#Downton Fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spontaniousmusicalnumbers · 5 hours

Text

“I want…” Mary trailed off. “Granny says I should say yes now and withdraw later if it’s a boy.”

Matthew stopped his pacing and stared at her. “To make that work, you’d have to be a good liar. Well, are you a good liar?”

“Not good enough to try it.” Mary paused, looking at the ground. “Obviously. If I was, I’d have said yes ages ago.”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” he challenged.

“Oh…” she trailed off. This wasn’t how she wanted this conversation to go at all. She knew she couldn’t accept him without telling him about Pamuk, but she didn’t want him to be in a bad mood at the start of the discussion. “I guess I might as well tell you now anyway. I should have told you when you first asked, but…. Oh Matthew, I’m such a coward and I can’t stand the thought of you despising me like I know you will. Perhaps we should sit first.” She gestured at the bench they were standing next to.

Matthew looked at her skeptically but went to sit on the bench. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to rush her, but his curiosity had definitely been piqued.

Mary sat, carefully positioning herself to face out to the park. She didn’t think she could manage this conversation if she was looking at him. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I suppose you remember when Mr. Napier and Mr. Pamuk came to visit last spring?”

Matthew nodded. It occurred to him that he had no idea what this had to do with her lying to him.

“And I suppose you remember how taken I was with Mr. Pamuk?”

Again, Matthew nodded. He hadn’t liked the Turk. It wasn’t just that he had captured Mary’s attention so thoroughly. There was something about the gentleman that had just seemed…ungentlemanly. Matthew had spent most of the evening trying to avoid Edith and capture Mary’s attention. He remembered bitterly when he had been trying to convince her to go riding with him and she had abruptly walked off to join Mr. Pamuk in the adjoining room. They hadn’t been gone long before Mary had reemerged into the drawing room, her cheeks flushed.

“Well, anyway, he didn’t die in his bed that night. He died in mine.” She stopped unceremoniously. For a minute Matthew remained silent expecting her to go on. When he realized that she was finished he thought for a moment.

“So, you’re saying…” he trailed off. He didn’t quite know what she was saying. A high-born young lady would not have risked her reputation for a foreigner. He could hardly believe that she would have invited him to her bedroom. Not when Mr. Napier had clearly been there as a potential match for her. But there had been that flush to her cheeks when she’d come into the drawing room.

“Oh, Matthew, please say something,” Mary cried. Her voice was quiet. Not quite a whisper, but not her strong calm voice either. Thinking back the only time he remembered seeing her so distraught was when he had talked to her in the days after the Turk’s demise.

“Well…” he swallowed, not really wanting to hear the answer to his next question. “Did you love him?”

She looked shocked. “How could I? I didn’t even know him!”

“Well, if it was love…”

“It was lust Matthew!” she sounded desperate “or something in him that excited me. What difference does it make?”

“I—I just don’t understand.” Matthew’s mind was racing. It felt like everything he thought he knew about her was wrong. “This just doesn’t seem like something you would do.”

“Well, it’s not exactly like I planned it.” She sounded a little hurt at the insinuation. “I didn’t think to myself ‘I know, let’s have a man force his way into my room and die here.’”

It took a moment for all of what she said to register. “Wait, what did you just say?”

“I didn’t plan to have a man die in my room?” She laughed.

“No, before that.” He rubbed his forehead. “He forced his way into your room?”

“Well, that actually seems a little dramatic.” She frowned, trying to remember the night. “He didn’t force his way in. He just walked in. I don’t even know how he found it. I was in bed, reading. He walked in and I told him to leave, but he didn’t. I threatened to scream, and he told me I wouldn’t so instead I threatened to ring the bell. He just laughed because I wouldn’t let a hall boy find him there. He kept saying that I’d be ruined anyway. I still don’t understand how he found his way into my room in the first place. I swear I told him he wasn’t welcome, but I must have led him on.”

As she was talking, her brow was furrowed. Her voice was still very quiet. Matthew got the impression she wasn’t actually talking to him anymore. She was puzzling through the events of the night. His heart was breaking for her.

“Mary, do you think this was somehow your fault?” His voice startled her. The tone of his voice was full of concern. There was no hint of judgement or disdain. She glanced at him for the first time since they had sat. He had turned to face her and was leaning closer, as if he was waiting on bated breath to hear what she had to say. His eyes were filled with sorrow.

“Of course it was. I flirted with him shamelessly. I didn’t make him leave; I just gave into him. I am, as Mama says, ‘damaged goods.’ I completely understand if you want to withdraw your offer. I am Tess of the D’Urbervilles to your Angel Claire.”

“Don’t joke about it, Mary.” His voice was firm, but compassionate.

“You’re right. It’s a very serious matter. And there’s more.” She took a deep breath wondering how much more she should tell him, if she should bring up Edith’s betrayal. No, there was no point in that. She didn’t want to make him despise the entire family. “I cannot bring you into the scandal. News is already getting out in London. If you married me, you’d be a laughingstock. I can’t do that to you, especially now if Mama’s baby is a boy.”

He suppressed a laugh. It wasn’t funny, not in the slightest. He’d never seen her look so small or vulnerable.

“Mary, I don’t despise you. I love you. If it’s possible, even more than I already did.” He took hold of her hands, pulling her to face him. She was instantly reminded of the intense look he had given her right before he’d kissed her the first time, the night he’d proposed to her. She looked into his brilliant blue eyes, daring to believe what he was saying.

“You don’t mean that, Matthew.” She lowered her eyes so that he wouldn’t see the tears that threatened to fall.

“Why not? Because some cad took advantage of you?” He lifted her chin, but she kept her eyes downturned. “Mary, look at me,” he implored. “You are not to blame for this. You said yourself that you told him to leave; that you don’t even know how he found your room.”

“I could have stopped him.” One single tear fell down her cheek. “I could have screamed for Papa.”

Matthew wiped her tear away with his thumb. “No, you couldn’t have. After all he had done, he was not going to leave you alone until he got what he wanted. All you did was prevent him from beating you in an attempt to get it.”

“But what about the scandal?” Mary asked. “Even if you say it wasn’t, it was all my fault. I can’t let you ruin your reputation by tethering yourself to me.”

“Mary,” he smiled at her, “when have I ever seemed concerned about what people say about me?”

She thought for a moment, “Well, you didn’t take too kindly to being compared to a sea monster.”

He chuckled slightly, “no, I suppose I didn’t.”

“You have no idea how much it means to me that you seem to think this wasn’t my fault,” she began.

Matthew cut her off, “stop. It wasn’t your fault. I don’t know how you got it in your head that it was, but you need to put that out of your mind.”

“I wish so much that I could believe you,” she sounded far off again.

“Do believe me. And anyone who says differently, send them to me. I will not allow anyone to make my wife feel guilty for something that was beyond her control.”

“Your wife?” Her tone suddenly very different. “You don’t mean that, surely. You don’t even know if I still want to marry you if Mama has a boy.”

“Well,” he’d honestly forgotten that was how their argument had started after Mary’s startling confession, “I think you do. You implied that you’d have accepted me already if this whole sorry business hadn’t been hanging over you like a sword of Damocles.”

“That’s true, but how do you know I wouldn’t have changed my mind, or asked to delay until after the baby is born?”

“Because,” he smiled at her, a broad genuine smile, “I know I will do everything in my power to be worthy of you. You have shown so much strength of character today. I don’t know if I can make you a Countess, but I will strive to make you feel no less than a queen from now until the last breath leaves my body if you’ll let me. I know you have doubts about a middle class life, but I promise you, I will do all within my power to be worthy of you.”

She tilted her head to the side and appraised him carefully, a coy smile playing at her lips. “You know, you’ve never asked me properly. How can I be expected to answer anything that I haven’t really be asked?”

“Fine,” he grumbled, sliding from his seat on the bench to one knee in front of her. He took one of her hands in his and smiling said: “Lady Mary Crawley, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, tears falling freely now. He was already rising, pulling her to her feet as well. He embraced her, lifting her from her feet and twirling her around. She kissed him, not caring that it was unladylike to do so.

“I don’t want to delay. I want to get married as soon as possible. I don’t want you to ever doubt that I love you and I don’t want anyone to think I am only after you for the title. Besides, with all the unrest since the Archduke’s assassination, who knows what will happen. I would hate for something else to pull us apart,” she said breathlessly.

“My darling, how could I ever argue with that?”

#downton abbey #downton fanfic #matthew x mary #matthew crawley #mary crawley

0 notes

thenightblogjameth · 1 year

Text

Jimmy contra mundi

#jimmy's tragic backstory that was never mentioned again #thank god for fanfic #thommy #jimmy kent #thomas barrow #ed speleers #rob james collier #downton abbey #my gifs

280 notes · View notes

pandafishao3 · 4 months

Text

Title: Good and Improper

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes x Steve Rogers

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Summary: Steve is an alpha and a servant to the aging lord Howard Stark. Bucky is lord Stark's beautiful new omega bride, and the new lady of Shield Hall. At first Steve tries to keep a respectful distance to his master's young wife, but he can't help but notice that lady Stark is throwing him looks as he waits on his table. And then one night, his lordship calls for Steve with an unusal request...

Link to Ao3: Good and Improper

Well I did it, I turned a Downton Abbey-inspired oneshot into a fullblown fic. Oh well, woe is me I guess. Basically, this is a historical omegaverse fic set in England somewhere in the 1910's. Oh, I also tried to do a header for it and it was my second attempt ever so please be patient with me, I will get the hang of this (maybe)

#bucky barnes #stucky #fanfic #captain america #ao3 #marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers #alpha/beta/omega au #downton abbey

37 notes · View notes

importantgalaxyrunaway · 1 year

Text

Master list

disclaimer: I am dyslexic so their may be spelling errors but I use spell check. All are fem reader. Send me an ask if you want male reader.

COLBY BROCK - 👻🖤🔮✨

(this series is Colby and y/n going to the sallie house and him comforting her)

midnight cuddles - chapter 1

good morning princess- chapter 2

Sallie house- chapter 3

The investigation- chapter 4

possessed- chapter 5

I love you- chapter 6

comments- chapter 7

Movies night/ Valentine’s Day (your sams sister and go on a date with Colby)

You slept with my sister!-part 2 (your sams sister and go on a date with Colby)

Halloween party (Colby gets jealous)

FINNICK ODAIR 💙🌊💍🧜‍♂️

(you and finnick go into the arena)

Nightmares part 1

The ring part 2

Chariot rides part 3

Training part 4

TOM BRANSON 🇮🇪❤️☘️🍀

Valentine’s Day

STEVE HARRINGTON 🍦🥰 ♥️🍨

keep the door open!!! —(hopper is your dad and Steve is in your room)

vecna —(you get taken by vecna)

RUMBELLE

dragons days

CORIOLANUS SNOW 🕊️🥀🐍🌹

Between the bars—(Coryo and y/n have their first kiss)

honeysuckle —-(what if Coryo met y/n in the arena)

MATHEW MURDOCK 🥊👿❤️🦯

the snap part 1 —(what if Matt disappeared in the blip)

better than the devil part 2 —-(what if Matt disappeared in the blip)

Sundays (newlyweds have a Sunday together and go to church)

Trust me there is many more to come.

237 notes · View notes

shipthecarsons · 1 year

Text

Chapter 8 is out 🙌🏻

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14159264/8/

#downton abbey #chelsie #charles carson #elsie hughes #carson x hughes #chelsie fanfic #mr carson #beryl patmore #downtonabbey #chelsiefanfic #downton fanfic #mrs hughes

12 notes · View notes

hayleythesugarbowl · 4 months

Note

hey I don’t know if you’re still writing for Thomas barrow but if you are can you write one where the female reader is the one who finds Thomas kissing Jimmy instead of Alfred? And maybe the reader and Thomas are kind of enemies before that? But she covers for him/helps him anyways? Thank you so much I love your Thomas barrow series 💌

Even || Thomas Barrow & female!reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • thomas barrow masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: when you, a ladies maid who thomas has never got along with in the past, catch thomas making a move on jimmy you’re forced to decide wether or not to help him out

word count: 3.4k

warning: mild cursing, homophobia because it’s jimmy, speaking of which also jimmy slander if you squint

a/n: ok I’m sorry it took me so long to get to this!! I actually had an idea similar to this so thank you so much for requesting this love <3💌🍒💋

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miss (Y/l/n)?”

You looked up from your stitching to see a man staring down at you.

Thomas Barrow.

His eyebrows were raised expectantly and you fought the urge to roll your eyes as he waited for you to acknowledge him.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You prompted.

“Mrs. Hughes is looking for you. Something about one of Her Ladyship’s evening gowns.”

You smiled your sweetest smile up at the footman-turned-valet.

“Well, I appreciate you passing along the message,” you said as you continued to hem the skirt you were working on.

Still, Thomas didn’t leave. “You’d best get going, don’t you think? Mrs. Hughes sounded pretty urgent and I wouldn’t want you to get involved in any unfortunate circumstance.”

“No you wouldn’t,” you muttered under your breath sarcastically as you got up and walked down the hall.

You and Thomas didn’t exactly get on, to put it mildly. Honestly you’d be surprised if Mrs. Hughes even needed you and it wasn’t all just a ploy by Thomas to waste your time. It wouldn’t be the first time, you thought sardonically.

From the moment you arrived at the Abbey, Thomas had began his life’s mission of forever tormenting you and making your work at Downton just a little bit harder. You had tried to be friendly to him at first, but to no avail for he seemed determined to let you know that you didn’t belong here.

Not that he was particularly amiable with any of the downstairs staff, but he seemed to especially have it out for you.

Most likely because you were the only one who challenged. He wasn’t the only one who could come up with sabotaging schemes.

And he did have so many bloody schemes.

Like the time right after you’d been hired when he’d convinced you that even though you weren’t a part of the kitchen staff, you needed to pick up some groceries for Mrs. Patmore. He sent you into town and you’d been lost for hours searching before you’d ran into Anna—bless her heart—who told you that the grocer was on the other side of town and the delivery wasn’t even supposed to be ready for another week.

You’d gotten him back (with some help from Mrs. O’Brien, who’d been feeling particularly miffed at Thomas that day and was willing to return the favor in any way she could) by shrinking His Lordship’s trousers.

The furious yet shocked look on his face—like he’d finally found a worthy competitor—still brought a smile to your face on particularly dark days.

Needless to say, your relationship had been filled with nothing but stiff quips, scathing remarks, and the occasional act of sabotage since then.

You reached your destination and peered into Mrs. Hughes office.

“Mr. Barrow said you needed me?”

“And Mr. Barrow would be right,” Mrs. Hughes agreed, turning to you and smiling wryly. “I can’t make heads or tails of this gown.”

You picked up the mess of fabric she had gestured to and set to work mending. The skirt you were working on could wait.

As you turned the dress over, you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself. Thomas? Truthful for once?

He must have some ulterior motive.

You’d be surprised if the skirt was still there when you got back—or if it didn’t have significantly more holes than when you’d left it.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

You walked into the servants hall the next morning, tired as hell from working on Her Ladyship’s gown all night.

You practically fell into your chair as Daisy came around and poured your tea. You thanked her absentmindedly as you began to nibble on some toast.

“Don’t you look nice, Miss (Y/l/n),” Thomas smiled at you but it was all but a compliment.

O’Brien smirked beside him and you narrowed your eyes at both of them.

“Nice of you to take notice,” you shot back.

“Is it a crime, to butter up one’s coworker?” He kept eye contact with you as he stirred his tea slowly.

“Depends who’s doing the buttering,” you leveled your gaze at his dark eyes.

“Speaking of butter, can we get any around here?”

A blond man sauntered into the room, taking a seat at the servants table and looking around at the present company. You felt Thomas shift across from you.

“I’m serious, just because we’re working class don’t mean we have to eat turnips and bread our whole lives.”

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t know the King of England was visiting,” O’Brien mumbled.

“Only saying,” Jimmy said. “I’d like to be able to eat what I like, when I like without being an earl or a duke.”

Jimmy Kent. The newest addition to the well-oiled machine that was Downton Abbey. And how could you forget? What, with all of the maids talking of nothing else since he arrived. You agreed that he was pleasant looking, but he was too much of a flirt for your liking.

He leaned back in his chair, as if daring anyone to contradict him.

“And what would you like to eat, Jimmy?” Thomas glanced over at him.

“All of England, if it pleases me.”

“I’ll put in a good word with Mrs. Patmore,” Thomas smiled at Jimmy and you were baffled at how it actually looked genuine.

In fact, Thomas had seemed to take a liking to Jimmy from the moment he arrived. He was about the only person who Thomas treated like an equal.

He must be using him, you thought. Trying to lure him into the trap of friendship before getting him fired or something of the like.

“You most certainly will not,” Mrs. Patmore answered, walking into the room. “The moment I start taking requests from you lot—”

“Is a moment that will not happen anytime soon,” Mr. Carson cut in from the head of the table glancing authoritatively at all of the servants finishing their breakfast.

“Why would Mrs. Patmore take your word anyway,” you looked to Thomas, “When anything you recommend is likely to be made of cement?”

“Feisty this morning, are we? Bold for the girl who, as I recall, left the Duchess of Frescershire quite unhappy with a dress that very likely felt like cement.” Thomas spat.

Your hand made a fist and you yearned to climb across the table and use it, but you checked yourself and only glared at the man across from you.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at you, standing up and glancing in Jimmy’s direction before turning around and heading down the hall.

“I think I’ll be going also,” O’Brien left her seat quickly, giving a small smile, her eyes following Thomas’s as she walked to catch up to him.

Likely plotting, you thought. Well, let them to it. The last thing you needed to be doing right now in your tired state was wasting energy thinking about Thomas Barrow.

You finished your tea, exiting the room and preparing for your days work. The girls were already dressed, so you could devote your time to downstairs work for the time being.

You passed Thomas and O’Brien in the hall, both of which quickly stiffened their posture and looked at you as you walked past, ceasing their very obvious confidence. But not before you heard the words certain, return, and Jimmy.

You didn’t even want to bother figuring out what they were gossiping about. Nothing good, you knew that. Best to stay out of it while you still could.

Thomas had nearly gotten you sacked a number of times and it wasn’t going to happen again.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Sleep. It was all you could think about as you walked down the hall, having finished your days work and being ever so ready to hit the hay.

Everyone else had already gone to bed and you were the last to leave the servants hall. You were almost to your room, thinking of how to avoid waking the maid that you shared your room with, when someone called your name.

“Miss (Y/l/n)?”

“Mrs. Hughes.” You greeted her.

“Do you have minute?”

“I suppose I do.”

“I don’t like to ask you to do this, but Lady Mary has asked to have her purple evening gown from last season ready to wear tomorrow. I would ask one of the footmen as it’s through the men’s corridors, but you’re the only servant still awake—”

You internally cursed Lady Mary. Out loud you weakly said, “Straight away, Mrs. Hughes.”

You supposed it worked out for the best. As it turned out, Thomas had done something with the skirt you’d been mending—which just so happened to be needed by Lady Edith the next day—and it might give you a chance to see if he’d hidden it anywhere where he thought you would never go.

You didn’t say any of this to Mrs. Hughes though, you just smiled and walked in the opposite direction.

The male servant’s corridor was dark and you had trouble finding your way around without a lantern. You could make out the outlines of doorways, the doors all shut tight for the nighttime.

Now which door was the storage room?

You found it fairly quickly considering the circumstance and sorted through until you found the aforementioned dress.

Now, to reward yourself, you thought, a little snooping was in order.

You walked farther down the hall to what you assumed were the bedrooms.

Again, the doors were all closed and most likely locked. You cursed under your breath. You were staring to head back before your eye caught on a glint of light spilling into the hallway from the far end of the corridor.

You headed farther into the hall and you saw it. A door, propped open just enough to see that there was someone standing in it, their form outlined by the moonlight.

You crept closer, peering through the gap.

Thomas. His back was to you, but you could see him slowly inching closer to a bed on the far wall.

Except, he wasn’t alone. You could barely make out someone already sleeping. The room appeared to only have one bed, not a shared room, you thought.

Which meant—

You heard a cry. A rustle of blankets. You dared to open the door just a little bit more.

“What in the bloody hell—”

You looked up in time to see Thomas leaning over Jimmy, a look of pure horror and shock on the latter’s face. Thomas backed up quickly, while Jimmy stood in outrage.

“Did you just try to—” Jimmy’s surprise quickly turned to anger as he took a step towards the other man.

Your mind could hardly work fast enough, watching all of this unfold. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. If this was what you thought it was—

You weren’t paying attention and you leaned forwards, your foot stepping on a creaky board—curse this old house—and alerting both men. Thomas turned around and his eyes landed on yours.

“Miss (Y/l/n), this isn’t what it looks like, alright? If you think I invited him, than you’re mistaken.” Jimmy looked flustered and you looked from him to Thomas.

Thomas opened his mouth, as if to say something. He looked pained and miserable.

You almost forgot yourself and felt bad for him.

He tried to say something again but instead just looked from you to Jimmy and then rushed out of the room.

You couldn’t do anything but follow him.

“Mr. Barrow—”

Abruptly, he stopped and turned around to face you. His posture was straight and he spoke as is if he were discussing the weather.

“You got what you wanted, didn’t you, Miss (Y/l/n)?”

You didn’t respond.

“I’m sure you’d just love to see me sacked, wouldn’t you?” Thomas bit out.

“Now—”

“Go on, tell Mr. Carson. Tell His Lordship. Tell the bloody King. Finally got an excuse to see the end of me. I reckon no one’ll even bat an eye, neither.”

Even in the dark, could see the pain and loneliness and fear in his expression that he was trying to hide with his harsh words.

You’d imagined the moment Thomas Barrow would get thrown out on his ear many a time. You’d always pictured the way you’d smirk as he left Downton for the last time. How you’d shout ‘good riddance’ for all to hear. You’d conjured up a million different circumstances just like this.

Except never like this. Not with Thomas weak, practically giving up. You couldn’t say it didn’t sound appealing, getting rid of him. You had the advantage. But suddenly, you didn’t want it.

“You must think more of me than that, Mr. Barrow.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” his voice was rough.

“I mean, I better get back with this dress ‘fore they send a search party.”

You started to walk past Thomas, but he stepped in front of you.

“So, that’s it? No victory speech?” Thomas glared down at you.

You had the urge to slap the look off his face but you took a deep breath.

“Victory over what? I didn’t see nothing to make me victorious. And by that, I mean I didn’t see nothing at all.”

You winked at him once leaving him standing there to process that as you hurried back in the direction you came.

You nearly laughed at the turn of events as you found your way back in the dark. You, covering for Thomas Barrow.

Never in your wildest dreams…

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The next day, Thomas could hardly look at you. Whenever he rounded a corner and found you on the other side, he stopped, looked like he wanted to speak to you, and then hurried on past.

You didn’t exactly expect him to bake you a cake or nothing, but you supposed a decent thank you was in order for saving his arse.

However, for all he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Jimmy. Except this time, instead of the look of friendship (or more, you supposed) it was now a look of apprehension.

Most likely afraid Jimmy would take his story himself to Mr. Carson.

And you didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t. From the look of him, you thought as you sat across from him at the servants table, he looked ready to pounce.

Before you could stop yourself and advise against it, you walked up to him. “Jimmy, may I have a word?”

You couldn’t have your one act of kindness ruined by any loose ends.

As Jimmy followed you into the boot room you felt O’Brien’s eyes on you and promptly ignored them.

You got straight to the point, “I wish to talk about what happened last night.”

“I bloody don’t,” Jimmy responded, his eyes flashing, “it was awful, that’s what it was.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” you supplied.

The footman scoffed, “No, I think I understood perfectly alright.”

“What I mean to say is, I hope you don’t plan to make this misunderstanding something bigger than it is.”

“I have to tell the police, that’s what I have to do! I’ve been talking to Miss O’Brien and—”

“And I hope you see how ill advised that would be,” you finished.

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“You wouldn’t want to seem like you were mixed up in…something of that nature.”

“I don’t understand,” Jimmy said.

“You wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re in on anything disgusting, would you?”

Personally, you didn’t find anything particularly disgusting about the whole situation. You figured Thomas could kiss whoever he liked, for all you cared as long as it wasn’t you. But you knew that wasn’t going to work with Jimmy.

“Well no but—”

“Because if you go around spinning your story, someone down the line is bound to think you weren’t all against it, if you know what I’m getting at,” you said.

A look of horror passed Jimmy’s face.

“And besides I don’t think you’re the kind of person who would want to get a man fired, are you?”

He paused. “Why do you care if I get Mr. Barrow sacked? You don’t seem to get on with him anyways.”

“Oh, I don’t care what happens to Mr. Barrow,” you said with a smirk, “I just wouldn’t want this unfortunate incident to cause more of a quagmire for anyone than is necessary.”

Jimmy nodded, “Well, I wouldn’t want anyone’s reputation ruined for it I suppose.”

You smiled.

“And by that, I can’t pretend I don’t mean my own,” he added.

“Who knows,” you said, “you and Barrow might end up being friends eventually.”

“Friends?” He sounded incredulous, “I doubt it.”

“I think there’s more to Thomas than meets the eye,” you said cryptically. “Either way, think about what I said.”

He looked at you a moment, pondering, before nodding at you and leaving the room quickly.

You breathed out a sigh.

“Well, that was quite the speech, Miss (Y/l/n).”

You whirled around, finding Thomas standing in the doorway. How much of your conversation with Jimmy had he heard?

“And what are you doing here, Mr. Barrow? I can’t say following Jimmy around like a lost puppy is well advised anymore.”

Thomas clenched his teeth, looking at you. “It is a public place, isn’t it?”

You were both silent for a moment, as you calculated what to say next. Mr. Barrow beat you to it.

“I wanted to say thank you,” it looked like it cause him pain to say the words to you, his sworn nemesis.

“I would have been sacked if it weren’t for you, though I still can’t quite understand why you did it, and I thank you for it,” he finished. “I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m grateful.”

“Well, I can’t say it’s not entirely out of self interest,” you said, straightening, “seeing as I can’t torture you if you’re gone, I saw no reason to be the one to end that.”

Thomas almost smiled. “That was quite an act of deception you pulled with Jimmy.”

“Would you believe me if I said I learned from the best?”

“Now, I’m not sure I deserve your compliments as well as your pity,” Thomas said.

“Really, there’s no need to think yourself so special. I was speaking of Miss O’Brien.”

Thomas let out a laugh and you couldn’t help but smile at him. He wasn’t all bad, you could see that. And you couldn’t imagine Downton without him now that you had been faced with the possibility.

“Well, I hope you don’t expect us to be friendly now,” you warned, to break the silence and whatever the spell that had fallen over you two was that made you act most unlike yourselves. Sharing a companionable silence? Never!

“I wouldn’t wish being your friend on my worst enemy, let alone take part in it myself.” Thomas brushed invisible lint off of his jacket.

You rolled your eyes at him, but it didn’t hold any real conviction.

“Well, I suppose I ought to get on with my work,” you said, moving past Thomas. “Wouldn’t want to get behind on your account.”

“You are a queer woman, aren’t you?” Thomas said not unkindly.

“I could say the same to you.”

You turned around, your tone more serious than it had just been

“And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re disgusting, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas was silent.

“Horrid and self-serving and haughty and a pain in my rear end. But not disgusting.”

“I could say the same to you,” Thomas echoed your earlier statement.

You left without another word.

You didn’t think that you and Thomas would be companions, exactly. But you left that room with a greater fondness for him that you’d ever felt. You understood him more, if nothing else.

And you thought you could guess he felt a little of the same way too.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The next morning, as you began your day by checking the work you’d left out the night before, you found a new lump of fabric atop the pile.

You picked it up and let the cloth fall through your fingers.

It was the skirt you were working at from earlier this week. Barely recognizable, however. It was mended, certainly. The holes were fixed and the hem had been replaced. It looked brand new, better than anything you could have done.

Thomas.

It must have been him. You found yourself smiling to yourself.

“Well then, I suppose we’re even, Mr. Barrow, aren't we?” you mumbled.

Except for the fact that him taking it in the first place had delayed you getting the skirt to Lady Edith by a day.

But you’d get him back somehow, you thought, smiling.

You always did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this babes!! check out my thomas barrow series if you want more of him and have a great day 💐🍓🩰

#thomas barrow #thomas barrow x friend!reader #thomas barrow x reader #downton abbey #jimmy kent #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader

33 notes · View notes

onemorecoffeeee · 1 year

Text

If anyone is reading my Cobert fanfiction, ‘Flux’ - I just published chapter 3 ✨

16 notes · View notes

ohtobealady · 3 months

Text

Quiver

(Here is my belated contribution to the Cobert Winter Fanfic Exchange. Thank you to @bella-caecilia for organizing it. My prompts were Quiver and "I didn't mean it." I used the dialogue as inspiration. It works as a bit of a companion piece to Ch 4 of Le Langage des Fleurs. This is also posted on FF dot net.)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She rubbed the lotion in, making small circles against the heel of her palm. Robert was talking behind her, by the bed, and she glanced up to him in the mirror and suppressed a small laugh. Oh, sometimes he wound himself up so tightly over the simplest things—cinema starlets not excluded.

“And did you see the layers of paint she was wearing?” he was saying, pulling back the bedsheets and agitatedly sliding in. “Like a piece in a gallery.”

Cora’s laugh came out in a huff. “Oh, Robert, don’t be unkind. I think she’s beautiful.” She stood from her chair, and was pleased she felt no lightheadedness. She smiled. “Besides, it must be quite invigorating to know of one’s own sex appeal.”

“Nonsense. No one can be that sure.”

She rolled her eyes as she also climbed into bed beside him, noting that she did so with ease. She wasn’t sure if it had been the small glass of wine, or the powder Baxter had given her before dinner, or perhaps if it was simply a trick of her mind, but the aching and fatigue that constantly plagued her was absent in this moment, and she would cherish it. She’d use it.

Robert was still going on and on—about what now, she didn’t follow—as he rolled to switch off his lamp. And then, just as he had rolled to his left, he rolled just as swiftly to his right to press a kiss to her cheek. A kiss good night. A quick kiss. Right at the corner of her mouth.

And she melted at it.

Oh, she missed him. She yearned for him. And it wasn’t because they hadn’t lain together in weeks, six or even seven—far longer than a month. No. It wasn’t merely that. It was because who knew? Who knew how much longer she’d be able to love him in that way? How much longer would their lives be free of the shadow she knew was lurking just behind her? How much longer would she even exist?

Cora drew in a breath, and she let herself roll towards him.

Her lamplight allowed her to study him, all his curves and lines she’d studied so many nights before: his closed eyes, his lips he moved slightly as he yawned and pressed his mouth, his jaw and chin and his silver stubble. She began to work to commit it all to memory again—images she could have forever, moments she could keep. But then…but then, would that be so? She felt her throat tighten at the abrupt thought she’d spent so much time trying to keep at bay: Did the dead have memories?

Stillness, then. Gravity. Was this—Was this all she had left of him? Just these few precious moments?

This was it.

She lifted her chin to loosen the knot choking her. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t sure what her condition was, for she wasn’t. She knew well-enough her symptoms—the constant fatigue, the chest pains, the breathlessness and dizziness and dyspepsia…the sudden, drastic weight loss—could be true of any number of illnesses. Couldn’t they? No. Even her earnest persuasion to believe otherwise failed her. She was no fool. She knew she was ill. Very ill. And her husband did not.

She looked at him still. She watched the way his breath came in and out evenly beside her, unaware of her thoughts. He was unaware of so much, which was just as Cora wanted it. She wanted to treasure it all. She wanted to savor the beauty of what her life had been–her life with Robert. There were only a handful of hours of their life here before they left for France, and then their life would be different–irrevocably changed.

She’d tell him after Marseille. She’d have to.

She heard his small exhale of breath beside her, and she watched the way his chest rose and fell. It made her heart ache. So, much like a pilgrim paying homage, she touched at his shoulder. She touched at the collar of his pajama shirt. And when he didn’t move, she traced a soft fingertip along his throat.

No. She did not feel lust for him. She did not feel need as she sometimes did, warmth growing deep in her core. No, only yearning.

He hummed, and he opened his eyes.

She smiled back at him when he smiled coyly at her, for she was sure he knew what she meant. He understood the secret language they’d created between them in these three decades together. He understood what she meant by her small touches, and by the way she pushed herself ever closer to him. He watched her as she did so, and behind her ribs, her aching heart beat wildly.

Cora lifted her chin, and she kissed him. Her lips felt the stubble she’d adored, and she let her lips linger at his jaw. His hand, as it always did, went to her arm, and he tugged slightly. Just as he had understood her, she, too, understood him. Her own body flush with his, she slowly rose to rest her weight upon her elbow and she hovered very near his face; and she looked at him.

His tired expression was half-hidden in the shadow made by her head and hair, the lamplight glowing behind her. But tired as he was, he also looked happy. His mouth was relaxed, his lips were parted, and the knot that she’d loosened in her throat quickly tightened again.

He was beautiful. Every curve, every line…everything. And she loved him.

She loved him.

Her chest ached more acutely, and drawing in a deep breath, she pushed herself to him again, and she kissed his lips, feeling his fingers tighten further on her arm. Then, as he lifted his head more to meet hers, she felt him rush to deepen their kiss.

It surprised her, how eager he was, and she sighed in her throat before he broke away.

“You aren’t too tired?” he whispered, his voice low, and she shook her head.

“No.”

“Lie back.” He shifted himself, and Cora did as he asked of her, nestling herself down into the bedding as he moved to cover her.

“Are you certain–” Robert nodded at her voice, silencing her; he kissed her mouth and then cheek and then neck. “You needn’t take over completely,” she tried again, but this time Robert shook his head against her.

“It helps to begin this way.” His voice was in her ear as he kissed her jaw.

She nodded, knowing what he meant.

“Yes,” she amended. She nodded again. “I—“

But she stopped, her thoughts beginning to whir too quickly as he kissed her body. As he palmed her breasts. As his fingers touched and pressed in places that made her breath catch. Still, they whirred, but they weren’t of pleasure. They weren’t of him. They were of herself: Did he feel how much thinner she’d gotten? Did he feel, too, how swollen her tummy? Did he feel how unattractive she felt herself to be?

No. She reminded herself; no. She loved him. She felt well just now. She couldn’t squander it. She loved him.

She trembled as she fought against her compulsions–the part she played when they laid together. The other her, the woman six months ago, would reach between them and feel for him. She’d maneuver her fingers inside of his waistband and then around him, to where his aging body still hardened for her. And she would hear him exhale against her.

But she couldn’t seem to, and she hated herself for it.

Her hands went instead to his cheeks, the backs of her index and middle fingers stroking the stubble there. And then his hair, where she wove them into the soft, gently graying waves.

“Touch me,” he said against her ear, and her stomach flipped. “Darling.”

She closed her eyes, and she pushed a hand between them, but slowly. Slowly feeling the fabric of his nightshirt. Slowly feeling the drawstring of his waistband. Slowly feeling the soft, smooth skin of his body–and her lip quivered. Love. So much, so much, love.

“I did worry.” His voice was huskier, breathier, and Cora swam in the headiness of the moment.

She whispered, “Worry?” and kissed his jaw. His cheek.

He nodded, and she felt his small smile against her lips. “That I wouldn’t be up to snuff.” He kissed her, softly. Soundly. “That my age would be against us.”

“Oh, darling,” she sighed, and kissed him again, and again. “Our age,” she corrected him. And then, she pulled away, slightly, so that she could see him better. So she could see his eyes. And her voice wavered when she spoke. “We’ve grown old together.”

“Yes,” he laughed, appreciatively, and pressed his lips to hers. “And together we’ll grow older, still.”

It was a lie, her nod. “Yes.” Her eyes prickling with tears, her throat tightening, and her heart aching, she pushed the lie from her chest as her husband kissed her breasts through her gown. “And together we’ll grow older, still.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfic #cobert #cobert drabbles #cobert winter fanfic exchange 2023

34 notes · View notes