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fushitoru · 2 months ago

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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, description of injury, concussion, blood, 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. the house party

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. the house party

general masterlist | series masterlist

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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propertyofwicked · 9 months ago

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masterlist <3

consistent taste in men? i don't know her

✧ requests are open ✧

♡ fluff ✿ smut (MDNI!!) ❣ angst 彡 funny/miscellaneous

❣ lando norris

the read-along playlist <3

FLUFF - ♡ ♡ tired ♡ you owe me ♡ take a break ♡ "it'll grow back" ♡ sambuca ♡ speed demon ♡ homesick ♡ workplace predicament ♡ your necklace ♡ look after you ♡ was it real? ♡ rookie ♡ intermediate ♡ one SMUT - ✿ ✿ capturing the moment ✿ say it ✿ miss you most on the weekend ✿ fix that attitude ✿ cross my heart ✿ breathe ✿ this is us ✿ first ✿ quiet ✿/♡ caught ✿ too gentle ✿ wanted ✿ take me dancing ✿ stare ✿ prominent ✿ bitter 💿 stick season 🎧 ❣ dial drunk ❣ you're gonna go far SMAU -> 彡 work expense - dj!reader 彡 faking an interest best friend 彡 smitten 彡 transferrable (platonic!grid x reader) 彡 revenge (platonic!grid x fewtrell!reader) MISC -> 彡 hot wings SERIES WORKS -> ♡ secrets - lando and his best friends sister have always been close, some would say closer than friends. but what happens when they realise how they feel about each other and how do they navigate y/n fewtrell's over protective brother? ♡ part 1 ♡ part 2 ♡ part 3 ♡ part 4 ✿ part 5 ♡ part 6 ♡ part 7

❣ oscar piastri

♡ scandalous ✿ learn

❣ harry lewis (w2s)

♡ sea sick ✿ ...as a munch

❣ rafe cameron

never have i ever -> ♡ had a troll part 1, part 2 ♡ been kissed

❣ spencer reid

♡ people watching

#harry lewis #harry lewis x reader #sidemen #w2s x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #w2s #propertyofwicked #lando norris smut #lando norris #lando norris x reader

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reiderwriter · 10 months ago

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♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence.

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried.

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly.

“But I'm not a woman.”

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again.

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.”

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter.

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down.

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter.

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise.

“And your name is?”

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body.

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?”

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up.

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub.

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason.

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest.

“Good observation, Spencer.”

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head.

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor.

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again.

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him.

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that.

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours.

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election.

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace.

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.”

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you.

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together.

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet.

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway.

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him.

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin.

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him.

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-”

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?”

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape.

“I-I'm not a student, and-”

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.”

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist.

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex.

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you, desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you.

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper.

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him.

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley.

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?”

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him.

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.”

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin.

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched.

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him.

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust.

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin.

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock.

“Did it hurt?”

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.”

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving.

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for.

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to.

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him.

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure.

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.”

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier.

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you.

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there.

You weren't.

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?”

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today.

There was always tomorrow.

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed.

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder.

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there.

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up.

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.”

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words.

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs.

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?”

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely.

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened.

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs.

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head.

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch.

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out.

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug.

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.”

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer.

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.”

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him.

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.”

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal.

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake.

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.”

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts.

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?”

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be.

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?”

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there.

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?”

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct.

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer.

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again.

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning.

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?”

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.”

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest.

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled.

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.”

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again.

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his.

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.”

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?”

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans.

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.”

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit.

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut.

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly.

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.”

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him.

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?”

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue.

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?”

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them.

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth.

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.”

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry.

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again.

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock.

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock.

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so.

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time.

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair.

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.”

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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fantasyescapes17 · 2 years ago

Text

In Pursuit of Wedded Bliss (Updated Masterlist)

A Seventeen Regency!AU Series

It is the season- and London is full of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes, waiting to be swept up in a whirlwind of romance, passion and matrimony as they each fight their own battles for happiness in London's elite society.

BEFORE YOU READ:

All installments are interlinked and take place in the same universe. The timeline can be confusing, especially if you read out of order. These are listed in recommended reading order.

The combined series word count is around 100k. Don't start reading right before an exam.

There are seven members covered in the full installments. I will not be doing full installments for the other 6 members.

Happy reading!

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Patience: Choi Seungcheol (complete!)

An elaborate charade- that is what your life has been for these past few years, and it has taken the help of more than one person to balance your delicate lies and secrets. Now entering your final season as an eligible young lady seeking wedded bliss, will you be able to keep up the act in order to achieve your dreams?

Part 1 Part 2

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2. Candle: Yoon Jeonghan (complete!)

You have always received the best of everything life has to offer: be it education, family, fortune or happiness. Mr. Yoon Jeonghan- one of the ton's renowned villains- cannot possibly bring you happiness of any kind, never mind wedded bliss. But can you evade Jeonghan's charms? Or will you find yourself falling victim to this clever rogue?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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3. Manners: Joshua Hong (complete!)

Viscount Joshua Hong is by far the most eligible bachelor in London. Rich, handsome, and renowned for his excellent manners and refined tastes. Young woman would kill for the chance to be the Viscount's chosen bride. But nobody can quite determine which of the young ladies he prefers, and you are beginning to have your doubts. Is the Viscount really as gentlemanly as the ton seems to think?

Part 1 Part 2

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4. Scandal: Jeon Wonwoo (complete!)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) was beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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5. Wings: Kim Mingyu (complete!)

Your debut in society was as spectacular as one could be, but nobody had prepared you for what came afterward. When you find yourself overwhelmed during your very first season and unable to keep up with the rat race to secure yourself an eligible husband, a curious mentor appears- in the form of notorious flirt and self-proclaimed rake, Mr. Kim Mingyu.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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6. Closed Doors: Kwon Soonyoung (complete!)

Soonyoung had made peace with his station in life. A younger son of a little-known family, he was not set to inherit a fortune and had nothing to recommend him but his bright personality. Nobody expected Soonyoung to make the match of the season. But when you- a woman with ties to the royal family and riches beyond his imagination, a Duchess in your own right- seeks Soonyoung's hand in marriage, his life begins to spiral entirely out of his control.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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7. Luck: Lee Chan (coming soon!)

A mixture of hard work and sheer good fortune had landed you a coveted position as the governess for Viscountess Hong's little sisters. But when the Viscountess' notorious younger brother returns from his time at Oxford, you find yourself treading dangerous waters. Mr. Lee Chan- with his boyish smile and passion for horses- seems determined to make your job very difficult indeed.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen masterlist #seventeen au #seungcheol x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua hong x reader #mingyu x reader #wonwoo x reader #hoshi x reader

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cutehoons02 · 3 days ago

Text

Still hate me? Always

*pairing: Sunghoon F1 Red Bull Driver x Social Media Manager

*trope: Enemies to lovers

Speed or Love series

*tags: small problems of anger (sunghoon is fighting to win his first world championship F1), jealousy, attraction, humor, mocking, smut, some words will be written in Italian with obviously the translation in English, mention of an accident not for Sunghoon but for another driver, the story is set in the second part of the F1 season, i tried to write in a simple way some terms of F1 even for those who were not a fan of F1

* synopsis: Sunghoon doesn’t want any distractions especially in the season when he is fighting to win his first world championship with Red Bull but must deal with the hatred and attraction that he feels for the team’s social media manager

If you like i would write a second part with the final season and the continuing story between Sunghoon and Y/n

* word count: 6k (Tell me if you like this kind of stories:)

—REBLOG if you enjoyed

(English is not my native language)

Park Sunghoon was not called "Ice Prince" by chance but because he was the most cynical, the most calculating, out of 20 pilots more than half were afraid to have a duel with him and when they found it behind the most made him overtake too easily according to many former pilots, had very few "friends" both inside and outside the paddock and hated all those superficial people who were part of that world from the countless influencers both male and female who were invited to do "advertising", he only thought to can win and demolish records on record, he didn’t care what people thought about him because few had the privilege of knowing him for what he was; only his other fellow track riders Jake, Jay, Heeseung and also the three youngest ones from the Sunoo circuit, Jungwon and Niki were his "friends" but with the first three he had spent countless hours of training and fights between karts since a young age and all four were landed in the world of F1. Everyone wanted to try to get to know Sunghoon, especially the girls, they had never been scandals, and his friends especially Jake how much fun because he knew that Hoon had a private life besides the competitions but they had never gone out of him with other women and this thing made the countless girls even more curious they tried to throw themselves at his feet because each of them wanted to melt Sunghoon’s heart but until now none had succeeded.

The only dramas or scandals that Hoon wanted to hear were those of him on the track beating people with more than 5 world titles with his car and maybe a little too much arrogance. However, it was also necessary if already at the middle of the season he had won almost half of the races and had many duels and also a few accidents, fortunately, they had never been serious but the team until the end of the summer holidays had made the jumps to get them back a perfect car and with expenses of the dizzying potter to fight for the world championship. The summer holidays were over and all teams found themselves in the circuit of Monza the "Temple of Speed" at the beginning of September, Sunghoon was in the company of his engineer reading various telemetries of the track that he now knew by heart but was scrupulous in reading the data that no one could disturb him, heard knocking at the door and thought it was his Team Principal. However, when he smelled the scent of cherries and vanilla he rolled his eyes and puffed, he didn’t even look at the door because only one person had that scent and was the team’s Social Media Manager as well as his worst nightmare when he wasn’t on track on race weekends.

"Buongiorno, i don't want to disturb but we are already late for the recording of content for Teen Vogue F1 and this week will follow the famous and the nicest pilot of the grid, as well as "Ice Prince" so i need her loving presence down in the fan zone in maximum 2 minutes" Hoon’s engineer laughed and watched Sunghoon give a snarky look to Y/n. "How many times did i tell you not to enter my Y/n box?, i don’t need a babysitter i already have the PR that checks me and tells those of Teen Vogue F1 that i’m no longer a "teen" and that i have more important things to do than record stupid videos, i have a world championship to win and you disappear from my view" You rolled your eyes slightly and counted to 10 to calm down, you worked for Red Bull for a year and a half and for your misfortune you joined working as Social Media Manager when Sunghoon arrived from AlphaTauri to Red Bull. "First of all this box is not yours, second get your ass up because if you don’t come i tell half the world that you’re a dick not only with the drivers but also with the people who are next to you and who do somersaults to see you happy in this team so don’t make me lose patience because not only i will receive words from your staff but also you and fire that PR who does not even know to be on this world, know more than i of your engagements that that individual" Sunghoon stood up unwillingly and began to stretch out and saw the various well-defined mountnoles of his muscles come out from the slightly too narrow pole of the team like every boy in his 20s had the classic Calvin Klein underwear and looked at you with a grin. "Don’t you know all my schedules because you like me and want to have control over me? It’s no secret that i'm attractive Y/n, and i would not change my PR for anything in the world, especially with someone like you who talks all the time; i need people who talk just enough to let me know or make me understand things."

You slammed the door shut and started walking towards the fan zone, you knew that Hoon was following you like a dog because he hated with all his heart to waste time filming videos or stupid challenges but he knew that in addition to the life of the pilot had to interact as much as possible with fans otherwise the whole brand and image he created could be put to the test with all those contents that did other drivers especially those more extrovert than him. Lots of fans from children to elderly people applauded him and to his annoyance, many guys also looked at Y/ n and some whistled and made compliments, Y/ n was used to receiving "compliments" but also comments of hatred for the fault that she was so in touch with Hoon but every time he cared because there was absolutely nothing between her and that human being with a heart of ice.

"Welcome to Monza at the temple of speed in the first place we find Heeseung with Ferrari, second place in the fight for the world title Park Sunghoon, third place Jay, and always in the second row with his Mclaren Jake. An incredible race is expected in that of Monza, the air temperature is almost 30 degrees and that of the track more than 55 degrees, all will make more than two stops and in less than two minutes will start the training lap and at 15 Italian exact will start the 72nd GP in the circuit of Monza" The F1 commentator spoke aloud and all the engineers were in the various walls, all the mechanics were waiting madly for the race start and all the other members of the team were standing 'a thousand screens that framed both the various machines, the car of Sunghoon, The one he saw in front of him on the track and Hoon’s face with his helmet still half open to let air in. Sunghoon started the training lap and Heeseung pushed too fast for his taste so he found himself waiting forever for the other cars when you will turn off the traffic lights as much as to pass Heeseung but had to be calm because it was called the temple of speed that circuit for a reason and under its seat had the most powerful car of the season, so for the first 5 laps he studied the various trajectories of Heeseung and at 6 laps in the straight he started to put them on the pressure but it seemed that every time he tried to approach with the DRS he could not get close to the right one to overtake him and so his tires began to To get too hot. "Sunghoon you are doing great but try to breathe the tires for a couple of laps and then try to overcome it, do not make any shit that even if you come second or third you have a margin of success to win the world championship".

"Copy", he didn’t want to be a jerk so he didn’t mind his engineer because he knew what he had to do so he cooled the tires for a couple of laps, He was looking forward to overcoming but also to duel with him because he did not want to admit it but it was almost at his level and he would enjoy dueling with him because he was always clean and accurate in every move, he had never lost the DRS from Heeseung and on the end of the straight he started to pass it but after a few seconds he did not see Heeseung’s car in the Alboreto curve and immediately saw "Red Flag" in the display and his blood froze. " Marco, how is he? Well? I swear that i did not even touch his car i didn’t throw him out, i swear i think he lost track. Jay was behind me and surely saw the accident better" Sunghoon had slightly trembling hands and heard his engineer call him.

"Box Box, you do not have any information yet but from the pictures, we see that you accompany him slightly out and after he loses control but it’s not your fault Hoon, he has lost control you haven’t touched it at all"

"Marco doesn’t give a shit, is he okay or not? Has he at least managed to move or come out of the car?

“Park the car in the pit line at first place Sunghoon, from the pictures it seems that he does not move and does not respond to the radio" Sunghoon punched his fists in the steering wheel and brought his car into the pitlane, he immediately got out of his car and ran into the wall Ferrari and Hee’s engineer looked at him angrily and signaled to him to leave, felt his hands become slightly cold and legs seemed not to hold them anymore, felt a warm hand intertwine his hand and eyes looked at him with concern and without even realizing it Y/ n took him inside his box and gave him a glass of water.

"God among all the people who had to see me in this state you are Y/n, happy to see me so distressed and with emotions, what is the PR that is in you has been quick to come to my rescue even though i did not need it!" You knew that Hoon was not thinking normally after seeing one of his closest friends crash and many thought it was his fault.

"Stop being a jerk even in these conditions Hoon, you’re not yourself at the moment and meanwhile the race will not start before half an hour is better that you are here and not out there to hear about you or the various sirens of the ambulance. Tell me whom you want to call i know you can’t stand my presence" You came to the door but a strong hand squeezed your wrist and Sunghoon looked at you with tears in his eyes "Don’t go and call anyone, Stay here and try those social media to figure out what happened to Heeseung and if he’s okay".

You were still in your phone and there was no news yet and this made you more and more worried about the conditions for Hee, but you felt the door open and Marco came in with a smile "Heeseung has answered the radio and at this moment they are taking him out with the car with the necessary precautions, from what we have heard he has some broken ribs will have to stay in hospital and surely will skip the three European races, in 25 minutes the race starts again i leave you alone but soon you come back down" Marco immediately left the small room and left Hoon kneeling on the ground with his hands on his head and with Y/ n that caressed gently his back, Hoon had not lost any important one in his life and at that moment he felt so powerless and hated the feeling of calm that gave him Y/n with only slight caresses.

"Right now there is no Ice Prince but only Hoon, i need a hug, could you give it or you’ll shrug me if i’m half sweaty?" a little laugh came out of your lips and you helped him to stand up and the 10 centimeters more he had were seen to dismeasure, felt Hoon’s big arms in your hips and the long fringe of black tufts tickled your neck, You hated how safe you felt with him because you had always hated him but at this time as he said it was only Hoon.

Sunghoon had won the race in Monza and dedicated it to Hesseung, he had visited three times before he left for the Dutch GP, he did not like that track at all but to win a world championship had to maximize as many points as possible because in Spa would change the engine of his car and would start not before the eleventh position. After the incident with Hesseung all especially the younger guys on the grid were shocked by that event and asked all teams to be more careful with gold, especially during interviews or various content they had to post because Hesseung one of his closest friends could seriously lose his life if there were not all the precautions in the car and the emergency response of the rescuers. Sunghoon looked from the roof of his box at the beach in the distance and saw below him Y/n laughing and joking with Jake’s Pr, Hoon knew that Jake had a soft spot for the Spanish girl and made her crazy by canvassing them with various celebrities or escapades during the race weekends, he was the opposite of the Australian boy and thought that if he didn’t have a head he could never fight for a world championship. The laughter of Y/n made him feel very strong and a sense of calm invaded him, this thing for him was not at all well, since he hugged her in Monza, he kept watching her to check what she was doing and was extremely annoyed when she paid attention to Sunoo his teammate or when she smiled or talked with other drivers; He chased away these feelings and went down to put on his suit, balaclava and helmet before going into the car and listening to his engineer for potter do pole position. He was extremely pissed because he had been out of pole for two races and he was extremely annoyed because his lap was extremely perfect for him instead Jay with the face of a movie star looked at him with a grin as he took his little wheel, did his post-qualifying interview and a fake smile took hold of his face while they were taking the picture for F1, he didn’t want to see and hear anyone so spend hours looking at his data, those of Sunoo and also those of Jay because he was the one who had to beat, So without realizing it slept in his box and the morning after a scent of waffles and caramel invaded the mini room that he had in his camper.

He opened his eyes and saw Y/n with waffles and coffee in his hand "Hi, i know that when you are not pole you always sleep in your camper so i thought to bring food, i’m not coming to make videos or content just woke up also because you’re not a nice show" a little moan came out of the mouth of Hoon "We all know that it’s not true Y/n, i’m one of the most beautiful drivers indeed if it were not for the fact that Jay is American and he has all those sponsors inherent to his image would be me in the first place and not second place. Who permitted you to come in here? you know that it is strictly forbidden to sneak into the motorhomes of the drivers if someone discovers us they might think we have an affair and i have no need for drama among crazy fans especially with you who are not at all my type" Hoon needed no sponsors inherent to his image because he already had a face card absurd but you would never say "Your PR told me to come to see how you were doing because he’s afraid that you might throw a helmet on their head after forcing you to go to that mini dinner with the Boss of beta yesterday, quiet nobody saw me and you’re not even my type, they’re right to put Jay first is much nicer than you and also much sexier and..." you didn’t finish the sentence that strong arms put over Hoon’s muscular legs and big hands went under your sweatshirt and Hoon’s cold hands made you feel shivers as he stroked the lower part of your back, a grin formed on his face "Did someone cut your tongue Y/n? Why don’t you go on with what you were saying" watch Hoon eat a small piece of waffle and caramel stopped right under his lower lip and immediately look away, in what mess you found yourself? You had come here only to see how he was because he had become even colder from Hee’s accident with everyone and now you were over his legs with his length pressed between your legs and he with his hair unkempt looking at you with slightly fleshy lips. So? You think Jay is nicer, sexier than me and other Y/n?".

"I think it’s even kinder" You felt his lips give you small kisses on the neck and after a few seconds without noticing came out a little groan when you felt his canines pinching slightly your lobe and sucking slightly that part of your neck, You put your arms behind his head and began to caress the thick black hair he had and every second that passed you felt its length becoming thicker and thicker below you; when he finished torturing your neck you had the short breath and you looked at his face dotted with small moles that seemed to be put to make him pronounce more nose or sharp jaw.

"Surely he will be nicer than me but not the one who makes you moan at 8 am Y/n, maybe it’s better that you go because soon my staff will arrive" you saw the cold Sunghoon come back and you walked away from him with your cheeks slightly flushed and carried the zipper of the sweatshirt as high as possible "Well i think i moaned your name but i’m the one who made you get that hardness at 8 a.m. and do not tell me that it is something that happens to all men before waking up because when i entered there was not so big Park Sunghoon, buona giornata!"

What was your mess? You had never touched Sunghoon in your life and in not even two weeks you had made him relax and even felt his meaty lips on your neck, you would run in the motorhome of Red Bull and prepare to go to Sunoo to make videos with the other young driver Niki.

The race had started for 30 laps and Sunghoon was complaining from the beginning of the race of problems with the engine, no one had heard him in Monza wanted to take penalties and change engines on that track, and m aybe without him behind the Ferrari, Hesseung would not have had that accident.

"Sunghoon we have to withdraw the car, the power of the engine is insufficient and there is also a small mechanical problem" Hoon gave light punches at the wheel and seriously wanted to forget everything that had happened to Monza, he did not care to win, He didn’t care about all the emotions that he had felt in those 10 days, he just wanted to get back the decent car he had before the summer break. " What the fuck i told you, we had to change everything in Monza but it seems that it’s only me who thinks of my world drivers and not you engineers and my fucking team" Hoon’s PR would have wanted to kill him, and the social media department too because he had said it via radio and everyone could hear it. "Hoon calm down, we are all thinking of your world fight now back to the boxes", "Copy", when Hoon skies from the car not even taking off his helmet and don't look anyone in the face and heads for the roof of the box Red Bull and called Heeseung to hear how he was.

From the roof of the box he saw Sunoo finish third, was very happy for him because he was in his first year in Red Bull and surely had better in many respects but he had a lot of speed and was also very good in defense, Sunoo loved to learn from Sunghoon and this made him feel proud of himself, he went under the podium and stood next to the engineer of Sunoo and felt his arms hold him in a brotherly embrace "to be in his first year is bringing home many points both for him but also for the world constructors, we certainly will not win it but we will win that driver with you this year Hoonie" a small smile formed in Hoon’s lips for the nickname he had given him and began to clap his hands when he saw Sunoo climb up the third place step, a few centimeters in front of him there was Y/n who was filming everything with his phone and had such a pure and sincere smile towards Sunoo that he was extremely annoyed because when he won he did not smile like this or give him so much attention? Champagne splashes made a lot of people run away from under the podium but Y/n and Sunghoon were enchanted to see Sunoo so happy and carefree while he was spraying champagne in turn to Jay and Jake.

"Missed seeing so happy Sunoo for a long time, he deserves a lot this podium and all the interactions that he will have with fans thanks to your videos" you sunflower to see behind you Hoon looks with a little smile Sunoo on the podium "I’m having a mirage or seriously for the first time in his life Park Sunghoon ran to see his rival but also teammate celebrate a podium even though they pulled your car" Sunoo was painting the scene at how unnoticed under the podium, Sunghoon was smiling at him and nodding a little, which he did in turn. " I know i’m an asshole but the whole team, especially Sunoo deserved to see me celebrate for him because he did a good race"

"You know that this will only help you a little bit to calm down after the radio team you made against your team live in the world?" Hoon saw you start to move away from him to go to Sunoo so he followed you "Well i’ll take my responsibilities but meanwhile, i have an excellent team around me of PR and also the department of Social Media/Content Creator is not so bad, so you will help me to come out of it."

"You know the world out there is not like this one Sunghoon, before you talk and be such a jerk to people who have given up everything for you since you were barely able to wipe your ass, think about it a little before you start talking shit on a world level because if you’re going to be in the middle of it, but we are the ones who have to clean up your face and ok you have this aura that brings you forward to being "the Ice Prince" but you should just be more human with people and have a little bit more respect for those around you because i know that under that ice prince facade, there is a guy who would give the world to see his dearest friends as you did today with Sunoo happy and who knows maybe even to love someone else than yourself."

The race in Belgium had gone pretty well, he started thirteenth and had maximized as many points as possible by finishing third but some drivers including Jay and Jake were getting closer to him in the standings and this thing was not good for him, it had been more than two weeks since they had raced in Belgium and now they were in Asia in their continent in Singapore, loved Singapore, loved that circuit, also loved sweating so much to win that race and make a perfect qualification in the city circuit, loved to race in his Asian continent and also loved the warmth that fans had for him, the Asians were crazy when they found out that not only one but 4 drivers came from Korea and one from Japan, already in the airport you could not walk by the huge amount of fans and so he found himself with his great surprise to be happy to make content with some fans, some fans had won the paddock pass and also the meeting of a driver of their choice and Hoon had accepted to be less cold and maybe a little more loving.

"What happened to your favorite pilot Y/n? I see it to the more relaxed and less cold a little bit with everyone from Belgium on" watch Sunoo open your mouth to look at the various interactions that were doing Sunghoon with fans and you were also particularly surprised. " Maybe in these two weeks' break you have relaxed and will surely have taken words from your team principal so you will be adapted to the new rules imposed by the team, and will always remain Ice Prince of the situation," Sunoo said "Maybe in these two weeks he met some influencer or billionaire in Montecarlo and he relaxed in his bedroom or the pool at sea or as you say he took words from the team" Which influencer he met in Monte Carlo? You knew he had a lot of girls who were after him but they never came out defying them at the same time you thought that he was not a saint and that he had a life outside the slopes and surely would have I don’t know how many chicks coming out of his apartment, a slight color flooded your cheeks and a sense of anger mixed with jealousy filled you all. " Uh, our Ice Prince got engaged to someone? How is this Influencer? Don’t tell me either Sunoo will be a viper like him who just thinks about himself and money" Sunoo looked at you slightly intrigued by his statement but there was no Influencer or girl in the life of Sunghoon "How come you’re so curious? Don’t tell me you’re slightly jealous of what he does outside of F1 and that you would like to be the one who wakes up with the view of the Côte d'Azur as soon as you open your eyes or that Sunghoon takes you into his pool to do dirty things!" You were slightly shocked by Sunoo’s statements, he was the cutest and most loving of the group. "Oh my god, even in my worst nightmares i would not be Sunghoon’s girlfriend, i’d get sick of thinking of his lips on mine i don’t dare to imagine doing other things together" God but what did you get yourself into? You had seriously thought about the little bite he gave you and his big hands behind your back for those weeks after the Dutch Grand Prix, Sunoo put a hand on his mouth when he saw behind you Sunghoon with a grin and felt a small breath in your ear and rolled your eyes because you knew there was Sunghoon behind you.

"Sappiamo tutti e due che ti era piaciuto stare sopra le mie gambe e sentire le mie labbra sul tuo collo, non essere bugiarda, sei italiane dovresti sapere la storia di Pinocchio, no? Più bugie dici più il naso si allunga e mi dispaicerebbe vedere quel piccolo nasino allungarsi solamente perchè non vuoi ammettere che sei attratta da me!"

("We both know you liked to stand on my legs and feel my lips on your neck, don’t be a liar, you’re Italian you should know the story of Pinocchio, right? The more lies you say, the longer your nose gets and i’d be upset to see that little nose grow only because you don’t want to admit that you’re attracted to me!")

You watched the two Red Bull drivers, Sunoo didn’t understand anything that Sunghoon told you in Italian and Hoon was slightly amused by the situation. "Let’s go Sunoo it’s up to you to go to the fans and make social content with them" you took Sunoo by the hand and you walked away from Sunghoon, god how much you hated him.

The air in Singapore was unbreathable because of the too hot and damp that made you sweat and stick any clothes on, The drivers before this race also trained in saunas at high temperatures to get used to the heat they had to feel during the weekend, inside the box there was air conditioning but it was still hot, Every girl in the team wore a skirt and a light polo shirt of course with the Red Bull brand and various sponsors but also with extremely summer things they sweated inside the boxes.

Qualifying started well 12 minutes ago and Sunghoon had passed Q1 in first place (each qualification is divided into three small programs: Q1 eliminates the top 5 drivers from 20th position until 15th, Q2 eliminates another 5 drivers and Q3 each of the 10 remaining drivers on track must make the fastest lap to win the Pole position and the first five rows of start).

"Sunghoon we left you the already used tires, do you think you can make a good time with these or do you want the new tires? From the data we see also with these you could be saved only with a perfect lap and no mistakes so tomorrow you would have a couple of new tires, if you make a lap like the one you did in Q1 it will not need you to restart"

Sunghoon already had his hair slightly sweaty and stuck to his forehead because of the humidity that was outside, especially for the high temperatures in the cabin "I think i can make a perfect lap, while i rescind me don’t talk to me please that i would save a set of tires for tomorrow night’s race"

"Copy".

Sunghoon had already to make time from Pole so as not to have to relaunch, the track would certainly have improved but if he had the most powerful car with the fastest driver then all the adrenaline that he had in his body come out, and ended with a mega time, He returned to the pits and gave him some iced vitamins to cool off and some ice steam flooded the cabin for those few minutes that he had to stay in the boxes before pottering and doing Pole.

The Pole for Sunghoon was extremely easy, in second place there was Jay and in third place Jungwon, he was looking forward to taking off his suit and throwing himself in the pool full of cold water and ice that each driver took with him in the hottest and suffocating Gp like the one in Singapore or Qatar. "Nice ride, Hoon, you want to come to the private pool i have in my camper with Jungwon and Jake?" Hoon wanted to be with his friends but if he went with them not before midnight would be back in the room so he refused and went with his trainer to the small pool to relax.

"Fuck every year is worse, with this temperature, I will seriously freeze my dick and balls, why did you lower the temperature? I’m 22 years old not 40, my physique is still able to not feel these temperatures!" The athletic trainer laughed and splashed Sunghoon’s face with cold water "Stop complaining, you know i do it for your good if it is slightly colder than last year nothing happens and it will increase the tension you have for tomorrow night’s race"

"To relieve the tension i would choose other things sincerely, not the frozen water unless i do not know how many degrees" Sunghoon was bored completely for a few seconds and moaned for the too cold temperature that had come in contact with his face.

"I let you relax for a while meanwhile soon, your PR or some content creator to make a half-naked tik tok to make views to the channel", Sunghoon rolled his eyes and got bored a couple more times until he leaned on the small impenetrable pillow and closed his eyes while he heard the music of the festival for fans from the other side of the circuit.

He had relaxed for twenty minutes and by now the body from the collarbones down had accustomed to the icy temperature of the pool until he heard small ice-cold splashes come into his face he raised his thick eyebrows before opening his eyes and lightning with a look at the person who had disturbed him.

"Snow prince i need 5 minutes after you can return to your natural habitat, we have to make a tik tok for your profile and also for your YouTube channel" Hoon rolled his eyes at the sight of Y/n with a phone in hand and in the other a camera of last generation, She was seriously beautiful even with a half-combed tail because of the too hot it was outside, had a skirt that for his standards was too short and the polo shirt wrapped his body and highlighted his breasts.

When did she find it beautiful? was a classic girl with nothing special but felt her body tremble when the girl in front of him did not pay attention or did not even throw him an appreciation look with his muscles in highlight instead he was writing something to the phone.

"Why don’t you go to Sunoo and make him do some content or i’m the most beautiful driver of the team all the whole grid and so to make views you need my face card and my half-naked body in the pool?" Y/n looked up and looked at Hoon with his locks of hair attached to his forehead and the image of his chest reflected in the water thanks to the soft lights behind the camper.

"Before coming to you i did the same content with Sunoo, don’t think that you are the center of attention because even Sunoo is full of fans and maybe they are even truer than yours who follow you only for your beauty and not for your talent"

"Hell, i thought i was the asshole of the situation not the other way around, Y/n"

"I’m just saying what i see Sunghoon, however first we do a tik tok, you go into the water and when I dip your hand in the tub you get out of it and make some funny expression for the video, i will not dive so much the camera will only take a small piece of your body and after your face" Hoon watched you while you set the music and professional light to make the tik tok, it had done well at first sight and while you were showing it to him Hoon took your wrist to approach the phone and felt how cold the water was, it was too cold for the temperature and humidity that was outside and a shiver permeated your whole body.

"If you are hot, immerse your hands for a few seconds and put them in your face Y/n, meanwhile the makeup that you had disappeared for hours because of the humidity."

"I can’t get my hands wet if I have to use the camera for more than a thousand dollars, I will endure the heat a little longer and then I’ll go to the hotel to take a good shower." You started to walk away from Hoon but he still squeezed your wrist slightly and made you sit in the small side not yet wet of his little tub panel "let me refresh your face and hair with my hands" felt his hands too cold for your taste lightly caress your face and moved small locks of hair behind your ear, You looked at his face a few millimeters from his and admired the small moles that had in his face and swallows because of the heat you were feeling.

"I think you’re hot now not because of the temperature but because of me Y/n, I see your slightly red cheeks and the shivers you’re feeling, and don’t tell me it’s because of the cold water because it’s a fuck" You hated how he made you feel, You hated everything about him from his lost physique, to the smile he gave to very few people and you also hated your body at that moment "Stop Sunghoon"

"Stop doing that Y/n thing, if you kissed me now tomorrow would you still hate me?"

"Always"

A little smile formed in Sunghoon’s lips and you felt Hoon’s lips delicatament give you a small kiss and then open his lips to kiss you more fiercely until you felt his tongue in your mouth and a little moaning came out simultaneously from your lips, You placed your hands on his shoulders and bowed slightly more to have more access in his lips, After a few seconds you detached your lips from his and began to kiss the corners of his mouth until you felt it rise slightly from the Sunghoon tub and was perfectly aligned in front of you, This time you stooped down and started leaving him some light kisses under his sharp jaw to the collarbones, he tasted good and that thing made you go crazy, how could he know well if before entering the pool was all sweaty but you did not think so much until you felt a big hand holding your lower back and the other caressing your legs, at that moment you maldisti the high temperatures of Singapore because Hoon only realized by caressing your legs uncovered by the skirt that you were crazy to feel his touch.

"Fuck y/n i hate you so much"

"Same goes for you, Park Sunghoon."

omg i hope you like it, the comments are appreciated because it’s the first time I write such a long story

taglist: @arclviie @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @jaylajakey @bamguetismee @misssparklyprincess s @stormy1408 @jakeswifez @d4-b1 @steadytacowitch @jakeswifez @stormy1408 @strxwbloody @drinkwateryouperson @haerinheartss @firstclassjaylee

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uniteds · 1 year ago

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stuff that happened in the 2022/2023 football season that should send us into a coma but we’re too desensitized:

1. the whole ass world cup in the middle of the season. what was that

2. manchester united sacking ronaldo and announcing a sale of the club in the middle of the world cup

3. ronaldo getting dropped at the world cup and his replacement scoring a hattrick immediately after

4. keeping up with the belgians (world cup edition)

5. keeping up with the belgians (courtois saying he doesn’t respect kdb after stealing his missus)

6. ronaldo stans beefing with a little moroccan girl

7. the kingdom of saudi arabia buying newcastle united and then telling the premier league that they didn’t and the premier league going “oh okay if you say so”

8. megan thee stallion being romelu lukaku’s date to lautaro martinez’s wedding

9. pique cheating on shakira and then shakira releasing a diss track about it

10. shakira figuring out pique cheated on her because someone ate her strawberry jam and pique doesn’t eat strawberry jam

11. apparently the girl pique cheated on shakira with (clara) cheating on pique with pep

12. wagatha christie libel case

13. real madrid dropping a video accusing barcelona of fascism and the government of cataluyna getting involved

14. the pope coming out as a manchester united fan

15. the one napoli fan that basically made zielinski strip on the pitch

16. mount vesuvius park shutting down because napoli fans wanted to fake an eruption as a celebration

17. frank lampard taking everton into a relegation battle, getting sacked, and then taking chelsea into a relegation battle

18. on that note: chelsea were in a relegation scrap and finished 12th

19. mourinho lost his first ever european final to sevilla europa league black magic

20. whatever the fuck borussia dortmund did on the last day of the bundesliga season

21. anthony martial’s ex wife chasing his first wife down a french motorway with a baby in the passenger seat

22. psg suspending messi because he took an unsanctioned trip to saudi arabia and then unsuspending him two days later because they didn’t want people talking about geopolitics

23. the absolutely bizarre messi apology video released by psg

24. spurs refunding their fans’ tickets after being embarrassing

25. pep’s heartbreak over the fact julia roberts is a manchester united fan

26. chelsea scored one goal in the month of april

27. chelsea and spurs had six managers between them and won one match combined between march and april

28. mourinho fighting anthony taylor after the europa league final

29. milan derby in the ucl for the first time since 2005

30. luis enrique saying he’s cool with the spanish players having sex during the world cup as long as they’re not having orgies

31. luis enrique saying he doesn’t have sex anymore unless his wife wants to

32. man city charged with 115 counts of financial doping and trying to get the barrister in charge disqualified because he’s an arsenal fan

33. mourinho wire-taping himself to catch referees being corrupt

34. ryan reynolds and mac from it’s always sunny in philadelphia buying a football club and that football club getting promoted

35. pele died rip

36. women football awards sponsored by shein and klarna having a category for “male football ally of the year” and it’s just random men that went to one (1) women’s game

37. barcelona negreia case (how do you say calciopoli in catalan?)

38. infantino saying he feels gay, african, like a migrant worker, disabled, arab, and qatari

39. infantino saying he was oppressed as a child because he was ginger and italy is not safe for gingers

40. david alaba’s father in law getting arrested for being one the leaders of a far right group plotting to overthrow the german government

41. richarlison being tumblr’s it girl for a month and then not scoring a goal for the next four

42. juventus being in the middle of another corruption scandal and being docked points because of it

43. two teams getting investigated by the british government for playing football the weekend the queen died

44. gavi getting a yellow card in the first minute of a football match

45. pogba’s brother was arrested by french authorities for being part of a group-organized extortion attempt against pogba

46. richarlison getting a tattoo of neymar’s face and neymar paying him 30k to get it removed

47. iker casillas coming out, puyol implying they had a thing, and both of them retracting it in the most misha collins way possible.

48. sane and mane fight

49. zlatan retired from football

50. barca withholding about 50 million in wages from their players and somehow frenkie still didn’t want to join manchester united

#tp #there’s more but I can’t remember them #manchester united #and others

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hauntingofhouses · 11 months ago

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While theorising about the events to come in future seasons, I just keep going back to the question about who Mizu's parents really are.

So to try to figure it out, let's go over what we already know about Mizu's parentage and the white men. This info is from the flashback of Mizu as a baby in Episode 3, from the bounty hunters who came to kill Mizu in Episode 5, and from Fowler's reveals in Episode 8, assuming that everything he said is the truth.

Mizu must be someone important, as Fowler calls her Little Miss. It is capitalised in the Netflix official subtitles. This implies that Little Miss is something like a title, rather than just a nickname.

There is a bounty on Mizu's head with a sum few can resist. Whoever is trying to kill Mizu is rich and powerful.

Two men are sent to kill Mizu as a baby. They are Japanese. We know this because their swords are both katanas, and they're shocked when they see Mizu's blue eyes, discovering she's a "half-breed." Man #2 also calls her a "devil child" at the end of the flashback.

Man #2 is hesitant to kill her, as she's "only an infant," and ends up killing Man #1 to stop him from killing Mizu. Man #2 then gives Mizu to Mama, who is actually her maid.

Mama is paid to keep Mizu hidden. Mama does as told for years. We can infer that there was a steady stream of income going towards her, as she did as told until "the money ran out."

Skeffington and Routeley were the "worst" of the four white men, making their money from "selling Japan's unwanted daughters." Unwanted daughters like Mizu.

One of the white men "tried to burn Mizu alive as a baby."

One of the white men killed Mizu's mother ("Don't you want to know which one killed your mother?").

When bounty hunters came to the ranch to ambush Mizu, she asked them which white man they worked for. They only replied that the only white person they see is her. This could just be a way to avoid her question, or it could also imply that they do not work for a white man at all.

So from this, again assuming this is all true, let's go over some things:

The white men are NOT the ones who paid Mama to protect Mizu, as one of them had been responsible for trying to burn Mizu alive as a baby.

Mizu's mother was killed by one of the white men. She likely died protecting Mizu.

If it was the white father who tried to kill Mizu and her mother, then it's likely the mother's side who paid Mama to hide Mizu.

Mizu's mother must have been rich enough to afford servants.

Mizu's mother must have been someone powerful enough to have been in the shogun's inner circle, allowing contact between her and the white men.

Furthermore:

Mizu's mother should be someone tied to existing characters, to make the reveal of her identity more narratively significant.

So with all that said, let me dip my toes into wild theory-land for a bit and propose a new idea.

WHAT IF: Mizu's mother was a concubine or even the previous wife of the Shogun? And, considering how people have pointed out how similar Lady Itoh and Mizu look (credits to @roninzuzu in particular for her post on this), what if, maybe just maybe, Mizu's mother was also Lady Itoh's sister?

If this is true, then Mizu's connection to the shogunate would explain why and how Fowler knew so much about Mizu's past, especially regarding her maid taking care of her, etc. This is because Fowler is allied with the Shogun himself, as well as one of the shogun's closest advisors, Master Chiba. So if it were true that the previous wife/consort of the shogun gave birth to a blue-eyed baby, it would've been a big scandal that was certain to reach Master Chiba's ears, and he would have in turn informed Fowler about it.

If this is the case, both the shogun and the white man would be trying to kill Mizu and her mother. The shogun would be trying to cover up the scandal, while the white man would be furious that she wanted to keep the baby at all, as the scandal likely ruined his business dealings in Japan and forced him to retreat back to London or wherever else he came from.

But then, if that is the case, then who would have been the one paying Mizu's maid to take care of her? I think it's Lady Itoh. If she and Mizu's mother had indeed been sisters, perhaps Lady Itoh went behind the shogun's back to protect her sister and her baby niece. Because maybe Lady Itoh knew that Mizu's mother had wanted to protect her no matter what happened. In such a case, what kept Mizu alive would thus have been love. Her mother's love. In this scenario, Mizu would have been brought into the world through the sheer strength of her mother's unconditional love. This would be a very poignant message that overturns everything Mizu believes about herself.

Moreover, Mizu having connections to the shogunate would inevitably lead to her wanting to discover the truth about her mother's identity. This would thus bring Mizu back to Edo palace, and would neatly tie Mizu and Akemi's storylines together again, letting them cross paths once more and work together to face the main plot-conflict.

TL;DR it's my crazy theory that Mizu's dead mom was the sister of Lady Itoh and the previous consort of Shogun Itoh. She had an affair with one of the white men, and against her better judgement and against what everyone else wants from her, she decided to keep Mizu. By making this decision, she risked and sacrificed everything for Mizu, out of love.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai theory #I JUST WANT MIZU TO BE LOVED!!!#also i feel in my bones that the show is gonna be about motherhood #which would add up considering all the themes about otherness and heritage and identity and aaaaaaa #shut up haydar #fandom.rtf #cross posted on reddit

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swiftholic-13 · 6 months ago

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The Season's Scandal Chapter 5

pairing → Eloise Bridgerton x Female Reader

summary → Y/N is making a rather unsuspected choice and things between her and Eloise become more serious.

warnings → mild smut

words → 2.6k

masterpost chapter 4 chapter 6

One thing Victor, my brother or even my mother forgot to mention was whose ball it was. The Bridgertons were throwing a ball, celebrating their newly engaged son Colin and his fiancée Penelope Featherington. Going there under the current circumstances felt strange, but maybe this was a good thing. I knew their house pretty well by now. I could most probably hide and escape my mother.

As much as I hated my mother, her fashion sense was immaculate. She choose a gracious gown in a soft lavender. It had darker flowers at the bottom, creating a color gradient. The puffy lilac sleeves also had small flowers highlighting its color. I especially liked the glitter and the way it looked while I was moving. I had my hair put up and thanked the servant who dressed me. My mother was arguing with my brother downstairs. I could hear them shouting and and the loud footsteps of my brother rushing away. When I came down the stairs my mother would not even look at me “We have to leave, we are already late”, she simply stated and rushed out the door, not waiting for me. When we got into the carriage, she finally acknowledged me. She looked me up and down with a judging expression. “smile” she simply demanded “keep your back straight”. I did not keep any attention on her and instead looked out of the window. My brother not accompanying me on the ball might be a blessing, I would only have to deal with my mother. “These Bridgertons have quite a decent amount of money, what about their sons?” she asked me, I just rolled my eyes and kept on staring outside, watching the trees in the darkness surrounding them. She slapped my knee with her fan “I am talking to you!” she hissed. I looked at her in agony. I took a deep breath in and tried to focus on Eloise and finally getting out of this carriage.

Luckily, we arrived soon after. I got out of the carriage and realized that most of the guests have already arrived. My brother not being here would grant me less attention. Walking through the gate I noticed Victor waiting for me. He held his arm out for me to take and I gladly took it before my mother would protest. I could care about her later. He walked me inside the glorious ballroom. Many flowers decorated the huge ballroom. My mother was hanging behind pretty far and I leaned over to Victor “I need at least two dances tonight, my mother needs to think you are courting me” he nodded with a smile “Of course my lady” I slapped his arm lightly as he wandered off to get us some lemonade. I kept looking around for Eloise but could not spot her as always. Before my mother returned, Violet Bridgerton approached me “Y/N such as pleasure to see you, we have been missing you these last days” she said and immediately made me smile. She already cared more about me, then my actual mother ever could. “It is a truly tremendous ball you are hosting Lady Bridgerton” I replied. I could feel my mothers presence approaching us from behind “You must be Lady Y/L/N” Violet stated as my mother appeared close from behind me. “Lady Bridgerton” she bowed her head. The music began to start and I rushed away “I have a dance with Lord Abery” I managed to get out before fleeing from my mother’s gaze. Victor and I met on the dancefloor and started dancing. “she truly is a monster, my condolences” he said while looking at her watching us from afar. I nodded “ If it would not be for you, she would never let me leave the house”. When he turned me around I caught Eloise´s eye for a second. She was standing at the lemonades table talking to her brother Benedict. Her eyes were fixated on me in a sad look. I wanted nothing more than to sprint over to her and wrap my arms around her, I have not seen her in far too long.

After our dance my mother snatched me away and took a look into my dancecard “why is it not filled with names yet?” Before I could say another thing the Earl of Ashton approached me and took it into his own manners and wrote his name down for one dance. His smirk was disgusting and the way my mother smiled at him almost made me gag. He barley had any hair left and his beard was scruffy. My eyes were searching for Eloise and I could spot her again. Her piercing blue eyes were staring right into my soul. I completely ignored everything around me, only she mattered. While my mother talked to the Earl, Victor approached me for our next dance, earlier than expected but right at the perfect time to steal me away from the Earl. He lead me to the dancefloor. My eyes were still glued on Eloise. “Have you spoken to her yet?” he asked as our dance began. Our movements stopped me from holding eye contact. “no” I simply replied “I could not write letters” he nodded understandingly. We stayed silent for a bit. “your mother is not leaving you alone, is she?” I shook my head. I looked up at his eyes and took a deep breath in, but before I could speak he raised his voice again. “What if I did court you?” I was surprised at his forwardness. I looked to the floor. I did not want to marry a man, ever. But recently my mother has shown me that there is only one way and I kept losing hope of avoiding the path she wanted for me. It killed me inside. But If I really had to marry, It would be Victor. He would allow me to be myself and with Eloise, he was also a great friend and I would have every freedom in the world. To the world, we would appear as a married couple, but in truth, we were merely friends, each free to live our own separate lives. I could be happy, perhaps happier than I was now. I looked up at him again, took a deep breath in and nodded “yes” I said. The dance was over and the pairs were leaving the dance floor. I just stood there and looked at him “thank you” I whispered and pulled my hand back that I was not realizing was still in his. I turned around to leave as my eye caught Eloise again. Her eyes glassy and she immediately turned to rush away. I tried to go after her as fast as possible but lost her too soon in the crowd.

As I disappeared into the crowd I could not care less about my mother. My thoughts only belonged to Eloise. She was hurt, because of me, it broke my heart. I had to find her. I went outside, thinking she might have disappeared into the gardens. Arriving at the gate I found her brother, the viscount. “Viscount Bridgerton” I said standing close behind him. He turned around and bowed his head “Lady Y/N Y/L/N” “I am searching for your sister” I immediately said. She was my priority, she has been since we first met. “Eloise?” he asked with a surprised expression. I nodded “It is important” I stated, growing impatient. He shrugged his shoulders “I do not know of her whereabouts, I apologize, but she hates these balls, so it comes with no surprise” he said and a small smile appeared on my lips. “thank you” I said while nodding my head and leaving him behind. I could feel his eyes on my back, hopefully he had no suspicion.

If she did not go outside she could only be in her room. I rushed up the stairs and looked around, finding out if anybody was following me or saw me up here. Luckily, I was alone. I sneaked towards her room and took a deep breath as I reached towards the doorknob. I entered and already heard her sobbing, my heart broke at the sound. She sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. “please leave” she demanded in her broken voice. I did not listen and approached her. I got down on my knees and sat in front of her, reaching after her hands and wanting to see her face. “Eloise, I am so sorry I-” She removed her hands from her face and looked me straight in the eyes. “Will you marry him?” she asked, interrupting me. “What?” She stood up and her rather sad expression changed to one of betrayal and anger. She wiped her tears away and started pacing through the room. “You disappear for a week” she started and I could make out the anger in her voice. “I thought it was because of your idiot brother but maybe I was wrong” “El you were not-” “I see you again and your dancing with Lord Abery two times, I see the way you look at each other and you cannot tell me he is not courting you.” I sighed and looked up at her “I assure you, it is not what it appears to be” “not what it appears to be? You promised me not to do this”. I finally stood up and walked over to her “Eloise I do not have a choice, this is not what I desire either” “you always possess a choice” her voice broke again and her emotions overwhelmed her. “Believe me, I am doing this for our sake” “our sake? Or your sake?” she hissed. I understood her anger at me. She clearly did not understand the situation but explaining it to her right now would probably not change things. She turned away from me, trying to calm her breathing. I myself felt the arrival of tears and I knew it was only a matter of moments before they would roll down my cheeks. We stood there in uncomfortable silence. I did not want to fight with her, maybe it was best to leave. I took a deep breath in and walked towards the door.

Right as I reached for the doorknob I heard her voice behind me. “Please do not marry him” it sounded vulnerable and not angry anymore. I felt the hot tears running down my cheeks and I turned around looking directly into her eyes. “El” she came closer to me with slow steps and repeated “Do not marry him” this time more of a whisper as she was standing right in front of me with only mere inches between us. I could feel her breath on my lips and smelled her divine scent. I nodded. “Alright” was the only thing leaving my lips as she stood close in front of me. Her presence was captivating. My eyes wandered from her eyes to her lips and back to her eyes. She leaned in and her lips met mine. It felt like time stood still. I have been dreaming of this moment for weeks. Her lips moved against mine with longing and passion. My hand found its way into her hair pulling her closer. She applied light pressure and the way her lips moved against mine felt magical. Her body pressed firmly against mine and my back hit the door. Her hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer to her. We broke apart as we had to catch our breaths. Her face was still close to mine and our breaths mingled. Her eyes searched mine as I leaned my forehead against hers. My hands moved from her hair to her cheeks. She leaned into my touch and closed her eyes. I pulled her closer again and our lips collided in yet another passionate kiss. Our tongues met in a sensual embrace. We both explored each other with hunger born of the months of longing and tension. She took control and slid her tongue into my mouth. A soft moan escaped my lips, while she devoured me. I tried to loosen the strings of her dress. We parted again to catch our breaths. I felt her lips at my jaw as she slowly moved down my neck. She stopped at my collarbone as she sucked on my skin. I bit my lip and leaned my head back in pleasure. As soon as I closed my eyes her lips lost contact. She pulled me back from the door and spun me around to open my dress from the back. Her lips returned to my neck and I leaned back against her. As my dress slipped down my shoulders she wrapped her arms around me from behind and continued her work. I spun around in her arms capturing her lips on mine again. I opened her hair and it softly fell loose. I admired the way it draped so perfectly over her shoulders. She did the same to my hair as I was busy kissing her. We parted and I finally got rid of her dress and opened her corset. She released a long breath as it fell down on the floor. She turned around to face me. A huge smile was on her face and her eyes were barely red anymore, showing no sign of her crying a few minutes ago.

I still did not realize what was happening at the moment. She opened up my corset and let it fall to the floor as well. She brought me closer again and led me to her bed. She pushed me on it and crawled on top of me. I pulled her close to me, nor wanting to lose conract. I was a bit cold and as she spotted my goosebumps she pulled the blanket over us. She looked me deep in the eyes “are you certain?” she whispered. I nodded and connected our lips in another soft kiss as response. She shifted her weight on me and one of her legs was now between mine. Her arms were on either side of my head. Her body was pressed against mine and I enjoyed our closeness. We got rid of the last undergarments, which were keeping us from one another. She kissed me as her hands roomed over my body. I felt her hands moving up my legs to my inner thighs and I gasped at the contact. She slid her tongue inside my mouth as her hand wandered upwards. I moaned as the sensation became too overwhelming and I had no control left over my senses. Feeling her skin on mine was something completely unimaginable. Her hand shifted higher and higher as her other hand was resting on my chest. I breathed heavily as she touched me. I leaned my head back and moaned in pleasure. Her fingers slid inside of me. The feeling was unimaginable. My hands found her way to her back, holding onto it with force. As she started moving them inside of me my nails digged into her back and I could not keep my moans silent any longer. She looked at my face and her lips found her way to my neck and and she sucked on my pulse point. I pulled her head closer as I tangled my fingers in her hair. I clenched around her and her movements sped up. Her fingers curled inside of me. She moved up back to my face and watched me closely as I moaned out her name. she smiled and leaned down to place kisses along my jaw. That was all I needed to come over the edge. She looked at me in satisfaction as I was moaning underneath her. She rolled over and was now laying next to me. Both our heavy breathing was the only sound thay could be heard in the room. She looked over at me smiling. I turned my head to catch her gaze. She smiled at me and gently tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear "you look beautiful" I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, not getting enough of her taste. She could not stop smiling and I felt her legs intertwining with mine. Her arms wrapped around my neck and she pulled herself closer to give me another kiss. My arms found its way around her waist as she nuzzled her head into my neck and closed her eyes. My left hand found its way into her hair, stroking it. She soon drifted off to sleep. I could not imagine this truly happening. I took in her smell. Her body resting this close to mine provided a great warmth and maybe for the first time in forever, security.

First of all I am so sorry for the long wait, but I promise the next chapters will come soon. Also a huge thank you for all the likes, comments and reposts! I truly appreciate it <3 also we need to talk about these new episodes, there's too much happening

also I think a taglist would be good at this point so let me know If you want to be added

#female reader #wlw #wlw fanfic #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton x you #bridgerton family #anthony bridgerton #violet bridgerton

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smolvenger · 6 months ago

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The Baronet Seeks A Wife, Chapter One.

A Crimson Peak Multi-Part Fanfiction.

Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Arranged Marriage AU.

Summary: England in the 1890s. When your spirited sister, Charlotte, defies your family by running away from her arranged engagement to Sir Thomas Sharpe, you are the one who must keep your family from scandal and ruin...by taking her place as the baronet's bride.

Word Count: >7K words. You may want tea and scones as a repast as you read this.

Warnings: Angst, some hurt/comfort, and fluff at the end. I attempt to convey the period as accurately as I can bc if you don't like it or find it interesting why write it. Period accurate attitudes of gender and social class. Mentions and discussions of sex, but no smut (yet...let me just say...after Bridgerton season 3 episode four...I have *ideas* heheheheh). Brief mention of childbirth. The fear of domestic violence is mentioned, but not portrayed. Grammar and spelling mistakes. If I miss something and you see something that could be triggering that I didn't mention, then it is your responsibility to please please please tell me. I will take full accountability for how I portray marginalized groups and sensitive subject matter and make sure to better my writing and make sure affected parties are protected.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5 @goddessgirl43

London, 1898.

“I won’t marry him!” your sister cried.

You have seen this scene plenty of times. You could recount it like a play production you had seen too much. You were sitting in the parlor, trying to read a book and rest your feet. But your mother and your older sister, Lottie, were on each other’s last nerves.

‘Lottie, you have to!” your mother insisted.

You found you couldn’t focus on the words. You only sat there in stillness, watching in silence. A maid walked by the door, her eyes flicking over to the scene, but then she kept walking down the hallway.

Your mother pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed as if in pain.

Your older sister, Charlotte, was curling her fists on her side. The red dress, the new one father ordered for her at the shop, only made her seem angrier. She was literally burning with the fire of fury.

Mama let out a huff. Then she glared at Charlotte, her arms akimbo.

“Listen to me. Right. Now.” your mother began.

You felt bad for your mother. There was a lot on her mind. To have both daughters out in society at one time. They agreed it wasn’t fair for one daughter to go about having fun when the other couldn’t. Charlotte was older, so she was more experienced in being out in society. She made her debut it seemed ages ago. You recalled your own debut. You had your turn to wear white and curtsy before the queen before she dismissed you for the next girl. You were already beaming with excitement. Ready to enter the glittering, grown-up world of the London social season. Prepared to dine and dance in pretty dresses every April until August.

But every year, it seemed the bags under Charlotte’s eyes increased. Now years had passed since then. And mam still had two daughters who were still out. And unmarried.

Charlotte dreaded going from your country home to London for the warmer months.She hated the constant balls, parties, meals, picnics. She at least liked riding her horse in Hyde Park but loathed she couldn’t go faster. She would sneak out to smoke cigars. Bugs and reptiles fascinated her more than gossip. She scribbled down notes. She turned prickly if any man asked for a dance. She spoke boldly and even swore. She enjoyed the horse races and polo games and sports, but the art of feminine flirting was beyond her.

But your parents had plenty of money and two daughters. But only so much money could support so many seasons. And as the eldest, the pressure was on Charlotte. There was the occasional brave soul who proposed marriage to her. Only to face the inevitable, flat rejection.

So Mama and Papa took matters into their own hands.

Mama met enough people who networked her to cross paths with a single baronet. They porposed a marriage between him and Charlotte, to which he agreed. Your sister was engaged after a mere three meetings with the fellow. Not that you had a chance to meet him either. So no rejection. No proposal. A ring on Lottie’s finger forcibly placed on her like a child force-fed turnips to her mouth.

“Lottie, do you know how much that dress costs? The very one on your back? Every season, your father and I make sure you and your sister have new gowns so you may be presentable in public. That is what they demand- that eligible ladies always dress in fresh new clothes. So any gentleman will not scoff at you wearing yesterday’s rag. You may not like it- but this is for your future. For your family’s future. May I remind you- You are the eldest. You must make a good match not only for your sake- but your sister’s future. If you marry well-then she will be set up to succeed. There are plenty of decent men with more than enough money to make you comfortable here. Every year, they ask to dance with you. Every year, at least one proposes. And every year, you say no. ”

Charlotte huffed, folding her arms.

‘I didn’t want to marry them. Any of them. I wouldn’t make them happy and they wound’t make me happy at all.”

Your mother glared down.

“You have had more than enough chances to secure yourself forever. Do you want to live at the mercy of your father’s charity all of your days? If he cut you off this minute and threw you out of the house, you would have nowhere to go, and no way to survive. Lottie, do you realize how many seasons you have had? Do you realize how much we must pay more and more for you both to be presentable when you are out? Do you realize how much this is costing us and yourself?” she scolded.

She caught her breath. Charlotte was breathing hard, and you could see glimmers of tears in her eyes. Mama stepped closer.

“Charlotte…you’re no figure of pity. Not yet. You have had plenty of chances- they still call you the Wild Rose of London. Your face won over dukes, earls-so many girls would have loved to be in your shoes!” she said softly.

Mama was right. Charlotte was considered the beauty of the family. When she made her debut, heads turned to look at her. Everyone, you included, thought she would make a match easily. After all, your father was in charge of a great business that made a lot of money. You were now part of the upper crust. So a pretty face, a decent family reptutation and a sizable dowry with her bold, vivacious character would have won someone’s heart. And in a way they did. The first man who proposed to Charlotte you thought was going to be like shooting a sitting duck.

Even though “spinsterhood” did nothing to dampen your sister’s face,you were all proven wrong. Very, very wrong.

Lottie slouched as much as she could in her gown and frowned. A habit she never abandoned as a child.

“Your father had to take action. You will be a part of the esteemed Sharpe baronacy and he will reap the monetary benefits. He is a nice man, pleasant, charming, and he will take care of-”

“So am I nothing more than a thing you auction off at a bazaar? Not a person with a heart? With feelings?” Lottie combated.

“We were going to be driven at this rate to ill repute, and financial ruin all because you wouldn’t marry!” your mother argued.

“Then why not let me wear an old dress?” Lottie shot back. “Or have me not do a season! Let me remain a spinster and paddle my own canoe!”

“Sir Sharpe will take care of you. He promised it!” Mama assured.

“Being stuffy old Lady Sharpe and wasting my life in balls and parties is going to drive me to insanity! An arranged marriage- mama, it’s practically medieval!” Lottie shouted.

Your mother folded her hands.

“Your father has set it in stone. There is no point in this conversation. You are going to marry Sir Thomas Sharpe, and that is final!”

Your sister jumped up. She stormed off, slamming the door shut childishly as she huffed off to her room.

Your mother turned to you. You sat in your own blue tea gown, not expecting company. For a night of no events in the London season was a special treat. All of the picnics, lunch parties, park trips, operas, theatre, and balls were fun- but back to back, it was exhausting. But hearing your mother and sister yell at each other was ten times worse than the exhaustion.

You stood up.

“Am I….a bad mother?” she asked. You saw tears in her eyes too.

You put a hand on her shoulder, a fine, matronly gown of dark green brocade. You offered her a handkerchief.

“I only think you are a desperate mother put into a difficult situation.”

“She won’t listen to me. Much less your father…she only listens to you anymore. I hate we must do this…and I hate myself,” she sniffled.

You patted her shoulder.

“Mama, let me speak with her. Let me help patch things up. Make her happy,” you offered.

She nodded. You exited the library, walking up the stairs to Lottie’s bedroom. The odd servant paused in their dusting to curtsy at you. You wold give them a nod and a smile, before you continued. Walking past vases of daffodils and over velvet rugs, you found the door locked shut. Crying coming from inside.

You knocked on the door.

“Go away, papa!” she fussed.

“Lottie, it’s not papa, it’s me!” you assured her.

Your sister went over and opened the door, letting you in and shutting it after you entered. With it’s wine red wallpaper, the place seemed to be dark as the sun was dipping outside. Her desk empty of any papers and her hat set on top. Her colllections of newspapers piled on one chair near her parasol. The drawer where she hid her cigars was kept with a lock and a key she dared not tell even you.

“Lottie…I’m so sorry you have to do this, and how miserable it makes you…it sounds like a nightmare,” you admitted.

You could see tears streaming down her face.

“Do you remember when I was eleven and asked mama and papa for a pet snake? They know how much I love snakes- they’d give me little toy snakes. I wanted a real one. I’d call her Cleopatra for the irony of it. But they said no. Every year I asked and they kept saying no.would always say no. They try….but they can’t love me, or understand me. And I keep trying to please them…and I keep failing and now…they’re throwing…”

She sat on the bed and began to cry. And you hugged her.

“Here….here…” you said. “My poor girl, my poor Lottie!” you cooed.

“I want to go places. Have adventures and jolly, capital times. I want to run, and explore and see things! Not be stuffy old Lady Sharpe in some stupid house having babies until I’m killed from it!” she mourned.

She shoved aside her journal and laid down on her bed. Tears streaming her face.

“It’s what you deserve…Lottie. A life like that! But now, we need to think of what we can do and not what we can’t do,” you suggested.

You paused, thinking for a second. You leaned closer as she turned away. A gentle hand on her side.

“Sir Sharpe…you’ve met him, haven’t you? What is he like?” you asked.

“He talks about his stupid inventions all day,” she muttered from her side. “And he won’t answer anything about what his dead sister was like or what was in that old mansion.”

There were only three things you knew about Sir Sharpe as of this morning. He was a baronet. He grew up in a mansion called Allerdale Hall. He lost an older sister. But that was it. Now thanks to Lottie, the sum rallied up to four.

You leaned closer, more mischief in your voice. You hushed to a whisper.

“What does he even look like? Perhaps he’s at least handsome! Maybe at least…on your wedding night…”

Lottie turned over, wrinkling her nose.

“I’m sorry, YN, but he’s ugly! He has a big forehead, and big ears, and a big old nose!” she cried. Her voice far too loud for the question you asked.

She grabbed her pillow and hugged it around her.

“Don’t get me started on my marital duties. I could retch at the thought of it. If Sir Sharpe even thinks of going to bed with me, I’ll box his big ears off!” she decalred.

Part of you couldn’t help but laugh a little. Even Lottie’s own pretty, pink mouth was curved up in a small smile at her own words.

“Practice on that pillow!” you dared.

She hit the pillow again and again.

“This I’ll give Sir Sharpe and -this! I’ll give Sir Sharpe!”

She reached over and got her parasol and gave it a few more good whacks. Feathers were starting to burst out from it and litter the floor.

“Heavens, at this rate you’d have killed him!” you commented.

“He would have earned it!” she replied.

‘“Then you’ll be a criminal and I’d have to bail you out of prison!” you replied.

“Oh no! Then I guess we must be outlaws and run off and live like Robin Hood and the rest! Better than listening to Mrs. Mean drone on about governesses!”

Both of you burst into laughter. The Means lived up to their name and every reception they found a new group of people to complain about. You both heard it all and had to silently look at each other to promise to only laugh at them when it was done.

You both laughed, smilng bright. How you missed the easy days of your younger years. You could play about and get in and out of trouble. You and your sister knew where to strike to hurt each other, but couldn’t live without the other. You fought as intensely as you played. You did everything side by side. You took her hand and hugged her again, even though she was still sniffling.

Lottie sagged her shoulders. Her hold on the pillow loosening.

“But…I’m unhappy. I wake up every day with this and I’m miserable. Like I can’t get out.” she sighed.

“Think of this….” you reasoned. “I hear husbands are easier to manage and persuade then fathers! Once you have money and you’re not under their thumb, you can go about as you want and do what you want! Idon’t think Sir Sharpe would stop you….”

You paused. A horrified shiver ran through you.

“Not that I…know much about him. Do you think he….did he ever…ever…hurt you?” you asked.

She shook her head.

“No, he hasn’t been less than gentlemanly. And he wouldn’t hurt me in any way after we’re married, I’m sure.” she replied.

You both sat on the bed and held hands.

“Then don’t be afraid, Lottie…maybe marriage isn’t a prison, but your key to freedom! Once you’re a married woman, you can do whatever you want and Sir Sharpe won’t stop you. And if he does anything, tell me. And I’ll box his ears!” you replied.

Lottie’s tears were drying in trails down her cheeks. Yet she smiled in spite of herself. Then you hugged one last time.

“I should ring for some cakes and mint tea from Anne! That will cheer you up!” you said.

As you rang the bell for them. Anne, one of your maids, hurried up. She took the order and promptly left. She returned with a tray in only ten minutes. You both relaxed on chairs as the tray balanced on a mahogany table.

Turning, you saw Lottie write about in her journal.

“Oh, croissants! My favorites,” Lottie cooed. She picked up one and began to dig in.

“I’m just glad you have thing that make you happy…I just want you to be happy, Lottie,” you said.

The pastry returned to her plate.

“And…YN…”

Her mouth opened as if to speak. Then she stopped. She reached over and held your cheek. Studying you carefully, as if you were a piece of art. A work she could only admire in person once before she had to leave. Something she had to commit to memory. There was a sad smile on her face.

There was a sad smile on her face.

“I want you to be happy too…”

She kissed your forehead and you smiled. As she helped herself to a big slice of strawberry cake. Her eyes were tired, crinkly.

“I think Lady Charlotte Sharpe has a ring to it. Like the heroine of a book!” you said.

Charlotte turned to face the window. The sun melting down and the sky promising night.

“But this isn’t a book, this is reality…” she responded.

She looked at you and then at the ring on her finger. The engagement ring already commissioned. Costly and pretty, but useless and ominous on Lottie’s hand.

“I think you would have liked him...” she said.

“Sir Sharpe will be nice to have as a brother,” you replied.

She looked at you. But said nothing as she nibbled on her croissant. As the tray was partially emptied, you excused yourself. But Lottie caught your arm. You saw her lip quiver. She leaned closer, her voice quiet. And Lottie was not a person who liked to be quiet.

“I’ll always remember that your words. That we must do what we can and not dwell on what we can’t. Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for the tea, too.”

By dinner time, she was quiet. She dressed nicely and ate modestly. Then went to bed without a word to you. As you went back up to change for bed. How unlike her! Your sister was chattiest at night! But you but shrugged it off. She was probably just exhausted. London’s balls lasted from night until six in the morning and you would be lying if you said they didn’t take a toll on you too. And you would need some rest if there were to be callers, a garden party, and maybe a horse ride in the park the next day.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

When you awoke the next morning, the sunlight streamed like melten butter into your room. Outside, it was another lovely day in May. People were already tittering about the Ascot opening later this month.

Your maid helped you into your day outfit of a white lace skirt and a blue skirt with flowers patterned with silk. You only hoped Lottie had improved. Before breakfast, you would check.

You knocked on her door.

“Lottie! Good morning!”

No reply.

“The chef is making us bacon! It’s going to be delicious!”

No response.

You beat your fists against the door.

Nothing. And she was a light sleeper.

“Lottie?” you called out louder.

You realized the door was unlocked and opened easily.

She was gone. Servants followed you inside. Her bed wasn’t made, there was no sign of her.

“Is she in the garden? Is she riding in Hyde park this early? ” you asked Anne. But the maid shook her head.

Then, to your shock, you saw there was a piece of paper on it. And a ring. Coming closer, you saw it was her engagement ring.

You felt the world pause as you read her handwriting.

“Hello everyone,

You need not fear, for I am not hurt or seduced by some scoundrel.

I cannot be Sir Sharpe’s wife.

I love all of you. But I cannot do this. This is not what I want for my life.

I shall be safe, do not worry.

But do not try to reach me for some time.

All of my love.

Charlotte Y/L/N.”

Breath knocked out of you. You stood frozen. You hardly heard your parents rushing in. You didn’t feel your father snatching the letter from your hands. Looking down, they were still in the air and shaking.

Your mother began to sob.

All of your plans were canceled. A private detective was hired and Charlotte’s lady’s maid was fired for permitting this. Though the sobbing maid insisted she didn’t know where Charlotte went. All day long, people scurried about in a panic.

You felt tears well up in your own eyes. Alone in your room, it was your turn to burst into crying. It was already as if your dear sister was already dead.

You recalled the letter said she was unharmed. She wasn’t about to be left pregnant with some scoundrel’s bastard. She hadn’t…taken her own life and for her to return only as a corpse. As far as you knew, no news meant she was alive and safe. That would have destroyed you. Taking hope in that, you went back to put on a brave face to your family.

There was the odd caller in the afternoon. But their noses were upturned. Knowing they would report anything and everything. The slight smiles on their faces as they looked about made you want to scream.

Why didn’t Charlotte think about this? The next day, your grief boiled to a silent rage. By running off and vanishing, it meant there was a scandal. And now society would all turn their faces away from you. They would frown and whisper and gossip. The unvirtuous daughter who ran off. And no one would want to go to your parties or dinners. No one would want to see you or associate with you. And no man would ever want to marry you, knowing you were the sister of the runaway spinster of a disgraced family.

That last part pained you. Not that you knew from Charlotte there was shame in being a spinster. But…you hoped to fall in love. Not just to marry a man of stability, to meet a wonderful, nice man who made your heart patter fast. To be kissed and receive valentines and dance and have him drop to his knees, begging for you. Just like in the fictional books you loved.

But the days dragged by. The detective returned after a week and shook his head. And the hope for anything good in your future seemed more and more like a fiction itself.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

You paced about in the gardens one afternoon. It was better to do something with your anxious energy. Two weeks and no sign where Lottie vanished. You sat by, hoping the coolness of the breeze drifting through flowers would calm you. But not even the loveliness of an English June could distract you.

Anne stepped forward and curtsied.

“Pardon me, Miss. But your father wants to have a word with you in private,” she announced.

She led you up, taking you to Papa’s study. It was a room in dark green, his favorite color. A few books lined up the walls and his desk was placed behind the window. Your father was staring outside when he turned around as you were brought in.

“Ah, sit down, my dear,” he requested.

You obeyed. Sitting on the wooden chair before his desk. Your father brought out a decanter of brandy and poured himself some in a little glass. You noticed it was a generous amount. Not that you would blame him.

He poured himself a second glass and offered it to you.

“I have some news with you, Y/N…” he began.

“Have they found her?” you asked with hope.

“No. And that is exactly why I have to tell you this…”

If there was no update, then what could it be? You wondered. You took the cup and held it in your hands. A little hesitant to drink it yet since it was still so bright in the day. It didn’t feel right to drink such a spirit so early to you. Something was brewing- you just had to let him say it.

“The engagement between your sister and Sir Sharpe it was…it is still and shall be beneficial. To us and to the Baronet. We must be respected by all sorts of society through connection to the baronacy. He needed the money- his own little toys wouldn’t be enough to sustain a gentleman’s life. And with Charlotte’s disappearance- you understand why we don’t have as many visitors as we do?”

“It’s a scandal, papa, I know.” you replied.

“But…we must return to society. We cannot show up defeated. We cannot let them beat us. We cannot become a laughingstock or a figure of pity.”

Where was he going with this? You held your tongue and folded your hands. The drink carefully balanced over your lap. He was only repeating everything you already knew.

“There is one way out that solves all our problems. Especially if at this point, Charlotte isn’t to be found…”

“We can’t give up on finding her, on making sure she is safe!” you insisted.

“We have more immediate matters..” he continued.

You raised the glass to your lips, taking only a sip. It burned down your throat onto your churning stomach. Your father looked directly into your eyes.

“ I have one daughter left who is out. But YN, I don’t think there are many gentleman who will want to associate with a ruined family. No gentleman will consider you marriage…But…”

“But?” you prompted.

“But there is one gentleman who doesn’t think so…” he continued.

“Who?” you asked. You put both hands over your cup.

Papa looked directly into your eyes.

“Sir Sharpe.”

Your throat tightened. Part of your vision went dizzy. You began to piece together where this was leading. Nausea gripped your insides as your hold on the glass turned into a grip.

“He knows he needs our money and to be back into society. We still need the respect of his title…and we have a daughter left who must be taken care of…”

You found yourself hyperventilating. Words choked out of you.

“Am I…am I…”

“YN, you are going to marry Sir Sharpe in your sister’s place this coming month.” he announced flatly.

A sound came out of you. You put a hand over your mouth. You now knew what Lottie felt. Your whole body went tight. You had to catch your breath. How glad you were to be sitting, for your legs were already shaking bad and your vision was spinning. You looked down at the floor, trying to pull yourself together. Your father kept talking.

“Now, I know this isn’t pleasant. Especially for a romantic such as yourself. I know you have yet to be formally introduced to him. But, Y/N, my dear- we have to be practical about these matters. There is no respectable solution to this problem at this point, if Charlotte is to not return.”

He was right. As twisted as this was, was there another option?

Who would want to associate with a family who couldn’t keep an eye on their eldest? Who would want to invite a family who let their daughter run away to their breakfast party? Who would want to court the sister of the woman who ran off from her own marriage? Who would want to marry the daughter of disgraced family?

The more you thought about it, the more you realized there were few options. You were now too socially stained to marry anyone. Your days would be spent alone. Sitting in your house as others lived their lives happy and free, laughing at you behind closed doors.

Your family had no other options out.

A marriage to a man who belonged to a knighted family would earn you respect. It would be telling society that at least one man from a respectable house saw worth in you. You would still go to events not as a figure of pity and ridicule, but as one of them- even ranking above them.

You didn’t want to be a figure of ridicule. Someone who everyone would smugly turn. Whispering to each other “how glad I am that I’m not her!”

You had to marry. And marry well.

You would never be proposed to at this point. There would be no courtship. No dances. No poetry. No marriage proposals. No valentines. No love letters. No Passion. No balls. No laughter.

But there was never going to be a proposal like this.

No future. No safety. Nothing if you denied your father or refused him or rebelled as Lottie did.

You would just be tied and tethered to a ruined family all of your days. But becoming Lady Sharpe would free you from that. You could start anew. Spring again like a wild tiger breaking out of its cage to bear her claws.

And this was your only chance.

“Yes, papa. It will be an honor.” you replied. You would do your duty, as all daughters must.

Father walked out from behind, abandoning his drink. He put a hand on your shoulder and then pulled you for a hug.

“There’s my brave girl,” he said.

He released the hug.

“Alright, Sir Sharpe is going to visit at dinner tomorrow. And my associates at work will be there too, to celebrate. That way, you will have a formal introdution and you won’t be walking down the aisle to a complete stranger.”

You felt your fists grab your skirt. With your free hand, you grabbed your cup of brandy and downed it in one gulp. The burning ran through your body, and you prayed it would calm your racing mind.

“Do I need to wear my nicest dress?” you asked. You at least didn’t want Sir Sharpe to think he was settling from the society beauty. Downgraded from the Wild Rose to her frump sister.

“Considering he has already said yes to this arrangement, I doubt wearing your ugliest dress will do anything to about the matter,” replied your father.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

Anne dressed you in a cream dinner dress of country silk and velvet. Your sleeves puffed like clouds. there was lace as a “belt” around your waist. The bottom showed an underskirt that was a color between light brown and pink. Anne had hair like yours, and knew how to style it as you liked. Your dress almost white in the light. Already you were going to meet Thomas looking like a bride.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed seven o clock. You thought you would sweat through your dress. Part of you was tempted to lock the door and not step a foot out the whole night. But you knew you could not delay the meeting anymore. At this rate, you would just meet him on your wedding day. You just had to get it over with.

Besides, you were going to spend the rest of your life with him until only death or divorce did you part. You were just holding back the inevitable.

“You look beautiful, miss,” she gushed as she looked at you.

“I wish I was as pretty as Lottie, sometimes. Or as brave as her…” you lamented quietly.

“Don’t compare yourself to her, miss. You know she has her own sufferings. And it will only make you more unhappy.” Anne advised, giving you a pearl necklace. She attached it to you from behind.

Both of you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Anne leaned in closer with an encouraging smile. “Just think of all this like armor to a battle, Miss Y/N. You can’t give up the fight, yet.”

I can be brave, like Lottie. I can fight, like she can. You thought. How could you be as stupid as to forget your own advice to her not long ago? You would do your best to find the way to make it a good situation. Manipulate your position and standing to your favor, even. For that was what women always did. For being the “weaker sex”, they always found a way through to survive. So what made you think you would just cry and pity yourself all of your days?

You reminded yourself of this. Still you felt heart racing hard as if the gallows was what awaited you next month and not the altar. Holding your head high, like a queen in her palace, you walked out of your room and downstairs.

A few women had shown up in the foyer. They eyed you greedily but you would not give them a figure to be pitied. You kept a stoic face as they offered a few tepid congratulations. But you felt so buzzed with anxiety, you only half heard.

“We’re so happy you found a husband,” said one.

Husband- husband! A husband! A fiancee! How was it that it happened already? And with no romantic proposal in a moonlit garden away from a ball. Just in an office that smelled of whiskey with your father relaying that you were now engaged. And your husband- no, you weren’t married yet, no need to panic now. Though you saw no men around, you knew that your fiancee was under this roof.

You didn’t feel ready. You felt like you were just an adolescent playing dress up and not a grown adult.

“Ah! There you are, YN!” your father greeted as he walked over, dressed in his evening tuxedo. He offered his arm.

“He’s in the library, sharing a drink with the other men. I think it’s time I introduce you both,” he announced.

Swallowing, you took his arm. The one thing keeping you afloat in the ocean of turmoil raging inside you.

Papa walked you over to the library. Your heart picked up as if you were running. In just a few short seconds, you would see the man you were bound to for the rest of your life. Your mind was itself running at a hundred miles a second and you felt yourself shaking like a leaf.

Father turned to the door and your fears screamed inside of you.

You dreaded what your sister said. Her voice ringing in your ears bemoaning Thomas’s apparent ugliness.

“He has a big forehead and big ears and a big old nose!”

He was ugly. You had to settle for that. But what made you were frightened was that perhaps he was a bad person. Perhaps he would hurt you, betray you, break you even.

Wait…didn’t Lottie say herself he wouldn’t treat her in that way? But…you weren’t Lottie! He could act completely differently…

No…you were forming an entire judgement on someone you hadn’t even met!

But, even if he wasn’t handsome…perhaps he would be a nice man. Men didn’t have to be handsome to be good. They could be kind, respectful, patient, gentle, genuinely kind husbands.

So which one was he? A kind, pure soul? Or an irredeemale monster?

Both? In between? Neither? There was only one way to find out. And the answer was standing with the other men beyond that wall.

You took in a deep breath, your father opened the door.

The dark green, musty library already smelled of cigars. Lottie would have loved it. There was a bit of laughter, as their smoke floated to the air. Cups of whiskey was passed and there was talk of this and that issue in Parliment. So many men in black suits like a horde clamored around, as if each one was copied from the other.

Your father cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen, may I introduce to you my daughter, Miss Y/L/N.”

Once, it was Lottie who was “Miss Y/L/N” and you just went by Miss and your first name after. But now that she was gone, you were promoted up. You were Miss Y/L/N and the family’s fortune and future were already on you like a yoke you had to drag across the field.

“It appears that for one of you, you are about to be a very lucky man next month…” your father continued.

One by ones, heads turned to see you. Some in curiosity. Some in boredom. Some in hunger seeing your neckline. You were already making guesses as to who your fiancee was with each passing face. Already one man had a curled mustache. Another had grey hair with busy sideburns. Another round spectacles and short brown hair with a mousy face. Most of them were wrinkled, lined with grey, with a gruffness to their demenaer.

“Sir Sharpe,” your father announced, turning his head.

Your eyes followed at once. That is him- you thought. That is him! That is him, that is him, thatishimthatishimthatishim-

An old man patted a hand on the shoulder of another. The younger had hair had longer, dark curls He was so deep in conversation with someone that he almost forgot. The grandfather nudged him. The younger figure paused.

“Thomas! I believe your lady is here.”

Then he turned around.

Thomas Sharpe was the handsomest man you had ever seen.

The breath you had was knocked out again as you took him in. What on earth was Lottie thinking? Looking at him, you began to question her taste and strength of vision.

Thomas was a tall man with a hair full of raven curls. Slender, but not thin for he had a broad chest. Soft blue eyes that only contrasted with his dark hair and a face the color of porcelain. You now understood the fairy tale of Snow White and why she was the fairest in all the land. For the male equivalent was here before you. He had high cheekbones and large hands. He looked like the hero of a Bronte novel, but one if the author confirmed his handsomeness rather than his ugliness.

He looked into your eyes and he smiled at you. Butterflies fluttered around your stomach and you could feel your eyes widening.

Your father gestured at him and he walked over.

“Sir Sharpe, this is my daughter.Your fiancee.” your father announced.

“Miss, I am glad to finally be acquainted with you. You look beautiful, tonight,” Sir Sharpe greeted.

He raised your hand to his lips and looked right into your eyes as kissed your hand. A gasp could not even escape your throat. Something was stirring beneath you when his lips touched your gloved hand. You felt a sensation you dared not name in the most private part of you.

Finally, steeling yourself back to the earth, you remembered basic etiquette.

“Thank you, Sir Sharpe. I am glad to make your acquaintance as well,” you replied with a curtsy.

Sir Sharpe sat across from you at dinner. You hardly said a word unless someone asked you something.

You couldn’t believe this. You couldn’t believe him. You somehow found your appetite again and ate. But you felt self conscious with each bite. Thomas was watching you- what was he seeing? Would he judge you? You moved even more carefully and properly as you could.

Every time your eyes met, Every time he looked at you, a heat rushed through your whole body and your eyes would return demurely back to your plate or the napkin on your lap. When he smiled at you, you felt as if you could die. You had to remember your feet was touching the ground as you wiggled your toes in your pointed shoes..

He spoke poliely when asked to, but mainly listened. There was polite talk about the weather or the Ascot opening race. Thomas would ask you about what you thought and you found your replies were timid. You didn’t want to make a wrong move, you didn’t want him to hate you, you didn’t want-

Then your father stood up, raising a glass.

“Now, everyone,” he declared. “Let us have a toast. To Sir Sharpe, the delightful Baronet who I have the honor to call my son in law not long from now. And to the marriage of my beloved, dutiful daughter-”

You found yourself looking down. Dutiful, dutiful. This was why you were here. Lottie was not dutiful and broke everything. But now here you were to fix it all. For everyone’s sakes, including yours. It would have be you thrown to face the unknown of marriage to this unknown aristocrat. Yes, he was handsome. But he was still a stranger.

“Cheers!” toasted your father.

Everyone replied with cheers as they clinked glasses. Thomas gave you another smile and clinked yours. You felt yourself become timid. His looks, his smiles, and you were acting no better than an loony adolescent.

Thomas delayed going to after-dinner sips of brandy with the other men. He remained in the parlor with the women sipping on coffee and went to you. He led you over to a corner away from nosy mamas. He spoke lowly, for you to hear.

“How are you, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked.

“If I must be entirely honest, I am afraid,” you confessed.

His eyes softened at you. They were the color of a spring sky. You had never seen eyes as blue as his.

“YN, I know this is sudden. And I’m shocked as you are. But…”

He offered his hand and you took it. Your glove over his skin. Then he placed his other over yours, and already you found yourself chilled comparing his large hand to your own. To feeling that one bit of touch. For now you were almost married, and to touch was permitted.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me…I will try to make you happy, with everything I can.” he promised.

“Nothing will happen to me. You won’t hurt me. And you won’t let anyone hurt me, will you?” you asked.

A shadow of sadness passed over his face.

“No. I won’t.”

#crimson peak #crimson peak fanfiction #thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe x you #thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe x y/n #thomas sharpe x fem! reader #thomas sharpe x fem! y/n #tom hiddleston characters #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #tom my beloved #tom hiddleston #thomas sharpe imagine #crimson peak multi part #crimson peak fanfic #crimson peak imagine #thomas sharpe x female!reader

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howaheartbreaks · 5 months ago

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A collection of all the times Colin refers to Penelope.

Previously I had posted of all the times in Season 3, Part 1, and now I’ve gone through the entire series because I’m a bit mad. Anyway, enjoy!

What have I found out?

In regency times, referring to a young women by their first name at all was frowned upon unless they were engaged or married, let alone a nickname. It’s clear Colin and Pen have been friends for a while and she’s “she’s a very good acquaintance of the family”. Whether or not he sees her as a younger sister in the very beginning, Colin breaks societal rules with Penelope throughout all three seasons by always using her nickname Pen, full name or other examples such as being alone with her. It establishes that they have an intimate friendship and that he is very comfortable with her.

In early season 1 and 2 he calls her Pen in full earshot of his family, her family and members of the ton and yet no one blinks an eye. He call her Penelope when he has a more intense moment with her (Penelope, what a barb) or when he’s being more formal, and the former is probably because he’s realising his feelings are moving into an inappropriate place for him to call her Pen. In all of season 1 and 2, he only calls her “Miss Featherington” once, and that is when he dances with her instead of Cressida.

Season 2 he begins to call her Penelope more regularly, and when he’s speaking to other people about her as it’s more societally correct. He still calls her Pen a lot but his conversations seem to be more direct to her but it establishes the changing nature of his relationship, especially at the end of Season 2 when he says “I will always protect you, Penelope, you are special to me” but also uses it for the “I would never court Penelope Featherington” line.

Season 3 establishes that things have changed, as he seems to become more conscious of what her name means to him.

When Colin refers to Pen in public or with his family, he refers to her as Penelope, never Miss Featherington and not Pen. When Colin and Pen are alone, he uses the pet name Pen. It is reserved for her, like an intimate moment. The few times he uses her full name in private is either serious matters - eg will you marry me, trying to be formal or in reverence because he holds her in such high esteem.

When Colin finds out about Pen as LW, he stops calling her Pen altogether until their resolution at the Dankworth-Finch ball.

SEASON 1

“Good day, Pen” - Colin stops to talk to her at her house when he calls on Marina in their first conversation, “A wretched sonnet indeed” “Lord Byron he is not.” It’s established they have a very sweet, familiar relationship with her though it’s clear it’s a friendship.

“Pen” - Colin approaches her directly at the Vauxhall ball enquiring about Marina, they dance after Cressida spills the drink on her. “I am to escort Miss Featherington to floor.” He refers to her politely in mixed company.

“Penelope, what a barb.” He approaches her at the Trowbridge ball. They share an intense look at each other much longer than necessary.

Colin calls on Marina in episode 5. “I am uncertain of my travels at the moment, Pen” he say, still referring to her affectionately while he courts Marina. At this stage he calls her Pen in front of her/his family.

At their engagement dinner she chases after him in the hallway, asks him to speak and tells him of Marina’s love for Sir George: “Pen, of course”, “Trust me Pen, do not fret.”

After Marina’s scandal he sees her at the Hastings ball across the room and approaches her (he’s always approaching her). When he sees her, his mouth drops open and he looks very nervous. He does this several times and it’s his “in love” look - similar to how he looked at Marina, but he’s lacking his usual charm because he’s nervous and probably ashamed. He offers his apologies. “Pen” “Colin” they say at the same time. “I was a fool” “You were not a fool. You merely believed yourself in love. One should never apologise for that, when One finds oneself in such an incredible position one should declare it assuredly, fervently, loudly.” He’s looking so proud and comfortable with her in this scene that he drops her name again, “I have something I wish to tell you as well, Pen. I am leaving. Itwas actually you who inspired me. You kept reminding me how much I longed for travel.” He licks his lips nervously before he says this. (Her face is so heart broken Nicola’s lip does a little quiver) Then, “Should we dance, Pen?” He’s trying to engage with her and actually looks sad when she rejects him and he watches her leave. His eyes widen and he stares after her open mouthed. And of course, he looks to her house as he leaves for the summer.

Season 1 Count

Pen: 8

Penelope: 1

Miss Featherington: 1

Season 2

After his very intense gaze at her in the drawing room after he returns from his travels (his in love look), Pen and Colin do not get to speak. He sees her at the races and his mouth gapes again when he sees her, and he’s very happy, “Pen!” “Pen, how have you been?”

They run into each at Lady Danbury’s party and Pen remarks about all the interest shown to Edwin when they barely know her, “Not a devotee of mystery, Pen?” He speaks about finding connection with someone so he didn’t feel lonely and her letters were so encouraging, “I thought, If Penelope can see me this way, surely then I can too.” He says that he is sworn off women, “I am a woman,” she notes. “You are Pen, you do not count. You are my friend.” The way he says Pen is quite reverent. She takes it as an insult that he doesn’t see her as a woman but my take is that he sees her above them. “Pen” is something more.

He next says her name when the Ton arrive at Albury Hall in Episode 4 and Eloise has been reading her women’s rights pamphlets. (The first scene with just Colin, Eloise and Pen together): “Prepare yourself for many a quotation, Pen.”

Colin goes to see Marina who tells him that he’s just a boy and to move on, and there are people like Penelope who care for him. “Penelope?” They run into each other on the stairs later my Colin is still dwelling on what Marina has said. “But, I suppose there is no use dwelling on the past. I am indeed thinking of the future. Pardon me, Pen.”

After Anthony’s wedding is on hold, Pen approaches him in the garden as he drinks from a flask and they speak about their purpose. He stares it her in awe as she speaks about hers, “Your dreams are grander than you let on, Pen.”

She inspires him to take up an investment and goes to her house to speak to Jack Featherington when she hears his voice and enters the room, “The lady of the hour.” He asks her to walk him out, “Our relationship has taken place so naturally of the years, one could take it for granted. You have always been so constant and loyal, Pen.” At this stage he’s decided this venture will help them both. Portia turns up and Pen and Colin look guilty for standing so close. “Miss Penelope was just seeing me out.”

At the Featherington Ball, Colin takes Pen’s hand and pulls her into the drawing room to expose her cousins plan, “I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, Pen, but I have looked into him and believe him to be a mere charlatan.”

After his speech to Jack, Colin downs a drink and takes Pen to the floor to dance. “I will always look after you, Penelope, you are special to me.”

And queue the extreme whiplash as we get Colin with the boys, “Are you mad? I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington, not in your wildest fantasies, Fife.”

Season 2 Count

Pen: 9

Penelope: 5

Penelope Featherington: 1

Lady of the hour: 1

Season 3

Here we go! There’s definitely a shift in this season because she’s starting to look at her differently. He stops referring to her as Pen unless he is with her alone and reverts back to Penelope as Pen starts to become too intimate for him.

After he has returned from his travels, Colin approaches Pen at the presentation while she stands alone. “Pen, it is good to see you.” (“Is it?” She asks. Take him down, Pen!)

“And what of Penelope?” - he asks Eloise of their friendship.

At the Danbury ball she runs past him after Cressida has trodden on her dress. “Pen! She did not look well did she?” To the boys before he runs after her. He slipped on her name in this scene.

“Pen,” He addresses her alone as he approaches her. “Is something wrong, Pen, between us?” He whispers softly before telling her he misses her. Says “Pen” when he tries to speak up after she calls him out for saying he wouldn’t court her and girly walks out leaving his ass alone.

The next day he rushes to see her to make amends alone in her garden. “And I am most certainly not ashamed of you, Pen.”

In the market scene during their lessons, “Pen, living for the estimation of others is a trap. Once you break free, the world opens up.”

When she mentions that Bridgerton house is where she feels most comfortable, he rushes to get her to over. “Penelope, I have eagerly been awaiting your visit,” he addresses her in front of the footman. It’s the first time this season he calls her Penelope, but not alone (Rae doesn’t seem to count to Colin either). He moves her to the drawing room alone where he tries to set the scene for their imaginary ball, “Imagine it with me, Pen.”

When he catches her reading his journal, “Pen, were you reading that?” Even when he’s mad he still calls her by her nickname.

In the carriage to the ball with Eloise he returns to calling her “Penelope?” Something he has never done in front of El in the past.

At the ball Colin encourages her to flirt with Lord Basilio and she gets nervous as he is a Viscount and he says, “and you are Penelope Featherington, do not forget that”. When he says her name he says it in reverence, in glowing praise where he respects her name. Others usually use disdain when referring to the Featheringtons but as mentioned in season 2, Colin is not in the habit of consorting with those he holds in low esteem (and when he comes to his senses see how he completely drops the toxic lord squad).

Lord Basilio runs off crying about his horse: “Pen, what happened?” They laugh together and it’s so adorable.

The crowd talks gossip about them and Penelope runs off, and he exclaims “Pen!” As he runs after her. He slips in public and it’s always when he’s worried and running after her. As soon as he confronts Eloise he says, “did you tell anyone of my helping Penelope? What could Penelope have possibly done to warrant your maltreatment?”

He comes to her house and she asks him to kiss her. He changes to “Penelope,” to potentially protest, or to say something but she cuts him off. Her full name is a formal response after she has asked something uncomfortable of him, but it’s also used when he starts to view her more seriously.

In his dream he calls her by her nickname, “Pen, I’ve not been able to sleep, not been able to eat, I can barely… speak these days.” It’s tender and intimate. His dream is so romance novel.

After their kiss he is feeling ~feelings~. He speaks to her so formally under the willow tree, “good day” and they are both so adorably awkward. They are trying to be more formal with each other in a sudden interest in propriety, because their familiarity is what lead to the kiss and she feels like they need to take a step back by distancing themselves. He doesn’t know how to conduct himself because calling her Pen is too intimate and he’s only just putting together consciously what that intimacy means to him, “Penelope, I wish very much for your happiness.”

The next time he addresses her by name is the end of episode 4!!!

Colin interrupts her and Debling’s dance after he realises Debling will propose, “Pen, you cannot marry him.” He’s calling her Pen in the middle of the dance floor, but if you haven’t figured it out at this point, Colin is so far beyond the rules of society and nothing matters to him except breaking off this engagement.

Which brings us to (drumroll)… the carriage scene!

He chases down the carriage and flings the door open, “Penelope!” Is it formal now, is it because he’s more serious about her? Is it because there’s still people around. He tries to make his excuses before fumbling around to, “He’s not right for you, Pen.” Smoochy touchy feely, “For gods sake, Penelope Featherington, are you going to marry me?”

Part 1 Count:

Pen: 13

Penelope: 10

Penelope Featherington: 2

Use of Penelope has increased substantially for a few reasons. 1. He’s speaking of her to others more regularly. 2. He only refers to her to others as Penelope now. 3. He uses Penelope directly with her instead of Pen in serious/emotional/charged situations.

Part 2:

“Hyacinth, I do not think Penelope can breathe.” He’s so adorable in this scene, and still referring to her to his family as Penelope.

He starts professing his love to her to his brothers: “My feelings for Penelope are not a thunderbolt from the sky, I have known her a very long time and perhaps I have always felt something for her, but only foolishness was not realising it sooner.”, “Perhaps I shall go and see Penelope now.”

Portia implies Pen entrapped Colin to get him to propose to her when just yesterday she was expecting a Debling marriage, but our hero swoops in with one of his many gallant speeches, “Your daughter did not entrap me, I proposed to her out of love, nothing less. And were not so narrowly concerned with your own standing, you might see that Penelope is the most eligible amongst you. In the future, I advise you not to sully our Bridgerton name by suggesting otherwise.”

He takes her alone to their new place, and he stares at her reverently as he confesses, “I will always stand up for you. Because I love you, Pen.” Her name is soft and intimate and meaningful to him.

Eloise is mad at him and he says, “I apologise for not telling you earlier about my feelings for Penelope”, “And it was Penelope this and Penelope that and Penelope and I are going to read Don Quixote and we are going to be knights. Penelope is going to be your sister, soon. There is a time that would have been your greatest dream. It would mean the world to me to have your blessing and I know it would mean a great deal to Penelope, too.”

At their engagement party (gosh what an episode), he approaches her with, “My bride-to-be.” (Squee)

Colin begins his engagement party speech,“It was my atrocious riding that allowed me to meet Miss Featherington… Pen, and I am so grateful to be here with her tonight.”

It is the first time this season he calls her Miss Featherington and it’s in front of family and friends and wider ton members, but it’s also the first time he publically announces her as Pen this season and to a wider social. Both in the same sentence!

He begins to call her Pen again when they are around family and friends, something he hasnt done since last season, “Pen, where did you run off to? I was looking for you.”

“Pen!” When she faints.

BOY is so stressed the next morning when he comes to call on her. “Pen! Are you well? I’ve been worried.” Once he’s a bit more relieved, he sinks back into more of a formal greeting in front of her mother (who is now awkwardly chaperoning now for the first time ever…) “Good day, Miss Featherington… for now.”

At the Kent Ball, poor baby Colin is feeling like he has done something wrong and says he wants to try writing his memories on its own as, “I want to be worthy of you, Pen.”

At this stage, Colin finds out that Pen is Lady Whistledown when she rushes from the party to print. In their confrontation he does not use her name, only “You are Lady Whistledown.”

At this point his feelings for her are supremely altered as although he loves her, he cannot deal with her being Lady Whistledown and the affection and familiarity he had with her is distanced.

When he confronts Eloise, he says “I saw you leaving a private room with Penelope before I found her.”

He does not even say her name in their tense conversation viewing the wedding breakfast room with her mother. He also does not say her name when they run into each other on the street outside of the modiste and have their moment of passion. He used to use her nickname in such reverence, in comfort, in intimacy and now cannot bring himself to say it.

The next time he says her name is during their wedding speech (my heart). “I, Colin Bridgerton, take thee, Penelope Featherington, to be my wedded wife.”

After they are married and she tries to run when the Queen appears, “Penelope, you are a Bridgerton now.” It is the more formal version of her name, but combined with their now shared last name.

Just when we think they are reconciling, Pen tells him she will not give up Whistledown. He sleeps on the couch on their wedding night and does not say her name again until she shows up at his house with Eloise and Portia present, “Penelope, what are you doing here?” Though I will add, although he’s very angry with her, Colin’s protective (and hot) husband mode switches on as he angrily states, “If miss Cowper spreads this gossip it will besmirch our Bridgerton name, and I will not have anyone blackmailing my wife.”

Welcome, Colin “My Wife” Bridgerton, I hope we see you in season 4. 🥰

He continues his protective streak with Cressida, “does she know of your blackmailing my wife?” But even when he speaks with Cressida to plead for her mercy, he keeps it formal: “This last year I found myself yearning to head word from home, from Penelope in fact, but I did not hear back from her”, “Penelope is no villain.”

For most of this speech it feels like Colin is speaking to himself as he tries/realises that he is forgiving her, “There is Whistledown, and there is Penelope”, “For her hand in your troubles, I know Penelope feels remorse. If even Penelope can find grace for you, do you not see that the ton too will forgive you.”

When Colin tearfully returns, having failed from his talk with Cressida he admits, “Perhaps Penelope was right, it would have been better to just pay her.”

Once Penelope reveals herself as Lady Whistledown and gives her speech to the ton, Colin approaches her. She offers an annulment and he is upset at it, “Pen,” (the first time he’s called her Pen since he found out she was Whistledown!!) “Every since I found out you are Whistledown, I have done everything I can to try to separate you from her. But the other day I went back and read all of the letters you sent me, your letters have always been the ones I am most eager to read, and I realised… you are her. You have always had one voice, there is no separating you from Whistledown… I love you. Now, will you please do me the honour of joining me on the dance floor, Mrs Bridgerton.”

I think it’s super clever that they used her name as another way he tried to separate her from Whistledown and something I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t a super nerd and wrote this. The things you notice! When he refers to her as Pen again it’s clear that all of his concerns are gone and he’s happy with her again AND referring to her by her married name is the perfect final main story finish.

Bonus Epilogue:

“I could not have written my book without the help of Philomena’s aunty Penelope.”

Season 3 part 2 Count:

Pen: 7

Penelope: 20

Penelope Featherington: 1

Miss Featherington: 2

My bride-to-be: 1

My wife: 2

Mrs Bridgerton 1

TOTAL COUNT S1-3

Pen: 37

Penelope: 35

Penelope Featherington (in full): 4

Mrs Bridgerton: 1

Miss Featherington: 3

Lady of the hour: 1

My Bride-to-be: 1

My Wife: 2

TOTAL COLIN REFERENCES TO PEN: 81

PS: if anyone has a gif of Mrs Bridgerton please let me know I can’t find one!!

Anything I’ve missed let me know!

#bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin #bridgerton s3 #polin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope

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