#george warleggan x reader

[thatoneguitargirl]

𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 | george warleggan x poldark!reader

headcanons about george pining over francis’ sister like he did with elizabeth

my masterlist

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it started when they were schoolboys

you’d sometimes visit the school to personally hand letters

or just spend time with your brother when you didn’t want to clean like verity

george noticed you immediately and couldn’t look away

for which ross gave him more frogs in his pants

but you paid no mind

agatha had always told you that you’d grow up very pretty

and many boys would want to marry

so you thought nothing of it

years later, george would watch you at balls

dancing with many different men and exchanging polite smiles

he’d try to cut in

and you’d roll your eyes because you knew exactly what he was doing

george tried to impress you with his incoming money

but you paid no attention

and couldn’t care less

when you started to see potential suitors

he targeted them specifically

so no one else could have you

but his big move was coming to your house

he started to befriend francis and verity

putting past quarrels aside

and that was the thing that won you over

after that, you spent more time with him

laughing in small rooms away from the crowd

indulging in each other’s wildest dreams

his of becoming the richest and most powerful man in cornwall

and yours of traveling the world and writing stories

everyone could sense that you two were close

and as lady of the house, agatha allowed you to marry

you were so happy but for george it was unlike anything

he dedicated his whole life to making sure you were always happy

consistently buying the fanciest jewelry and the nicest dresses

anything to show you that he loved you most of all

and although both ross and francis had an initial aversion to the partnership…

they learned to accept it

for you

and you lived happily ever after

[magravenwrites]

Requests are CLOSED!

Rules:

Please send in your request as an ask!

If you don't specify a pronoun, I will write fem!reader.

I will write character pairings as well as 'x reader'. Just let me know which pairing you want written/made.

Prompts can include song prompts, or be general prompts, but I ask for you to be as specific as you can, so I can try and write something you will like!

I will write for platonic relationships as well as love interests!

I will be accepting requests for moodboards, imagines and fics/oneshots.

I will write pretty much anything - fluff, angst, au's, crossovers and smut... 😉

I will also write for potentially triggering topics, relevant warnings will be included. I don't aim to romanticise these topics in any way, they are serious topics and will be treated as such.

You can find a list of fandoms and characters I write for below the cut.

If you would like to request something for another fandom or character that isn't listed, just send me an ask and I will do my best to complete it for you!

Bridgerton:

Anthony Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Colin Bridgerton

Simon Basset

Daphne Bridgerton

Eloise Bridgerton

Penelope Featherington

Marina Thompson

Downton Abbey:

Matthew Crawley

Tom Branson

William Mason

Bertie Pelham

Henry Talbot

Thomas Barrow

John Bates

Atticus Aldridge

Mary Crawley

Edith Crawley

Sybil Crawley

Rose MacClare

Anna Bates

Lucy Smith

Grishaverse:

(I have not read the books yet, so works will be mainly based off the show)

Kaz Brekker

Jesper Fahey

The Darkling/General Aleksander Kirigan

Matthias Helvar

Malyen 'Mal' Oretsev

Inej Ghaffa

Alina Starkov

Nina Zenik

Harry Potter:

Harry Potter

Ron Weasley

Bill Weasley

Charlie Weasley

Percy Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Cedric Diggory

Neville Longbottom

Draco Malfoy

Oliver Wood

Seamus Finnigan

Dean Thomas

Hermione Granger

Ginny Weasley

Luna Lovegood

Young Sirius Black

Young Remus Lupin

Young James Potter

Young Lily Evans/Potter

Young Tom Riddle

The Hunger Games:

Peeta Mellark

Gale Hawthorne

Finnick Odair

Katniss Everdeen

Johanna Mason

Annie Cresta

Marvel:

(I am not up-to-date on all Marvel films/series, so please bare with me)

Steve Rogers/Captain America

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Sam Wilson/Falcon

Loki Laufeyson

Thor Odinson

Peter Parker/Spider-man

Bruce Banner/Hulk

Clint Barton/Hawkeye

T'Challa/Black Panther

Scott Lang/Ant-man

Peter Quill/Star-Lord

Drax

Dr Stephen Strange

Vision

Nick Fury

MJ

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch

Gamora

Maze Runner:

Thomas

Newt

Alby

Minho

Gally

Chuck

Frypan

Winston

Teresa

Narnia:

Peter Pevensie

Edmund Pevensie

Prince Caspian X

Mr Tumnus

Susan Pevensie

Lucy Pevensie

Poison Study/Glass series:

Valek

Ari

Janco

Leif

Yelena

Opal

Iris

Pride and Prejudice:

Mr Darcy

Mr Bingley

Elizabeth Bennet

Jane Bennet

Sense and Sensibility:

Colonel Brandon

Edward Ferrars

Elinor Dashwood

Marianne Dashwood

The Last Kingdom:

Uhtred

Finan

Sihrtic

Osferth

Aethelstan

Alfred

Aldhelm

Gisela

Stiorra

Thyra

Eadith

Aethelflead

Ealhswith

Throne of Glass:

(I have not read the last book yet so please bare with me)

Dorian Havilliard

Chaol Westfall

Rowan

Lorcan

Celaena Sardothien-

-Aelin Galathynius

Manon Blackbeak

Asteria Blackbeak

Elide Lochan

Lord of the Rings:

Aragorn

Legolas

Gimli

Frodo

Sam

Merry

Pippin

Boromir

Éomer

Elrond

Arwen

Galadriel

Éowyn

The Hobbit:

Thorin

Balin

Dwalin

Fili

Kili

Bofur

Thranduil

Bard

Tauriel

Poldark:

Ross Poldark

Francis Poldark

Drake Carne

Sam Carne

Jeffry Charles Poldark

Dwight Enys

George Warleggan

Demelsa

Caroline

Rosina

Elizabeth

Morwenna

Peaky Blinders:

Tommy Shelby

John Shelby

Arthur Shelby

Michael Gray

Ada Shelby

Polly Gray

[fandom-imagines-stories]

A Love Unbroken

Ross Poldark x Reader

Words: 2554

Part One

Summary: After being discovered by her brother, the reader and Ross are ripped apart. Thomas takes drastic measures to keep his sister under his control while Ross struggles to get her back.

Notes: I absolutely loved writing the first part to this and I really want to write more Ross imagines! Please please please let me know what you think in reviews or in messages. Your guys’ encouraging words are what keep me writing!

“I knew it.” Thomas hissed. He started to cross the room towards you.

“Thomas wait, let me explain.” You pleaded, holding out your hand to stop him from reaching Ross. You knew that look in his eyes. It was the look he got before getting into a fight.

“I would kindly ask you to leave my house, but I can tell I’d not receive the same sentiment from you.” Ross snapped. Thomas ignored him and kept his furious gaze on you.

“I should have known something was going on between you and this mongrel after the gossip from the party tonight. But I thought to myself, ‘Y/N wouldn’t dare go against me.’” He sneered. “I guess I’ve overestimated you, sister. You’re just another whore ignoring the benefits life has bestowed upon her.” Ross grabbed him by the collar.

“Get. Out.” He growled in a tone that even frightened you. Thomas merely smirked and you heard a clicking sound. Ross tensed and backed away, revealing Thomas’ dueling pistol aimed at his stomach.

“Thomas, don’t.” You pushed yourself in front of Ross. “He has nothing to do with this. It’s my fault.”

“I will deal with you later.” He spat, roughly pushing you to the ground. This gave Ross the opportunity to knock the pistol from your brother’s grip. Ross lunged at him, tackling him to the floor and landing a few good punches to his ribs. Thomas called out and two more men entered. One of them yanked Ross off of Thomas and the other grabbed you, tightly gripping your arms as you screamed. Thomas kicked Ross in the stomach and you begged him to stop, seeing the blood drip from Ross’ mouth.

“Get her out of here.” Thomas ordered and you were dragged backward, kicking and screaming, trying to get away. To get to Ross. He tried to stand, but Thomas kicked him again, this time in the face.

“No!” You cried out, but it was no use. Your captor was larger and much stronger than you. “Ross!” He pulled you toward the horses, but you still fought against him. You stomped down hard on his foot and he loosened his hold just enough for you to break free. As you sprinted back to the cottage door, he picked up a large piece of wood and hit the back of your head before you could even lift the handle.

Inside, Thomas and his worker were still beating Ross within an inch of his life when a gunshot went off. There Demelza stood, with Thomas’ pistol in her hand and aimed at the ceiling. She lowered it to the man’s head.

“That’s enough.” She growled. “Both of you get out before the next shot end’s up in you.” Thomas gave her a smirk and held up his hands. He motioned for his man to follow him.

“We’ve gotten what we came for.” He turned to Ross, who was breathing heavily on the floor. “Pray you don’t forget what happened here today, Captain Poldark.” He sauntered out of the home, having accomplished his mission. Demelza set the pistol on the table and rushed to Ross’ side.

“What ‘ave you got yourself into now.” She sighed, placing a piece of cloth to his bleeding forehead.

“Something I can’t get myself out of this time.” He groaned as he sat up, holding his now cracked ribs. “Love.” Demelza shook her head and smiled. Ross looked up at the ceiling, where Demelza’s shot had created a large hole. “You’re going to fix that.” Demelza rolled her eyes.

“You’re welcome.” She helped him stand. “But we can talk about that later. We need to get you cleaned up if you’re to go after her.” Ross gave her an appreciative smile and was led to his room.

You woke up to bickering and a terrible headache.

“I said to bring her back, not knock her unconscious!” Thomas scolded. His worker shrugged.

“She wouldn’t go without a fight, so I stopped her from being too much trouble.” He reasoned. Thomas dismissed him with a wave of his hand and you stared up at him, fuming.

“You bastard.” You spat, standing up with your hands clenched at your sides. You stormed across the room towards him. “You filthy, cowardly rat. How dare-” Before you could finish a stinging pain rushed over your face as his hand collided harshly with your cheek.

“Hold your tongue, sister. You’re lucky I don’t have the scoundrel hung for kidnapping.” Thomas barked. You felt your blood boil.

“Kidnapping?” You shrieked. “It is you who is holding me hostage! I will not be forced to marry just so you can please that- that monster. I’ve heard of the way he treats those below him and I want nothing to do with George.” He grabbed you roughly by the shoulders.

“Listen here,” He seethed, “due to your rendezvous with Poldark, we can only pray that George hasn’t heard of the scandal. No, we must wait until this all blows over.”

“Blows over?” You laughed humorlessly. “I love Ross. Nothing you nor George Warleggan can do that will change that. Thomas gave you a wicked grin.

“Isn’t there, dear sister?” He dragged you out of the room, his fingers surely leaving bruises on your arm. He pulled you into the parlor where a letter sat on the table. He lifted it and read it’s contents allowed.

“My dearest nephew, I have missed you and your sister dearly and insist that you must visit me soon. You will love the energy of this beautiful country compared to musty Cornwall. Besides, I believe Y/N will need some nudging in the right direction if she is to find a husband. Your loving aunt, Victoria.” Thomas watched as your face morphed with panic.

“You wouldn’t.” You shook your head in disbelief. “America? You would send your only sister across the ocean?”

“You leave me no choice. I would rather see you in the company of those ungrateful rebels than with that scoundrel.” He shrugged. “I will tell George you are going to take care of our sick relative and that you will be wed upon your return. I’m sure by then Ross Poldark will have forgotten about you.” He opened the door to a small, closed off room- perhaps a pantry- with no windows or light. He pushed you inside. “You leave in three days.” He slammed the door, leaving you to scream all you wanted, but it was to no avail. By the time the news would reach Ross, it would be too late. No one was coming for you.

For nearly three days, Ross desperately tried to contact Y/N. He could no longer send letters, but he would send Jim or Demelza to see if she was alright. Each time they came back with the same answer; the doors were locked and the curtains drawn. There was no sign of her anywhere. He was growing more worried by the second.

To distract himself from his worry, he tried to focus on his anger. His mind swam with images of Thomas and George, plotting Y/N’s forced marriage. Before he knew it, he was standing at the door of the Warleggan mansion with his hands clenched at his sides. He pounded on the door until a servant opened it. He pushed passed and stormed inside despite the servant’s objective shouts. George was alone in his study, his uncle was away on business.

“You filthy dog,” Ross growled, storming over to George. “You would take a woman’s freedom to fulfill your own disgusting desires?” George, apparently completely unfazed by Ross’ entrance- though he had the growing look of fear as Ross drew closer- smirked back.

“I assume you speak of Y/N.” He stood up and brushed himself off. “Yes, well, Thomas and I have agreed that we are a good match. With her beauty, she is far more suited for…” He looked Ross over, “the higher class.” Seething, Ross took a step forward and George took a step back. “Don’t think I haven’t suspected her affections for you. One of Thomas’ servants told me the story after they recovered her from your house. Two young lovers torn apart by society and family.” George chuckled. “It would be tragic if it wasn’t so cliche.”

“And what shall you do, George,” Ross began, “when Y/N spends her days trying to escape you? Trying to defy your every demand. Having spent a good deal of time with her myself, I know she has a mind of her own- something you lack.” George held a straight face, but Ross could tell his jabs were getting to him. George simply smiled smugly.

“I think you’ll find that I can be quite persuasive.” Ross’ stomach dropped at the look in George’s eyes. It was one of lust and determination. “And once Y/N has served her purpose and given the Warleggan name a number of heirs, her only task will be to be my... company.”  George would never say these things in polite society, but seeing Ross’ face contort with helpless anger was enough for him to desert his proper ways if only in front of his greatest enemy. I can only imagine what she’s like.”Ross lunged towards him but was held back by two of George’s servants.

“Unfortunately, I’ll just have to wait and see.” George sighed with a wicked laugh. “And you shall never know.” He motioned for his workers to take Ross away and they threw Ross out slamming the door in his face. He had no other choice but to return home, letting his mind wander through unpleasant images of George insinuations. He could stop thinking about what he had said. He’d just have to wait and see. Ross figured Thomas would be rushing to have Y/N and George married as fast as possible. He could find no answer as he was left to ponder all that had happened.

His heart practically leaped when he saw Abigail coming down the path. It wasn’t until he drew closer that he saw the tears streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry, Captain Poldark. I hadn’t been able to get away until now.” She sniffed.

“What is it? How is Y/N? Is she alright?” He bombarded the poor girl with questions and she continued to cry. He took a deep breath and tried to be patient with her. “Abigail, I need to know what’s happened.”

“It’s Mr. Thomas, sir.” She stammered in between cries. “He’s locked her up. I don’t think she’s had a bite to eat in days.” Ross closed his eyes, imagining the worst. “But that’s not all, sir. He’s- he’s…” She burst into hysterics. Ross put his hands on her shoulders to try and ground her.

“What has Thomas done?” His heart was pounding so violently, he feared it would burst. Abigale wiped her eyes and tried her best to compose herself.

“He’s sending Miss Y/N to live with their aunt, sir. In America.” Ross froze.

“What?”

“He’s sending her to live in America so her aunt can ‘shape her up’ for George.” Abigail let out a wail and Ross shook her as gently as he could.

“When?” He demanded. “When does she leave?”

“About ten o’clock, sir.” She sniffed again and without another, Ross was sprinting to his horse. He only had two hours to get to the docks in time.

“What’s happened?” Demelza asked, coming out of the house.

“Take care of Abigail. I’ll be back soon.” He mounted his horse and urged it to run as fast as its legs would carry it.

By the time he even reached town, however, you were watching the crew load your things onto the ship. Thomas had you firmly by the arm to ensure that you would not escape. You kept your eyes on the horizon, refusing to let him see the tears building there. To even give him the satisfaction of one last glance.

“What, no loving goodbye to your only brother?” He sneered, jerking you forward onto the ramp leading to the ship. You held your head high, though your heart broke with every step. You feared that Thomas was right. That even when you got back from America, Ross will have forgotten about you and moved on. But perhaps you wanted it that way. Would you rather him wallow in waiting or move on with his life? To be happy?  

Yes, it was better this way. For Ross could find someone new. Someone who wouldn’t bring family drama and heartache to his home. Someone who would make him truly and completely happy. But you knew that you’d never love another soul. It would only ever be Ross. As you took the final step onto the ship, you felt yourself sway on the waves and debated just throwing yourself over the edge if only to escape a life without freedom or love.

“Stop them!” A voice cried out of the crowd. You turned to the sound and felt your heart leap. Ross cut through the group on his horse, reaching the dock just as the ramp was drawn back and the ship started to pull out of the harbor.

“Ross!” You called back. You stepped towards the edge, but Thomas held you back.

“Impossible.” He growled. Ross came down from his horse and started to run. You were sure your pulse stopped as he reached the edge of the cobblestone path, launching himself onto the moving ship.

He landed steadily on his feet, the wood creaking loudly beneath his feet. You gaped in amazement. Without a single word, he pulled you into his arms and crashed his lips into yours. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt. It was a kiss filled with longing and relief and so much love that it was almost overbearing. And nothing had ever felt so right.

“How dare you?” Thomas snapped. Ross pulled away from you, his expression dark. He raised his fist and punch Thomas straight in the mouth.

“You don’t have your little servants to protect you now.” Ross pushed him to the ground and lifted his foot to kick him. You grabbed his arm.

“Ross, don’t.” You pleaded. “He isn’t worth it.”  You turned to the shore, that was growing farther and farther away. “Now what are we to do.” Ross shrugged.

“We aren’t too far away from land. I’d say swimming distance.” He smirked down at you before his expression became intensely passionate. “What do you say? If you go with me, I will love you more than you have ever been loved in your entire life. I will love you more than the sea loves the shore or the endless stretch of sky.” He took your hands in his. “My question still stands. Y/F/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?”

You looked back at Thomas, who was still on the ground, glaring up at you. You looked back to Ross and placed a sweet kiss on his cheek and intertwined your fingers with his.

“Lead the way, Captain Poldark. For if I am to be your wife, I suggest we leave this vessel.” You both beamed brighter than the sun above and stepped into the cool, glistening blue waters of the beautiful unknown.

[carolightpenvenys]

doctors a penvenys au chapter 8

I am so sad I missed AU day of fic week! I was working! But this would’ve been my contribution! Enjoy and don’t forget to leave feedback x

Mondays were always the worst for Dr Enys.

Especially since he’d had the weekend off. But today was a Monday like no other.

Well at least it was until around midday where he was opening his Kinder Bueno and there was a knock at his door.

“Come in.” He said through a mouthful, not even bothering to sit up.

The door creaked open but Dwight didn’t even turn round, he was midway through paperwork.

“Ah, Dr Enys.” The voice he heard made his eyes instantly roll back into his head, before he slowly turned his chair round with a shit eating grin.

“George Warleggan. How can I help?” There was just something about the hospital’s regional manager and local council member that made his skin crawl. But he’d never show it. Dwight was a professional.

“Bad news I’m afraid.” He said this with an almost glee and Dwight reminded himself why he would vote for the many, not the few next election. “It’s that time of year.”

“What time?”

“Cuts time.” George winced but in such a way that it seemed mocking. “So I’m just coming around to tell you all that you’re under observation.”

Dwight smiled politely. “That’s good of you George. Not sure we need cuts though, we have been struggling recently for staff.”

“But there’s just not enough money.” George shrugged casually. “My hands are tied.”

Dwight’s passive aggressive brain was on full power. Really? That’s funny considering I know for the fact your wages bought you a manor house and a holiday home in Barbados whilst the staff at this hospital are striking every two weeks because our wages can’t even afford to get people out of food banks.

But ok.

“Oh right.” Was what came out. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be on my best behaviour.” He smiled through gritted teeth and waved George out of the office, who was almost strutting as he left.

“What an arsehole.” He said to himself as he turned back around, professional as ever.

He looked at the time. It was coming up to half past twelve and he thought to take his lunch break officially, maybe snooping around the hospital for Caroline Penvenen.

Not that he would ever admit that but i freely will.

It was about a ten minute walk to the physiotherapy wing but Dwight made it last fifteen by kicking a vending machine until a seven up came out. He had taken his white coat off otherwise people would think he was on duty and make him do work, but he loosened his tie a little.

It was lunch time after all.

He  shoved the door to the wing open after crossing a road outside. He’d just go for a walk, a walk around the building, have a little snoop around and then go back to his office. Yeah.

He looked through the first window but it was a full on hospital room with a body inside sleeping. The body was also a 70 year old man.

He walked along the corridor and it was just more of the same. He felt very lost in this particular area of the hospital, slightly befuddled.

He threw his seven up in a perfect shot towards the bin.

Or so he would have you think.

I can tell you for sure it bounced off the rim and onto the floor and he had to humbly pick it up, rubbing the back of his neck slightly.

He continued to trudge up to the upper floor, telling himself if he saw nothing of interest here, he would just give up and go eat his sandwich alone with some milky tea.

Just then he came across a small window in a door and he manically found a way to stand by it without the people inside seeing.

Because inside was, in his opinion, the best physiotherapist and Ross’s ex girlfriend Elizabeth Chynoweth and her patient- Caroline Penvenen.

“Sorry I’m late!” Caroline was sat in the wheelchair with a kind of comfort that Dwight hadn’t encountered in their park adventure the other day which begged the question, did he make her feel uncomfortable. “Sarah needed her nappy changing. When it’s just me and her you can assume I will be a lot later!”

“It’s alright for today Caroline.” Elizabeth smiled warmly. You need a lot of patience to be a physio, you know. “But you need to be signed off from physio before you get Sarah full time.”

He saw Caroline’s smile falter, even from a distance as if this was new information. “Well that just makes me more determined.” She replied and Dwight couldn’t help but appreciate her strength. “Plus there’s a guy I really like and I want to be able to get my strut  on when I ask him out.”

Dwight’s heart dropped. Not two days ago had she told him that they should just be friends but now she had already moved on to another? Dwight knew he shouldn’t have come, he knew this was an invasion of privacy but he couldn’t stay away.

Elizabeth stood away from her computer and held up her hand to help Caroline up. “Ok Caroline.” She laughed. “Are you ready to go for the bars?”

“Of course.” Caroline smiled.

But Dwight was in no way ready for what was to come.

She gripped the bars with a firm unsteadiness and it looked to be an absolute effort. Her brain was working a mile a minute but she just couldn’t get her legs to do the same.

“Caroline.” Elizabeth was at the other end of the bars, leaning down to look at her. “Slow down.”

But Caroline persisted. “No. I have to get better, you don’t understand.”

“You’re not going to get better straight away!” Elizabeth persisted, approaching the bars to try and get her to slow down. “Walk slower, it’s a process.”

But Caroline was in the zone. What Dwight liked to call a negative zone. A zone where you put your physical health at risk for personal gain.

And that, readers, is when she fell.

She collapsed onto the floor, her legs crumbling and Dwight could only imagine the pain from her burns on top of this.

She howled. She howled so loud as Elizabeth came to her side and hoisted her back into the wheelchair, trying to sedate her with calming words.

“Hey.” Elizabeth smiled. “Not to worry, you’ve just got yourself into a tizz. It happens to all of us.”

Dwight stepped away from the door, ashamed to have walked in on a private moment. He shook his head and continued down the corridor, acknowledging other doctors walking the other way. He found a hot drinks machine and made the milkiest tea he’d ever seen but spent a good twenty minutes sat back down on the lower floor just staring at it. His lunch was nearly over and he may as well just trudge back to his office with a new fear instilled in his heart. He may as well-

“Doctor Dwight Enys?” Wow. Maybe this was the worst day of his life as he looked into the questioning eyes of Elizabeth.

“Dr Chynoweth.” He stumbled a little on his words. “It's been a while. I haven't seen you since-”

“Since Ross and I broke up?” Dwight’s face paled but she just laughed. “Come, have lunch with me. You look very depressing.”

Dwight mutely followed her into her office upstairs but his mind was elsewhere. He had so many unresolved questions as he popped his lunchbox (yes he owned a lunchbox) onto the table.

He sat opposite Elizabeth in her patient’s chair and stared at some of the equipment, fallen onto the floor. “Tough patient?” He asked.

“Ah, a doctor’s work is confidential.” But she was smiling. “But yes. Unintentionally difficult.”

Dwight knew that he shouldn't probe, especially when he knew it was Caroline and he knew that she wouldn't want this but, “How so?”

Curiosity got the better of him.

“It's really not her fault.” Elizabeth sighed.“She’s just in a completely different reality to everyone else.” “I don’t think I follow.” Dwight sipped his drink. “Who are you talking about?”

He really hated himself now. This was completely against everything they taught him at doctor school. Medical school. The medical book of ethics.

“Caroline Penvenen.” Elizabeth stated, matter-of-factly. “I’m only telling you because you’re not one of her listed doctors, so you probably don’t know her.”

Haha.

“I know of her.” Dwight smiled wryly. “I heard she’s something pretty special.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s lovely.” Elizabeth held her hand out to emphasise her point. “But I’m a pretty experienced therapist, as you well know. And it’s quite often in therapy that people just expect things to get better straight away.” She sighed. “But it’s called therapy for a reason you know? She’s talking about getting custody of her kid back really soon.” Elizabeth shook her head. “But she has some intensive physical and mental counselling to even get a hearing. My cousin is her social worker and says the child is already living in less than ideal circumstances with the godmother, but it’s the best they can do without putting the baby into care. Sad really.”

“Yeah.” Dwight’s mouth was dry. “So sad.”

This situation was more serious than he expected and he really hoped Caroline wasn’t putting herself at risk for this new guy she liked.

“Sorry. It seems I just emotionally unloaded on you.” Elizabeth laughed. 

“It’s fine, it’s just been a rough morning, cuts and all.” 

“Yeah I heard.” Elizabeth winced. “They’re naming physio as non essential so they can make cuts.”

Dwight decided it was best to go on an anti capitalist rant, but if you want to hear it, ask your humble narrator. It was long and boring but Elizabeth just nodded and nodded.

Until they were rudely interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in!” One could say Elizabeth was grateful for this interruption but her face drained of colour when she saw who it was.

It was George Warleggan no less, with his Porsche carkeys in hand. “Do you need a lift home today Elizabeth?” He acknowledged Dwight. “Dr Enys.”

“George.” Dwight lacked any understanding.

“I will be quite alright George.” Elizabeth smiled awkwardly. “I will see you at home.” 

Dwight’s eyes widened and George winked (I know) before shutting the door.

Dwight turned back to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth...”

 Elizabeth looked mildly angry and looked at her computer. “Says here, your lunch finished five minutes ago. I will see you Dwight. Goodbye.”

“I better be going then.” Dwight smiled awkwardly but knew whilst he was in the rehab area of the hospital, he had one more stop to make.

His walking was a little shuffly and weighed down with thoughts, thoughts of how he had been so selfish, he’d not even thought of how Caroline might be recovering. Also thoughts of Elizabeth and George Warleggan? Hopefully it wasn’t what it looked like.

He opened the door to the psychological rehabilitation building. He would just make sure Caroline had booked an appointment. That’s all. That’s all he’d do.

“Hi.” He addressed the receptionist. “I was just making sure my patient had booked an appointment here. I wasn’t sure that she would.” He showed her his ID and hoped to God she wouldn’t check he wasn’t one of Caroline’s listed doctors.

“Patient name?” She asked.

“Um.” Dwight stuttered. “Caroline Penvenen.”

She typed vigorously into the keyboard before smiling. “She’s booked in for next Tuesday.”

For some reason, this answer didn’t satisfy him. “Could I give some papers to her doctor?”

He felt like a twat because he literally had no paper, he was just going for a snoop. He was pretty sure the receptionist knew this. However, he noticed his medical bag hung over his shoulder which, for all she knew contained paper; Thank God.

“Sure, he’s free. Upstairs first door on the right.” He realised as he walked towards the elevator, he didn’t even know the doctor’s name. Regardless he stepped out onto the first floor and knocked on the door of this psychiatrist.

A Dr Sam Carne.

“Come in!” A highly accented voice called from inside and Dwight stepped in to see a man almost too young to be a doctor (remember you have to go to school for seven years).

“Hi.” Dwight waved awkwardly. Kill me.

Dr Sam Carne looked him straight in the eye and said. “How may I save your soul today?”

“Oh no.” Dwight’s eyes widened. “I’m a doctor.”

“I know I got the alert.” Dr Carne looked at his computer, running a hand through his hair. “But I feel your soul must still need saving.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “See, ye is not on Miss Penvenen’s list of doctors… Which begs the question.” He looked intensely at Dwight. “What is ye doing here?”

Dwight was taken aback. This was by far the most perceptive member of staff he’d encountered so far. “Do you know what? I’m just gonna g-”

“Wait.” Dr Carne’s went wide. “I knows ye. You’re a friend a my sister’s. Demelza Carne.”

So Demelza had never spoken of any brothers ever. For all Dwight knew she could have seven. “Yeah I guess.” He realised now that both Demelza and Sam had different levels of the same accent and shared many features in common.

“Everything is lining up for me.” He shook his head. “She was ‘avin a right go about ye other day on the sibling group chat. She say ye’s obsessed with a girl- it must be Caroline Penvenen.”

Dwight just stood there like a deer in headlights, not even trying to defend himself.

“Well I have some advice for ye- don’t do it. Once upon a long time ago, I did feel like ye- fell in love with a patient I did and I nearly got fired. ‘Twas horrible and she left me because she doesn’t love Jesus like I do.”

“I don’t blame her.” Dwight said under his breath as he stared at the crucifixes on every wall. “Thanks for the advice, I guess.”

“Now scram outta here before I tell Demelza ye came.” He got up from his desk and ushered Dwight out. “Just don’t do it, alright?”

Dwight just smiled weakly. He seemed to do that a lot recently. But just as he thought his day couldn’t get any worse, he turned around to George Warleggan already waiting.

“Don’t do what?”

[a-pen-in-the-paw]

@aegliriellcalamaethor said : “ The world is in need of more good Ross Poldark x Reader fics” 

Well, I don’t know if this will fulfill your wish, but I wrote a Ross x Reader fic. 

Not Unlike Thunder

Thanks to @brandywinebridge-twentymiles for the betaing

The storm tears up the night sky and you run, pulling your shawl around your shoulders. The used piece of garment cannot protect you from the wind, let alone from lightning bolts if they choose to strike you. Your father always told you to avoid the tall trees in a thunderstorm because they were the most likely to get hit, but also to stay away from opened areas: just like the field you’re crossing, in fact. The tall, wet grass flogs your legs and cuts your skin, but you cannot afford to stop. Your heart is thumping like the one of a fox chased by Sir Bodrugan’s hounds.

The rain is dripping from your hair and onto your face. It would be mixed with tears, if only you took the time to measure the real disaster of your current situation. Sometimes, when there is no hope, there is nothing left to cry for. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad end: to be roasted to death in the middle of this field. It’d be better than to die as a beggar; from exposure and starvation in an alleyway in Truro. Because that’s what’s waiting for you since you’ve no family left and nowhere to live. You could always sell your body for a bit of wine and bread, but it’s not an enviable fate either. The world is never kind to poor, unmarried, orphan girls like you.

Thunder rumbles over the moors like a charge of cavalry. You reach a fence, and, as you try to climb over it, a nail gets caught in the fabric of your petticoat. You try to keep your balance, but you lose it at the last second. You fall over to the other side and hit your head on a sharp rock.

A burst of pain crosses your skull. Disorientated for a moment, you manage to sit up and when you touch the side of your head, warm blood soils your fingers.

The sky lights up again and strikes so close to you that you can feel the earth tremble from the shock. You get on your feet again. Ignoring the pain, you resume your desperate run. You’re not even sure where you’re heading. It’s not like you have anywhere to go. For now, though, any shelter would do: any place to escape the fury of the elements.

A hundred steps further, you make out the shape of a barn. Without thinking about the consequences of trespassing on private land, you head in that direction. The barn is adjacent to a house, but no light filters from the windows. Hopefully the owners are not at home, and no one will notice your presence.

You reach the door. Fortunately for you, it’s unlocked. Inside, the air smells of horse, goats and oxen. It’s almost reassuring in its familiarity.

Stumbling about in the dark, you finally find a heap of hay and you sit down in it.

You skirt is in pieces already, so you tear up a shred of it to wipe the blood from your face the best you can. It has started coagulating and despite the rain, your hair is matted with it.

A sudden noise makes you lift your head, but you soon figure out it must be the wind playing with the door.

All the running managed to keep you warm until now, but your clothes are soaked wet. Soon, you start to shiver. If only you could get a hold of a blanket, or anything that could keep you from freezing. Maybe the only solution left is to bury yourself in the haystack.

“Who’s there?”

The voice, low-pitched and rough, not unlike the thunder outside, makes you jump out of your skin. Standing at the door of the barn is a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. The man is holding a lantern in one hand and a gun in the other.

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out of it. An irrepressible shudder takes your voice away.

“Show yourself, or I’m coming to take you out myself,” he orders. This is the tone of someone not accustomed to be disobeyed.

Perhaps if you stay very still, he’s going to go away. This is wishful thinking, of course. He knows you’re there.

He takes long strides, pointing his firearm in your general direction. Fear makes you almost nauseous. He looks savage, with a stern frown and a long scar marking the side of his face.

“Abandon whatever you thought you could steal from me, get out of my property and go back crawling to your master’s feet. Tell George I know what he’s doing,” he growls, but then the lantern light reveals your features and he stops dead in his tracks. He hesitates, confused, and he lowers his weapon. You’re not what he expected to find creeping into his barn in the middle of the night. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?” His tone is harsh and even if he’s not displaying aggressive behavior anymore, he still terrifies you.

You stare at the musket in his hand and his grip around it.

He considers yourself wordlessly for a moment and seems to get to an agreement with himself. He unloads the weapon and tucks it in his trousers. When he makes another step toward you, you jerk back with a squeal, curling into a ball to protect yourself, convinced you’re going to get grabbed, punched, kicked… or worse.

Slowly, he squats down to put the lantern on the ground and be at your level. “Shhh, it’s alright, lass.” He shows the palms of his hands to you as a sign of peaceful intentions. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You stare back at the scarred face. A strange man, no matter what he says, is always a threat to young women: that much you know. This one is obviously a lot stronger than you are and has piercing dark eyes: he could well be the devil himself for all you know.

Whereas you’re wary and afraid, he studies you with an opened curiosity. Your torn up skirt is exposing your legs to his gaze and you wish you could cover yourself up.

“Where are you from?” he asks, a lot softer than before.

You gulp and find your voice again, though it comes out shaky and weak: “Penpol. I’m from Penpol, sir.”

“Penpol… that’s on Warleggan land, is it not?”   

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you doing here, so far from home?”

Every nerve, every fiber of your being tells you to run away, but you’re paralyzed. “My father, my mother… my siblings… they all died of the putrid throat,” you explain, tearing up unexpectedly. “I wasn’t able to pay the rent on our cottage, so Mister Warleggan kicked me out.”

Something in his eyes hardens, like the hot metal from a forge plunged in cold water. He rises and takes the lantern as he does. “Come,” he simply says.

You choke back a sob. “No, please!” You join hands as you beg him. “I’m sorry I trespassed, but please don’t throw me out! Let me stay here for the night, sir! I promise I won’t take anything and I’ll be gone at the break of dawn. You won’t ever hear of me again! Please!!”

He sighs. “Easy, lass. I’m not throwing you out.”

“You’re not?” you sniffle.

“I’m not. I’m inviting you to my house.”

You smooth the front of your corsage, eyeing him with suspicion.

“Come now,” he insists when he sees your hesitation. He outstretches a hand to help you up. “Don’t stand there gaping. This is no place to sleep, unless you’re a goat.”

You ignore the offered help and pull yourself back on your feet. You feel dizzy all of a sudden, but you follow him out of the barn and under the rain to the front door of the house. Even if you’ve wanted to resist, you don’t have enough willpower. You’re too exhausted.

He shows you into the parlor and you stand in the middle of the room, gawking at your surroundings while your host lights some candles. There are shiny chandeliers, a clock and nice furniture. This is the house of a man with some means.

“Sit there,” he tells you, pointing a finger at one of the benches near the fireplace.

You do as you’re told.

Your host drops his tricorn hat on the table. He hangs his musket back on the wall, pulls off his gloves, sheds his coat and rolls the sleeves of his shirt on his forearms. Unlike most gentlemen you’ve crossed path with, he has a body that had been sculpted by real farm work.  

He crouches in front of the fireplace, stirs the embers and adds a log. “What’s your name?”

Restless, you swallow and play with the remains of your skirt, but, in the end, you choose to answer his question with honesty.

His unquiet expression is hard to read. “My name is Ross Poldark,” he introduces himself in turn.

This is an apt name, you think, because now that you can detail him better, you realize that everything about him is indeed dark: his mane of raven curls, his strong eyebrows and the shadow of stubble dusting his jawline. The name does ring a bell, however.

“Ross Poldark? The famous recluse?” you exclaim without thinking. “I thought you were just a tale!”

His face lights up and he burst into laughter. The eyes you thought to be two bottomless wells are suddenly sweetened by a touch of honey.

“Apart from avoiding the people of my own class, I’m not sure what I’ve done to earn such a reputation.” He smiles. It makes him look so different…mischievous… attractive.

He too can see you better from the light of the fire and his face falls. “Wait, you’re hurt!” he realizes, noticing the traces of blood on your cheek and temple. In a second, he’s in front of you and reaching for your face. You flinch and evade his touch.

“Please, let me take a look at it…” he insists.   

Tentatively, you bend your neck and let him inspect your scalp.

“Who did that to you? Was it George? One of his men?” he questions. All the warmth is gone from his demeanor.

“No,” you breathe. “I fell and hurt myself climbing down a fence.”

Without a comment more, he goes to the kitchen to fetch some supplies and comes back in the parlor where he proceeds to clean the blood from your cut. In complete silence, with precise gestures, he concentrates on his task.

The hand that holds you still, in a soft grip around your face, is large, calloused and warm. You can feel all the contained strength in those fingers.

Somehow, despite the distrust that lingers at the back of your mind, you catch yourself staring at his mouth in fascination. These lips, what would it feel like to be kissed by them, you wonder. Can they be caressing and supple sometimes, instead of pinched in displeasure?

“Here,” he says, freeing you, “it looked worse than it was, but I’m going to bring you to my friend doctor Ennys tomorrow so he can take an expert look at it.”

“I cannot go to the doctor, sir,” you protest. “I’ve got nothing to pay.”

“Don’t worry about that. What you should worry about is that you’re still in wet, dirty rags.”

He leaves again and when he comes back, he’s carrying food and clothes: an old skirt that belonged to one of his late mother’s servants and one of his own shirts. He averts his eyes and busies himself by slicing bread and putting the stew to heat in the fireplace as you get changed. Your pulse is fluttering, knowing that he could turn around or look over his shoulder and see your nudity any time, but he doesn’t.

The skirt is a bit too short, baring your naked feet and ankles to halfway up your calves. The shirt, on the other hand, is too large for your frame and billows out around your waist and arms. The fabric gives out a manly scent. It had been washed, but not enough to get rid of the musk entirely. It’s oddly comforting and troubling at the same time.

Feeling flustered to be presenting yourself in his clothes, you sit at the table. You cross your arms over your chest, in a way to shyly shield your breasts from his gaze. If this sight has any effect on Ross, he’s careful not to let it show. He puts a bowl of stew in front of you. “Eat. You must be starving.”

And you are. It’s been days since your last proper meal.

He pours himself a glass of port and sits across from you. He watches you wolf down the content of the bowl with a crooked smile.

“More?” he asks with a spark of fondness as you clean the last ounces of stew.

You nod and he takes your bowl for a second filling. It disappears almost as quickly as the first one.  

“You’ve been so good to me, Mister Poldark,” you tell him once you swallowed your last mouthful. “I have nothing to repay you.”

He shakes his head and starts clearing the dishes from the table. “I’m not expecting anything in return.”

As he leaves again and you hear his footsteps on the stairs leading to the second floor, you feel a sort of cold invades you: one that has little to do with the weather. Since your family died, you’ve barely had human contacts. Nobody showed you any form of kindness, compassion or even charity. The people from your village had been avoiding you. It wasn’t natural to their eyes that you had been the only one of your family to survive. Rumors started to spread that you had poisoned them. But Mister Poldark, he hadn’t try to reject or hurt you, quite the contrary in fact.

When your hosts shows up in the parlor again, with a pillow and a blanket for you to settle on the carpet near the hearth, tears you hadn’t seen coming start spilling on your face. “Please don’t leave me down here on my own!” It’s the second time tonight you’re begging him. You can’t help but cursing yourself for being so weak and pitiful. “I can’t face it! I just can’t! I’m cold and I’m afraid!”

He stares at you, disconcerted. “Are you asking me to be allowed to sleep in my room?”

“I’ll sleep on the floor. I won’t trouble you at all! You won’t even know I’m there.”

He rubs his face with both hands. A part of him is sensitive to your distress and wants to help, the other sees how much this could be a bad idea. “You and I know it’s not wise or proper.”

“Please, sir. Nobody’ll know. I won’t tell a soul.”

You can see his resolve falter at the sight of your face bathed in tears. “There is no carpet on my bedroom’s floor so you’ll sleep in my bed,” he decides. “But I warn you, if you toss, turn and kick, you’re going back downstairs.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

He blows the candles out in the parlor. You wipe the tears from your face and you follow him upstairs.

He slips under the covers of the large bed fully clothed and you imitate him. You marvel at the sensation of the mattress under your back. This is the most comfortable bed you’ve ever slept in. It almost seems unreal.  

Propped on his elbow, Ross watches you with the same impish smile he had earlier. “You’re just like a little cat, aren’t you?” he chuckles. “I find you in my barn and feed you, and before I know it, you end up sleeping on my bed.”

You blink at him. “Does that displease you, sir?”

“I don’t know what to make of you just yet,” he admits. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and his fingertips brush your cheek in a way that makes you tremble. A very shameful kind of heat pools at the bottom of your stomach. You have this insane need to curl up against him: to know what it is like to be in his arms.

“Mister Poldark?” you whisper, not even knowing what it is you mean to ask him.

“Listen,” he begins. He pauses, long enough to erase a remaining tear from your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “You are very lovely… but you’ve been through something awful, and you are craving a kind of reassurance and affection I can’t give you. I would be taking advantage of your situation. It wouldn’t be right.” He caresses your face one last time. It only leaves you aching for more. “Sleep now. You need it.” He kills the light of the last candle on the nightstand. “Good night, lass.”

“Good night, sir.”

He rolls over to his flank. His back and shoulders are like the wall of a living fortress separating your half of the bed from his, but you can hear his quiet breathing on the other side and you wonder if his eyes are still opened.