#mr. darcy x female reader

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Tangled Hearts - Fitzwilliam Darcy X Female Reader

Title: Tangled Hearts

Fitzwilliam Darcy X Female Reader

(Could be seen with either BBC Darcy or the 2005 Darcy; I personally see it as the 2005 version/settings based off the 2005 one)

Additional Characters: Reader's parents, Charles Bingley, Caroline, George Wickham (Mentioned), Jane Bennet (Mentioned), Georgiana Darcy (Mentioned), other random people (Mentioned), Albert Wright (OC), Mr. Took (OC) (Mentioned), and Duke Phillip Colston (OC) (Mentioned)

WC: 7,526

Warnings: Typical Pride and Prejudice era misogyny and so on, toxic parents, Reader is mentioned to wear dresses and heels, Reader hates balls, society sucks, Caroline, banter, gossip, arranged marriages, Darcy's in love, scandals mentioned, yelling, crying, Charles is the voice of reason, itty bit of suggestion (time period wise), angst, and fluff

Pemberley. Your home away from home. The large country estate was gorgeous, surrounded by vivid green grass, and which sat across a crystal clear lake. You loved Pemberley not only for its beauty, but because the place had become your own haven of peace and solitude. It was where you could be yourself without worrying about being judged or ostracized. 

Though, during the time, you always were forced to look so prim and proper, on days where you had no other responsibilities, you would sneak out to sit on the soft grass outside. That was the only time you really felt free.

As a child, you visited Pemberley more often than not. Your family were great friends with the Darcys and Bingleys, resulting in you spending a lot of time at the residence and within their presence. You had become close friends with Charles Bingley - his sister, Caroline, not so much - George Wickham, and Fitzwilliam Darcy. 

During your later adolescent years, you had briefly traveled to the Longbourn estate, where you had grown close to Jane and Elizabeth Bennet, despite your parent's wishes. Your mother specifically didn't want you spending time with those in the Middle Class. That didn't stop you though.

Out of the three, Charles, Caroline, and Fitzwilliam, you spent most of your time with the latter. And eventually Georgiana Darcy in the later upcoming years. Ever since you were a young child, you would travel to Pemberley with your parents, occasionally playing with the young Darcy if you were both not in lessons with your shared tutor.

You never really understood why both you and Fitzwilliam were tutored together, you never voiced your questions out loud, in fear of being scolded. But, during your many years in the company of Fitzwilliam, the two of you became very close friends, which was only natural having grown up together.

As the years went on, your parents began forcing you to attend balls, and at the age of twenty-two, you began to realize that they were actively looking for a suitable husband for you. You had a distaste for the idea, but were forced to comply, knowing that they would not end the search, no matter how many times you had voiced your own wishes.

Thankfully, Charles, Caroline, and Fitzwilliam were usually always attended. And occasionally, you'd spend time with Jane and Lizzie when they attended the same events, but otherwise, you would stand on the sidelines with Fitzwilliam as everyone else danced.

Your personality, though more reserved, wasn’t lacking. You had a great sense of humor, a sharp intellect, and an excellent memory. You enjoyed reading books and watching plays and operas; at a time wishing you could play a part in either one. You were kind, and generous to a fault; which, when you were younger, had gotten you into some trouble at times. You were very free-spirited, not afraid to speak your mind in certain situations; which your parents thought resulted in you spending too much time with Elizabeth Bennet. 

Fitzwilliam, though holding many similar interests, his demeanor was seemingly unfriendly, aloof, and unapproachable. He kept to himself, rarely engaging in social activities and never participating in conversations unless spoken to first. And while he was a bit arrogant and proud, he was actually very caring and understanding towards the ones that he held in high esteem. He still remained distant from most people, preferring to watch them from afar with a critical, often anxious - though, he was rather good at hiding it, gaze. 

You usually stood on the sidelines with Fitzwilliam at balls, only occasionally dancing with some random man your parents wanted you to dance with; in hopes some spark ignites. But, you disliked dancing, especially with strangers, and preferred to read books and relax in your room. Fitzwilliam, ever the gentleman, would start up some sort of conversation with you, albeit awkwardly. Though it happened rarely, it was always welcome; all the balls that you have ever been to have always been dreadful, but less so with Fitzwilliam there.

Balls had become associated with finding suitors and respectable husbands, rather than having fun and enjoying yourself, and you were beginning to resent that aspect of life. You knew that there was going to be a very low chance, or none at all, that you would be allowed to choose your own husband; or even have any say in the arrangement in the first place. If you did have a choice, you would choose Fitzwilliam. A few years prior, you noticed that you had developed feelings for him, feelings that were growing every single day. 

You greatly admired Fitzwilliam, his intelligence, kindness, gentleness, handsomeness, and overall good nature. But you said nothing of it. You knew you had no choice in who you were going to marry - whether you liked it or not. So you kept your head down and tried not to think of it too much. Though, it was hard to not think about him, you spent a lot of time with the man after all. But, being a very respectable and composed young woman, you didn't show most of your emotions to others.

As an Upper Class woman, you were required to follow every rule laid out by your parents and society. You also had a duty to act demure in public, especially during formal events, and to appear to be a perfectly poised young lady. This was something that you hated, not being able to express yourself freely, or to be your true self. But, you were really good at it. Being taught to hold unwanted emotions at bay, which you had learned to hold certain romantic feelings for Fitzwilliam in a tightly controlled manner.

Sitting in one of the many sitting rooms in Pemberley, you quietly sipped your tea with Fitzwilliam and Caroline. It was silent, aside from the occasional clink of a tea cup being placed upon a small saucer, the sound of Fitzwilliam's quill upon the parchment, and the sound of you turning the pages of your book as you read. Whilst your mind was elsewhere, you hardly noticed Caroline as she read some letter about a scandal some banker was in before hearing your friends, Elizabeth Bennet's presence being announced.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Shutting your book, you let a small smile grace your features as Lizzie entered, her hair down and mud on her shoes. She gave a polite smile, looking around the room as Fitzwilliam stood and gave a curt bow of the head. Setting your book on the table before you, you walked over to the young woman, greeting her with a quick hug.

After a moment of silence, Caroline quietly gasped, "Good lord, Elizabeth. Did you walk here?”

"I did..." She answered as you both pulled away from the hug.

"Lizzie, it is so good to see you. Are you well? It has been ages since we last spoke." You asked, "I hope you won't become ill. It was rather chilly out this morning."

"I am well, thank you. And yourself?" She asked softly.

Clasping your hands together before you, you nodded, "I am doing marvelously, thank you. We will have to have tea together sometime soon, I miss our riveting conversations."

Lizzie's smile widened, "Of course." After another slightly awkward moment, she continued, "I'm so sorry, how's my sister?" She brought her eyes to Fitzwilliam and Caroline.

"She's upstairs." Fitzwilliam answered and Elizabeth nodded.

"Thank you." With one last look and smile towards you, she left the room with haste. 

Letting out a small sigh, you walked back to the table, sitting back down in your seat and reopening your book. "My goodness, did you see her hem? Six inches deep in mud. She looked positively medieval." She mocked with amusement in her tone, and you rather hoped that she would finish speaking, but she wasn't done. Caroline then turned to you, and braced yourself for her words, "That was rather unlady-like, wasn't it?" She asked, as you flipped to the next page of your book.

"May I ask you to elaborate, Caroline?" You asked, barely giving the woman a glance as you continued reading. Ever since you were a young child, you and Caroline had never seen eye to eye. You weren't exactly fond of each other, and you didn't care to try getting along any better than you already did.

"Greeting her in such a manner." Caroline responded as she picked up a small finger sandwich.

You flipped to the next page, "Isn't it rather unlady-like to bring yourself into one's business, Caroline?" You asked, looking up to look at the women with a raised eyebrow. She only said nothing, letting out a small scoff as she looked away. "Oh, Caroline, dear... You have a little bit of something..." You began, lightly tapping the side of your mouth; even though she had nothing even blemishing her face.

Caroline quickly snatched a napkin from the table, dabbing the corner of her mouth. If she was embarrassed, she didn't show it, but you could tell by the way she fidgeted slightly in her seat that she was anything but pleased. Before going back to your book, you glanced over at Fitzwilliam, who had sat back down minutes ago, a very, very small smile on his face; his eyes held some amusement. Smiling lightly yourself, you went back to your book and tea.

~~~

It was a particular sunny day, birds singing in the trees, and clouds rolling through the sky. It was a beautiful afternoon, and you were enjoying it immensely. The weather was perfect for taking a stroll in the countryside, and if you were being honest, you loved being outdoors. The sun felt warm and inviting against your skin, the breeze gently blowing past you caused your dress to flutter a bit in the breeze. Carrying your book in your hand, you found a nice grassy spot to sit, not too far from Pemberley, but close enough to the lake that you felt at ease. You opened your book to where you had left off earlier and took a deep breath, trying to clear your mind of any unpleasant thoughts. 

You did not know how much time had passed before you heard footsteps, but you didn't bother looking up. When the person then took a seat beside you on the grass, you moved your gaze away from your book, looking up. There sat Fitzwilliam, his expression unreadable. "How may I be of service, Fitzwilliam?" You asked, placing your bookmark between the pages of your novel, closing it gently and setting it in your lap.

"I had been looking for you," He began, staring straight ahead, "May I accompany you for a while?" He added, and you nodded.

"As you wish." You replied, "I'd love the company, Fitz." He didn't say anything else, just giving you a short nod, a barely visible smile before looking off at the lake.

You went back to your book, opening it once more to where you had left off, but you didn't feel like continuing. It seemed that he had something on his mind, and it seemed that he wasn't in the mood to talk about it. Perhaps it would do him good to get it off his chest. But you knew better in asking him to do such, though he was pretty open with you in general, Fitzwilliam was quite reserved when it came to matters of the heart; he'd hide things behind a façade of calm and composure when talking to those around him. So you didn't say anything, didn't push him, allowing Fitzwilliam to take his time.

After a couple of minutes, he finally spoke, "What is it that you are reading?" He asked, turning his gaze to the book in your hands.

Looking up, you meet his gaze, "It's called 'Emma.' It speaks of a young woman who thinks of herself as a matchmaker." You replied softly.

"Ah. I suppose I should not be surprised that your reading has led you to romantic literature." Fitzwilliam commented.

"Well, I wouldn't say that." You countered. "I simply find them fascinating, as they give me new perspectives." You explained, tilting your head to the side slightly, "Have you read this publication?" You asked, motioning towards the book in your lap.

"No, I have not. I believe Miss Caroline had mentioned it in passing once." He admitted, and you gave a small hum in response. "Though she was not seemingly fond of it."

You lightly scoffed, turning to stare at the lake before you, "I would suspect that she finds it distasteful." Another silence washed over the two of you, and you found yourself looking at Fitzwilliam. You could sense an uneasiness in his gaze, though there was something else there, as well. You wanted to ask what was bothering him, but you decided against it, knowing better than to pry into the affairs of another person. However, you were curious, and as you watched his eyes dart across the water, you knew you needed to speak. "Are you feeling alright, Fitz?" You questioned softly.

Fitzwilliam looked over at you, staring at you before speaking, "I apologize if you feel that I am acting peculiar..."

"Do not worry. You are not behaving strangely." You assured him, smiling slightly, "I am just worried that something might be on your mind." 

Fitzwilliam pursed his lips briefly, his blue eyes locked with yours. The way you looked at him caused his stomach to flutter nervously, your overall presence made him nervous, and the overwhelming pounding of his heart was deafening. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was completely and utterly hopelessly in love with you. How could he ever resist you? He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms, kiss you until the world disappeared, and tell you everything. But that would be highly inappropriate and perhaps even selfish, and he knew that. He had no right to ask such of you, and he knew that; he pushed those desires aside immediately and forced himself to think rationally. 

"Would it be presumptuous of me to inquire as to if you are going to be attending the ball this fortnight?" He finally asked, his voice low, his eyes flickering over your features.

Your heart skipped a beat upon hearing the question, and you could not help but swallow dryly. "Yes, I will be attending. As you know, my parents wouldn't allow me to miss the event, even though I would much rather be reading in my room." You answered, trying to keep the trepidation out of your voice.

"I must agree with you. I would much rather be alone in my room as well." He replied quietly, lowering his gaze back to his own lap. 

"Well," You sighed out, grabbing your book once more, "At least we will have each other's presence to distract us from the tedium of the events." You said in an attempt to lighten the air, but he only offered a small chuckle before he turned his gaze back to the lake. 

Silence fell over the both of you again, with the soft sound of the wind rustling through the leaves and the birds flying overhead filling the space between the two of you. The atmosphere was peaceful, as it always was whenever you were together. For you, the silence was comforting, and Fitzwilliam enjoyed the silence as well. It was rare when the both of you had the chance to have a quiet moment together, so this was always a treat for you both.

~~~ 

Standing at the edge of the room, in your best dress from the newest season, you stood beside Fitzwilliam as the ball was in full swing. Your eyes surveyed the large room, glancing from the dancing couples, people chatting amongst their family, friends, etcetera, and finally, your parents. They stood, speaking with a man, whom you couldn't quite place his name on. From where you were, you could not understand fully what they were saying, which worried you slightly.

And it seemed that Fitzwilliam had noticed your straying gaze on your parents, and how your satin-gloved hands fumbled together nervously in front of you.

"Do not mind them." He muttered to you, leaning slightly towards you so you could hear him over the music.

"It is hard not to, Fitz," You spoke, turning your gaze away from your parents and back out upon the dancing. "They've been trying to find me a husband for the past couple of months. I am hoping at some point they will give up in their search."

"By the way that you speak, it would seem that you do not wish to marry." Fitzwilliam said, and you turned your head to look up at him.

"You know me, Fitzwilliam." You sighed, shaking your head slightly, "I do not want to marry someone I am unsure of. Besides, there were many whom were willing to offer marriage to a lady like me, and many of them, if I must say so myself, were handsome in all senses of the word. But from the few who have offered me marriage, I have turned away. I know that they had only seen my wealth, status, and looks rather than my personality. And I find that I cannot fathom the idea of marrying someone so shallow, or lacking in depth and solidity for that matter."

"I admire your strength of character." He said, looking down at you.

"Thank you, Fitz." You smiled sweetly up at him. "I admire your kindness and integrity." You added, your smile becoming genuine as he returned your smile with one of his own; though hardly noticeable.

"Daughter," Your gaze swiftly moved from your long-time friend to your mother, who stood with your father, and another gentleman you have never met before. "I would like you to meet Mr. Albert Wright. He's the owner of the Wright & Co. bank here in England." She informed you, a smile on her face, but her eyes held such excitement.

This Albert fellow was certainly some character, judging by his attire. His suit had a deep black waistcoat, a dark green vest, black breeches, and black shoes. And despite his clothing being quite plain, he did make an imposing figure; he was tall and broad, with a strong jawline, and he appeared to be very well built. His hair was dark brown, curly, and cut short, and his eyes a brilliant green.

You curtsied to him, trying to be as polite as possible, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wright." You greeted, forcing a smile upon your face.

"Please, call me Albert." He spoke, his voice deeper than you expected. Surprising you further as he bows his head and then offers you his hand. "May I have the honor of asking you to dance, my lady?"

The thought of taking his hand made you nervous, yet you took it regardless; not wanting to cause a scene or to upset your mother and father. Fitzwilliam stood helplessly as he watched you being led across the room by Mr. Albert just as another song began; his frown deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched as you danced with Mr. Albert. 

"Lovely match, don't you think, Mr. Darcy?" Your mother asked Fitzwilliam as she watched you dance with the banker.

Fitzwilliam reluctantly spoke, "I suppose so." He responded nonchalantly, averting his gaze momentarily before looking back over at you once more. Fitzwilliam had recognized the name Albert Wright from a couple of weeks prior. Having heard what the name had done, Fitzwilliam couldn't stop himself from warning your parents about Mr. Albert Wright's past scandal. "Madam, I understand wholeheartedly that you wish only the best for your daughter, but I feel that I must inform you that Mr. Albert was a part of a scandal many years ago regarding an older woman, whose husband was a respected merchant."

Your mother's eyes widened at the news, her hand coming to be placed upon her chest in shock, "Where did you hear of this, sir?" She inquired, your father mirroring his wife's expression, but he said nothing.

"From Miss Caroline, madam." He explained, turning to face the dancing crowd, his eyes following your figure.

Her mouth parted in surprise, her eyes widening further, "This is absolutely unacceptable! Our daughter should not associate with a man like this!" She exclaimed, her tone raising to one of anger as she glared at Mr. Albert.

By the end of the dance, Albert raised your hand and pressed a kiss to your gloved hand, bowing his head as you curtsied. Finally, you had thought, saying your goodbyes and thank yous to the man before heading back to your mother, father, and Fitzwilliam.

As you got closer, your eyebrows furrowed slightly, seeing your mother and father's angry expressions as they spoke to one another. Finding your spot next to Fitzwilliam, you leaned slightly towards the man to speak. "What has gotten my parents in such a temper?" You asked him, noticing his shoulders tensing slightly.

He glanced over at you briefly and shook his head lightly, "I am afraid I don't know. Perhaps it concerns Mr. Albert." He mused softly, keeping his eyes locked onto yours.

"But why is Papa so enraged? I haven't seen him this red since Mr. Took had tried to cheat him out of some money." You commented softly, looking up towards your parents once more.

"I believe it has to do with the fact that Mr. Albert had been a part of a scandal many years back." Fitzwilliam answered, making your jaw drop slightly, your hand coming up to cover your shock.

"And where did you hear of such a thing?" You asked quickly, wanting to know more details as to what scandal that Mr. Albert had gotten involved in.

Fitzwilliam looked down at you for a moment, turning back to the dancing, "If my memory serves me correctly, Miss Caroline had read upon it in a letter."

Trying to hide the smirk on your face, you lightly cleared your throat. "Well, isn't this unexpected," You muttered, amused. "And I could only assume that you had mentioned such news to my parents?" You asked, looking up at the name, eyes glinting with amusement.

Fitzwilliam looked down at you, nodding his head slowly, thinking, "Yes, you would be correct." He confirmed, saying nothing else which only made you smile.

"Well, thank you, Fitz," You began, "Without you, I wouldn't doubt my parents would have me married off to the man." You joked before another peaceful silence engulfed you both - that is, it was peaceful for you. 

Fitzwilliam looked down at you from beneath his eyelashes, studying you carefully, almost as if he were trying to memorize every feature of your face. When he realized that he was staring, he quickly turned away, clearing his throat lightly as he gained the courage to offer his hand out. You looked over, looking up at the man, to his hand, and back.

As you raised your eyebrow in question, he finally spoke, "Would you like to dance, my lady?" He asked softly, and you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. You had your shock well, but you were surprised that 

"That sounds lovely." You whispered, placing your hand into his gently.

~~~

The sun was shining brightly as it peeked through the clouds, causing the water to sparkle with each droplet of rain that hit the surface. You love it when the sun's shining and it's raining at the same time. You had started your day as you usually did when you stayed at your family estate; waking up in your lavish bed, before getting ready for the day. Choosing one of your favorite day dresses, you style your hair neatly, grabbing a new book before leaving your chambers. Before breakfast, you did your daily practice on the piano for a moment before sitting in one of the sitting rooms and reading your book. 

Joining your mother and father for breakfast, you ate delicious small cakes, breads, and hot coffee. Breakfast was pretty peaceful and quiet, aside from your father occasionally speaking up. After a while, the topic shifted from the conversation regarding your plans for the afternoon, which included spending the time walking about the grounds, as you had previously intended to do earlier in the morning. 

You hid your feelings well, but you wished that you were at Pemberley at the moment. You had never really felt comfortable or a part of your family's estate. You loved both your parents dearly, but they were rather strict compared to how you're used to life at Pemberley. In truth, you missed staying there; however, you were happy that you were able to stay with your family once again and you didn't want to disrupt their routine. So, you continued to smile politely through your father's comments and continued to eat your food.

You had begun to zone out at some point of your father's speech, nodding along when you thought necessary when suddenly, you heard your name being called. You snapped your head up to see your mother with a small frown on her face. "Your father had asked you a question, young lady." She informed you. You bowed your head and apologized for spacing out. Your mother sighed, placing her small fork down on her fine China plate. "Your father had asked if you desired to attend the upcoming ball at Pemberley?" Pushing your shoulders back, your mind racking at your mother's words. But before you could answer, your mother cut back in, "We know that you don't have a fondness for such events." Your mother included, which you found odd and surprisingly thoughtful, that she was aware of your dislike for socializing, and was finally letting you have a choice in the matter.

Though, you couldn't help but wonder, why now? What had happened or what had been said that would allow your parents to change their minds? Looking up, your eyes met your mother's, "If I may, mother, I had thought that you would want me to attend such gatherings. Has something happened to change your mind so?" You asked her, tilting your head slightly as you spoke.

Your mother nodded her head, her smile widening with excitement, "Precisely so, but we have splendid news for you." Glancing to your father, he then decided to speak, clearing his throat before doing so.

"Your mother and I have found you a suitor. We have met with him many times over these past few weeks and we have deemed him to be most suitable. We have decided to arrange for your engagement with him." Your father announced.

Your breath caught in your throat, unable to utter even a word. You felt as if the world had begun to crumble around you, all your efforts of being independent forgotten as your father's words sunk in. You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole, the sky to open up and spit you back out, and any other form of escape would be welcomed by you. Your heart ached as your father finished speaking, your fingers twitching slightly as you grasped your fork tightly; your knuckles turning white. 

Your lips and mouth felt extremely dry as you opened your mouth and licked your lips, a shaky breath escaping you, "Who have you arranged me with?" You asked, "... If I may inquire?" Your voice was shallow and quiet, your gaze directed downwards.

"Duke Phillip Colston, a very wealthy gentleman who lives here in England." Your father replied, watching you closely as if waiting for you to react. "I believe you'll make a very respectable wife for him, just so as long as you do not cause him too much trouble. He is an eligible bachelor after all." Your father added quietly.

Sighing inwardly, you lifted your head to look at your parents, swallowing heavily, "Do I have any say in this?" You questioned, your voice still weak as your hands clenched into fists under the table. You could feel tears building in your eyes, and you desperately blinked them away, refusing to let them fall as you tried your hardest to keep yourself composed.

"I am afraid not, dear," Your mother answered, "We have gone countless months trying to find you a respectable and kind suitor - a man who is willing and able to take care of you and provide you with all the comforts of society. And yet, all of our attempts have failed." Her tone grew seemingly irritated. "Every man we had brought to you, offering marriage, you have turned away." Her voice rose into one of anger. "You are at a point where men will not even be interested in marrying you, your refusals are becoming the talk of the town, gossip, and blather, and I will not have it." She practically spat angrily, looking up at you with fire in her eyes, a fire that you could not seem to extinguish. 

You stared at your mother silently, a slight pain throbbing through your heart as you took in her words, "I understand wholeheartedly, mother," You began, pushing your chair back to stand, and setting your napkin onto your empty China plate. "I will say this, that I have no desire to marry such a man; duke or not. My heart belongs to someone who is worthy of it." You stated firmly. You then turned on your heel, walking out of the room without saying another word.

Once you were out of their sight, knowing that they weren't going to follow you, you ran. Rushing out into the hall, you ignored the odd looks from your family's servants and maids, swiftly making your way to the front doors and stumbling out into the chill air. Breathing heavily, you felt everything rushing through your veins and blood; flowing throughout your body. Without a second thought, you stepped out into the light rain before running once again. 

You kept running and running, your feet stomping into the wet grass, hair plastered to your face, cold rain falling onto your face; soaking your dress. You didn't care nor have any mind to where you were running or where you were, you just needed to get away. Away from them. Away from them all. Your life, you had no power, no control over it; no matter how hard you fought against it, you could not escape fate. 

You had known that at some point, your parents would grow tiresome of your constant rejection of the men they had brought to you. You knew it was going to be only a matter of time before they would just arrange for you to marry someone else. It was bound to happen sooner or later, considering your age. You weren't getting any younger, and no one wanted a spinster for a daughter.

Still breathing heavily, you came to a stop in a dewy field, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. Finally, you let the tears fall from your eyes, your vision blurry as the water streaming down your cheeks. You wiped your cheek with your sleeve as a sob escaped your lips. You collapsed to the ground in a heap, feeling as if your heart was breaking all over again. The day of the shining sun and the falling rain, something that you had once adored, now only seemed to mock you. As you cried softly, ignoring how cold and drenched you were, you did not hear the sounds of hooves, and someone calling your name. Only when you felt someone touch your shoulder, did you look up.

Fitzwilliam's usually stoic expression was long gone, replaced with worry and concern. His brows furrowed together as he looked at your tear-stained cheeks, and your dampened dress. Fitzwilliam slowly helped you to your feet, helping you lean against him as he guided you to his horse. You did not remember much of the ride back to Pemberley, nor entering the large estate, nor when you were rushed off with a couple of housemaids. You felt numb as you were in the bath, hair being washed and skin being scrubbed. During that time, you had only wished the bath water to be scalding. 

You were quickly dressed in an afternoon dress - one of the dresses that you had kept in your room for when you stayed at the estate - swiftly, you were brought to your room. You sat on your bed, in the home that you'd grown to love more than your own, gazing out the window as the rain began to slowly cease, revealing a beautiful blue sky. A sigh left your lips as a knock sounded upon your door, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Enter," You muttered, surprisingly loud enough for the person to hear, as they opened the door.

Turning your attention from the window, you looked over to see Fitzwilliam, the same worry on his beautiful features as when he had found you in the field in the pouring rain. Silently, he sat beside you, leaving enough space to make you feel comfortable. It wasn't long until Fitzwilliam's curiosity and urgency to see whatever was the matter got the best of him. He watched as you fiddled with your fingers and sighed deeply, "What troubles you? Why were you sitting among the fields?" His voice was soft, filled with concern, and you raised your hand to your hair; brushed but not styled. 

You felt your eyes well up with tears once more, a breathy sigh leaving your lips before you spoke, "I have been arranged to marry Duke Colston." You answered, a voice at the same level as the man beside you. You couldn't even bear to look at him, if you did, you were sure that the tears in your eyes would become a waterfall.

There was silence for several moments as you awaited Fitzwilliam's response. When finally, you glanced towards him, his gaze was locked straight ahead as if lost in thought, "Is this something that you are unhappy about?" Fitzwilliam inquired, his voice calm.

"Incredibly so," You answered with a breath, "I do not wish to marry that man, nor ever." You said, your words laced with bitterness, looking down at your lap, "But I do not know what to do. Despite everything, I cannot bring myself to refuse." You admitted, feeling guilty as soon as you finished speaking. Though you did not agree with the society that you lived in nor the repressing of women's voices, you knew that this was something that had to be done. Not for you, but for your family, no matter how much you detested the idea. "I will have to go along with the matter, for it pleases my family." 

Fitzwilliam stared at the side of your face, subconsciously admiring you as he thought. In his heart, he despised that you were forced to marry someone who was unworthy of you - you did not deserve that, you deserved far better. But what could he do? Again, Fitzwilliam was hopeless. He was unable to do much of anything. Right before him, you were miserable, and he could do nothing but sit here and offer you comfort. He did not even know which he could offer you at this point. He could only watch helplessly as you felt like he was watching you crumble right before his very eyes. His time was up, his hopes diminished, his dreams crushed.

~~~

Fitzwilliam sat in his office, staring down at the many papers and letters before him on his desk. The ticking of the grandfather clock was loud within the silent atmosphere, its deep, heavy, and unenthusiastic noises echoing around the room, as Fitzwilliam tried to force himself to focus. He was not successful, however, as his mind drifted to you every time he closed his eyes. Every time, he would imagine you, dancing with the Duke, marrying the Duke, starting a family with the Duke. Everything that Mr. Darcy himself had desired with you. 

He sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead, closing his eyes briefly as images of you danced across his mind. You, in his arms. Dancing at the ball from only a month ago. You looked up at him with those eyes, those eyes that held his heart. You laughed, and he swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep you happy and laughing; he could not lose you. But he did. Why did he not ask for your hand?

A knock sounded at his office door and Fitzwilliam snapped his eyes open, turning his head to face the door. "Enter." He called out, clearing his throat. He watched as Charles Bingley, one of his friends, walked in, bowing slightly before giving him a small smile.

"Her parents have sent a carriage," He spoke to Fitzwilliam, "She'll be leaving soon, Darcy."

Fitzwilliam nodded, placing his quill back on top of his desk as he stood, walking over to the window, peering down at the carriage, "How long before she leaves?" He asked, but before he could receive an answer, he watched as you entered his vision, seemingly thanking the driver, and though reluctantly, stepping into the carriage.

Charles walked over, standing beside the man as he watched you leave. The man then glanced at his friend, observing him. The stoic look on his face, though more brooding, did not mask the sadness and pain that resided in his eyes; clearly, he cared deeply for you. Charles, and anyone else close to either of you, could have seen that. 

"You care for her," Charles spoke softly, Fitzwilliam's shoulders stiffening slightly at his words, "I believe that you might even love her, Darcy."

Fitzwilliam turned toward Charles with an odd look on his face, "What makes you say such a thing?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

"The way you look at her, the way you speak to her," Charles paused, smiling warmly at Fitzwilliam, "There is no one else that looks at her the way you do," Fitzwilliam said nothing, turning his gaze away from the window and heading back towards his desk once your carriage was out of sight. "You should go after her." Charles said suddenly before leaving the room.

Fitzwilliam sat back down at his desk, letting out a deep sigh as he let himself slouch a little. Charle's words were ringing throughout his mind, causing him to frown deeper. He didn't know how long he sat there as he stared at the paper and his quill in front of him before he suddenly stood and grabbed his coat.

~~~

Sitting in the sitting room, book in hand, your mind could hardly focus on the words written in the book. Your thoughts were all on Fitzwilliam, all on the future, and your upcoming marriage with another man you did not love. Your mind already distracted, you snapped your head over to the study's entranceway, hearing muttering coming from down the hall. You could not make out anything, only hearing that it was two men speaking, but you furrowed your brows; hearing the muttering quiet before hearing the closing of another door. Curiosity was clawing at you but you turned back to your book, trying your hardest to get back to reading it.

But as two hours passed, having checked the clock every ten minutes or so, you began to grow restless. Shutting your book, you stared at the doorway, trying to strain your ears to hear anything, but you could not make out anything. The large estate was quiet, aside from the hustling of the servants. You looked over at the clock on the wall, about to stand to practice the piano to calm your nerves before your mother walked into the room. 

She stood, tall and poised as usual, a small smile on her face. With a small gesture, she told you to stand and follow her. And you did so, forgetting your book on the velvet loveseat and following your mother to your father's office. With a steady knock, the door opened and a small gasp left your lips. 

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood beside your father, who sat at his office desk, leaned back, and with a thoughtful expression on his face. Immediately as the door opened, Fitzwilliam turned to face you, bowing respectively, as you glanced from your mother and to your father. Looking back to your long-time friend, you tilted your head to the side slightly, "Mr. Darcy, this is a surprise." You then looked to your mother and father once more, "Whatever is the matter?" You questioned.

Your father gave you a soft nod, "Please, join us." More than confused at this point - bewildered - you stepped further into the room, your mother leaving your side to stand next to your father at his desk. "Mr. Darcy here has come to inform us of something rather pressing." Your father answered finally, standing from his leather chair with a small grunt. "We shall leave you both to converse," He added as he made his way out of the room, followed by your mother.

As soon as they were gone, you turned to Fitzwilliam, "Whatever is going on, Fitzwilliam?" You asked as the man in question took a step towards you. 

And though he had a small frown on his face, his blue eyes held such vulnerability, such tenderness. "My lady," He muttered, his eyes searching yours, "I must confess that I am… Somewhat troubled." Letting out a small breath, he continued as you stared up at him, "For many years, I have found myself longing for you, and I can not seem to help but fall in love with you…" At his words, your eyes widened, and your lips parted slightly as he continued. "I have come to speak with your father about your arrangement. I can not force you to continue, nor can I force you to end it. But I can only hope that you could consider me as a potential suitor - husband rather, if that is agreeable to you."

You felt your breath hitch, your heart racing as you stared at the man you loved confessing that he had feelings for you, as well. After a moment, you managed to regain your composure, though you still remained speechless. Licking your dry lips briefly, you spoke, "It is," You breathed out. The words were barely above a whisper, and yet it seemed so loud to Fitzwilliam. He blinked rapidly, almost surprised at your response. You brushed the stray tear from your cheek, a small crawling sensation taking residence in your stomach. "I would be honored to accept your proposal, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

And though it was brief, you saw his smile before he took a step forward and hesitantly took your hand in his. The skin-on-skin contact, though usually forbidden between a gentleman and a young woman, caused butterflies to fill each of your stomachs as you both pressed your foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut. 

~~~

The sun was shining brightly today, as were the birds who were singing their songs in the tree branches, which were swaying lightly in the breeze; the light rain drizzled down from the sky. A content smile spread across your face as you leaned against the railing, overlooking the beautiful gardens that surrounded the estate. Your smile only widened as you felt a pair of arms slowly wrap around your waist, tugging you back into the warmth of Fitzwilliam's body. You hummed and rested your head upon his chest, your hands coming up to cover his. 

His arms tightened around your body, pulling you closer to him. "Good morning, my love." He spoke softly, planting a gentle kiss upon your temple. His lips moved along the soft skin of your cheek gently, causing you to shiver as goosebumps rose along your skin.

"Good morning, Fitz," You whispered in return. "I do declare that this is the most beautiful day I've ever experienced." You sighed out as he chuckled, nuzzling into your neck before pressing his lips to the skin there.

"That it is," He agreed before lifting his head and looking into your eyes. He gazed at you lovingly, brushing the hair from your face before leaning in and placing a soft kiss upon your lips. You sighed as he pulled away, allowing his forehead to rest against yours. Your fingers ran through his short hair, gently scratching his scalp as he hummed contently, enjoying the feeling.

"What is the time?" You asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced at his pocket watch, "Just past eight," He stated, giving you a fond smile, "Shall we head to breakfast?" He then suggested, earning a nod from you. Taking your hand in his, you brought it up to your lips, pressing your own kisses to his knuckles before he began to lead you from the balcony.

Behind the both of you, outside the window, just as the rain began to fade away... A rainbow slowly appeared.

[thegreeks]

Gentleman's Restraint of Yearnings

It was a crisp autumn afternoon in the village of Meryton, the air rich with the scent of fallen leaves and the distant laughter of children. The sun filtered through the boughs of the trees, casting a warm glow upon the paths that wound through the little town. As you strolled through the park, your expression, usually lively and full of grace, was drawn into a tense frown, and your lips were pressed into a thin line.

While lost within your thoughts, none other than the reserved Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy emerged from behind the grand oak tree—a tall man with dark, tousled hair and an air of aristocratic elegance. You were on a customary walk, as he had frequently observed, yet today, there was a distinct air of distress about you, and though you had yet to utter a word, Darcy could not help but sense that something weighed heavily upon your mind. His brow furrowed, and as you neared, you realized he was not merely strolling but intently observing you.

His first instinct was to approach you at once, to offer his assistance, his ear, his heart. Yet, as he stepped forward, his own thoughts halted him as abruptly as if he had walked into a wall. He was not at liberty to comfort you—at least not in the manner his heart so desperately wished. Darcy reminded himself, with painful clarity, that your relationship was one governed by propriety and decorum, nothing more. You were a dear friend of his sister Georgiana, and though your presence brought him no small measure of joy, you were not his to console. The boundaries between you were clear, and they could not be crossed—not without consequence.

Yet, how could he stand by and do nothing when you were clearly troubled?

Darcy’s brow furrowed as he watched you, torn between his desire to act and his fear of impropriety. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest, as if rebelling against the constraints of decorum that held him back. What good was all his self-control when the very sight of your distress brought him to such a state of unrest?

Instead, he approached you slowly, his steps slow and deliberate, as if fearing that too sudden a movement might startle you.

“Miss. Y/L/N” he began, his voice low and rich. But he hesitated, as if unsure how to complete the sentence. “May I inquire as to your well-being?”

You turned, startled at being addressed so intimately by him, though his concern felt genuine. “Mr. Darcy,” you replied, smoothing your skirts nervously, “I—thank you. I am well enough.”

Darcy knew better than to press the matter, but he could not simply walk on. Not when his every instinct told him that you were in need of comfort—comfort he was desperate to give. Yet how could he? What could he say? His mind raced with the appropriate words, none of which seemed enough. He knew you well enough by now to sense that your pride, much like his own, would not easily admit to being in distress.

His dark eyes searched yours, a tumult of emotion flickering across his features. “I confess, I know it is not my place to inquire, ” His voice dropped, almost hesitant. “Is there something that troubles you?”

The words were simple, carefully chosen, but Darcy could feel the weight behind them. Though he spoke as a gentleman, as any concerned acquaintance might, the truth beneath his words—the truth that he could not voice—burned in his chest. It was he who cared deeply for your well-being. It was he who wished to bear your burdens, to ease whatever pain weighed upon your heart. But to confess such feelings now, in this moment of vulnerability, would be unthinkable. It would be unfair to you, to your reputation, to the delicate balance of propriety that society demanded.

A lump formed in your throat as you looked away, your fingers nervously twisting a loose thread on the hem of your gown. “I… I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Darcy, but truly, I am quite all right. It is only a matter of… personal reflection.”

Your voice wavered, and though you attempted to present a composed front, it was clear to Darcy that you were far from 'all right.' The distance between you—both literal and emotional—was agonizing for him. He wanted nothing more than to take your hand, to offer you the comfort of his presence, to tell you that whatever troubled you, you did not have to face alone. But he could not. To do so would be crossing a line that he could not uncross.

His solemn gaze remained fixed upon you, a gentle magnetism drawing you in. It made you feel a rush of warmth despite the chill in the autumn air.

For several long moments, the two of you stood in silence, the tension between you palpable. Darcy clenched his fists at his sides, willing himself to remain in control. His heart ached for you, but he had to respect the boundaries that existed between you. He had to remain the gentleman, the master of Pemberley, and not the man whose heart was slowly unraveling at the sight of your sorrow.

Finally, with a quiet sigh, Darcy spoke again, though his voice was strained with the effort of restraint. “If there is ever a time when you feel you cannot bear it alone… you will always find a friend in me, Miss Y/L/N. I would consider it a privilege to offer whatever assistance I am able.”

You looked up at him again, your eyes wide with surprise, “Mr. Darcy,” you said slowly, “this is kind of you, but I must not take you away from your walk.” And yet, the sincerity in his eyes made you feel rushed with unguarded emotions. “I shall keep your kind offer in mind.”

You searched his gaze and felt the earnestness that seemed almost palpable. His sentiments were genuine, but the constraints of society seemed a heavy cloak around both your shoulders. To speak freely of sorrow, especially to a man of his station, was a bold endeavor.

You allowed a small smile which mingling with the autumn breeze, and for a brief moment, the world around you faded as you both lingered in the understanding of shared burdens.

But then the moment passed, and the weight of the situation settled heavily between you once more. He looked away, the warmth in his expression replaced by the cool air of duty and decorum.

Darcy nodded, his heart heavy but resigned. He had done what he could. He had remained within the bounds of propriety, though it had cost him dearly. “I must not intrude upon your privacy, Miss Y/L/N. Forgive my presumption.”

He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, but his eyes lingered on yours a moment longer. The longing to offer further comfort was evident, but both of you were well aware of the rigid boundaries that dictated interactions like these.

And yet, as he turned to leave, he could not help but wonder what it might be like if those bounds did not exist—if he were free to offer you more than words of friendship.

But such thoughts were dangerous, and Darcy knew it. For now, all he could do was watch, wait, and hope that, one day, the boundaries between you might dissolve. Until then, he would remain the gentleman—watchful, concerned, and ever so distant.

---

A/n: I was inspired by this post :)

[fayes-fics]

Vibe & Vexation

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU w/ Regency roleplay

Summary: Watching Pride & Prejudice evokes playtime in Benedict.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, established couple, Regency era sexual roleplay, teasing, remote vibrator, dirty talk, female orgasm, brief vaginal sex. Also features lake!Darcy!Benedict, anachronistic costumes (just like the real show this season tbh) and absolutely unacceptable use of Jane Austen.

Word count: 2.4k

Authors Note: Yes, the title is a terrible play on Pride & Prejudice. Listen, I don't know what this is either, and I'm posting before I lose my nerve after 3 weeks of writer's block. This is dedicated to @godofstory whose casual comment on one of my fics finally dislodged my brain block. This is modern Benedict roleplaying Regency. Also thanks to @colettebronte for reading through, being kind and saying I haven’t lost my mind. Well, not completely. Err, enjoy? <3

“Ben, don't be silly…”

“Are you suggesting that I wouldn't look dashing in a frilly shirt and snug trousers?” he teases, raising his head from your belly and twisting to look at you, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint as the credits roll on the Austen film you've been idly watching on a rainy Sunday.

“No, I'm not saying that,” you chuckle, your fingers touselling his hair. “You look good in everything and nothing…” you tease, enjoying the prideful swell of his chest at your compliment. “But I'm not in the mood to track down Regency outfits for a little sexy role play.”

“Leave the details to me, my love.” He waves a dismissive hand as he flips over and begins to crawl over you. “I will be your Mr Darcy….” he attests, lowering his voice to that rumble which always makes your belly flutter.

“But I don't have a lake in this flat,” you deadpan, perhaps not helpfully referencing a different adaptation, but too distracted to care, his crooked smile hovering right above you now.

“‘Tis a pity,” he agrees, quirking his lips, “but I shall think of something….” he winks before capturing your lips with his. 

And, just like that, you forget all about the subject…

—

Two days later

“They didn't have any fusilli, so I got penne; I hope that's okay…” you call out as you enter your flat, dropping the heavy bag of shopping from your shoulder and flinging off your shoes, grateful to be out of them and home.

When there is no answer, you frown. When you texted on your way home, he sent back a list of supplies for dinner.

“Ben…?” you round the corner into the kitchen and realise it's empty, nothing cooking on the hob. “You're not even cooking….?” you raise your arms in a shrugging gesture, nonplussed, apparently talking to yourself in what appears to be an empty flat.

“Ms Bennet….”

His voice rings out resonant, a teasing lilt that has you spinning around. And almost toppling over.

There, in the doorway to your bathroom, is Benedict…. dressed up as a Regency gentleman. 

Well, partially dressed. And what he is dressed in is damp and clinging to his skin in a way that gives away absolutely everything about why you cannot resist him. Broad shoulders and a tapered torso, completely visible through the most transparent white frilled shirt you could ever imagine. Snug blue trousers that, again, give everything away. He must have hopped into the shower to achieve this effect, his clothing virtually painted upon his skin.

You literally bite the edge of your tongue.

“Mr Darcy….” you stumble, incapable of any other words, mouth falling open as he saunters towards you with a confident gait, his trousers straining over his thighs as he does so.

“My eyes are up here, Ms Bennet…” he teases as yours ping guiltily to his face, knowing you are being entirely called out for your ogling. 

“What if your eyes are the very last thing I am interested in, Mr Darcy?” you finally find your voice, stepping into the role of a feisty, historic heroine you enjoy so much.

“The eyes are the window to the soul…” he tilts his head challengingly, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s Shakespeare, not Austen,” you shoot back pointedly.

“All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes,” he corrects, indeed a quote from Pride and Prejudice. He has obviously been revising—something about that is as adorable as it is arousing.

“You don't fight fair…” you whisper as he closes in on you with a handsome smirk, but it hardly feels like defeat as his long fingers spider up your jacket buttons, the warm fug of his clothes amplifying the mouthwatering scent he wears under them.

“All is fair in love and war,” he counters, sliding nearer, his lips warm on your temple now as he flicks open your topmost button.

“Are you going to talk in literary quotes all night?” 

Your ask is much breathier than you intend, very much not a protest about what is transpiring—a tingle down your sternum where his fingers trail over your skin down to the next button. You feel the curve of his cheek against your face from his responding smile. 

“I might stop,” he proposes airily. ”But perhaps only to tease you until you pass out…” 

“How?”

The question falls from you unbidden, curiosity seizing your lips.

“With the help of things poor Mr Darcy never had access to…” he offers enigmatically. “But for now, how about you go change into your outfit, Ms Bennet?”

“I have an outfit too?” your breath catching at the idea he has planned a whole scenario.

“Oh yes, ‘tis hanging in your room, fair lady,” he mutters, taking a half pace back. But before you go, he grabs your hand, raising it to his mouth and dropping a kiss that is anything but chaste—wet, plush lips with a slight edge of teeth dragging over your knuckles as his hot tongue lathes between your fingers lasciviously. 

—

“I'm not sure this is quite Regency accurate…” you assert as you swan back into the living room a few minutes later, even as there is a frisson over your skin at the very sexy outfit he has chosen.

“Perhaps not,” he concedes, his eyes lingering on the pronounced swell of your breasts as you sashay closer. “But yet, I cannot fault my choice.”

“More Marquis de Sade than Jane Austen…” you opine, revelling in his stare, the time spent fastening each hook and eye down the front of the ivory corset worth it for that hungry look and the nascent swelling you see in his clinging trousers. The silk, frilled French knickers he picked out are new, which you are grateful for, but they match perfectly. There was an odd weight to them as you pulled them on, though, but you did not spend much time contemplating it, so keen to get back to the scene.

“Ms Bennet, how dare you turn up to my home so scandalously dressed when I am entertaining company?” he admonishes, his tone suddenly brusque, stepping fully into his roleplay, gesturing to the empty kitchen area as if it were filled with guests.

“Mr Darcy, I can only apologise. I thought you were away on business,” you improvise, clutching your hands over your body in a futile attempt to conceal your state of undress, acting horrified to be caught.

“Do you make a habit of trespassing in my home and flouncing around so slatternly?” he snaps tersely, his eyes flashing approvingly.

You know the question is rhetorical, so you just hang your head, biting your lip, playing at being ashamed and chastised for being so wanton in the home of the man you desire. This is nothing like anything in Pride and Prejudice, but you could not give less of a damn, a flutter low in your gut that this could go somewhere utterly delicious. 

“I must insist you desist,” he continues imperiously. “This must never happen again! Now go to my private quarters and think upon what you have done!” he concludes, pointing to the sofa. 

“Yes, Mr Darcy,” you nod and curtsy with faux demureness, which he seems to greatly enjoy based on the flash in his eyes, seemingly even more so when you break character and poke out your tongue insolently as you pass.

You take a seat on the sofa and watch, initially confused, as Benedict remains in the kitchen area, play-acting as if he is chatting to guests, supping from a wine glass and gesturing. Puzzled, you watch as he reaches for his phone casually and flicks something on the screen, his back still turned to you.

There is a sudden, sharp buzz in your underwear that steals your breath, your legs tensing, your feet kicking out reflexively, sliding your clit heavier against the vibration.

Oh fuck.

That’s why the underwear felt oddly weighted. He must have snuck a thin remote vibe pad into the lining.

He makes a half-turn and smirks over his shoulder as you pant and stare at the play of his back muscles under his translucent shirt, your fingers clawing into the sofa at the sudden not-at-all-gentle onslaught.

“Ms Bennet, are you quite well?” he calls out, a triumphant look claiming his face. “You appear somewhat flushed.”

“Mr Darcy, I find myself in a most perplexing dilemma,” you grit out between clenched teeth, impressed you can even form words. The vibe is a persistent thrum that you attempt to tilt yourself away from slightly but seem unable, always there, dragging against you in a way that makes you writhe, your back arching.

He spins around to face you entirely now, putting down his wine glass, phone casual in the other hand, thumb hovering portentously over the screen with a gleeful mien.

“What troubles you, Ms Bennet?”

His lilt is teasing and velvet, humming in your bones as much as the toy. The vibration suddenly ceases, and you collapse back into the sofa, panting mildly, the corset restricting your ability to take the gulps of air you need, your chest heaving, unable to do anything but stare slack-jawed at him.

“Have you quite forgotten your words, Ms Bennet? I thought you a creature of learning…” he needles, the painted-on regency garb he wears just more temptation, his cock straining against the wool now. He makes no move to draw closer, but he does flick open the buttons around his wrists and roll up his sleeves, his toned forearms flexing as he does so.

“I am a woman of learning,” you defend after a pause, “but I find myself rather disadvantaged tonight. I suspect deception…” You narrow your eyes at him.

He throws his head back and laughs, his Adam's apple bobbing prominently as he does so. It makes you want to pitch forward and bite it.

“Whoever would deceive such a fine woman as you?” he fires back as he tilts back down. You cry out as his thumb yet again swipes over his screen, and your underwear roars back to life—this time a softer pulsing wave, but no less titillating, an inflaming tease that staccatos against your engorged flesh.

“You might, Mr Darcy…” you accuse, but it's lighthearted at best, a toothless threat as all of your efforts are focussed on the fizzing pleasure radiating out into your pelvis.

“On the contrary, Ms Bennet. In vain have I struggled…” he begins. 

That speech.

��It will not do….” he adds, shaking his head for good measure as he flicks open the buttons upon his soaked shirt, your eyes tracking the movement as each new slice of damp, heated skin is revealed in the soft, low lamplight.

“My feelings will not be repressed…” 

He peels the sodden shirt from his form, and you moan as that honed body is revealed to you, glistening slightly. The vibe is a roiling wave against your clit that makes your pussy clench around nothing, wishing to be filled.

“You must allow me….” he pauses and lopsidedly grins as he roughly tugs upon the buttons of his trousers, a teasing striptease that has you spiralling fast, leaking copiously into your knickers now.

“Allow you what…?” you throw in, huffing against the restriction of the corset, something about its tight hold escalating your addled state, moaning as he drops the last vestige of his clothing, his cock springing free. His whole being glowing with pride in how much he can affect you.

“To tell you how ardently I admire and love you….” he concludes, his voice dark and smooth, settling over your skin like warm molasses as he finally prowls towards you.

You want to pitch forward and nuzzle your face into his cock. But he dips down as he approaches, pushing your legs far apart with his hands and falling to his knees, burying his face into your cleavage. He suckles vehemently on the swell of your chest, lathing his tongue over your flushed skin as you fight to gasp in enough air, the vibe and his lush mouth hurtling you fast towards oblivion, his hands a firm grip on your hips.

“I love you too, Mr Darcy,” you gulp in delayed response. “But, please release me from this torture…” you append weakly, needing reprieve from the prolonged hold.

“Is it not the sweetest torture, though?” he argues back as his nose trails up your clavicle to your neck, his mouth earnest upon a spot that always makes you pliant. “I want to see you struggle, my love, bound in my corset, sat upon my vibe, teased and vexed until you can take no more….” his words are a sinful soliloquy gusting almost wistfully into your ear, your lobe snagged under his teeth.

“Take pity upon me, please; I am distressed,” you appeal, feeling a slight wooziness as you circle a chasm of pleasure that licks teasingly at your edges.

“You are beautiful,” he counters, a firm hand cupping the back of your head and puppets you to stare into his blown pupils, his rigid cock trailing a sticky line over your thigh as he rumbles more debauched. “Now come for me, Ms Bennet, and then I shall have you…”

You screw your eyes shut just as he flicks to a higher setting on the vibe and can no longer fight or struggle, letting your body break, febrile, a dew on your back as it arches, you screaming to the ceiling as you are thrown into the stars and the earth at the same time, torn in a hundred directions by the intense pulse radiating out from your core and fanning across your whole body, every muscle tensing and releasing in a sudden wave.

Hazily, you hear his jubilant praises ringing in your ears, but it feels far away even as his hands and mouth are hot and heavy on your skin, ripping the corset and knickers from your body with a vehemence that would shock you were you in less of a euphoric, altered state. He pulled you bodily to the edge of the sofa, teasing his cock against your throbbing clit, making you groan and paw at him, the need rising again as you return to your surroundings.

“You have bewitched me body and soul,” he pants as he slides into your body, a surging insistence that has your fingernail curling into the sinew on his forearms, your toes curling around the fuzzy meat of his thighs. “I never wish to be parted from you for a second. I love you..,” his tone rough, broken, stuttering as he bottoms out inside you, quoting the film you watched together the other night before taking you urgently towards another blissful peak.

Benedict taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[shmaptainwrites]

Hiiiiii againnn its meee coming back to annoy you again :D

I saw you extended your accepting date until the 9th, and I know I literally just requested something, but would you be down to write a blurb for an angry love confession in the pouring rain? I'm a sucker for that cliché trope, and I love your writing so so much <3

Once again a female reader if you don't mind 😭

bestie you've freaking GOT IT and sometimes cliché tropes are the best, really who are we to judge btw i also put carl davis' pride and prejudice suite iii on repeat while writing this for ~vibes~

Pairing: Fitzwilliam Darcy x fem!Reader

Warnings: scandalous behaviour for the 1800s i guess, minor height description (shorter than Colin Firth and Matthew MacFayden, they're both like 6'2)

The Truth

Normally when the rain was pouring down from above you'd make it a point to look for cover, but what was the point in that anymore. You let the cold water from the sky envelope you, absorb into your skin, soak your clothes. If you just focused on the rain you wouldn't have to focus on anything else.

If it were just you, alone in the world perhaps that would be the case, and although it felt like it sometimes, that didn't mean you'd get peace when you wanted it.

His voice was muffled at first, but you supposed that was your own fault, too focused on other things to bring your mind to hear what he was saying, but as he approached closer you could hear him clearer.

"What are you doing?! It's pouring outside!"

You could hear the urgency in his tone, but couldn't bring yourself to feel it.

"I'm well aware of that," you called back.

"Then why in God's name are you out here?"

He was behind you now, you could tell, his voice so close you could just about feel his warm breath cut past the cold air surrounding you.

You turned around and shook your head with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

"I don't know," you admitted.

"Well come inside then," he insisted, offering an arm to you. "We'll both get sick if we stay out here any longer."

"I don't care."

"You don't care?" he frowned. "What is going on? You don't seem like yourself."

"Lying can do that to a person," you said simply and turned away.

"Lying?" you could almost hear the exasperation in his voice. "Please, I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, why would you? You don't feel the same," you mumbled to yourself.

"I really must insist you explain what is going on," he said quite firmly.

"I can't!" you shook your head and wrapped an arm around your waist, the other covering your mouth. "Please, Mr. Darcy, just...just leave me."

There was silence for a moment and you thought maybe he head left, the downpour masking the sound of his footsteps, but then a voice spoke up.

"No. I will not leave you."

"What is it you want from me?" you turned back to him again and asked angirly.

"I want the truth."

"The truth is that I love you!" you looked down at your feet, knowing you wouldn't be able to meet his gaze. "I love you and I don't think you feel the slightest ounce of that towards me."

"And what would give you that impression?" you heard the squish of wet grass and mud beneath his feet as he came closer to you. "Because if I, in any way, have made you feel like that, it must be rectified."

You finally looked up at him, tears mixed with raindrops runnig down your face.

"Fitzwilliam, please, I-I can't bear to have my heart broken," you whispered. "If this is just kindness I-I-"

You weren't given a chance to finish your sentence as he lifted your face to look up at him, his hands were warm against your cold skin and out of instinct your eyes fluttered shut, just as he pressed his lips on yours.

You gripped tightly onto his forearms, bringing him as close as you could, wishing nothing more in the world than for that moment to last forever.

When you pulled apart, his forehead still resting on your own, you let out a small breathy chuckle, letting one of your hands come up and hold his cheek.

"You never said anything," you whispered, "and with all this-this talk of suitresses...I-I thought I was being foolish."

"I must be the fool for not saying anything earlier," he lifted his head only to kiss your forehead, and bring you in for a proper embrace. It felt as if you were meant to be joined and knit together as one and it reminded you that in the end, it was always important to tell the truth.

[syntheticavenger]

Fatal Diagnosis - Two

I hope you enjoy the little twist I've placed in the first chapter. We'll be getting a visit from three others throughout this mini series starting with Part Three.

Series Masterlist

Recommended Listening: Disease by Lady Gaga

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of religion, mentions of death, language.

Words: 1.5K

Demon Doctor! Steve Rogers x Angel Nurse! Female Reader

Summary | Despite your best efforts, some of your patients that you care for start to pass away under mysterious circumstances. The intimidating doctor with the soothing bedside manner seems to always be one step ahead of you.

Mr. Hillman is fast asleep, unaware of you standing at his bedside. You can tell someone has been in this room – despite everything being where you left it.

You can still smell the burned flesh when you reached the door.

And it wasn’t just his door.

Whatever lurks inside these halls is testing you. It’s suffocating when you enter the recovery wing, the sense that something is watching you under the bright lights and sanitized spaces not lost on you as you go through your rounds. It hides in every corner, through the corner of your eye, heavy on your chest and heart, almost waiting to pounce.

Your patient will be discharged today, looking at his chart in relief that he was able to pull through, saying a quick prayer in thanks before you feel a dark presence that makes you go still, your feet braced on the floor.

Footsteps pause at the door and for a moment, your eyes darken, ready to protect Mr. Hillman when the footsteps continue on. Still, you watch the door for a moment, a whispery voice breaking you out of your concentration.

“Angel,” Mr. Hillman says sleepily before he slips back into a deep sleep.

“Rest up,” you reply softly. “They won’t succeed.”

When your hand reaches for the door, you take one look back at him, committing him to memory. He’d been at death’s door with his illness and his daughter will be happy to know her father has pulled through.

A miracle, really.

-

Darcy inspects her painted nails, ignoring you when you sit next to her to finish his discharge paperwork. She’s been immersed in this podcast, the host still talking as she lowers the volume for a moment.

“Dr. Rogers was looking for you,” Darcy says after a moment, holding up her index finger to the light. “Does this look crooked to you? I swear I didn’t file it right.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“Nope,” she says with a loud pop of her mouth. “Man of little words around me. He was going into check on Miss Farmer, I think.”

“Why? She was stable this morning, wasn’t she?”

Darcy shrugs, inspecting another nail.

“Darcy, she’s your patient.”

“She’s fine. I’m just telling you where he went. Maybe he’s checking on her because she’s,” Darcy pauses, holding her hands out near her chest. “You saw her. Melons.”

You want to say something to her about her comment but Dr. Rogers comes into view, his eyes trained on you when you straighten your shoulders. He’s dressed in his usual white shirt and black slacks, his white coat immaculate.

“Good morning,” he says warmly, flashing you and Darcy a smile. “I hope you were able to sleep well last night. You were here late, weren’t you?”

“A little but I had some last-minute things to do,” you say in reply, seeing him nod in agreement.

“How is Miss Farmer?” Darcy asks him, trying to hide a smile.

“She’s your patient, Darcy. How would I know?” Dr. Rogers snaps.

Darcy’s smile fades at his biting remark, getting to her feet as she locks her computer.

“Say no more.”

She leaves you and Dr. Rogers alone, your eyes going back to your monitor to finish the paperwork.

“Do you know anything about Latin?” Dr. Rogers asks, leaning over the counter. “I came across a phrase last night and I was a little confused by it.”

“What phrase?”

Pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, he slides it over to you.

Non Mortem Timemus, Sed Cogitationem Mortis.

You read it silently, aware of how he’s staring, waiting for you to translate. You won’t do it, knowing that you’ve seen this phrase before and reciting it out loud would bring about something you won’t want.

“Confused by what, Dr. Rogers?” you ask, seeing him look down at the paper.

“It’s a death quote,” he says, pointing to the word ‘mortem’. “Almost a warning if I didn’t know better.”

“A warning for what?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. The quote mentions death, doesn’t it? Some people think I’m the Grim Reaper around here,” he says with a wry smile as you look down at your keyboard. “I hear you all talk.”

“I don’t think that,” you reply quickly. “How could I? You’re a doctor, you’re here to save people.”

“You’ve been a lucky charm in this place. I don’t think we’ve lost anyone in at least a week.”

He’s never talked to you this much before, let alone maintain this much eye contact. You force yourself to look up from your monitor, dipping your chin in response.

“Bedside manner, I guess. I learned from the best.”

“Who is that?”

“My mentor,” you answer him. “She was a wonderful teacher.”

He tilts his head to the side at your response, amused in a way that you are reminiscing that seems almost condescending, the way he nods along.

“What was her name?”

Why he’s suddenly so invested, you aren’t sure. 

“Dr. Maria.”

“Did she have a last name?”

“She does, yes,” you answer him quietly. Something about this question puts your defenses up, in a way that you’re unsure of where it came from.

Dr. Rogers flashes you a quick grin, cold and unfeeling before he moves away from the counter.

“It was nice chatting with you. I need to go check on Darcy and make sure she’s not on an extended break.”

-

Darcy knocks on the door, opening it slightly to find her patient still in bed. The once vivacious woman can barely lift her head as Darcy moves closer. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, a flutter of something in her mouth before Darcy blinks and it’s gone as if she hallucinated.

“Miss Farmer?” she asks, equipment all around her beeping quickly. “What’s happening?”

The woman’s head falls back on the pillow, losing consciousness as Darcy hits a button for assistance, an alert sounding out on the machine.

“Fuck…. Fuck… fuck,” Darcy whispers to herself, beginning CPR. “Don’t die on me.”

The door opens as a team comes in, Darcy continuing, so focused that she doesn’t see Dr. Rogers enter the room. An eerie silence comes over the room, Dr. Rogers’ voice commanding her to stop.

“No,” Darcy says. “I need to keep trying!”

“She’s dead,” Dr. Rogers says calmly. “You did everything you could.”

Darcy watches as he calls her time of death, turning on her heels to collect herself outside.

“What a shame,” Dr. Rogers says, holding his hand up as a team of nurses stops in their tracks. “No need. I’ve got this covered.”

Standing near the door as they leave, you see him lean over, Miss Farmer’s chest rising and falling slowly.

On cue, a Code Blue alert gets attention, rushing out of the room almost too eager for your liking, leaving you alone with Darcy’s patient.

-

Dr. Rogers inhales deeply, smiling to himself as he calls another time of death, reinvigorated by his recent meal. It’s almost too easy, these poor souls that have no idea they will never leave this place.

He remembers Miss Farmer and Darcy, getting a notification that makes his eyes darken. Darcy’s excited text means that Miss Farmer has survived, her vitals stable once more. 

He knows it’s you.

There was never any doubt in his mind, but his irritation grows at the thought that he could have had another meal if you had no interfered. He’ll deal with Darcy, bringing her back from the brink of death.

That will put you in your place.

It’s laughable for the moment, missing another meal and having another lined up.

He can’t wait to see you cry when your peer isn’t there to feed you lines about his supposed nature.

-

“She made it through,” Dr. Rogers says, your head lifting at his greeting.

He seems relieved but once again, something is off, the way he seems to be slightly annoyed. You want to chalk it up to his relentless morning but he stands over Darcy’s patient for a moment, as if he can’t believe she’s alive.

“She did. Darcy took a break. I still think she’s in shock from what happened. We almost lost her.”

“I know, I was ready to call time of death,” he agrees.

You stand, looking over at Miss Farmer as she sleeps, perspiration dotting her forehead as Dr. Rogers looks over again.

“That would have been unfortunate. But she pulled through, Dr. Rogers. That is a miracle.”

“So it is. Perhaps you’re the blessing.”

Walking toward the door, you pause when you get near him.

“I found these,” you say, opening your hand as you drop something in his hand.

Three moths fall into his hand, still moving as you stare up at him.

“Can’t imagine where they came from. You know what they’re called, right?” you ask, seeing him look down at his open palm.

“Enlighten me.”

“Acherontia Lachesis. You don’t find them here very often, if at all.”

“Acherontia Lachesis,” he repeats. “A type of moth, I’m guessing.”

“Death’s head hawkmoth, to be exact. I found them in her mouth.”

His hands close over the moths, your own hand reaching out to touch his own, ignoring the searing pain of touching his cold hand.

“I have no idea where they came from, but I have an idea,” you continue.

“We’ll have Dr. Banner call the exterminator.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rogers, I appreciate that.”

Lifting your hand from his, you look back at Miss Farmer for a moment.

“She’ll make a full recovery.”

“You seem convinced. Let’s hope so.”

You give him a smile, your eyes hovering at her empty glass on the table.

“Just a feeling. Have a good night, Dr. Rogers.”

-

Darcy cracks open a can of soda, filling out reports when the lights flicker. She’s on graveyards this week, annoyed that she tried to be nice to MJ and now she had to change her entire schedule. Her podcast skips as she pauses it, noticing the WiFi has gone out. 

“Damn technology,” she mutters, standing up to inspect the connection, only to see Dr. Rogers standing at the counter.

Jumping back, she laughs nervously, her hand flying to her chest.

“You scared me! God,” she mutters, trying to breathe. “I think I almost died.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing your rounds?”

The lights flicker back on, her podcast at full blast as he shakes his head in disapproval. A flash of light catches his eye as his focuses on her necklace.

“I’m going,” she counters, grabbing her pen and clipboard. “Just needed a break.”

“A break,” he repeats, his eyes going black rapidly before changing back as he follows behind her. “I don’t think you’ve worked a whole shift since I got here.”

When she whirls around, he’s closer than she expected, her eyes narrowing at him.

“Why are you always on me? No one else, just you. Some of these other nurses may suck up to you because they think you’re hot but I’m not one of them.”

“I expect professionalism from you. Decorum, even.”

“You get what you get with me,” Darcy shoots back. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “It is.”

Darcy fingers her necklace, Dr. Rogers glaring in response as she raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he snaps. “Get back to work.”

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Runnin' Roughshod"

Pairing: Bucky x black female Reader

Rated: Explicit

Tags: civil war, westward expansion, homesteader Bucky, Black!Fem!Reader, slavery, historic AU, forbidden romance, interracial relationship, racism, period typical attitudes, brothel, prostitution

A Bucky x Black!fem!Reader historical AU fic that I decided to bullet point for funsies, and then wound up writing half of the damn thing that way 🙄

You're a slave living in 1860 Missouri, just outside of St. Louis.

You're the property of (and half-sister to) Master Lewis. Lucky for you, Master Lewis Senior is dead, and Lewis Jr.'s young bride Darcilla is kind and agreeable, with progressive notions that she brought along with her trousseau when she came from Maryland to wed Master Lewis.

Life is very good for you, compared to some others. You work in the house, as lady's maid to the new Mrs. Lewis (who insists you call her Ms. Darcy), and sometimes help in the shop in town.

The Lewis's own a handful of other slaves who help run their household and dressmaker's shop, but since the death of your mother you've had no family (well, except for Master Lewis, though nobody counts that). You do your work and keep to yourself. Sometimes you make a little money at the dress shop, which Mistress Darcilla lets you keep behind her husband's back.

You save up every penny, but buying your own freedom is a far off dream. Your whole life, you've never seriously contemplated running away. It isn't worth the risk.

But when tensions in the county begin to rise and you hear rumors of secession, you grow worried. You begin to squirrel away what valuables you can, gain the trust of your mistress, and bide your time.

With the uncertainty of war brewing, Master Lewis announces his plans to move the family deeper south. You can no longer afford to wait. You have to get out now, before your one and only chance is lost forever.

Your money gets you as far as Topeka, where you're forced to stop until you can earn enough to join a wagon train out West. You find work at a saloon, serving drinks and making flirty conversation with the men who come in for a good time.

In the mornings, you begin to learn the piano from "Old Freddie," and during the occasional slow afternoon, Madame Lapierre, the French woman who governs the "upstairs" girls, will play a game of chess with you whilst she tries to make headway in convincing you to "expand your employment opportunities."

Topeka is Free-Soiler territory, but there's always the fear that Master Lewis might find you. And, on the verge of statehood, the Kansas territory has tipped into increasingly violent conflict between anti- and pro-slavery settlers. With conditions worsening and all out war looming on the horizon, you have no guarantee of safety there anymore.

Desperate to raise the funds to go West more quickly, you tell Madame that you're ready to start selling more than drinks and conversation. You become her newest "poppet" prepared to do whatever it takes to get out of town before your luck - and your freedom - run out.

You've never been with a man, but you know the rudimentary facts of life, and with a little help from the other girls and Madame, you prepare to become just another "sporting girl."

Your first afternoon on the job, a roughshod rider comes into town, seeking lodging, drink, and the sort of "company" that you're there to provide.

The white girls get first dibs on clients, but the roughshod asks for you to be sent up to his room. You wish he wouldn't have. Not because you want to put off the inevitable, but because now the other girls will be nasty to you. The man is handsome, and the girls were all eager to get their hands in his pockets.

You're shaking in your boots, but Madame gives you a shot of whiskey, a spritz of her genuine French perfume, and a tiny pewter snuff case for "wetting the way," (whatever that means). She tells you to put it in your bosom and use it "when the time is right."

Terrified but determined to see it through, you head upstairs to the roughshod's room.

It does not go as you expect. First, he demands to know if you're working there of your own free will. You admit that he is your very first client - which you regret doing, because his face goes even stonier when you do. He barks out orders at you, insisting that you leave the room at once and fetch him the house's tub.

He wants a bath - a hot one! - and with soap, and a towel!! You're very happy about that, because it costs a whole sixty-five cents more, and it will also mean extra time spent with you, which leaves you with even more money in your pocket at the end of the day. You're still nervous, but elated at the luck you're having on your very first client!

The other girls are stewing in the hall with jealously and make snide comments about your race and the man's preference for you. They refuse to help you prepare the bath, but you don't care one lick. That's just more time the roughshod will be paying to spend with you, while you haul bucket after bucket of boiled water up the stairs.

Madame catches you in the hallway and tells you not to mind the other girls. She's a bit drunk on sherry, and she jokes that at this rate, you'll probably only have to spread your legs for two or three minutes! (God, you hope so).

The man is filthy, and he's hurt - as though he's been in a fight or fallen from his horse. He asks you to help bathe him, and you get started with your heart in your throat. His manners are as rough as he is, but he isn't mean to you, and he doesn't try to grab you, which is a relief. With shaking hands, you proceed to wash him.

This is your first time touching a naked man's body, and you try not to look down into the bathwater as you wash him. You're embarrassed, but it's not just nerves; seeing and touching such a handsome man has you warming as though you've downed another three shots of whiskey.

You squirm and fight not to let the roughshod see your flusterment, as your belly tightens with the familiar, but never indulged, feelings of lust.

The roughshod stays in the bath until the water's gone gray and cold. You kneel beside the tub and wring out the cloth, but squeak when, all at once, the man heaves himself up to standing, the water streaming down his body and his ... his Johnson right at the level of your face!

He grunts and swings his leg out of the tub - exposing all of his manhood jostling around not even two feet from your face as he does so! You blush and look away, but you can feel him staring at you as he grabs up the towel and dries himself off.

Surely, you think, now he will ask you to take off your clothes and join him on the bed. You know only the basics of what goes where for the act, having witnessed clandestine coitus a time or two in your life. You wait, unable to look up at him, as you expect to hear his gruff voice order you about. And it does.

"Get up."

You stand, trembling. But what he says next isn't what you're expecting: "You know how to rub a man's muscles?"

You look up at him. He's got the towel in hand, making no effort to use it to cover himself. Then again, you think, why should he? You're just another painted poppet (or, soon to be). "R-rub what?" you stammer - quite idiotically. Of course, you know what muscles are. ... You're just not sure if he's using the word as a ... a euphemism.

He rolls his eyes and brings the towel up to dry his hair. "Knew I should'a asked for the China girl," he mutters.

You clear your throat and look steadfastly at his face. "You're hurt," you say, because you've seen every part of his body now, despite your efforts to keep your eyes trained North. And you know he's got bruises all on his legs and back and sides.

The roughshod nods and abandons the towel to the floor. "Yeah." He's not a talker, but you get the impression he's waiting to hear something from you.

You struggle to think of what that might be. "I ... have ... rubbed my mother's shoulders, when they hurt her. Um. And her feet?"

If you're not mistaken, the man's mouth twitches up the barest bit, beneath his beard. "Eh," he says, then turns around, presenting you with his - very manly - ass. "How bad can ya be?" He walks towards the bed, waving you along without looking back. "Well c'mere then."

He climbs up onto the room's bed and lies down, face in his arms. "What're you doing?" he grumps. "I said get over here."

Swallowing thickly, you hurry across the room. With his back turned, you have less trouble letting your eyes rove over his naked body. His back is broad and muscled, going from impossibly wide and tanned shoulders, tapering all the way down to his slim hips and his pale ass. His thighs are hairy and---no. You force your eyes true north again, looking at the bruises that you're increasingly starting to suspect came from a beating. "What happened to you?" you ask.

His head stays pillowed in the crooks of his arms. "Get up on the bed," he grunts. "Sit on my ass and I'll tell 'ya what to do."

Your eyes all but bug out of your head, when he tells you to straddle him. You do, your skirt rustling as you move and get up on him. You're hesitant to put your weight down, but he huffs and tells you to sit.

"Speck like you ain't gonna feel any more'n a feather. Sit."

He talks you through giving him - what he deems a "goddamn lousy" - massage. He grunts whenever you press on his bruises, pained, but once you get the hang of it, he at least goes quiet and doesn't complain anymore, so maybe you're not so horrible at it after all.

You rub his shoulders, his neck and back; your belly coiling tight once again, filling with a swooping feeling at having his warm skin and hard muscles underhand, at the feeling of his body held between your legs. You worry that he somehow knows how you're reacting, but you don't speak and neither does he.

When he eventually groans from pained-pleasure rather than pain, you can't help but smirk triumphantly. You keep expecting him to roll over and declare the massage over and demand for you to touch his Johnson, but that keeps not happening (though he does groan a little more).

You check the clock and see that it's now early evening. The light outside is almost gone. You worry that he's lost track of time and might refuse to pay for the hours he's spent with you, which will get your wages garnished.

So, tentatively, you slide your hands down to his thick waist, the swooping feeling intensifying at watching all the muscles in his back tense and shift underneath the skin.

"Why'd you stop?" he grunts.

"Are ... are you sure ..." You hesitate, not knowing how to seduce a man.

"Spit it out," he says, annoyed.

You lick your lips. "Well I just ... it's been awhile now and ... Are you sure this is all you want?"

"It feels good," he snaps, voice muffled in his arms. "That's what I'm payin' you for, ain't it?"

His uncharitable response should make you relieved, but instead it just leaves you worried and confused. Are you not seductive enough? Is he going to complain to Madame once he leaves here?

You need to speak up, take action, or else you may be in trouble. "Mister," you say, "I--"

"James," he grunts. "S'my name."

You pause, surprised that he wants you to use it, since he doesn't seem to like you very much. "James," you try again. "I want to make sure you're ... um ... getting your money's worth?"

He's silent and still, then drawls, "You don't sound too sure about that."

FOLKS THIS HAS BEEN OUT OF HAND FOR AWHILE NOW. LETS GO BACK TO AN ACTUAL FUCKING OUTLINE:

He has you lie down on the bed, and he regards you tenderly and seems like he's going to finally do it, but his face goes sour when you nervously reach your hand for his Johnson, and he tells you he doesn't need anything else.

"That's enough." He rolls away, comes back with a dollar bill, hands it over and gruffly tells you to go over to the mercantile and buy him a fresh shirt.

Relieved and yet somehow also terribly disappointed, you do so. When you return, his hair is tied back and he's got his pants on again.

You expect him to dismiss you, but he tells you he wants your company in the downstairs, too. He takes you down and the two of you eat and drink together at his behest. As it's now evening, the other poppets work on men nearby, shooting you jealous looks every so often.

James slowly opens up to you, engaging you in conversation over his dinner. You can't help but talk back, the conversation coming naturally and your shoulders relaxing. James is much more likeable after a whiskey or two, and the two of you even laugh and joke together. He decides to teach you a dice game, and the two of you have fun well into the evening, until he goes back up to bed -- alone.

Madame is drunk and very proud--because the roughshod actually pays for the entire time! In one fell swoop, you've made a handsome sum! You begin to hope that soon you'll be able to buy your way onto a wagon train and go West!

But the next day, your fortunes change.

A lawman shows up with none other than Mr. Brooks--Master Lewis' most trusted slave. Brooks tells the lawman that you are the one he's looking for. He has your papers to prove Mr. Lewis' ownership!

Being only tenuously free territory, the lawman has the say so on what happens to you. Just when it looks like he's going to hand you over to Brooks, the roughshod comes downstairs. He claims you're his property and that your name is Pearl. He has no proof, but says that's because he bought you from a 'chief down in Indian country' (the Oklahoma territory).

One of the white girls calls out that that's not true: you work there.

It seems that the lie won't work, but when the lawman asks Madame if that's true, Madame says your name is Pearl and you showed up with the roughshod the other day.

The marshal decides to trust the word of a white man over Mr. Brooks (who looks very angry indeed). He brandishes the papers and promises to come back with Master Lewis.

With no time to spare, you make haste. You have to leave town now, no matter the fact that you don't have the money to make it out West. You stuff your things in your bag and leave with the wages you've earned.

Outside, the roughshod grabs your arm and pulls you in. He demands you tell him the truth, since he stuck his neck out for you.

You confess everything--running away, your plan to set out West for San Francisco. You fear that he's had a change of heart and will take you to the lawman, but he gets stern-faced again and gruffly tells you to come with him back to his home with him.

You're confused, but he is bossy and all but forces you back to his homestead with him. There, he informs you that, after getting into a "scrape" with some locals himself, he has to leave. He offers to take you out West with him, and part ways in California.

You agree.

Sometime, months later, in California:

The country is at war, but it feels far away from where you are now, as do Master Lewis' chances of ever finding you again. James has hope that the North will win and slavery will be done away with, when the two of you arrive in San Francisco. You make him breakfast, and ask: "What now?"

He gets quiet for awhile. "Woman like you?" He says, chewing the last bite of a biscuit. "Sews, can play chess, hard worker, beautiful, and you cook like this?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek and looks away for a moment. When he looks back, there's false cheer in his eyes. "You're gonna make some man a fine wife someday."

You inhale deeply, fighting to keep the sting of that comment from getting to your eyes. "But not you?" you finally say, once you've gathered the breath - and the courage - to do so.

The false cheer bleeds to sadness, fond and regretful, and he shakes his head softly. "No Darlin'. Not me."

(spoiler alert: you wind up together with a happy ending anyway)

IM SORRY IT'S TWO AM WHY DID I DO THIS I NEED TO SLEEEEP 😩

(Will def be writing (more of) this fic in the future though!)

[lokisprettygirl]

Under his influence (Post Avengers! Loki x female reader)

Read chapter 32 here/ Series Masterlist

Chapter 33

Summary : A horrible nightmare fuels your insecurities yet again. Loki thinks he has the perfect solution but his plan is interrupted by the news of Mrs Geller's accident.

Trigger Warning: 18+, foursome (but not in the kinky manner) , HUGE Canon divergence (Just me making shit up), Dalia, Reader needs to seek professional help for her trust issues, topics dealing with cheating and falling out of love, timey wimey stuff again (yeah I didn't forget about the main plot you guys)

Note : This chapter was the most personal and pretty difficult to write but it was important for her growth.

You could hear the sound of his moans coming from his room and your heart clenched, why was he moaning that way? You weren't there with him then who was making him feel that way? You trusted him, you really wanted to believe that he won't hurt you like that but then you heard a woman's cry of pleasure and your heart stopped. You slowly opened the door to his room and found him on the bed, all bare, and he wasn't alone, and he wasn't with just one woman either.

There was Dalia in front of him, sucking his cock and making him emit those noises that you thought only you owned, your eyes welled up as you glanced at his face, you recognised that look, he was enjoying it you could tell.

"Tell me..did she ever please you like this?" Dalia asked him so he snickered, his chest was heaving in a hypnotic rhythm, you wanted to hate him , he was breaking your heart so cruelly but you couldn't stop admiring his beautiful features, he was yours, he promised to be yours then what happened? You always feared you weren't enough and all your fears had come true to life.

"Never, she couldn't please a man to save her life. She doesn't compare to you, any of you, she's beneath me and all my darlings over here, she truly means nothing to me now"

The words cut you deeply and you gasped as you could hear the sound of your own heart breaking over and over again. He looked at you finally and instead of showing the signs of feeling remorse or pity even he smiled, he felt happy as if he was free to do whatever he desired now. He turned his head and kissed Darcy, then he turned to the other side and kissed Atrishia, they all clung around his body like snakes as he pleased them just the way they wanted.

"I thought you loved me lo…why are you doing this to me?" You screamed at him, the world around you started to spin and your chest felt constricted, you couldn't breathe, you couldn't take the betrayal, he was your best friend, how could he do this to you?

"You burdened me and you bored me to death y/n, now fucking get out of here"

He spat venomously and you wanted to run away but your feet felt stuck, your body was paralyzed, you couldn't breathe, you couldn't breathe at all.....

Loud sound of the alarm made you wake up suddenly, you looked at the ceiling but your brain felt deprived of the oxygen, you felt as if you were holding on to your breath for too long. You took a deep breath as you sat up and that's when the dam broke and you burst into a fit of cries, the vivid dream was still a fresh in your head.

You could see it clearly, your Loki with those women, the cruel words that he spoke to you the way he put you down in front of them, it was just a nightmare and that made you feel slightly better but it was still the worst you had ever felt after a nightmare. What if those nightmares were to come true the way your dreams did in the previous timeline?

Once your breathing had leveled you looked at the clock and it was 3:30 already, you barely had gotten any sleep and the way you have been obsessing over the female attention he had around him you knew something like this was bound to happen.

How much reassurance did you need from him? You sighed as you pondered over the thought and got off the bed to get ready. Once you were dressed up for the day you ran to the kitchen the tower had on every floor and made yourself a cup of coffee as well as brewed black tea for Loki since none of the cafes were open and kitchen staff wasn't at work either this early in the morning.

By the time you reached Loki's room it was 4:30 already and he was getting prepped for the early morning appearance at the news channel. Thankfully Dalia wasn't there for once and you didn't want to see her face first thing after that nightmare

His makeup was already done and hair was slicked back neatly, his stylist Riva was putting the coat on him when you entered, the only reason Riva didn't intimidate you was because she was a lesbian. You felt pathetic.

"Good morning darling" he smiled as he looked at you but just by looking at your face he could tell you weren't feeling good, perhaps you didn't sleep well after Tony's birthday party. He really needed to spend a night with you, not just for you but his own peace of mind.

"Good morning sir..i brought your tea" you said as you kept the cup on his dresser.

"Thank you sweet Lady, sleep alright?" You nodded as he said that but he could read your lies. As Riva got a phone call she excused herself and made her way out of the room.

You were standing a few feet away from him as you supported your side against the closet so he tilted his head and looked at you up and down, thoroughly checking you out, a simple pair of jeans and shirt, you barely had any makeup on and even with your puffed up sleep deprived face his heart fluttered at the sight of you. To know that you belonged to him completely would never not make his heart soar and cock uncomfortable at all times.

"Come here" he said to you softly so you looked around,

"Somebody will come lo" you answered him so he walked towards you instead and cupped your cheeks to kiss you, as his lips met with yours the fear you had from the nightmare slowly started to chip away for a moment. It was just a nightmare, he'd never be so cruel to you. The feeling of relief didn't last though.

"Are you well? You can stay here if you wish to, I will talk to Dalia" he said to you so you shook your head.

"I'll do my job"

"It is my job to take care of you"

"I told you don't worry about my work.. besides I want to get the fuck out of this tower" he sighed as you said that and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Loki?" You called out his name so he hummed in response "Can you…promise me something?"

"Anything my love" he smiled, his thumb caressing your cheek before he placed them under your eye to reduce some of that puffiness with his cold touch.

"If someday, you find someone that.." you hesitated to speak your thoughts, all of a sudden your words felt stupid, your insecurities felt unwarranted. He had done nothing wrong to you.

"Someone what?" He asked firmly so you looked down.

"That makes you feel something for them, promise me that you'll tell me before you do something, promise me you'll not keep me in dark or hurt me behind my back" As soon as the words left your mouth you regretted them completely. His eyes teared up as he registered the meaning behind these words, you thought someday he'd stray away from you and cheat on you?

"I promise" he said as he took a few steps behind, tears rolled down his cheek so he wiped them away quickly. No you didn't need his promise, you wanted him to tell you that he'd never even think of doing that to you, that he'd never find someone else but he promised you instead.

You wanted to play victim and say something but as you looked at his face you realized that he wasn't trying to spite you by giving you what you asked him for, he was just hurt, deeply hurt that you'd even insinuate that. He had no intentions of ever letting you go, he thought he had made it clear with his actions but he didn't blame you either for feeling this way.

It still hurt though, the way you seemed so terrified as you asked him to promise you that he'll tell you before he cheats on you was haunting him. He wished there was a spell he could have used to rid of these insecurities you had but he knew there were no spells or potions to heal those emotional scars.

Before you could say anything the room was bustling again as Dalia arrived with the whole team, you wanted to run to him and hug him, tell him that you just wanted him to reassure you again but you felt helpless at the moment. It felt too much.

Until now Loki hadn't really done anything outside of this tower, they came to him here for every interview, press conference and photoshoots, he wasn't allowed to go out except for those missions he went on to so this national appearance was a big deal, you wanted to go with him, you were his assistant after all and you desperately needed to leave the tower but Dalia told you that you won't be required as she'll be present there. You didn't argue with her either, Loki had already left for the studio and you were supposed to go with Dalia in a different vehicle but she denied you. You turned around and made your way to your room.

As soon as Loki realised you weren't there with him he texted you immediately

His message made you feel worse, you didn't enjoy this, not at all, but at times it felt inevitable.

In the previous timeline Dalia never fell for Loki, so why did this happen this time? There were so many things different this time, you couldn't help but wonder if you were the reason for it, perhaps things weren't meant to be like this. Perhaps you had messed with fate's original plan and it was going to come back and bite you sooner or later.

Loki put the phone in his pocket, his eyes were moist, he really wanted you to be here, he knew how stressed you had been at the tower and he wanted you to come out and be with him here.

As Dalia approached him he immediately composed himself and turned to her,

"Where's my assistant?" He asked her and she shrugged as if she didn't care about the question which she probably didn't.

"What?"

"Y/n…My …assistant..where is she?" He asked her a bit more sternly this time.

"She wasn't needed here" she answered shamelessly,

"You are not to decide when I need her and when I don't, the next time you dare interfere in my matters i give you my word Dalia, I will make your life a living hel on midgard..you hear me?" She looked terrified as he said that.

"I uhhh…" her lips trembled and eyes teared up but she didn't say a word and he didn't feel bad about her reaction at all, he knew he was coming across as very suspicious right now but he had lost his cool completely, the little altercation he had with you was already enough as it was and not having you here wasn't something you both needed today.

"I asked an intelligible question. Do you hear me…or not?" He glared at her again so she nodded furiously.

"Yes Loki i understand"

It was really hard for him to stay smiley and cheerful for the interview but he knew he had to fake it. He really wanted to go back to the tower and talk to you, at times he really wished he could have told everyone who you were to him and what you meant to him but what had happened to Melissa the last time had solidified that fear he had regarding your safety, if something was to happen and god forbid he fails to protect you then he knew for sure that he'd never be able to move on from losing you..

After the interview the whole team had to leave for yet another mission so he called you as soon as he was alone but you didn't pick up and that annoyed him even further. However he realised how tired you seemed and If you were sleeping then he didn't want to bother you again so he sent a voicemail instead.

A few hours later when you woke up you immediately looked at the time and it was late in the noon, you had been so sleep deprived that you dozed out like a baby. You were going to call Loki but you already had a voice note from him so you opened it.

Hello darling..i uhh

He took a deep breath before he spoke again

Interview went well, I'm not sure if you watched it, perhaps you are asleep because you didn't receive my call..i hope that is the reason and I'm not being ignored here

He chuckled nervously and you felt your heart breaking slightly, what were you doing with him? He didn't deserve to feel that way, he needed you but this constant insecurities you had always created a tiff between you two.

Anyways i uhh.. I'm going to go for yet another Avengers matter so I will see you at night Princess, I Love You.

The voicemail ended and you just wanted to cry again because you didn't know why you always did this whenever he was going to do something dangerous, you really needed help, you had to do something before you cause more problems between Loki and yourself.

Your whole day went by anxiously, when Loki wasn't there you had to be on Dalia's call at all times, the pay was good and you had never felt so compensated before so you didn't want to complain much.

During lunch hour you met Pepper and Jane in the dining area so you all could eat together. Jane really wanted to get to know you both while she was here. A year ago, if someone had told you that you'd be having lunch with the CEO of Stark Industries, you would have slapped that person for making such a joke.

"Where's Darcy?" You asked Jane even though she was also one of the last people you wanted to see after that horrible nightmare.

"Ahhh she's out exploring NYC, she has a few people she knows here" you nodded as Jane said that.

"So y/n how's it going with Loki?" Pepper smirked so you shook your head.

"Nothing is going on" you said to her but she kept smiling,

"I know..I know..been there, done that"

Well Paprika didn't know shit.

"Ummm can I ask you a question? I mean it's not something I want.. Loki is not my type really but ..I'm. Just curious " you said to her so she nodded.

"Well i always read about Tony and how uhh he ummm you know..women..and "

"His Playboy image??" She finished your words and you were thankful for that.

"Yeahhhh how did you deal with that? I mean he still gets the constant attention from women and it must be hard right? I think I can ask the same question to you Janey"

"Do you have a nickname for me? I love you already'" You bit on your cheeks as she said that, It slipped out of your mouth.

"To answer your question well I don't really think about it much, I mean I trust Thor and we have a connection since we met, it's different with him, I feel different with him, I just know he won't hurt me like that" Jane smiled as she answered your question.

"Ditto" Pepper said as she munched on her salad.

Oh to be this secure, how that must feel?

"Are you bothered by the attention Loki is getting from his ..admirers?" Pepper smirked again so you shrugged in response.

"Why would I be bothered by that? He's not my boyfriend or anything really"

"But you really want him don't you" Jane said so you glared at her before you finally smiled.

You liked having friends, you liked having people around you that weren't out to hurt you, and you had the best of them all with you, your Loki, so why was it so hard to remember what you had with him as soon as he was out of your sight?

Around ten at night you showered and got in bed but you couldn't sleep because Loki would come back soon, he had texted you already.

You felt so overly anxious, you just wanted him to come back so you could hold him and apologize for your behavior and what you had said to him, you'd have been extremely offended if it was Loki who had said something like that to you. Don't give shit you'd not take, you always wanted to live by that policy.

A few minutes later you saw a green shimmer appear in the middle of your room and there he was. The precious love of your life.

He had just showered and had no shirt on- offensive. His hair was wet and he was dripping still, reminded you of the first day you had met him.

You sat up on the bed as he walked towards you,

"Lie down, I'm going straight for the snuggles, is that alright?" He asked so you smiled and opened your arms for him. He quickly crawled into the bed and placed his head down on your chest, his body resting right next to yours.

You caressed his wet scalp and sighed, that's all you needed in that moment, you didn't think you could have gone longer without him by your side.

"Did you get hurt badly?" You asked him and he noticed the tremble in your voice so he smiled and looked up, his lips latched on your forehead before he trailed down and kissed the tip of your nose.

"I am all perfect darling, I need you to talk to me about the incident this morning" he said to you as he tucked your unruly hair behind your ears and ran his fingers through your scalp.

"I had an awful dream" his brows furrowed as you said that.

"What did you see?" He noticed the tears bubbling so as soon as they rolled down the corner of your eyes he wiped them away

"It was horrible.." you sniffled, you didn't even want to recall it "It was about you, you were in bed with Dalia, Darcy and Atrishia, all at once, doing bad things and you said awful words about me"

His eyes welled up too as you said that, no wonder you seemed so terrified and asked him to promise you something so ridiculous.

"I did that huh?" He asked before he leaned in to kiss you softly.

"I know it's not right or fair to you that I allowed a dream to ruin my mood and my thoughts about you but it's not just the dream..it's just how I feel all the time..i feel like someday you'll find someone else that will catch your eyes and then your heart, there are women out there in the world that would suit you better and I know that and it bothers me so much because I think you'll leave me all alone like everyone else did"

By the time you were done speaking you were sobbing uncontrollably so one of his arms went under your waist and he pulled you in a warm embrace as he sat up taking you along with him, he held you like a baby and allowed you to let it all out, holding it in was doing you no good, he knew that at the very least.

"It's okay sweetheart, it's okay..let it out, i am right here" he kissed your neck softly as he spoke, after what felt like hours you finally pulled away to look at him,

"I have felt loved by many people before lo, they told me they'd always be there but do you see anyone by my side? They all left as soon as they found something better, something they thought they deserved, i was just a service stop they used when they needed me, never the destination" you hiccuped as you said that and all he wanted to do was make it all stop, he wanted you to stop living in such a fear and he wanted these insecurities to stop hurting you like that

"I don't want to be a stop..I want to be your destination lo"

Tears rolled down his eyes as you said that. He cupped your cheeks and placed his head down on yours, for a few moments he didn't say anything but then he finally spoke.

"You're my only destination, you're my only hope, my only way, my only home. The moment I met you I found myself having a moment of peace, do you have any clue how long I have been searching for that feeling?" You shook your head as he said that but the tears didn't stop coming.

"A thousand years darling, sure i lived lavishly and had nothing to be ungrateful for but at nights when I finally laid down in my bed all alone, i felt restless, I felt hollow as if i was missing a piece of me, and you weren't even here, you didn't even exist back then" your arms wrapped around his neck as he said that.

Why couldn't you just remember his words when you needed to remember them? In moments of insecurity why couldn't you just remind yourself what you meant to him? Why did you always allow your past to ruin your present as well as your future?

You had to let go and you had to heal, you had to seek help.

You wanted to hold that thought but then he said something that almost made you want to pass out because of the whirlpool of emotions that were raging inside you.

"Marry me my little darling"

You pulled away from him, a gasp escaped your throat as he said that.

"What?"

"Marry me love, let me show you that I am here with you, by your side, for life, forever" you gulped as he said that, of all the ways you imagined how this moment would be like, this wasn't the one of them.

"Are you being serious right now?"

He smiled and waved his fingers, then there was a ring that he was holding between his fingers, it wasn't an actual ring made from jewels but something he had just made.

"If you say yes to me we will get wedded in the traditions of pure Asgardian customs, right this very moment my love" you looked at him awestruck as he said that, he wasn't messing with you.. "Then tomorrow we can go and marry each other again as per the requirements of your Midgardian laws"

"Lokii–" he cut you off as you said his name.

"You're the only one for me, now and forever, so why the delay?" He mumbled against your lips before he kissed you deeply, when he pulled away you were breathless and you knew what you wanted to do.

"Okay..okay I'll marry you baby, let's get married" he smiled and slipped the ring on your finger and then he kissed you again, as passionately as he could.

You couldn't believe this was happening, you felt terrified but you felt excited too.

However your happiness didn't last long because an impending call was awaiting you, destroying the momentarily joy you had felt just now. You heard the Frantic voice of your mother on the phone and your gut sank immediately. Mrs Geller was in the hospital after a drunk driver had hit her while she was going home after a grocery trip. She was in a coma and she was struggling with her life.

You didn't know why this was happening but you had a feeling it had something to do with you and Loki.

You had changed your fate but it didn't just affect you, it affected everyone around you. In the correct path of journey, the one that you were meant to take, the one where you were supposed to marry Strange and find Loki years later, in that journey things would have been different.

Unbeknownst to you if you hadn't messed with your destined journey then on the same day as today Mrs Geller would go for the grocery shopping but you had tagged along with her, while walking back home she was almost hit by a drunk driver but you grabbed her arm and pulled her towards you thus saving her from getting hurt in this accident, but since you decided to alter your path you weren't there to save her life.

You weren't where you were supposed to be. You had messed with the time and it was its turn now.

🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

Note : Every action has a consequence you all. Also as pure as his proposal was, she was marrying him for the wrong reasons, she needs to reflect on that.

Taglist

@annoyingsweetsstranger @mcufan72 @nixymarvelkins @stupidthoughtsinwriting @fictive-sl0th @eleniblue @violethaze @anukulee @ladymischief11 @12-pm-510 @wolfsmom1 @whylokiissocute @pics-and-fanfics @daddylokisqueen @olivertwistrabbit @blog-the-lilly @prettylittlepluviophile @vanilla-daydreaming @somewiseguy @yaaamadaa-blog @dragonmurray @elthreetimes @gruftiela @thenotoriouserg @greep215 @yallgotkik @tactac286 @janineb86 @sflame15-blog @nyxlaufeyson @lokidokieokie @purplekitten30 @sunnixart @nikkig496-blog @frozenhuntress67 @qardasngan @rosecentury @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @hrefna-the-raven @jennyggggrrr

@cosniffee

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Tabula Rasa: Part Three

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

You two turn the corner and see Mr. Corbett looking around as if he's debating something. You and Spencer slink up to his side, startling him a bit.

"Mr. Corbett. Hey, I just wanted to make sure you knew that cross-examination wasn't as bad as it sounded."

"I'm not worried," he shrugs. "I have a better understanding of things now."

"Understanding?"

"After Darci died, I started to see a therapist. I had a lot of guilt, you know. I thought that I should have been there for her, saved her somehow. I don't know. This guy, this shrink, he always brought it back to control. He said I had to accept the fact that there were always gonna be things in life I couldn't control."

"That's very wise of him," you say, and Spencer agrees.

"I realize I have no say over what goes on in that courtroom. See you later, Spencer."

Mr. Corbett walks away and shoves his hands into his pockets.

"That's weird," Spencer mutters.

"What's weird?"

"He called me by my first name."

Word got back to Penelope about Nina Moore, and she was able to find the exact woman who kept visiting Brian. Her real name is Nina Genesee who got married in 1978 where she changed her last name to Moore. Her current address is here in Madison Heights, Virginia. The confusing part is that JJ and Emily spoke to this woman, and she told them she's never even been to Roanoke.

You're not sure why she would lie, and you're not sure why she hasn't visited him since he woke up.

You need answers, and this woman has them. Rossi wants to talk to her, and you opted to go with him. If she decides to lie again, you'd be able to see the truth hiding behind her words. So as to not overwhelm her, it's only you and Rossi.

"Nina Moore?" Rossi says once she opens the door. "We're with the FBI."

"Please, come in," she says, knowing why you're here.

You two walk inside and sit with her in her living room.

"Why didn't you come forward before? Why did you lie to us?"

"I was protecting my family," she sighs. "I was a kid myself. When you give away a child, I know it sounds cold, but you just want to forget about it and believe it never happened. So, that's how I lived."

"Trust me, I know how that feels," you say truthfully. "If you wanted to forget, then why did you maintain a relationship with him?"

"Maintained? No. I only saw him once before the accident. I never thought he could do the things he did."

"When was the meeting?" you ask.

"Five years ago. He just called me out of the blue. The records were supposed to be sealed. I think he hired someone to find me."

"What did you talk about?"

"He was interested in my family and my kids. He just wanted to call every once in a while. Maybe to meet around the holidays, but I couldn't. I could barely bring myself to look at him."

"You rejected him," you say, and suddenly, his stressor becomes crystal clear.

"Whatever he became, I can't help but feel like it's my fault."

"No, don't do that to yourself," you shake your head. "This was entirely his fault."

"Why did you visit him at the hospital?" Rossi asks.

"Because it was safe, I suppose. I could be there for him and no one had to know. Because when I would read to him and listen to him breathe, it felt right."

The front door opens, and Nina's husband walks in with no knowledge of what's happening. She gets up and immediately takes him off to the side to give him some sort of an explanation.

"Her rejecting him is what's his stressor. He doesn't feel wanted and ends up killing people. She's just lucky he took no for an answer. It could have been a lot worse if he pressed the issue."

"Maybe he did," he mutters. Rossi interrupts the couple who are talking in the kitchen. "Mrs. Moore. Did he ever send you anything? Any gifts?"

Nina sighs and searches for something before taking out a large gift box. She opens it, showing jewelry, watches, and other knickknacks.

"I wanted to throw them away, but I couldn't."

"Well, now we know where his trophies went," you sigh.

Having this box of trophies that he stole from his victims will be a good thing to have in court, so the next day, when his trial continues, Hotch is ready to take down Brian. Another good thing coming from the visit to Nina, is that she agreed to testify in court against Brian. You're not sure how this is going to go, but you need to be there for it.

You and Spencer arrive after Hotch and Cece left, and as soon as you step out of the car, something doesn't feel right.

"Are you okay?"

"Something's not right." You shut the door and look around the parking lot, spotting Mr. Corbett with a determined look on his face. He's nervous, but not because of the consequences of what he's about to do, but because of what he's about to do. "He has a gun, Spencer."

You two rush over to Mr. Corbett without raising suspicions, and Spencer grabs his arm before he can go any further.

"Mr. Corbett, it won't help. Think about what this would do. Think about Darci."

"I am thinking about her," he says emotionally.

"If she knew what you were about to do, and depending on your belief system, maybe she does, do you think she'd want this? Give me the gun. You want him to suffer, but he'll be dead. He won't feel anything, you'll be in prison, and you will regret it, believe me."

"I'm already in prison." You look into his eyes, and he sighs sadly. HE hands over the gun, and you take it from him. "How did you know?"

"Your behavior. You were too calm yesterday, and you called me by my first name."

"If you're so good at predicting things, how come you couldn't stop him before he took my Darci?"

"Look, I shouldn't say anything, but there's some new evidence," you blurt.

"What evidence?"

"We found Brian's birth mother, and she is going to testify right now. Please be there. You'll be able to hear what she has to say."

You don't tell him about Darci's watch because that might make him even more upset. Instead, you leave it at that and hope for the best. Once Mr. Corbett calms down, you three head inside where the court session is already taking place. Nina is already on the stand, and you quickly take your seat.

"My name is Nina Moore," she says for the court.

"What is your relationship to the defendant?" Cece asks.

"I'm his birth mother, his biological mother. I gave him up for adoption when he was a baby."

"How long ago was that?"

"Thirty-seven years."

"So, you didn't have a relationship with him?"

"No, I never saw him until 2003."

"Did he track you down?"

"Yes. We met at a cafe, talked for a bit, and then he left.

"What did you talk about?"

"He said he wanted to be a part of my life. I told him it was impossible."

"Did you feel that he was being unrealistic? Irrational, even?"

Something in the air shifts, and you look over at Brian who is watching Nina with a close eye. His mood suddenly changes, and it changes from being in a calm state to almost rage. He's pissed, and you know for a fact that he's starting to remember. He wouldn't get this angry at her if he wasn't.

"I think he's starting to remember," you whisper to Spencer.

"How do you know?"

"He's very angry at his mother. The kind of anger that he felt when she rejected him the first time. The kind of anger that made him start killing in the first place."

"No, not at all. He was just a little lost," Nina says. "He wanted to belong to something. Turning him away was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. A person can't live two lives. I'm sorry, Brian. I'm so sorry."

"Mrs. Moore, did the defendant make any subsequent attempts to communicate with you?" Cece continues.

"A few months after that, I got something in the mail. There was no note or anything, just a postmark from Roanoke, and I knew that's where he lived."

"What were the contents of the envelope?"

"It was a necklace. Two months after that I got another. Then a watch. I thought he was trying to persuade me with gifts. I thought they were estate jewelry."

"Your honor, I'd like to enter into evidence people's exhibit 'F' through 'H'." Cece hands out the evidence to the judge before showing Nina the items. "Are these the items that you received in the mail?"

"Yes."

"In this photograph, do you see the watch that's in this bag?"

"Yes."

"Let the record reflect the witness has identified the watch worn in this photograph by murder victim Darci Corbett." Liam's emotional state skyrockets, and if he still had his gun, you know he'd use it. "I have nothing further."

You lean toward Liam who is trying hard not to cry.

"You're doing everything you can, Mr. Corbett. Darci will get justice."

"Court is adjourned until nine am tomorrow for cross," the judge announces, slapping his gavel on the desk.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[ryuzakemo128]

Ghosts of the Past

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Marianna (Female Reader)

Prompt: "By all means disappear into the darkness, not that I'm scared or anything." and “These visions are a curse my friend, I know that now."

Prompt List: Link

Requested?: No

Trigger Warning(s):

Mild Violence

Possible mention of sh

Mention of smut

Drug Usage

Marianna's P.O.V

"My nightmares are making more sense than I would have wanted them to right now. I don't understand what happened or why they changed from what they used to be. I can no longer see into the future. I said into the tape recorder, "but I am constantly reminded of everything I have done in the past."

"What on earth are you doing in the bathroom?" Steve asked her knocking on the bathroom door.

"Nothing, don't worry about it." I replied walking out of the bathroom.

"Then why do you have a tape recorder with you in the bathroom?" Steve asked.

"Mrs. Kelley said recording what the nightmares are like, or even just what they were, would help." I said to him, debating whether to continue recording or redo it a third time.

"I thought you didn't need to see her anymore." Steve replied slightly confused.

"I thought that too. But that didn't last as long as I wanted it to." I replied.

"I'm guessing Eddie's still asleep?" Steve says changing the subject.

"Yeah. He's in his room at the moment." I replied wondering where the conversation would head next.

"I'll speak to you later." Steve says before heading back to bed.

"Good choice, see you later." I replied closing the bathroom door and returning to my dream diary.

I sighed thinking about it, what happened with Carver and Morgan. How easy life would have been if I wasn't there in the first place. As if I could have known how things would have played out the way that they did. Eddie, Steve or any of the others have never known how my own recovery is coming along. I didn't want to burden them with my own problems. My own problems being the intrusive thoughts that I have been having for a few months after Billy died.

I felt like a very useful hammer and that's about it. I started smoking pot at the beginning of the year even before Billy's death. I would state it was only to get the intrusive thoughts outside of my head. But he didn't need to know that part of it and part of me liked the fact that he never asked about it.

"If you don't talk about your own demons, no one will be able to help you." Darcy would state time and time again. But he's no longer around to lecture her about healthy habits and Kenny wasn't there to keep her in check.

"You're falling apart at the seams and no one is able to see it because you're not letting them." A voice said to her, sounding so much like Darcy it gave her goosebumps.

I was pulled away from my thoughts, as Steve was saying "How long are you going to be in there? I got to use the bathroom Marina."

"I'll be out in a few minutes." I yelled out in response, shoving my tape recorder and other stuff to take out of the bathroom. My head is spinning and my stomach feels like someone just punched it really hard.

Eddie would have known about it if I said anything to him, but I never did and he never really seemed to notice anything different. At least until he asked about it three weeks after her ex died. When he stayed the night.

Eddie would have known about it if I said anything to him, but I never did and he never really seemed to notice anything different. At least until he asked about it three weeks after her ex died. When he stayed the night.

"I'm surprised you'd ask about it." I said to him.

"You've been acting like a nervous wreck for the past few months, even when he was still alive." Eddie pointed out which made it sting more.

"I see. I didn't notice." I muttered petting Prince as he sat on my chest. Remaining adamant to swatting away Eddie's hand each time he tried to touch him.

"You haven't been that way since I met you a few years ago." Eddie stated.

"I can't see the future anymore, I haven't been able to for almost two years now. So I'm quite literally flying blind." I explained to him.

"So you're smoking pot because you can't see the future?" Eddie asked.

"No, because no my nightmares make sense now that I have to live with what I've done." I explained.

"You make it sound like you've killed someone before." Eddie says to her.

"Which I have done several times." I say to him.

"And you're only just telling me about it?" Eddie says moving further away from me.

"I'm literally high as a kite right now. You really think I'm trying to kill you?" I asked him confused.

"How am I supposed to know that?" Eddie asked in response to my question.

"By not assuming your friend is out to kill you that's how." I replied going to feed my cats.

We didn't talk about it again for a while as he stayed in his room and Steve used to watch from the hallway confused about what the conversation was about.

I walked to bed after Steve got into the bathroom and I didn't understand why things were showing up that I don't remember. But I have a feeling it's only going to get more complicated. I decided to just do some shopping for a few hours. While the others hung out at home.

I left a note behind saying where I would be and when I would be back. "Hey guys, I'm out shopping and I'll be back in a few hours. If my parents show up don't answer the door and most importantly there's lunch in the fridge."

On the way to the store all I could think about are the friends I feel like I have disappointed, “These visions are a curse my friend, I know that now." I thought to myself as I went to get the cart that someone else decided to leave in the middle of the parking lot.

I bought Eddie and Steve presents. Sometimes I feel like I'm just running from my own obligations and am burying what I should have told them a while ago. Just putting it off for another day each and every time.

After the shopping trip I went back home to think about whether or not to tell them everything I should have told them already. But part of me is incredibly afraid of how they might react to it and another part of me just wants to die in my own bedroom too.

I started hallucinating that Eddie was walking into the forest near the backyard. I thought to myself, "By all means disappear into the darkness, not that I'm scared or anything." As I went to follow what it looked to be like him until Eddie stopped me from going further.

"Hey, Marina" Eddie said to her snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"I thought you were over there." I said to him visibly uncomfortable.

"I was in there the whole time." Eddie replied just as confused.

"Weird." I thought to myself. "I need to to talk to you about something important." I say to him.

"You're not breaking up with me are you?" Eddie responded.

"What? No. It's about something else." I replied as I explained about what my nightmares were about and how much detail each one were.

"Well, that explains, a lot." Eddie stated.

"Pretty weird, I know." I murmured staring at the grass in front of me.

"The dreams are weird, but the sheer amount of strength you have is way scarier." Steve interjected.

"It's tame compared to Tanya's. Although she's slightly unhinged from what I remember." I commented.

It felt better now that I had off my chest and I felt a weight just lifted up from my shoulders afterwards. Maybe things are finally getting better now.

[myladybelle]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter twelve

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.4k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, swearing, reader wears a dress, heels, and lipstick, alcohol consumption, mention of underage drinking, use of y/n (oof there’s a lot in this chapter, sorry guys) 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐇, 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐔𝐓 – 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝟏𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟗. 𝟎𝟕:𝟎𝟎𝐏𝐌.

“Oh my God, you’re really rich,” you declared, gaping at the sight of Patrick’s childhood home. The two of you were invited to a party his parents were having. Patrick’s attendance was mandatory because they knew he had a break after you graduated. 

Even though you were used to ritzy and unnecessarily large houses, having grown up in Scarsdale, Patrick’s family estate was beyond what you were used to. As he led you up the walkway to the grand mansion he called home, you were overwhelmed by its imposing structure, made of elegant, pale limestone, and adorned with ivy-covered walls. It was surrounded by several acres of lush, meticulously manicured gardens, with perfectly trimmed hedges and majestic trees lining the cobblestone driveway. And that was just the exterior.

The interior was even more ornate, which you didn’t think was possible considering the intricately carved wooden door you entered through. Your breath caught in your chest when your heels clicked on the decadent marble floors, eyes dancing around the house to admire the crystal chandeliers, expansive windows, and large paintings hung on the walls. Unimpressed by his usual surroundings, Patrick led you through the house towards the reception room as you gasped.

“Is that a real Francis Bacon?” you exclaimed, staring at the famous painting as your boyfriend pulled you through his house. 

“Probably,” Patrick replied. “Otherwise my dad paid $86 million for a really good replica.”

“Your dad is the guy who bought the Francis Bacon painting last year? I learned about this in my art history class last quarter,” you realised, wide eyes greedily inspecting the renowned artwork. “I know I’m repeating myself, but you’re really fucking rich, Pat!”

“You’re rich too.”

You shook your head, laughter bubbling from your lips. “My mother made money in tennis and has some kind of a wealth manager who invests it so she can stay rich. We don’t have expensive paintings or crystal chandeliers. You’re old money rich,” you accused Patrick in a hushed whisper. “You’re so rich that your parents aren’t going to approve of me!” 

The musical sound of Patrick’s cackles echoed through the large hall. “Trust me, they’re going to approve of you more than they approve of me,” Patrick insisted, glancing back and smiling reassuringly at you. “Besides, my parents really aren’t that intense about who I date.”

“Your parents are going to think I used my wiles to seduce you and steal your family fortune,” you said, ignoring his encouragement. “Honestly, I’m kind of mad I didn’t think of it myself.”

“You’re overreacting,” Patrick accused you. “Your house is big.” 

“Yeah, my house is pretty big,” you admitted. “But not compared to this! You should provide headphones for a guided tour, like the ones they have in museums. It looks like Mr Darcy should be living here and fending women off,” you emphasised how beautiful and humongous his house was. “Is that an original Jeff Koons balloon dog sculpture?!”

“All right, Elizabeth Bennett, settle down,” Patrick teased, coming to a halt outside a set of deep brown wooden double doors. 

He was getting noticeably anxious. You noticed him shifting nervously from foot to foot, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. The hand that clasped yours shook, and you watched as Patrick swallowed hard, the nervous gulp audible in the quiet room. His forehead glistened with a faint sheen of sweat, and he kept wiping his free palm on his suit trousers. Patrick’s eyes – unusually dark and nervous – had a distant, unfocused look, as if he was lost in the maze of his anxious thoughts.

Worriedly, you asked, “Pat?”

“I always feel like I’m ten years old when I visit my parents,” Patrick confessed quietly. “I know they love me and I’m a lot luckier than most people, but I just know they think tennis is a waste of time. It’s like they’re rooting for me to fail so I can join the family business, get a cushy job, and continue the family tradition of being a rich asshole.”

“Don’t they know you can still be a rich asshole if you have a successful tennis career?” you teased, trying to cheer your boyfriend up. Patrick chuckled a little. “We can leave whenever you want to. We don’t even have to go in at all.”

“They’ve been helping me out and paying for my accommodation on tour,” Patrick admitted. “I haven’t been winning enough competitions to cover that, so I kind of owe them.”

“Fuck that,” you declared. “Fuck owing them. The Nike sponsorship more than covers accommodation costs, you can just stay with me from now on,” you offered. “I don’t want you to put yourself through this if it’s unnecessary.”

“I have to face the music eventually,” Patrick decided, sighing defeatedly. “It’s one small party. If we do this, I don’t have to show my face until this time next year, so it’s worth it.”

“If you’re sure.” You smiled encouragingly at your boyfriend. His deep blue eyes searched yours, looking for a semblance of comfort. When Patrick was anxious, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted, and his lips pursed worriedly. “You’re incredible, Patrick. If they don’t see it then it’s their loss,” you insisted. “Ready?”

Patrick nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you when you and Patrick opened the doors and stepped into the reception room of his parents’ mansion. You were immediately enveloped by the lavish party. Waiters in crisp white uniforms manoeuvred through the crowd of guests, holding silver platters with tiny food and flutes of champagne. A crystal chandelier cast an enchanting glow over the room. Freshly cut flowers adorned the room in crystal vases, and the guests at the party were dressed to the nines. In the corner, a pianist played a soft song on the grand piano, blending in with the quiet conversation and bursts of laughter. 

“What did you say your dad’s job was?” you wondered as a waiter stopped for you to take a champagne flute. 

“His company works in Financial Management,” Patrick replied, grabbing and downing his champagne in one go. You elbowed him in the ribs, a silent yet stern reminder that he had to pace himself, and he nearly spit out his drink in surprise. “I don’t know what the fuck it means, but he gets a boatload of money for dealing with other people’s money.”

“Right.” You nodded, sipping your champagne and nervously scanning the room. 

“Should we get introductions out of the way?” Patrick wondered, fiddling with the top button of his tuxedo jacket. You nodded, giving him a reassuring kiss on the cheek before he led you to a small group of adults by the small of your back. “Mom, Dad,” he greeted two ornately dressed individuals.

“Darling,” Patrick’s mother greeted him with two air kisses, and his father nodded. “So good to see you.” She eyed you next, and you were grateful Patrick had warned you to wear your best dress and jewellery–and that your house was only a half hour away despite being in a different state. Mrs Zweig had looked at your dress with an approving smile, her eyes shining as she nodded slightly in appreciation. “You must be Y/N.”

“This is Y/N Y/L/N, my girlfriend,” Patrick introduced you. 

You reached out to shake his parents’ hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Zweig,” you said earnestly. “You have a beautiful home. I love your Francis Bacon in the foyer.”

“Thank you,” Mr Zweig replied. “It’s marvellous, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely exquisite,” you agreed.

“These are my cousins Jess and Alex,” Patrick added, motioning to the dark-haired man and woman beside his parents. They looked older than you and Patrick but still below thirty-five. 

“You look incredibly familiar,” Jess admitted as she shook your hand.

“Y/N just graduated from Stanford, she started playing tennis professionally at the start of the year,” Patrick added, knowing that was where his family recognised you from. It felt nice to brag about your accomplishments, but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew your achievements would translate to his failures in his parents’ eyes. 

“Of course, I know you,” Alex exclaimed when you shook his hand, eyes lighting up in recognition. “I read about you in the New York Times last month! You’re the Stanford student who made it to the semi-finals of Indian Wells and the French Open! Apparently, they were the first professional tournaments you ever played in.”

You tried to smile, feeling awkward at the sudden bout of attention as heads turned in your direction and whispers broke out across the room. “That’s me,” you confirmed humbly. “I didn’t realise the Times wrote an article about me.”

“You’re a hometown favourite, they gushed about you for nearly an entire page,” Jess added, looking impressed. “I love that dress, by the way, who made that?”

You glanced down at your dress, a strapless pale yellow gown with pink and green beads arranged to look like floral vines, and said, “Elie Saab, a few years ago.”

“Couture, no doubt,” Jess mumbled, nodding in approval. “Gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

“How on earth did you manage to become a semifinalist at two tournaments in your last semester at Stanford?” Mr Zweig wondered. His voice was void of emotion, but the raise of his eyebrows and the way his body inched closer to you betrayed his genuine interest. 

“Well, Indian Wells took place during the first two weeks of my last semester so I got permission to miss those classes,” you explained. “The Coachella Valley is just over an hour from Stanford by plane, so it worked out. The French Open was a little harder because it started two weeks before the last finals week of my college career,” you admitted. Everyone murmured amongst themselves at the dramatic turn of events. You chuckled quietly. “I was just as concerned when I found out. Luckily, my professors graciously gave me access to the lecture materials I missed, and I studied whenever I could find the time during the tournament. When I lost the semi-finals, I got straight on a plane back to school and sat an exam later that day.” 

“She did really well on them all,” Patrick bragged, knowing you weren’t trying to make a big deal out of it. “One professor said it was the best final paper he ever read and submitted it for a nationwide contest. He practically begged her to pursue academia instead of tennis, but she wouldn’t have it.”

“That’s really very impressive,” Mrs Zweig complimented you. She had liked you at first glance based on your attire alone, but hearing how hard you worked only solidified her initial impression of you. “Congratulations on your success so far.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledged, returning Mrs Zweig’s smile.

Mr Zweig, while impressed, didn’t look so happy. “I have to applaud your work ethic and success, but it does make me wonder why Patrick cannot see the same positive results.” You swallowed harshly as the group went quiet. Patrick’s hand curled into a fist as he lowered it from your back, trying to stifle his angry glare. “After all, you did all of that while juggling your final year at one of the most prestigious colleges in the country. Patrick has no such obligations to make arrangements for. Surely you should be doing just as well, if not even better, than your girlfriend. Especially since this is your fourth year on tour with no wins of significance, not even a quarter-final–” Mr Zweig turned to you– “Was it four years at Stanford that taught you to execute your plans for your life?” 

The condescending tone in Mr Zweig’s tone made you open your mouth to protest, but Patrick beat you to it. “Three.”

Mr Zweig frowned. “Pardon?”

“Three years at Stanford. She graduated early,” Patrick explained. 

Mr Zweig’s mouth pursed, and, for a moment, he looked just like Patrick. “Yes, well. Perhaps it has more to do with Miss Y/L/N’s character and persistence than her educational background.”

It both warmed and hurt your heart that Patrick was always proud of you, uplifting you and your hard work even while being berated by his father. Even though his mother seemed to care for Patrick, she never stepped in to defend her son, and you were beginning to understand why your boyfriend didn’t want to come in the first place.

Being there made you realise how lucky you were to have someone on your side in your family. Growing up, your mother put an incredible amount of pressure on you and only ever pointed out your flaws and deficits. Your father, on the other hand, was gracious and encouraging, never failing to remind you that all that mattered was your happiness and well-being. Standing in Patrick’s childhood home and understanding how isolated he was his whole life gave you a new outlook on how Patrick approached relationships. 

Mrs Zweig noted the mounting tension between her husband and only son, placing a hand on Mr Zweig’s arm to capture his attention. “Dear, the Caldwells are waving us over. They’ve been on the fence about that merger because of the financial implications, we ought to–”

“–Yes, of course,” Mr Zweig agreed, rushing off with his wife.

Once they were gone, Patrick finally relaxed. You watched as his clenched fists slackened, the tension draining from his knuckles as he exhaled slowly. The rigid set of his shoulders eased, his chest rising and falling in a steadier rhythm as he consciously slowed his breathing. Patrick’s jaw, previously tight with suppressed anger, gradually relaxed, and a faint, calm expression returned to his face. You stepped forward to comfort him, a hand resting against his cheek as you sent him a mixture of a consoling smile and a wince, sympathising with your boyfriend.

“That was brutal,” Alex mentioned bluntly, ruining the moment. Patrick shut his eyes, kissed your cheek appreciatively, and turned to his cousin. “Man, am I glad I joined the family business. Anyway-” Alex smirked, taking out a silver flask from his pocket– “I’ve got the hard stuff if you need it tonight, Patty. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Nice meeting you,” you said politely as Patrick’s cousins excused themselves to greet some of the other guests. Turning to face your boyfriend, you gently took his hands and smiled sympathetically. “So, those were your parents…”

When Patrick spoke, his voice was low and strained, lacking its usual energy, “Charming, aren’t they?” His normally bright blue eyes had dulled, and the corners of his mouth were turned down, betraying his disappointment. You squeezed Patrick’s hands reassuringly as he sighed heavily. “Believe it or not, that was one of the most civil conversations I’ve ever had with my father.”

“I think I know what you mean,” you admitted. “Ever since my parents divorced a couple years ago, I’ve been able to avoid my mother for the most part. Once in a while, she reaches out and says she wants to catch up, so I meet with her.” Patrick rubbed his thumbs along the back of your hands, nodding for you to continue. “Every single time, she criticises and belittles me instead of trying to find out what’s going on in my life. Eventually, I stopped replying to her texts.”

“Parents, huh?”

“Parents,” you agreed. “Now–” grinning and changing the subject, you put your hands on Patrick’s biceps and kissed him– “Which of these tiny little tarts that I keep seeing on trays is the least disgusting?”

Your efforts were rewarded with rambunctious laughter, and it was nice to see Patrick smile again. “Stay away from anything green, they’re probably spinach or broccoli tarts,” he advised. You grimaced simultaneously. “The best ones are the mushroom tarts, and I know for a fact that my mom keeps backup trays in the kitchen because they’re so popular.” Patrick raised an eyebrow suggestively. 

“To the kitchen,” you proposed, laughing when Patrick peppered kisses across your face before tugging you out the door. 

You wondered if Mr and Mrs Zweig would rescind their approval of you if they could see you sitting on a countertop in their maid’s pantry, hiding with their son as you both ate an entire tray of mushroom tarts by yourselves. You had kicked your heels off, and Patrick had removed his tuxedo jacket and tie, unbuttoning several buttons on his shirt to be more comfortable. The kitchen staff seemed to know Patrick well, and they didn’t bat an eye at him hiding in the pantry, so you assumed this wasn’t his first time escaping his parents’ events. 

“How much time do you spend in here?” you wondered, glancing around the maid’s pantry with an amused grin. “Nobody seems surprised that this is your hiding spot of choice.”

“When I was younger, this was always where I went during parties,” Patrick admitted, passing you another mushroom tart and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “I used to be too short to sit on the counter, so one of the maids would bring me a stepping stool.”

You laughed, picturing a young Patrick needing help to climb onto the counter to hide from his parents’ obnoxious guests. “That sounds just like something you’d do.”

“One time, Art came home with me for Christmas break, freshman year, and the two of us spent the entire night here while my parents entertained some insufferable family friends and their horrendously irritating dog,” Patrick recalled, shuddering at the memory. “I think it was the first time we got really drunk because we stole something disgusting from the alcohol cabinet.” He chuckled, a fond smile gracing his face. “Art threw up all night long, and I had to pretend he had food poisoning from the brussel sprouts. I think my parents were more concerned about him than they ever were about me when I got sick.”

Your heart dropped at Patrick’s last comment. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

He shrugged noncommittally, trying to appear like his words didn’t affect him. You knew from Patrick’s furrowed brows and pensive expression that his childhood memories still plagued him. 

“The second I realised I had any talent for tennis, I knew it had to be my way out,” Patrick said, placing his hands on your thighs and glancing down as he swallowed harshly. “Turns out talent only gets you so far, though.”

You paused, biting your cheek as you tried to decide whether to speak up or not. While you and Patrick didn’t constantly argue, you did have one disagreement that came up frequently, especially since the ATP and WTA seasons started at the beginning of the year. 

You thought Patrick needed a coach. 

Thanks to your exclusive Nike endorsement, you hired a great coach—recommended by your favourite coach at Stanford—and you had nutritionists and trainers whom you saw almost every day. Without the same funds, Patrick was playing professionally without a coach or team to support him. Even though he was talented and hard-working, it was almost impossible. Patrick was going up against players more experienced than him every tournament, and they all had huge teams at their disposal to help them win. The only person he ever had in his player’s box was you, and sometimes you couldn’t make it because of your own matches. 

On those days, Patrick had nobody cheering him on in his box. 

“You don’t have to get by just on talent,” you said carefully. “I could give you the money for–”

“–No, absolutely not,” Patrick interrupted before you could even get the words out. “I love you, and I know you’re just offering because you want me to succeed, but I have to do this on my own,” he insisted. “Once I start making enough money, I’ll get a coach, trainer, physical therapist, and whatever else you think is necessary. But I want to earn it myself.”

“You would be earning it yourself,” you disagreed with Patrick’s viewpoint. “I don’t have the kind of money to throw at trainers and coaches that they would work with just anyone. If I helped you hire a coach, they would only sign on because they want to be on your team–because you’re an incredible player who has so much potential.”

“I know you’re just trying to help, but I’m sure this is how I want to do it, pretty girl,” Patrick declared. “I love you, and I love how annoyingly persistent you are, but you know I can’t accept that. Besides, you know I’m not the disciplined, stick-to-a-schedule guy. That’s just not me.”

In all honesty, the main reason Patrick kept denying your offers was that he agreed with his father to some extent. It was true that Patrick had never gone to college, had a part-time job, or done anything that would have hindered him from excelling in the professional tennis world. He should have been doing much better in his fourth year on tour. It was difficult to see other American tennis players rise in the rankings while he dwindled at the bottom, occasionally doing so poorly in a tournament that he wasn’t ranked highly enough to participate in the next one. 

Admittedly, things worsened when Art stopped being his friend, and Patrick started ignoring your emails. But the two of you had been dating for almost a year. Having you in his life – actually getting support at his matches and not spending every day feeling lonely and discouraged – should have been the fuel and motivation Patrick needed to get his shit together and start climbing the rankings. He didn’t want to be one of those players who won the Junior tournaments and then faded into oblivion once he went pro.

Most importantly, Patrick only had one more year until Art graduated from Stanford and joined him on the ATP tour. 

“So, what’s it like being a Kennedy?” you joked, changing the subject and emphasising Patrick’s lavish upbringing. 

Patrick chuckled, brushing the crumbs from your dress and placing his hands on the counter on either side of your legs. His lips had curved into a soft, affectionate smile. The kind of smile that lit up his entire face and made his eyes sparkle with fondness. Patrick’s smile had a way of making you feel cherished, the tenderness in his eyes and the slight tilt of his head conveying his deep affection. You mirrored Patrick, putting your hands on his shoulders and tilting your head while you grinned. 

“It wasn’t too bad for the first few years. Luckily when my dad started getting really intense about following his footsteps, they sent me off to boarding school and I had some semblance of freedom,” Patrick admitted. “I met Art, figured out that I was fucking great at tennis, and appreciated the fact that my parents rarely called to ruin my day. Being away from this house was a blessing. It’s all just a little much. The cooks, the maids, the servers, the Francis Bacon painting…”

“The painting is amazing, but it doesn’t really feel like your parents,” you said, squinting as you tried to express your thoughts eloquently.

“It’s not so much that they actually like the painting, they just like telling people they have a Francis Bacon,” Patrick agreed, rolling his eyes. “The night we met, you said something about your mom having a grand piano that’s so precious and historical that she won’t let anyone play it,” he recalled. “It feels like everything in my house exists to be seen by other people–to make them jealous. Even me, growing up. Not so much these days, but I actually prefer it that way.”

You nodded. “It’s a really big house for three people,” you added, wondering how Patrick felt growing up as an only child with an entire floor between him and his parents. “It’s gorgeous, but it doesn’t really feel like anyone lives here.”

“I would never do that for our kids,” Patrick declared. He sounded so sure, so fed up with the house he grew up in, that it startled you. You had no idea that he thought about having kids, nonetheless having them with you. “I want our house to be smaller. Not so small that they don’t get a room to themselves, but something with one dining room and one living room. I always hated not knowing where my parents were because of how huge the house was. When our kids call for us, I want us to be able to hear them,” he explained. 

You could feel your face heating up, suddenly dizzy. It made you flustered to hear that Patrick had such a concrete plan for your future. Not in a bad way; you were happy that when he pictured his life in ten or fifteen years, you were a part of it. You felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach, the familiar feeling of butterflies making you giddy with anticipation of your future with Patrick. Your mind raced with thoughts of him, a constant barrage of images of Patrick cooking dinner with you and driving your kids to school. It made it hard to focus on anything else, and your boyfriend noticed your lack of attention on him. 

“I haven’t freaked you out, have I?” Patrick wondered. 

Your hands, already on his shoulders, pulled Patrick closer as you kissed him. Eyes shutting in bliss, your fingers pressed into the fabric of his button-up shirt as he dragged his hands from the countertop to the small of your back. Patrick whispered your name against your lips, his weight pressing into yours as you both tried to fill an uncontrollable ache. You yearned to be close to him, always yearned to be with him and feel him against you. Hearing him discuss your future, one you wanted just as much as Patrick did, ignited a flame of want that was more desperate than anything either of you had felt before.

“I’m going to marry the fuck out of you one day,” Patrick declared, all tongue and teeth as he kissed you. 

You laughed at his enthusiasm. “Sounds good to me.”

You weren’t sure how it was possible, but it had been almost a year since you started dating Patrick, and you were still in the honeymoon phase. Every day felt like a new adventure, and Patrick brought you so much joy and excitement that you never wanted to be without him. You had graduated less than a week ago and were temporarily living at your dad’s place – your childhood home, which he got in the divorce while your mother moved abroad – with Patrick. It didn’t make sense to get your own place when you would be travelling for the rest of the year, and it was nice to spend time with Patrick and your dad.

The two of them clicked instantly, and your heart warned as you watched their growing friendship. You were so pleased that Patrick finally had a positive male role model, someone who encouraged him, gave him tips to improve his tennis game without judgement and learned the recipes to his favourite meals so Patrick could have a taste of home.

For your whole life, you were grateful for your father. Now, Patrick got to see why. 

The initial spark of your relationship hadn’t dimmed but grew into a steady, glowing flame. When you first started dating, you were worried that everything was intense and explosive because you and Patrick waited for so long before getting together. Maybe it was the anticipation that made your first night together so great, and you didn’t know how to keep chasing that suspense. You were scared that the butterflies and racing heartbeats would go away when the novelty of your relationship wore off, but they were still going strong. 

Patrick just understood you.

He knew you and saw you, and he loved you. It was almost otherworldly, like he could peer into the essence of your being and recognise all your intricacies and quirks. Patrick always wanted you close, keeping a hand on the small of your back, your leg, or holding your hand to maintain contact with you. The two of you were connected in every sense of the word. 

Sometimes, you slipped back into the mask you created for yourself growing up – the one you used in tennis and to please your mother – but Patrick always saw beyond the surface, recognising your true self and making you feel accepted. He understood your silence and laughter, the moments of vulnerability you guarded so fiercely and the dreams you spoke of in hushed tones. You trusted him with your every thought and fear, and he soothed every wound and made them better. 

You fought, especially when you drew back because you were scared of how much you loved him, but Patrick always came back and made the first apology, even when it wasn’t his fault. You hated the word perfect and everything it entailed, but there was no other word to describe him. Patrick was perfect. He was fiery and passionate, and you needed him.

It was as if Patrick had a superhuman assurance that you belonged together. While you had loved Art and thought he could be the one you ended up with, Patrick waited and was never deterred. He always knew you would return to him, so he didn’t worry about it now that he was your boyfriend. Amid the chaos of your breakup with Art and the end of your friendship with Tashi, your mind always drifted back to Patrick, the one person who had always been there for you to talk to in your emails. The night in the hotel a year ago when you ran into Patrick again was like running back home. 

He was your guiding light, and reuniting with him was the only thing that made your life feel like it had purpose, love, and warmth again.

After kissing your lips three more times, Patrick pulled away. His cheeks and ears were flushed a deep pink, and his lips were slightly stained with your lipstick. You reached up to wipe the colour away as Patrick watched you carefully. 

“Would you really want to have kids with me? Me?” His voice was filled with awe and desperation, longing for a future with you that he truly believed in. “You can see us having a family?”

You nodded, your heart racing like it always did when Patrick was nearby. “You’re the only one I see it with,” you promised. 

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐙-𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍. 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟑𝟏, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝟎𝟑:𝟏𝟓𝐏𝐌.

“What if she hates me?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you stared at the closed door of the Donaldson family suite. You were too worried about impressing Lily to think about how you had just yelled at the man beside you a couple nights ago. 

“She won’t.”

You gasped as your thoughts spiralled. “What if she thinks I’m boring? Like, what if she looks at me and thinks I’m the least cool person she’s ever seen?! I genuinely don’t think I could live with the shame.” Art let out a hearty laugh, the playful glint in his eyes betraying his amusement. “I’m not kidding, Arthur!” 

Art felt a little jump in his heartbeat when you called him by his full name, just as you used to affectionately do in college. “She’s six. If she thinks you’re uncool, she’ll probably forget about it in an hour,” he retorted. His pale blue eyes sparkled as he scanned your nervous expression. “Besides, Lily already loves you. She’s incredibly bored by anything to do with tennis, but she watches your matches sometimes.”

You frowned, nodding reluctantly. “Is it weird that I’m intimidated by a six-year-old?” you wondered. 

“Not at all. Six-year-olds are terrifying,” Art confirmed. “But Lily’s great and she’s going to love you. She already does, remember?”

“I have to point out that you’re incredibly biassed when you say your kid is great,” you interjected. “But I see your point.”

“Ready?” 

When you nodded, Art opened the door and let you in the suite first. “Y/N!” Tashi’s mother greeted you.

“Mrs Duncan,” you said, gasping at the sight of her. “It’s so good to see you! How are you?”

When she pulled you into a warm hug, you let her. Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt a second of bliss in the motherly love Mrs Duncan always provided you with. She had been like a second mother to you in your teenage years, and you were relieved to see that she was healthy and happily taking care of Lily. 

“Lily, there’s someone who wants to meet you,” Art declared when you and Mrs Duncan finished catching up.

You felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach, the familiar feeling of nervous butterflies. Mrs Duncan squeezed your hand and nodded encouragingly before excusing herself. Your heart pounded with nerves and excitement as you turned around and saw Art sitting on the sofa beside his daughter. Lily Donaldson, a small figure with curly brown hair that looked just like Tashi’s in childhood pictures, had an inquisitive expression and was the picture of your former best friend.

Your breath caught at the sight of her curious eyes. There was so much Tashi in her, and you felt like crying as you realised you never saw her grow up. 

You and Tashi never spoke sentimentally about much other than your future careers and goals growing up, but you always said you wanted to be like aunts to each other’s children.

“Hi Lily,” you greeted her, forcing a warm smile to mask the melancholic nostalgia in your voice. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. You look just like your mom.”

Lily’s brown eyes widened when she recognised you. “You’re Y/N,” she said, her voice high and clear as she grinned excitedly. Her voice was so sweet that your heart immediately softened at the sound of it. 

You laughed, kneeling down to her level in front of the sofa. “That’s me!”

“You’re the lady from the TV and the pictures,” Lily added.

You paused. “Pictures?”

Lily nodded enthusiastically, glancing up at her father for confirmation. “Mommy and Daddy have pictures of you at home. You have the same smile but your hair’s different,” she recalled.

Your eyes shot to Art in surprise. He avoided your gaze, cheeks turning pink as his daughter exposed him and Tashi for having pictures of you. A wave of relief washed over you at the thought that your former best friend and college boyfriend kept your memory alive in their house, regardless of how much time had passed. 

“I know she’s your favourite tennis player, but she’s also my friend,” Art introduced you, smiling encouragingly at Lily from his place beside her. “She’s the one who taught me to make all those bracelets we make together, remember?”

“That's right,” you agreed, smiling softly at Lily. “I used to know your parents a long time ago. I was your mommy’s best friend for five years. That’s a long time, right?”

Lily seemed to consider this. You held your breath as she looked at you. You weren’t sure what she was looking for, but you hoped she would like you. You had no idea why you needed a six-year-old’s approval, but it meant a lot to you. Her eyebrows pulled together, and nose scrunched, and your heart warmed at the familiar expression. In college, you had spent countless hours studying with Tashi, and she had an identical look of intense focus on her face that mirrored Lily’s.

Lily had obviously inherited her mother’s features and mannerisms.

“You don’t have any friends,” Lily accused her father, turning her head and frowning at him. You chuckled shortly, not having expected her response. 

Art frowned, scoffing. “Of course I have friends,” he replied, playfully offended. 

Lily giggled. “I’ve never seen them,” she disagreed. Art joined in with his daughter’s laughter, amused and pleased that she felt like she could be herself around you. 

As the initial nerves began to melt away, you found yourself sitting on the sofa with your ex-boyfriend’s daughter between the two of you, engrossed in conversation. Art sat on Lily’s other side, watching you interact with a contented smile. As he watched the two of you speak, his heart swelled with relief and joy. Art and Tashi always knew that you and Lily would get along, imagining moments like this where laughter and genuine connection bridged the gap between past and present. Seeing Lily’s eyes light up as she talked was a dream realised. The ease with which you both fell into conversation and how she nestled comfortably beside you on the sofa made Art realise just how much he had wanted this introduction to happen. 

“Do you like movies?” Lily questioned suddenly, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“I love movies,” you emphasised, matching her vivacious energy. “What’s your favourite movie?”

“Spiderverse,” she declared immediately. “I’ve watched it a hundred times!”

“Me too! I love the colours,” you said, smiling at how Lily seemed to light up at the mention of her favourite movie. “I like Spider-Ham best, he’s really funny.” Lily laughed in agreement, nearly bouncing in her seat with excitement. “Would you like to watch it together?” 

“Yes!” Lily nearly shouted. “Can we, Daddy?”

Art smiled and nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s all watch it together,” he agreed readily. 

As Art set up the film on the hotel TV, Lily leaned close to you. “Thank you for watching with me. Daddy’s always busy with tennis so I usually watch it with Mommy.”

Her sweet, cherubic smile caused your heart to swell with affection. You had felt yourself melting at the sight of Lily’s tiny hands clapping in glee, her laughter filling the room with happiness.

“Thank you for letting me join,” you replied, raising your hand for a high-five, which Lily happily obliged. “I’m usually too busy with tennis for movie nights too. I’m really happy to be here with you guys.”

“It’s good to have you here,” Art added. His tone was soft and fond as he admired the picture of you and Lily on the sofa together. 

Less than an hour into the movie, Lily’s head lolled onto your shoulder as she fell asleep. Chuckling quietly, you glanced sideways at Art, who grinned widely.

“I would definitely have kids if I could guarantee they’d be as adorable as her,” you declared, shaking your head in disbelief. “She’s such a sweet kid, Art. You and Tashi did a great job.”

“It’s easy with Lily,” Art waved off your compliment. “I know you think I’m biassed, but she’s the greatest kid in the world.”

“Definitely. She’s got a halo and fluffy wings,” you agreed.

It felt really good to talk to Art like this again. You had broken up over ten years ago but never managed to return to being friends, so this was nice. When you were together in college, it was easy to talk to Art about anything that was on your mind, and this was the closest thing you felt to that comfortable flow of conversation in years.

The decade between that moment and your break up had created a comfortable distance, allowing you both to speak more freely without the weight of past emotions. Art reached for the remote and turned down the volume, letting the movie play in the background as you chatted quietly.

“Did you ever think you were going to have kids with Patrick?” he wondered, putting his shoulder on the backrest and leaning his head onto his hand. “You definitely don’t have to answer that if it’s too personal.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “Of course, I thought I was going to have kids with Patrick. I thought about it all the time. Someone with his curly brown hair, or his eyes, or his smirk.” 

Art sucked in a breath. He wasn’t surprised to hear it, but it was a little painful nonetheless. Even though the two of you never talked about kids or marriage when you were together – aside from him and Tashi jokingly calling you Mrs Donaldson during your freshman year of college – Art always assumed you were the woman he would have a family with. 

“Really?” Art replied, trying to keep his tone conversational. “I never knew Patrick thought about that kind of stuff.”

“He thought about it a lot,” you insisted, smiling sadly. When you were together, Patrick would bring up the topic of your kids and home at least once a week, if not more. Regardless of the hardships in your lives and careers, his dream for your future together persisted. “He always said he wanted our family to be different from his. Smaller house, more people, more warmth, a rescue dog. I think it was almost therapeutic to imagine a future where he could raise happy kids.”

Art nodded, mumbling, “Fair enough.”

Throughout his friendship with Patrick, Art only met his parents a handful of times, and they were always much kinder to him than their own son. 

“The day I moved into my house, I looked around and went inside all the bedrooms, and I realised I bought the exact kind of house Patrick used to say he dreamed of raising kids in with me,” you revealed quietly. You had never confessed those words aloud to anyone, not even your father or Elora, your roommate from Stanford and one of your best friends to that day. “Then I got really drunk and tried to forget about it,” you added, chuckling lightly with Art. “But it’s one of those things I remember once in a while when I’m at home. I wasn’t even with him when I bought the house, but his ghost still haunts it.”

Art was surprised that hearing you talk about Patrick didn’t hurt his feelings. He had expected to feel jealous and insecure, but Art was oddly calm. The fact that you were willing to share the intricate details of your life with Patrick made Art feel like he had a chance to reconnect with you. He refused to live another ten years without having you in his life. 

What caught Art’s attention was how your eyes still sparkled with warmth and affection as you spoke about his former best friend. Regardless of how much pain Patrick put you through, especially the night of your breakup, it did very little to injure the memories of your happiness with him. It was clear that these moments of joy and laughter had a permanent place in your heart, untouched by the hurt that followed. 

Art admired your ability to cherish the good times alongside the bad ones, and he wondered if Patrick still had a chance with you. 

It was true that Patrick effectively ended your relationship by giving you the ultimatum to marry him, but you were the one who walked out in the end. Art knew with certainty that things would be different if you had agreed to Patrick’s proposal before he gave you the ultimatum. There was no question in his mind that you would be living in your house together, with kids of your own and the rescue dog you mentioned. It was a bittersweet notion. Art wanted you to be happy, but he wanted to be the guy you lived out this fantasy with.

“Are you sorry you rejected his proposal?” Art inquired. He would never have asked you such a personal question three days ago. Now, as an animated movie played in the background and his daughter lay asleep between the two of you, it felt like you could be open with each other again. 

“Sometimes,” you confessed, biting your lower lip contemplatively. “I really believe it was the right decision at the time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. If he had waited, say, six months or a year to ask me, I probably would have agreed. But the timing was off, and he was struggling with other shit, and I didn’t want him to see marrying me as the solution to his problems.” You turned your head and met Art’s gaze. “Are you sorry you proposed to Tashi?”

Art gave you a wistful smile. “Sometimes,” he echoed.

[iluffyouxo]

fields || mr. darcy

Pride and Prejudice — mr. darcy x black, female oc

His pale blue eyes glistened under flickering yellow lights, his thin brown hair was drenched in sweat and clung to his forehead. He frowned down at me as he huffed out a breath. “Pyrrha Brighton,” he glowered, “What is it that you want?” Darcy clearly disapproved of something about me. But, what it was? I hadn’t the slightest clue.

I snicker, “Stop trying to intimidate me, Darcy. You’ve already called me ugly once…nothing else you say can hurt my pride further.”

He stumbles over his next words for a moment. His face flushing a dark cherry red. “I-I’ve said no such thing!” His response garners a hard eye roll from me. “You told Charles I was barely tolerable at the Summer festival.” I cross my arms. “And, technically, you insulted every woman there by calling Jane the only beautiful woman at the party.”

Darcy’s eyes widen in shock. “You—uh—you heard me?”

“Uh—yeah, I heard you,” I click my tongue, “Anyways, I didn’t come over here to argue with you.” Darcy raises an eyebrow at me. “Then, why are you here…?”

“I’m here to let you know that Caroline is on her way to yell at you.” He blinks, “About what?” I shrug, “Something about you liking someone else. In her mind you two are dating.”

“But, we never—“

“I know,” I cut him off, “You never dated. But, who is it that you like? Even Caroline won’t tell me. It must be an awful important secret.” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully.

Darcy’s blush becomes prominently darker as he averts his gaze elsewhere. “It’s…It’s nothing you need to concern yourself over, Ms. Brighton.”

I groan. “How many times have I told you to just call me Pyrrha? I’m a year older than you, not twenty.” I turn on my heel to leave the gym as I wave him goodbye with the back of my hand. “C’ya around, Darce. And good luck.”

•

Music blared in my ears as my eyes tried adjusting to the dim lighting of the room.

I lean in closer to him with a hum, taking note of his features and the imperfections of his skin. “You have freckles…since when?” I question sitting back against my seat.

Darcy only stared at me wide eyed with a light-colored blush dusting his cheeks. “Uh…umm….”

Darcy and I—along with Lizzie, Jane and Charlotte—were at the annual “Bingley Ball”. The biggest college party that started off every school year hosted at Charles and Caroline’s mansion. The twins never disappointed and seemed to outdo the previous get-together.

The blue eyed beauty loosened the tie of his tux as he visibly gulped. He seemed rather…shy and uncomfortable. “I’ve—erm—I’ve always had freckles. They’re just light and hard to see. Unlike Charles’. But, I…I don’t really like mine. They make me look weird.”

“Look weird?” I snort, “The only thing here that looks weird is me in this dress, Darce.”

Every year the party has a theme. Last year was Kpop. This year it was Disney. And, unfortunately, Lydia and Kitty found it impossibly amusing to throw me in Princess Tiana’s dress.

Darcy’s nose scrunched up doubtfully. “Says who?” He asks quite defensively. I shrug. “Well, Lydia and Kitty found it rather entertaining and Mrs. Bennet thought I looked absolutely ridiculous…and I’m not the prettiest tool in the shed.”

“First off, it’s brightest tool in the shed, Ms. Brighton,” he scoffs, “and, secondly, I…I find you rather charming in that dress.”

I raise a questioning brow. “Oh, really? Charming…? I suppose if you had said beautiful, I would’ve caught your bluff all too quickly.” Darcy cuts his eyes at me with an annoyed huff, “You speak too lowly of yourself, woman.”

“And you, sir, speak too highly,” I chuckle, “It makes things unbearably hard since I’ve sworn to loathe you for all eternity.”

He blinks. “Wait—you what?”

•

With furrowed brows and a face scrunched in concentration, he impressed even God himself with his willful piano-playing talents (despite his aunts wishes of him focusing on basketball).

A blue eyed beauty with a good taste in books and an ear for music. The only thing he wasn’t good at was singing.

Singing, of course, was my territory.

I chuckle at the memory of him trying to out wit me in our own singing competition by lip syncing a song he thought I wouldn’t know. I smile. I hadn’t laughed that hard in a very long time.

I watched as Darcy grew more intense with playing the school’s grand piano. So much so that he had yet to acknowledge my presence before him in the doorway. And I took advantage of this moment by recording it.

Darcy was very much more attractive when he wasn’t spouting insults at me. (Though, I suppose that was attractive in its own right). But, I liked him more when he was shy and blushing. Darcy felt more like William Darcy in a weird way when he was anxious and fidgety.

Come to think of it…he’s never hidden behind a stoic disposition since I’ve met him.

“Ms. Brighton?” His deep voice echoed.

I blink out of my thoughts and send him a small smile. “Hello, there, Darce; did I interrupt you?” Darcy shakes his head as he awkwardly stands up from the cushioned piano bench. “No—uh—no, you did not. I was actually finished.”

“Aw, really? I was enjoying myself,” I hum. Darcy only nods once, sharply. “Is there something you wanted?”

I lean against the doorway, “I was dared to ask you who your crush was by Caroline and Lydia, but I think Mary would rather me ask if you wanted to take a walk in the fields with me.”

“So, will you walk in the fields with me, Mr. Darcy?” His big eyes only stare at me as I turn my head back to look at him. Darcy clears his throat, taking short, hesitant strides towards me, “Only if you agree to dance with me at Georgiana’s piano residual next week.”

I hum, “Why her residual? That’s kinda weird, no?”

He smirks mischievously. “She wants a dancing duet paired with her performance. She asked me to find a partner, and you’re perfect for the job.” I sit up from the wall. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the only person I’ve ever waltzed with. Now, shall we go walking?” Darcy begins to walk away as a chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“Hey! I haven’t agreed yet! Hey!” I run after him. Damn that boy’s long legs.

•

“I think…I love you, Ms. Brighton.”

Darcy was drenched from the sudden Sunday afternoon downpour. Lightening struck the ground as thunder rumbled the sky. “What?” I deadpan causing him to wince. “You love me?”

He nodded quickly with wide, expectant eyes.

Darcy looked boyish as his freckles seemed more prominent through his blush and the darkened lighting due to fearsome black clouds. I cackle slightly. “You can’t love me. You don’t even know what love is, sir.”

His brows furrowed in disbelief. “That’s preposterous! How could you possibly think that?” I cross my arms, “You have never called me by my first name, Darce. Not once.”

“What? Yes, I have.”

“Followed by my last name.”

He sighs, glancing down at his fairly large hands, and after a while he spoke again, “But, I do have feelings for you. I can’t get you out of my head, I tell you things that I don’t even tell Charles and, even if my aunt forbade it, I want to kiss you. It may not be love but, I-I care about you…more than a friend, I’m afraid.”

I look between his downcast gaze and fiddling fingers before I grab his hand and squeeze it in my own. “Well, Mr. blue eyed beauty, I guess we’re on the same page.”

“What? Really?” He gasped.

I stand on the tips of my shoes and kiss his cheek. “When I first met you, you were scolding at the dance floor in the corner of the room. If Charles hadn’t introduced us, I would’ve never known you had freckles or how cute you look with a blush. You’re shy and hesitant when it comes to letting people in but you’re kind and thoughtful. I may not feel love but, I like you, William Darcy.”

It doesn’t take long for him to kiss me.

I could tell he was inexperienced and tentative about taking the lead. So, I took the lead instead. “I like you, too, Pyrrha,” he breathed.

“How about we take another walk in the fields after it stops raining?” I grin. Darcy gives a quick nod, “Yes, I’d like that.” I peck his lips.

“Then, it’s a date, Mr. Darcy.”

[angel-ixily]

Beating Hearts

Pairing: Nick Nelson x Female!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Fandom: Heartstopper

Warnings: Mentions of B*n H*pe and H*rry Gr*en. But other then that it's completely friendly, cute, innocent, and fluffy.

Summary: Nick Nelson comes to you with a very serious question which escaltes into further conversation and romance.

POV: First Person

“Y/N, are you gay?”

I lifted my eyebrows in confusion, peering my head from behind my locker to look in the eyes of the Rugby star, Nick Nelson. My heart began beating so fast I swear I was having a heart attack.

I hadn't thought I was going to see Nick Nelson out of everyone on a Wednesday afternoon, but maybe today wasn't going to be as boring as I had originally thought.

“Am I what?” I asked. I stared at him, my lips slightly open and my face lifting into a mix of confusion and shock. I didn’t think I had heard him correctly.

Nick's face flushed and his cheeks shown with a light blush on them before he repeated the question. “Are you gay?”

I looked back into my locker which had been decorated with photos of my friends and I. Tara and Darcy’s photos just happily gazing back at me.

Thinking of Tara and Darcy made me think about our school, Higgs. Thinking of Higgs made me wonder as to how the hell Nick Nelson got into the school mid-day.

“Okay I’ll answer your question but first you have to answer mine.” I ordered him. He opened his lips but nothing came out. I lifted an eyebrow and he just nodded.

“I… okay shoot.” He said. I looked around to check if anyone was in the hallway. I closed my locker and grabbed his arm, pulling him into the corner behind the stairwell. He looked confused.

“How in the hell did you get into Higgs without a teacher seeing you? Mrs. Strasser has the eyes of an eagle! How did you not get caught?” I asked him in a hushed tone, pulling him closer so he was completely out of sight from any teacher or student.

“I just walked in. I needed to talk to you and we’re on our lunch hour so I just wanted to ask. I didn’t know we had separate lunches and I just thought you’d be at lunch too.” He said quickly. I nodded and looked up at the stairwell, hoping nobody would decide at this moment to come down. It would also be awkward for someone to come down and see me talking to Nick Nelson. A boy. Under the stairwell. That would be suspicious. “But don’t worry! Nobody saw me. At least, I don’t think anybody did.” He excused. I looked from the stairway and into his eyes. His resting face looked as if he were concerned or even pouting.

A smile threatened my lips.

“Not to be weird, but has anyone told you that you look like a Golden Retriever?” I asked. His eyes widened and a small smile appeared on his face.

“Yes, Y/N. You tell me every day.” He said as he scoffed in amusement. “And I know you meant to be totally weird.” He put his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet around a little bit. With how popular he was at Truham and at Higgs, I thought it was funny how awkward he could be.

“Oh for sure. Totally. I really wonder how you saw through that, Nelson. I wanted to make you as uncomfortable as possible. Yeah.” I agreed with him sarcastically. He nodded anxiously.

We stood in an awkward silence for a moment before he spoke. “You uh… never answered my question.” He muttered out. I looked up at him innocently.

“I’m sorry, what was your question?” I asked him. I remembered what his question was. And I knew the answer.

“Uh…” he looked around as if someone would mysteriously appear out of nowhere. He leaned down closer to me. “Are you… are you gay?” He asked me quietly. I pressed my lips into a thin line. I tore my gaze away from his and looked towards the left.

“Is Harry making you ask this question? Did Harry or even Ben put you up to this to find some massive tea on me? Harry and I dated forever ago. It doesn’t matter anymore. Tell him to leave me al-”

Nick put his hands up in defense. “No! No. Harry doesn’t even know I’m here. This is just me asking. I’m really curious. I have a good friend who’s gay and I just want to know some things about it.” He quickly said. I smiled. This was such a Nicholas Nelson thing to do.

“Uh huh… okay… and are you interested in said friend?” I asked. His eyes widened and his face fell. I could tell he was trying to hide it, but I saw a small blush creeping its way across his cheeks. He didn’t answer the question. A smile spread on my face.

“Oh, you are!” I loudly whispered. He shushed me. I kept a smile on my face, though my beating heart began hurting. A nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach started forming but I just ignored it. What did it matter anyways?

“I don’t know if I am… okay? I really don’t know. I just met him and I thought he was cute and we’ve been hanging out a lot but I don’t know.” He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair. He seemed to be in distress, and it made me sad to see how confused he was. I wished I could give him an answer, however, I knew this was something he had to figure out on his own. Of course I’d be around to help, though. He began speaking again. “But to be honest with you, I also like this girl and I’m just really really confused and scared as to everything.” He blurted. I bit my lip, nodding my head slowly.

“That’s really something. And I thought today was going to be boring,” I smirked and began walking to my locker. When I had gotten there I had seen that Nick had followed me.

“You are a Golden Retriever! But I’m gonna put the rest of my stuff in my locker. I have Maths this period so it’s going to be depressing anyway.” I informed him, beginning to put my Calculus book in my locker.

“I… I’m sorry? What?” He asked. He looked even more confused than before. I felt really bad.

“Oh sorry. We’re going to sneak out of the school and go somewhere quieter so we can talk about this in an easier setting. I don’t want you getting overwhelmed.” I explained further. The smile on his face was the most relieved I had ever seen him. I hoped he wasn’t expecting me to be mad or upset about his confusion on sexuality.

I grabbed my jacket and together we began walking out the glass doors at the end of the corridor. We were careful to not let anyone see us leaving the premises at all. Once we were far away enough, we began to walk at a more relaxed pace.

"So when did you start questioning?" I asked him. I made sure not to include 'sexuality' in there just in case he was uncomfortable with me saying that in public.

He looked down at me, his lips pursed. "I guess it's been recently. We hung out at his house, and I felt something just...sparking, you know?" He explained. I thought for a moment and shook my head. He scoffed.

"I forgot that you were a sociopath." He joked. I smiled. Last year when he and I had met, Harry had began telling everyone that I was a sociopath just because I had broken up with him when we were 13. We only dated 2 months.

"How do you forget such crucial information about me, Nelson? Like geez!" We both laughed. I always liked how I could joke around with Nick without feeling like I was being rude. He was so easy and took most things with a grain of salt. I guess that's why it stung a little when he told me that he liked a guy. That reminded me of another question.

"So Nick, what about this guy? You like 2 people, tell me about this one. How long have you liked him?" I asked him politely. Another blush creeped onto his face. Or maybe he had just had a permanent blush. His cheeks were always rosy, and it was something I admired about him. It made him look even more innocent than he was.

"Um..I...He's... Well..." I watched in amusement as he tried to explain the guy. However, the pain in my heart came back. I took a breath, wishing it away. It didn't.

"Take your time Nick. You don't have to explain it to me if you don't want to." I added.

"No I want to." He blurted loudly. My eyes widened a little bit but I just waved it off.

"He's...cute and he's funny. He's also, and not to misgender him, pretty. Being with him is so fun and he warms my heart a lot. He makes me feel like I matter. But at the same time..." He didn't finish his sentence. He just left it for me to interpret but thank GOD I'm a dumbass and I can't understand anything for open interpretation.

“At the same time… what?” I asked him. I could see his breath hitch. He glanced down at me before he looked to his feet.

“At the same time… there’s that girl… I’ve liked her for a long time, now. That’s why it confused me when I felt this way towards this boy. She’s beautiful and really kind. She always puts my feelings before hers, even if she jokes around with me a lot. She never takes my feelings with a grain of salt, but she takes them into consideration. She’s so cool.” He looked as if he was going to say more but he didn’t.

The pain returned and got caught into my throat, which was now dry. I tried pushing down the lump. I wish I brought water with me. It was quiet for a moment but not on purpose. It was just me trying to be able to speak without sounding stupid. Finally I had the strength to ask another question.

“So do I know her?” I asked him. He seemed lost in thought for a moment.

“I mean..." He paused another moment before he decided his true answer. His eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, you do." He declared. I blinked in confusion, and bit my lip again.

It couldn't be Tara? Right?

I almost felt bad for the boy. He didn't know that Tara was in a relationship with Darcy. Barely anybody had known. Hell, I had only found out because Darcy was showing me a funny photo, laughed too hard at it, and accidentally swiped left to show a photo of her and Tara kissing. What a great thing to have in your camera roll right next to a funny picture.

"You don't mean Tara, right?” I asked him. I was asking a lot of questions today. We stopped walking at a crosswalk. I pressed a button on the side of the road. We waited for the signal to go.

"Tara and I kissed once when we were 13. That doesn't mean that I'm forever inevitably in love with her. Besides, the crush I had on her subsided a long, long time ago" He disclosed. I inhaled a breath, wondering who else he had known from Higgs. Despite his popularity, he didn't talk to many girls. At all. Nick Nelson's love life didn't seem to exist until now.

I knew he was friends with Imogen, who was pretty friendly. She and I got along pretty well. We were really good friends. She also had the biggest crush on Nick which she made very clear to many people. I'm glad she never found out about my crush on him.

The signal on the opposing street turned green and we began to walk.

I'd like to add. MINOR crush on Nicholas Nelson. MINOR. Nothing bigger than that. After Harry and I dated when we were 13, I decided that boys weren't worth my time. Until I met Nick...that was..

Thinking of Nick, he broke me out my thoughts.

"And before you say anything about Imogen, no I don't like her. We're good friends but that's all that it's ever going to be. She's a wonderful girl, but not my type of girl." My heart turned to some relief and the lump in my throat was gone.

"Or guy." I added, smirking at him. He looked down at me, a blush and a big smile on his face.

"Oh, shut up!" He scolded.

"Hey, I'm just stating the obvious," I put my hands up in defense, giggling. He chuckled at my gesture. I put my hands down. "Speaking of obvious. I have made up my diagnosis for you." I announced in a fancy way. He looked down at me, a small smile on his face.

"Oh yeah? And what's your diagnosis, doctor?" he asked. His brown eyes looked warm and kind. Most brown eyes were intense and earthy. His reminded me of sitting by the fireplace with a nice cup of coffee or tea on an Autumn Day, snuggled in a blanket. They reminded me of the sun too, for some reason. Especially when he smiled.

It felt like time was slowing as we stared at each other. His pupils were dilated. He faced me completely as if I were the only important thing in the world at this point.

I guess that's when I knew who his girl crush was. My face fell slightly, and I looked away, blushing. Never in my life had I thought that Nicholas Nelson would like me in any sort of way other than platonically.

"I uh... you're...you..." I stuttered for a bit and his smile grew larger. I ignored it for a moment, trying to rid of my blush. I took a few breaths. Once I had gained my confidence back, I stared at him.

"How dare you scoff at me while I'm trying to give you the knowledge that you desire oh so much. Very rude, sir." I sassed. He nodded respectfully.

"Well, I'm sooo sorry for disrupting your stuttering diagnosis. Go on, please. Be my guest!" He sarcastically apologized. I smiled kindly and nodded.

Now that I think about it. I nod a lot.

"And maybe I will go on." I cleared my throat dramatically. "I diagnose you with Bisexuality." Nick hummed. He made a tsking sound and then spoke.

"I knew that's what you'd say. I did some research last night.” He began rubbing his neck. “I may have took a few quizzes as well, but I just...I wanted to know if it was obvious that I was or not." He looked at his shoes. He didn't look disappointed or upset about it. He just looked really lost in thought. The confusion radiated off of him.

My face fell and I placed a hand on his shoulder, he stopped walking and faced me, still looking at the ground. "Hey, I promise it's okay. Figuring this stuff out is really confusing and tiring. It gives you a lost and weird feeling like you don't know who you are. It's not a bad thing to question your sexuality, though. If anything, I think it's completely healthy. And at the end of the day, you're Nick Nelson. And if one day you decide you don't want to be Nick Nelson anymore, that's okay too. And if nobody else is, I'll be here with you every step of the way. I swear I will be." It took him a moment, but he looked down at me with tears in his eyes. Just the sight of that made me want to cry.

"Oh Nick..." I mumbled. I pulled him into a hug. He just hugged back, silently sobbing into my shoulder. We stood on the side of the sidewalk for a while, him crying and me comforting him.

He was the one who pulled away first. His eyes were puffy and red, his lip slightly quivering. The rose color of his cheeks had spread across his face. I frowned. Seeing Nick sad was like seeing the world end.

It hurt me on a level you may or may not know.

He just stared at me for a moment, as if he was taking me in. That, or he was silently thanking me. It could have been both, though. Like I said before, I was a dumbass.

Just as Nick was going to speak, it began raining. He closed his eyes, pressing his lips into a straight line. He made another tsk sound.

He didn't speak but grabbed my hand and led me down the sidewalk a little ways more. We came to an alley, and he led me in. I hoped this entire thing wasn't just a plan to lure me into an alley for Harry to be there.

Nick would never do that, though. And he didn't do that. I was just overthinking.

He stopped near the middle of the alleyway where a long plastic black sheet was covering the top. We stared at each other a moment longer, and as if we were on perfect sync, we both laughed.

"I really have to start checking the weather." He admitted. I nodded, continuing to laugh. I looked down and saw our hands still conjoined. Nick had noticed too, but just tightened the grip. He stepped forward, closing a little more of the gap between us. He grabbed my other hand.

"I know this is really weird and completely out of nowhere. And I know I've just cried to you about my feelings...but I've been meaning to tell you something for a really long time." He started. My heart began to beat extremely fast. From the look in his eyes, he didn't know where to start. He let out an amused scoff and began to speak his truth.

"When you began dating Harry, I knew you were too good for him. I didn't really know you at that time, but people had told me how nice and kind you were. I have this very small memory of you crying about a worm that Harry had stepped on on purpose. I think that's why you broke up with him. He's always been an asshole. And he was always an asshole to you. He didn't deserve you. And the more time I spent with you, I realized that I didn't deserve you. You're amazing in every way. You're caring, wise, smart, empathetic. And you're really cool. Way too cool for me. But despite that coolness that overwhelms you, I could never shake my feelings for you. I still can't. Y/N you're that girl. You've always been that girl. And if you don't reciprocate my feelings because of your ultimate coolness, I understand. But if you do, I'll....I don't know, but I'll do something. But I promise I won't step on a worm." He stopped talking, inhaling many deep and long breaths. He hadn't breathed that entire time he told me about how he felt. My head couldn't wrap around the thought that Nick Nelson had liked me. I mean...I knew about it, but I hadn’t though about how 10 minutes after I found out, he’d pour his heart out to me.

His heart was pounding. I could make that very clear from the way his chest was moving up and down. His face fell. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have-"

I pressed my lips to his. I don't regret it...but after doing it, I wanted that to be put on a 'Y/N's -4,000,000 IQ moments. (Cringe compilation) (ULTIMATE cringe) (NOT Clickbait)’ YouTube videos.

He kissed me back. He wasn't forceful or harsh. He was gentle and soft. He let go of my hands and wrapped them around my back, pulling me slightly closer. My hands went to cup his face.

No matter how much I didn't want to, I pulled away. My face was still very close to his, our noses barely touching. "Nick Nelson...I'm about to make so many women angry. But in every way possible, I reciprocate your feelings. In every single way. You're sweet and kind and gentle and you're," I paused for a moment. "...The only way to describe you is Nick Nelson because there are no words in the dictionary to describe such a beautiful person as you. You're inexplainable and that's just who you are. Of course, I like you. No matter the sexuality, the gender, the personality. I like Nick Nelson." I muttered loud enough for him to hear. He smiled softly and without saying anything, he pressed his lips onto mine again. My hands fell to his neck.

When he pulled away, the smile that was on his lips was so wide, I could feel my heart pounding harder against my chest. "You never answered my question." He mentioned. I looked down and chuckled. I looked back up to him after a second.

"Do I have to answer it?" I asked him. He kissed my forehead.

"No. You don't."

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Can u write Mr Darcy ( Mathew mcfayden or Colin Firth version ;) ) x chubby female reader x snape please I wonder what be like both falling for reader

Hello dear💖, thanks for your request.

Mr Darcy x plus size female reader x Severus Snape🦇👧🌹

Of dukes and bats🌹🦇

Night struck at the ball, all the higher social parties had arrived and gathered to have their dance. Many young ladies and gentlemen have travelled far and wide to settle down with a suitor of their choosing. The dance floor was soon covered with many young ladies dancing with their chosen suitors, all the gentlemen smiled as they danced. Many of the young ladies' dresses were quite colourful; pink, white, blue, and purple shining through as they waltzed. The crowd that weren’t dancing were all drinking and laughing, most of the gents had stepped to the side to discuss important things such as politics or business. The women on the other hand had all gathered to try and spot a man with such dashing looks alongside his rich wealth. The ladies had heard of the aristocratic landowner of Pemberley, he was seeking a social outing. “Where’s Mr Darcy, I’ve heard of such high things for him” one woman muttered fanning herself, “oh he is so dashing, I hope he comes soon” another replied holding a glass of wine.

Many were gathering at the door, however one woman sat in the back of the ball room. The dress she wore sat to her ankles and her silky gloves reached her elbow. The girl was of a middle-class status, she wasn’t deemed as highly as “Mr Darcy” however her personality was certainly different. The ladies didn’t bother to talk to the middle-class woman, they all thought she was ordinary with no style of wealth. This woman happened to be y/n l/n, a friendly yet quirky girl that often dreams of travelling and meeting the man of her dreams.

Mr Darcy had arrived; he got out of the carriage and entered the ballroom with an upright glance. One would assume many of his stature would be after a queen or quite literally a duchess, Mr Darcy had such high standards no woman could seem to fit within his ideals. “Mr Darcy a pleasure, my daughter has been awaiting your hand in a dance” one woman tried to announce. “Mr Darcy, my family have recently been to France” another tried to interrupt, “Mr Darcy, we have such high honor-“.

Fitzwilliam had started to blur the ladies words from his mind, all they wanted is for their daughter’s to be betrothed with someone of higher wealth and status. Fitzwilliam walked by with his head held high, he acted cold toward the other women as they weren’t to his liking. Mr Darcy wasn’t necessarily cold on purpose but rather he wasn’t the best with social situations. The women had higher expectations since he was a wealthy landowner. “Aren’t you going to dance with any of them” a gentleman asked, “any savage can dance” Mr Darcy replied in return.

As the gentleman were gawking amongst themselves, Mr Darcy spotted a woman sitting by herself. She had no gentleman chaperoning, it seemed quite un-lady like for such an act. Out of politeness, Mr Darcy approached the lonely lady “excuse me, for it may sound unkindly of me to ask, why have you no gent attending to you”. Y/n lifted her head slightly to see Mr Darcy ask her a question “why must I need one, I’m quite happily joyful watching the people dance” y/n smiled. Mr Darcy pondered for a moment, a lady who isn’t interested in dancing with any of the suitors, why come to a ball unless she had planned to accompany friends. “You are quite a strange lady” Mr Darcy noted, “indeed, but is that a bad thing, to be strange is to be unique and being unique is quite extraordinary is it not” y/n replied to Mr Darcy’s comment. Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow, however in accord to the ladies odd tone he thought of being polite asking for a dance. “Miss y/n, may I ask you in having a dance with me” Mr Darcy politely bowed “but of course Mr Darcy”. Y/n had held Darcy’s hand with a gentle touch, through her silk gloves she could feel the man’s gentle squeeze. The two stood in the middle of the dancefloor, many envious eyes were staring upon them. The song soon started to play, y/n moved her feet to slowly follow Mr Darcy’s movements, the two were in sync. After a twirl, dip and a bow Mr Darcy had finished the movements toward his waltz.

Y/n smiled as Mr Darcy’s eyes light up with amusement, never in all his lifetime did he see a woman dance with elegance. Amid it all, in the shadows of the ball stood a man, watching and observing as the scene unfolded. The glare he gave upon his cold expression was one no woman would dare to go near. Y/n thanked Mr Darcy and bid him a hopeful thank you.

“I do hope to see you later this evening, I wish to ask you a question” Mr Darcy asked, he kissed y/n’s hands out of politeness.

 “Of course, mind you I must have a breather, I shall return” Y/n curtsied to excuse herself.

Y/n left the dancefloor in which it left Mr Darcy feel amazed by y/n’s gesture, for once he had found an incredible young lady that fit his standards. It was no secret that the man had an attraction toward y/n even if they had just met. Mr Darcy observed y/n from afar as he awaited to ask y/n to attend to his home estate, in which his future action would be ask for y/n’s hand in marriage.

Y/n had wandered her way toward the back to grab a drink, that was until she tripped on a man’s shoe. “Oh, pardon me” y/n excused herself, “could you be anymore clumsy” the man snidely remarked. “Sir, I do apologise toward my fall” Y/n couldn’t believe the nerves of this gent.The man was certainly not in the dashing description of appearances, his eyes glazed in a cold manner and his hair sat upon his cheek bones. “May I at least help you up” the man asked, he grasped y/n’s hand. Y/n had noticed how slimmer his fingers were compared to Mr Darcy’s. “You may call me Severus Snape” he announced to y/n, within his sight the girl curtsied.

“y/n l/n, sir” y/n smiled, one thing that caught off guard were her eyes.

Snape took a minuet to catch himself staring directly into the girl’s dashing eyes, they reminded him of someone he once knew in his youth. Severus gathered himself together, his cold demeanour had returned with snide remark.

“For your apology, may I ask for a dance miss y/n” Severus offered his hand.

“Oh, of course Mr Snape” y/n smiled, she gently placed her fingers in Snapes.

For a moment everything seemed perfect that was until Mr Darcy had interrupted “Pardon the intrusion for you see, miss y/n was actually attending in presence”. Severus raised an eyebrow while narrowing his eyes “clearly, for I see miss y/n approached me instead”.

Mr Darcy had no tolerance for this man’s sarcastic tone, he had met quite a few cold people in his life but never to this extent. “I see you are of lower status, miss y/n quite clearly values someone of higher regard” Mr Darcy remarked, “and yet I see someone of lower knowledge, perhaps your sloth brain must be lurking around I’m sure” Snape jabbed back.

Y/n interrupted the two gents before they were too fight, she grabbed both their hands and asked “Mr Snape, Mr Darcy if one must choose then I do not wish to be a part of a fight”. Y/n didn’t want to be the subject of an argument, she would much as rather choose one and spend the rest of her life with them.

However, before anything else could occur, y/n’s mother called out “Pardon for I must go, Mr Darcy and Mr Snape I do hope to see you in the future”. Y/n quickly scrambled to find her mother, she hoped she wasn’t late. Mr Darcy had wondered to follow; he could introduce himself to y/n’s mother and use his status to win her hand. Severus, on the other hand just watched as y/n left, he found someone who brought back his memories of which he had in his youth.

One day he hoped to find y/n once more as Mr Darcy longed to marry the girl he waltzed with.

anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta ✨

[honeyspiders10]

Welcome back, to my tavern!

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Masterlist!

My name is Charlie! And this is my tavern!

Requests are open!!

Go check out my girl! @nerdysleepybunny <3

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Things I will write for:

Anything Pride/LGBTQIA+! (you are valid! <3)

Gender neutral reader!

Male reader!

Non binary reader!

And male aligned readers!

(I will write female readers for my friends and friends only. Sorry for the inconvenience)

Poly relationships! Between reader and characters.

Platonic relationships!

And Child!reader and Parent!character!

I will also write for my age regression community!

Ships are welcome as well!

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Things I will not write for:

NSFW! I'm a minor! I have a lot of age regression moots, and most of them are not comfortable with NSFW. So, you will not find smut on my blog at all.

Anxiety, depression, etc. These can be triggering topics to some people, and I want this to be a safe spot.

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Fandoms: TV shows and Movies

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Hasbin Hotel:

Angel Dust

Husker

Charlie

Vaggie

Nifty

Alastor

Lucifier

Ships:

Husker x Angel Dust

Alastor x Lucifer

Vaggie x Charlie

Okay with x reader:

Husker x Angel Dust x Reader

Alastor x Lucifer x reader

Vaggie x Charlie x reader

The Lord of the Rings:

Gimli

Legolas

Aragorn

Gandalf (platonic only!)

Frodo

Sam

Mary

Pippin

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The Walking Dead:

Glen

Maggie

Negan

Abraham

Carl

Rick

Beth

Lori

Carol

Daryl

Eugene

Dale (platonic only!)

Tdog

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Supernatural:

Dean

Sam

Cas

Crowley

Rowena

Lucifer

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Marvel:

Bucky

Sam

Steve

Stephen

Rhody

Tony

Pepper

Groot (platonic only!)

Rocket (platonic only!)

Gamora

Nebula

Drax

Mantix (platonic only!)

Quil

Thor

Loki

Peter

Ned

Wong

MJ

Natasha

Bruce/Hulk

Scott

(If there are any more, let me know! I'll write for just about anyone from the MCU!)

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Kids shows:

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Octonaunts:

Barnacles

Peso

Kwazii

Shellington

Dashi

Tweak

Inkling (platonic only!)

Vegimals (platonic only!)

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Ninjago:

Cole

Kai

Jay

Zane

Nya

Lloyd

Wu (platonic only!)

Garmadon

Zora

Wyldfire

Arin

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Sing 1-2:

Johnny

Mena

Rosita (platonic only!)

Gunther

Ash

Mrs. Crawley (platonic only!)

Buster

Suki

Clay

Krystal

Porsha

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Anime:

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Naruto:

Choji

Naruto

Sasuke

Sakura

Shikamaru

Ino

Tenten

Neji

Lee

Kakashi

Guy

Asuma

Jiraiya

Tsunade

Orichimaru

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Demonslayer:

Tanjiro

Inosuke

Zenitsu

Genya

Rengoku

Tengen

All tengens wifes

Shinobu

Sanemi

Gyomei

Mitsuri

Obanai

Giyuu

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My Hero Academia:

All of class 1-A

The big three

Shinso

Wild, wild pussycats

Dabi

Shigaraki

Staib

Lady Nagant

Toga

Overhaul

Gentle criminal (platonic only!)

Twice

Mr. Compress

Mei

Aizawa

Nezu (platonic only!)

Fatgum

Endeavor

Present Mike

Midnight

All Might

Hawks

Snipe

Recovery girl (platonic only!)

Mt. Lady

Vlad King

Edgeshot

Best jeanist

Ms. Joke

Mirko

Kamui Woods

Ryukyu

Gang orca

Inasa

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Beastars:

Riz

Legoshi

Jack

Haru

Pina

Louis

Juno

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Novels:

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Heartstopper: platonic only!

Charlie

Nick

Imogen

Aled

Sahar

Darcy

Tara

Issac

Tao

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Thank you for reading! Safe journeys, travelers!

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[iliveiloveiwrite]

A Truth Universally Acknowledged // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hi angel! I love all of your stories, especially your Bridgerton and work! Is there any way you could write something soft and fluffy for Anthony and a female reader! PLEASE AND THANK YOU - Anon.

A/N: I haven’t written for Anthony in what seems like forever! As much as I love Benedict, I do love writing Anthony fics. This isn't overly long, I just wanted to write something soft and fluffy that’s entirely domestic as well. I hope you all like! Title is a quote from the first line of Pride and Prejudice (further quotes from the book are in italics).

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: none - fluff, books, marriage, happy relationships, cute.

Word Count: 1.6k

The house is silent as Anthony strides through the waiting, open door. He nods his greeting to the Butler, Wilkins, before letting the weariness that had haunted him all day settle over his bones.

“Wilkins?” Anthony asks; no need to voice the question. Wilkins knows.

“Lady Bridgerton is in the Green-and-Gold, sir.”

Anthony smiles at the Butler. “You really do know everything.”

Wilkins smiles; nods his head. “It is my job, sir. Lady Bridgerton has already told me that you will take your final meal of the day in there, too.”

Anthony takes the stairs two at a time; refusing to accept his laboured breathing by the time he reaches the top. He was not an old man yet; he was still a very active man.

Turning left, he wanders blindly to the Green-and-Gold room named for the colour scheme of the walls and the furniture. His late grandmother had decorated the room; so fondly remembered by her ancestors that each refused to change a thing in the room save for any upholstering that needed to be done occasionally.

He finds you sitting on the left hand side of the room; the comfier side as argued by everyone who visits the room. Your legs are curled underneath you as your eyes pour over the page of an open book in your lap. From here, Anthony cannot possibly hazard a guess as to what you might be reading, but he feels a twinge of jealousy at the attention being paid to the book and not to him.

Well, love makes fools of us all, Anthony thinks to himself. “Darling,” Anthony greets in one single breath, as if the sight of you makes it all the easier for him to breathe.

“Darling,” You smile, standing from your seat, coming to greet the man you love with every fibre of your being. “How was your day?”

Anthony groans as he removes his jacket before tugging at the knot of his cravat. “Long,” He complains, struggling with the neckpiece. You smile at your husband, batting his hands away from his neck so you can take over. You feel the heat of his gaze as your hands work to do undo the knot he had tightened with a single tug; as the fabric unravels under your nimble fingers your husband reaches out to squeeze your waist.

“Thank you,” He whispers, voice full with an emotion you can’t quite decipher. Love? Weariness? A combination of both? Anthony looked ragged as you run your eyes over his face.

“I’m sorry that your day has been taxing, my love.”

“It’s all the better now that I’m here with you.”

“Flatterer,” You tease with no real heat behind your words. Anthony beams at you; eyes crinkling in the corners from the force of it as his hands tighten on your waist and his head dips to capture your lips in the kiss he has been thinking about for the better part of his day.

Breaking away, Anthony plants one, two, three kisses to your lips in quick, chaste succession leaving you breathless and highly amused. “How was your day?” He asks, curious as ever to find out what his wife does when he isn’t at home to distract you.

“Dull,” You answer plainly, enjoying the feel of Anthony’s strong arms around you.

“Dull?”

You purse your lips, thinking over your plans for the day so far. “I suppose dull doesn’t work. It hasn’t been dull at all.”

“Oh?”

“I’m only saying it because I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” He murmurs, kissing you once more. “What are you reading?” Anthony asks when he pulls away, spying the book laid delicately on the couch.

“Eloise let me borrow it. She gave me it when I called to see her this morning,” You answer, leaving the comfort of Anthony’s arms to take your seat on the couch.

“Darling, you know we have an entire library full of books, don’t you?”

Fixing him with an unimpressed look, you counter, “Your sister read this and thought of me. The least I could do is read it.”

“Alright,” Anthony sighs, knowing a losing battle when he sees one. “Budge up.”

“Pardon?”

Anthony gestures to the couch. “Make some room for me.”

A puzzled look settles across your face, but you follow the request, nonetheless, shifting on the couch so Anthony has room to sit down.

Anthony settles with his head on your lap; offering you a self-satisfied smile when you raise an eyebrow at him. “Comfy?” You ask, voice laced with humour.

“Very,” He responds. “Will you start from the beginning? I don’t want to miss anything.”

Chuntering about high maintenance husbands, you mark the page you got to before returning to the beginning. “Anything else before I begin?”

“Nothing… Oh, one thing.”

“That is?”

“I love you.”

Any previous ire you felt towards your husband disappears at those three magical words. The frustrated slant to your brow evens out as you reach out to stroke a hand through his hair and down the side of his face.

“I love you too,” You answer earnestly, feeling the power of the emotion running through you.

A peaceful look crosses Anthony’s face as your words sink into his skin like a balm on an open wound. He had felt neglectful lately; not spending as much time at home as he would have liked. He felt bad for leaving you so alone. Without children, you were your own companion throughout the day, and whilst you had both discussed having children, Anthony was to be left mildly vexed at the thought of you spending your days alone until a child was born.

The opening of parliament combined with Anthony’s seat in the House meant that he was spending more and more time in Westminster and less time with you.

A ratio Anthony was not fond of.

“I’m ready when you are,” He whispers; eyes focused on your face so he can watch every reaction and see every syllable leave your mouth.

Flashing an annoyed look at your husband, you take a deep breath and begin:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“What?” Anthony asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hush,” You admonish half-heartedly before continuing.

“However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.”

“This author is a genius,” Anthony exclaims, his voice awed as he tries to catch a glimpse of the cover to see the author’s name. “Who wrote this?”

“Are you going to comment the whole way through? I’ve barely read two paragraphs.”

“Sorry, darling, but I have to know. Who wrote this?”

“Her name is Jane Austen.”

“Well Jane Austen is a genius. In two paragraphs she’s captured what it is like to be a single man with a fortune in and amongst the sharks with unattached daughters.”

“Sharks?” You ask, highly amused at your husband’s words.

“Mothers,” Anthony shudders, remembering what it was like to go through so many seasons still unmarried. A Viscount with two seats of power combined with a hefty ancestral fortune – many mothers didn’t care whether Anthony would love their daughters; they simply wanted a fortuitus marriage that would leave them set for life.

Anthony thanks any and all gods and deities out there that he found his love match in you. You had taken him by surprise; Anthony had already resigned himself to a season with countless mothers forcing their daughters onto his arm. Until one evening early into the season, he had been listening to Gregory whine about the workload at Eton when his eyes met yours from across the room. In a total state of cliché, Anthony met your gaze, and he knew. He knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life loving you, worshipping you. He knew that whatever his future held, you would be right there weathering it alongside him. In a single glance from across the room, he knew.

You were married before the season finished; a special licence dispensed after a favour from the Archbishop called in. Anthony couldn’t wait; didn’t want to wait – he wanted to start the rest of his life with you as soon as possible.

Your light laughter breaks Anthony out of his reverie. “They aren’t all that bad,” You argue. “I suspect you’ll be worse than me when it comes to our children.”

Anthony snorts; doubting your words but loving the way you speak so openly about your hopeful future family. Clearing your throat, you continue to read on.

Anthony settles further into your lap; letting the calmness of your voice wash over him. After a moment of watching the concentration on your face, Anthony lets his eyes slip closed. He has no intention of falling asleep; he simply wants to enjoy this moment to its fullest.

“Mr Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features…”

A snore interrupts your rendition of Pride and Prejudice. Pausing mid-sentence, you look down to your lap where Anthony has fallen asleep so peacefully. Smiling softly at the man, you close the book, placing it to one side before running a hand through Anthony’s ever-unruly hair. He hums contentedly, pushing his head further into your hand as you begin to scratch at his scalp.

As you watch Anthony doze dreamily, you feel your eyes lose the fight against the growing tiredness. Your hand stills in Anthony’s hair as you fall asleep alongside your husband, utterly content at the path your life has taken considering it led you to him.

*****

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​

[superfics-forone]

Just Friends

SUMMARY: Sam asks the group who they think are the “hottest” members of the team. You don’t make the cute for Bucky’s top five.

Bucky x TALL!Reader

W/C: 5,800

WARNINGS: angst, swearing (like two f bombs), cannon level violence, Bucky being an idiot (it’s a warning), physical insecurities, fake science

A/N: I wrote this because the top 5 situation actually happened to me IRL and when you don’t make someone you like’s list, it sucks. Also, this is in no way meant as being against people who are smaller! I am just a tall/plus size woman and sometimes that really makes you feel like you’re unattractive to people because you don’t fit the gender norm. Let me know what you think! I’m pretty new at this so I’d appreciate the feedback!

Also, HUGE shout out to @princessmisery666 for being so patient and supportive! Thank you for being my beta! Your comments were so incredibly helpful!

The best part about working with Bucky was that you got to see him everyday. The worst part was that you were constantly reminded that he wasn’t attracted to you.

You knew you were a good looking woman, people would often tell you that. It usually happened when you weren’t necessarily feeling your prettiest. Somehow that made it worse. Others would compliment you but he never would. Even when you knew you looked good- like you had put in extra effort and actually tried that day- still he would give you nothing.

You sat across from him in the common room looking at all the other Avengers wondering why he didn’t feel the same when you finally got your answer.

“Alright man,” Sam called out to the group. “Top five, let’s go.”

“Top five?” asked Clint, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. “Top five what?”

Everyone looked back to Sam, - “Top five on who you think is lookin’ most fine”.

“You want us to rate each other?” You asked incredulously.

“Naw, man!” Sam replied. “I want to know who you think are the top five most attractive! Male and female!”

You slunk back into the sofa, both curious and terrified of the conversation to come.

You heard huffs from the others but no one objected. Vision went first and of course he could only answer with; “I believe all of you are inherently lovely. I couldn’t possibly pick a top five of those who I find to be most attractive.” As soon as he finished and the room was no longer focused on him though he leaned over to Wanda and said something in her ear that made her blush.

You brought your cup up to your lips to hide your smile. You loved how happy they were after having been through so much heartbreak.

Sam went next, “Imma say, Wanda, Nat, Gamora’s got it goin’ on…for an alien…Hill - don’t tell her I said that- and…Y/N,” he said throwing you a wink.

You smiled but shook your head with a roll of your eyes. You knew the only reason he said your name was because you were in the room. He was trying to be kind. Men didn’t seem to be actively lining up to be with you…it might have something to do with them being intimidated by you being an Avenger but who could possibly know

“Sam you would think anything with legs that gave you the time of day was hot,” Bucky shot.

The others laughed but Sam shot back, “alright, Tin Man, who’s on your list? Okoye?”

“Yeah for one! I would be dead before I could make a move but sure! She’s dangerous and stunning!” He took a swig of bourbon as if he was done.

“Alright then who else?” Wanda leaned forward winking at you.

You shot her a warning look. You had only told her how you felt about Bucky once on a drunken night after finding out he had gone on date with another recruit. Jealousy had reared its ugly head and she could feel your angst that night. You had asked Wanda how; “A tiny little thing that would barely hold her own in the ring,” could possibly catch his eye. It was as if the only thing he saw you as was an ear to listen to his problems and a soldier he could rely on in the field. You had seen them together multiple times since then and every time it pained you more.

She was everything you weren’t. Barely five foot, two inches tall with a skinny frame to match, and a nicely formed backside. In reality you couldn’t be mad at Bucky. He deserved to be happy. He was your friend and you wanted that for him. You just wanted that particular happiness too.

“Okay, okay!” Bucky’s hands came up in surrender as he finished his drink and leaned back to think, He sat so close to you his left bicep of his folded arms brushed yours with every breath he took.“Okoye? Sure…uh… in no particular order…Wanda, Nat, Darcy, and the little woman, Kris, from reception.”

“It seems, Mr. Barnes”, said Vision, “that you prefer mates who are significantly smaller than you. I do believe that of that group, Wanda is the tallest one.”

“Which isn’t really saying much because I’m only five, six”, she complained.

“The perfect height my dear.” Wanda smiled at that and kissed Vision’s cheek .

You took another long sip of your drink as you registered what had been said. Your stomach soured as you finished the glass. Not so much from the alcohol as from the realization that the man who you had secretly been pinning over didn’t even list you as attractive enough to make his top five.

You felt like you knew why. It was just too much. You weren’t small and dainty like those on his list. You had big bones and a can do attitude. You wouldn’t take crap from people. And because you were so tall you could come off as intimidating…or so some men had told you.

“I’m going to get another drink,” You whispered to no one in particular.

But Sam really couldn’t read a room and he called you out. “No, no! Who’s on your list Y/N?”

“Oh no!” You said dryly. “I’d have to be much drunker for that conversation. For now, I'll keep my opinions to myself.”

You spotted Bucky’s surprised face before you made your way over to the bar. The conversation carried on behind you as you refilled your glass. Thoughts of Bucky’s revelation clouding your mind. You were never going to be good enough for him because you were just too big. Too tall. Too much. He liked the smallest, most petite women in the compound. Feeling your emotions swelling,you decided to grab the bottle and made your way quietly out of the room while the ruckus continued.

Once on your floor you closed the door behind you with a forceful slam, “FRIDAY!! Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone!!”

“Yes, Miss Y/L/N.”

The rest of the night was spent on the floor in your sweats drinking from your bottle of whiskey and feeling sorry for yourself and all the things you couldn’t be because of biology.

You weren’t sure if it was a drunken stupor or your imagination but at one point you could have sworn you heard a knock only for it to go away just as quickly.

…

The next day you had an awful hangover and didn’t get out of bed. Bucky came to your door for your normal morning run.

“Tell him I’m not going, Friday.”

“He would like to know why, Miss.”

“Tell him it’s my time of the month.”

“Your time of the month was last week, Miss.”

“Who’s side are you on, Friday? Just tell him I’m sick.”

“Very well, Miss.”

It was silent for a few moments and you had thought that would be enough to get Bucky off your back for now.

“Mr. Barnes would like to know if you’d like to see Dr. Cho, Miss.”

“Uuuugggghhhh,” you rolled out of bed and marched over, irritated that the one person you didn’t want to see was at your door.Pulling it open with a huff you practically screamed. “What?!?”

“Woah!” Bucky jumped back startled at your disheveled appearance and puffy eyes. “I just want to make sure you’re alright, doll. You didn’t come back last night and you never answered the door when I came to check on you.”

So there was a knock last night.

You couldn’t look him in the eye as your eyes filled with tears again, this time with shame. “I’m fine, Bucky.” You started shutting the door quickly and he stuck his hand on it preventing you from closing it again.

“Y/N…what’s…”

“Bucky, I just need some rest okay?” You cut him off, “I’m fine. I promise I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.” You smiled weakly.

Bucky searched your face as if trying to find what you weren’t telling him in your eyes. But you were an Avenger and you knew how to school your features to show nothing.

Bucky sighed and shook his head, “alright, doll. I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

“Yes, fine,” you said pushing him out the door. Your eyes had flooded with tears again. You didn’t look up to see Bucky’s hurt and concerned face as you closed the door again and put your back to it.

You held your breath listening for his footsteps to retreat before sinking to the floor and crying.

…

The next day was an all out avoid Bucky day. You weren’t sure you could take the questions and worried looks he was sure to give you. Instead, you decided that what you needed was time away from such temptation. And so, you went in to ask Steve for an overseas long assignment.

“You sure about this one, Y/N. It’s a 9 month solo mission. It’s going to be long and it’s going to be lonely.”

“Yes. I’m sure. I need some time to myself.”

Steve looked at you with understanding and pity. He could see how you felt about Bucky even if he couldn’t get his best friend to see it as well.

“Alright,” he said, “suit up. You leave in 2 hours.”

South Africa wasn’t the worst assignment. It wouldn’t take long for you to get the information you needed. And the separation from Bucky would be good for you.

You finished checking your last weapon and loaded it as well as a pair of throwing knives, a gift from Bucky, into your duffle before looking around your room one more time.

You headed to the door and almost made it out until the picture of you and Bucky on your dresser made you stop. Picking it up you smiled at the memory of the minor league baseball game you’d attended together. You had won tickets and no one else was available that night. When you’d offered the tickets to Bucky you couldn’t believe that he said yes! It was the true start of your friendship, talking about life and how much it had changed for him but also how little it had changed for you. He couldn’t believe it when you started singing all the words to “I’ll never smile again”.

“You think I don’t know music? I’m quite cultured, Mr. Barnes!” You had said with a laugh.

“I never said you weren’t, sweetheart!”

Coming back out of your revelry with a start you put the picture back down on the dresser and turned to the door. You were going to get over this infatuation, even if it killed you. Supposedly time heals all wounds. Well you weren’t sure if there was ever going to be enough time but you could get distance.

…

Hours later Bucky came in to tell you about the relationship problems he was having with the girl from reception. She just didn’t seem to understand him and kept picking fights. You had become his confidant and had saved his relationship once before so would most likely be able to do it again.

He was almost to your room when he noticed your door was ajar. Slowing he moved closer and pushed it in silently. The room was neat and quiet. Your bed folded nicely as though it was always that way.

Bucky knew that you never made your bed until you were right about to get in it. Or unless you were going on a trip.

Checking carefully he started to notice things missing. Your favorite slippers were gone. Your tooth brush and favorite stuffed animal turtle were also missing. All of the things that you felt you had to have with you were gone.

Then he saw the picture frame on the dresser. Picking it up he too smiled at the memory, then frowned. It was still here. You almost always took this with you. Why was it still here but everything else you held of value was gone.

“Friday, where is Y/N?”

“Miss Y/L/N has volunteered for a mission, sir.”

“Where?”

“That information is classified.”

“Okay, when will she be back?”

“That information is classified.”

“Alright, who else went on the mission,” he asked hoping whoever it was would have your back.

“All other Avengers are currently in the compound.”

“So she went by herself?” Bucky fumed.

“That information is classified.”

“Damn robots!”

Bucky stormed out and found Steve in the kitchen.

“Where did you send her, punk!

Steve didn’t even look up from his newspaper, knowing exactly what his best friend was talking about.

“She’ll be fine, Buck. She just needs some time to herself.”

“So send her to Fiji! Not a solo mission!!”

“This is her call Bucky. You’ve got to trust her.”

Bucky spun on his heel and headed to the computer lab. He knew he was being irrational but if no one else was going to look after your well-being then he was going to have to do it himself.

It took him all day but he finally unencrypted the files for your mission. You were to carry out a recon mission in Port Elizabeth on a supposed Hydra base. It was a far cry from Fiji but you wouldn’t be in immediate danger.

Still he came in everyday to check in on your reports and find out how the events in the country were progressing. He had even convinced Torres to help him set up notifications to his phone if something were to go wrong. He had, very nicely, threatened him with knives if he didn’t set up Stark’s satellite to keep an eye on you.

After three weeks he was really starting to miss your company. Every time he went out with Kris from reception he realized that she just wasn’t as interesting as you. They didn’t have the same camaraderie and chemistry as the two of you did.

So when his phone dinged at 2:30am he looked at the notification. It was a satellite image of you on your apartment porch drinking coffee. You seemed at ease and calm at your small table. Your hair down and wearing a long red dress. He went to the live feed of the satellite but when he did you weren’t there.

Bucky refreshed the page again thinking it may be just an error. But his rising heartbeat made him think differently. When the screen came back he noticed the upturned coffee mug and the newspapers on the ground.

Bucky flew from his bed and raced down the hall to the command room. Steve and Tony were already there, still in their pajamas.

“…it’s not as if she has a tracker in her, Stark!”

“Well maybe she should! Maybe we should make it a standard issue! Everyone gets a tracker! Friday! Make a note!”

“Yes sir.” replied the AI.

“Tony, we need to focus on the…”

“Where is she?!” Bucky growled.

Both men turned around in surprise. Steve recovered first, his eyes sympathetic for his friend’s worry. “We’re not sure, Buck. These images were only taken 4 hours ago.” He clicked to zoom in closer, “but we did get this.”

He zoomed all the way into the kitchen window behind where you’d sat drinking coffee, where a face reflected in the glass. Bucky looked on in rage, hands in tight fists, as the image became clearer and Zemo came into focus.

…

You awoke with a start, unaware of your surroundings. You sat on a bed in a bare room with a single one way mirror. A metal chair sat by the wall and you noticed no handle on the door. Trying to piece together what had happened you recalled your last memory.

A beautiful morning, the sun shining on the water, a freshly brewed cup of coffee. You sat in your apartment in Port Elizabeth, a pain in your neck…

“Zemo,” you whispered.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said the speaker above you. “I’m sorry about the dramatics but it was necessary. You’re a very important piece of the puzzle.”

“Let me guess,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “You don’t like the way the world is being saved by the Avengers and you think you could do better.”

“Actually I want something else, мой дорогой. I need you.”

“What?” you cried befuddled. “Why on earth would you need me?”

“Do you know what TX-39 is?”

“Yes, I have an entire codex of arbitrary numbers logged away in my brain,” you retorted.

Zemo didn’t pause at your sarcasm. “TX-39 is the compound used to create nucleotides that bond onto nerve endings. By doing so they suspend brain signals stopping all neuro function and rendering the subject immoble. Something you have experienced first hand. By combining a nanotech inhibitor with this nerve ending your subject’s direct motor function is now open to...suggestions.”

You sat astounded as you registered what he had told you. You looked down at your hands but you didn’t feel different. There was no way something like this could work.

“What better way to get rid of a super soldier than to create your own?” Zemo said. You felt a slight buzz in your spine as you stood up quickly trying to resist. Running to the mirror you pulled back your arm, ready to punch your way out, but an inch from the glass your arm stopped. “Ironic that the Soldat will come to save you, only to be the one who needs to be saved.” With that you felt the electricity in your spine disappear and your body was your own again.

Frustration built within you as you sat back on the bed for a moment processing his statement. Your face became more and more incredulous until finally you burst out laughing. You continued laughing harder and harder at the absurdity of Zemo’s reasoning.

“You think I’m the one he is going to come after,” you laughed. “You think you picked the right mouse for your trap? You’re going to wait a long time if you think he’s going to come and get me.”

During your first few weeks away you had missed Bucky fiercely. Leaving him behind so abruptly had felt like severing a part of yourself, but the last few weeks had been good for you. You had forgotten what it was like to rely on yourself. You had grown into yourself again and had realized how little Bucky had actually cared for you when he never came to find you. He hadn’t so much as picked up the phone after you had left. It was as if you had never existed in the first place.

“Bucky doesn’t care about me,” you said sardonically. “He never has. We are barely even friends.You picked the wrong mouse, Zemo. ”

“We’ll see, дорогой,” and with a click he was gone.

Your brain shifted in and out of the conversation with Zemo. Looking down at your hands, you prayed it wasn’t true. You knew that what had happened at the window was real but you didn’t want to believe it. You had been turned into a weapon to hurt your friends. To hurt Bucky.

Crossing your arms over your chest you laid down on the bed, rolled over to face the wall, and cried.

…

Avengers Compound

“There is a five mile radius around Agent Y/L/N last known location,” said Fury. “Two man teams will sweep the area in a grid formation while the drones scan for energy signatures. Any questions?”

All those around the table sat silent, but nodded confirmation of their understanding of the objective. Fury looked around the room, “This mother fucker took one of ours and I wanna know why. Let’s get going.”

Bucky stood up from the table and made his way out of the room to the Quinjet hangar. Steve pulled on his arm before entering the plane. “I know what’s going through your mind right now Buck, but we are going to get her back”.

Bucky looked at the ground before raising his eyes to his friend. “He knew how to get to me, Steve. He always knows where to hurt me. He couldn’t use you. You’re too difficult to overpower. So he had to pick her. I just,” Bucky wasn’t sure how to finish his thought. Words never came easily to him and he wasn’t sure he could really express what he was feeling. “I just want her safe.”

After you had left Bucky felt hollow inside. He hadn’t realized how much joy you brought to his day with your smiles and jokes. Always knowing what to say, or at least, what he needed to hear. Your departure made him realize he needed you. Boarding the jet Bucky knew that no matter what happened he was going to tell you how he felt.

…

The team had been sweeping through the city for what felt like hours and there still hadn’t been any developments. Walking through another alleyway Bucky scanned the cobblestone streets. He was beginning to lose hope at ever finding you at all when he saw an uneven line in between two buildings.

Pressing his comm link he called out, “Steve, I’ve got something. I’m going to check it out.”

“Bucky, wait for backup. We’ll come to you.”

Feeling along the wall Bucky felt a draft between the cracks. Unholstering the gun at his hip he pushed against the wall feeling it give way.

“I’m going in. Follow my location.”

“Bucky, wait!” Steve called.

Bucky ignored his calls and continued down the dimly lit hall. The walls opened up to a staircase leading down to a command room. The musky scent of decay and scotch filled Bucky’s nostrils.

“Privet, Soldat,” Zemo called from the darkness.

Bucky whirled around to find nothing.

“Have you come for your little mouse?”

Still searching, Bucky said nothing as the sound came from a different corner of the room.

“Have you realized how much you miss her?”

Bucky circled again, coming up to a window.

“I wonder what it is? Is it her sweetness that draws you? Or her willingness to see you for more than the killer you are?”

Bucky frowned. Zemo was playing with him.

“Or have you realized that her fire is what draws you to her? She does have a talented tongue. I’ve seen her put it to good use,” Zemo provoked. “I have enjoyed having her in my company, but it seems you really never appreciated her spirit, did you?”

Bucky continued searching the room as Zemo continued his monologue. Coming up to the computer he saw a paused video feed. It played as soon as he stepped forward.

Bucky saw you in a room, still in your red sundress. Your hair was matted and you had the look in your eye of anger and exasperation. When you spoke, Bucky felt the wind rush out of his lungs.

“Bucky doesn’t care about me,” you said sardonically. “He never has. We are barely even friends.”

“A pity she never saw you care, but I suppose it’s only fair that you tell her now.”

The door beside the window clicked open with a beep. You came out of the cell with a look of wary surprise on your face. “Bucky?”

“Now is your moment, Sergeant Barnes. Why not tell her how you feel before it's too late,” called Zemo.

Bucky holstered his gun and walked toward you. “Y/N? Are you okay? Come on, let's get out of here.”

He grabbed your hand and turned to go but you were rooted to the spot. Your breathing became heavy as you felt the tingling sensation in your spine again.

“Bucky, I need you to leave,” you cried, dread dripping from your voice.

“What? No,sweetheart, come on! I’m not leaving you.”

“Bucky, I…” you started.

“Last chance to declare yourself, Soldat.”

Looking up in anger, Bucky yelled. “Shut up, Zemo. I’m not performing for you-” Bucky’s head turned in surprise as you punched him across the face. “What the hell, Y/N?”

“It wasn’t me!” you cried as you dropped and kicked his legs out from under him.

Bucky rolled over quickly to pick himself up as you followed him swinging punches at his head and kicks to his stomach. Your moves were both erratic and efficient as they landed multiple times. It was all Bucky could do to block your assault and move out of the way.

“This isn’t me!” you cried again between punches. “Zemo is controlling me with nanotech!”

Bucky threw up an arm to block your punch before flipping you around by your arm and pressing you to the wall. He didn’t want to hurt you but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t the most comfortable position.

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’re going to get you out of this.”

Your foot kicked his leg and you pushed yourself over and around his head and away from the wall. Grabbing the knife at his hip as you slipped out of his grip, you threw it into his thigh.

Bucky looked at you in surprise and annoyance. “Sorry!” you winced. Pulling the knife from his leg he tossed it to the floor.

“Look, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere, but try not to kill me, okay?”

“It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose Bucky!” you huffed as you charged at him.

“Well I’m just trying to get you out of the problem you put yourself in!” You had grabbed another knife and went to stab him. Bucky caught the knife and twisted your hand but the knife snagged your dress and tore the skirt as you fought to wrestle it away.

Your eyes flared with anger and the next punch you threw had a little extra heft in it.

“That I put myself in? How about you, Mr. Barge-into-a-room-with-no-back-up!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you liked being saved! Although you’re one to talk! You came on a mission without backup!” Bucky rolled across the computer console out of the way of your next kick, getting agitated at your attitude.

“Because I needed space!” you yelled as you followed him around the computer desk.

“Space? Space from what?” Bucky yelled back, actually throwing a punch that you easily evaded.

“You! You idiot!” it burst out of you as you came up swinging before pushing him to the ground.

Bucky looked up at you with his eyes wide. You had him straddled under your legs. Bucky brought his arms up to block your punches while he tried to talk to you.

“Why would you need space from me? I don’t understand. You left without warning, without saying goodbye! Your mission was classified so I had to hack F.R.I.D.A.Y to even find out where you were!”

Your body was starting to fatigue from the strain of the fight as you continued to land blow after blow. You were fit and well trained but because your body was not your own you were blowing through energy rapidly. Your breaths were coming in short gasps as your chest heaved at each punch. If you kept this up, you weren’t sure how much time you would have before your body gave out entirely.

“Y/N, you left a huge gap! You were my best friend and then you were gone! You wouldn’t even talk to me before you left! You didn’t tell me you were leaving. I couldn’t even call you because the mission was supposed to be classified!”

Maybe it was the fatigue, maybe the hopelessness you felt, but you gave him everything you had left as you pummeled into him. Frustration over your situation, frustration at him, frustration at yourself built up inside you.

“I WILL NOT BE YOUR STAND IN! I will not be second best. I can’t look on anymore as you find someone smaller, cuter, littler to fit perfectly into your life! I deserve to be wanted! I deserve to be desired!” you screamed at the man beneath you as tears streamed down your cheeks.

Bucky finally bucked his hips and flipped you under him, pinning your hands to the ground next to your head.

“Get off of me! Let me go!” you had finally had enough. The damn had broken and your emotions and insecurities raged inside you. Your body pulled and twisted to break free from his grip.

“You do deserve to be desired,” Bucky said calmly as he caged you beneath him. “You are nobody's stand in. You’re perfect just as you are.” He wanted to say more but it was all he could do to keep you pinned under him.

The team burst down into the control room to see you openly weeping and Bucky on top of you.

“Nat, I need you to put an electric burst in my arm.” Bucky said looking up.

“I’m sorry, you what?” asked Nat.

“Just do it!” he said as you fought harder against him.

With a nod from Steve, Nat waved her baton and zapped Bucky’s arm causing both of you to scream in pain. When your body finally stopped seizing, the lack of adrenaline and the pain and fatigue caught up to you and you passed out in Bucky’s arms.

“You want to explain why I just pushed fifty thousand volts through you two?”

“Zemo infected her with some kind of nano tech. She hasn’t been in control this entire time.”

Steve scanned around the room. “Alright team, fan out. See if you can find out where Zemo went. I want teams down here with sat links up in 30 minutes.”

Bucky circled the gears around in his arm to get it up and running again before scooping you carefully off the ground.

“Buck, get her on the next jet out. Dr. Cho and Banner will be waiting for you to get back.”

…

For the second time you woke up in an unfamiliar place, and struggled to get your bearings. You felt like you’d been run over by a pick up truck and tumbled through a dryer.

Feeling slowly returned to your hands as your eyes opened and your vision cleared. You were in one of the medical rooms at the compound you realized.

“Look who decided to wake up,” said a gruff voice.

Turning your head you saw Bucky sitting in the chair beside you. He looked fresh and his eyes twinkled at you.

“Bucky,” you croaked as you tried to sit up.

“Woah there. You just relax. Your body is still trying to catch up from Zemo’s nanites.”

You slumped back down in the bed as Bucky leaned forward to take your hand.

“You had me worried there for a minute, doll. You’ve been sleeping for days. Wasn’t sure when you were going to pull through.”

“You doubt me, Barnes?”

“Not for a second, sweetheart, but I sure as hell missed you.” Bucky smiled, then looked down for a moment as if trying to find the right words. “We need to talk about why you left, Y/N.”

“No, Bucky, I...it doesn’t matter.” You say looking away. “It’s not important.”

“I don’t know, I’d say you thinking you don’t matter to me is pretty important.” You turned to look at him sharply, mouth open in a small gasp. “And I’d also say that you thinking I don’t find you desirable is pretty important too.”

You sat in shock as he spoke, not wanting to break the way you had during your fight.

“Y/N, you are perfect. You knew me before I even knew myself. You light up the whole room just by being in it. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. You are strong, independent, kind, and gentle. You’re like a tall Asgardian goddess. Every inch of you is beautiful. I thought back to the last time we talked...before you left, and I realized why you did. I know why you thought I wasn’t attracted to you. That night, Sam’s list,” he paused as if pained at the memory, “I didn’t add you because...well, because I was so confused at how I was feeling. You were my friend. I didn’t realize till it was too late that I was already falling in love with you. And I most definitely didn’t want to give Sam anymore ammunition.”

You looked up at him sharply when he dropped the L word.

Bucky stood to reposition himself on the edge of your bed. Taking your face in his hands he leans forward until your foreheads barely touch. “I didn’t want to ruin things with you. You were my friend. You were perfect and I thought you deserved better so I ran to find something that was everything you weren’t. You are my perfect fit. You are just right. You are the only person I want. Please tell me you’re mine. Please tell me I haven’t lost you.”

You brought your hand up to rest over his as you let his words wash over you.

He wanted you. He thought you were beautiful. All of you. All of the parts people had told you were too much: your height, your attitude, your independence - he wanted it all.

You did something that you wanted to do for months, you brought your lips up to his softly and gave him a chaste kiss. “I was always yours Bucky,” You pulled his hands down and pushed him away to look into his eyes, “but I won’t be taken for granted anymore. I shouldn’t have to leave for you to want me. I shouldn’t have to be gone for you to realize what you had. I left for a reason. It was to find peace with myself. I realized that I didn’t need your approval. I didn’t need your desire to be whole. I won’t settle for someone who can’t see what’s right in front of them. I know my worth.”

Bucky looked at you sorrowfully as he held onto your fingers, memorizing their shape. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough.”

“I know, but it happened. I don’t need you to be happy, Bucky...” Bucky hung his head in dejection. “...But I do want you.”

Bucky looked up at you sharply to find your eyes full of love and warmth. You wanted him. Even after all that happened - how he forced you away, how he made you feel like you weren’t good enough, you were still willing to forgive him. You wanted him even with all his faults.

You brought him closer for another kiss and savored the way his lips fell across yours. Breaking away to look up at him you said what you had been holding in for months, “And I love you too.”

Tags: @princessmisery666 @dreamwritesimagines