy from the start. Even when he was just a boy, his father had him learning the estate's business, sorting through documents before he could properly read some of them. I remember once—he couldn’t have been more than ten years old—his father handed him a stack of contracts to review. The poor lad spent hours poring over them, brow furrowed like a little man.”

You listened intently, the bread in your hand momentarily forgotten. It was strange, hearing Gojo being spoken of this way—no longer just a lord or rival, but a child burdened by duty far too early.

The woman continued, “I remember thinking how much that experience must’ve aged him. He always carried that burden with such grace, but you could see it—it weighed on him.”

A strange turmoil began to stir in your chest. You had only ever known Gojo as the man he presented to society—arrogant, infuriatingly self-assured, with a grin that could cut like a knife. But now, you were being offered a glimpse of someone else entirely: a boy who had been shaped by forces beyond his control.

Mrs. Tanaka’s voice softened, her gaze faraway as she reminisced. “It was not easy for him, growing up with so much expected of him. He would act out sometimes, just to remind everyone that he was still a boy—still someone who needed room to breathe. But even so, he never shied away from what was asked of him. He understood his duty, perhaps too well.”

“I see.” You swallowed, a strange sensation creeping up your spine.

“He’s a good man, Satoru,” Mrs. Tanaka said softly. “He’s had to grow up faster than most, and he’s been shaped by that weight. But I hope you can see that there’s more to him than what’s on the surface.”

You offered her a polite smile, but inside, your thoughts were a storm of conflicting emotions. Gojo, a man burdened by duty? The notion seemed almost laughable... and yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t dismiss it so easily.

Your gaze then wandered to the man of the topic itself. The baker and him were poring and scanning endlessly over sheets of paper, an uptick in his jaw visible as his eyes remained concentrated, oblivious to your observation from across the bakery. His hand raked over his hair, the muscles in his forearm clenching and unclenching due to the action, as he discussed something with the baker. Whatever matter they were discussing, it was clear it a serious matter, for you could hear the gears whirring through his mind through the calculative look on his face.

The scene felt oddly intimate—watching him in such a serious, unguarded moment. His usual carefree demeanor was replaced by something sharp, calculating, as if the gears of his mind were turning at full speed. He pointed at something on the paper, his brow furrowing, and exchanged a few terse words with the baker. From the look on their faces, the issue seemed grave, but Gojo handled it with a calm decisiveness that surprised you.

Finally, after several moments of quiet but intense discussion, there was a visible shift. The baker nodded, sighing in relief, and Gojo’s posture relaxed, the tension in his frame unwinding. He stood a little taller, rolling his shoulders as though shedding the weight of responsibility that had pressed down on him so heavily just moments before. He glanced at the baker with a reassuring smile, offering a firm pat on the man’s back. It seemed the matter had been resolved.

As Gojo turned his head, his eyes caught yours from across the bakery. Your heart leapt unexpectedly, and you quickly averted your gaze, heat creeping up your neck as you pretended to be fascinated by the contents of the breadbasket in front of you. Despite yourself, a faint flustered feeling bloomed in your chest, and you couldn’t shake the sense of being caught staring.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Gojo making his way toward you, his steps slow but deliberate. You could feel the gentle thud of his boots against the wooden floor, the sound growing louder with each stride. Your back straightened instinctively, your gaze fixed firmly on Mrs. Tanaka, trying to distract yourself from the awareness that Gojo was now directly behind you.

Then, a hand placed on the back of your chair as Gojo effectively leaned over you, peering down to look down at you and Mrs. Tanaka. “Ah, I see you’ve been well entertained,” he drawled, a teasing lilt to it, though quieter and more casual than before.

You manage a polite smile to Mrs. Tanaka despite the teasing intent behind Satoru’s words. "Mrs. Tanaka has been a most gracious host," you replied, avoiding meeting his eyes directly, though you could feel his presence and the heat of his hand behind you, on the back of your chair.

“Well, the business is settled for now,” Gojo turned slightly so that he was addressing Mrs. Tanaka as well. "I’m glad we could clear it up."

Mrs. Tanaka nodded, her expression pleased. "That’s good to hear. I don’t know what we’d do without you, Satoru. You always manage to set things right."

Gojo shrugged modestly, though the smirk playing on his lips told you he was aware of his importance in the village. "I do what I can," he said with an exaggerated sigh, though the humor in his tone softened the boast.

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes at his self-satisfaction, but Mrs. Tanaka was having none of it, laughing and swatting at his arm. "Enough of that, lad. You’ll give yourself a swollen head.”

Gojo laughed heartily at that, the sound easy and infectious. For a moment, it was almost disarming how comfortable he seemed in this setting, a far cry from the lord who prowled through the ton with that arrogant air of superiority. The contrast gnawed at you, but you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on Mrs. Tanaka, who now wore an expression of mild concern.

Curiosity piqued, you glanced over to Gojo, only to find a matching look of confusion on his face, his eyebrows slightly raised as he too turned to the woman.

Mrs. Tanaka’s frown deepened as she folded her arms, the lines of worry clear upon her face. “Satoru,” she began, her tone earnest, “is your wife pregnant yet?”

The question landed between you like a stone dropped in still water.

Gojo sputtered, his usual composure vanishing in an instant, and you—taken aback—choked on nothing but air, coughing violently as the shock of the statement hit you squarely.

"P-Pardon?" Gojo stammered, eyes wide, and for once, his usual glib charm utterly failed him.

You managed to recover just enough to speak, though your voice came out hoarse and incredulous. “I—I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

The tension in the room skyrocketed as Mrs. Tanaka blinked innocently between the two of you, utterly oblivious to the awkwardness spreading like wildfire. "Well, it’s just—he’s always been so strong and healthy. I thought, surely by now…"

You quickly attempted to intervene, “No, I assure you—”

But before you could get a full sentence out, Mrs. Tanaka turned to Satoru, her gaze suddenly serious as she leveled him with an intent stare. “You’re doing your task correctly, I presume? You have to apply a bit of force, or you're not performing the act quite right.”

She then turned her concerned frown toward you. “Is he not doing his job properly? You do feel pleasure, don’t you, my dear?”

You blinked, utterly baffled, and turned to Gojo, seeking some kind of explanation. But to no avail—he was conspicuously avoiding your gaze, a rare flush creeping up his neck. The sight of him, normally so self-assured, now visibly flustered, did nothing to quell your rising confusion. “Pleasure?” you echoed, unsure of what she was referring to.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Tanaka scolded, her tone growing more exasperated. “You must conduct the marital act properly!”

Gojo finally intervened, cutting Mrs. Tanaka off with a polite but decisive, "Thank you, Mrs. Tanaka. We shall consider your counsel. I have many errands to get to, so we must take our leave now." His voice was calm, though firm, signaling that the conversation had reached its conclusion. Offering her a swift bow, he gestured for you to follow, and you did so with a quiet, grateful nod.

Once outside, the air between you both felt lighter, though a strange silence still lingered. Both of you took to the streets again—Gojo didn’t seem to make motions towards the bakery’s stable to grab your horses, so you assumed the medium of travel was to be foot for the rest of his errands.

However, after a few steps, curiosity gnawed at you, and you could no longer hold back your question.

"What, exactly, is the marital act?"

Gojo stopped abruptly, turning to face you with a look of utter bewilderment amidst the bustle of the market traveling around you both. "You cannot be serious."

You met his gaze earnestly. "I am entirely serious. My mama hasn't…enlightened me, simply skirting around the topic. I was wondering if you could, given that it has arisen in our conversation."

He blinked, seemingly at a loss for words, before letting out a startled laugh. "It is... how children are conceived."

"Oh," you responded, thinking on it for a moment. "So... one must marry, then?"

Gojo stared at you, incredulity plain on his face. "What?"

"You sign the contract," you explained, as though clarifying something obvious, "and then you lay in bed and embrace, do you not?"

Gojo’s mouth fell open for a moment before he threw his head back with a short, disbelieving laugh. "Just embrace?"

You nodded, though your cheeks had begun to burn under his astonished gaze and you averted your gaze to look at the shiny, red apples a vendor was presenting. "Yes, merely embrace."

Shaking his head, Gojo let out another incredulous chuckle. "And you believe children are delivered by storks as well, I suppose?"

You crossed your arms, feeling your face grow hotter. "I most certainly do not. I was present when my mother gave birth to Yuji, and I heard every scream, thank you very much."

Gojo ran a hand over his face, stifling his amusement as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Clearly there is more to it than simply embracing. It is... a rather more intimate affair."

"More intimate? You mean like wrestling?"

At this, Gojo choked on his laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, not wrestling. It’s... well, I hardly know how to explain it delicately. But it is how one begets children."

You frowned, now growing frustrated with his vagueness. "You speak in riddles. If I am mistaken, then kindly explain what the act entails!"

Gojo sighed deeply, clearly struggling between frustration and amusement. "The marital act is not simply laying beside one another—it involves a... a physical connection, far beyond mere affection. It is, indeed, how children come to be."

You blinked, still not fully understanding, though you refused to let it show. "You could simply say so, instead of dancing around the matter."

Gojo’s lips twitched into a grin. "Ah, but where would be the fun in that?"

"Fun?" you repeated, exasperated. "This is a matter of knowledge!"

"Indeed, a matter of knowledge I did not expect to be imparting today," Gojo said with a wry shake of his head. "Suffice it to say, it is more than an embrace, and when the time comes, you shall learn well enough."

You glared at him, cheeks still warm with embarrassment. "I shall inquire elsewhere, then."

“I would advise you not to,” Gojo remarked wryly, tilting his head to indicate that both of you move, which you surmise is a wise move given that a heavy and big cart was moving towards the general direction of the both of you, and your feet followed him through the market. Roving his eyes over the general treats and food available, you see–from beside him–that his eyes fixate on some sweet smelling pastries on a cart. Not taking his eyes off of them, he adds, “It’s quite a sensitive topic among the ton. I suspect your mama would faint if she heard you were out and about inquiring the true nature of the marital act.”

“I can…consult texts,” you say, offhandedly, but you are equally as enraptured towards the sweets stall you both are walking towards.

“Mmh,” Gojo hums, “You could, I’m sure. However, you might encounter more…scientific things, rather than the personal.”

You shrugged, eyes locked in on the pasty bursting with apples. “Makes no distinction to me.”

In your…focus on the pastry, you failed to hear the upcoming hooves against the street, steadily getting louder and louder towards you. Just as you were reaching the pastry stall, the thunderous clatter of hooves on cobblestones cut through the air, snapping you from your reverie. A carriage barreled down the narrow lane, far too close for comfort and ready to crush you.

Before you could react, Gojo’s hand shot out, firm and unyielding, pulling you back toward him with a swift motion. He held you against his side, shielding you from the oncoming threat, his grip steady and protective. The world seemed to spin for a moment, your senses heightened by the closeness, the warmth of his touch, and the rapid beat of your own heart.

"Must I be responsible for keeping you from walking into trouble?" he murmured, his voice tinged with both relief and a hint of exasperation. You could feel his grip on your arm and waist as he breathed heavily, the sheer strength he possessed making you shocked, even dizzy. The carriage rumbled past, stirring up a cloud of dust, and you were left standing so near to him that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath.

You opened your mouth to stammer some excuse, your cheeks hot with embarrassment, but his expression had already softened into that infuriatingly familiar smirk, and he let go of the contact he had on you. "I shall have to keep a closer watch over you, lest pastries and carriages both be your undoing," he teased lightly.

You huffed, stepping back from his person with as much dignity as you could muster. "I was merely... distracted by the sweets, as were you," you replied, sounding petulant even to your own ears.

"Ah, yes, distracted to the point of self-endangerment. Truly, the pastries of this market wield extraordinary power over you."

"I am hardly so careless. It was a mere lapse of focus." Your lips twitched, fighting the smile threatening to surface despite your annoyance.

"If you say so," he drawled, his tone full of mock skepticism. Then, with a more serious note, he added, "Perhaps it would be wise to focus on the task at hand, rather than leaving your life in the hands of apple tarts."

You flushed slightly, more from his sheer perceptiveness than the scolding itself, and cast your eyes away, suddenly unsure of what to say. It was so much simpler when he was mocking you, but this unexpected gentleness was a new kind of challenge altogether.

"Come then," he said, his voice returning to its light, teasing timbre. "Let us continue our quest for knowledge—or, at the very least, for pastries that won't lead to your untimely end."

Moving towards the stall, the smell of various fruits baked into sweets with delicious sauces sprinkled on top. The treats were clearly crafted with care, the kind of sincerity and dedication that no gilded manor kitchen could quite capture. The young couple behind the stall radiated a warmth and pride that spoke of a passion for their craft, one that valued love of the work over the cost of the ingredients.

Gojo, ever at ease among the townsfolk, exchanged pleasantries with the couple, his attention split between their conversation and the tempting selection of tarts. He spoke with the man about some local issue, but you found your focus entirely absorbed by the golden-crusted apple pie that seemed to call to you.

“Would you like to try these?” You looked up to see the presumed wife of the man, smiling at you and eyes twinkling with genuine hospitality.

Returning her smile with a polite nod, you said, "There is no need, truly. How much do you ask for one of these?" You thanked God for remembering to carry your small coin purse—a habit drilled into you by Sukuna’s lessons on self-sufficiency, even if Judgement day came in, you always carried money on your person so long as you were not within your family’s vicinity.

The lady named her price, and you promptly began to search for the correct coins in your purse. Just as your fingers brushed against the cool metal, a gloved hand caught your wrist, halting your movement.

"You must be the only lady in all of Christendom who insists on paying for her own tarts whilst her husband stands idly by," came Gojo’s teasing voice. You didn’t need to look up to know that his familiar smirk was firmly in place, brimming with that infuriating mirth that seemed to accompany his every word.

Without relinquishing his gentle hold on your wrist, he smoothly handed over the coins to the stall owner, then deftly picked up a golden apple tart. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable as he offered the pastry to you, the corners of his mouth twitching as if daring you to protest.

But you didn’t give him what he wanted; rather, you took it without protest—not without rolling your eyes—and looked it over appreciatively.

Gojo bent over to lean his face close into yours, ever so playing the part of a husband wanting to spoil his wife. “Happy?”

You gave him a hum, sticking your tongue out and then taking a bite of the pastry in front of you.

Gojo's smirk widened, clearly amused by your reaction, his blue eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and satisfaction. He watched you intently, as though gauging your every move, delighting in this little game of his. You knew he expected some sharp retort or flustered reaction, but you were determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you took a slow, deliberate bite of the tart, savoring its warmth and sweetness. The flaky crust gave way to the soft, spiced apple filling that practically melted on your tongue. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, relishing the taste, and let out a contented sigh. "It is quite satisfactory," you said, allowing a small smile to play on your lips as you met his gaze.

"Well, I should hope so," Gojo said with a chuckle, still playing the role of the devoted husband. "One does go to great lengths to ensure one's wife is suitably indulged."

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but there was no denying the way the scene had amused you, despite your best efforts to remain unflappable. “You enjoy this, don’t you?” you remarked dryly.

"More than you can imagine," he replied, his tone light and teasing. "Seeing you this flustered and yet so determined not to show it? Absolutely delightful."

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn't quite suppress the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "You are insufferable."

"And yet," he said, leaning in ever so slightly, a touch of softness behind the humor in his voice, "you tolerate me still."

You huffed. "Only because you happen to be useful at times, particularly for giving me the opportunity to escape the confines of your godforsaken manor."

He laughed, a genuine sound that echoed above the bustle of the market. "Oh, I'll take that as the highest compliment, coming from you."

"Enjoy it while you can, Gojo. It may be the last time I am so generous."

"Noted," he said with a grin, giving you a playful wink. "I'll savor it as much as you did that tart."

"You know," you began, musing, "our mamas have truly squandered their efforts. We would never have made a compatible match."

Both of you rode side by side on horseback, the forest trail stretching out before you as you made your way back to the manor. The journey was not far now—the stone turrets of the Gojo estate were already visible in the distance. The both of you hadn’t had much time to do much other than two encounters you had, deciding to make your return before your rendezvous got behindhand. You turned your head slightly to study Gojo's reaction, expecting to find that familiar, self-assured smirk he always wore. But instead, his expression was... different. A touch more solemn, perhaps even conflicted.

At last, he spoke, his voice softer than usual. "And what, pray tell, do you consider a suitable match?"

You let his question hang in the air for a moment, taking in the rustling leaves and the steady rhythm of your horses' hooves against the well-trodden path. It was just the two of you here in the quiet of the forest, far from the prying eyes of society. There was a certain unspoken understanding between you—a truce of sorts—yet also a acknowledgement that either of you could easily betray this moment's candor.

So, ultimately, you chose honesty. Partial honesty.

With a quiet sigh, you chose your words carefully. "I think," you hesitated, your gaze caught by Gojo's steady, penetrating eyes, "I should prefer a life of tranquility once I am wed. Someone gentle, who would respect my desire to occupy myself as I please, who would allow me a measure of privacy." You quickly added, as to not seem too radical, "I mean to say, someone who would not object if I wished to practice my piano in solitude or to pursue a quiet hobby. Surely you understand, my lord, the burden of constantly being in the public eye."

Instead of seeming understanding, Gojo’s gaze on you was…pensive. Your heart sped up as the solace you needed from Gojo after being a bit vulnerable didn’t appear, leaving your mind running as to what he was thinking.The sunlight filtered through the trees, catching in his white hair, giving him an almost ethereal appearance as the two of you rode on in silence.

Then, the clouds covered the sun up, giving his figure a glum, ruminative cast.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, and his voice seemed to carry a note of something deeper, something unspoken. As if he was aware of something you weren’t. “What I do understand that is that you are being deceitful. Both your future husband and to yourself.”

His words hung in the air between you, more like a question than a statement, challenging in a way that left you unprepared. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath, the rustling leaves and birdsong fading into the background as his gaze locked onto yours, probing, almost too perceptive. It was the windiness indicative of rainfall, with the thunder of clouds above you to provide testament to the change in weather.

You straightened in your saddle, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "I fail to see what you mean," you replied, a touch defensive, though you kept your tone level. "What else should one seek from a marriage if not harmony and respect?"

"You speak of privacy and quiet, of being left to your own devices. But tell me," he said, his voice barely above a murmur, "would that truly satisfy you? To be married to a man who treats you as if you were a painting—beautiful, yes, but best admired from a distance, untouched and unengaged?"

You opened your mouth to respond but found no words. There was a part of you, a stubborn part, that wanted to argue—to tell him he was wrong, that a peaceful life was exactly what you desired.

"I... simply wish to avoid the chaos that comes with too much entanglement," you said finally, more quietly. "I’ve seen what happens when people become too wrapped up in one another. It's a vulnerability I do not wish to expose myself to."

"Ah, I see," he said, nodding slowly yet mockingly as if he was piecing together a puzzle, making you bristle involuntarily. "So, you’d rather not risk the mess of it all—the unpredictability, the chance of losing control. You want safety."

You narrowed your eyes at him, both irritated and unnerved by his perceptiveness. "Is that so wrong?" you challenged. "To desire a life where I can control my own happiness, rather than leave it in the hands of another?"

He matched your tone and fervor. “Is that truly what you believe a marriage is for?”

You sneered. “And don’t you want an accountant for a wife, my lord? It is quite laughable for you to be advising me on the beauty of marriage.”

Enraptured in the heat of the moment, you hadn’t realized that you were nearly at the stables where you had to station your horses until Satoru grabbed his reins—-hands idle before, directing his horse in no particular direction—to now steer his into the stall next to the ones you directed yours.

“My stance on marriage and my character bear no relevance to this matter,” he replied, a rueful smile tugging at his lips as he tethered his horse. His tone was controlled, though a trace of irritation bled through. “Whatever my faults, they do not make your notions any more rational.”

“But you forget that it illuminates who you are,” you hissed, walking towards the exit of the barn, tired of the smell of manure and Gojo, unsure which was more repugnant. “A hypocrite. A whited sepulchre, if you will.”

Gojo barks out a laugh from behind you, following closely behind on your heels. “Any supposed sanctimonious nature of mine does not alter the fact that you are steering yourself into a life of misery. Not just you, but any poor fool incapable of seeing through your polished smiles to your true intentions.”

On a given day, had you not been so incensed or had your opponent been anyone other than Lord Gojo, you might have heeded the thunderous roar of the rain on the stable’s roof or the slick ground outside that awaited you. And on a given day, you wouldn’t have stepped so fast, as if daring the friction of the ground and force of gravity to make you fall flat on your face.

But, alas, it was not that said given day and your ankle made a sickening crunch! against the ground as you fell, your head and body hitting the wet grass. You felt the world tilt unnaturally as you hit the ground, the impact jarring through your body, sending a shockwave of pain radiating from your ankle to the back of your skull. A dull throb began to pulse at your temples, and the rain poured down, blurring your vision into a haze of grays and greens.

Through the blend of sensations, you heard a sharp intake of breath, and then there were hurried footsteps approaching. Somewhere above the din of the storm, a voice called your name, its usual calm fraying at the edges with alarm.

“Miss Itadori!” WIth that you jumped, eyes finally registering a Gojo clenching your wrists tight. “Can you understand what I am saying?”

Your gaze drifted over his face, focusing on the small details—his rain-slicked hair, the concern that flickered behind his eyes, the humorless smile that strained at his lips. Slowly, you managed a nod, though even that small movement made your head swim. “Yes,” you whispered.

Then, you became acutely aware of a warm, crimson fluid pooling around you, contrasting sharply with the rain-soaked earth. You began to feel faint, though not from the severity of the injury itself, but rather from the unfamiliar sight of so much blood. It was unnerving, especially for someone who had never experienced a wound of this nature. The lightheadedness must have been responsible for your sudden admission, “I am frightened.”

Lord Gojo’s eyes, which had moments ago glinted with amusement at your pitiful state, softened ever so slightly. His smirk remained in place, yet you noticed the way his fingers twitched restlessly at his side, betraying the composure he desperately clung to. “My lady, it’s merely a gash. You are not in danger of perishing,” he said, his tone light, almost too light, like a mask hiding something unspoken. “However, it seems I’ll have to carry you to a physician, lest you collapse entirely.”

He stood up from where he had been inspecting your ankle, bending slightly before you with his arms extended. But there was a slight hesitation in his movement, a momentary pause before his hands reached for you, as if he were weighing the consequences, considering the impropriety of the action.

Your eyes widened in alarm at the very idea of being carried by him. “Carry me? What--AHHH!” A sharp scream left your lips as Lord Gojo, without warning, scooped you into his arms. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself in a bridal carry, your gown catching the rain as he strode out of the greenhouse. He moved with a purposeful stride, though his grip on you was perhaps a fraction tighter than necessary, his jaw clenched just a bit too firmly.

You pounded your fists ineffectively against his chest, cheeks burning with indignation. “Gojo, let me down!”

He, of course, ignored your demands entirely, his voice annoyingly gentle as he cooed, “Now, now, it’s for your own good. You’re in no condition to walk, and I can hardly risk your injury worsening.” But despite his calm words, his eyes flickered nervously to your face and then away, almost as though he was afraid of what he might see in your expression if he looked too long.

“What if someone sees us?” you hissed, your mind racing at the impropriety of the situation. The two of you, unchaperoned, in such an undignified position—it would provide gossip for Whistledown and the ton for weeks.

Gojo’s smirk returned, though there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I am wearing gloves, my lady. Fear not, I am not making contact with your bare skin.” His attempt at humor felt forced, his voice lacking its usual ease, and when he added, “Though I daresay, it would not be such an unpleasant thought,” the playfulness seemed almost like a deflection.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to distract yourself from the warmth of his arms. “Why do you always wear those?”

“Writing ledgers and doing a lot of work with pens make my fingers blister. It’s quite unsightly, so I prefer to wear them,” he said, his voice steady, though the hand supporting your back trembled almost imperceptibly.

You hummed, settling a little more comfortably in his hold. "You know, you’re quite strong to be able to carry me like this. What manual labor are your parents making you do to get the title of duke?”

“Well,” Gojo began, but his voice sounded tighter now, the rumble of it vibrating through his chest where your head was so near. The proximity seemed to unsettle him in a way his words could not hide; he cleared his throat as if to steady himself, but his breathing was just a touch uneven. My vindication for such close contact will be the blood loss, you thought, as you nestled your head closer to his chest, until your nose was almost grazing his neck. The scent of tobacco and vanilla filled your senses, lulling you closer to the pulse that beat a bit too fast beneath his skin. “I enjoy doing archery. I’ve been doing it ever since I was a child, which happens to strengthen your shoulders.”

You thought back to the night you were strolling in the garden the day of your debut, musing on the size of his shoulders, and mumbled, “Mmmm, I was right.”

Gojo stiffened almost imperceptibly, his gaze flickering down to you in a way that was almost too quick, too searching. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he hesitated. "Right about what?" he asked finally, his tone a bit too casual, as though trying to mask the turmoil behind his nonchalance.

“Nothing,” you murmured, closing your eyes and leaning your head against his shoulder. You felt his gaze linger on you, as though he were trying to decipher a puzzle that was just beyond his reach, before he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. And as he carried you onward, the rhythm of his heartbeat felt almost in sync with the rain, though you both pretended not to notice how fast it was racing.

As you leaned against him, the warmth of his presence enveloped you, a soothing balm against the chaos swirling in your mind. But the world began to tilt, colors blurring at the edges, and the sounds of the forest faded into a distant hum.

“Gojo…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, a final plea for clarity before darkness crept in.

The last thing you registered was his grip tightening around you, a hint of alarm breaking through his facade. “Stay with me,” you heard, though his voice felt miles away, echoing in the void as consciousness slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

Then, the world faded entirely, leaving only the warmth of his arms and the distant sound of his voice.

prev. the game | next. soon!

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a/n AHHH HI BRIDGERTON!GOJO READERS I MISSED U!!! im very sorry for the delay that happened with this chapter but for me it's so hard to write...development and angst and fluff becasue when you write it's so hard to know when any of your writing hits :(

but re-reading ur comments reblogs and asks inspire me a lot to continue so we all good :3 i think what happened was that i kind of went thru a crisis where i thought my writing wasn't good at all because of certain things i saw in other authors', i.e. writing longfics that have 10k+ words that led me to believe i wasn't writing enough, that my plotline was progressing too fast, etc. i might have long chapters going on, i might not because i realize how stupid that belief was lol. anyways moving forward i dont think we will see that type of delay because i have the best readers hehe <3 love you all and im kind of giggling in anticipation to all your funny comments because they make my day

ANYWAYS like always reblogs and comments are appreciated <333

meme time

gojo getting to business w the baker (credits to @/sinn-clair LOL)

TAGLIST:

@ncitygreen @backstagepaige @serinatly100986 @nappingmoon @coochellati

@extremelyexh4usted @yoshisaurmuchakoopas @nixiepixee @generalstephkenobi @vernasce-blogs

@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover

@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur

@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco

@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx

@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

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gamerwoo · 2 years ago

Text

Hyunjin: Age-Restricted (Part Two)

Characters: Hyunjin x female reader (ft the other skz members but minus jisung)

Genre/warnings: nanny!reader, boy next door/neighbor!hyunjin, virgin!reader, very bold and flirty!hyunjin and painfully shy!reader, fluff, some humor, mentions of poop (i mean reader’s a nanny, this is a given), it reader gets a lil turned on in some parts but nothing happens, implied that reader is tall (again, only one of the few times i mention reader’s appearance), reader has anxiety and second guesses herself a lot lmao, minors dni!!!

Word count: 6,116

Summary: You think it’s luck when the new family you nanny for is so stupid rich that they rent you a fancy new apartment just so you can live closer to them. You think it’s luck when the guy across the hall is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen in your entire life and makes an effort to talk to you. But that’s just about where your luck runs out, because Hyunjin is more out of your league than you could ever imagine, and you’re just some hopeless virgin who never had good luck in the first place.

tag list: @hyuneyeon @ack-aashi [be added to the taglist by filling out this form!]

permanent tag list (italics are unable to tag): @minluvly @awkwardnesshabitat @woozarts @septicrebel @4kwp @thepencilkorner @shmooooo @bubblelixie @byunhoebaek @dejavernon @ahandfulofkeys @slut-for-dabi

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You marched up the stairs of the house, knowing exactly where Seojoon was hiding. This kid was so easy, it almost seemed stupid that his parents would pay you as much as they were on top of paying for your apartment. Then again, they asked you to clean up the house when you could, so that was another task that made up for how much you made.

“Jesus, how big is this house?!” Minho gasped from your phone that you were holding at face-level.

“Move your fat head, I wanna see,” Seungmin demanded before shoving the older boy’s head out of the way and poking his own head into frame.

“How can you even tell?” you asked. “I’ve just been showing my face.”

“I can see the background.”

“Hardly.”

“Yeah, because you’ve got a fat head, too,” Seungmin quipped with a wide grin like he was oh-so proud of himself.

You sharply shushed him, “I don’t need Seojoon picking that up and calling his parents fat heads when they get home.”

You walked down the hall, knowing exactly where you were going. Spending three weeks with the kid, you figured he’d at least keep you on your toes a little. A toddler would be more exciting, right? But not Seojoon – not that he was boring. But Seojoon had his patterns and he stuck to them. It made taking care of him easy, at least. And he liked you because you always seemed to know exactly what he wanted and when.

Finally, you made it to Seojoon’s room. You pushed open his door that was already left cracked, the light turned on. You held a finger to your lips, telling your friends to be quiet on the video call as a smile broke onto your face slowly. You got down on your knees by his bed and carefully wrapped your fingers around the bottom of his sheets that hung over his bed. And then you ripped them up, letting out a yell.

Seojoon, who hid underneath the bed, began squealing and giggling.

“C’mon, bud,” you told him after he’d calmed down, “let me check your butt.”

“That’s a sentence I’d be scared to hear,” Minho mumbled.

“Who’s that?” Seojoon asked.

“My friends,” you replied. “They missed me.”

“No, you’re my friend,” he corrected with a giggle.

You feigned a pout, “What, I don’t have any other friends?”

“No!” he continued to giggle at the same time your two friends deadpanned, “No.”

“Alright, enough from the peanut gallery,” you decided before ending your call with your friends. You turned your attention fully to Seojoon. “Did you go potty in your pull-ups?”

“Nope!” he grinned proudly.

You narrowed your eyes, “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Can I check?”

“...Noooo…”

You let out a sigh, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. C’mon, let’s change you.”

At least you were settling into habit. You were getting used to coming home to your new apartment, and becoming familiar with the people you’d occasionally pass in the lobby or on your floor – you especially liked the nice freckled boy who typically worked the front desk during the nights. The first time he’d seen you coming home from work, he stopped you.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked with a deep voice that took you by surprise considering how young and…fluffy he looked. “I know pretty much everyone in the building.”

You nodded, “I’m in room 805.”

“Oh, the nanny!” he grinned, and you thought the way his face lit up was cute. “Yeah, that couple showed up to put down the first few months' rent, and they told us it was for their nanny. We kept making fun of them for how boujee they sounded. You’re kinda popular with the bellboys now.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You also got a pretty nice room – some good neighbors up there.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Well, I’m Felix if you ever need anything. I usually work nights, though, so don’t need anything during the day. Jerry sucks.”

Jerry did, in fact, suck, you learned quickly. You tried to greet him the morning after meeting Felix, only to be met with a grumble as he continued to stare down at his desk.

“_____!” Felix greeted you with a warm smile when you entered the lobby. “How was work?”

You made a face, holding up the garbage bag you held in your hand that only contained one thing: your sweatshirt. His eyebrows furrowed as he cocked his head to one side like a confused puppy, not understanding why you had a garbage bag in your hand with seemingly nothing in it.

“Blowout,” you stated.

“What?” he asked.

“A one-year-old shit so much it came out of his diaper and his clothes.”

His eyes widened as he let out a gasp, “What?”

“But I didn’t wear a shirt under my hoodie, so I had to text his mom and ask to borrow something from her closet,” you continued, annoyance in your tone. You weren’t necessarily mad at Hajoon – he was literally one, it wasn’t his fault – just at the situation. “Unfortunately, she only buys like, Gucci and shit, so.”

“That’s a bad thing?” he questioned.

“I cannot explain to you the anxiety I feel wearing her expensive clothing, like I could ruin it at any minute and get fired.”

He chuckled, “Well, lucky for you, we have in-house dry cleaning. Send it down when you get changed and I’ll have Jeongin get on it.”

“Thanks, Lix,” you sighed as you made your way to the elevator, praying that you would be the only one in it all the way up to the eighth floor.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself before taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out.

Gucci shirt was being dry cleaned, you were out of your leggings that may or may not have also gotten poop on them – but what were you going to do, ask to borrow Mrs. Park’s pants, too? – and your makeup was taken off for the night. Now you just had to figure out what to do with your sweatshirt. Should you try to salvage it or should you throw it out?

Well, you’d already lost one sweatshirt to a blowout before, and you really didn’t want to lose another. Plus, this one was one of your cozier ones, so if you could wash the poop out, then you’d prefer that route than just tossing it. So you took your trash bag that you’d left by the door, and you opened the door to go to the laundry room.

Except there was something – or rather, someone – in front of your door with their fist up, ready to knock.

“Oh!” you both said in surprise at the same time.

“Sorry, _____” Hyunjin’s startled expression melted into a smile. His eyes drifted down to the white bag that you held in your fist, and his nose crinkled for a moment. “Taking out trash? Not a lot.”

“Uhhhhhh, yeah,” you decided to say, figuring trying to explain you were going to throw your poopy sweatshirt in the wash was not only going to make you seem disgusting, but was also not something that sounded great. How did you explain to someone that you got human feces on your clothes?

Especially when you had a crush on them and wanted them to like you back.

Hyunjin stayed true to his word about being your friend. While you were too shy and intimidated to say anything to him at first, he always went out of his way to at least say hi when he saw you passing him by in the hall, or wish you a good day when he saw you leaving the lobby, or hold the door if he saw you going for the elevator he was in. And so you slowly started saying hi to him first, but that was really where your ‘friendship’ – if that – ended. So him knocking on your door was something that hadn’t happened since you moved in.

But at least you were getting more comfortable around him. Progress was progress, you supposed -- or at least, that’s what Chan always told you.

“So, what’s up?” you asked him.

“So, um…” he began slowly, eyebrows furrowing together but looking like he wanted to laugh at himself, “this might be a weird request, but like… Okay, you’ve colored your hair before, right?”

“Like, did it myself or just in general?”

“Yourself.”

“A couple times,” you shrugged. “It wasn’t good because I can’t see the back of my head, but, yeah.”

“No, that’s fine!” he said quickly as if he thought you’d change your mind. “I was just wondering if you’d maybe help me with bleaching my hair…?”

You had to reply quickly or he’d think you were weird, so you didn’t have the time to sit there and wonder why he would ask you and not literally anyone else. He had to have friends he could ask. Hell, you’d sooner call up Chan and have him drive his ass to your apartment to kill a spider than walk across the hall and whine to Hyunjin.

But also, who were you to question a perfectly good opportunity to not only be around Hyunjin and talk to him, but actually physically interact with him. Running your fingers through his hair? Yes please.

You shrugged and offered up a smile, trying to seem like you weren’t bubbling with nerves, “Yeah, sure!”

“Cool, we can do it at my place if you want,” he offered, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to his door he’d left slightly ajar. “I don’t want bleach getting on any of your stuff.”

Could Hyunjin hear your heart slamming against your chest? He was inviting you into his apartment? The last time you were alone with a boy that you had a crush on was when you still lived at home and went to your sister’s house for a cookout and you and one of her friends had to sit in the living room together because both of you were waiting for the bathroom. And you didn’t say a word to him, you just pretended to be on your phone the whole time. S to say you were nervous now was an understatement.

“Yeah, let me just…” you trailed off, realizing you didn’t actually know what to do with the sweatshirt, so you just kind of tossed it by the door before stepping out into the hall with Hyunjin.

“Smooth,” he chuckled before he led you across the hall to his apartment.

You figured his place would be almost exactly like yours, but you quickly realized it was so much nicer. Everything was a perfect stark white that was a beautiful contrast to the jet black accents, which was similar to your apartment. However, his had an upstairs, the loft of which hung over part of the kitchen/living area. He had large art pieces hanging on the walls, making it seem like some rich big shot lived there — which he may have been for all you knew.

“C’mon, we can use the bathroom upstairs,” he told you, leading you around the corner to the staircase.

“You have an upstairs bathroom…?” you asked quietly, mostly to yourself as you followed him up the steps.

“The apartments on the left side are a little more…more,” he explained, turning his head to talk to you over his shoulder.

“Oh…” was all you replied with.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he completely turned to you, continuing to walk backwards toward the destination, “I don’t really need this much space since it’s just me, but I have a lot of stuff, y’know? Plus, I felt like I had more freedom to decorate this like I wanted. I wanted it to feel more like…me, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you shrugged. “I like my apartment, but it does seem kind of plain right now. I couldn’t take a lot of my stuff when I moved out of my mom’s because I had three other roommates in an apartment made for only three people, so when I moved here, I couldn’t really decorate a ton.”

He frowned slightly, “Why not go get your stuff from your mom’s?”

“I’d rather not,” you stated, making a slightly sour face.

Hyunjin chuckled with a nod, “Yeah, I feel that.”

Then he turned back around just in time to push open a door ahead of him at the end of the hall.

Inside, the scent hit you and smelled intoxicating and expensive. It was warm and spicy but still smelled clean and fresh with a hint of vanilla. There was a large bed with silk black bedding, even more artwork, a t-shirt or two laying on the carpeted floor, and two large mirrors — a standing one opposite the bed, and one on the ceiling hanging above it. There was a dresser on either side of the room as well, that faced the bed. You assumed it was Hyunjin’s room. But you didn’t get to look around much because he walked by the end of the bed to another door on the same wall and opened that one.

Through this door was a large bathroom that had a separate bathtub from the shower. It was a large clawfoot tub, with a spacious shower taking up the entire back of the bathroom, blocked off by frosted glass. His counter where the sink was took up most of the length of the wall, with the mirror being equally as big.

“Your bathroom is massive,” you commented, hearing your own voice echo back to you.

He chuckled, “Yeah, I guess so. If you ever wanna come over to use it, just let me know.”

You definitely saw him toss you a wink over his shoulder, but for some reason, you chalked it up to some kind of twitch. Some of the dads you’d met had a weird habit of winking a couple times when they spoke to you, so maybe he was the same. Maybe it was just a…man thing. But still, you weren’t sure how to respond, even if it wasn’t intended as suggestive as your brain made it out to be, feeling your cheeks heat up a bit. You wanted to say something while he opened the plastic bag that sat on the counter, beginning to read the directions of how to mix the bleach, but everything you came up with was either boring, stupid, or just had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

“Do you know how to do this?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed as he looked over the large, unfolded piece of paper.

“Is it a 1:1 ratio or 1:2?” you asked, looking in his direction instead of pretending to continue to admire the bathroom.

“Uhhh…” he trailed off, seemingly unsure. Then he passed the paper to you. “I’ve never done this, I’ve always had it done.”

You took the paper and scanned it over. Ratio, processing time, yada-yada. Then you looked back over at Hyunjin, your eyes flickering to the counter and then back at him, “Do you have gloves?”

“Yup.”

Then your eyes drifted down toward his shirt, taking note of the grey Off White brand t-shirt he was wearing, eyebrows pulling together as you narrowed your eyes, looking back up at his face, “What about a shirt you don’t care about?”

Hyunjin looked down at his shirt, holding out the hem and taking a moment to look it over before looking back up at you, “What’s wrong with this?”

You opened your mouth, wanting to ask him if he was crazy. You wanted to ask him how goddamn rich he was that he’d bleach a shirt that was over $300. But instead you closed your mouth, not wanting to upset him when this was the first time you were hanging out with him.

“Nothing,” you told him. “How did you wanna do this…?”

He shrugged, “You can reach.”

“It’s still more convenient if you’re sitting and I can see your entire head.”

“I can kneel,” he said almost happily.

And before you could tell him how uncomfortable that would get, Hyunjin got down on both knees in front of you, resting on the plush bath mat that rested in front of the counter. He looked up at you, blinking with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and wide, innocent eyes.

But you wondered if he knew how badly your face heated up and how your heart thumped in your chest because he was on his knees and so close to your literal crotch that it made you want to pass out. Because as you felt yourself internally panicking, you were pretty sure Hyunjin’s smile was growing, reaching his eyes until they turned into crescent moons.

“Th-that’ll be like, really uncomfortable,” you told him, trying to keep your casual composure even though you wanted to explode. Your eyes were looking anywhere but down at him, because you just simply couldn’t hold eye contact with that man. But thankfully, it gave you an idea since your eyes were wandering and landed on the clawfoot tub. “You can sit in front of the tub on the floor, and I’ll sit on the edge.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a better idea,” he agreed with a smile that seemed…strange. It was like he already thought of it and was waiting for you to say something.

‘You’re going insane,’ you told yourself. ‘Fucking relax, idiot.’

Hyunjin stood and walked over to the tub, while you began mixing the bleach. He sat down on the edge, and you could feel his stare piercing your back – or maybe you were imagining it, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

Yup, definitely wishful thinking. Because when you turned back around, he was typing on his phone, dark hair hiding his face like a curtain.

But you also might’ve seen him look down at his phone at the right second.

Or you were gaslighting yourself into thinking you saw that because you wanted him to be staring.

‘Can you stop and get on with this already? He’s gonna think you’re crazy.’

“Ready?” you asked him to get his attention.

His head snapped up as he smiled, “Yup!”

You sat down on the edge of the tub, and Hyunjin sat down in front of your legs, back toward you. He immediately settled back against your knees, but this still wasn’t as convenient as you would’ve liked.

“Um,” you shifted your legs apart, “could you move back a little?”

“‘Course,” he replied, wiggling until he had moved back and was now sitting against the tub instead.

You prayed he couldn’t hear how hard your heart was beating in your chest at the way he intimately sat. Hell, you were praying that you didn’t like, smell funny or something. Of course, your brain always came up with the dumbest things to be self-conscious about, so you tried to push those thoughts to the back of your head and tried to focus on bleaching Hyunjin’s hair.

First, you combed through his hair with your fingers, wanting to get most of the possible tangles out. You heard Hyunjin hum softly, and your movements stuttered as you tried to not lose your shit. You felt tingling between your legs just at a fucking noise this dude made, and you were internally scolding yourself while also trying to get yourself to just fucking relax.

‘It’s just a hum. It wasn’t anything like, erotic. Chill, bitch.’

“This might be cold,” you warned as you got ready to put the bleach on his head.

All he did was hum in reply, but this hum was different, you told yourself. But it was true. This one was way more casual, and the other sounded relaxed and content, like maybe he liked the feeling of you playing with his hair…

‘Oh my god, stop it.’

You applied bleach to his dark hair for about a moment in silence, trying to steady your breathing and simply focus on just not melting the hair off of his head – though, maybe he’d look good bald…or like an egg.

“What kind of music do you listen to?” he wondered suddenly, and you could see over his shoulder that he was scrolling through Spotify on his phone. “I can play some music.”

“You pick,” you told him, eyes going back to your hands. “I’ll listen to anything.”

He sighed, and had he been facing you, you would’ve seen him roll his brown eyes, “Oh come on, every girl says that but they really won’t. There’s definitely things you don’t like.”

“Okay, um… Not a big classical fan, and I could never get on board with heavy metal.”

“Country?”

“Grew up with it, so I like the old stuff – except that one song. Fuck, it’s called uh… It’s by that Luke Bryan guy.”

“Ah, I know the one.”

“But don’t play it,” you told him before, for some god-forsaken reason, deciding to admit, “I will throw it back.”

Hyunjin let out a loud laugh, leaning forward away from you to turn around and look at you, “Seriously?”

You nodded, laughing along with him, “It’s just one of those songs. One of my old roommates used to get me drunk and then play it really loud in the kitchen. We got a lot of noise complaints.”

“Sounds worth it,” he was still chuckling as he went back to his original position. “So no Country Girl, got it. How do we feel about a throwback playlist?”

You shrugged, going back to work on his hair, “Sounds good.”

It didn’t take you too terribly long to coat his entire head in bleach. Then you put a cap on it and told him to sit for no more than 30 minutes.

“I’ll probably need some help toning it,” he said as he washed out the bowl and brush you used for bleach. “You mind sticking around?”

You shrugged, “I’ve got no plans tonight.”

He turned to look at you, placing the bowl and brush on the counter and flashing you a smile, “Well, now you do. Wanna start a movie or something?”

“What kind of movie?”

“You can pick whatever your heart desires.”

So you picked the movie. It was one you’d already seen already, and you were sure there were no scenes in it that would make anything awkward. But the problem was the sitting situation. You didn’t want to sit all the way on the other end of his couch because that seemed kind of rude. But you didn’t want to sit too close and be creepy. So you eventually just plopped down very un-gracefully about an arms length away from him, grabbing a throw pillow to hug tightly to your midsection before leaning back into the couch.

Thankfully, you were able to get absorbed into the movie mostly. It took a few minutes, but your mind eventually shut off and stopped worrying, and your thoughts were focused on the movie. It was a nice rest of not being hyper aware of only Hyunjin.

Well, until he shifted. He moved to cross one leg over the other, and threw his right arm across the back of the couch, his hand landing by your head.

Back to being hyper aware of only Hyunjin.

You tried not to make it too obvious that you were trying to steal a glance at him, but when you did finally turn your head ever so slightly to look at him, he was facing toward the TV, eyes focused – as far as you could tell, anyway. Maybe he was bored, you didn’t know.

Suddenly, Hyunjin turned his head ever so slightly to the right, side-eyeing you without changing his expression. You quickly averted your gaze, finding the TV in a split second, praying and hoping he didn’t notice you staring.

But what you didn’t notice was him silently smiling to himself and looking back at the TV.

You wondered if Hyunjin knew how to do anything. He asked you to bleach his hair, which was fine. But then he asked you to rinse the bleach out for him in the sink. Maybe he didn’t want to go lock himself in the bathroom to shower, leaving you alone in his apartment. But still, why couldn’t he just rinse it out himself in the sink?

Still, you did it. You weren’t complaining, you were just fighting the nerves and anxiety and butterflies.

Then you had to help him tone his hair, and again, rinse it. Then he asked you to grab his conditioner, so you conditioned Hyunjin’s bleached-blonde hair. You were pretty sure creepy men on TV shows when you were younger used to fantasize about being able to wash and condition pretty girls’ hair, so hey, you were living somebody’s dream. That was a win.

Hyunjin’s neck was still bent over the sink as he towel-dried his hair, scrunching it to get the water before messing it up with the towel.

“I hope you think it looks okay,” you let out a small, nervous laugh.

“Eh, it’ll look fine,” he said as he moved the towel to toss his head backwards, moving his hair from his eyes. “Can’t look worse than it has before.”

“What was the worst?” you wondered, still watching him from his right side as you both stood at the bathroom counter.

He continued to scrunch the ends of his hair, trying to get all of the water droplets that were falling, looking in the mirror at himself and his hair rather than at you, “I tried to go bright red and missed a big patch of roots at the back of my head.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you paused, trying to make sense of his story, “...But I thought you’d never dyed your hair before.”

That was when he finally looked at you, a smile on his lips that you’d give to your slow friend who finally got the joke and you wanted to pat them on the shoulder and make them feel like they weren’t stupid.

“I lied,” he admitted.

And that was when your heart dropped, but in a way you didn’t really expect. Because your mind immediately went to, ‘he’s a murderer!’

He must’ve seen the way your eyes widened – you really needed to learn how to control your facial expressions – and the way you eyed him, because he let out a laugh that sounded like your new favorite sound in the world. It just sounded so…happy and amused. Like, happier than you’d heard him sound before – not that you’ve really heard him actually laugh much.

“No, it’s nothing bad,” he explained. “I just– How else am I supposed to get a pretty girl to come to my apartment and play with my hair?”

You wanted to combust – maybe you were going to. Your face was rapidly heating up, and you weren’t really sure what your expression was doing but you were biting back a smile unsuccessfully, deciding to simply hide your face in both hands. You could hear Hyunjin laughing the same way he had just a moment ago, and then you felt warmth on your shoulders, his hands placed on them as he dipped his head to try and see some part of your burning face.

“Aw, don’t be so shy, _____!” he teased “I told you I think you’re pretty so now you’re going to hide from me? That’s not fair!”

You whined into your hands, the noise coming out muffled but still making Hyunjin continue that beautiful laugh as he smoothed your hair back that had fallen in front of your hands that still covered your face.

“You’re...really...bold…” you said very un-boldly into your hands.

“Only because I’m pretty sure I know where you stand with me,” he chuckled.

Another loud whine that only made Hyunjin wrap his arms around you, holding you to him. God, you wanted to die then and there. Did he not realize this was making your butterflies worse?

“How?!”

He shrugged, “I’ve gotten pretty good at reading people over the years.”

“‘Over the years’? You’re talking like you’re some old man; you’re like, my age!”

You felt him move slightly away from you, keeping one arm around your waist while the one that rubbed your back moved away. You felt him trying to get between your arms and your chin to put his hand there, trying to guide your head up.

“Will you look at me already?” he asked in a murmur, his playful tone now so soft and almost gravely. It was a contrast, that was for sure, and it made you feel…a lot.

What made you feel even more was how he looked at you. His brown eyes bore into yours, faces inches apart. You could almost feel his breath fanning against your lips as you stared back and tried to control yourself internally. But you knew what was coming, and you knew what would happen after that.

As much as you wanted Hyunjin to kiss you like you were pretty sure he was going to, you knew what always happened. You knew it would be a lot – not just for you, but probably him – and that it would be very, very embarrassing. You also knew that it would probably effectively scare Hyunjin away, which you didn’t want.

But you also couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You’d never been good at doing that, always wanting to be a people pleaser. You were never one to stick up for yourself or much of anything, really. So when Hyunjin leaned in ever so slightly, eyes flicking to your lips and then back to your eyes, you just tried to tell yourself to relax and absolutely not panic. But with the anxiety warming the pit of your stomach, and the way your hands trembled against his shoulders, you already knew that it was going to be a rough start, anyway.

Buzz.

A soft vibration against your thigh made you jump, but it didn’t seem to phase Hyunjin at all. He continued to hold your chin gently in his hand, keeping your gaze locked.

Buzz.

Someone was definitely calling you.

Hyunjin broke into a smirk, “You might want to get that.”

He dropped his hand and went back to drying his hair like nothing had happened, leaving you frozen for a second as you stared at the space Hyunjin used to be in front of you. You tried to get your heart to calm down and the feeling in your stomach to subside. But you also probably looked like a moron still just standing there, so you finally slid a hand into the pocket of your biker shorts to retrieve your phone.

Chan.

“Hey,” you answered the phone in a breath.

“Hey, I– Are you okay?” he asked. “You sound stressed.”

You glanced at Hyunjin, but he either couldn’t actually hear your friend on the phone, or he wasn’t showing that he could.

“I-I’m okay,” you replied, though you were not. You still felt nervous and shaky, like you’d just gotten off of a rollercoaster. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to play some Smash with me,” he said cheerily. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to really talk to you and I miss you.”

“Um, y-yeah, we can play. Just let me finish something real quick and I’ll call you back.”

“Awesome, I’ll see you in a bit!”

You hung up and put your phone back in your pocket.

“Roommates?” he guessed.

He definitely could hear.

“Yea–” you paused, thinking of something suddenly. “How did you know I’m not with someone? That could’ve been my boyfriend for all you know.”

He playfully rolled his eyes before turning to face you, “Well, if my girlfriend stared at some guy the entire time they were watching a movie, I’d be pretty pissed.”

Well, that effectively shut you up. All you could do was stand there and look at him, then down at the ground, then at the open bathroom door.

You looked back at Hyunjin and announced very bluntly but still quietly, “I have to go.”

“I figured,” he chuckled with a nod. “I’ll walk you out.”

So he did. He walked you all the way to the front door of your apartment, waiting for you to unlock the door. And then you turned back to face him, only to see him leaning against your doorframe with a casual smirk on his face that made that frenzy begin inside you again.

You wanted him to kiss you so bad, but you didn’t want to deal with the consequences or the aftermath.

“So will you actually reach out to me this time?” he asked, quirking a brow.

‘Well now that I know you think I’m pretty, maybe I will.’

“Maybe I will,” you smirked right back at him.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he winked before backing up. “Have fun with your friend.”

“Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

“Goodnight, _____.”

You closed the door and let yourself settle on cloud 9 for a moment. The hot neighbor thought you were pretty and openly hit on you. You might just have a shot despite what you thought.

‘But,’ you reminded yourself, ‘just because he thinks you’re pretty doesn’t mean he wants anything more than sex.’

Which was the harsh reality of ‘dating’ as an adult. Sex was nothing to a lot of people. Sex was something you did just once with someone or even on the first date with someone you were interested in being with. And it wasn’t that sex really meant much to you, it was just…you weren’t comfortable with it yet. And you were scared of having to explain that to Hyunjin because what if that was all he wanted? What if he thought you were a baby for still being a virgin? What if this, what if that?

Your phone vibrating in your pocket pulled you from your panic.

Christopher 🦘🧡: Reminder that we’re playing together

Christopher 🦘🧡: I assume you’re still easily forgetful lol

You were. Some things just unfortunately never change, and your memory was one of two things that you were feeling hopeless about changing anytime soon.

“You seriously bleached your hair?” Changbin sighed. “Why?”

Hyunjin shrugged, holding his phone at an angle so his friend could see him on their video call. He was honestly wishing he didn’t even answer Changbin’s call since he clearly was judging his choices, but he needed to tell someone about how he was feeling, and Changbin was basically his only friend, “I needed an excuse to have _____ hang out with me, and she seems too shy to go for me outright asking her to watch a movie randomly or something.”

“Is that the girl who moved in across the hall?” Changbin asked before shaking his head and closing his eyes. “Seriously dude, what’s gotten into you? You hardly know this girl and you’re bleaching your hair just to talk to her.”

Hyunjin’s cheeks were beginning to turn pink as he narrowed his eyes at his phone, “Alright, hear me out, okay?”

“‘She’s different, I can sense it’, I know. You’ve said it like, 15 times since you’ve met her.”

“Well it’s true! And you know I’ve never been wrong about my reads on people.”

Even though he knew the younger man was right, Changbin still sighed again, rolling his eyes, “Just because she hardly speaks to you doesn’t mean she’s ‘different’.”

“Well she clearly doesn’t know who I am, and she’s also just so… I don’t know, she’s not really like what I’m used to. She keeps to herself, she’s not bold or outright – I like it. So sue me for trying to pursue this.”

What, was he just supposed to ignore the cute, shy girl across the hall when he could try to, at the very least, make another friend that wasn’t the bellhops who worked nights?

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t go after her if you want to, I’m just saying it seems like a lot to fry your hair over a girl you’ve hardly spoken to the last month.”

“Well, jokes on you, because I made a move,” Hyunjin sang, sticking his tongue out at his friend, “and she liked it. So we’ll be talking a lot more…I hope…”

Changbin chuckled, “I am happy for you, man. Let me know how things go.”

“You’re always the first to know.”

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