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Lizzie remembers spending her youth in the wild, sunny fields behind Longbourn's estate. She jumped around the goats and sheep grazing at her plain, woolen skirts, telling them about Jane's swollen ankle and her father leaving for the market.

After her blissful marriage to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, she visits less and less. Returning to her home and the fields seems like a old, funny dream, running through the mud-water and trailing her fingers over the grey, mossy boulder-fences. Lizzie shows him the bubbling, idyllic creek nearby, and the arching stone bridge over it, holding hands with him as she leads the crossing. There's endless bushels of little white flowers and high grass, as well as daffodils and tulips and bright crimson poppies.

She somehow persuades Fitzwilliam to lie down in the meadow, abandoning her expensive, silhouetted pelisse and dress, casting off Fitzwilliam's pitch-dark frock coat and his overshirt. A honeybee flies past Lizzie's nose. She rolls onto her tummy, on the meadowflowers, shoving her husband's top-hat over her ears and giggling, Fitzwilliam's hand tickling shyly over her cheek.

It's absurd that parading or wearing her husband's clothes would incite gossip or disapproval. Lizzie doesn't entirely believe she's meant to be called a fully perceived woman after all. She's known this as a child. A demi-woman, yes — that suits her much better.

Moles and freckles glow in the noon-light against Fitzwilliam's pale skin. She names them after constellations, mapping this man with Lizzie's kisses and dirt-smeared fingertips, cuddling up. He's a living temple to the galaxy with his star-dappled neck and shoulders and wrists. Lizzie adds her own constellations, sucking harshly and nipping below Fitzwilliam's ear, bruising his lovely, smooth skin. He responds to her kisses with grunts and groans, drawing his arms to Lizzie's waist, his blue eyes flushed. Swimmy. Delirious.

Fitzwilliam doesn't complain about the light, stinging pain. She only feels him hardening and thrusting against her pelvis, and resists the notion of making the finest, glorious love right here in the open field, as tempting as it could be.

Lizzie's mouth skims over Fitzwilliam's knuckles, as he thoughtfully, slowly watches. The corners of his lips deepening into a smile.

They'll be warm and safe. Right here beside each other, always.

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Pride and Prejudice isn't mine. THE 2005 MOVIE IS SO IRONIC. JFC. I wanna dedicate this to my pal Conner (glove23 on FFN and AO3) because she helped me understand what it is to be demigirl so I could go in a specific direction for this fic and also her favorite thing ever is Pride and Prejudice 2005 soooooooooo yes. Okay so it is 30 Days of NSFW but LGBT+ Pride edition where every single day is a LGBT+ identity that a character embodies or a relationship does using the focus/perspective of the story. It's either gonna be canon or fanon! It is Day 21 which is "Demigirl" and it's only fanon but I tried it with Lizzie!

Along with this from the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge this is also Day 21 which is "pain/sensation play" and this is a prompt table I'm using for June.

(If you enjoyed reading this, I would love to hear any comment/thought you had! Also are you LGBT+ too? How are you celebrating Pride Month this year?)