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Chapter Text

Rumination and reverie are central parts of the limerence experience. Hours are spent by the limerant imagining ways to engineer a confession of reciprocal affection.

***

Penelope has a bad habit.

She has desperately tried to keep her addiction secret. It was no typical vice. Not alcohol, food, or a substance, but a person: Colin Bridgerton.

Colin seemed to enjoy her attention. He would send her texts saying he missed her if they ever went more than a day without chatting. Every week, he raced Eloise and Hyacinth to the table at brunch for the chance to sit next to her. And in February, he'd leave her a cute Valentine's Day card signed 'Your Best Friend Forever'. The underlined word reflected the dogged, though mostly benign, rivalry he had with Eloise over who was Penelope's favourite.

She adored his company; he was intelligent, funny and kind. But she'd also get a curious buzz that pulsed through her system whenever they interacted. It seemed wild to her that other people could crush on celebrities through the screens on their devices, when the goofy smiles, friendly teasing, shared nerdy hobbies, comforting hugs and nervous leg shakes were what made Colin her one and only crush.

And nothing—nothing—got her buzzing more than a sweaty Colin in a confined space. So when he casually offered to help her lug boxes up to her new third-floor flat, she quickly accepted.

The burn in her calf muscles made her curse the lack of a lift. But a secret, needy part of her rejoiced. Ahead of her, Colin repositioned the box of bed linen in his arms. His brown T-shirt, damp from the effort, clung to the broad span of his shoulders. The delicate top notes of citrus and juniper from his cologne had given up the ghost a while ago, replaced by the earthy, seductive musk of his natural 'Colin' essence. Maybe she should cut a square of the cardboard that was currently rubbing against his chest and seal it in a bag to preserve it; she could fill an old shoe box with a stash of little baggies of his sweat.

They finally made it up to the flat. Golden beams of sun poured through the windows, illuminating the puffs of dust motes that escaped when they placed their boxes on the floor.

"Great job. Strong finish," Penelope praised.

"Are you mocking me?" Colin tilted his head, the corner of his lip tipped upwards in an amused grin.

"Only a little." Penelope stepped over the boxes littering the small living room as she made her way to the bedroom door. "I'm mostly trying to express my gratitude for your help with this move."

"What are friends for?" Colin rubbed his sore left bicep, holding her gaze intently.

He always noticed even the slightest changes in her demeanour. Hiding her desire for him was like hiding a burning ember under a wicker basket; the flames crawled and lapped at the dry willow fibres.

Penelope broke eye contact first, turning to stack boxes distractedly.

"Let's make the bed so I have somewhere to sleep and we can finally call it a day," Penelope suggested.

Penelope held the bedroom door open as Colin passed through, carrying the wide box. The back of his arm brushed her chest, sending a spike of adrenaline through her veins.

Colin placed the box down on the floor and lifted out a sage green duvet cover with cross-stitched sunflowers. "Cute duvet cover."

"Thanks. I did the embroidery myself." Penelope tucked her hands behind her back, letting her thumb worry the sensitive skin of her opposite palm.

"How did you find the time? You've just graduated from one of the most competitive universities in the country. Then you were running all over London for job interviews at the top engineering firms. And now you've moved out of your mum's house as soon as you got your first salary."

Penelope handed Colin one side of the fitted sheet, and they moved together in harmony, tucking the sheet in.

"Repetitive activities like cross-stitch are the only things that slow my thoughts down, so I can have any hope of getting to sleep. I could make you one if you want."

"That would be lovely. I would like one with yellow flowers, too, please."

"Oh? Why yellow?"

"Because yellow reminds me of you, Pen."

Penelope blushed, dropping her gaze to the duvet before risking a glance back at him. Colin beamed at her, and in that moment, she forgot the sweat, the musk and the buzz. He looked so proud. It was a secondary, unexpected fix—the approval, the genuine warmth in his eyes—the good kind of feeling, the one that reassures you that you’re wanted and safe.

They chattered about nonsense as they worked together making the bed—smoothing, stretching, tucking—creating an easy domestic intimacy that was both excruciating and everything she lived for.

"I hope you sleep well tonight, Pen."

"I'm sure I will. I won't have to listen to my mother's nagging for the first time in my life tonight."

"When I moved out of my parents' house, I started sleeping naked."

Penelope gulped. "You… you sleep naked?" Why was she asking for more details? This was dangerous territory.

"It's freeing. No pyjamas clinging to you. You should try it." Colin waggled his eyebrows at her.

The thought of Colin reclining on her bed naked did something to her. The rush was so intense it bordered on dizziness. He handed it to her like a tiny, illicit pill, and she swallowed it.

.💭.💭.💭

"When you recommend it so highly, it makes me want to try it." Penelope pulled her top off and unclasped her bra.

"Pen-" Colin let out a stuttering breath, his eyes sweeping down her body. The casual grin vanished, replaced by a hungry expression. He reached out, his hand warm against the bare skin of her stomach. His thumb brushed just under the swell of her breast, and her heart picked up speed. This was the hit she craved, the one that made her bones sing.

He leant in, his own breath ragged against her ear. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," she whimpered pathetically, her own hand instinctively covering his and pressing it upwards to cup her breast. His eyes darkened, mirroring her own.

He surged forward, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was everything the years of silent longing had promised: rough, desperate, and utterly consuming. They tumbled backwards onto the bed, the crisp cotton a fervent, soft battlefield. Colin's hands were everywhere, tangling in her hair, gripping her waist, before returning, ruthlessly, to the soft weight of her breasts, filling his palms.

Penelope didn't wait. Driven by the potent mix of his body heat and the headiness of her own devotion, she twisted, pressing her hips down, grinding against his thigh. It was intoxicating, it was too much, too fast. The desire in his kiss, the press of his fingers—it untangled the knot of longing inside her, and she came undone. Pleasure shot through her core, stealing her vision and breath in rippling waves. She came hard; a deep moan escaped her lips.

Dazed, clinging to him as the aftershocks faded, she was filled with a post-climax euphoria that stripped away all caution. "I'm in love with you, Colin," she panted, the words tumbling out.

Colin stroked her hair and started to say "I—I—I—I..."

-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️

The room snapped back into focus. The cluttered boxes. The dusty sunbeams. The only sound was the frantic thumping of her heart.

She was alone.

Penelope blinked, the afternoon sun unbearably sharp after being ripped out of her hazy daydream. She was lying fully clothed on top of the duvet. Her fingers pressed to her chest, right over her thundering heart, still feeling the ghost of dream Colin's touch. Colin's musky scent had faded from the room—he had left over an hour ago, once they finished making the bed.

She sat up, lightheaded and slightly nauseated, the euphoria replaced by a creeping hollow feeling. Her stomach twisted with disappointment—that it had all been a dream, that she never did anything right, that Colin was gone.

The high was over. The withdrawal was back.

Chapter Text

Friendship with the object of your desire is perilous. You are exposing yourself to their intoxicating company, but also hoping to rein in your desire. It's like an alcoholic who tries to drink socially.

***

Penelope was already several drinks down. Her small stature meant she really should not drink anymore because alcohol had a faster effect on her. But she found it hard not to accept the drinks being passed to her by a collection of Bridgertons and their significant others, each one more charming than the last.

Colin had been the last of his siblings to arrive at the pub for her pseudo-housewarming. Her actual apartment was too small to hold them all.

"Thanks again for helping me move last weekend, Col. Won't you let me buy you a drink as thanks?"

"I've got a better idea." Colin took her hand and escorted her gently to the packed dance floor. "Dance with me."

They danced easily, moving in sync to the bass-heavy beat of Ava Max's 'So Am I'.

Do you ever feel like a misfit?
Everything inside you is dark and twisted
Oh, but it's okay to be different
'Cause baby, so am I (so am I, so am I, so am I-I-I-I)

Colin spun her to his chest, the motion brief and exhilarating, and said close to her ear, "Do you have anything in you that is dark and twisted?"

Penelope could not speak past the lump in her throat; she simply nodded.

Colin smiled. He took a couple of steps back and raised his voice to shout over the music, "Tell me more."

Penelope laughed, the alcohol smoothing the sharp edges of her anxiety. She shouted back, "Careful what you wish for." A quieter song suddenly started playing, causing her next shouted sentence to ring out with humiliating clarity across the pub, "The books I read are extremely filthy."

The people dancing next to them gave Penelope a disapproving look. She covered her face in embarrassment and retreated off the dance floor. Colin followed closely behind her.

Colin slowed her by placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Hey, I know that felt mortifying."

"It was beyond mortifying, Col," Penelope grumbled. "Everyone thinks I'm a pervert."

His eyes communicated his sincerity, and his hand rubbed comforting circles on her back. "I adore your perverted mind." Penelope attempted to give him a death stare, but her resolve crumbled when he added, "You don't need to be careful around me. You've seen all of my flaws and never abandoned me. It would be hypocritical of me not to return the favour."

He glanced over her shoulder and continued. "None of my siblings will care when, in five minutes, one of them does something stupid."

Penelope sniffled.

"I'm sure if I choose my words right, I could convince Ben to attempt to paint a mural on the wall."

"Stop it." Penelope twisted her hair anxiously, her face still firmly set in a frown.

"Or Frannie to play an empty wine bottle like a flute."

"You're being silly." She couldn't help smiling.

"There's my favourite smile." Colin practically glowed with satisfaction. "Do you want another drink, or shall I walk you home?"

.💭.💭.💭

"Walk me home, please."

Colin elbowed his way into the scrum of Bridgerton siblings, made their excuses, and led her outside into the cool London evening.

"Now, where were we?" Colin mused as they started walking back to her flat. "Ah, yes, you were going to share with me the filthiest smut you've read this week."

"Colin!" Penelope protested, though a thrill shot through her.

"There are no nosy siblings nearby, Pen. I'm intrigued to know what you consider extremely filthy."

"You really want to know?"

"More than you would suspect," Colin said conspiratorially.

"I did learn a new word this week…"

"Tell me, please."

"Have you heard of snowballing?"

"No, but I would love for you to teach me."

"It's when cum is passed from one person's mouth to another's mouth. Someone must've thought a balled up whitish substance was equivalent to a snowball."

"How would that work, exactly?"

"I guess if I were to give you a blowjob and then hold your cum in my mouth, I could french-kiss you with it."

"And then what would I do with it?"

They had come to a stop at the intersection as they waited for the lights to change. Some other late-night revellers were waiting as well, so she whispered the next words in Colin's ear, the alcohol making her carefree. "You could go down on me and push your cum inside me with your tongue."

"That is filthy," Colin said, impressed and something more was behind his eyes.

The lights changed, and they crossed the intersection. Penelope felt oddly smug that she had been daring enough to surprise Colin. She licked her lips.

The other people turned down a different street, and they were on their own again, the traffic noise dying down as they walked further away from the intersection. They soon arrived at her building.

Penelope unlocked the door to the stairwell that led to her flat and turned to say goodbye.

Colin's large hand held the door open. He loomed over her, the whispered explicit words hanging heavy between them. "I'm still unclear as to how snowballing works. I think I need a physical demonstration."

-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️

"Pen, are you listening to me?" Eloise asked with pointed annoyance.

"Uh-huh," Penelope hummed. She'd been scratching a hole in the beer coaster in her hand for the last five minutes, the effort of pulling herself out of the excruciatingly compelling fantasy clearly visible.

"What gift can I get Phillip? He loves his gardening equipment, but he's so fussy about brands and materials. I have no idea."

Penelope glanced over at where Colin was standing on the other side of the pub. He was laughing, his head tilted back as he flirted with a gaggle of six girls. They were hanging on his every word. As soon as he got her settled back at the table next to Eloise, he left to ostensibly buy her a drink and never returned. Half a dozen eager young women could be diverting like that.

"You could get him a tie from the Kew Gardens gift shop," Penelope said dispassionately. She closed her eyes and shook her head in an attempt to shake off the remaining tendrils of her daydream. She took a deep breath and planted a smile on her face. "Phillip loves a colourful tie."

"You're a lifesaver. Will you come with me to buy it?"

"Of course. Whatever you need."

Penelope shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she started to sober. Michaela offered to buy her a drink, but she politely declined, hoping Colin would return soon. But he didn't return, and she never got that drink.

Chapter Text

Many limerants conceal their true feelings, hoping to buy time until the perfect moment.

***

Featherington House was a shrine to neon-bright, 'cheerful' colours. The dining room was a deafening cacophony of clashing patterns and Portia’s shrill complaints. The wallpaper alone—a garish pattern of turquoise peacocks—was enough to trigger a migraine.

“...And a civil engineer, Penelope? Honestly, I pictured something with more glamour," Portia sniffed, cutting into her rare cut of roast beef, blood dripping from her knife. "You should have studied marketing, not calculating pipe diameters for sewers. Your little flat is barely bigger than my en suite.”

Prudence and Philippa snickered, competing over who could spear the last piece of asparagus from the salad platter. Penelope stared at her plate, the heat of their collective disapproval steadily wearing down her defences. Her own plate was half empty; she had no appetite in this environment.

Under the tablecloth, she surreptitiously typed out a message to Colin, seeking a distraction.

PEN: Help! I'm in the snake den

COLIN: I see that your sisters and mother are lifting your spirits like usual

PEN: Please give me a reason to live

COLIN: I'm 3 minutes away

PEN: You're close? Why?

COLIN: I'm visiting Mum across the street at Bridgerton House. I need her advice about something

PEN: Where should I meet you?

.💭.💭.💭

COLIN: Meet me in your mother's back garden

Penelope excused herself from the table and sneaked outside. Colin appeared around the corner of a hedge and strode purposefully towards her.

"Colin!"

He covered the last few metres and stopped on the step below the one she was standing on. His intensity made her catch her breath. "I'm sorry for arriving so abruptly, but I had to see you, immediately."

"What is it?"

"Pen, I, I've not been able to sleep, not been able to eat, I can barely speak. My thoughts consumed by-"

"By what?" she asked, unable to disguise the want in her voice. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the air was thick with what felt like electricity.

"By you."

Penelope gasped. It was true. All of it. He felt it too.

"Do you?" Colin asked, his voice rough with emotion.

"I feel the same. You occupy my every thought." She reached for him.

And in that moment, Colin Bridgerton kissed Penelope Featherington amongst the roses in her mother's garden. Their first kiss. Rose-scented. Pure. Perfect.

-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️

Penelope's eyes refocused. She looked down and saw Colin's response to her last text.

COLIN: Come to Bridgerton House. Hyacinth is asking about you

She had mentally lived out Colin Bridgerton confessing his love and giving her the most perfect kiss in the space of thirty seconds. She was increasing her dosage and frequency with reckless abandon these days. Right in front of Portia’s salad.

"Mama, may I leave?"

Portia took in her flushed skin and shallow breathing.

"You have such a fragile constitution, Penelope. If you are unable to make pleasant conversation, you may as well leave."

"Thank you, Mama."

Penelope stood up from her seat and exited the room as quickly as her feet could propel her.

Chapter Text

The first step to taking control is to recognise a central truth about limerence: despite the wondrous qualities of the person you care about and their uncanny ability to push your romantic buttons, limerence is all happening in your head.

***

Penelope had opened Chrome to search for a 'Shawarma spice blend recipe'—a fleeting culinary impulse—and under the Google search bar, her top personalised article recommendation was: How to Break Free from an Unhealthy Romantic Obsession.

It felt like a punch to the gut—an accusation she couldn’t defend herself against.

The NPR article was clinical yet relatable, detailing the unhealthy loop of extraordinary highs and desperate lows. There was a word for what she was experiencing: Limerence.

Curiosity drove her to book an appointment with Meghan, the psychologist who had diagnosed her with ADHD when she was in her late teens. She would forever be grateful to Meghan because the ADHD medication was the main reason she went from being a subpar high school student to a decent uni student.

When Penelope arrived at the appointment, Meghan handed her a basket of fidget toys to select from. The ramen noodle fidget's strands had been in an orderly state at the start of the session, but were more like a bird's nest by the time the truth bombs started hitting.

"So you see the connection now," Meghan said softly.

Penelope nodded. "I thought ADHD was just about school work and focus, not emotions and romantic tendencies too."

"ADHD is an executive function difference that affects the whole brain. That includes emotional regulation, and yes, impulsivity and hyperfocus in a romantic context, too.

"The hyperfocus." Penelope pushed her lips out and blew, causing her lips to vibrate. "When I focus on him, everything else drops away."

"Our brains give us the capacity to experience limerence—the intensity, the obsession, the reward loop. But our personal history is what programs how we respond, and why we crave specific things."

Penelope's knuckles turned white as she clenched the edge of the couch, tensing her body in anticipation of what Meghan might say next.

Meghan continued, "How is your relationship with your mother?"

The dam broke. Tears began to run down Penelope's face, and Meghan handed her a box of tissues. "It's not good." Penelope dabbed forcefully at her eyes, then glanced at Meghan. "You really want to know? Okay. Everything I do, she criticises. Nothing I achieve is ever good enough." Penelope's lower lip wobbled, and she struggled to take a deep enough breath to continue.

Meghan guided Penelope through an EMDR exercise to identify what core memories were linked to these feelings. The tissue box was soon empty, and Penelope felt equally drained.

"You did well today, Penelope. These fantasies are an old survival technique that kept you safe when you were a frightened child looking for an escape in a toxic home. It served you before, but now it's hurting you, and it's time to let it go," Meghan said.

"What do I do when I get the urge again?" Penelope asked.

"This is something I've been trying with other clients. I'm still developing a more robust approach, but you might find it helpful." Meghan held up her hand. "Look down at your hand and ask yourself: How old is my hand?"

Penelope looked down at her own hand and said, "My hand is 23 years old."

"Keep repeating that to yourself. You are safe and capable. You are an adult now and can handle whatever life throws at you."

Penelope had been doing better since her appointment with Meghan—avoiding Colin's social media posts, finding projects at work to create new challenges for herself, and spending more time with Eloise.

But then her period started.

In a moment of weakness, she was back on Colin's Tumblr, scrolling his dash, when she stumbled upon a post that made her jaw hit the floor:

You can blast off five or six orgasms in the shower and then bear down. The orgasms contract the uterus and speed up the lining shedding, and then bearing down shoots out a jellyfish-sized pile of uterine lining. Waffle stomp that sombitch down the drain and you've got yourself a two-day period.

#colin reblogs #six orgasms period hack #i dont have a uterus #but i hope my moots find this helpful

Colin’s post intrigued her. What could be the harm in a little experimentation?

.💭.💭.💭

Penelope crouched naked under the spray from the shower, sobbing from the painful period cramps terrorising her body, along with other things. A gust of air from the bathroom door parted the swirling steam, revealing Colin, panting and sweaty, dressed in running shoes, shorts and a T-shirt.

"I came as quickly as I could. Sorry, but I used my spare key. You said you needed my help."

"I need it gone, Col. I'm in so much pain."

"What is causing you pain, Pen?"

"My period."

"I know it might sound far-fetched, but I know just the trick. I need to make you orgasm six times."

"But we're just friends, Colin."

"I'd like us to be more than friends, Pen. So much more."

Penelope nodded. Colin removed his clothes and stepped into the shower with her. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her deeply, running his hands comfortingly up and down her sides to help her relax.

She unfolded for him with little resistance; she was made for this man, she loved him the day they met, and that love has only burned brighter every day since.

She was putty in his hands. His beautiful hands. Beautiful hands with fingers that could reach so much deeper inside her than her own. Skillful hands that had her coming in less than five minutes. And again and again with speed, rhythm and grace. He was truly a master of the craft.

She stiffened when he tried to fit a third finger inside her. "Colin… Too much… I can't."

"Shh," he shushed her. "You need to take three fingers, maybe even four, if you are to fit my cock next."

Penelope hadn't even thought to look down at his cock. Too occupied by sucking his lips and coming apart on his fingers. She looked down now, but the water falling in her eyes from the shower and steam obscured her vision.

"Don't worry. I'll stretch you nicely with my fingers before I take you."

"Thank you for taking care of me, Colin."

"I'll always take care of you, Pen. You're special to me."

-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️

Penelope lay slumped under the spitting spray of the shower. Defeated. Less than halfway to her goal of six orgasms.

Addicts need to hit rock bottom before they recover, right? Surely, this was her rock bottom. Things couldn't get worse than having her own hands covered in blood, sobbing on the bathroom floor, in unbearable pain. Surely, she could not sink lower than this.

Chapter Text

Like crazy bitch, baddie

Honestly, I don't see the difference

Maybe I just need deliverance

Heard the doctor call it limerence

***

Francesca Bridgerton was an angel. At Sunday brunch, she pulled Penelope aside and asked how she was doing. No sooner had Penelope admitted that her anxiety was through the roof than Frannie made arrangements for them to spend the summer Bank Holiday long weekend at the Bridgerton family's sprawling country estate.

The car ride out to Aubrey Hall had been heavenly. Colin drove, and Michaela sat up front, taking charge of the music. Penelope exchanged quiet smiles with Frannie in the backseat, occasionally contributing a witty remark to the friendly banter bouncing around the car. It was a nice change to be out and about with friends, rather than picking over her flaws alone.

When they arrived, they unpacked their bags and stood out front to welcome Eloise and Phillip, the final two people joining them for the weekend.

Like old times, Penelope and Eloise retreated to the library to pick out some books. However, unlike old times, Phillip arrived with a posy of wildflowers, and Eloise's attention quickly shifted from their discussion of how to define a morally grey character to Phillip's explanation of the scientific names of each of the flowers, as he tucked them into Eloise's braid. Eloise bit her lip, captivated by Phillip's words, handsome face, and gentle hands.

As things became more charged in the library, Pen sought refuge in the drawing room, where Michaela, Frannie, and Colin were discussing the activities they could do over the weekend.

"We should play pall-mall," Colin declared, his eyes bright with competitive fervour.

Michaela snorted good-naturedly. "No way should we start with pall-mall. If you don't win, you'll keep asking for a rematch until you do. We'll end up doing nothing else all weekend."

Colin pouted.

"I saw the blackberries were fruiting as we drove in. We could go berry picking along the hedgerow," Frannie suggested.

"I'll pick the sweetest fruit for the sweetest girl," Michaela teased, lifting Frannie's feet onto her lap and beginning to massage them.

"Look at you two. You make me sick," Colin said, grinning and pretending to cover his eyes. "I love love, but you don't have to rub it in our faces. Spare a thought for the single folk in the room." He winked at Penelope.

"It's not like you don't have options, Col," Michaela said with a casual air. "I counted at least six women slipping you pieces of paper with their numbers at the pub the other day. Why didn't you call up one of them to keep your hands occupied this weekend?"

Things were becoming overwhelming for Penelope: the plans, the PDA, the discussion of Colin's admirers. Her hands felt cold and clammy. She needed to get some air.

"After that long drive, I think I'll head outside to stretch my legs," Penelope interrupted.

Frannie smiled warmly at her, "Oh, of course. Would you like some company?"

"No, no. I'll be fine." Penelope stood up and walked to the door.

"Don't go too far, Pen. It looks like it might start raining soon," Colin said.

The grey, overcast weather was a welcome change from the bright drawing room. On a whim, Penelope picked a handful of daisies and sat on a bench plucking their petals.

Four daisy heads, petals stripped bare, lay on her lap by the time the first cold drops of rain landed on her shoulders. All had returned the same verdict: he loves her not. She glared up at the darkening clouds, assessing whether there was time for one more attempt. At this point, was it tenacity or wishful thinking? The sky made its position clear: the wind picked up, and the rain intensified. Penelope was unlucky.

She burst through the door to the kitchen, shaking her hair like a wet dog and blindly heading towards the heat of the ancient stove. Having spent many summers at Aubrey Hall during her childhood, she was familiar with the layout of the kitchen. However, her journey was thwarted by the presence of a tall, sturdy body standing in front of the stove.

"Pen!" Colin exclaimed, taking hold of her arm as she stumbled. "Careful, you could hurt yourself if you don't look where you are going."

"Thanks, Col." On her face, a smile spread, an automatic and unavoidable reaction to the sound of his voice speaking her name. "I thought you were still up in the drawing room with Franchaela."

He chuckled, "They may as well change their name to Franchaela, the way they are pressing every part of their bodies together."

"You only have yourself to blame. Frannie told me it was you who helped Michaela find the courage to ask Frannie out." As they talked, Penelope felt herself warming from the inside out as well as the outside in, regarding Colin with soft affection.

Colin flicked the tea towel in his hand over his shoulder. "Guilty as charged. And for my altruism, I have to put up with their disgustingly sweet antics. For how long do people in love make moony eyes at each other?"

Years. Penelope blinked rapidly to clear away her own moony eyes and schooled her features. "Based on my very unscientific sample group from a single family, being your parents and siblings, it may be decades, buddy."

"In that case, I may need to go to the shops for more biscuits to survive this weekend." Colin let out a sigh and turned back to the stove.

"What are you cooking?" Penelope asked, coming to stand by Colin's side.

"Biscuits without a warm drink seemed rather sad. So I started warming up some milk for a hot chocolate. Would you like some?"

"A hot chocolate would do nicely."

"Right you are."

Colin grabbed the handle of the copper saucepan.

"Ouch!" Colin released the handle and hugged his hand to his chest. "I forgot to use the tea towel. I need to ice my hand."

Penelope recalled from her recent first aid course that burns need running water, not ice. "You need to put it under running water. Quick, to the sink."

Penelope turned on the cold water and gently held Colin’s hand under the flow of water.

She glanced up, and his gaze was already fixed on her, his soft lips parted.

.💭.💭.💭

She leant forward. Colin exhaled. She breathed in, sharing his breath. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️-⚡️

"No!" She scolded herself. No fantasising.

She looked down to see Colin's hand cradled in her hands. Capable, adult hands, she reminded herself.

Straightening her spine, she focused on the present.

"Did you say something?" Colin asked.

Penelope cleared her throat, "No, um, jewellery. We need to remove the ring on your injured hand."

Colin nodded. Penelope squirted some liquid soap on his finger and eased off the ruby signet ring on his fourth finger.

"You're good at this," Colin said.

"It's nothing. My work makes everyone learn first aid before we start visiting construction sites."

One by one, Colin slowly curled his fingers over her thumb; his touch was soft and reassuring, yet marked by a faint nervous tremor. "I'm forever in awe of you."

Penelope may as well get Colin's name tattooed across her thumb, the way his touch penetrated every layer of her skin, marking her as belonging to him forever.

She spluttered, "Of me?"

"Of how clever and kind you are. I always feel… better when you are close."

The daisies, the rain, the scalding handle; the world was telling Penelope to drop it. Colin, however, held her steady. She felt like a piece of rope in a game of tug-of-war, stretched taut, and she had no idea which way she would fall.

Chapter Text

By not being direct and clear in your own communication, you are exacerbating the situation. If you are free to act on your feelings, but holding back due to insecurity or uncertainty, then it's time to be bold.

***

Penelope awoke slowly, surfacing from the best sleep she had had in years. Colin's scent filled her lungs. She stretched languidly, the magical fabric she wore shifting around her. She had forgotten to pack her pyjamas; she always forgot something (damned ADHD). Colin found her looking forlorn in the hallway at bedtime. He gave her one of his T-shirts, which hung on her like the longest, softest nightdresses she had ever put on.

The dreary weather of the day before had departed, and sunlight poured in the windows. Everyone was keen to start the day with berry picking to make the most of the good weather.

Fat, glossy blackberries were fruiting in abundance on the nearby hedgerow. Colin's hand was wrapped in a thick, white bandage, and he was only able to contribute to the task by holding a basket with his uninjured hand.

He said bashfully, "I feel rotten having you do all the work of picking, Pen. I wish I could be of more use."

"You'd never be able to keep up with me anyway," Penelope gloated as she navigated the thorny branches nimbly, with her small hands, dropping handfuls of dark, sweet fruit into Colin's basket.

"Oh, look at you two, actually contributing," Frannie said pointedly, walking past with her own half-empty basket, and stepping over Michaela, who was lying on the grass, phone in hand.

"Frannie, gorgeous, turn your face to catch the light more. Hold the basket higher," Michaela instructed.

"Mich, you know I feel uncomfortable posing for photographs!" Frannie scolded, affectionately.

"I can fix this. Can you hold this for me, please, Pen?" Colin asked, offering her his basket. "What you need, Frannie, is something to do with your hands."

Colin took the phone, directing Frannie and Michaela to hold their hands together to form a love heart around a single perfect cluster of berries.

"Our turn, Phillip," Eloise declared, elbowing her fiancé.

Phillip's smile widened the more Eloise's elbow made contact. "Excellent idea," he agreed. "Colin, could you get a close-up of the drupelets? Eloise and I will cup our hands, and Penelope can tip the contents of the basket into our hands until the amount exceeds the carrying capacity."

"He means, pour the berries until they spill over," Eloise translated.

"Don't worry, El. I understood perfectly. I speak nerd," Penelope giggled.

Penelope poured a cascade of berries into Eloise's and Phillip's cupped hands. Colin snapped the shot.

"Colin and Penelope, you two next," Phillip said good-naturedly.

Penelope waved her hands and said, "Oh, we aren't a couple. It wouldn't be appropriate."

Colin looked at her, his expression a mix of pleading and mischief. "Pen, you can't let me miss out on the photo competition. Eloise is currently winning, and I can't stand for that."

Penelope muttered, "You are absolutely ridiculous." But she knew she was up for anything if he was. "Maybe you can balance the basket on my head."

"And squash your pretty curls? I would never. You need to be the star attraction of the photo," Colin said, his eyes lighting up. "I have the perfect pose. Pen, remember the aeroplane pose we used to do when we were kids? You'd balance on my legs?"

A rush of nostalgia flooded Penelope, remembering how she'd once shone with innocence, and how he reflected that light back at her. Removing her shoes, she placed her torso on Colin's shins as he lay down on the grass. She took a deep breath, braced her core, and jumped. She felt fully supported by his solid frame and smiled down at him, stretching her arms wide and pointing her toes.

"Hold it! Hold it!" Phillip shouted, snapping photos wildly, trying to capture the moment.

Frannie sneaked up behind them, and placed a small berry-filled basket on Penelope's pointed feet.

"Got it! That's the best photo today!" Phillip cheered.

"Whose side are you on, Phillip?" Eloise chided. "Please return my best friend to the ground, Colin."

Eloise put a protective hand under Penelope's shoulder as Colin lowered her down. Once Penelope was on the ground, Eloise continued to brush errant specks of dirt off her and pat down flyaway hairs.

"I returned her in one piece," Colin grinned.

Michaela and Colin looked over the photos, while Frannie, Penelope, and Phillip put any spilt berries back into the baskets. Eloise raced ahead, picking more berries.

"El, I think we have enough berries," Penelope called out.

Eloise returned to Penelope's side and peered over the baskets and remarked, "That is rather a lot. What will we do with it all?"

"That is too much for just snacking. Should we freeze some?" Frannie asked.

"I could bake a pie," Penelope offered.

"That's sweet of you, Pen. Are you sure you wouldn't rather join us in a game of pall-mall?" Michaela asked.

"It's no bother. I find baking relaxing," Penelope smiled.

They all gathered up their baskets and headed back to the kitchen. Once there, they tipped the berries into the sink to be washed. Colin lingered behind as the others filed out. "May I join you, Pen?"

"But you love pall-mall, Colin," Penelope protested.

Colin held up his bandaged hand. "While I've got this injury on board, I won't be at the top of my game. I don't want to give Eloise the satisfaction of an easy win over me."

"Very well. It would be helpful to have you around to get the items that are higher up." Penelope glanced up at the upper cabinets, which were normally out of reach to her without climbing onto the counter.

"I am at your service, Pen. I can be versatile: up high, down low, over, under. Whatever you need, just tell me." Colin smiled cheekily, and Penelope plunged her hands into the cold water to offset the heat she felt rising inside herself.

"You can start by looking up a blackberry pie recipe on BBC Good Food and getting down the container of flour from your mum's stash of baking supplies."

Penelope spread the berries on some clean tea towels to dry and wiped down the kitchen island counter, then dusted it with flour. Colin called out the measurements from the recipe, and Penelope meticulously weighed the ingredients.

"I've seen you bake plenty of times, Pen. Can't you eyeball the ingredients by now?"

"Baking is a science, Col. If the amount of cornflour in the filling is not enough, the filling will be too runny. If it's too much, it will be gummy"

"Whether your pie is runny or gummy, I'll love it."

This made Penelope look up. Colin had his head tilted to the side, like an adorable puppy dog. She knew he was telling the truth because he was endlessly accepting of her. When she did something well, he was full of praise. When she did something wrong, he'd offer a comforting smile and a distraction. He was completely confounding.

Penelope said softly, "I know."

Colin took a big breath, and said, "Because I love you."

"I love you too, buddy," Penelope reassured him, zeroing the measuring scale so she could measure out 150 grams of soft cheese. They had told each other they loved each other many times before, as sleepy late-night whispers during sleepovers at Bridgerton House, 'ily' Tumblr DMs, and accompanying friendly back-pats after crying on each other's shoulders. It had made her heart skip a beat when she was a teenager, but now it was a reflexive phrase, like saying 'bless you' after a sneeze.

"No, Pen. I'm trying to tell you that I love you…I'm making a mess of it." Colin put his hand on the kitchen counter and accidentally got it covered in flour.

"I don't mind the mess, Col." Still confused as to what Colin was talking about, Penelope dusted off Colin's hands with a tea towel. She didn't want him to feel self-conscious about his occasional clumsiness. "You're a mess; I'm a mess. I think that's why I'm never shy to try new recipes out on you. I wonder if I love baking or if I simply love baking for you."

Colin looked down at the hand she had just cleaned, then back up at her. His earlier cheeky smile was gone, replaced by a devastating seriousness that made her stomach clench.

"I am in love with you, Penelope," he said earnestly, taking her hands in his. Looking at their entwined hands, she noticed that Colin's hands were not those of a lanky, teenage boy anymore. He was a man, and he knew what he wanted. "Not as a buddy. Not as a baking partner. I want everything with you."

He cupped her face between his hands and bent down. The kiss was feather-light. He tasted faintly of berries and flour.

Suddenly, Penelope remembered something crucial.

"Stop," she gasped.

Colin stepped back and dropped his hands to his side. "Sorry, I should have…"

"The butter! It's already half-melted on the counter, the pastry won't be flaky!"

"The butter?" Colin asked, stunned.

Penelope rushed to put the butter in the fridge. "All done," she said, reaching for Colin's face. Now that she was over the initial shock and no longer distracted by the baking supplies, she let herself pour her love for this man into a proper, unrestrained kiss.

The kiss was incendiary; it made her feel a bit insane. She began moaning and tugging Colin's hair until he growled.

"Fuck, Pen. You're amazing."

Colin lifted her onto the kitchen island, and the new angle allowed them to deepen the kiss. Penelope reached her left hand behind her so she could press herself more firmly into Colin's hard body.

She was insatiable. "More," she pleaded.

Colin's hands slipped below the hem of her dress and started to rise higher. The bandage wrapped around his palm tickled her skin, giving her goosebumps. She started melting faster than butter as he fluttered fingers between her thighs.

Penelope whimpered, "Oh god, I thought I would be kneading dough on this counter, not having you kneading me."

"You're more delicious than any pastry," Colin said, kissing and dragging his teeth down her neck.

"Colin Bridgerton, are you questioning my baking skills?" Penelope said in mock offence in between wanton moans. "You haven't even tried my pie yet."

Colin gave her a devilish grin and pushed the skirt of her dress up to her waist, pulling her knickers to one side. Kneeling, he began licking her folds with the flat of his tongue. Colin hummed, "Hmm, best pie I've ever tasted."

"You are such a pervert," Penelope yelped in delight.

"I recall you like your smut extremely filthy."

"The cheek of you-" Penelope gasped before Colin made her scream in pleasure so much she couldn't speak.

Worse, or best, of all, it turned out Colin was quite the talker, even with his mouth full. "Open your legs wider for me, baby. Yeah, I can feel you fluttering on my tongue."

"Yes. So fucking good."

Colin was sucking, licking and slurping at her centre, making the most obscene noises she had ever heard. All the blood in her body was rushing to that spot.

"You're a noisy eater," Penelope moaned.

"Sorry, I'm not much of a smooth operator," Colin apologised. "Do you want me to dial down the dork-factor?"

"Don't you dare!" Penelope felt herself gush.

Colin chuckled. "Wonderful. Feed me your honey. I'm starving." And she believed him wholeheartedly; the way he was devouring her was absolutely crazy.

"Squeeze my head tighter with your thighs. I want to feel like I'm a cat in a washing machine when your legs start shaking." Colin's dirty talk was a little unconventional, but the enthusiasm, creativity, and audacity really did it for her specifically. He did not back off when she started cumming, stimulating her to the stratosphere so one orgasm rolled into the next.

She pressed Colin's head away from her oversensitive clit, and he looked up, questioning, "Was it good? I want to be perfect for you, Pen."

"Perfect is a fantasy." Penelope tugged on Colin's sleeve to encourage him to stand. Once his face was close enough, she kissed his cheek sweetly and breathed, "The real you is all I want."

"Even if my dirty talk is a bit out there," Colin gave her a lopsided grin. "You seemed to like it, though, so I kept rolling with it."

"I liked it." Penelope beamed at him. "I like it so much that I'm going to awkwardly dirty-talk you under the table."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Is this a competition now? Who is the biggest dork?"

"Or the biggest brat." She pushed herself off the counter.

They both giggled like school kids as she unzipped his trousers and pushed them down. The sound of their laughter and the feel of his warm skin were better than any daydream.

Penelope threw down a pile of tea towels to cushion her knees as she knelt and stretched her jaw around Colin's hard cock, and it was like coming home to a satiating home-cooked meal, cosy blankets and cuddles by the fire. And what a simple thought, she had been starving and now she was not.

"I love you so much. I've loved you for years," Penelope confessed between licks. Post-orgasm Penelope really doesn't hold back.

"Pen, I can't believe you're telling me this while my dick is in your mouth."

"It just makes me emotional," Penelope grinned, licking at the slit and sucking the head like a lolly.

"I've been in love with you for years, too. Sometimes it's felt like torture," Colin murmured. Penelope was so happy she sucked him in deeper, making Colin swear, "Shit, I can't speak while you are doing that."

Penelope smirked, "Doing what?"

She swirled her tongue around a sensitive part, causing Colin to jerk and knock the container of sugar onto the floor.

"Holy shit," Colin exclaimed.

Penelope pulled off and gave him a wry smile, giggling. "Damn, there goes the sugar. We'll have to use honey as a substitute."

"Please stop laughing at me while I'm in this position," Colin whimpered.

"Make me," Penelope challenged, threading Colin's hands into her hair and pressing on the back of her head to encourage him to push himself deeper.

Colin jerked his hips forward. Flour danced in the air from the movement.

She surrendered all control to him. Her mind went blank. Jaw slack. Lips pursed. Penelope focused solely on her breathing, the feel and the taste. Perhaps, this could be a more engaging substitute for the mindfulness breathing exercises her therapist had asked her to practice.

Colin's face was mesmerising. Surprise, lust, joy and affection played across his face. He made the most beautiful face when he came—brows furrowed, eyes shut, mouth in a perfect O. Penelope pulled off Colin's softening cock, to open her mouth to proudly display it filled with his cum.

"Victory is mine!" Eloise's voice reverberated down the hall as she approached the kitchen.

Penelope's eyes widened. And her throat closed up in her panic; she was unable to swallow. Colin lifted her to stand, and she spun around to give Colin cover to do up his fly.

"Colin, who is the most amazing, intelligent, talented pall-mall player to exist?" Eloise asked as she stepped into the kitchen.

"You are, El," Colin conceded in a rush; his begrudging tone was unconvincing due to the nervous edge to his voice. Penelope hoped Eloise was not yet close enough to hear Colin zipping up his trousers.

Eloise looked around inquiringly, before tripping on a tea towel. "This kitchen looks like a disaster. Why are there so many tea towels on the floor, Pen?"

"Mmm," Penelope murmured, shrugging.

"Your hair is filthy, Pen. There is flour all over it," Eloise clucked. Once again, Eloise fussed with Penelope's hair. Penelope's eye twitched from the strain of not being able to swallow or spit.

"El, can you read aloud step three of the recipe to us? It is on my phone over there," Colin said, scooping up a tea towel and handing it to Penelope as soon as Eloise turned her back.

Penelope spat into the towel and threw it back on the ground. Relieved to finally be able to speak.

"Butter a 23-centimetre pie dish…" Eloise started.

"Brilliant, thanks, El. We've got it from here, right, Pen? Can you pass me the honey?"

Penelope had to clamp both hands on her mouth to hold in the squeal threatening to bubble up.

"You two are acting suspiciously," Eloise said, narrowing her eyes at them as she backed out of the room. "You better not be planning a prank on us with this pie."

"No prank. But we might have a surprise for you," Colin said, smiling at Penelope. "A good surprise."

The moment Eloise's footsteps faded, they dissolved into a puddle of laughter.

They washed their hands and Penelope gave the kitchen counters an extra thorough wipe down before beginning the pie assembly again, which took far longer than it needed to. Colin took every opportunity to distract her, making it hard to concentrate.

"Can I make the announcement when we serve the pie?" Colin asked.

"What announcement?"

"That we are dating!"

Penelope was so surprised that she could only manage to say, "Oh."

"What? You didn't think we would keep this secret, did you? I'm in love with you. I want to show off to everyone my beautiful, smart, sexy girlfriend."

Colin’s words were kind of making her wet again. And like that, Penelope discovered something new about herself—she had a praise kink.

Oh well. There's no shame in that.