#mark darcy x reader

[muiitoloko]

Whiskey and Regret

Summary: A drunken Mark Darcy stumbles into a quiet bar—and into the kind of kindness he didn’t know he still deserved.

Pairing: Mark Darcy × Reader

Warnings: Drunk

Author's Notes: I wrote this a while ago, but I never posted it because I wasn't happy with it. However, I’ve decided to share it now.

Also read on Ao3

He ordered another drink, sitting stiffly at the counter of the quietest bar he could find, as if hoping the dim lighting and low hum of conversation might drown out whatever was gnawing at him inside. His tie was loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, brown hair slightly mussed like he'd run a frustrated hand through it more than once tonight.

When the drink didn’t come immediately, he shifted, tapping the side of his glass impatiently. His brown eyes flicked to you—barman, or rather, barwoman—his expression taut, almost defensive, like he was bracing for a fight.

You leaned on the polished wood, giving him a once-over. Tall, thin, handsome in that weary, elegant kind of way. He looked like he didn’t really belong here, like he belonged at some stuffy lawyer’s dinner party instead of slouching miserably in a half-empty bar.

"Is it not enough for tonight?" you asked, tilting your head, a little teasing, a little concerned.

He grumbled under his breath, voice low and clipped. "Just another drink."

There was a stubbornness to him, but also something else—an ache that even the stiff set of his jaw couldn’t hide. You sighed, pouring another measure and sliding it across to him.

"Heartbreak?" you ventured casually, polishing a glass, pretending you weren’t watching him too closely.

He scoffed, low and bitter. "You women are complicated."

You raised an eyebrow, smiling to yourself as you wiped down the counter. "That so?"

"Do you all enjoy it?" he muttered, swirling the drink in his glass. "Playing with men's hearts?"

You chuckled softly, tapping the bar with the rim of the glass you were cleaning. "Depends on the man," you said lightly. "What did she do to leave you in a state like this?"

Maybe it was the drink loosening his tongue, or maybe it was the way you didn’t crowd him for answers, but he sighed and rested his forehead briefly against his knuckles before speaking.

"Bridget," he muttered. "Bridget Jones."

The name didn’t mean anything to you, but the way he said it—like it tasted both sweet and poisonous on his tongue—told you everything you needed to know.

"Always between me and another man," he said, more to himself than to you. "Never sure. Never steady. Like she needs to keep... choosing. Or like I'm just—" he broke off, downing half the drink in one long pull.

You leaned your elbows on the counter, hands folded loosely. "Another woman, then," you said simply, voice soft but firm. "If this Bridget makes you suffer so much... maybe it’s time to find someone who doesn’t."

He stared into his glass for a long moment, the muscles of his jaw working as he thought. "I wish it were that easy," he muttered.

"Sometimes it is," you said, shrugging, your voice matter-of-fact. "Let this Bridget go. Date other women. Talk to other women. Hell, have sex with other women. You're a handsome guy," you added, a playful little smile tugging at your mouth. "Wouldn’t be hard to find someone willing."

He actually chuckled at that—a low, reluctant sound—but the sadness in his eyes didn’t quite fade.

"Maybe," he said quietly, turning the glass slowly between his fingers.

You didn’t push. You just stayed there, steady, offering the kind of silent companionship a man like him clearly wasn’t used to receiving. No expectations. No judgment. Just a quiet, simple truth resting between you.

Sometimes you had to lose what you thought you wanted... to find what you really needed.

And sometimes, you just needed one more drink before you figured that out.

He drank through your entire shift, stubborn and quiet and heartbreakingly miserable, nursing glass after glass like he thought he could drown the ache inside him if he just poured enough liquor on it.

Thank God you made him write down his home address when he refused to stop ordering. You'd learned your lesson enough times—the pretty ones, the sad ones, the angry ones—they always thought they could walk home after half a bottle of whiskey. They never could.

By the time the bar lights dimmed for closing, he could barely sit up straight. His brown hair was more mussed than ever, and his tall, lean frame slouched heavily against the bar, one hand loosely wrapped around the last half-empty glass, blinking like he didn’t remember where he was.

You sighed, coming around the counter, gently prying the glass from his fingers. "Alright, handsome. That's enough."

He grumbled something—an attempt at protest, you thought—but when you hooked his arm over your shoulders, he leaned into you without a fight, his body heavy, pliant, the defeated weight of a man too tired to argue anymore.

It wasn't the first time you'd half-carried a stranger to a taxi. Wouldn’t be the last either.

The cool air outside hit him like a slap, making him stagger. You tightened your grip, steadying him as you flagged down a cab. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like an apology, but you ignored it, too focused on keeping him from faceplanting on the curb.

You bundled him into the back seat as carefully as you could, half-dropping him onto the worn leather seat. He slumped immediately, long legs awkwardly folding into the tiny space.

"Home," you told him, reaching into your pocket for the crumpled scrap of paper with his address scrawled in clumsy handwriting. You handed it to the taxi driver and pulled out a few bills, shoving them into the man’s hand without ceremony.

From the back seat, your drunken charge blinked up at you, hazel eyes glassy and confused. He caught sight of the money, his brows furrowing.

"You don't... have to pay," he slurred thickly. "I'll pay. I'll—I'll pay—"

You ignored him, tugging the door closed with a firm click. "Just get home safe, alright?" you said through the open window, your voice calm but not unkind.

Inside the cab, he stared at you, really stared. Like he couldn't quite believe you were real. "You’re kind," he mumbled, voice thick and low. "Very... very kind."

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. "Sleep it off, sweetheart."

The taxi pulled away slowly, its red taillights vanishing into the night. You stood there for a moment, arms folded against the chill, watching until the car disappeared around the corner.

You didn't even know his name, but it didn't matter. Tomorrow he wouldn’t remember you. He’d wake up hungover in his bed, probably wondering how the hell he got home, maybe even cursing the world all over again.

You dusted your hands on your jeans, turned back toward the bar’s heavy door, and muttered to yourself: "Poor bastard." And then you went inside, locking the night behind you.

Mark pressed his forehead lightly against the window, the cool glass misting with his breath. He squinted through the haze, wanting to look at you just a little longer before the taxi turned the corner and stole you from view.

The driver caught his gaze in the rearview mirror, one brow raising in mild amusement. "She looks like a nice woman," the man commented casually, his hands loose on the wheel.

Mark didn't answer. Just sat there, quiet, staring after you. But in his mind, he agreed.

She is.

The rest of the ride passed in heavy silence. Mark leaned back into the cracked leather seat, his tie askew, one hand resting limp on his thigh. His thoughts churned slowly, like the slow stirring of sediment at the bottom of a riverbed. By the time the cab pulled up outside his flat, he was stone sober with regret—and something else he didn’t want to name.

The next night, he returned. He told himself it was only to refund you the money, a matter of principle, fairness. But he knew better.

He pushed open the bar’s heavy door, the familiar smell of old wood and whiskey rushing to meet him. His brown eyes scanned the room, and when they found you behind the counter—wiping glasses, laughing softly at something a customer said—he felt that same quiet ache settle in his chest.

You looked up when the bell chimed above the door. Recognition flickered briefly across your face—surprise, maybe even a little amusement—but you hid it well, schooling your features back into that easy, professional calm.

Mark approached the bar stiffly, his hands shoved awkwardly into his coat pockets. His posture was rigid, formal, like a man approaching a judge rather than a bartender.

You leaned your elbows on the polished wood, tilting your head slightly. "Back so soon?" you teased lightly. "Feeling better, I hope?"

He cleared his throat, glancing away briefly. "Yes. Thank you. That’s..." He fumbled for the words, then produced a neatly folded bill from his coat pocket, setting it on the bar. "...for the taxi. You paid. I insist on reimbursing you."

You glanced down at the money, then back up at him, one eyebrow arching. "Not necessary," you said, your voice light but firm. "Consider it a good deed for the week."

Mark's jaw flexed, something stubborn sparking behind his brown eyes. "I would prefer to repay my debts," he said quietly.

You shook your head, smiling, and pushed the bill back toward him. "You're fine, handsome. Save it for your next heartbreak."

For a moment, Mark stood there, unmoving. Then, very deliberately, he gathered the bill, and without breaking eye contact, leaned forward and dropped several crisp notes into the tip jar instead.

You laughed—a real, genuine laugh this time—and shook your head. "Suit yourself, Mr...?"

He hesitated, then offered his hand, stiff and awkward but sincere.

"Darcy," he said. "Mark Darcy."

You took his hand, your fingers warm around his, your smile playful. "Well, Mr. Darcy," you said, squeezing lightly before letting go, "next time you get drunk in my bar, drinks are on you."

Mark huffed a quiet, almost imperceptible laugh. His brown eyes softened, just a fraction. "That seems fair," he said.

He didn’t ask you out then. He almost did. The words hovered at the back of his throat—carefully rehearsed, terrifyingly heavy—but instead, he simply nodded once, a little too formally, and retreated to a seat at the bar, loosening his coat and settling in like a man willing to take his time.

Mark Darcy was nothing if not patient. And tonight, he wasn’t here to drown anything.

He was here to begin something.

[shmaptainwrote]

𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 [𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐘]

PAIRINGS —  Mark Darcy x fem!Reader

SUMMARY —  Mark and Reader meet on a dock in Greece and the rest is history

WARNINGS — difficulty conceiving, pregnancy, allusions to sex

NOTE — Okay the beginning and end of this are definietly Mamma Mia-esque but TRUST ME it fits the vibessss- anyways I hope you guys like it :3 Also a big thanks to @/mystic-writings for beta-ing!

Mark wondered what had brought him here that day. There he was sitting on a dock in Greece, reevaluating all of the decisions he had made in recent days. He found it very hard to stay hopeful when that very much could have been the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with on that boat, sailing towards an island he didn’t know the name of with a ferry that wouldn’t allow him to chase after her until two days later. 

He was about to get up and turn around, find the nearest airport that would get him out of the sunny Mediterranean country, when he felt someone tap on his shoulder. 

He squinted against the sun, trying to get a better look at who it was, but it wasn’t clear until you stepped in front of him. 

“You miss the ferry?” you asked him and he nodded his head. “Shame,” you sighed and took a seat next to him. You introduced yourself and offered a hand for him to shake. He took it and introduced himself in return. 

“I don’t suppose your travels have also been…” he chose his words carefully, “subpar?” 

“Actually, they have,” you leaned back. “This was supposed to be some sort of girls trip.” 

“And?” 

“Well, you don’t see any girls around me do you,” you motioned to the empty dock. 

“No I don’t suppose I do.” 

You sat in silence for a moment, the sun beating down on both of your backs before you chose to speak again. 

“Have you done much sight-seeing yet?” 

“None. I just got here, and I think I’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow,” he admitted. 

“Leave Greece without seeing even one sight? You’re an interesting man, Mark.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” he sighed and pushed himself up off of the bench. 

“You know,” you started, “If you change your mind and want to see some of the sights before heading back to wherever you’re from, come find me. My hotel’s that one over there,” you pointed to one of the buildings overlooking the water. 

Mark nodded his head and wished you a good day before grabbing his bag and heading towards the main street, he’d call for a taxi and maybe his choice would be more clear to him the next morning. It was hard to think in the midday heat, because right now, for some peculiar reason, your offer seemed awfully enticing.

—

The next morning you awoke to a knock on your door. You checked the time, it was half past seven which was far too early for housekeeping. 

With a confused look on your face, and a just-in-case large vase in hand and ready for whatever was on the other side, you approached the door. In a quick motion you unlocked the door and swung it open, the vase held as threateningly as you could until you realized that you recognized those eyes and that tall frame. 

“Mark?” 

“You said if I wanted to get in some sightseeing before I go I should come to your hotel. You didn’t tell me what room though. I made a few awkward mistakes before landing on your door.” 

“What compelled you to do this at half past seven on a weekend?” you chuckled. 

“I could ask the same about your vase. Not normally something you greet someone with at the door,” he commented. 

“Just playing it safe,” you said, now lowering the vase and returning it to its place on the table. “Why don’t you give me two minutes to get dressed then I’ll properly invite you inside.” 

Mark nodded his head and you quickly shut the door, rummaging through your suitcases until you found what you wanted to wear, changing into it and reopening the door and allowing Mark to come inside. 

“So, what changed your mind?” you asked. “You seemed awfully set on leaving.” 

“I thought maybe it was time I took a break. I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation,” he admitted. “And it crossed my mind that perhaps you were right.” 

“About what?” 

“It would be a shame to leave Greece without seeing at least one sight.” 

You grabbed your bag and shoved a few things in it, looking back up at Mark. 

“Then let’s find a sight, shall we?” you offered your arm to him and he took it as you exited the room together. 

After you sorted out where you wanted to go you found yourselves on a hot overcrowded bus, trying to understand what the stops were and continuously looking at the map and your surroundings to determine where to get off. 

“So Mark, where do you hail from? I’m guessing England, but whereabouts?” you asked, over the loud engine. 

“London, currently,” he said. “And yourself?” 

“Currently? Also London,” you said. 

“But-,” 

“I don’t sound British?” you looked over at him and he chuckled. 

“Exactly,” he nodded. 

“I’m there for work. I’m an art curator,” you explained. “Brits bring pretty good business.” 

“That I can believe, and I think this is our stop,” he pointed. 

“Oh goodness, HEY! HEY! Stop the bus!” you called and stood up, waving down the driver with your hat. He slammed on the brakes and you jerked forward, almost falling into the seats in front of you if it weren’t for Mark quickly grabbing you by the waist and pulling you back down into your seat. “Man, let’s get the hell out of here.” 

Mark couldn’t help but give you a little smile as he helped you up from your seat and you exited the crowded bus as quickly as you could. 

“Good grief,” you sighed. “I would have gone flying if it weren’t for you. Thanks, Mark.” 

“Don’t mention it, all part of the Greek charm I suppose,” he shrugged as you began to walk down the quiet countryside street, looking for the entrance to the beach. 

“What about yourself, what do you do for work?” you asked. 

“I’m a lawyer,” he said. “Human rights type stuff mostly.” 

“Oh so a true London hotshot then,” you chuckled. “Come on, I think it’s right down here,” you motioned to a small trail opening. 

“Well, I don’t know if I’d say hotshot,” he said. 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m just teasing,” you said as you slipped on some loose gravel only to have Mark catch you again. 

“You’re quite clumsy.” 

“It’s a part of my charm,” you grinned. 

From there you both silently decided maybe it would be best if you held on to Mark so as to not fall again, and you walked a short distance in comfortable silence until you came to the opening of the beach. 

“Wow. Mark, this is really a sight,” you grabbed his arm and dragged him further so he could see the full view. 

The cove was secluded and the pristine water gently lapped against the shore along the white sand. 

“What do you think?” you asked. 

“I’m glad I stayed,” he said with a smile. 

Still hand in hand, you found a comfortable spot in the sand and laid out a blanket you had packed to sit on for the time being. 

“Do you have anyone waiting back home for you, Mark?” 

“Not aside from my parents,” he shook his head. “And yourself?” 

“Unattached currently,” you said while grabbing a water bottle from your bag. “My girlfriends would say this seems to have the making of a summer romance.” 

Mark found himself curious to see if you thought so too. Certainly he thought that seeing Bridget go off into the sunset with someone else would be the end of his romantic life, but perhaps he was mistaken. 

“Well, we’ll have to see if they’re right,” Mark said simply and you chuckled. 

Spending time with Mark was easy. It was as if your friends hadn’t all bailed on you and this was your plan all along. The days quickly melted into one, then two, then three and it was an easy routine for Mark to join you at your hotel in the morning. 

You were both too caught up in a whirlwind of tourism filled with adventures and flirting that you barely even noticed your departure date approaching. 

“Has it already been ten days?” you sighed, leaning into Mark’s side as you sat along the beach just outside of your hotel. 

“Went by a lot faster than I expected,” he admitted. “Feels like just yesterday I was so forwardly introduced to you.” 

“Shut up, Mark. You’ve had a good time,” you laughed. “Now let’s do one more fun thing before we go back to the doom and gloom of London.” 

“What do you have in mind?” he asked as you stood up and walked with him towards the water. 

“Hmm, have you ever tried the opposite of skinny dipping?” 

“Which is?” he frowned. 

“This!” you exclaimed while pushing him into the water, fully clothed, but not before he grabbed onto your waist, pulling you down with him. 

You squealed in surprise, falling on top of him in the shallow water. 

“Did you really think you could get away with that?” Mark asked and you shook your head with a laugh. 

“It was either this or you’d get up and chase me and throw me into the water.” 

“We could do that too if you wanted,” he moved one of  the wet strings of your top off of your cheek which it was currently stuck to. 

“No, I think I kind of like it here,” you said with a whisper. 

“Good, because then I can do this,” his thumb moved from your cheek to your chin, pinching it between that and his index finger and bringing your face closer to his before finally pressing his lips to yours. 

You brought yourself as close as you could to him, your hands holding on to both sides of his face. You could feel the water’s crests and falls and tasted its salt on Mark’s lips. 

When he gently moved away, giving you both a moment to breathe, he said, “I had to make sure I gave you a proper kiss goodbye.” 

“Could I perhaps entice you to make that a regular occasion?” you asked. 

Mark kissed you again, this time shorter before giving you a thinking face and then nodding his head. 

You chuckled and grabbed his hand, standing up yourself first before pulling him up with you. He trailed behind you as you walked towards your things, pressing a kiss to your temple from behind, then your neck until neither of you could help it and turned around to kiss properly again. 

“Why don’t you stay in my room tonight,” you murmured. “And maybe if we’re lucky the vacation will continue when we’re back in London. Any objections?” 

“No, sustained,” he kissed you again and you giggled at his joke. 

“Save something for the room, Mark,” you teased as you pulled away, “If we stay out here much longer we’ll be putting on a show for the tourists.” 

“And?” he raised a mischievous brow. 

“Mark!” you exclaimed with a surprised laugh, quickly grabbing your bag while he grabbed the blanket, shaking out the sand before grabbing your hand and heading back to the hotel, prepared for whatever this summer romance would bring. 

—

A few months later…

“Mark! I’m here, are you home yet?” you called into the townhome as you stepped across the threshold, throwing your keys on the table and slipping off your coat. 

There wasn’t an answer so you assumed he hadn’t arrived yet, but when you climbed up the stairs you saw him lying down on the couch with a pillow over his face. 

You chuckled a little and quietly bent down and removed the pillow only to be met by a soft, 

“Hey.” 

“Last I remember, you asked me to come over after work,” you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his nose. “How was your day?” 

“Exhausting, can’t you tell?” 

“Yes, quite clearly,” you nodded as you sat on the edge of the couch. “So, did you miss me?” 

“Dreadfully,” he nodded and beckoned you to come lay down with him. “How was work?”

“It was alright,” you sighed. “I think I’m getting tired of working for snooty rich folk. Maybe I need a change of scenery.”

Mark kissed your temple and you hummed, 

“Or maybe I should stay like this all day.”

“I wouldn’t complain,” he teased. 

“But alas, there’s work to be done. Come on, we have to make dinner,” you pushed yourself up and took Mark’s hand, helping him up and dragging him to the kitchen.

You had agreed earlier on what to make for dinner so you easily fell into a rhythm of preparing things together. 

Even though the clouds were grey and it was perpetually raining in London, when you were with Mark, everywhere felt like Greece. 

“Mark, how am I supposed to get any bloody work done when you keep distracting me?” you asked just as he finished pressing yet another kiss to your neck. 

“We could forget about work,” he suggested. 

“As much as that sounds enticing, I’m starving,” you sighed. “And I think we both know what happens when I haven’t had enough to eat.” 

“Yes, I believe we’d like to avoid that,” he nodded his head and went back to chopping up some vegetables. 

“Mark, can you pass me the pepper and paprika please?” you asked, pointed over to his spice cabinet as you walked away from the stove for a minute to go grab something to drink. 

As you bent down to check what was in the fridge, something caught your eye on the counter and you quietly closed the fridge to inspect it. 

“Mark, what’s this?’ you asked, picking up the small box and opening it as he protested only to stare blankly at what was in front of you. 

“Ideally,” he started, “this would not have happened.” 

“I-I just…” your voice trailed off. 

Mark sighed, “You see I was worried this would happen, you’d see this and get scared and run away, and I’ve ruined it, haven’t I.” 

“You mean this is meant for me?” you pointed to the ring, then to yourself. 

He nodded his head.

“When did you get it?” you asked. 

“The day we left Greece,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “See I told you, you would think I was insane-.” 

“I never thought that,” you were grinning, looking up at him. 

“You-You don’t?” he confirmed. 

“Since I’ve ruined the surprise, why don’t you ask me the question and see what my answer is.” you suggested. “Go on.” 

“I-Darling, are you sure you want to do it like this? I could plan something more romantic than being in my kitchen in the middle of making dinner.” 

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s perfect.” 

Mark took a deep breath and walked up to you, taking your hands in his, saying your name in the way he did that made you feel like it was his magic spell that would fix all his problems. 

“Will you-,” 

“Yes,” you interrupted him, unable to even contain your own excitement. 

“You didn’t even let me get the question out,” he chuckled. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you shook your head. “Say it again.” 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Mark Darcy, I would love to marry you,” you grinned and he quickly pulled you in for a searing kiss. 

When you pulled apart, Mark took the ring from the box and slipped it onto your finger. 

“Your parents are going to think we’re insane,” you laughed. 

“And yours won’t?” he poked. 

“Oh I’m sure they will, but-wait, what’s that smell?” you frowned. 

Mark turned around and you looked past him seeing the smoke coming from the pan. 

“Shit!” you exclaimed and quickly went to turn the stove off and move the pan off the hot element. 

You both examined the burnt food and then looked at each other. 

“Take out?” you suggested and he nodded. 

“Thai?” 

“Nah, what about Mexican?” you asked and he shook his head. 

“Indian?” Mark landed on and you nodded. 

“That’s the one.” 

Mark easily reached out his hand and took it in yours before grabbing your coats and heading out the door. 

As you walked down the lit streets, Mark lifted your hands so you could both see the ring glimmering under the streetlamps. 

“I think it looks complete with a ring,” you said. “Don’t you?” 

“I surely do,” he nodded and pressed a kiss to your hand. “I love you, my darling.” 

You smiled fondly at him, “I love you too.” 

—

Several years later…

Mark never got tired of going to sleep and waking up next to you every single day. If anything, his heart longed for you to be next to him when he was away on trips for work. 

Tonight was no different, except it was a little sweeter on this occasion, it always was when he was coming back from being away. 

He quietly got changed and slipped into bed next to you and you jolted awake, turning around excitedly. 

“Jesus, Mark! When did you get here?” you asked. 

“Moments ago,” he chuckled. 

“I tried to stay awake,” you yawned. “I really did.” 

“Well, you’re up now,” he kissed you. “And I suppose that means we can fall back asleep together.” 

“Yes, but before we do that, I have something I wanted to ask you,” you started. “I’ve been thinking about this when you were away and I was wondering what you think of maybe having a little one join us?” 

“You mean like Lucy?” he looked over at the corgi sleeping at the foot of the bed. “I suppose we could get another puppy-,” 

“Mark, not a puppy,” you laughed. “A baby.” 

“A baby,” he hummed thoughtfully. It was something he always assumed he would have, it seemed like the next logical progression of things, and when Mark thought of having a miniature version of you running through the hallways of your home, he was sold. “I think, if you’re ready of course, maybe we should start trying.” 

“Really?” you grinned. 

“It’s an easy decision,” he kissed your nose. “I would take any chance to bring more of your light to the world.” 

You gently reached out for Mark’s cheek and looked at him lovingly. 

“Funny, I was thinking the same about you.” 

You both shared a sweet kiss, and Mark let his lips stray away from your lips, kissing along your jaw then your neck. 

“You know, we could start trying now,” he murmured. “No harm in getting a head start.” 

“Well, I am awake,” you raised your brows and squealed playfully while he pulled you on top of him. 

After a little bit more discussion in the following days, you and Mark had gotten yourselves as prepared as you could for life as a family of three. Mark was determined to make sure your finances were in line and what both of your work lives would look like once a baby came into the picture. With that sorted you began trying, and weeks turned into months, which turned into a year, and then another, still with nothing. 

Mark could see how difficult it was getting, each time you went in with a little light of hope in your eyes, but it continuously became dimmer and dimmer with each negative result. 

At this point, you both wanted it so badly, but nothing you were doing seemed to do the trick so to speak. 

Mark waited patiently outside the washroom while you went in there with another test, by now you had both lost count. When you came out he could see that the test still wasn’t done, so you both waited in silence by the kitchen counters for the three agonizing minutes to pass. 

When your watch beeped, you hesitated before lifting the test up to your face to see what the results were. Mark was standing across from you and he watched as all hope and energy drained from face and how quickly your shoulders began to shake while you covered your face with your hand and began to sob. 

Mark quickly came to your side and wrapped you up in his arms, taking the test away from you and placing it on the counter, allowing you to feel the weight on your chest, but also lean on him. 

“I-I’m so sorry, Mark,” you shook your head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he shook his head. “It’s just a hurdle, we’ll jump over it like we always do.” 

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” you cried softly into his shoulder. “It’s been two years since we started trying, Mark.” 

“Then let’s press pause,” he whispered and kissed your temple, he could feel a few tears welling in his own eyes, not only was his heart crushed by the state you were in, but regardless of how much he let on, he wanted this too. 

After a few more moments in silence together you told Mark you were going to call in sick at the museum and just take the day. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asked. 

“No, you have important things to do at work, you should go,” you said as you walked back into your room. 

Mark watched from the doorway as you walked to your side of the bed and slipped back under the covers. 

“Are you sure?” he checked again. 

“I’m sure,” you nodded. 

He came in and kissed your temple once more, whispering a soft I love you which you returned. 

Mark gathered his things and headed out the door, calling a taxi to come and pick him up. As he sat in the car and an overwhelming feeling came over him, he was about halfway to work when he couldn’t sit with it any longer. 

“Can we please turn the car around,” he asked. “Just take me back to where you picked me up,” he told the driver while dialing a number on his phone. 

“Hello?” a man’s voice on the other line responded. 

“Paul, it’s Mark, I’m not going to be able to come to work today, something came up at home and I have to be with my wife.” 

“I’m sure the world won’t burn down without you for one day,” Paul assured him. “Go be with your wife. You both barely took any time off for your honeymoon anyways.” 

“Thank you, Paul. Call me if you need anything that I can do from home.” 

“I won’t. Like I said, go be with your wife.” 

Mark chuckled and they hung up the phone. He’d always had a hard time letting go of work, but sometimes it was a little easier when it came to you, and you both agreed there were a few things in your relationship that not even an urgent case could pull Mark away from. In his opinion, this was one of them. 

When he entered the house again, he tossed his keys on the front table and slipped off his shoes while loosening his tie. 

Coming back into the room again, he could see you were still curled up in the bed and Mark came carefully placing himself behind you and wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“You came back?” you asked. 

“This is more important than work,” he said. “Someone else can save the world today.” 

You turned around and pressed your face into his chest, holding him so tightly. 

“Thank you for coming,” you mumbled. “It hurts a little less when you’re around.” 

“I feel the same,” he kissed your hairline. “And regardless of how things turn out, whether you get pregnant, or we adopt, or decide not to have a baby after all, we’ll still have each other.” 

You looked up at him with a small smile, 

“No regrets?” you asked, but he could tell you were teasing. 

“Never,” he leaned down and kissed you and you knew he meant it. 

—

A few more years later… 

Mark stood outside the front door to his home, looking down at what was in his hands in contemplation. What would be the best way to break the news to you? He could just come in and show you, but perhaps it would be best to tell you slowly, he could manage that, he just had to use his skills as a lawyer and it would be easy as pie, you wouldn’t even know what had hit you. 

With one last deep breath, Mark swung the door open and stepped inside. 

“Darling, I’m home!” he called. 

“Oh good!” you called, “I have something I want to tell you.” 

Mark frowned curiously, and thought to himself what could it be that you had to tell him? 

He hid his one hand behind his back and climbed up the stairs, meeting you in the living room. 

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” you asked when you stepped into the room from the hallway. 

“What did you want to tell me?” he asked in return. 

“Maybe we should go on three?” you suggested and Mark nodded. 

“1…” 

“2…”

“3.” 

“I bought another dog.” “I’m pregnant.” 

Mark’s jaw dropped as he now held the baby dachshund puppy in front of him. 

“You’re-You’re what?!” he repeated. 

“You bought another dog?!” you looked with surprise at the puppy in front of you. 

“I just thought Lucy was getting lonely, and we could use the extra energy in the house, but wait,” he paused, placing the small puppy on a soft spot of the carpet. “You said you’re…” 

“Pregnant,” you smiled. 

“But I thought-,” 

“We couldn’t have kids?” you filled in for him and he nodded. “Turns out impossible sometimes means: very, very, very, very unlikely.” 

“We’re going to have a baby,” Mark said softly to himself. “My God, we’re going to have a baby!” 

He scooped you up in his arms and pressed a smacking kiss to your lips and you joked, 

“Took us long enough.” 

To which Mark laughed and said, 

“I know right.” 

“Now, I think someone on the carpet wants our attention,” you moved over to pick up the small puppy who was wagging its tail excitedly. “What’s your name, little one?” 

“Maisie. She’s a rescue,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around you again from behind. 

“A baby, and a puppy,” you shook your head. “It’s perfect, don’t you think?” 

Lucy barked and you both laughed. 

“Someone certainly thinks so,” Mark commented before bending down to pick Lucy up so she could meet her new sister. 

“It will be a full house, that’s for sure,” you kissed Mark’s cheek, “but something tells me that’s what will make it fun.” 

—

Nine months passed like a whirlwind and before you knew it, your beautiful baby Ana was here with minimal complications, leaving you with a very healthy baby. 

The first time Mark held her in his arms you knew it was love at first sight, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen him smile that big.

“How am I supposed to go back to work when she’s growing every second,” Mark sighed and whispered as you held the napping baby in your arms, sitting up in your bed. 

“You could try it out and see what it’s like,” you suggested. “Or maybe you could do consulting from home for a bit, until she’s a little older. Do you think they would let you do that?” 

“They might,” he nodded. “They’ll probably call the police to report a missing person first.” 

“Come on Mark, you’re not that bad,” you chuckled. “Okay, maybe you are, but you’ve always made time for what’s important. Trust me, especially if you talk to Paul, he’d be surprised if you didn’t quit.” 

“I’ll call tomorrow and speak with the firm to see what they’ll allow,” he said.

“Are you sure you won’t miss working cases too much, and you won’t be too cooped up in the house with us?” 

“I’m sure, and like you said, if it works out I can always reevaluate when she’s older.” 

He looked back down at his daughter and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“Don’t you think she’s just the most beautiful baby you’ve ever laid eyes on,” you sighed, leaning into your husband’s shoulder. 

“The most beautiful indeed,” he turned his head and kissed your temple. “Just like her mother.” 

“Mark, I’m literally a week postpartum after a geriatric pregnancy, no one looks good after that,” you laughed. 

“You have the glow of motherhood,” he insisted. “And your smile still hasn’t changed,” the corner of your mouth with his thumb. 

“Sweat and delirium, my love,” you responded. “But either way,” you looked down at Ana once more. “I still can’t believe she’s really here.”

“Neither can I,” Mark spoke softly, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “Our daughter.” 

“Have you thought about what you want her to call you?” you asked. 

“I was thinking Papa, but I’m not sure it suits me, but she’s far too young to be training her.”

“Speak for yourself, I’ve already started to teach her how to say mum,” you teased which made Mark chuckle. 

Ana started to move and shift in your arms and you could sense she was waking up to be fed. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t be much help for this,” Mark said. “But I can go into the kitchen and warm up one of those lasagnes your mother made when she visited so that we can have something to eat.” 

“Sounds splendid,” you kissed your husband’s cheek and exchanged quick "I love yous" before moving on with your respective tasks. 

No matter how tired you got over the next couple of months, you both would never forget that feeling, the one of gratitude that by some chance of life, you were able to create the little human being in your arms. 

—

“Sweetheart, are you sure you’re okay to do today alone?” you asked. 

“I’m sure,” Mark insisted, “look at us,” he pointed to the baby carrier fitted with a recently one year old Ana. “I’ve got phone consultations lined up for the day and some simple casework. You should go before you’re late.”

“Goodness, you’re right,” you looked down at your watch. “They really don’t tell you how hard it is to leave.”

Mark quickly kissed you goodbye and you kissed Ana, lingering a little longer, not knowing how you’d last a full day without your little girl. 

“Alright, goodbye my loves, I’ll miss you,” you blew them both kisses and Ana giggled which made you smile as you headed down the stairs and quickly ran out the door to get into your taxi. 

Back inside Mark slowly began to get into the groove of things. 

“Today is Papa and Ana banana’s day,” he smiled and kissed the top of her head, listening to her babble. She’d do that whenever he called her Ana banana and sometimes he’d do it just to hear her little attempt at speech and communication. “Alright, shall we get to work?” 

Ana bounced in her carrier, smiling brightly. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mark grinned. 

Having already felt with breakfast, Mark put on an earpiece and began making his necessary phone calls, walking around his home office consulting on matters pertaining to different cases he was consulting on. 

After about an hour or so Ana began to get a little fussy and Mark assumed she wanted to move around a bit, so he took her out of her carrier and placed her inside an enclosed play area in his office while he did some paperwork. 

He loved any time he would get to spend with Ana, even if it meant working from home. 

The rest of the day went by in a flash and by the time you got home both Mark and Ana were taking a nap on the couch. Ana was lying on top of Mark’s chest drooling on his shirt and Mark still had his bluetooth in his ear. 

It was a sight to see and you quickly snapped a picture before either of them awoke. 

Carefully you took Ana off of Mark and went to place her in her cot and woke up Mark, knowing if he stayed asleep any longer he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night.

“Where’s Ana?” he asked immediately and you chuckled. 

“I put her in the cot. Your father-daughter day go as planned?” 

“Exactly,” he nodded and you kissed his cheek. 

“Come on, I brought home dinner. You can tell me all about it.”

You took Mark by the hand and dragged him to the kitchen, making sure to turn the baby monitor on in case Ana woke up. 

You grabbed your takeout and sat on the counter, eating your food, watching Mark and listening to him recount all of the cute things Ana did throughout the day. 

Even though more of your meals had become store bought and you were running around in every direction, it was always all worth it when at the end of the day you could sit together and visit, especially with Ana at your side. 

—

“I think we should go, don’t you?” you placed the invitation back on the table. “It’s a good excuse to go on vacation again and it’s around the area where we met. It could be romantic.”

Mark looked skeptical. 

“I’m not sure it’s the best idea, perhaps we could go another time.”

“Isn’t this your friend getting married?” you asked. “Come on Mark, please? Right Ana darling? Don’t you wanna go too?”

“Yes Papa,” she stood up in her chair and clasped her small hands together. “Please!” 

Mark looked over at his wife and daughter and shook his head. 

“Alright, I’ll look into the tickets,” he said and you grinned and Ana clapped. 

“Your first real vacation Miss Ana, what do you think?” you kissed her cheek. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I’ve never been on vacation.”

Mark chuckled and picked up his now six-year-old daughter, 

“Well, your mum and I met on vacation,” Mark told her. “She was very clumsy.”

“And your papa was very-”

“Handsome,” Mark tickled Ana and she squealed. “Now before your mum can correct me, why don’t we go look for flights, Ana banana.”

“Alright, Papa,” Ana agreed. 

“Ah ah ah,” you scooped Ana out of Mark’s hands. “After she finishes her dinner.” 

Ana quickly jumped out of your arms and went to eat her food as fast as she could so she could join her dad. 

“Slow down, sweetheart you’re going to choke,” you chuckled as she pushed her plate away from herself, saying,

“Done!” with her mouth half full of food. 

In the end you got what you wanted because three short months later you had landed in Greece and were on your way to the location of the wedding being held for Mark’s friend. 

“Mark, isn’t this the dock where we met?” you asked, looking around at the benches as scenery that looked very familiar. “Yes, I think it is, look, there’s that hotel I stayed at.”

“Mum, this is where you and Papa met?” Ana asked and you nodded. 

“What a lovely coincidence that is,” you smiled and kissed your daughter's cheek. 

Mark just gave you a small smile as you awaited the ferry and after you boarded the crowded boat, you squished into a few seats with Ana sitting half on your leg and half on Mark’s. 

“I guess you finally have the chance to take this ferry,” you laughed a little to yourself, but you could help but notice that Mark was awfully quiet. You figured you’d ask him about it later, maybe once you’d settled in your hotel room, but first on your list was to mingle with the rest of the wedding guests and the bride and groom in some of the hotel common areas. 

All three of you couldn’t have been more happy to get off that boat and Ana was excited to have a little run around before coming back and holding one of your hands and one of Mark’s. 

“Did you and Papa come here, Mum?” Ana asked while swinging both her arms. 

“No, we didn’t,” you shook your head. “I guess we were just waiting to come with you.” 

“Well you waited a long time.” 

That made you both chuckle as you finally finished your walk and arrived at the hotel. 

“Should we check in or-?” 

“Mark!” you all turned when you heard his name only to see a bright smiling blonde woman coming your way. “Mark, it’s so good to see you, I’m so glad you could make it.”

She gave him a big hug before taking a step back and introducing herself to both you and Ana.

“I’m Bridget,” she said. “It’s so nice to meet you all, you must be Mark’s family.”

“Yes,” you grinned. “And you’re the bride!” 

“Guilty,” she laughed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come or not, but I figured I’d throw the invitation out there.” 

“Oh, why wouldn’t he come?” you asked curiously, not noticing Mark’s tense reaction. 

“It’s just, after Mark and I broke up I came to Greece, oh what was it, around ten fifteen years ago, and I just hoped it wasn’t a sore subject still, but I can see it isn’t,” she pointed at you and Ana. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

You wanted to respond, but your mouth seemed to stop working. You heard Mark do it for you and quickly excused you all so you could check into the hotel. 

You could hear your name being said a few times when finally a gentle hand on your shoulder pulled you out of your trance. 

“Ana, can you do Papa a favour and go over there and spend time with aunt Jude?” he asked. 

“Okay,” she nodded and chased after her father’s friend’s wife leaving just you and Mark. 

You turned to him with a hurt look on your face, 

“You came to Greece to chase after her didn’t you,” you said quietly. “That’s why I found you on the dock; that’s why you were waiting for the ferry.”

Mark chewed on his lip and nodded. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me she was your ex before letting me convince myself it was a good idea to come here?” 

“Darling, you were so excited and I didn’t think it mattered-,”

“Mark, please,” you shook your head. “I just-,” you paused and took a breath. “I need some time.” 

You took some of your things and went to the front desk to check into the hotel while Mark went to join Jude who had Ana in her arms. He made friendly conversation until you were done and you collected Ana and went upstairs to your room in silence. 

“Ana, how are you feeling, my love?” you asked. 

“I’m a little sleepy,” she admitted. “Is it bedtime soon?” 

“Mhmm,” you nodded. “We’ll all get ready and tuck in early, how does that sound?” 

She yawned, “Good.” 

Once you got in the room, you started to help Ana get changed while Mark got out your toiletries and easily took over when it came to teeth brushing. You took the time to get changed and settled, giving Ana a book to flip through while you and Mark both silently got ready for bed and slipped in the bed on either side of Ana. 

You slept close to the edge, your back turned away from the centre so Ana naturally decided to curl closer to father. 

“Is Mum okay?” Ana asked in a quiet mumble. 

“I hope so,” Mark kissed her head. “Why don’t we go to sleep, maybe we’ll all feel a little better in the morning.” 

You hoped deep down Mark was right. 

—

“Why isn’t Mum coming with us to the beach?” Ana asked while Mark helped her put on some sunscreen. 

“She just needs some time to herself,” Mark said simply. “You know how Mum and Papa sometimes like to have alone time.” 

“Yeah, but we’re on vacation,” she tilted her head. “Do you think she’ll come later?” 

“Maybe Ana banana, I’m not sure. I think Papa might have hurt her feelings by accident,” he admitted. 

“Did you say you were sorry?” she asked. 

“I did, but sometimes we need to say sorry and give some alone time, too.” 

Ana nodded her head thoughtfully, “Okay, then let’s go to the beach so she can have her alone time.”

Mark nodded his head and took his daughter’s hand in one of his and grabbed a bag in the other and they headed out to the beach together. 

Ana was adamant on starting off with a sandcastle, but both her and Mark found out quickly it was a little harder than it looked in all the movies, so they quickly abandoned that task to go for a swim. Ana had always enjoyed being in the water and Mark loved seeing how much she was enjoying herself. He just wished you were there to see it with him. 

He tried to keep his focus on Ana for the time being, knowing he would hopefully have a moment later to talk to you, but the day passed so quickly and before he knew it you were back in bed resting to prepare for the rehearsal dinner the next day. 

The next morning, Mark made a point to speak with you before you went down for breakfast, knowing if he left it he may not catch you until dinner. 

“I spoke with Jude,” he started, “she can look after Ana this afternoon so we can talk.” 

“Alright,” you nodded. “We can meet on the terrace.” 

Mark agreed and before you left, quickly reached for your hand to give it a squeeze. 

You chewed on your lip before squeezing it back, he was still your husband and you still loved him regardless of your hurt. 

The afternoon couldn’t come fast enough for Mark, he waited anxiously by the terrace after dropping Ana off with Jude, at least she’d have fun playing with her friends. 

“Mark,” you waved him down by the stairs. “Come on, let's walk,” you suggested. 

He jogged to catch up with you and you walked side by side down the stairs and further along into the streets, busy with traffic and locals, just going about their daily business. 

“I figured I should probably tell you the whole story of how I ended up in Greece,” Mark said, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

You nodded your head and motioned for him to continue. 

“After Bridget and I broke up, for the second time mind you, I thought I had to chase after because in my mind I thought she was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with,” he said truthfully. “So I wound up on that bench on the dock, mourning my losses as she came to the island and I was stuck on the mainland.”

“You wanted to marry her?” you asked. 

“I thought I did,” he clarified, “but then I met you.” 

“Mark-,” 

“You know me, darling. I’m terrible with emotional declarations, which is probably why I never managed to tell you how quickly I fell in love with you,” he admitted. “I was set to pack my bags and go home, but you convinced me, somehow just in your demeanour to stay, and so I did and spent ten of the most wonderful days of my life by your side. It made me realize the reason I came to Greece wasn’t for Bridget, I came because I had to meet you.” 

You looked up at Mark and saw him staring down at his shoes. 

“It never occurred to me to mention her because of how clear my future looked with you in it. How clear it still looks.” 

“And how does it look?” you asked. 

“Well,” he sighed. “Ana grows up and becomes a lawyer of course.” 

You chuckled at that. 

“And as she grows we retire eventually, move into that rundown cottage in the countryside we always talk about buying. They come up with some way to keep dogs alive forever and we grow old, fixing our cottage with Lucy and Maisie and Ana visits us on weekends, eventually with a husband and our grandchildren. It’s quiet and simple, but it’s us.” 

You smiled a little to yourself and leaned your head against his arm which he easily wrapped around you. 

“How uncomfortable was that for you?” you asked, knowing your husband wasn’t often fond of talking about his feelings.

“Unbearable,” he said, “but worth it.” 

“Good,” you turned his head to face you and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I’d love to grow old with you, Mark Darcy. Although I’m already convinced we have a little bit, the hotel bed is really not doing it for my back.” 

“That’s funny, I was going to say the pillows for my neck,” Mark teased and you nudged him a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.” 

“I’m sorry I doubted you had a very romantic reason for not telling me,” you joked while circling back towards the hotel. Ana caught both of your eyes and she waved at you, rushing down to meet you at the bottom of the stairs, much to Jude’s worry. 

“Mum, is your alone time done?” Ana asked. 

“Yes it is, my dear,” you laughed and bent down to kiss her forehead. 

“Good, cause you need to come see this trick I learned!” she exclaimed, grabbing both yours and Mark’s hands and pulling you up the stairs. 

@/iceman-kazansky

[velmvel]

I've been at home on medical leave for about a month, and I’ve started wondering if it might be a good idea to try writing fanfiction. I’m 25 and I’ve never written anything before. Am I too old to start? The greatest writers started at 13!😭😭

If you have an idea or recommendation for beginners I'll really appreciate it

[venus-vault]

The Wife Of A Close Friend

Daniel Cleaver × Fem!Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Part 1 - One Christmas Eve, while Mark is stuck at the office, Daniel Cleaver pays (y/n) a visit...

⚠️TW: Cheating, Mild Daddy Kink, Mild Dirty Talk, Manipulation, Sleaziness, Raw P in V Penetration, Carly Simon, General Smut.

The house phone rings out, shrill and I pick it up "Hello?"

"Hello, (y/n). When's hubby due home?" Daniel, my husband Mark's best friend.

"Daniel, hi. Mark said he'd be back closer to 6pm. Do you two have plans tonight?"

"I'll be there in 10. Wear something appealing."

"Its only two, why would you-" click.

Asshole.

I hang up and a little over ten minutes later the doorbell rings. I open it to a smiling, if fatigued, Daniel Cleaver. He's flushed, breathing hard as he runs a hand through his hair. Today he's wearing a linen button down and jeans under his coat and if I wasn't constantly on the verge of wanting to kill him, I'd say he looks good. Great, even.

"Did you run here?"

"Did I run here? Will there ever be peace in the middle east? Are you wearing panties? These are all very difficult questions, (y/n), I propose we start with the panties and work backwards," he wheezes

"Watch it-" I warn

"You're right, I'm awful, we should talk it out over drinks,"

I roll my eyes and he nods into the foyer, pushing past me.

"Oh, won't you come in." I plead flatly.

I step aside, closing the door to follow behind as he saunters into the kitchen, plucks a beer from the fridge and discards his coat over the counter. His eyes leer over me as he takes a swig of his drink.

"Does Mark know you traipse around the house in these skimpy little dresses while he's at work?"

"It's Prada, for your information and it is not skimpy..." I tug the hem of the mini dress as low as I'm able to, but it refuses to support my assertion and I feel myself redden some.

He smiles devilishly and turns away for a moment, teeth catching his lower lip as he does. "Right," he scoffs, amused at my expense.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this midday home invasion, Mr. Cleaver?"

"Two-thirty is hardly the middle of the day, (y/n), middle of the afternoon maybe, but-"

"The point. Reach it."

"You don't remember the model number of the speaker set you gave Mark last year for Christmas off-hand, do you? I've been looking for something similar for my flat, they're sold out everywhere, and I've never heard more crisp audio in my life than I have through those speakers."

"Oh, erm... I don't remember it off-hand, actually, we did just move them to the bedroom from the living room, I'll show you where they are. Do you have a pad and pen?"

"Always, lead the way."

I show him upstairs to the bedroom and lean against the doorframe, pointing out the speaker set just across from mine and Mark's bed.

"Just there, check whatever you need."

"Excellent, you're a peach, thank you."

"Anytime."

I watch Daniel investigate the speakers, turning a couple over and writing down some numbers in his moleskine. He then shuffles through the adjacent CD collection a bit before looking over to me.

"What's your poison?"

"I'd rather not."

"Come on (y/n), have some fun, god knows that's gone out the window here now that you and Mark are married." He quips, continuing his search.

"Here, Carly Simon : 'No Secrets', we love a bit of Carly, dont we?" He winks and I can't help but giggle.

He sets the CD into the player and selects a track, pressing the play button. The muted bass intro of  'Youre So Vain' fills the room and Daniel is... it wouldn't be fair to call it dancing but he is definitely... moving to the beat, and -shock horror- extending a hand to me.

'and all the girls dreamed that they'd be your partner, they'd be your partner and-' 

I let out a loud laugh as I take his hand and we are twirling, twisting, dancing... having fun. 

He's not the worst dancer in the world and I nearly cackle as he dips me, brings me up, spins me out and back into his arms, and this is nice, actually.

We sway and maybe I've judged him a bit too harshly... he is best friends with Mark after all, how bad could the man be, really?

"Y'know, Mick Jagger subbed in backing vocals on this one..." he speaks into the crook of my neck, low and soothing, his breath warm.

"Did he?" It becomes apparent to me that yes, yes he did. Interesting.

"Mm. It's funny, the song could very easily be about him..."

"I suppose it could be, huh..."

'I had some dreams, there were clouds in my coffe, clouds in my coffee and...'

As we sway, Daniel's body molds to mine, hands finding my hips. I let my eyes close, my hands resting over his. We fit together like puzzle pieces as our fingers interlace and this is nice. It's never like this with Mark.

Daniel's lips ghost the side of my neck and a shiver runs down my spine "Daniel, don't..." I turn around, my eyes meeting his in shock.

"(y/n), darling, relax. We're only dancing. I know for a fact, Mark barely even uses these speakers. Why not let me appreciate what he so clearly doesn't?" he closes the short distance Ive left bewteen us, eyes trailing over me, drinking in my face, my figure. "What he couldn't...possibly..." his eyes capture mine and he leans down, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek. I don't move. I can barely breathe.

'and when you're not you're with, some underworld spy or-'

Daniel's lips lock to mine and the world goes quiet. Our tongues explore eachother's mouths and he moans and before I realize it I'm unbuttoning his shirt.

Daniel places a hand over mine. "(y/n). wait, wait." A look of genuine concern colors his features as he looks down at me, speaking softly "I just... I want you to know that I like you. Love you, really. Every day I kick myself for not objecting to your vows with Mark. You've completely captivated me since our first meeting. You occupy my mind, always... not just when I'm in the shower. So this... you, wanting me too... it...means something to me." His eyes search mine for understanding and it's there.

I take a deep, shaky breath. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"What could I have said? 'No, Darcy, please don't marry her, I love her more than you do' ??"

His tongue traces his lower lip as his eyes flick to my mouth, and he starts to lean in again.

We shouldn't. This is wrong. I'm married to his best friend. He's an awful person. A total prat. A prat who tastes like cigarettes and Diet Coke. A prat whose hands feel incredible on my ass. A prat, who is currently...unzipping my dress... and whose charm I am utterly defenseless to. 

The dress in question falls to the ground in a heap and I'm stood before him in just my bra and panties. As Daniel looks me over, a low moan escapes him and he gasps.

"Ohh, how I've dreamed of this moment. You are...perfect, (y/n), just...ravishing..." his arms wrap around me again and he nibbles my neck while unhooking my bra, tossing it haphazardly aside.

He drags the freshly dampened panties down my legs and helps me out of them, eyes holding mine as he does. But his clothes are still on.

"Bit unfair, isn't it?" I question.

"Looking to level the playing field?" A grin. Daniel reaches a hand back, closing the bedroom door with a click.

I bite my lip, reaching out to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt and push it off his shoulders.

His arms are well-muscled, his chest taut and stomach defined. I start to undo his belt, then his trousers, dropping to my knees before him as I do.

I can tell just from the outline of it he is thick and my mouth drops open as I watch his dick strain against the fabric of his black boxer-briefs.

My fingers hook into the sides of the waistband and he takes in a sharp breath as I pull them down his legs, cock eagerly bouncing forth to greet me.

Daniel tilts my chin up so I'm looking up at him again. "Can I ask a favor of you?"  He smirks down at me.

"Yes, Mr. Cleaver?" my best bambi eyes.

"Open your mouth, Mrs. Darcy."

I open wide for him, tongue out, and Daniel laces his fingers into my hair, slowly guiding my head as far down onto his length as possible, in and out, gradually speeding up to a regular pace. I gag when he hits the back of my throat and blink away tears as he continues to roughly fuck my mouth.

"Ohhh, Mrs. Darcy, your tongue feels fucking exquisite... there you go, that's a good girl... take. It. All..." he dips into the back of my throat a few times in a row and when I  gag again, he groans, gasping sharply. His hand is still enmeshed in my hair and he reminds me of it by jerking my head backwards, cock exiting my mouth with a pronounced pop.

Daniel strokes my cheek, taking in the sight of me on my knees, heaving, lips swollen, body buzzing.

"Mm. I think I'm going to have to fuck you now, (y/n). Too gorgeous not to, I'm afraid. Lay back for me, yeah?"

I rest back on the carpet and he follows me down, nipping and kissing down my neck, hands traveling over the contours of my body as he does.

He takes his cock in hand, stroking it a few times as he looks my face over.

"Are you ready for me?" I nod and he smirks, parting my legs. He glides the tip along my vulva, teasing, and lets out a satisfied hum at the slickness of it.

Daniel aligns himself with my entrance and hastily slips his cock inside of me. He is... much larger than I realized and I gasp at the sudden fullness as he begins to steadily roll his hips down into mine.

"Fuck me, that's tight, have you been fucked recently, (y/n)?"

My face is hot, all I can offer is a choked whimper and he smirks down at me.

"That's a no, then. Ah, don't worry pet. Daddy's here and he's going to take very good care of you..."

he murmurs into my neck, pace picking up.

He feels remarkable but it's so much and "D-Daniel?"

"Mm?" He keeps rocking into me,

"I- mmmh, it's- you're just- it's really big, and-" I gasp as his tip hits my cervix.

"Oh? Are you not used to something like this?" He taunts, grinning.

"Bit much for you then?" He gives another forceful buck into me and I moan.

"(y/n), we can stop whenever you like, you just. say. the word..." he pounds into me hard, one hand pinning my hip in place as I wrap my legs around him. " No Daniel, don't stop, please don't stop!" I whine.

"Mm. See, that's what I thought you might say... sound so fucking pretty when you beg for it like that, too..." he keeps railing into me and I gasp, feeling my body start to coil.

"(y/n) I'm going to pull out now, and you're going to turn over for me, yeah?" I nod.

"Good girl."

He pulls out of me and I do turn over for him, arching my hips up and looking back at him.

Daniel runs his hands over my ass, giving it a firm squeeze before guiding himself back into me.

It's easier to take this time, though still a little overwhelming. He pushes into me carefully, slowly, holding my hips steady, and as he fills me out I realize I spoke too soon.

He starts bucking into me again, his strokes commanding as our bodies clap against eachother. "Oh my Gohdd," I groan, tensing around him.

One of Daniel's hands snakes around my hip and his fingers toy with my clit expertly as he continues ramming into me. His other hand grasps a fistful of my hair, yanking back ruthlessly and my entire body is rigid with need as I clench around his cock once, twice.

"You are just... magnificent, (y/n), so wet, so fucking tight, christ, are you about to come?" He slows his thrusts some and I whimper at the change of pace.

"I said, are you gonna come for me?"

"Yesssss, please" I breathe, desperate.

"Please what?" He slows down to a glacial pace, still playing with my clit, torturous, and does he actually expect me to say it? No. There's no way.

"Please what. (y/n)?" Oh my god. He wants me to call him-

"Daddy! Please Daddy, let me come, I need it,"

"There you go, wasn't so hard, was it?" He speeds up again, pistoning into me rapidly, his grip on my hair tightening. "Tell me something (y/n), has Mark fucking Darcy ever made you feel this good? Ever made you crave it the way you do right now?"

"No, never!!" The words leave me before I'm aware I've said them and I wish it wasn't true.

"Who makes you feel like this?"

"You!! Only you, Daniel!!" I whine.

"That's right, now are you going to be a good girl and come for Daddy? I can feel you fucking twitching, (y/n), just. Let. Go."

Orgasm hits like a train and within seconds I'm a mess of pathetic, whimpering contractions beneath him, completely undone.

Daniel slows, letting me ride out the final waves of my climax, hand finally releasing its grip on my hair.

The familiar creak of the bedroom door handle cuts through our shared panting and the dulcet tones of the Carly Simon CD. Mark. No. No. Nonononono, SHIT.

My body goes slack beneath Daniel's and I look back in mortified terror.

Mark stands in the doorway, fuming.

"What the absolute fuck is going on here?"

A beat.

Daniel clears his throat "Oh. Erm. Hah. Mister. Darcy...you're home... earlier than anticipated. This is... awkward." he manages, sheepish.

Mark's eyes widen at the scene before him and I watch his face crumple momentarily as the information sets in.

Me. Ass up for Daniel Cleaver. On the floor of our bedroom. In our home. In the middle of the day. To Carly Simon. Mark exhales through his nose and he's bright red.

"Cleaver. May I speak to you outside for a moment?"

"Outside your wife or outside of the room?"

"You know what the bloody fuck I meant, now get the fuck off of my fucking floor!" He hisses, seething as he steps politely into the hallway.

"Right. Both then." Daniel mumbles into my neck, withdrawing from me and yanking on his clothes to follow Mark downstairs.

My body is hot lead and my head is hazy as I listen to the frantic yelling downstairs, something is thrown, -glass- it breaks, and finally, the front door slams shut. I hear Mark's footsteps bounding heavily up the stairs and I am well and truly fucked. In all manner of ways.

But all I can think about... is Daniel...

Part 2》

[resurrectionist3]

Timex

Daniel Cleaver x fem!Reader (18+)

✒️ - 12/25/2024 🔏 - 01/08/2025

⏳ - 5,563 words

⚠️CW - 18+ NSFW, oral stimulation (p in mouth), no p in v (yet), general smut, Daniel Cleaver and his sliminess (his presence deserves a warning)

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

📜 - A fairly new hire is getting ready for a very important meeting at her job as the co editor in chief at Pemberley Press. To her surprise, she seems to have lost her favorite wristwatch.

At work, she manages to find it ... on the desk of her most insufferable colleague.

Author's Note - First fan fiction posted to Tumblr, I cannot believe it's for this man. It is actually inspired by the fact that I lost my favorite watch just before Christmas - don't ask how my brain decided to write a fan fiction because of it. I did manage to find it while I wrote this so, that's a win for me. Yes, Frankie is inspired by Francis Abernathy from The Secret History. And yes, the presence of an author named Miles Finch does indeed imply that this fan fiction and this version of Daniel Cleaver do exist in the same universe as the 2003 Christmas comedy film, Elf, starring Will Ferrel. Our beloved Mr. Reed will be here soon, I promise. But I fear I must get this freak out of my system before I can focus on the other one.

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

“Chilly morning in London today, with a high of 4 degrees and a low of -1° tonight! Expect light flurries this evening with-” The cheerful English news reporter said in his routine chatter about the weather forecast. I poured out a decent serving of cat food for my sweet Argo and sat down to my own breakfast. Turning down the television volume and opening my work notebook, I reviewed the notes from the previous day regarding today’s very important meeting, with a very important author. 

I furrowed my brows as I read the author’s scribbled name, Miles Finch, trying to remember where else I had heard of him outside of work. 

My eyes drifted lower on the page to a different name that I had written down - one that made my heart race and my cheeks blush. Daniel Cleaver, my insufferably attractive colleague and co-editor in chief at Pemberley Press. Our boss, Mr. Fitzherbert, thought it would be some wonderful idea for us to work together preparing for this meeting; the loyal employee of several years teaching the new hire ‘all the way from Boston, Massachusetts’. Weeks spent working a little too closely with Daniel, all leading up to today. To be completely honest, it took its toll on me. One can only take so much of him and his arrogance. 

And his smile … his eyes … his voice … his-

“Ugh,” I caught my mind wandering and stopped, nearly choking on my morning coffee. “Enough of that, (y/n).” I said to myself as I stood from the table. 

I carefully chose a CD to play while I got dressed, settling on one burned by my friend back home. The first song, some obscure 80s pop tune, filled my room as I made my way to the closet. 

“Miniskirt and blouse,” I pondered out loud, pulling the outfit from the rack. “Or, black suit dress?”

Eyeing both choices, I tried to decide which outfit would warrant the best response during the meeting. I looked again at the miniskirt momentarily, blushing as I recalled the … effect it seemed to have on my intolerable associate when I last wore it. 

The way Daniel eyed me that entire day was undeniable. I had been rather used to his stares after 6 months of working with him, but that was different. The way he bit his lip as those icy blue eyes wandered to places they definitely shouldn’t…

“No,” I said quickly, dropping the skirt onto my bed. “Absolutely no distractions today. Suit dress it is.”

After finishing my outfit and makeup, I only had a few minutes before I had to leave. I gathered my things, listing off everything important: ‘notebook, car keys, bag, coat, scarf…’

I prattled off  my belongings in my head as I stopped at my vanity one last time. ‘Necklace, rings, wristwatch-’ I named each item as I put it on, but-

‘Wristwatch…?’  I froze mid-list as I realized my favorite watch was nowhere in sight. I opened every drawer, brows furrowed as I searched all over the apartment. I thought of anywhere it could possibly be, and yet, still nothing. 

I stopped and sighed at the new mess I had made in my hunt. Clothes and jewelry strewn over my unmade bed after my unceremonious rummage around. 

‘I wore it yesterday.. I remember that,’  I thought to myself, stood amongst the disarray. ‘Then.. where did it go afterwards?' 

Figuring it would be easily found on my desk at work,  I relented. I took all my things and left the apartment, throwing on my scarf and coat once inside the elevator. 

In the car, my mind drifted back to the watch. After earning this perfect job at Pemberley, I bought anything I wanted. Expensive jewelry, designer clothes, a new car - even my fancy apartment in London after relocating. I could probably buy 7 of the same basic black and gold Timex watch, but this one was special to me. 

“I’m being quite honest, Frankie, I can't find it anywhere,” I sigh over the phone to my best friend. “I looked all over my apartment, all over my work desk, even asked our security guard if he’d seen it. I fear it’s gone.” I slouched a little in my desk chair as I came to my upsetting realization. 

“Please, (y/n), it’s not that serious. It’s a small thing, I’ll buy you a new one if you like.” Frankie said, his voice as cool and unconcerned as always. Franklin Arkwright; assistant to the CEO of our partner publishing company back home in Boston. He was my oldest friend, and the one who managed to get me the job at Pemberley in the first place. 

I stood from my chair and paced about my office, the phone cord pulling as I walked around my desk. “It’s not just a small thing, Frankie. You know how much I love that watch, and I don't enjoy losing my belongings.” My hand went to my (y/hc) hair as I sighed again. I turned around, going to the opposite side of the room when I accidentally locked eyes with him. 

Daniel Cleaver’s office sat inconveniently right beside mine, both spaces walled completely with floor to ceiling glass (I preferred more privacy myself, but the sleek and modern look was just so in these days).

My heart quickened for a moment, sending a strange pulse through my chest as his blue eyes met mine, a smirk appearing on his face. I managed a smile back as he waved, still talking to whoever was on his own phone. He eyed me up and down as he always did, his gaze lingering on my choice of dress; the dress that I suddenly realized had such a low neckline. 

I scoffed and looked away from his irritating stares, my eyes moving to his desk instead. Frankie continued on in my ear about something his mother had said as I scanned the organized mess of Daniel’s workspace. Stacked papers and folders, pens and pencils, a paper coffee cup, my watch, a stapler-

My watch?

My eyes widened at the undeniable sight of my wristwatch sitting on the desk of none other than Daniel fucking Cleaver. The black leather wristband and gold rimmed clock face was recognizable even from where I stood. I looked back up to him as he paced about his own office, talking away on his phone. He seemed either unaware that it was there, or he at least didn't care. 

'How on earth did it get there?’ I thought to myself as I wracked my brain, finally remembering yesterday’s encounter. 

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

In the meeting room, Daniel leaned against the long table as I went over my checklist for a final time. “Right, the presentation is finished, I wrote up my little spiel. Do you have yours ready, Cleaver?” I asked and instantly rolled my eyes as I caught him staring where he shouldn’t. Again. 

“Yes, yes, (y/ln), I’ll get on that straight away,” He said briskly, reluctantly meeting my eyes. I could tell he was very distracted, and likely hadn’t heard a word that I said. 

“Daniel, please just know that if you fuck up this meeting and make a fool of me, I will have your head for it.” I said in a casual voice, returning to my written list.

“Noted. Thank you, (y/ln)” Daniel responded coolly. I caught his eyes wandering again and shot him a glare. Perhaps he felt bad for not listening to me, or more than likely, he was trying to play off his stares as he leaned off the table and walked closer. 

“You know, (y/n), I never noticed how nice your watch is,” He said, tilting his head as he looked at the clock on my wrist. “I think I like it.”

 I furrowed my brows at his out-of-place comment and looked at him skeptically. “Well, I do wear it everyday, Daniel. How have you not mentioned it before?” Daniel just shrugged in response, eyes still on my wrist. 

“The gold suits you quite nicely,” He said pensively, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Daniel gently reached out for my hand, and asked for a closer look. Confused, I set down my notebook and pen, taking the watch from my wrist. Our hands brushed momentarily as I set the watch in his palm, making my heart skip annoyingly. As he examined it, I went back to my list and finished going over everything for tomorrow. 

Before I could say another word to Daniel, Mr. Fitzherbert had entered and asked for me. The last thing I remembered was taking my notebook and pen, and hurrying out - leaving my favorite watch with Daniel. Fucking. Cleaver. 

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

“(y/n)...? (Y/N)??” Frankie repeated over the phone, taking me out of my memory. “Are you still there, babe?” 

I let out a laugh and took a breath as I realized I was still on the phone with him. “Y-yea, I’m still here, Frankie.. But I think I should go. I, uhm, I found my watch.”

Without another word, I said goodbye and hung up the phone. Daniel had also finished his own phone call and was standing by the window, reading some documents. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose as I contemplated actually going over there. After all, it IS just a watch. But, it was still my favorite one. 

I readjusted my dress and made my way to Daniel’s office, entering politely. “Afternoon, Mr. Cleaver,” I said with the nicest smile I could manage. “Today’s the day! Big meeting with Miles Finch. I hope you’re ready!” 

Daniel flashed me a smile - that terribly charming smile of his. “Good afternoon to you, Miss (y/ln). To what do I owe this lovely intrusion?” 

From the look he gave me I could tell, he knew what I was there for.  My eyes went from him to my watch, sat right on his desk beside his computer, almost displayed like some kind of trophy. I lost my fake smile and relaxed, crossing my arms. “I’m here to see if you're prepared. And to take my watch back; I’ve been looking for it all morning.” 

Daniel looked confused and taken aback by my statement. “Your watch..? (y/ln), you must be barking, I don’t have your watch.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him and walked towards his desk. I wasn’t in any mood for his games today. “Yes, Daniel. This watch, it’s mine.” I reached out to take it, just as he bent over the desk and picked it up himself. 

“Oh, this watch? Odd, what is it doing here? Are you sure it’s yours?” Daniel said while he examined it just like he did the day prior. I rolled my eyes at him and his antics. 

“Yesterday.. The meeting room? You asked to see it and then I had to go.” I recalled briefly, still irritated with his little act. “I really have been looking for it all morning, I’ve been worried half to death.” 

Daniel’s eyes widened in fake shock. “Half to death? God, (y/ln), it’s just a watch,” He said, turning it over in his hands. “Why do you wear it everyday? It's a bit worse for wear, isn't it? Scratches in the glass here, creasing in the wristband. And, oh dear, is that a crack? Surely, they pay you enough to buy a nicer one.” 

I glared at him from the other side of his desk and huffed in anger. “It’s very special to me, Daniel. My dear friend, Frankie, gave it to me before I left home to move here. It used to belong to him; he knew I loved it so much,” I stopped myself and sighed. Something told me that it was futile to try and explain the emotional value of a wristwatch to someone like Daniel Cleaver. “It’s .. sentimental. Perhaps you’d understand if you had friends of your own, now I’d like to have it back please.” 

The emphasis on my statement didn't seem to matter as Daniel just smiled to himself and looked back at my watch. “How dare you presume to know the status of my personal friendships,” He said after taking a gasp of fake offence. 

I held my hand out for him to give the watch back, a silent plea for him to end this ridiculous nonsense. But to my confusion and irritation, instead of offering it back, he pulled back his sleeve and put it on. “You know, I think I'll hold onto it for you. Just for today, what do you think, (y/ln)?” 

It was my turn to be taken aback now. “What, no- Cleaver, just give it to me,” I said, my already thin patience running thinner. “This isn’t grade school, what are we, confiscating each other’s belongings now..?” 

Daniel said nothing as he walked around his desk and stopped in front of me - a little too close for a colleague. “You can come back and collect it at the end of the day. Stay later tonight.. If you want it back, then you’ll know where to find me, hmm?” He said, his voice patronizing. Yet, quiet and … suggestive. He was so close, I could smell his cologne - a familiar fragrance from Jo Malone. He lifted his hand and I held my breath, ready for him to do something deranged, like brush back my hair or caress my cheek. Hell, he was close enough to lean in for a kiss.

 Instead, he looked over my shoulder at my watch on his wrist to check the time. “Well look at that.. It’s time to meet Miles Finch,” Daniel said with a quick smile as he stepped back to his desk to pick up some documents. According to the clock on his wall, he was right - ten minutes until 3pm. A few people from different departments even walked by Daniel’s office and into the elevator, clearly on their way to the meeting room. 

Daniel walked past me quickly and I followed behind to retrieve my own things from my office, just as he stopped and turned back.

“Hot dress, by the way, (y/ln),” He started, making my cheeks blush red. “With a neckline that low, I’m sure you won’t even need your notes in order to convince them.”

I gasped and tried to interject as he made his way out to the elevator. 

The meeting came and went, ending on a high note with Miles Finch agreeing to our proposed contract for his upcoming book series. It was truly a triumph; after weeks of hard work and preparation, it actually paid off. The entire meeting room filed out, talking happily and shaking hands with one another with a few minutes to spare before the end of the work day. I was approached numerous times by colleagues and representatives visiting from our New York location, congratulating me and Daniel on a job well done. As the building slowly emptied, I retreated back to my office and opened my computer to start on some extra work. I hadn’t forgotten about what Daniel said. And I certainly hadn't forgotten about my damned wristwatch. 

There were five separate invitations to go out for drinks with everyone from the meeting. And I really did wish to attend. Perhaps for a chance to earn a spot within Miles Finch’s good graces (he was said to be a difficult man to please), but I declined every single one. “Such hard workers, you and Mr. Cleaver are. You make an excellent team, I’m quite glad to have hired you.” Mr. Fitzherbert said when he heard that Daniel and I wished to stay late to ‘get ahead’ on the next big project. 

‘Oh yes,’ I thought to myself. ‘I'm sure we’ll be working very hard tonight.’ It was the only thought I had in my mind as the boss praised us. Checking my email for a final time before I got to work, I noticed a new message. The sender’s name made me sigh and curse as I clicked it open. 

 ‘45 minutes, floor will be empty. 

50 minutes, after George does his rounds, you know what to do.

-DC’

The wall clock ticked away at an agonizingly slow pace. A few times, I even caught myself instinctually turning my wrist to check the time, and cursing under my breath when I found nothing there. When the time finally arrived, George, the security guard walked casually past my glass-walled office. We exchanged polite waves and I watched him walk through the room and out, heading for the stairwell. I recognized my moment, and turned off my computer. I took my things as if I were ready to leave: packed my notebook and pen into my bag, gathered up my coat and scarf, and made the dreadful walk of shame to Daniel’s office door. I felt his eyes on me as I hesitated outside, wondering again if this was all really worth it. I knew I wasn’t just going to walk in, collect my trinket, and go. It would never be that easy with Daniel. 

“About time, (y/ln), took you long enough to finally open the door. Having second thoughts?” Daniel said, without looking up from his computer screen. 

“Actually, yes,” I confessed, putting my belongings down on the chair by the door. “Am I going to regret coming in here, Cleaver..?” I gave him a sincere look of worry. His expression visibly softened as he stood from his desk and walked over. He stopped in front of me, just like he had done earlier. Except this time, there was no one around to see us. No one to watch him do something deranged… like brushing back my hair, or caressing my cheek. Or..

“Daniel,” I whispered, pulling away when he leaned in. My hand went to his chest, ghosting against the bare skin where his dress shirt was left unbuttoned. “Please - don’t risk our positions, or our jobs, for this silliness.” Daniel responded with a soft smile as his hand went to my cheek, caressing it gently. 

“It’s only a problem if we’re caught, (y/n).” Daniel began, his other hand trailing slowly up my side and to my waist. He pulled me against him and I stumbled a little, falling against Daniel’s chest and fully into his arms - right where he wanted me. “And if we are, which we won’t be, I’ll take the blame. It’s my idea after all. I’ll risk my position and my job… not yours.”

Somehow, Daniel’s own version of a sacrifice was endearing enough to make me blush furiously. I opened my mouth to protest, just to be met with his thumb gliding gently over my bottom lip. “It’s alright, (y/n),” He whispered with an amused smile on his face. He winked and I couldn't help but return the smile. Daniel backed away briefly, pulling me by the arm to his desk where I settled against it. He resumed his place in front of me, pulling me back into his embrace. “I’ve got it all figured out… and I've got you.”

I felt myself physically relax at Daniel’s words - more relaxed than I’ve ever felt while being with him. I raised my eyebrows at his statement, sighing against his lips. “You always have everything figured out, don't you Daniel?” Before he could give me one of his clever responses, I closed the gap between us and pressed my lips to his. Just to shut him up. 

His hand settled on my hip, keeping me pinned against his desk. I let my own hands move up his chest, and over his shoulders. One hand rest on the back of his neck, while the other went up into his hair, getting tangled in his dark locks. He let out a moan against my lips, and I couldn't help my mischievous smile.

“Excuse my enthusiasm, (y/n),” Daniel began, pulling away only enough to form words. “But I have been fucking dying to get you like this since the day I met you.” It was my turn to be amused now. I smiled and bit my bottom lip, delighted to see him this flustered. “Oh, I can tell, Daniel,” The feeling of his growing erection against me was enough to know that he was serious. I let my hands fall from their work in his hair, dropping one to his shoulder and the other to the desk behind me. It rested beside Daniel’s left hand, my fingers ghosting over his. “To make a confession of my own, I’ve always found you rather attractive - hot as fuck, even. But your insufferable arrogance was often far to much for me to bear.” 

Daniel laughed against my neck as he dipped down to kiss the sensitive skin there, earning a breathy moan from me. I moved my hand from the desktop, gliding over his hand and to his wrist, where I felt the undeniable outline of my watch. I quickly moved my hand up, tightening around his forearm as he nipped at my neck, hoping he wouldn’t get suspicious. “Daniel…” I moaned to him, making him hold my waist tighter in response. My other hand slid off his shoulder and down his back to distract him while I began to remove my watch from his wrist. 

‘Almost…’ I thought and let out a sigh when I felt the leather strap slide from the small buckle. Daniel bit into my neck harder than he had before, and I gasped sharply. He paused, bringing his quest to cover me in love bites to a close. “Don’t stop, please,” I pleaded, nearly whining for him. Not only was I close to finally getting my watch back, but the physical contact actually felt too good to lose. I felt Daniel smirk against my lips as he pulled away from me completely, my hand drifting off his shoulder and lingering outstretched for him. 

“You almost had me, (y/n),” Daniel said while he fastened my watch back onto his wrist. “Don’t make me restrain you, (y/ln). Play fairly and you’ll get what you came here for.” 

I roll my eyes and groan, crossing my arms in front of me. “Fine, Daniel. What must I do to get my precious watch back?” Daniel put a hand to his heart and gasped. 

“You wound me, (y/n), honestly,” He paced to the side of the desk, leaning on it bringing our faces inches apart once again. “I had hoped that what you wanted from me wasn't just your watch.” 

“Daniel-” I scolded, as if he were a child. He was surely acting like one. He just laughed and held up his hands in surrender after taking a step away. “Alright, (y/ln), alright. I need you to do something for me. A favor, I suppose.” His voice dropped in volume as he finished. I chewed the inside of my lip, eyeing him cautiously. 

“Like what? Take over a project for you? Cover for you while you run off to some broom closet or storage room with one of the interns?” Daniel approached me with that damned smile on his face again. The one that first made my heart race. The one that could convince me to do anything. 

“Bold of you to assume I’d be running off with anyone other than you, (y/ln). But no, nothing like that,” He paused, seemingly thinking. His tongue traced his bottom lip as his eyes scanned over my face while his hand absentmindedly rubbed my thigh beneath my skirt. “Well, you are quite good with this mouth of yours.” 

My eyes widened and my lips parted in my shock. ‘Oh, surely not.’ 

“I don’t suppose you mean I have a chance of talking my way out of this?” I asked, trying desperately to avoid what I knew he was implying. Daniel shook his head, still enamored by me as he resumed his kissing along my jaw and down my neck. “Come now, (y/n), don’t play innocent. It’s a poor act, and it doesn't look good on you.” 

He kisses and roughly nips at a spot just below my jaw, making me crane my head back and sigh. He pulled away again and looked at me. I had never seen his blue eyes look so dark. 

‘No. No. No way. Tell him no, say-’

“Fine,” I nodded to Daniel’s desk chair, telling him to sit as I pulled my hair back. I bit my lip to hide a smile as he scrambled to take his seat. I stole a pen off his desk and stuck it into my makeshift updo, securing it in place. 

I left my spot on the front of the desk, rounding it to stand between Daniel’s legs. The outline of his cock was apparent even through his dark trousers as I lowered myself down between his legs. The only sounds for a moment were heavy breaths and Daniel’s zipper sliding down. He shifted in his seat, pushing his trousers down slightly. I took a breath and paused when I slid my fingers around the waistband of his underwear. I hesitated for a moment, making Daniel hum in amusement from above me. I looked up at him, eyes locked with his. 

“You’re really doing this, (y/n)?” He said, surely meaning to challenge me. His arm was propped by his elbow on the armrest of the desk chair. My Timex watch sat, still fastened to Daniel’s wrist, looking almost like it was meant to be there. The gold hardware glinted in the low lights in the office and I felt my chest tighten at the thought of Daniel Fucking Cleaver keeping one of my most treasured possessions forever. “Of course I am,” I say, settling onto my knees and slowly letting my hands slide under Daniel’s dress shirt, up and down the sides of his torso. “I want my fucking watch back.”

Daniel nodded and readjusted himself in his seat, leaning back like a king on his throne. “Go on then Miss (y/ln). Use that pretty mouth of yours… take what you came here for.” I smiled back and rolled my eyes, letting my gaze settle on Daniel and his endearing grin. “Yes, right away, Mr. Cleaver.”

I slid my fingers into his waistband again and pulled them, no hesitation this time. My eyes widened a bit when his cock sprang free from its constraints. He was admittedly very large. Daniel let out a groan as I took him in hand and licked his tip playfully. I continued my teasing, enjoying the sounds of Daniel nearly whimpering. 

“O-ohhh, (y/n).. enough of that, please.” He begged, dropping his left hand to my face. Daniel held my chin up with one, and with the other began to stroke his cock, positioning it in front of my mouth. “No more teasing if you want your watch back.” I nodded obediently, which pleased him. 

“Now, (y/n), if you’d be so kind, just- ohhh, fuck,” Happy to quiet him, I took him into my mouth, going as deep as I comfortably could. I breathed slowly and deliberately, ensuring that I didn’t choke too severely. 

I felt Daniel’s hand snake around to the back my neck and hold me, tangling into the hair at the base. I moaned as he began to guide my head back and forth; slowly and gently. I shut my eyes for a moment, focusing on my breathing again. He was so much … more than what I had experienced in the past, and I was not accustomed to it. 

I felt Daniel move his hand from my chin and I opened my eyes slowly. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, his groans and whispers filling his office space. I pulled off his cock and trailed my tongue along the length of it, earning a hiss and a long moan of my name. I looked up again, hoping to catch his gaze and instead was met with the clockface of my watch on his wrist as his hand held the base of his cock. I stared at it before me, as I closed my lips around him again. 

‘He’s doing it on purpose, surely,’ I thought as his moans became a bit louder. 

“(y/n), fuck. I’m close, darling, so close-” Daniel groaned, his hold tightening on the back of my neck. I hummed and hollowed my cheeks as I took him, enjoying the sounds of his cries. 

I glanced up through my eyelashes and watched as he reached his climax, finishing into my mouth. I shut my eyes, swallowing what I could as Daniel’s hold on my neck loosened completely and his hand fell while he relaxed. 

“God, you are good Miss (y/ln). Fuck,” He groaned, fixing his clothes and redressing. I paused and patted his thigh gently, while I turned and spit the rest of his cum into the wastebin beneath his desk. Daniel watched as I casually stood and wiped at my mouth, rubbing off what remained of my lipstick. “Too much for you, darling?” He said, making me roll my eyes. I leaned forward, resting my hands on the chair’s armrests. My lips grazed Daniel’s tauntingly as I let my tongue glide over his bottom lip. “Is there anything else you require of me, Mr. Cleaver?” I asked with the best demure voice I could manage. 

Daniel groaned again, seemingly close to giving into me. “(y/n), darling…” He whispered, holding my face gently. “I thought I told you the innocent act isn’t your thing. Besides, as badly as I need to bend you over and fuck you on this desk, George’s next round is going to start soon and I’m confident that you don’t want him to find us like that.”

I stood and let him stand from his chair. “How do you know the security guard’s patrolling routine so well?” 

Daniel grinned. “My sweet, (y/n), why do you think?”

I didn’t give him an answer. Instead I scoffed at him and fixed the collar of my dress, crossing the room to pick up my belongings. “Oh, now I’ve earned the silent treatment have I?” Daniel leaned against his desk, watching me put on my scarf and coat. I failed to hide a smile when I watched him attempt to seem as though he wasn’t crying my name a moment ago. I crossed the room again, back over to Daniel and extended my hand wordlessly. He rolled his eyes and sighed, carefully removing the watch on his wrist. 

He lowered it into my palm and I nodded. “Thank y-,”

“On second thought,” Daniel began, cutting me off and pulling my watch away again. “I think I’ll hold onto it a little bit longer. Just until tomorrow evening, that alright, (y/ln)?”

My cheeks went warm while I watched him put the watch into his pocket and put on his own coat. I huffed, admittedly like a child, and crossed my arms. “Oh, was I not good enough?” I asked, a little too loudly. He shook his head. 

“Oh no, darling, you were wonderful. Too good for me to let this little game end right now. What do you say to … The Ritz? Tomorrow evening?” Daniel took his own things and walked to the door of his office. “I do owe you after all. I fear I’ve robbed you of a lovely night of drinks with our colleagues.”

I followed him out of the room and over to the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. “I'd say I've never been,” I confessed. “You do know you can ask me out to dinner without holding my wristwatch hostage, right?”

Daniel shrugged, sliding his arm around my waist as we watched the numbers of the floors descend. “Sure, but this is just more fun,” He leaned down, his lips grazing against my ear as he whispered, making my chest tighten. “It’s like getting back at you for those revealing outfits you’ve been wearing here - especially that little miniskirt you have.” I shivered as his fingers made gentle circles on my waist. 

He lifted his head, and stood up straight just in time for the doors to open again. George was indeed on his second round of the empty building, having left the other security guard at the front desk. We waved goodbye and were met with a cold wind beyond the front doors of Pemberley Press, the flurries mentioned on the news this morning already making their appearance. I paused to button up my coat, as Daniel examined my Timex watch yet again. 

“You know, (y/ln), I really do think this watch suits me nearly as well as it suits you.” He said, putting it back into the pocket of his trousers. I rolled my eyes and faced him. “Oh sure. Perhaps once we’re all done here you can get one of your OWN.” I heard Daniel’s laugh echoing behind me as I walked away from him. As I reached my car, I got inside and started it up wondering how on earth I was going to explain this situation to Frankie when I called him on the phone at my apartment.

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

I hope you all enjoyed!! Potentially scheming a Part II at some point, but please let me know what you think!

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 4: "The one with bruises and blue excuses" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: After a difficult night, your emotions rise to the surface when Frankie unknowingly reminds you of the reality between you. WC: 9.8k

A/N: Ok. Already february 14th in my country. Happy Valentine's day and Frankie Friday to all of you. I love you all <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

You drifted into consciousness slowly, the weight on your chest shifting, inching closer to your face. Something warm and insistent, a presence demanding attention. When you finally pried your eyes open, Mr. Darcy was there, looming over you, his whiskered face pressed unceremoniously against yours, his nose grazing your chin. He let out a soft meow before inching forward again, catching a strand of your hair between his teeth and tugging with quiet determination. A statement. A demand.

“Darcy,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Are you starving?”

With a lazy sweep of your arm, you nudged him aside, rolling onto your back, propping yourself up just enough to rub at your eyes. And that’s when the pain bloomed, sharp and immediate, right in the center of your face. Your fingers found your mouth first, the skin swollen and tender, then your nose, sore beneath the tentative press of your touch.

You exhaled slowly, eyes slipping closed again as the memory of last night resurfaced in fragments. The dull thud of impact. The mortifying rush of heat to your face. The sharp sting of embarrassment that lingered even now.

Christ. What a disaster.

Darcy meowed again, insistent, his round eyes fixed on you like he could sense your spiraling thoughts.

With a quiet groan, you pushed the blankets back, your bare feet meeting the cold floor, a sharp contrast to the warmth of sleep still clinging to your skin. The movement felt sluggish, like wading through water. You crossed the room and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

The mirror was merciless. Puffy eyes, a shadow of exhaustion beneath them, and the telltale evidence of last night’s fall marking your lips and nose. You looked wrecked. And you felt it, too—something heavy settling in your chest, regret or frustration or something close to both.

From the doorway, Darcy sat watching, patient, but don't get confused, unrelenting too. You met his gaze, something fond tugging at the corner of your mouth despite everything.

A second later, your clothes pooled at your feet, and you stepped into the shower, turning the knob until the water cascaded over your body, washing away the lingering traces of last night, soothing the dull ache beneath your skin.

Your stomach twisted in protest, empty. So you let yourself imagine breakfast: coffee, something warm, something heavy and sweet. The thought propelled you to rinse the last of the suds from your skin, dragging bubbles over your arms, your neck, your aching knees, where the water stung. A birthday souvenir, you thought.    

Then it came to you—your purse. And your phone, most likely still inside it. You traced the memory back: the party, the dim glow of the living room, the moment you had tossed your bag aside, distracted by something—no, by someone. Mr. Darcy. Right.    

Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a towel, the fabric clinging to your damp skin as you moved toward your room.

Your gaze swept over the space, searching for your phone: not on the nightstand, not under the pillow. You crouched to peer beneath the bed, but it wasn’t there either.

A sharp pulse in your skull pulled you upright, and you winced. Tequila. Too much of it, too late in the night.  

With your towel knotted at your chest, your hair damp and dripping onto your bare shoulders, you stepped into the hallway.

The kitchen was empty, nothing but the faint scent of stale coffee lingering in the air. But then, near the door, a familiar shape caught your eye.    

You turned on your heel, still staring at the dead screen of your phone, when a sound shattered the quiet, sent a shockwave through your chest.

You moved quickly, lowering yourself into a crouch, a quiet groan escaping your lips as you reached for the bag. The leather was cool against your fingers as you dug inside, searching until... there: you pulled out your phone, touching it out of habit, only to be met with a blank screen. Dead.

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes at yourself. Of course.

A voice. Too close. 

“Hey—”

“Oh my God!” The words ripped out of you as you spun, pure instinct taking over. Before you could think, your arm swung back and then forward, launching your phone straight at the intruder.

“Wait—fuck!” The voice turned sharp, followed by a dull thwack as the device smacked into flesh.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Your hands flew to your mouth. It wasn’t a masked intruder, not some stranger lurking in the dark. It was Frankie.

Bent over, both hands gripping his face, he let out a low string of curses. His hair stuck out at odd angles, his shirt was wrinkled and speckled with blood, and he looked—well, rough. Like he’d been through something.

“You almost killed me,” you gasped, stepping closer, trying to get a look at his face. “You can’t just stand there in total silence like some kind of serial killer like—are you okay?”

You reached out instinctively, but he jerked back. And then it hit you—you were naked.

Well, wrapped in a towel, but still.

You clutched the fabric tighter against your chest, fingers curling into the edge. Frankie exhaled sharply and finally dropped his hands, revealing the damage.

“Oh—ugh,” you grimaced. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry, sorry—”

Ignoring his glare, you leaned in, fingers brushing his chin as you tilted his face toward the light. A red mark bloomed across the bridge of his nose, right where your phone had struck. A thin cut had opened just enough to show the first hint of blood. Not awful, but bad enough to look painful. His eyes were glassy, the involuntary reaction pain pulls out of you before you can stop it.

Your fingertips ghosted over the swollen skin.

“Careful,” he muttered with irritation.

You pulled your hand back and scowled at him.

“I’m trying to be careful. But you can’t just—just appear out of nowhere like that. And I thought you left? Weren’t you getting an Uber last night?”

He straightened up slightly, still wincing.

“I didn’t just appear. I’ve been on the couch the whole time.”

You blinked. “So you slept here?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah. I was about to leave, but then I—” He waved vaguely. “—passed out.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding slowly, like that somehow made sense.

You turned before you could dwell on it, heading toward the hallway, your back to him.

“I’m getting dressed. I’ll be right back.”

Behind you, Frankie exhaled. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

Dressed now, you stepped out of your room, tugging at the hem of an oversized T-shirt—clean, cool, soft against your skin. Your pajama shorts barely peeked out from underneath. You had no intention of leaving the house today.

In the kitchen, Mr. Darcy twined around your legs, his fur warm against your bare skin. You bent down to refill his dish, scratching lightly behind his ears as he purred in gratitude. The coffee maker gurgled, filling the air with that delicious scent of morning. You grabbed a piece of bread, biting off a corner as you moved, walking quickly toward the bathroom, barefoot steps light against the floor.

You knocked three times, but no one answered.

You knocked again.

“Francis—”

The door swung open before you could finish.

Frankie leaned against the frame, head tipped slightly, eyes still swollen with sleep. His face was damp, beads of water clinging to the edges of his jaw. He looked softer like this, in the quiet. Less like the man you spent most of your time arguing with.

“I—” You cleared your throat. “Do you want coffee?”

Your gaze dropped to his nose, and... oh. Shit.

The bruise was darker now, spreading along the bridge, a shadow forming just beneath his right eye. You winced before you could stop yourself, then quickly smoothed out your expression.

He blinked at you, like the question required effort to process.

“Yes?”

“That’s not an answer. Yes or no?”

He exhaled. “Sure, I guess.”

“Toast? Or cereal? I have fruit, too.”

“Um, toast is fine.”

“Okay.” You nodded, already turning back toward the kitchen, moving quickly before you had to look at him any longer.

After a beat, you tilted your chin toward the stool across from you. He got the message and sat down, his hands braced against the edge of the counter.

A few minutes later, when the toast was resting on the breakfast bar, Frankie emerged from the hallway. He moved slowly, lazy, like he was still waking up, stopping just short of the counter.

His eyes landed on you, dark and steady, watching as you poured the coffee, arranged the mugs, set everything into place. You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the small, repetitive motions of your hands.

Reaching into the fridge, you pulled out every spread you had—jams, peanut butter, Nutella. Some smooth, some crunchy. Options. You set them down between you before sliding into your seat, only to find him still looking at you, eyes sharp and assessing. Like he was waiting for something.

You chewed on a bite of toast, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?”

“What about you now?” he asked.

Your brows knit together. “Mmm?”

“You’re acting weird.”

You swallowed, then scoffed.

“You always say that, Francisco.” You sounded careless as you wrapped a hand around your coffee mug. With the other, you reached for a blister pack from the counter and placed it beside his cup. “Take one. For the pain and that.”

He glanced down at it. “Did last night’s blow affect you?”

Frankie sighed, rubbing his jaw before picking up the pack, flipping it over in his hand, reading the label like he didn’t quite trust you. Then, without further argument, he popped one out and into his mouth, chasing it with a sip of coffee.

You snorted. “Did it affect me? Yeah, I’m the one who got hit in the face. I look like an extra from Fight Club.” He gave you a dry look. You exhaled. “Take one. The same ones I took last night. Don’t you remember?”

“Well,” he said, setting the mug back down, “you are acting different.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

You rolled your eyes, an exaggerated movement, then returned your focus to your toast, giving him nothing.

Silence settled over the kitchen. The occasional scrape of a knife against bread. The distant hum of the refrigerator. Frankie ate quietly, but his attention flicked toward you every so often, and at one point, he caught you staring—not at him exactly, but at his face. Or, more specifically, at the swelling along the bridge of his nose. Your expression had tightened, your lips pressed together like you were feeling the pain yourself. You were such an empath.

A slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“For hitting me.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.” You sat up straighter, expression shifting from guilt to indignation. “You can’t just sneak up on a woman like that, standing there in total silence like, like some kind of criminal. You scared me half to death! And I was only wearing a towel!”

“I know,” he said, dragging out the word. “But still... you feel guilty.”

He gestured to his face. “What do you think?”

You huffed, tilting your head, considering him. Then you sighed dramatically, relenting just a little.

“Your face.”

You leaned in slightly, gaze sweeping over the bruising, the cut, the darkening skin beneath his eye.

Pursing your lips, you nodded solemnly. “Terrible.”

Frankie exhaled, shaking his head.

“But don’t worry,” you added, taking another sip of coffee. “You don’t look that much different than you do every day.”

“At least I don’t look like I failed a botox trial,” he said finally, his mouth curling into a smirk, like he hadn’t meant to let it show, like it had slipped out against his will.

Frankie’s gaze dragged over your face before finally settling on your eyes.

He took a bite of his toast, chewing with quiet amusement and something else that you didn’t like, then tilted his head, watching you like you were some kind of abstract painting like the ones you didn't like when you were a kid.

You lifted an eyebrow, giving him a slow once-over as you raised your mug to your lips.

“I’m letting that slide only because, technically, I’m the reason you got hurt.”

So you frowned immediately, shaking your head. “Did you just compliment me? That’s pathetic.”

“Well,” he huffed out a laugh, shrugging, “you’ve got decent aim. I’ll give you that.”

Okay. That was new. And the way he said it —nice— sounded so rare to your ears that you were taken aback for a second.

Unbothered, Frankie took another bite of his toast.

“Well, it makes sense. I’m not exactly at my peak right now. Bruised, hungover, and stuck here, fake-dating you. Calling it pathetic is honestly being generous.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, setting your mug down.

“Please, you should be thanking the universe you get to fake-date me. How many fake girlfriends would go through the trouble of rescuing you from your idiotic cousin Ian?”

Frankie gave you a flat look as you stood and stretched, but you could feel his eyes on you as you crossed the kitchen.

You pulled open the freezer, grabbing a cold gel pack, then turned on your heel and made your way back to the table, dropping into your seat with a slight bounce.

“I can handle him. If anything, me showing up with you just made him more insufferable. I think he was trying to make you feel uncomfortable and awkward.”

“Well, joke’s on him,” you said, tossing the pack onto the table in front of him. “I had to kiss you, remember? Awkwardness and I have been intimately acquainted ever since.”

Frankie picked up the gel pack without question, rolling it between his fingers for a beat before pressing it against the bridge of his nose with a small, appreciative sigh. His shoulders slumped slightly, the relief immediate.

“Well,” he murmured, eyes still shut, “I have to admit—you were a pretty decent girlfriend last night.”

You recoiled like he’d insulted you.

“Ugh, don’t say things like that, Francisco,” you groaned, rolling your shoulders like the words had physically unsettled you. “That actually makes me uncomfortable.”

He cracked one eye open, unimpressed.

“Why? You’re always so weird.”

Something about the word made you pause, your fingers curling slightly around the rim of your mug.

Weird. He had a habit of calling you that, didn’t he? It was one of the first things he’d ever said about you, actually—years ago, on Santiago’s birthday.

You already knew some of Santi’s friends, like Will and Ben. They’d picked you up from the airport once when you flew in to visit your mom in New York, and you remembered them being easy company. Warm, funny, the kind of men who made you feel instantly comfortable. And also, they were cute too. You assumed the rest of Santi’s friends would be the same.

That day, Santi was in rare form, practically vibrating with energy, good vibes man, grinning at everyone like he couldn’t quite believe his own good fortune. He had a new house, a fresh start with fresh painted walls and a beer stacked refrigerator. And for the first time in years, he was going to celebrate his birthday properly, surrounded by people he loved.

The gathering was small, just close friends and family, but carefully planned to the last detail.

But that night you stood near the grill with your cousin Irene, laughing with Will about his latest doomed date, a girl who had spent the entire evening talking about her ex, pausing only to sip her overpriced cocktail and click her tongue to make a punctuation statement.

“I swear, she brought him up before the drinks even hit the table,” Will said, shaking his head. “And then she goes, ‘I just think it’s crazy how much he messed me up, like, I should be over it by now, right?’”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, wincing.

“Yeah. And then she says, ‘Anyway, what were you saying about your deployment?’ Like I was supposed to just, pick up where I left off.”

“Alright,” he said, clapping Will on the shoulder and looking at you. “Let me introduce you to these idiots.”

You were still laughing when Santi approached you, his face bright with a joy you didn’t usually see in him. He was clearly a little bit drunk too. Could you blame him?

He had two people in tow.

The first was Tom—a tall guy with a laid-back smile, brown eyes and weird nice smirk. He barely waited for Santi to finish before grinning at you.

“So, which one of you got the good genes?” he asked, squinting between you and him. “Not Santi.”

Santi elbowed him in the ribs, and Tom let out a dramatic, exaggerated oof, still grinning.

And then—

“This is Frankie.”

Unlike Tom, Frankie didn’t make a joke. He didn’t even smile.

“Nice to meet you,” Frankie said eventually, nodding once. There was something distant about his voice, like he had already lost interest in the exchange before it had even begun.

Instead, he looked at you like you were something unexpectedly bad, something he wasn’t sure how to categorize. His expression flickered: confusion, then something closer to... distaste?

His eyes moved over you too quickly, as if assessing damage. It left you with the unsettling impression that there was something to assess. Like you had something on your face. Like your shirt was crooked, your makeup smudged. Like he had already decided something about you and found you lacking.

So you just nodded back, a tight, controlled smile stretching across your lips. And you refused to give him more than that.

During dinner, it was impossible not to notice that his indifference to you wasn’t incidental. It was intentional.

With the others, he was engaged, animated. He laughed loudly, cracked jokes, leaned in close to whisper something to Irene that made her throw her head back and giggle. At one point, he even rested his elbow on the back of her chair, casual and so self-assured that made you glance away.

But when you spoke? It was like someone hit the mute button.

Even the mosquitoes buzzing near your ankles made more of an effort to engage with you than he did.

No glance in your direction. No acknowledgment that you had even spoken. His disinterest was so palpable, so deliberate, that it left a strange hollow feeling in your chest, like standing in the middle of a room and realizing for the first time that the walls had been closing in all along. You were trapped.

But you tried not to let it bother you. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you.

It was probably nothing.

After dinner, everyone moved instinctively, stacking plates, gathering silverware, brushing crumbs onto cupped palms. You volunteered to handle the dishes, and Ben, with a theatrical sigh, declared it a “four-handed job, no less.” He rolled up his sleeves and walked with you to the kitchen like you were about to perform surgery instead of scrubbing plates. But you laughed, grateful for the company anyway.

Outside, the bonfire flickered to life, its glow stretching long and golden across the yard, catching on the glint of beer bottles, the flash of someone’s teeth mid-smile and the tiredness in everyone'seyes.

Santi had been proud of this latest home improvement project, the bonfire: leveling out the ground himself, arranging the stone ring just so. You imagined him standing there earlier in the afternoon, hands on his hips, admiring his own handiwork. And when you pictured him, the image reminded you of your dad, somehow.

Inside, you turned on the tap, watching the water swirl over your hands. When you glanced up at the mirror, your reflection met you. Nothing was wrong; no smudged mascara, no stray hairs, nothing out of place. Still, you adjusted your ponytail, smoothed your fingers over your eyebrows, checked your teeth like something about you needed fixing.

The dishes didn’t take long. By the time the last one was dried and put away, Ben clapped you on the back with a satisfied nod, as if you’d conquered something big together.

You thanked him, excused yourself to the bathroom, and slipped away down the hall.

And then—voices. Drifting in through the small open window above the bathtub, just distinct enough to pull your attention outside. You stilled, heartbeat pressing in your throat.

After a beat, you reached for the mirrored cabinet and nudged it open. Not to snoop—just curiosity, just something to do with your hands.

Inside, everything was expected: shaving cream, toothpaste, eyedrops. No surprises. Nothing new.

The courtyard stretched below, shadowed in places where the firelight didn’t reach. A tree blocked part of your view, its leaves shifting in the night breeze, but through the gaps, you saw them. Frankie and Will, standing just outside the warm halo of the fire, slightly apart from the others.

Frankie had a cigarette in one hand, the smoke curling around him lazily. Will held a beer, his fingers tapping idly against the glass.

Your stomach dropped. Because you simply knew.

“... I mean I don’t know,” Frankie was saying, shaking his head, lifting the cigarette to his lips, the ember flaring in the dark. “I can’t explain it to you. There’s just something weird about her.”

Will sighed. “That doesn’t mean anything. You’ll have to give me more than that.”

Frankie exhaled. “Yeah, no. I don’t think so.”

And then, Frankie laughed.

Will let out a frustrated noise. “Talk to her. She’s nice. Kind. Cool. Unlike you right now.” He lifted his beer to his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “I get it, whatever, you have your weird feelings about people. But she’s Santi’s sister. Just make the effort.”

Not a real laugh, not the kind you wanted to hear. It was short, rasping, shaped with something like derision. It caught at something inside of you, clawing at the softest part of your chest.

“I don’t want to be dramatic,” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette, “but I’d rather sacrifice myself in another way.”

Will huffed. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

You stepped back from the window like it had burned you.

Your stomach was twisting, something heavy settling in your ribs, pressing. The tightness was sudden, overwhelming, like a hand had closed around your throat without warning.

You turned on the faucet again, letting the cold water rush over your fingers. It grounded you just enough to blink back the sting in your eyes. You cupped your hands under the stream, splashed your face, watched the droplets cling to your skin.

Why was he being cruel to you?

The question circled your mind, over and over, a loop tightening like a noose. Each repetition sharpened the sting of his words, made them cut a little deeper.

He didn’t know you. He hadn’t spoken to you beyond a handful of obligatory niceties, hadn’t given himself the opportunity to form any kind of real opinion. And yet, there he was, speaking about you with such offhanded disdain, like it was a fact so self-evident it didn’t even require justification.

You couldn’t reconcile him with the Frankie your brother had talked about so fondly. The Frankie who had stood by him through rough times, who Santi counted on with unwavering trust.

Santi, your kind and loyal brother, who always seemed to have an unerring sense for good people. How could he be close to someone like that? Someone so quick to dismiss, so unwilling to extend even the barest courtesy of politeness?

You ignored him for the rest of the night. Not subtly, not gracefully. It wasn’t a careful indifference, the kind that might go unnoticed. It was pointed. Unmistakable. If it made you seem childish or petty, so be it. Ignoring him was the only form of control you had left.

When you got out of the bathroom, your face betrayed you. The uncomfortable churn of emotions, the lingering humiliation—it was all there, just beneath the surface. You took a breath, then another, but the crack in your composure remained, fragile and so damn obvious.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. What Francisco Morales thought of you was irrelevant. A stranger’s opinion had no weight, no real consequence. That was the logic you reached for. But somewhere deeper—somewhere softer—his words had landed, uninvited, unwanted.

When you reached Frankie, you skipped him.

Later, after Santi blew out the candles on his cake, surrounded by a clumsy, off-key chorus, you volunteered to serve dessert. A small act of normalcy. Something methodical, something steadying.

You moved around the table with quiet efficiency, cutting generous slices, placing them onto plates, handing them out one by one.

Not by accident. Not in a way that could be misread as forgetfulness.

But you felt him watching you.

He was sitting back in his chair, arms loose at his sides, expression unreadable. Your gaze barely flickered in his direction.

Without hesitation, you handed the slice that should have been his to Tom, who accepted it without a second thought, flashing a cheerful smile and a thanks.

You moved on without pausing, your focus trained on the next plate, the next person.

The weight of his stare settled over you, like he was trying to work out whether you’d done it on purpose or if it had been some kind of oversight. You could picture the crease forming between his brows, the way his mouth might press into something contemplative. But he didn’t say a word. No protest, no offhand joke to break the tension, nothing.

When you returned to your seat, Ben frowned, looking between Frankie and the empty space in front of him.

Frankie didn’t answer.

“You want a slice?” he asked.

Ben, either oblivious or choosing not to acknowledge the shift in the air, reached across the table, grabbed a plate, and handed it to him. “Here.”

You watched from the corner of your eye but said nothing.

When Frankie left that night, he gave the group a brief, efficient goodbye. Hugs for his friends, warm claps on the back, affection that suggested long years of knowing each other.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

Didn’t give him the polite, meaningless smile you would have spared for any other guest.

Instead, you turned toward Irene, the brightness in your voice so deliberate and animated, like whatever he had said, whatever had settled under your skin, had never happened at all.

You didn’t see much of him after that night. Not often enough for it to be a real problem, but just enough for the feeling to settle, for the vague discomfort to harden into something sharper. Animosity. Mutual, unspoken, and impossible to ignore.

Santi and the others took notice. They laughed about it, poked fun at the tension that seemed to press in whenever you and Frankie were in the same room. 

And it wasn’t just that Frankie was withdrawn when you were around. No, that would have been easier. This was different. More pointed. You caught him watching you sometimes, something truly unreadable crossing his face before he looked away, like the mere sight of you put him in a bad mood. Like your presence—your existence—bothered him in some deep, inexplicable way.

And then it hit you.

It wasn’t indifference. It was repulsion.

It was a strange, hostile little orbit the two of you existed in, all silence and avoidance and charged, awkward glances. And then, one day three years ago, it all crystallized into something worse.

He didn’t just tolerate you in the way people tolerate someone they don’t particularly like. No, his discomfort was palpable, obvious. And the worst part? It wasn’t like that with anyone else.

With other people, Frankie could be easygoing, relaxed, warm, even. You saw him with Santi, with Will, with Ben—laughing, teasing, cracking dry jokes that made the others shake their heads and touch their bellies.

With you, though? It was like a switch flipped. Like something about you specifically made him shut down.

You pulled into Santi’s driveway and spotted him immediately, leaning over the open hood of his car. His forearms were streaked with grease, the fabric of his t-shirt clinging to his back. But you weren’t expecting the other figure crouched beside him, partially obscured by the car. Frankie.

It had been an unbearably hot day, air shimmering above the pavement. Just stepping outside felt like a mistake.

His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms smudged with oil. His hands worked deftly, twisting a wrench, adjusting something out of sight. A streak of grease cut across his cheek, his brow furrowed in concentration, dark hair curling slightly at the edges from sweat. He didn’t look up when you stepped out of the car.

Didn’t acknowledge you at all.

Something about it—about him—set you on edge immediately. It wasn’t just the fact that he ignored you. It was how completely he did it. As if you were actually invisible, as if he could refuse to register your presence by sheer force of will.

Santi, oblivious to it all, greeted you warmly.

“Hey, look who it is,” he grinned, throwing his arms open before pulling you into a hug, despite the grime on his hands and forearms. You made a face, but he only laughed.

He asked about work, about your social life, about Mr. Darcy. Then, inevitably, the conversation veered toward Yovanna, the woman he’d been seeing for the past few months, the one he couldn’t seem to stop bringing up. His voice softened when he talked about her, his words tinged with something so rare for him, almost boyish.

And still, Frankie didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a word.

He stayed crouched beside the engine, focused on his work, jaw tight. You could hear the small metallic shifts as he adjusted something, the scrape of metal against metal, the occasional sigh of effort. It was almost impressive, the level of concentration he seemed to have, the sheer determination to keep his back to you.

The heat pressed in, thick and unrelenting.

You stood there, arms crossed, unsure of what to do with yourself. You felt out of place, like an intruder in a space you weren’t meant to occupy. There was no point in trying to interact with him, no use in attempting some forced politeness. You weren’t even sure he’d respond if you did.

So you went inside, feet moving on autopilot, hands searching through the cupboards without any real purpose. You weren’t hungry. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for.

But the quiet of the house, the soft rustle of boxes and packaging as you rummaged through them, felt like a better option than standing outside, pretending not to care.

Latee, you stared down at the jar of jam in your hands, its lid refusing to budge no matter how hard you twisted. The effort sent a dull ache through your palms, the friction of your fingers against the glass doing nothing but adding to your frustration.

You tightened your grip, exhaling sharply through your nose, determined to win this ridiculous battle.

His gaze landed on you.

You were bracing yourself for another attempt when the kitchen door creaked open.

Footsteps echoed before Frankie appeared, moving with that same effortless confidence he always had, like he never doubted where he was going or why. But then, just as he was about to leave the room, something made him hesitate.

It was brief, but then it sharpened, his expression shifting in a way that made your stomach tighten. He studied you, his head tilting slightly, as if he was trying to decipher something.

“Hey, hand it to me,” he said, holding out a palm.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, forcing your attention back to the lid. You tightened your grip, twisting again. Nothing.

You blinked at him, still clutching the jar, your fingers locked around it more out of instinct than anything else.

He extended his hand further, expectant.

Frankie clicked his tongue. Then, without another word, he stepped forward, his hand reaching for the jar as if it was already his to take.

“No,” you snapped, pulling back, a hot, inexplicable irritation flaring in your chest. “I can do it. And your hands are dirty.”

His lips twitched at that, an almost-smile, but there was something off about it, something unreadable in his eyes that unsettled you.

“Okay,” he said, amused. “So open it.”

There was something infuriating in the way he said it. A challenge disguised as nonchalance.

He turned away before you could respond, grabbing the sugar jar instead. With no visible effort, he popped off the lid and tipped a small handful into his palm, letting the granules spill between his fingers before rinsing them away under the faucet. The stream of water turned soapy as he lathered his hands, scrubbing with slow movements, all while keeping his gaze on you.

You could feel him watching, tracking every failed attempt as you wrestled with the jam jar, your frustration growing with each slip of your fingers. The more you struggled, the more ridiculous you felt, like you were shrinking under the weight of his attention.

And then, predictably, humiliatingly, your grip faltered.

The jar slipped from your hands, falling in a sharp, unstoppable motion. The crash was deafening, the glass shattering against the tile floor, thick splatters of jam seeping into the cracks. The mess was immediate, sticky and sprawling, shards glinting under the overhead light.

For a second, you just stood there, stunned, your heart pounding.

“Shit,” you muttered, heat rising to your face as the disaster at your feet seemed to mock you.

Frankie, however, didn’t react. He dried his hands with methodical precision, tossing the towel onto the counter before moving to grab a roll of paper towels and a garbage bag. There was no smugness, no remarks, just a quiet efficiency that somehow made it worse.

“I'm just helping you—”

“I don’t need your help. With anything. Ever.”

“And what kind of help are you even offering?” you bit out. “It’s not really help if you spend the whole time acting like I’m an idiot.”

Your fingers closed around the garbage bag in his hand, but before you could pull it away, he held firm.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension tightening like a drawn wire. His palm was warm against yours, the contact fleeting but enough to make your skin prickle with irritation.

Frankie let out a short breath, something between disbelief and amusement. Then his expression darkened.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked, as if he’d been waiting for the chance to ask it. “Why do you always have to be so—” He stopped, shook his head slightly, then exhaled. “So fucking weird.”

You took a steadying breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

The word landed like a slap.

You stood frozen, gripping the bag too tightly, feeling your pulse hammer in your throat. The word echoed in your head, overlapping with every other version of it you’d ever heard, every moment someone had looked at you just a little too long, just enough to make you wonder what, exactly, was so strange about you.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you shot back, but the words didn’t land the same way.

“I don’t have a problem. You do. Always acting like a child, getting pissed over nothing.”

“Oh, no, you definitely have problems,” you snapped, shifting your grip on the bag. “Attitude problems. Ego problems. Basic reasoning problems.”

His face shifted, something closing off. His brows pulled together, his eyes sharpening, his entire body tensing like he was holding back some invisible reaction.

“You don’t know me. Not at all.”

“I know you well enough to know I want nothing to do with you. I don’t like you, and I have no fucking clue how my brother puts up with you.”

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself,” he murmured.

For a second, he just stared at you. Then, with an infuriating half-smile, he reached forward and placed the garbage bag in your hands, his fingers brushing yours deliberately, like a taunt. His eyes bright with something smug.

“Relax,” he said, in that same infuriatingly casual voice. “I was just pointing out the obvious. You make everything harder than it has to be.”

“You don’t deserve anything good from me.”

“Oh, and things are easier when you’re around?” you shot back, laughing without humor. “Every single thing I do becomes a problem for you. It’s like you can’t help yourself, like you have to disapprove of everything I say, everything I do, like I’ve ever once asked for your opinion.”

“I didn’t say that. But maybe if you didn’t take everything so personally—”

“Personally?” you interrupted, stepping forward. Your pulse was racing, your voice rising. “You make it personal every time you act like a condescending asshole, like you know something I don’t, like I’m somehow not good enough for you. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Frankie’s expression twisted, his breathing uneven now.

“Don’t blame me for your insecurities. You’re the one always pissed off at me. Maybe you’re the one with the fucking problem.”

“Oh, right. So now it’s my fault that you’re an unbearable asshole every time I’m in the same room as you?”

“You’re taking this the wrong way,” he said, shaking his head, his frustration bleeding through. “I’m not trying to be a dick. But you make it impossible to be nice to you. And look around, everyone else seems fine with me. You’re the only one who picks a fight every damn time.”

You stared at him, breath shallow.

“Are you kidding me, Francisco? Are you seriously that much of an asshole?”

His mouth twitched like he was about to argue, but before he could, the sound of the door creaking open cut through the tension like a knife.

You turned just as Santi stepped into the kitchen, his eyes sweeping over the shattered glass and sticky mess on the floor. His expression flickered from confusion to mild exasperation, his brows lifting slightly as he took in the scene.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence settle before glancing between you and Frankie. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“You two are ridiculous,” he muttered. “Keep me out of it.”

And now, years later, here he was, sitting across from you, eating like nothing had ever happened. Then, casually, carelessly, he said it again.

The tension lingered long after Santi left the room. And in the weeks that followed, you found yourself making a conscious effort to avoid Frankie, dodging him in hallways, staying silent when he entered the room. But it didn’t matter—whenever he was near, you felt them; all the things you hadn’t said, all the things you couldn’t.

Weird.

Almost.  

For some reason, the night before had softened something in you, made you forget—just a little—the bitter taste Frankie usually left behind. The way you had laughed, the way he had steadied you after your clumsy little accident, the way his hands had been careful and sure.

For a moment, it had felt easy. It had almost made you forget the way he really saw you.  

Because now, sitting across from him, that familiar weight settled back into your chest. It wasn’t anger exactly, just the dull press of remembering. That no, you didn’t care what he thought of you, except for the small, inconvenient part of you that did.  

You went quiet, the shift in your mood unmistakable. You weren’t the kind of person who could hide things well—your face always gave you away, your eyes especially. And right now, you could feel the way they changed, heavier somehow, distant in a way that wasn’t intentional but still impossible to ignore.  

“No,” you said quickly. Then, realizing how clipped it sounded, you exhaled and tried again. “I’m fine, I just…” You trailed off, your gaze drifting over his shoulder, scanning the living room as if the right words might be lying around somewhere. When you looked back, it was brief. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”  

Frankie watched you, his expression shifting, something flickering behind his eyes.

Then, after a pause, he asked, “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”  

Frankie studied you for a moment, his brows pulling together slightly. He knew something was off, you could see it in the way he hesitated. And maybe in a different situation, with someone else, he might have pushed. But this was you, and he knew better.  

“Sure,” he said finally. “I’ll call for a car and go, okay?”  

“That’s right.” He tipped his cup to his lips, draining the last sip of coffee before setting it down with a quiet clink. His eyes flicked back to you. “You’re sure you’re okay?”  

You nodded, already looking past him, already somewhere else.

Then, without really thinking, you muttered, “You still have to pick up your car, don’t you?”  

You sighed, exasperated, tilting your head back just slightly. When you met his gaze again, any lightness from before had disappeared.  

“I’m fine, Francisco. Leave me alone.”  

You slid off your seat and turned away before you could see his reaction, before you had to sit with whatever look he might be giving you.  

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you said over your shoulder, already walking down the hall, already pulling away. “I’ll be right back.”

Once inside the bathroom, you closed the door quietly, carefully. You didn’t really need to be here. You weren’t fixing your makeup or brushing your hair. You just needed distance—from Frankie, from his eyes that always seemed to catch too much, from the unspoken weight pressing down on you.

But the mirror didn’t offer any escape. It just stood there, reflecting back everything you were trying to ignore, everything you didn’t want to acknowledge.

What the fuck are you doing?

The thought came quickly, sharply, twisting through your ribs. You turned on the faucet, the rush of water filling the small space, and leaned over the sink, cupping your hands beneath the stream. The cold hit your skin like a shock, a reset, but it didn’t quite reach deep enough. You pressed damp fingers to your cheeks, ran them over the bridge of your nose, across your lips. Testing. Grounding. Stalling.

And when you looked up again, you felt... pathetic.

Maybe that’s why Harry hadn’t chosen you. Maybe that was the answer. Or maybe the truth was worse: no one had ever chosen you. Not Harry, not the boy before him, or the one before that. Every single time, it had ended the same way, with someone walking away toward something—someone—better.

And if you really thought about it, hadn’t that always been the pattern? Hadn’t you spent your whole life watching people choose something else?

Not your mother, either. She had loved you too. But she had left anyway. And you understood that too—understood how grief could hollow a person out, how it could make staying unbearable. You knew she wasn’t strong enough to live inside the absence of your father. And maybe you weren’t supposed to blame her for that. But you had needed her. You had needed her so badly, and she hadn’t been there.

Not your father. Even though you knew he had loved you, even though you understood, in some distant, logical part of yourself, that it wasn’t about love. But still—he had always chosen Santi. Always drawn to the open air, the wilderness, the kind of life you had never quite fit into.

They had shared something you could never access, something stitched into their bones. They understood each other in a way that had left you on the outside; you were the outlier, too quiet, too lost in your own head, always curled up in the same four walls with books about people who actually lived. People like your father, like your brother. They met life head-on, without hesitation, without fear.

And you… you had always been afraid. Of what, exactly? You weren’t sure. You only knew that it was there, a part of you as much as anything else.

And sure, Santi had always chosen you. He had always been the one constant, the one person who made you feel like you weren’t completely alone in the world. But you couldn’t cling to your brother forever. He had Yovanna now, and the life they were building together, the plans they whispered about when they thought no one was listening. A family, maybe.

And then what?

Where did that leave you?

You swallowed hard, gripping the edges of the sink, feeling the quiet ache settle into your chest. It wasn’t the kind of loneliness that came from being physically alone. It was something deeper, different. It had lived inside you for so long, it almost felt like a part of you.

You couldn’t let yourself spiral. Not now. Now, you had to leave the bathroom, find Frankie, and get him to leave. Then, maybe, you could curl up in bed with Mr. Darcy and pretend this day had never happened. That was the plan. That was the responsible, rational, totally-not-falling-apart plan.  

You pressed your palms to your cheeks once, as if physically pushing the emotion away, and stepped out.  

He was standing by the couch, his head tilted slightly, eyes locked on something in his hands. A book, blue... with delicate gold lettering on the cover... No.  

By the time you reached the kitchen, your hands drying against the hem of your shirt, Frankie wasn’t there anymore. Your breath caught, a strange mix of relief and suspicion pooling in your stomach.

And then you saw him.  

“What are you doing?” The words left your mouth before you could soften them. You surged forward, your pulse spiking as recognition set in.  

No.  

Frankie didn’t look up. Instead, he turned just enough to keep the little book out of your reach, flipping it open with an infuriating lack of urgency.  

“What’s this?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.  

“Francisco.” Your voice shook, your fingers stretching toward the journal. “Give me that.”

He lifted a single brow but didn’t obey.  

“Going to a bar and making out with a stranger…” he began reading aloud. You felt the heat rush to your face, creeping up your neck like fire. “Skinny-dipping. Learning how to kick someone's —”  

“Francisco!” You shoved at his chest, your hands colliding with solid muscle. He barely moved.

“Go camping in the woods—”

Without thinking, you reached up and pressed your fingers hard against the bridge of his nose. His sharp inhale was instant, followed by a curse.  

“Shit, shit—okay, okay!” He jerked back, wincing as he hunched slightly. “Jesus, you fight dirty.”  

You snatched the journal from his loosened grip and held it close, stepping around the coffee table, putting space between you. Your heart was pounding, your humiliation expanding by the second.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you not understand the concept of privacy?”  

Frankie touched his nose, wincing again, but his eyes were still full of laughter.  

“What’s that, shortcake?”  

You blinked. “What the hell did you just call me?”  

He shrugged. “What was that list?”  

“It’s… a list I made.”  

As if the embarrassment wasn’t already at an all-time high.

You sighed, dropping onto the couch, your fingers gripping the journal like it might disappear.

“Yeah, no kidding. Why?”  

“Why the hell should I explain to you what I write in my diary?”  

“To be clear, I wasn’t snooping,” he said, raising his hands in defense. “It was right there.” He gestured toward the coffee table. “Open. Can you really blame me?”  

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, but then you remembered. He was right. You had left it there. Right before heading out to meet him last night.

You exhaled, your eyes moving away, suddenly heavier than they had been moments ago.  

Frankie shifted, coming closer, his voice softer now.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just—”  

“I’m almost thirty, Francisco.” Your voice was quieter than before. “And I haven’t done any of the things on that list. I’ve never had a ‘wild night.’ Never kissed a stranger at a club. Never camped out. I’m afraid of… a lot of things.” You swallowed. “That’s why I made that list. Because I hate that people think I’m just this.”  

“This what?”  

You hesitated, then shook your head. “This. The woman who runs a bookstore and spends her nights with her cat and an imaginary boyfriend.”  

Frankie’s face changed. You saw it—the flicker of recognition, the memory of his own words from the night before.  

“But I thought you and Santi used to go camping all the time?” 

You scoffed. “No. My dad and Santi did all sorts of things. I stayed home.” You inhaled. “And then when I wanted to do them, my dad died. Just my luck, right?”

You stood abruptly, walking toward the kitchen.  

Behind you, Frankie followed. “Wait. You wanted to go make out with strangers at a club with your dad?”

You almost laughed. Almost. But you weren’t going to let him off that easy.  

“Yes, Francisco.” You turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossing. “That was exactly my plan.”  

He huffed a small laugh, but his expression softened as he took a step closer.  

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But you can still do those things. The club is still there. The woods are still there. There’s water everywhere.”  

“I know.” You exhaled through your nose. “That’s why I made the damn list you read without permission.”  

He tilted his head. “Okay, but was it really worth attacking my face like that?” He pointed to his nose, which was still slightly more pink.  

You smirked. “You asked for it.”

“Right, totally unjustifiable.”  

You frowned. “What, weren’t you leaving?”

Frankie exhaled, lifting his brows like you were being unreasonable.  

“Yeah, in a minute.”  

“Okay.”  

“Okay.”  

“Go on then.”  

“You’re kicking me out? What a terrible hostess.”  

“You’re rifling through my things? What a terrible guest.”  

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.  

“Well, my car’s a few minutes away. Can you tolerate my presence until then? It’s boiling outside.”  

“Like I care. Go work on your tan.” You smirked. “But, because I’m an inherently good person, I’ll allow you to stay. Out of the kindness of my heart.”  

He gave you a pointed look. “Yeah. You should add that to your little list.”  

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”  

“You know.” He shrugged. “Not being such a pain in the ass all the time.”  

“Don’t make me regret it, Morales, or I’ll toss you out there like a lizard.”  

Frankie rolled his eyes but leaned against the counter like he wasn’t actually in a hurry to leave.  

“Anyway,” he said after a beat. “Santi texted me.”  

That caught your attention. “Oh yeah?”  

“Yeah, while you were in the bathroom. He wants us to have dinner with him tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Us? As in, the two of us?”  

“Him and Yovanna, too. But yeah. He wants to see us, though I’m pretty sure he just wants to make sure we suffered. I always wondered where your mean streak came from, and now I get it. Santi’s got it too.”  

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head.

“He wants to laugh at us, I’m sure of it.” But then, a thought struck you. “Oh, my god, what am I going to do with my face? I look like crap. You do too.”  

Frankie snorted. “I don’t look that bad.”

“You look terrible.”

“Yeah, well, now I’ll look worse thanks to you.”

“We could always lie and say we got into a fight or something,” you suggested, tilting your head.

Frankie’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile. “Santi would kill me if he thought I let his little sister get into a fight.”

You sighed, your mood visibly changing, pushing off the counter and reaching for your phone, still plugged in, the screen lighting up with unread messages.

“You’re careful about some things,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “And then with others, you don’t care at all. I don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

Without looking at him, you scrolled through your notifications.

“Why do you even bother looking out for me? If it’s because of Santi, don’t bother. It doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?”

You turned then, hair shifting against your cheek as you met his eyes.

“You’ve never cared about how I feel,” you said simply. “You’ve never held back from saying things that could hurt me, not even last night. Not even in front of my brother. So why pretend now? Why act like this matters to you?”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Did I say something just now that pissed you off?”

“No, Francisco, but listen to yourself.” You gestured vaguely, exasperated. “Why do you care? You never have. You don’t have to start now just because we’re playing nice for one night. It’s weird. It’s fake.”

His arms crossed over his chest. “Okay but... I wasn’t going to leave you alone last night, though. You were hurt.” He shifted his weight, watching you carefully. “Did you actually think I would just leave?”

“That’s not the point,” you muttered, pressing your fingertips to your temple. “Just—don’t act differently with me because I did you a favor. It feels forced. And don’t use Santi as an excuse. I’m not a child.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” he shot back. His eyes flicked over your profile as you typed something on your phone, the soft tap of the keys the only sound between you. “I know we have our differences, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t care—”

“That doesn’t mean I should ignore if something bad or uncomfortable happens to you.” His voice was lower now, more insistent. “Like you did last night with me and Ian. Right?” He tilted his head slightly, stepping just close enough that you could feel the space between you shrink. “The rest is on the back burner if—”

"Yeah, well. Never mind," you muttered, cutting him off. "I need a nap."

You turned on your heel before he could say anything else, your movement sharp, decisive. As if ending the conversation physically would erase the weight of it. You crossed the room without looking back, collapsing onto the couch like the day had physically drained you, like you needed to be swallowed whole by the cushions just to breathe properly again.

Still, something gnawed at him.

Frankie watched you, his gaze trailing the exact path you took. His arms remained crossed, fingers pressing absently against his bicep as he stood there, unmoving.

There was something wrong. He could feel it, see it in the way you carried yourself, in the way you had avoided his eyes at the last second. But you weren’t going to tell him. And he knew better than to ask.

It shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t even like you, not really. And you certainly didn’t like him. The two of you had spent years existing like opposing forces, never quite able to be in the same space without the edges fraying, without the air between you tensing like a rope being pulled too tight.

He’d never really understood you. He’d told himself, over the years, that it was just incompatibility, that you were wired differently, that you had nothing in common and that was it.

But maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe it was just that you had never let him. That every time he thought he might be getting close to figuring you out, you pulled back, slammed a door in his face, left him with nothing but vague impressions and unfinished sentences. That was the thing about you—he’d never understood you, not really. And that irritated him, the way you always felt slightly out of reach.

But today had felt different.

Because for a split second, just a fraction of a moment, he had seen something real. Something unguarded. Something like fear, or exhaustion, or sadness, but buried so deeply beneath irritation and indifference that he almost missed it—it had caught him off guard because he recognized it, and that realization unsettled him.

Still, he had seen it, plain as day—the flicker in your eyes, the way something in them had tightened, then shut away. A flash of vulnerability. A quiet kind of grief. And against all logic, some part of him wanted to reach out and catch it before it disappeared completely.

But he wasn’t going to ask. He wouldn’t dare. And you had made it perfectly clear that he shouldn’t, hadn’t you?  

For a full minute, he had to talk himself out of doing something reckless—like sitting next to you, like pressing just a little, just enough to get an answer. He forced the curiosity away, willed it into silence.  

So when he finally slid into the car three minutes later, the words he’d thrown at you the night before came rushing back, one after another, uninvited. Or at least, the ones he could remember.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog

[lovegalor333]

Warm December

part three of paigemas

paige bueckers x reader

paige surprises you by staying in storrs for christmas so you’re not alone

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The holiday season was a weird and complicated time for you. It came with a lot of bad memories since your mom died and home was the last place you wanted to be so the decision to stay in Storrs was an easy one. Your family were unbothered and didn’t have much to say when you broke the news. Your stepmom said she would save money not having to buy you gifts and your dad just grunted down the phone. A few years ago, this would have probably made you cry but you were used to your parents attitude now and you were grateful you went to college so far away from home.

It was December 21st and you had waved your roommates goodbye, cars full with wrapped presents and snacks you had packed for them. They both drove off in the falling snow, with Christmas music blasting from their speakers. Both girls tried to get you to go home with them, insisting their families would be happy to have an extra guest at their table but you weren’t one to impose and besides, you had a long list of books you wanted to read. The thought of bunkering down in your cosy apartment, spiced candles lit, a mug of hot tea in your hand and getting lost in a romance novel appealed to you more than you’d like to admit.

Before meeting your girlfriend, you lived vicariously through the relationships you read about. Fantasising about a love like Elizabeth Bennets and Mr Darcys. After being single your whole life, you were starting to believe that maybe love like that was entirely fictional and then along came Paige. Six foot tall, blonde, blue eyes and pure muscle. You and Paige had the most typical friends to lovers timeline. Having met through mutual friends, you quickly bonded over your Midwest roots and you both found yourselves wanting to spend more and more time together. You were both wildly oblivious to each other’s pining and it took one too many shots and a very calculated game of spin the bottle (thanks Azzi) for you to finally realise that you were on the same page.

Speaking of your girlfriend, she had also travelled home today. You said goodbye with tears in your eyes and one final kiss. “I’ll FaceTime you everyday.” Paige had said, “I want to know what happens at the end of Emma.” Paige loved listening to you talk about your current read, she insisted she cared about the storyline but with the way she looked at you, eyes soft and a small smile on her lips, you knew you could say absolutely anything and she’d listen intently.

The evening was drawing in and you had turned off all the big lights, your apartment lit by fairy lights and candles alone. The Christmas tree in the corner of the room glowed warmly making the space feel like a cosy grotto. The whole place smelled like cinnamon and with your Christmas playlist softly emitting from your Alexa, it softened the blow that you’d be alone at this time of year.

A knock on your apartment door broke through your thoughts and you imagined it was your Post Mates order so you carefully placed your book mark inbetween the pages you were currently reading and went to answer the door. Your door step was empty, nothing or nobody was there and you furrowed your brow in confusion and peeked your head around the door to see who knocked.

It took you a few seconds to process what you saw, “Paige! What are you doing here?” You gasp, seeing your girlfriend, body pressed against the wall, a huge cheesy grin on her face and a red santa hat perched on her head, “Surprise, my love.”

“You’re meant to be on a plane right now!” You say as she pulls you into a hug. Paiges hugs were hands down your favourite thing in this whole world. The way her arms snaked around your waist and squeezed you tight, the way her head nuzzled into your neck as she pressed light kisses to your skin. Your nostrils were filled with her scent, a scent you had prepared yourself to not smell for a few weeks and you breathed in deeply taking in as much of it as you could.

“I’m meant to be right here.” Paige says walking back into your apartment with one arm still wrapped around your waist.

“What are you talking about? I thought you were going back to Minnesota.”

“I was. And then I thought about it. Go there where I’ll just get grilled by my family about shit I cannot be bothered to explain or stay here. With you. Where we can be with each other all day and night. Where I can make you tea while you read and you can cook while…I watch because God knows I’ll burn the place down.” Paige tucks your hair behind your ear and her eyes skim over your face, “You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone did you?” She asks, her thumb gently stroking your cheek.

“I don’t know. Kinda. But it’s normal, everyone goes home. I wouldn’t have minded.” You mumble looking into Paiges eyes. You wouldn’t have resented Paige for going home for the holidays, it wasn’t her fault your family didn’t know how to act. “You know I love you, right? Like a lot. And Christmas is about being with the people you love. Now come and sit on Santas lap and tell me what’s on your list.” Paige smirked as she pulled you to the couch, positioning you on her lap.

You giggled as Paige did her best Santa impression. Voice deep and gravelly, “Have you been a good girl this year?” You nod playing into her game, “Very good.”

Paige raised a brow, breaking character, her usual accent back, “Good girls arch their back, ass up?” You gasped, lightly slapping her arm, “Paige! Santa would not say that!”

“Oh my bad- Ho ho ho! What’s on your Christmas list?” She regained composure, putting on her Santa voice once again, holding her stomach as she ho’d, really getting into character.

“Didn’t make a list. Everything I need is all right here.” You smile, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your girlfriends lips. “I love you, Paige.” “I love you too.”

The rest of your night was spent cuddled into Paige on your couch. The Christmas lights around your dim apartment twinkled silently as you watched your favourite festive movie - The Holiday. Paige traced delicate shapes into your back and every now and then you would catch her staring at you. The light from the television illuminating her perfect features. She would press soft kisses to your head when a romantic scene played and when you found yourself sniffling as the young characters on screen laid in their fort and spoke about their mom who had passed away, Paige slipped her hand into yours and squeezed it tightly.

The holiday season was a weird and complicated time for you but like always Paige was there to make it less weird and less complicated and for that, you could only let a tear slip out of your eye. Grateful for the girl next to you and her deep, unapologetic love.

two posts in an hour so im back on track 🙂‍↕️ happy christmas eve eve baddies 💋

🏷️: @buecketsnbueckets @rosemariiaa @sierrale8ne @avvwritesstufff @blackbarbie96 @melpthatsme @jnkbueckers @cloclos-posts @onlyhereforpazzi @paigeshirleytemple @mattsmunchkin @bueckersbitch @rizzlerbuckets @numberonepartyanth3m @washing-machine-heart245 @katemartinlvr @girlslovee @taylynbueckers44 @thatonequeer0358 @the-other-half @xxxggggsh @evry1luvzza

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter Eight

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 2.9k+

Chapter Warnings: Angsty with fluff? Mentions of medical emergency , hospital scene , parental health crisis , emotional distress , panic/anxiety , grief themes , mentions of bruises / past Hurt

A/N: heyyy I personally love this chapter sm and have been waitingggg to write it and now its here! I’ve been posting updates back to back recently but I’m so excited for this series and have the time to do so , so why not! andddd I'm sorry not sorry for the cliff hanger hehe enjoy - flower <3

series masterlist or read on ao3!

<- previous chapter - next chapter ->

The sleek local hospital thrived in continuous rhythm , beeping monitors , the echo of squeaky sneakers on linoleum , and the subtle murmur of clipped medical terminology exchanged in quick passing down the long halls. 

In her dark blue scrubs and stark white lab coat , Y/N moved through the building with focus , her expression calm even when her body ached from two back-to-back surgeries and very minimal sleep. 

She’d become good at this. At compartmentalizing her aches and problems. At doing the job and leaving everything else—including bruises , heartbreak , and hollow silence from the night before last—at the door ready to setp into her role as head of Cardio. 

Her happy place.

She leaned her body against and over the counter of the closest nurse’s station , reviewing the post-op notes for the aortic valve replacement she and Peter had just completed together.

It went perfectly  , without mistake and fail.

Her hands were sterile clean , purple gloves peeled off , fingers twitching with the phantom pressure of clamps and sutures in her grasp. 

Behind her , her intern Peter buzzed breathless about restocking supplies then finally catching up with his attending.

“Dr. Y/N , you’re , like… a machine,” Peter muttered , half in awe looking at her , half in fatigue as he slowed his breathing from chasing her down the hallway. “You seriously don’t stop , or…b-breathe.”

“I’m cardio. If I stop so do people's hearts,” she answered simply , marking the last chart smiling handing it to a nurse whos name tag she looked over reading Brandy .

“Thank you Brandy” she quipped.

Peter gave her a sheepish half smile before scuttling off to grab more EKG strips and gloves after they ran out in OR 3. 

Y/N pressed her knuckles into the back of her neck rolling it with a little wince.

That’s when her phone rang loud.

Her eyes flicked to the time then to the contact ID.

“ Wands “

Y/N blinked at the name , confusion covering her face and furrowing her brows. Wanda rarely called her in the middle of the work day unless it was an emergency , or now wedding-related. 

She picked up seeing she did not currently have a surgery beckoning her name at the moment answering with a quick. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Y/N!” Wanda’s voice was rushed , she sounded like she was mid race “Oh my god, I’m so sorry to bother you while your at the hospital… but I—I really need to ask you something, and it’s kind of a complete and total bridal emergency.”

Y/N glanced at an empty storage closet heading in , switching Wanda to speaker. “What happened?”

“It’s Darcy,” Wanda groaned. “She went on an early morning run this morning—who does that before coffee—and tripped over a stupid freaking tree root. She broke her ankle , clean break all the way through.”

“Oh no. Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine. Just high on pain meds wobbling on crutches and furious about the timing,” Wanda said with a huff. “But now I have no maid of honor. I mean, I do… if you say yes to me.”

Y/N froze. “Me?”

“Yes , you , dummy,” Wanda said. “I didn’t ask you in the first place because I know you’re swamped with the hospital and moving and all , but please. Please, I need you. You know all the plans and everything about the day already , and everyone adores you. Plus , you’re walking with Bucky anyway since he’s my man of honor. It’s perfect!”

Y/N’s heart stuttered at that name. “Wait—what?”

“You’d be walking with Bucky. Is that okay?” Wanda’s voice softened. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t trust you both not to act like children on my special day.”

Y/N’s lips parted , a hundred feelings trying to surface at once. 

But there wasn’t time to process them.

Her pager buzzed, vibrating violently on her hip. A triple-page to the ER.

Code red - 911.

“I—I’ll do it , Wanda,” she blurted out , already moving to the ER. “I’ll text you after. I’m being paged to an emergency.”

“Thank you, thank you! I’ll—”

“Bye!” Y/N hung up on her mid-sentence.

Before she could put up her phone again , it began to buzz in her hand.

“ Bucky ;)  ”

She hesitated for a long pause but not stopping her steps , then for whatever reason she didn't even know herself she answered it , still jogging toward the main elevators.

“Hel-”

“Are you at the hospital?!” His voice was raw and breaking , loud enough that she had to hold the phone slightly away from her ear with a grimace.

Her stomach dropped to her knees at his tone. “Yes , Bucky of course I am , I’m literally on my way to the ER right now for an emergency , so can we—”

“It’s Ma!” he shouted , cutting her off again. “She’s the one you’re being paged for!”

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks. Then took off sprinting passing the elevators taking off down the stairs.

“W-what?”

“She collapsed at a bookstore, the one she loves on 22nd street. I—I got a call from first responders who got her. My number was in her wallet. She wasn’t waking up , they brought her in—” His voice broke. “They said she’s not responsive. Y/N , I don’t know what to do , I—”

“I’m coming. Stay on the phone Bucky i'm coming,” she said , already running as fast as she could. NOt caring about the stares she got from passing families and staff.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The large ER bay doors slid open with a gust of cold , sterile wind.

Her eyes swept across the bouncing and full room searching till she saw him. Bucky.

Standing in the middle of controlled chaos like the eye of a storm that was anything but calm right now , panic written across every line and show of his face. 

He was clutching his phone to his chest hard enough to split the screen into a million pieces , looking down the hall toward a gurney being rushed past two trauma bays.

On it lay his mother Winifred Barnes.

She was pale and still. Unmoving. Oxygen mask over her face. Eyes closed.

Y/N didn’t hesitate to go to him.

She shoved and elbowed her way through the crowd and grabbed Bucky by the arm. “Hey , I’m here. I’m right here.”

His eyes locked on hers and immediately filled with tears gripping onto her. “Y/N—she just… she collapsed. I wasn’t there. I—I didn’t even—”

She wrapped both arms around him before he could fully collapse into himself.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, a hand coming up to his head raking her fingers in it , grounding him. “You did everything right , I'm here now.”

The paramedics called out vitals as they moved Winifred toward the cardio trauma room. 

Y/N turned to one of the nurses who was cleaning where they had Winniefred in the ER bay. “What’s her status Piper?”

“BP is crashing , CT confirmed complete LAD occlusion. We’re prepping the OR as we speak Im sorry Dr.,  but i gotta go”

“Thanks yes of course go-”

“Blockage?” Bucky whispered brokenly behind her , voice trembling.

Y/N spun turning to him , hands going on his shoulders. “It’s a heart attack , Bucky. A big one. But she’s here now , and I know this hospital, these people—we’re not going to waste a second they've got her.”

“But—what if it’s too late? What if—” he stutters out not breathing.

“Oh-Oh Okay. It’s okay your having a panic attack Bucky,” She acted quickly. “You're safe. Right here with me.”

She reached out and gently took his hand—it was clammy.

He didn’t pull away.

“Just copy me,” She whispered keeping her voice calm. She took a deep breath , in through her nose , slow and steady.

He tried. Too fast. Chest still fluttering rapidly.

“Okay , again. Slower this time.” She exaggerated itc, making her own breath loud.

In. Out.

He followed. Not perfect, but better.

She squeezed his hand. “You’re here. In the hospital with me , standing in a pretty gross ER." she let her lips twitch slightly.

He let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. Still shaking.

“You’re doing good,” He nodded.

His eyes finally met hers—and really met them. The tension in his body eased, just a little.

“I hate this,” he whispered.

“I know,” you said. “But , It’s not too late,” she said firmly cupping his cheek in one hand. “They’ll need to clear the blockage and place a stent. I’ve done this surgery myself a hundred times and the people working on her , I've trained.”

“But you’re not doing it this time,” he whispered, shaking his head. “So what if they mess up-?” He hiccuped.

Y/N’s heart cracked , he was so scared , right now he wasn't the built man who was standing before her. No , right now he was just a boy who’d seen too much grief, too much loss afraid to face more of it.

“I trust them with my life Bucky ,” she said , taking his hand rubbing over his knuckles. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

They moved to stood outside the OR prep hallway , just beyond the sterile double doors , where Winifred Barnes was being wheeled into her surgery.

Y/N hadn’t let go of Bucky’s hand once refusing to drop it.

Her grip had shifted , no longer urgent and needed , but a steady grounding tether. 

The same way he used to hold hers after she ran barefoot into his backyard , bruised and shaking.

Only now, he was the one who couldn’t stop shaking or trembling.

“She’ll be okay,” Y/N repeated , voice soft as they stood together pressed against the wall. 

The staff buzzed and swarmed around them , moving carts ,  monitors and medications with seamless precision in the OR. 

“Her vitals stabilized enough for surgery. The blockage they found is in the left anterior descending artery. But I'm hopeful they caught it fast enough. They’ll insert a catheter through the femoral artery and place a stent to open it.”

Bucky blinked at her like she was speaking a different language from another planet or world. “I don’t—I can’t follow all that.”

She turned toward him and gently touched his upper arm. “You don’t have to. That's medical nonsense. I’ll translate it into Bucky Barnes terms, okay?”

His lips twitched at that. Not quite a smile. But close.

“She had a heart attack,” Y/N continued calmly. “LIke i said earlier a pretty big one. But she’s in the best possible place right now. This team is the one I trust with my own patients everyday. They’re going to thread a tiny little wire into her heart and open up the artery that got blocked , which caused the heart attack. Once the artery opens again , blood will flow normally and her heart can start healing and getting stronger.”

“How does it know to go back to beating and healing again?”

“Muscle memory” Y/N smiled , squeezing his hand once.

Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on the OR doors. “How long?”

“Depending on how stable she stays and how fast they access and treat the blockage… anywhere from 30 minutes to a couple of hours.”

He gave a slow nod , his shoulders slumping under the weight of it all.

 “She was just going to the bookstore , ” he whispered. “Said she wanted to pick out a new book for Alpine because she “likes being read to during thunderstorms” She was just…fine.”

“I know.” Y/N swallowed the lump rising in her own throat. “That’s how it happens sometimes. There’s no warning no alert. But we’re not going to let her go , Bucky.”

He didn’t respond , just continued staring straight ahead. So she reached up and gently tucked a piece of longer fallen hair behind his ear , the way she used to when they were younger and he couldn’t sleep unless someone ran fingers through his hair. 

His shoulders eased a little at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed breathing out a shaky exhale.

“I’m staying with you.”

He looked at her. Really looked , eyes scanning her face for sincerity , searching for it. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

They ended up moving together to the small family waiting alcove near the OR corridor. 

It was a private little room with a soft muted blue couch , a few slightly worn and uncomfortable chairs , with a coffee machine that hadn’t worked properly in years. 

The overhead lights hummed too loudly , and the air conditioner made a clicking noise every time it kicked on.

But it was quiet. Safe.

Y/N sat down on the couch and gently pulled Bucky beside her wrapping her arms into his jacket and starting stroking his back

She slipped out her phone and sent a message redirecting her last surgery that day to the resident just below her .

They sat close , the space between them was warm with old familiarity and safety. 

She couldn't help but be reminded of their late-night study sessions at their shared off-campus apartment—awful coffee-stained old notebooks, half-melted pizza cold , and the curve of Bucky’s knee always brushing hers under their coffee table.

Except this time , there was no young laughter and love. No midnight music playing from her laptop speakers or Bucky's humming and her smile.

Only grief. And desperate waiting.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Another ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Then forty five.

Bucky didn’t speak the whole time since going to the family room. He just fidgeted—rubbing his thumb over the inside of his wrist , then clenching and unclenching his fists. 

His eyes never stayed still , flitting to the door , to the rug , to her, then back to the door again waiting for a doctor or nurse , or anyone to give him the news he needed.

“She’s tough, you know,” She tried to fill the silence. “Your mom , she once brought me soup when I had a cold from sleeping in the treehouse one night and wouldn’t leave until I finished all of it. She glared at me every time I tried to brush her off or say I wasn't hungry.”

A soft watery huff came from Bucky , barely audible but there.

“Yeah mom is a stubborn and stern one , once lectured a grown man at the grocery store for cutting in line in front of a teenager…She made him put all his stuff back,” Bucky added , voice hoarse. “Said the only way entitled jerks learn is through inconvenience.”

Y/N smiled gently. “Yep, that's Winifred Barnes.”

Bucky leaned forward , elbows on his knees , hands clasped tight between them dropping his head low. “I thought I lost her.”

“You didn’t.” She leaned over placing her forehead on his shoulder. “You didn’t.”

Another twenty minutes passed.

His hand found hers again.

And stayed there , neither pulling back.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They both must have dozed off at some point while waiting. The exhaustion of the day , the anxiety and fear , the steady lull of the ticking wall clock all pulling them into something softer and restful.

Y/N’s head tilted to the side with an exhale , settling against Bucky’s shoulder.

His arm curved behind her body , on instinct , the way you hold something you don’t want to drop or lose.

His cheek rested lightly on top of her head , taking a risk , he lazily- sleepily kissed her temple with the softest brush of his lips , breathing evening out as she was already asleep.

For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—Y/N’s body was in no harm or pain , as he just held her.

They didn’t speak or wake when the other slightly shifted or stirred.

They didn’t need to just needed each other in this very moment.

The OR door hadn’t opened yet. The news hadn’t come.

But for now, in this sliver of peace between heartbeats and heartbreak.

They had each other-“Bucky?...Y/N?!...”

-end

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They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

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[markkiatocafe]

welcome home

a short story with mark of nct

𖠚 warnings: mark calls the reader “love,” reader is implied to have hair (sorry bald readers ((via…)), the reader kinda lays in marks lap, mentions of food/they’re gonna get food + bad eating schedule (pls eat love!!! lunch is important jst like breakfast & dinner <33 no matter what i’m proud of you, you got this!!!), jst rlly domestic fluff 

𖠚 synop: getting an apartment with your new husband!mark… <3

𖠚 pairing: f!reader x nonidol!mark 

𖠚 w.c: 531

𖠚 a/n: read this as whatever you’d like ofc, but in my brain this is like a prequel of sorts, a few years before 11:45pm……either way i hope you enjoy darlings !!! ◝꒰ ´ ˘ `♡ ꒱ p.s this was “mark husband apartment new prompt (PLS WTITE SELF)”

you and mark were newly weds, and today was your first day in your new apartment together. as soon as you walked in, a box which had a tv in it in your arms, you let out a soft gasp. mark followed closely behind you, a little grin playing on his lips. “it looks…” he started, eyes flickering to the empty kitchen. “like home,” you finished for him, walking to the middle of the empty living room, placing down the box carefully and starting to walk around the place.

of course you had been here before, before you bought it and all, but that didn’t make it any less special. honestly, it made your heart flutter, walking around knowing this, not as a potential place you may or may not buy, but as your home. it wasn’t exactly the biggest thing in the world, but an apartment at all in this economy was a steal.

a little while later, you and mark were sitting on the floor, the box you brought now opened and the tv sitting on the floor, playing “pride and prejudice.” you were curled up next to mark, head lying in his lap as his fingers mindlessly played with your hair.

“y’know,” he started, making you look up at him, his eyes narrowed at the tv screen. “lizzie is pretty dramatic in this. i mean, it doesn’t even make sense why she’s so mad. if she just listened to mr. darcy, none of this would’ve happened in the first place!” you giggled. when you first told him you wanted to watch the “pride and prejudice,” you weren’t sure if he would like it. especially since his favorite movies were the whole spiderman series, i mean, that’s nothing like a cheesy romcom from 2005. although, right now, it was safe to say that you didn’t regret showing it to him.

after that discussion (which ultimately ended in you convincing mark lizzie was perfectly reasonable in her reaction, since he really couldn’t argue with you on anything, even something as small as movies), you felt a growl in your stomach. you got so caught up in watching your movie, you didn’t even realize you hadn’t eaten since breakfast. it was currently 6pm. you looked up at mark, rolling over onto your back, reaching up and pushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

“min, could we order something? please?” you asked.

he hummed in agreement, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he got his phone out of his pocket, opening the taco bell app. “is taco bell alright, love?”

you nodded, turning back towards the tv, which was now playing “spiderman: no way home” (obviously chosen by the man next to you). “sounds great to me,” you replied.

all of this, to you, felt like the start of a new chapter. maybe you were even opening a fresh book, you weren’t really sure. either way, it all felt so new, so fresh, and in the best way you could ever possibly feel that. new things were scary, but they were also exciting. you could only imagine what the future would bring to you to, and you couldn’t wait.

[sabrinasopposite]

the end of the world

tom holland x reader ♡

two lovers that reached the end of the relationship.

she was sunshine and he was midnight rain

It was clear from the beginning that two lost souls would find their way in the Milky Way. It was evident that the pair of chocolate-brown eyes would be fixed on the girl's, whose eyes were filled with teardrops sparkling like stars.

Love seemed to dissipate from their presence, replaced by hurt and pain that gnawed at their insides instead of the butterflies that once fluttered around them on the nights they met. The birds ceased their songs on their favorite Saturdays, and their tea tasted as dull as their shared kisses.

Young love is often portrayed in movies as pure innocence, building upon their emotions and the desire to understand their hearts, but they rarely depict the harsh realities of the real world. In reality, it marked the end for them.

Their love is lost in the air, not be founded in their hearts that were stringed. 

Y/N always thought their love will be like Amy’s and Laurie’s, or like Elizabeth’s and Mr Darcy’s. An undeniable love that was stronger than their words. Yet, perhaps these were words she was too blinded to perceive, or maybe they were simply absent, unheard by her ears. 

Tom always believed that their love was pure, strong, and transcendent, beyond the reach of the stars. He struggled to find words to capture the intense emotions that surged within him whenever he laid eyes on the girl of his dreams, the embodiment of the perfect world he envisioned.

However, he gradually came to realize that this was merely a fantasy, detached from the reality in which he found himself trapped.

It was one of those rainy nights in London when the city's sparks were veiled by raindrops. Y/N always found herself reflected in the rain; she adored the scent it carried and the melodic patter it painted upon the earth. It was one of those nights when she would coax Tom outside onto the streets, where they'd listen to their favorite 60s playlist and dance in the rain—a silly cliché that they held dear to their hearts. 

However, tonight was the end of their world.

Their soaked clothes clung to their chilled bodies, as not only did the world darken around them and the raindrops fall heavier and heavier, but so too did their hearts. What was once a yellow world now turned blue.

"Why do you have to let me go, Y/N? I don’t understand!" Tom cried out, his words aimed at Y/N, whose eyes reflected the rain. "I know, and I will be forever grateful for everything you've given me," she replied. "But we'll only continue to hurt each other if we stay together." Y/N licked her lips, which once tasted like Tom's, but now bore the bitter tang of salt and regret.

"I would give up everything just to be with you. I-I'm sorry for my absence, but this new life—the acting career—it's all so overwhelming for me, and you know it.“ Tom’s eyes were shining of hope and desperate need of Y/N’s warmth.

Some things remained unchanged, but as soon as Tom became the golden boy of Hollywood, his life transitioned from its former purity into one illuminated by the spotlight. The stage was now his domain, his face adorning posters, TV/cinema screens, and magazines. He was everywhere.

Y/N remained grateful and supportive of his acting career, finally seeing him recognized as the talented young man who once dreamed of playing Billy Elliot or auditioning for Romeo multiple times.

He was now acknowledged by the world, although he had always been seen by her.

His world.

Yet, as with every fairy tale, not every story concludes with a happily ever after, where the princess and the prince marry. Just like Y/N and Tom..

He changed. He was still Tom Holland, but he wasn't the same Tom. Y/N saw it coming but chose to ignore the spotlight, waiting backstage for him. But he remained in the center of the stage, basking in the attention and affection of the crowd.

Y/N, once the midnight rain, found herself overshadowed by Tom's sunshine. But tonight, as their world comes to an end, their roles reverse.

"It's not that you're physically absent, Tom, here in London or beside me. It's that I can't seem to find you anymore. We're living in different worlds now, and there's no room for me in yours. I wish I could express this differently or see things from a different perspective, but..."

Her gaze met his, witnessing his tears mingling with the rain, his trembling not just from the cold, but from the pain. She knew that saying goodbye would only make it harder.

"Please, don't say that... Sweetheart, I can change. I'll change. I'll be the same person I was before, I promise!" His hands tightened around hers, afraid to let go.

"I will always love you, Tom, but I have to let you go. Not just for your sake, but for mine too. It's time for both of us to find our paths again."

She stepped closer, delicately brushing her hand against his cheek, her lips meeting his for the last time.

Perhaps not forever, but for now.

And as she walked away, Tom didn't realize it was the end of their world.

It ended when she whispered, "Goodbye."

this story is very much inspired by the song: the end of the world by skeeter davis.

I hope u like this angst! ♡

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Fate Of A Fae - Part 11

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Soulmate Match: You know on sight. Friends also know when they meet you if you're a match for one of their friends.

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Chapter Summary: The reader has her appointment with Banner and Cho, and Bucky's on edge.

Chapter Warning: Medical procedures, talk of past childhood trauma and abuse.

After the exchange of hellos, Natasha leads you through the doors to the elevator and up to the floor marked Medical Science. You'd never come in this way or even been on this floor during your time as a temp and it felt very clinical compared to the areas you had been in. Darcy had looped her arm in yours and you were grateful for her presence. She whispers to you, asking if Bucky had shared your bed and you shake your head. You feel weirdly disappointed at the thought that he could have but push it to the side. Clearly you were getting soft and letting your guard down.

You glance behind you as you enter the elevator to find Bucky and Happy speaking in hushed voices. He looks up immediately and smiles as he follows you in, quickly looping an arm around your waist and kissing you firmly on the temple. Happy continues to talk to him, as you side-eye Darcy who's smiling widely and looking ahead. You glance at Natasha, who's at Darcy's other side to find her smirking directly at you. When she raises her eyebrows at you, you roll your eyes and look away.

You see a nervous looking Bruce waiting for you when the doors slide open. You’d never thought berserkers were the nervous type until you’d met Bruce. You spot Bucky glance at Nat before he takes the lead this time, hand on the small of your back, guiding you from the elevator. Darcy still has a firm hold on your arm and you notice Nat has now mimicked Bucky's actioned and her hand is on the small of her back. Happy seems to be clearing the waiting area of anyone who shouldn't be there and checking their ID's. It's something he always does but he seems to do it with more urgency than normal. Bruce greets you all and you follow him through to an office where you find Doctor Helen Cho and one of her assistants waiting. Bucky introduces you and Darcy to them both. Helen shakes your hand and then Darcy's. Her assistant nods at you both. Bruce offers you all a seat and it's not missed by Bucky or Natasha that you take the furthest away and sit near the window. Bucky sits next to you and places his metal arm around your shoulders, as he says something about Steve. When you hear another voice you realise Steve is on a video call via Bucky's phone, he points it in your direction briefly for Steve to say hello. You don't have chance to respond, before Nat takes it from him and props it up on Bruce's desk.

"He wanted to be here." Bucky whispers to you.

Bruce cleared his throat, pulling your attention towards him.

"Before we start I'd just like to check how you're feeling Y/N."

You shrugged in response. "I don't really know to be honest."

"Any other issues since this morning?" Bruce asked and you shook your head.

"What you experienced this morning" Helen started "is a reaction to the medication you have and your body beginning to fight against it. We'll run some tests to be sure but I think it's important for us to explain everything as we go along to give you all an understanding of what's happening here."

The four of you nodded in response.

"Before we go any further, Y/N we've tried to access your medical records but your doctor is refusing. It would help if you called them and asked them to send them over. They're likely to send you a document to sign before sending them. It's important for us to see your medical history for a full evaluation to take place. If you're comfortable with that of course."

"We tried to use the the form you signed when you worked here. The one for emergencies but they wouldn't release the information." Bruce added. "Helen and I are concerned by their reluctance and it would help massively if we could see your medical history."

You nod and ask if you should call right away and Helen advises you to call them so her team can start the historic part of your evaluation. Your brow furrows. You don't know where you got the idea but you'd thought it would just be Helen and Bruce, now it felt like you were becoming an experiment. You made the call and came up against a reluctant medical receptionist. She questioned you repeatedly about what was happening. Bruce whispered to you that he could speak to them, before Bucky put his hand out.

"Give me the phone doll."

"Ermmm, my boyfriend wants to talk to you."

It's after he takes the phone and Darcy leans forward from her place beside Bucky and mouths 'boyfriend' at you that you realise what you've said. Your eyes go wide and you mouth 'fuck' back to her.

"This is James Barnes, I'm Y/N Y/L/N's, boyfriend and soulmate. I'm going to make this very clear. You release her medical records to Stark Industries, Doctor Banner and Doctor Cho immediately." He said firmly. "If they aren't here in the next ten minutes I'll have my lawyer serve you with so much legal paperwork it'll make you boss’ head spin. Every single person in that office will be out of a job by the end of the week and won't get another on the East Coast ever again. I'll buy the whole building if I have to and make sure the doctors have nowhere to practice from, am I clear?" He paused for a moment before passing the phone back to you. "They just need to confirm the email address to send the release form to."

You took the phone back, confirming the email address and hanging up. You turned to Bucky.

"Are you always like this?"

Nat, Bruce and Steve's voice rang in your ears as they all answered for him.

"Yes."

He shrugged. Your phone pinged with the emails and you filled out the form before submitting it.

"OK, before that all comes through we'd like to talk to you about when you first presented as fae." Bruce asked. You shifted in your seat uncomfortable at his question and the thought of having to discuss your childhood. Bucky sensing your discomfort questioned Bruce's request.

"You're about to get her medical files, it's that really necessary?"

"We have our concerns about the doctor she's been using." Bruce replied.

"How so?" Natasha asked.

"He has a reputation. Malpractice, misdiagnoses, harassment, but nothing sticks. The fact they've been so difficult on a request for your information is a concern. We can wait for the records but we'll still have to run through them with her."

"Her is here." You replied a firmness to your voice.

"I know this may be uncomfortable to talk about Y/N, but it helps us piece together your ancestry." Helen added.

"When I was born." You replied annoyed.

"OK, well that's good, it means you have a strong bloodline." Bruce told you.

"What where the indicators Y/N?" Helen asked.

"Indicators?"

"Did you have wings? Pointed ears? Shimmer? Dustings?" Bruce asked.

You let out a sigh and felt Bucky stiffen beside you. These were all the things that made you distinctly fae and that you'd been without for years.

"Ears."

"What came next?" Bruce continued.

"Ermmm, shimmer, wings, then dusting."

"How old where you when each of them came through?"

"That's up for debate."

"How so?" Helen asked.

"My Mum, Aunties, the rest of the family, well they don't agree."

"Which is the most reliable?" Bruce asked. You huffed before responding.

"Not my mother that's for sure."

Bucky rubbed your shoulder soothingly and took your other hand in his. You glanced at his phone still propped on Bruce's desk to see Steve looking at you sympathetically.

"Can I add something?" Darcy asked, breaking the silence. Everyone else turned to look at you and you nodded. She leant forward and looked at you. "I met the aunties right? When we went to your grandma's funeral? I also met you Mom and personally I'd go with what your Aunts said, especially the little fiery sprite."

"Lily."

"That's the one. She was too sure to be wrong."

You thought about it for a moment and nodded. Darcy was right. You looked down at the floor and pulled your hand from Bucky's before ringing yours together. He pushed his hand between yours before you had chance to hurt yourself.

"I shimmered when I was two." You started. "Aunt Lily says she remembers because it was my cousin's birthday. I got excited when the cake came out. My wings were when I was three. It was Christmas. I was at Aunt Lily's as my mum was at work and my dad wouldn't watch me when she was working. I was in the bath, Lily had stepped out for a second, she heard a squeal and a bump and she thought I'd slipped and hurt myself. I was dipping in and out the bath. It took me a couple of weeks to control it. I kept flying into things."

"And the dusting?" Bruce asked as he made notes.

Your stomach churned and you felt a lump in your throat.

"Ermm, a week or two after the wings. I, well, I wasn't really allowed to do it."

"Do it?" Bruce asked. Still looking down at the floor, you shifted in your seat and your eyes started to fill with tears.

"Doll, what do you mean?"

"They got infected a couple of times, I didn't really understand, but I held in the dusting. I didn't want to make a mess."

"Doll, you can't hold that in. Right Bruce?"

Before Bruce had chance, Helen answered.

"Actually James, fairies are able to hold their dusting, although it's not recommended. It can lead to blocked ducts, infection and wing damage."

"It made a mess, I wasn't allowed to as it made a mess." You said quietly.

Bucky tried his best to hold in the rumble of anger from his chest, he really did, but his dragon took over.

"Fucking assholes." He snapped.

"Buck." "Yasha."

Tears ran down your cheeks and you zoned out as Bucky started to rant and grumble in Russian. Darcy appeared knelt in front of you.

"This is harder than I thought it would be." You said quietly to her. "I thought it'd just be about the tablets."

Nat whispers something harshly to Bucky in Russian and his muttering comes to a stop. She moves Darcy's chair so it's against yours and you find one of your hands in Bucky's and the other in Darcy's. A squeeze to your shoulder lets you know that Nat is now standing behind you.

"Y/N? Would you like to take a break?" Cho asked. You shook your head in response.

"Sorry, I thought this was just about the tablets."

"To be able to get a good understanding of your body's reaction to the medication, we'll run a number of tests and to helps for us to prepare the best course of action we need to know your medical history."

"I just, I thought it was normal you know, how they treated me, and when I knew it wasn't nobody believed me. When they did, it was too damn late. Now, this? I've been on those tablets all these years, for what? For them to still have some sort of control over me!"

Bucky pulled you into his side and kissed your head. Darcy wrapped her arm around your waist and tried her best to hug you. Nat's hand, still on your shoulder rubbed gently in a bid to sooth you.

"Why don't we take a break." Helen suggested. You startled the others when you moved abruptly, pulling away from Bucky.

"No, I don't want to talk about this anymore, but I don't want to talk about it later either. Let's just get it over with. What else do you need to know?"

"Are you sure?" Bruce asked. You glanced at him before turning to Helen.

"Did you shed your wings at all?"

"When I was four, again when I was six, and then they cut them off."

For everything he had been through, even Bucky was taken back at how abruptly you'd told them about your wings being taken from you. You veered from an emotional wreck to being abrupt and defensive. The moments he saw you have with Darcy, where the few he'd seen you relaxed. It came to him how much you were like he had been, and how Steve and the others had got him through the other side, and he had no doubt that he would do the same for you.

Bruce went to speak but he quickly cut him off.

"I think that's enough, don't you? You have her history. You know she's been on this medication in some form since her wings were taken. Look at her notes for the rest."

"I think we have everything we need for now. Why don't we go through to the examination lab and start on the tests? Will you all be coming?" Helen asked.

You were about to answer and say you'd go through on your own, but a bunch of yes' rang in your ears.

"Don't argue doll, we're coming with you." Bucky said quietly to you, his hand on the small of your back as Helen's assistant guided you through to the examination room. You were changed into a gown and Helen explained they'd need a urine sample, along with bloods, and that you'd also have an MRI, a bone density scan and an ultrasound of your back.

You went through the motions as you were poked and prodded. Darcy and Nat stood across the room, hand in hand, and their eyes fixed on you. Their watchful presence reassuring. Your friendship with Nat may have recently been rocky but you knew from her gaze that she'd step in if you wanted her to. Bucky stayed glued to your side, whispering reassurance to you and telling Steve the parts he couldn't hear, the phone now propped on a chair near to the bed you were sitting on.

It was as the ultrasound started that you started to struggle. You were face down in the bed, the back of the gown open and a sheet over your legs that stops at your lower back. You feel exposed as Helen speaks to her assistant about your scarring.

"Y/N? May I ask what was used to remove your wings?" She asked.

"Is that necessary?" Bucky snapped.

"The scarring seems to be of different types. It would be good to know what was used as it gives an idea of the damage to the wing bones." Helen explained.

"Well use one of these damn fancy pieces of equipment to figure that out!" Bucky growled.

"Scissors, a knife, possibly a saw. I don't know for sure, I think I passed out."

Helen thanked you for your answer, moving on to explain that they'd put the gel on to your back, that it'd be cold and then she'd scan your back, concentrating on the area where your wings should protrude, but had now healed over. She mentioned again that the gel would be cold but you replied, explaining you probably wouldn't feel it anyway.

You heard a bottle being shaken and the sound of it being squirted. Lines of the cold gel were squirted up and down your scarred back. You gasped and jolted on the bed, pushing yourself up.

"Doll?"

"I can feel it!" You said panicked, "I can feel it Bucky. It's cold, I...."

A wave of pain swept up your back. Your ears tingled as the pain increased. Now sitting on your knees on the bed you reached for Bucky. You were in his arms in an instant. Your eyes started to blur and your heard Steve's desperate voice ask what was going on. You think you see a blur of Darcy and Natasha moving towards you. Natasha's voice is firm and assertive but you can't make out what she's saying. Bucky cups your face and you try your best to focus on him, but darkness fills your vision and then there's nothing.

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @calwitch @jenniferpendragon @sebastians-love @otterlycanadian @mrsevans90 @hi172826

[skellseerwriting]

Stubborn Minds and Golden Hearts

March x Gn!Reader

Valentine’s Day Fic

Word Count: 2.2k

Contents & Warnings: Mention of the color “puke green” and a few references to feeling sick in the stomach, Drinking liquid, some vague descriptions of pda, catching feelings, idiots trying to sort out their feelings

Summary: You hate Valentine’s Day. March hates Valentine’s Day. What if you… hated it together?

“How utterly repulsive.” You uttered under your breath, stepping into the town square and seeing heart decorations thrown up everywhere. The pink was such an eyesore. It bombarded your vision and made you want to balance it out with a nice puke green.

What really bothered you, however, was the sickly sight of doe-eyed couples and daydreaming single people wandering about and shopping at the vendors that were set up for this lovely Saturday holiday. Pretty white chairs were set up across pretty white tables that held just enough space for two. With forlorn sighs and people getting lost in each others’ eyes, red roses passed between fingertips and straws passed between lips. You even saw lips passing against lips; much to your disgust.

Mistria had become quite the hotspot for travelers and visitors since last year, thanks to your endless efforts of restoring the town. Adeline took upon the opportunity to offer tourists a lovely place to spend this romantic day and have a chance at viewing the beautiful nature Mistria provided. It worked, as her plans always did.

Maybe too well.

Still trying to keep your breakfast down, you took your time streaming through the spacious crowd and finding something to do that wouldn’t make you gag. After taking a moment to get some fresh, cool air wafting off of the water fountain, you continued around it, walked back down the stairs, and entered the little area that marked Darcy’s shop. Business had been good for her so far. Many people had come and gone; ordering her amorous drinks such as “Two souls Intertwined” and “Love at First Sight”. As much as you despised the holiday, you had to respect the hustle. It paid to theme your drinks and appeal to the gushy customers.

Speaking of customers.

A certain redhead sat in one of the dainty chairs. He leaned back with his arms crossed and an even crosser face. Creases etched in between his eyebrows and the curl of his upper lip was unmistakeable as he observed people in the square. He was a reflection of you.

You’d say you were surprised, but somehow the sight in front of you wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Walking to his spot, you turned your back to the bushes and stone wall and angled the second seat outward like his. Sitting down and stretching your legs forward, you crossed one shoe over the other and took on a similar stance as him.

“You too huh?” You asked, refraining from sneering as a couple ran hand-in-hand past you.

“Huh?” He sounded confused, face out of view. Not bothering to look at him, you made a sigh of distaste and gestured to the unsightly view in front of you.

“This.” You carelessly wagged your hand back and forth. “All of this.”

After a moment of silence, he dryly answered back. “It’s… certainly interesting.”

You were willing to bet he was just afraid of insulting Adeline. Still, a bark of a laugh escaped you at how dismissively he said it.

“‘Interesting’? Try ‘gross’.”

Once the words left your mouth you could practically feel him ease up. Like some thin barrier of ice melted between you two, he inclined towards you; the only barrier now being the mini table.

“More like ‘revolting’.”

The tiniest of smiles broke out on your face. Bringing your arms behind your neck, you leaned farther back and kept the topic flowing.

“Try ‘nauseating’.” You suggested.

“‘Disgusting.’” He posed.

“Sickening and grotesque.”

“I don’t get how anyone could enjoy this.”

“How have their teeth not rotted yet.”

Another moment of silence passed, and you finally looked at each other. A knowing glance was shared, and urges to grin were suppressed as you continued to scoff at ludicrous customers, scrutinize their questionable purchasing decisions, and share your sentiments on how much you undoubtedly, unquestionably, indubitably without any hesitations or reservations, absolutely hated this holiday.

Then it happened.

You weren’t sure what it was. You weren’t sure how it occurred. You thought it seemed impossible. But as you looked at March… as you really looked at him… you saw him.

You saw his face and his smile. His dark eyes and bright hair. The wrinkles between his brow that were inseparable from his constant annoyance. Only, there weren’t so many wrinkles. Not right now. Not while he was with you. He looked… happy, in a natural way. He looked happy to be here with you. That had never happened before. And- were you blushing? You felt heat creep up your face. It was the unfortunate effect of continuing to stare at March. All the while, he continued to look so effortlessly… him.

And then he turned and saw you.

He saw your face. He saw the look in your eyes as they made contact with his. He saw how perceptively flustered you were. Then, he blushed; a cherry-red color coating his cheeks.

As if you had coordinated it together, you both looked away at the exact same time.

What just happened?

A minute ago, the two of you were bouncing repulsive synonyms off of each other and acting like it was just you two against this world of pink hearts and white clouds. And now? Well, it was hard to say. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint it without the merest thought of March making your mind overheat and spiral down a drain of complicated thoughts.

While you continued to second-guess everything you ever knew, March said something and made your heart jolt.

“I’ll be right back.” He muttered, and stood up to walk towards Darcy. After a minute of standing there talking to her, he headed back and sat down. You picked some lint off your shirt.

“So uh… what’d you talk to Darcy about?” You asked him, staring holes into your knees. If you had been looking at March (which seemed impossible at the moment), you would have seen the way he turned more red and looked away.

“Oh- I…” he coughed. “I was just asking her about the menu to see if she had any… non-romantic drinks for sale. You know, because of how hot it is today.”

A cool breeze passed between you.

“Right.” You nodded absentmindedly, still fixating on your new, consuming thoughts of March. “It is really warm today.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Your body felt like it was on fire. And the worst part was there was no way to put it out.

“Yeah…” he sounded far off as he said it, like he knew you both knew the truth but actually admitting it would melt you into puddles. Or break your skeletons into tiny pieces. It just made things even more difficult to figure out.

Then, you made up your mind.

An instantaneous feeling of bravery surged through you. Just like March, you stood up and went to Darcy’s counter. Your heart was palpitating, threatening to burst.

“Ah! Our dear farmer!” She said cheerily, setting down a couple drinks she just finished making. “What can I get for you?”

Lightly scratching your cheek with a finger, you resisted the urge to look at March. He might notice if you did.

“Well…” you leaned in closer to ensure secrecy. “I wanted- I wanted to order a drink… anonymously.” Gulping once, you tilted your head down. “Is that alright?”

A sweet smile split her face. “Of course it is! I do it all the time, even off of holidays. Romance isn’t bounded to certain days you know.” She said that last part in sing-song manner.

You found yourself nodding at the words. They made complete sense to you. Totally. Completely.

Romance…

“So what will it be?”

“Hmm?” You perked up quickly, a little jumpy. The adrenaline-like rush you had felt wore off now that you were actually faced with what you wanted to do. Her words sank in. Oh, Uhhh…

“The… ‘Golden Heart’?” It came out more like a question than a request. A squeak, perhaps.

“That will be seven-hundred and fifty Tesserae.” She informed you. Still having your head up in the clouds, you went through the movements and paid her the money. You didn’t even realize March had asked you a question once you returned to your seat.

“What?”

He scrunched up his red nose. “I said ‘what were you talking to Darcy for’?” He murmured, getting distracted by something on his pants.

“Oh.” Your brain turned completely blank. “I uh… I was just asking her how much profit she’s earned today. Her business is doing really well.”

“R-right.” He stuttered, propping a leg over his knee and placing his hands on the ankle.

Not even a second later, Darcy showed up and set a drink on your tiny table. It was like someone poured liquid gold into a fancy crystal glass. It shimmered and shined in the early afternoon sun; complete with a fluffy white layer on top that had a pink powdered heart stenciled on it. It was gorgeous.

“One Golden Heart.” Darcy announced, gesturing it towards you. You felt color leave your face.

“I didn’t- I didn’t order-“ I didn’t order it for myself.

“Someone else ordered it for you.” She clarified with a smile before walking back to her shop. But who could have-

March turned red.

He was red before, but this time, he was really, really red. The crimson color was barely beaten by the hue of his dyed hair, but only by a bit. And it was nothing in comparison to the way he looked absolutely abashed. You couldn’t take it anymore and hurriedly changed your attention to your drink. The golden hue was a welcome change. Picking it up, you examined the contents for a moment. It really was pretty. Darcy was a genius.

 The moment you took a sip of it and made a “mmm” sound in delight at the delicious taste, March seemed to have absolutely lost it; frantically trying to hide his face with his hands and curl in on himself at how perfect you looked drinking and enjoying the beverage he ordered for you. He carded his fingers through his hair and desperately tried to push out all the thoughts that infested his brain.

You were too busy gulping down the golden liquid to notice his frenzied reaction (though truthfully it was because you were afraid of how your body might respond if you looked at him and his pretty face-). Once you finished the drink, an empty glass stood on the white table. Silence coated you once again. It went on for a little while longer, and it almost seemed like nothing would happen until-

“One Golden Heart.” Darcy announced like the first time. This was the one you ordered. Then, you realized; you had forgotten to tell her who it was even for. And yet, she seemed to know exactly who it was for as she set the drink down next to March. “Courtesy of an anonymous customer.” She finished with a wink. And she was gone again.

March stared at the golden color. He watched as it swirled and glittered. To an onlooker it would seem as if he didn’t even see the beverage, like he knew something was there but couldn’t quite perceive it.

It made you blush. Like, really blush. You weren’t sure if he could even see it, but you certainly felt it. Hot blood coursed through your face and pooled in your cheeks. Flames licked at your ears and you wanted to bury your face into your hands, but you couldn’t pull away. The curiosity was stronger than your need to hide the flustered look on your features. Or the hearts that were surely in your eyes.

Decently pink, March picked the glass up and took a drink. His eyes widened. He started sipping it quicker, tipping his head back, back, back, until his throat was bare to you and that Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with each swallow, and his arm swung down as he gasped for breath.

Then he saw you. His scarlet blush returned and he averted his gaze.

“It’s um… really good.” He said, absentmindedly thumbing the stem of the glass up and down.

“So was mine.” You resisted the urge to grab your empty glass and mirror him. The awkwardness was already thick enough to cut in half with a knife. March grabbed the rim of the cup and slowly swirled it around.

“At least the drinks aren’t so bad.” He continued to talk to you, and yet he refused to look at you. To be fair, you weren’t much different in that regard.

“Yeah.” You turned your head the other way. “At least there’s one thing about this holiday that doesn’t make me sick to my stomach.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah…”

You both looked down at your glasses. Maybe if you stared long enough, they’d refill themselves. At the very least, they provided an escape. Not that you could escape this for long though.

Nothing much changed throughout the rest of the day. You both sat there, stealing glances and trading looks of newfound fondness. Your bashfulness mirrored each other perfectly. Nothing came of it. At least not yet. It was maybe, just maybe, a bit to early for that. However, you had a long time to figure it out. And you oh-so-desperately wanted to figure it out. And you would.

Together.

Taglist: March FoM

@itsabea @theloserqueen @moonfiresonorant @turdofanerd @mariusvonhangme

@susanatactica @anomiatartle @apric-t @starsdrawnpastel

@thatonenewjerseychick @smoochi-march

[shmaptainwrote]

it’s been a while since i’ve done anything interactive with y’all so i wanted to throw something out there for the new year!

from Friday January 5th 12 PM PST to Sunday January 7th 12 PM PST i’ll be taking “mini blurb requests”. what this would look like is you guys would send a small prompt in my ask for a scene or a situation and i will write a 100-500 ish word blurb for it! trying to keep the word count low so i can manage my own and everyone else’s expectations 💀

the characters i’ll be doing this for are:

bobby nash

fitzwilliam darcy

mark darcy

rick castle

hawkeye pierce

you can send in almost anything as long as it is SFW!

it also makes my job easier if you specify any conventions you would like (ie pronouns since i tend to default to fem reader)

as i’ve just been getting back into my writing groove, obviously patience and kindness are key and i apologize in advance if you request something and i am unable to complete it for one reason or another

please read the “instructions” carefully before requesting something!

send in your requests here!

[puffein]

WAITING HOURS AND SUNRISES | late spring [v.]

summary: wanda's abrupt change in attitude marked the beginning of an unrepairable disaster. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: angst, profanities, insults, mean wanda word count: 1117 a/n: my personal fave chapter...!

series masterlist playlist!

New Brunswick, New Jersey

Early-July 2022

Thomas Christopher Greene once stated in a book, "Time can be slowed if you live deliberately. If you stop and watch sunsets. If you spend time sitting on porches listening to the woods. If you give in to the reality of the seasons." 

But right now, time doesn't slow down for you as you sit hours and hours long on the window ledge of your best friend's dorm living room. You can feel the hardness of the wall right at your back, your knees pulled up tightly on your chest, arms wrapped loosely around it.

You gave in to the reality of the season though, summer nights are always wonderful for some people, however, these past summer nights have not been made for you as you have spent them waiting patiently for a certain someone to arrive safely in the comforts of their room. 

Your hair shifts lightly with the swift motions of your head turning upon hearing the quiet sound of keys and profanities right behind the door. 

Altering your body out of the ledge soundlessly, you mutter, "Where were you?" 

"Jesus, you scared me." Wanda's soft voice echoes throughout her dorm, clearly having the knowledge that her loud voice wouldn't wake up her already sleeping roommate. 

She huffs out, slender fingers going through her unruly hair, "You're here again?"

You watch her quietly, nodding your head in resignation as you walk past her, "Just wanted to see if you arrived safely." you say.

Wanda. Wanda has been doing this for the past months. Going out late, going home late. Missing your friendly dates, the sitcom days, the months of months plans the both of you made last year was now forgotten, thrown out like a piece of antique.

Useless and vintage.

You didn't know what changed.

"I'm not a child, you know." she harshly replies, accent coming out strong and venomous. You halted your steps, shoulders tense at the voice she was using at you.

"You don't have to go here, bother Darcy, and wait for me to arrive like some obsessed best friend who can't seem to live without hanging out with me. Stop being so clingy."

Okay.

"I just wanted to see if you arrived safely," she mocked, her phony voice skirting around the corners of your breaking heart. "Bullshit. We both know you're just afraid to be alone. Well, guess what Y/N, I am sick of that. I am sick of you."

Ever felt like someone stabbing you right in your chest, okay, wrong. This doesn't feel like stabbing to you, this felt like a bomb going off, and the pieces of your heart fly in different directions and it doesn't stop there. The pain continues on as someone's pair of hands and feet crush every tiny piece laying steadily on the floor.

That pair of hands and feet are Wanda's.

"You're not gonna say anything?" she says exasperatedly, face warp in aggravation as she stares at your back.

You have many things to say to her. Many unsaid things that you know will go deaf in her perfectly working ears. You want to say how she's been a shitty best friend ever since she met that dude at a party, how you are grasping at that tiny piece of friendship that you knew is being broken piece by piece as the time goes by, how when you look at her, you don't see her, you see a stranger living in the body of your best friend. Of the one you dearly love so much you would go into deeper depths just to see her happy.

You wanted to say that but instead, you utter these words, "What do you want me to say?"

Wanda groans, "Anything! Just— I don't know, say something." she says desperately, trying to make you understand something that you clearly can't comprehend.

"I'm gonna go." You take a step forward, towards the door only to be stopped by her tight grip on your arm.

"You can't just go."

"Wanda, I can't fucking understand you right now. Are you drunk? Are you high?" you snapped at her, voice in an edge as you turn to stare right at her face. 

She opens her mouth to say something but you are clearly not done with your words.

"What do you want me to fucking say? That you've been such a bitch lately? That, what, the old woman I met on the bus weeks ago felt more like a best friend than you ever did for these past months? What do you want me to fucking say?" you finally declare, your brows furrowed, jaw tense with fist clenched tightly against your palm. 

Wanda loosens the grip on your arm as she drinks in every word you have said to her. Not wanting to stare longer at the realization that is coming to her face, your back faces her again as your hand clutches the doorknob and latches it open for you to walk away.

"Y/N, wait—"

You whip your body fast to glower at her, "No, you listen. I fucking don't know what has gotten into you to treat me like this. We were doing fine then I just woke up with you ignoring me. I did this because I care and the friendship I have with you matters."

The timbres of your voice quiver, undertones of heartache can be heard in the staggering of your hardened voice, "But fucking shit, Wanda. You could've just told me you're tired of being in this friendship. I would have respected that, you don't have to make me feel so worthless."

Watching the light trembles of her lips and the brave step she took closer to you, you can see the morphing of hurt flashing right at her face. You're confused. She intentionally spurted those words at you, how come she has the guts to look so anguished?

"Y/N, I just—"

But you are already walking away, time slowing down with your breathing rigid and labored. Your steps are filled with regret at how you have thrown those words at her. You didn't mean it, as much as you want to mourn for whatever has gone downhill for the both of you, what you have said to her was the truth and you didn't really care right now as you are greeted with a magnificent vision of the sun slowly rising for the world to see. 

Funny, you should have listened to Thomas Greene and spent your time sitting on porches listening to the sound of the woods instead of waiting till the sun rises just to make sure your best friend arrived safely.

general masterlist ◄ ►

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

[turn3tifosi]

Arvid request

Him buying his gf gifts in each country he races in. And making sure it's perfect each time putting thought into and worrying it

gifts of love

arvid lindblad x gf!reader

masterlist

Every time Arvid travels, you can’t help but miss him. As a racing driver, his career demands frequent travel, but he always finds a way to make you feel close, no matter the distance. It all started after his first race weekend in Bahrain.

When he returned, he presented you with a beautifully wrapped box. “I have a little something for you,” he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Inside was a bottle of perfume, a scent he had meticulously chosen because he knew you loved certain notes—vanilla, jasmine, and a hint of amber.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“I wanted to. Do you like it?” he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You sprayed a little on your wrist and inhaled deeply. “I love it. It’s perfect. Thank you, Arvid.” It quickly became your favorite perfume, one that you wore every day. You thought it was a one-time thing, a thoughtful gesture to mark his first race. But then, he went to Australia.

After his race down under, Arvid handed you a small, soft toy—a kangaroo with your favorite fictional character, Mr. Darcy, embroidered on it. “I saw this and thought of you,” he said, his eyes twinkling with that familiar, loving gaze.

You hugged the kangaroo tight, touched by his thoughtfulness. “He’s adorable. I love him,” you said, holding the toy close. He had made it a tradition, you realized, and it made every race weekend feel special.

In Imola, he brought back a delicate bracelet with a charm shaped like a tiny racing car. “For my lucky charm,” he said with a grin, fastening it around your wrist.

You admired the bracelet, smiling up at him. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Arvid. I’ll never take it off.”

Monaco was next, and you couldn’t wait to see what he’d found. This time, it was a vintage postcard featuring the famous Monte Carlo Casino, framed beautifully. “I know how much you love history and architecture,” he explained.

The postcard found a special place on your desk, a reminder of his thoughtful nature. “It’s perfect, Arvid. You know me so well,” you said, kissing him softly.

Spain’s race weekend came and went, and Arvid returned with a hand-painted fan. “To keep you cool during the summer,” he teased, waving it gently in front of your face.

You laughed, taking the fan from him. “It’s gorgeous. Thank you, my love. I’ll think of you every time I use it.”

Austria’s gift was a small music box that played a familiar waltz. “Something to dance to when I’m not around,” he said softly, winding it up and letting the melody fill the room.

You closed your eyes and swayed to the music, imagining he was there with you, holding you close. “I’ll dance to this every night until you come home,” you promised.

Silverstone was a special place, the home of British motorsport. After an amazing weekend, Arvid managed to find a piece of the historic track—an old, polished gear from one of the legendary cars that had raced there decades ago, mounted on a wooden plaque. “I thought you’d appreciate a piece of history,” he said, handing it to you.

You ran your fingers over the smooth metal, tears in your eyes. “This is incredible, Arvid. Thank you. It means so much.”

Hungary and Belgium were tough for him. He had terrible race weekends, and you knew he was upset. But still, he brought you gifts. From Hungary, a handwoven scarf. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his voice heavy with disappointment.

You wrapped the scarf around your neck, hugging him tight. “It’s perfect. You’re always thinking of me, even when things are tough. That’s what matters.”

From Belgium, he brought a box of the finest chocolates. “I didn’t want to come back empty-handed,” he admitted, his eyes weary.

You took the box, placing it on the table before pulling him into a tight embrace. “You’re amazing, Arvid. Thank you for always thinking of me.”

Arvid’s gifts weren’t just souvenirs; they were tokens of his love, his way of keeping you close even when he was miles away. Each one was chosen with care, reflecting his understanding of your likes and dislikes. It wasn’t about the gifts themselves but the thought and effort he put into them, showing you that no matter where he was, you were always on his mind.

As the season progressed, your collection of gifts grew, each one a testament to his love and dedication. You cherished them all, not for their material value but for the love they represented. Arvid’s thoughtful gestures made the long distances and time apart more bearable, reminding you that you were always with him, no matter where his racing career took him.

One evening, as you sat together, you looked at the collection of gifts displayed around your home. “You spoil me, you know that?” you said, leaning against him.

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I just want you to feel loved, even when I’m not here.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with love. “I do. Every single day.”

He kissed your forehead, holding you close. “Good. That’s all I ever wanted.”

[resurrectionist3]

Praying for Love, Paying in Naivety

The Worst People Trilogy - Part I

Daniel Cleaver x fem!Reader (18+) 🖋️- 02/14/2025 🔏 - 02/15/2025 ⏳ - 3038 words

⚠️CW - 18+ NSFW, brief p in v, general smut, cheating (dont do it), debauchery and devious acts, mentions of drug and alcohol use, cigarette smoking, Daniel Cleaver again (im sorry), small Mark Darcy appearance at the end (sorry again)

✧─── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ───✧

Author’s Note - been planning this little stunt for a while (but of course I wait until the last minute to write it). I was going to say that this isn’t good but now that it’s done, I definitely believe it’s good and I hope you like it. If you cant tell by the song, it’s inspired by “But It’s Better If You Do” by Panic! At the Disco. Stay tuned for the next two parts coming this weekend, this trilogy will be wild. And no, I don’t want to hear about the logistics of them not recognising each other with just face masks on. I didn’t come up with the entire concept, I’m just filling in the fun details. This is also only partially edited. So if there are any egregious errors, return in about a day or two and they might be fixed. Timex Part ii WILL exist, I promise! But Valentine’s Day arrived so quickly and I told myself I’d do this idea for the holiday!!

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

I looked over the ornate invitation a couple more times before exiting my car.

Rarely would I ever attend such an event but I had been in need of some excitement.

A certain line on the invite stuck in my mind as i secured bronze eye mask to my face:

‘Consider bringing a spouse or partner along. Or don’t.. if you would be so bold.’

“Are you busy on the 14th of February, dear?” I had asked my fiancé.

He paused and thought in silence, as he always did. “Busy with work that day, love. So sorry.” he said finally.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. What was new? All he ever did was work.

“That’s alright,” I had responded. I repeated it again to myself there in the car as I pulled the diamond engagement ring from my finger and placed it in the locked glove compartment.

I checked the invite once more for the address; this place looked .. abandoned. Certainly no place for a party. It was located in an older part of London, tucked into an alleyway. A proper secret hideaway, one that I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t looking for it.

I knocked on the heavy metal door, not sure what to expect. A moment later, footsteps sounded and a small opening in the door slid to the side.

“Password…?” Came a soft voice from within. I furrowed my brows at the invite and spoke loud and clear to the person on beyond the door.

“Vices and virtues.”

The opening shut and a lock clicked open. The heavy door opened slowly with a loud, ominous creak. I swallowed hard, wondering if this was honestly a good idea. But I was nothing if not a curious bitch with a desperate need for more excitement.

I turned around the door to thank whoever let me in and found myself shocked when there was no one there. A chill ran down my spine as I searched the dark corner with my eyes before continuing on.

Dance music played in the distance growing louder as i approached the main room. The smell of cigarettes and something illicit hit me before I entered. The room was full of different people, all hiding their identities with some form of mask on their faces. Various attendees crossed the room in all directions around of me, each of them lost in their own conversations.

I grew disoriented as I navigated the crowd, nearly bumping into a group doing lines of coke off of a glass top table. My chest tightened as I excused myself from them and I sighed in relief when I finally stumbled to a bar.

‘My god, I’m truly past my days of partying, aren’t I?’ I thought to myself.

“This crowd too much for you?” A voice said behind me, making me jump. The bartender stood there, a young man with slicked back dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He even wore a mask of his own, a white one adorned with gold filigree on the edges and decorated with black music notes.

He chuckled lowly at my jumpy reaction and sipped his own drink, a peach and lime daiquiri. “Didn’t mean to startle you, miss. Is this your first time here?”

I nodded slowly and settled myself onto the barstool. “It is. I haven’t been to a party like this in ages.”

He began to mix up a drink, something that looked light and refreshing. “Well, try not to overthink anything. Or overdo it. Most people are just here to have a good time. In more ways than one.”

He glanced to a couple further down the bar who were … very interested in each other. I looked for a moment and widened my eyes at the sight.

“Well.. I’d be lying if I said I had come here for anything different.” I admitted to the bartender.

“I can guarantee, miss, there’s plenty of people here who would be more than willing to get lost in you.” He responded.

“Do you know anything about who’s throwing this party? And who invited all these people?” I asked him, taking out my invitation.

The bartender sucked air through his teeth and shook his head apologetically while he continued the drink in a silver shaker. “No, miss. Afraid I don’t. I get an invitation, same as you lot. I come in, make the drinks, I’m paid on the way out, and that’s that. And I get paid enough to not ask questions.”

I sighed and nodded in understanding while i watched him strain the drink into a glass and begin on an orange garnish. “But I’ve worked these parties enough times to know how they go,” He slid me the drink as he finished and I took a sip, feeling myself physically relax.

He paused for a moment and took a hard look at me. His brow furrowed momentarily as he looked from me to the crowded room.

“You know, I saw a gentleman earlier with a mask quite similar to yours,” He said gingerly as he scanned the people around the room. I turned in my seat to look as well, surprised.

“You did..? That’s… is that common at these types of parties?” I ask, turning back to the bartender who was wearing a satisfied smile.

“I wouldn’t say common but, it happens,” He nodded behind me and I looked again, this time catching him. A tall gentleman in a black suit, wearing a bronze mask that indeed looked oddly similar to my own.

“When it does happen,” the bartender said, having leaned closer to me. “I like to think of it as a sign.”

My brows raised at him and he shrugged wordlessly, returning to his own dignified beverage. He said nothing else to me as I finished my drink and pondered my decision.

‘What the hell…’ I thought. ‘That’s what you’re here for.’

I left the glass on the bar and slid from the stool to walk to the man. He seemed to notice me right away, a subtle smile forming on his lips. I returned the look and stopped a bit further from him as some party goers walked in front of me. From what I could tell, he was surely handsome. And a breath of fresh air compared to what waited for me at home.

Whatever that bartender had put in my drink seemed to have an effect on me, or maybe it was the atmosphere of the party finally pulling me in. Whichever it was, it had made me far more confident. Or at least extremely bold.

I strode across the room to the man, feeling my heels click on the concrete floor below.

When i reached him, he smirked wordlessly at me and only paused a moment before leaning down to press his lips to mine. I didn’t object, instead sliding my hands up to his broad shoulders and sighing. The man held me to him and for a moment, everything around us faded away. The music became muffled along with the voices of the crowd around us and nothing else seemed to matter.

Not the party. Not the people. Not the drugs. And certainly not my fiancé back in his office at work, no doubt. Just me and this illustrious stranger.

Before I knew it, we were moving from the main room down a hallway off to the side. Several doors were at varying degrees of openness, revealing the rather unholy acts being committed in the rooms around us. When we reached an empty one, I wasted no time at pulling my new lover back to me. My tongue slid across his lip and made its way into his mouth as his hands caressed along my back gently. I felt the zipper of my dress slowly falling and my dress gradually slipping from my body, eventually ending up a pool of black velvet on the floor.

The man’s suit jacket and shirt went as well, tossed carelessly to a corner as I pushed him to the red velvet bed adorned with various pillows and blankets. I kneeled down by the edge of the bed to pull down his trousers and pants beneath them, revealing a large and erect cock. The man let out a groan and let his head fall back as i stood and straddled his waist over the bed.

‘His .. voice, it’s.. no, it’s nothing.’

I smiled as I leaned over him and kissed him once more, our masks gently tapping against each other.

I gasped and released a long moan as i sank down on his length, pausing immediately to adjust to his size. My breathing was heavy as i planted my hands on his chest to keep myself up. Soft, slight moans slipped from my lips as I lowered myself onto him, finally settled when he was fully inside.

I slowly shifted my hips, unable to shake the feeling that this was all … familiar. His voice, his groaning and moaning. His hair, his eyes. His cock…

It was all faintly familiar somehow. I opened my eyes to look at him once again and noticed his mask.. slipping.

I did what i knew I shouldn’t have done. But curiosity got the better of me in the moment. My hand trailed up from his chest, to his neck, and eventually to his face where I lifted his bronze mask…

“DANIEL??” I shrieked, entirely too loud. He jumped, suddenly startled, and so did I - directly off his cock.

I stared in horror at him, finally taking it all in. It was HIM. My ex boyfriend. That I hadn’t seen in TWO YEARS. I tore my own mask from my face and let it fall on top of my discarded dress.

“(Y/N)??” He responded, suddenly also aware of the situation.

We both stuttered and stammered at one another, each trying to simultaneously explain ourselves and scold the other person.

“What on EARTH are you doing here??”

“What am I doing? What are YOU doing?? I thought you despised parties!?”

“I swear to god, Cleaver, you orchestrated this whole thing, didn’t you? Like a pathetic Jay Gatsby??”

“Me?? Oh please, (Y/N), like I’d invite you and that fiancé of yours if I did!”

My hands shook with frustration as I began to gather my dress. “I will NOT do this Daniel, not again! I left you for a reason-“

I turned from him, tired of his voice, and began to dress myself. Daniel then paused and scoffed at me. “Oh, well… that’s too bad, (Y/N)! I could honestly tell you were enjoying it. Seems like you needed a good fuc-“

I sighed hard and turned around to kiss him again, furiously this time. Unfortunately, he was right. I *did* need a good fuck.

When the deed was done, the room was eerily silent compared to how it had been a few moments ago. Daniel and I sat quietly and civilly beside each other on the bed, each smoking a cigarette. The room was beginning to become foggy, the ceiling clouded with the noxious blue smoke from the nicotine sticks. I felt more relaxed than I had in a year. Unfortunate to say, I really needed that. Needed this. Needed him.

“So, how’s life treating you..?” Daniel asked nonchalantly. I immediately scoffed at him and rolled my eyes, taking a drag on my cigarette.

“Oh please.. spare me. If I wanted small talk, i would’ve stayed home.”

“Oh?” Daniel mused. “Trouble in paradise..?” I glared at him and his shit-eating grin. “Is Arsey Darcy not all you thought he’d be….?”

I rolled over and stared at the other wall ignoring him, as Daniel chuckled behind me.

“Ah, no more engagement ring? Call off the wedding did you? A shame, really.”

I furrowed my brows and panicked for a moment at the feeling of my ring being missing before I remembered I had left it in the car. I sighed and sat up, taking a long inhale of my cigarette. “Nope… No, still very engaged. And so ready to be married.” My sarcastic tone was so obvious, it almost sounded scripted. “The wedding is in a week.”

Daniel reacted, recoiling. “Oh dear, a week? And you’re here?? Alone, and with no engagement ring on?? My god, he must’ve really screwed it up… Not that I’m shocked by that, though.”

Daniel’s surprise changed to satisfaction as he leaned back casually and breathed in his cigarette. “I supposed he wasn’t actually worth it after all.”

The venom in his tone was undeniable and it stoked the flames of anger that had already grown inside me. I huffed and tossed a velvet pillow at his head, groaning as he laughed. “Oh, it’s so funny, isn’t it? What about that woman you slept with behind my back, then? Brenda, or Brandy, or whatever her name was?”

Daniel’s expression changed and he looked away from me. I nodded and it was my turn to laugh. “Oh, I see. Divorcing her soon?”

Daniel put out his cigarette and took a moment. “No. We never married.”

He was uncharacteristically quiet when he said that. He seemed genuinely defeated, truly upset about the situation perhaps. It made me quiet in response, my grin fading. I flicked my cigarette ashes into the tray and took another deep drag.

“I uhh… I left here there. In the church,” Daniel admitted quietly. Something about his tone pulled at my heart in an annoying way.

Why did I feel bad for him?

“I just couldn’t bring myself to do it… with her,”Daniel looked to me then, his blue eyes meeting my (y/ec) ones, and for a moment … I remembered the time when I loved him.

I paused and thought of the night we ended things. The night we caught each other. The look on the girl’s face as she realised who I was. How Daniel looked when he saw me with his best friend. I remembered how it felt when Mark Darcy confessed his feelings for me, and told me that I deserved more than what Daniel was willing to give me. I thought of him at work, late at night so he could afford to buy me nice things and plan the wedding we were to have in a week.

All of it flooded back to me then as I sat nearly naked beside the man who had cheated on me, and whom I had cheated on. And it dawned on me.

“We’re… bad people, aren’t we?”

“The worst.”

We both sighed in unison, sitting with our silence for a few moments. My eyes drifted to Daniel, slowly meeting his again.

And we laughed.

I stood without another word and retrieved my dress, and Daniel did the same with his own clothes. I felt his warm hands on my skin as he helped me zip my dress in the back, careful and gentle like he used to be when we were together. Like when he would help me get dressed to attend his company parties.

A commotion beyond our room broke our quiet moment, startling us both. We took our masks and went to open the door, just as it opened on its own - revealing the bartender.

He grinned at us, a mischievous and entertained expression as he stuck his head into our room. “I do hate to intrude but, the police have arrived.”

Me and Daniel both reacted in unison, gasping. “Police?? What on Earth for?” Daniel asked in shock.

“Well, the drugs, of course. But follow me, I’ll get us out. I know a way.” The bartender responded effortlessly. He disappeared from the room and began to walk in the opposite direction of the main room which had fallen to chaos since we were last in there. Daniel and I rushed to keep up, following close behind as the odd bartender weaved in and out of dark unused hallways walled with bricks.

Eventually, we reached a set of metal doors which the bartender pushed open and walked us onto the street. The cold February winter hit me hard, sending a chill across my body. I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation, hearing the police sirens around the corner. Daniel laughed with me, the both of us doubling over in our amusement.

“Oh my god, of course this would happen,” I said when I recovered. I turned to thank the bartender who helped us, but found myself confused when he was nowhere in sight. Daniel was equally as confused, looking up and down the alleyway and street for him, to no avail.

“Strange chap, truly..” Daniel said finally. I nodded in agreement and looked at my mask in my hand. Daniel looked to his own and back to me with a grin.

“We mustn’t tell anyone about what happened here,” I said firmly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Daniel responded. We nodded to each other and tossed our masks against the brick wall behind a few discarded crates. They landed together with a subtle click, falling into the snow quietly. I waved as i walked in the direction of my car, while Daniel went the opposite way down the alley waving as well.

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

“Other news: police raided a secret party near Old London last night, making several arrests and collecting evidence of various different illicit substances,” The newscaster said sternly on the telly the next morning. I rubbed my eyes sleepily as i poured myself some tea and went to the table beside Mark Darcy who was reading the paper.

I eyed my magazine casually, flipping through the glossy pages as Mark glanced up at the screen for a moment. “My god, how ridiculous. Such frivolous nonsense lead to so many arrests. I would never engage in such debauchery in my life.”

I scoffed out a laugh and looked up to the screen myself. There showed a photo of two bronze masks lying in the snow outside of the building. They were set almost perfectly next to each other, making for a wonderful and ironically pleasing image as the newscaster droned on about the raid.

“Oh I agree completely, dear. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that.”

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

Of course, let me know what you think! Sorry to edge you with a short smut scene but part iii will make up for it hopefully. Part ii will hopefully be out by tonight for everyone’s viewing pleasure! And if you’d like to be tagged in the next two parts, just let me know!🫀Happy Valentine’s Day!

✧─── ⋆⋅ ✧⋅⋆ ───✧

Tag List:

@incorporealbombchelle (bc i know you’re gonna want this)