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dizzydaisychains · 3 days ago

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omg you know damn well that i am EATING THIS UP !!!!!

“would you ever consider loving me?”

fell to my knees. clutching my heart. keeping this fic in my heart for the rest of my life 💖

Where the light lingers

A/N: k so ik that I said it would be a long fic but I think this is a perfect length for it, more and it would be dragging.

Pride and prejudice au, sfw, soft.

yall are gonna like because I like it and I'm picky as hell.

The first time Sylus met her, he was convinced she would be the end of his patience.

It was an evening drenched in golden light, the kind that softened the rigid lines of the world and made even the sharpest truths seem momentarily gentle. He had no use for such illusions. The estate’s gardens were lively with chatter, an unbearable buzz of pleasantries exchanged like currency, though he had long since ceased to care for society’s games.

And yet, there she was.

She stood apart from the usual crowd, not in the way one might expect. There was no air of careful distinction about her, no deliberate effort to outshine or impress. She was simply... at ease. Engaged in conversation with someone who hardly seemed worth her attention, yet she listened as though every word mattered. Her laughter, unrestrained and genuine, cut through the tedious politeness of the gathering, drawing attention despite itself.

Sylus was annoyed before he even understood why.

It wasn’t until they were formally introduced that he felt the first tug of something unexpected. Her gaze met his without hesitation, without expectation. There was no deference, no quiet acquiescence to his presence. If anything, she seemed... unimpressed.

He had long since grown used to admiration, to the weight of assumptions placed upon his shoulders before he even spoke a word. But she, with her measured look and easy smile, seemed perfectly content to view him as nothing more than a man she had just met.

Sylus disliked it immensely.

And yet, he found himself watching her more than he meant to.

The weeks passed, and by some wretched twist of fate, their paths continued to cross.

She had a way of drawing attention without meaning to. Not through grand gestures or loud proclamations, but simply by existing in a manner that defied expectation. She was clever, but not cruel; sharp, but never unkind. And, to his dismay, entirely immune to his carefully maintained distance.

They clashed more often than they spoke in civility. Not because she sought to argue, but because she questioned things others would never dare to. Where others nodded along to his statements, she countered. Where others shied away from his sharp words, she met them head-on.

Sylus told himself it was infuriating.

He refused to acknowledge the truth of it, that he was beginning to anticipate their meetings more than he should.

There was an evening when the air turned cold too soon, when the fire in the drawing room flickered low and restless. He found himself seated near her, not by choice but by circumstance. He told himself he would ignore her, that her presence would mean no more than any other person in the room.

And yet, she spoke to him.

“The sky is stubborn tonight.”

He glanced at her, drawn from his thoughts. “How so?”

She nodded toward the windows, where the last remnants of light clung desperately to the horizon. “It refuses to give in to the night. Look at it, it lingers, holding onto something it can’t possibly keep.”

Sylus studied her for a long moment. “Perhaps it knows the night is inevitable, but fights for what little remains.”

She turned to him then, something unreadable in her gaze. “Or perhaps it is simply afraid of the dark.”

A silence stretched between them, heavier than it should have been. He had spent years perfecting the art of conversation, of measured responses and effortless dismissals. But she was not the kind of person who allowed words to be meaningless.

For the first time in a long while, Sylus did not know what to say.

He did not want to care. He reminded himself of this fact often, as though repetition might turn it into truth.

But care he did. Against his better judgment, against every ounce of logic, he found himself watching her more often. Noticing things he had no business noticing; the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear when she was thinking, the quiet way she hummed when she believed no one could hear.

And worst of all, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He had spent so long believing himself above such things. Love, sentiment, attachment, these were burdens he had been raised to avoid. They clouded judgment, made men reckless.

He told himself he was not reckless.

He told himself he did not want her.

It was a lie he could not hold onto forever.

The moment everything shifted was not grand or dramatic. It was not the result of some catastrophe or revelation. It was simply an afternoon like any other.

She had been speaking with someone else, entirely unaware of his presence. The sun was bright, casting patterns of light and shadow across the garden. And then she laughed...

And Sylus knew.

It was not a sudden realization, not some poetic awakening. It was quiet, steady, something he should have known all along.

She had already unraveled him, thread by careful thread. He had been a fool to think otherwise.

But knowing was not enough.

There were still barriers between them, some spoken, others merely understood. She was proud, and so was he. But her pride was of a different kind, it was not arrogance, but certainty. The knowledge that she deserved more than what he had been willing to offer.

And so, he would have to be better.

He did not know if he was capable of such change. He did not know if she would ever see him as something worthy of her regard.

But for the first time in his life, Sylus was willing to try.

The courtship was unspoken, a quiet thing woven into the fabric of their days. He lingered in places he never would have before, listening when he would have once dismissed. She softened toward him without meaning to, the space between them closing in increments too small to measure.

Then, one evening, as she stood in the soft glow of candlelight, he found the courage to ask: "Would you ever consider loving me?"

She did not answer right away. Instead, she studied him, as though weighing something far greater than the question itself. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I think I already do."

Sylus, for all his certainty in the world, found himself entirely undone. And as she reached for his hand, fingers threading through his as though they had always belonged there, he thought, perhaps, for once, he did not mind being undone at all.

Their courtship in the days that followed was tender, filled with hesitant steps forward and secret joys too fragile to share. She turned toward him a second too late after he'd already looked away. He memorized the cadence of her laughter when she forgot herself. They spoke in half-sentences, unfinished thoughts that the other somehow understood.

They walked in the gardens, always keeping a respectable distance, yet every shift of the breeze felt like an excuse for their fingers to nearly touch. He found reasons to hand her books, each exchange lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary. She sought him out in quiet moments, in drawing rooms and moonlit corridors, speaking of nothing and everything.

At times, neither dared to meet the other’s gaze for too long, afraid of the truths it might reveal. But when she caught him watching her, and when he did not look away, the world felt smaller, as though it had been shaped just for them.

The anticipation of what lay ahead, the promise of a future bound together was more intoxicating than either had imagined. And yet, beyond the formality of proposals and promises, there was the quiet excitement of simply knowing. That soon, she would no longer have to glance over her shoulder to see if he was there. That soon, he would have no reason to resist reaching for her hand. That soon, they would belong to one another, with nothing left between them but love.

Dividers by @adornedwithlight

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dizzydaisychains · 5 days ago

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sometimes your brain really just offers you one banger of a sentence and then that's it for the entire rest of the day. creativity expired, the ability to think has clocked out for the day, context for as to how we even get to this sentence? sorry we're all out. this one sentence is all you get.

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dizzydaisychains · 5 days ago

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hello everyone ! apologies for the lack of content this week…..here is my current state of mind writing my sylus wip and the next chapter of the asterville chronicles:

#fanfic writing #stressed writer core #writing core #everything i do for sylus #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #love and deepspace

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dizzydaisychains · 10 days ago

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i absolutely adore your work and love the way you write sylus, you capture his essence so insanely well!! if you are taking on requests could i pretty please request sylus x mc who is afraid of thunder and lightning?? have a lovely day!!

Hiding from the Heavens

☂︎ pairing: sylus x mc

☂︎ word count: 1.4k

☂︎ a/n: i’m over the moon to receive my first request! i never imagined that any of my sylus fics would ever reach anyone, so it’s heartwarming to receive such a lovely request. anon, i hope i did your prompt justice. since you asked for sylus x mc i wrote it in the third person, but still from sylus’s perspective, of course. as always, he’s as soft as ever. i can’t help myself. lover boy sylus is my favorite.

.·°՞(っ-ᯅ-ς)՞°·.

⋆｡°• ⛆

“Then the rain came, like stammered kisses at first

on the back of my neck. I unfurled my fist

for the rain to caress with its lips. I turned up my face,

and water flooded my mouth, baptised my head,

and the rainclouds gathered like midnight overhead,

and the rain came down like a lover comes to a bed.”

– an extract from Rain by Carol Ann Duffy

⋆｡°• ⛆

Shaking off his umbrella in the porch, Sylus steps out of his damp oxford shoes and lets out a deep sigh. As if the N109 Zone couldn’t get any gloomier—not that a little thunderstorm ever bothered the crime lord of Onychinus—but the inconvenience of having to dodge in and out of shelter during his daily affairs often leaves him feeling slightly irritated at the end of the day.

He thinks his moodiness would have carried on for the remainder of the evening, if it wasn’t for the familiar pair of hunters boots catching his peripheral vision as he finishes drying himself off. Suddenly all the razor sharp difficulties that prodded and poked at his back all day seem to fade away, replaced by a warm tenderness that fills his body, the feeling akin to sunlight spreading over a valley of wildflowers.

“Kitten?”

Thunder claps from outside, and it’s loud enough to wake the dead. The hallway is dark, but the fresh carnations sitting on the ebony table in the hallway indicates that she’s definitely here. He smiles to himself as he uses his Evol to flick on the lamps. Perhaps he can surprise her. It’s not often she don’t come to greet him at the door, which means she’s probably fallen asleep trying to read through Milton’s Paradise Lost (a recommendation from Sylus himself, however he’s yet to see her finish a single verse of the poem).

Poking his head into the living room, he expects to find her snoozing with the book sitting like a roof over her sleeping face, however, he’s surprised to find the area dark and empty. Luke and Kieran must be out too, otherwise they’d be pestering him by now.

Heading to the kitchen in search of a warm body to drape his weary limbs over, Sylus is reminded of all the years where the house would be like this; a constant state of silence that he had been forced to grown accustomed to. It was during those years that Sylus began to wonder if loneliness was more like a disease rather than just a fleeting feeling. It seeped into everything it touched, and Sylus spent most of his time trying to block out the darkness by filling his days with shoot-outs and joyriding. But it only made him feel worse, so much so that Kieran and Luke had to drag him out of bed to eat something during those semi-permanent moping seasons.

But that’s all in the past now, because now he has her. His little shooting star that fell to earth, and he just so happened to be fortunate enough to catch her in his hands before she shattered into stardust. It makes a smile tug on his lips as he flicks on the switch of the kitchen, the mood-lighting filling the room with a warm, orange, glow as the rain continues to blow harshly against the window. Eyes sweeping across the granite and marble, Sylus can’t seem to find her here either.

Another flash of lighting as more thunder rumbles from above. Loud. Dangerous. It warns of a night of unease. Maybe she went home to be in the familiarity of her apartment, but it’s unlikely, because Sylus knows how much she hates driving in the rain, and it’s out of character for her to disappear without leaving a note.

He concludes that his beloved must be in his bedroom, sleeping on his side of the bed, because for some reason she insists it’s comfier, despite his complaints of it being the same mattress either side. But secretly, he loves finding her there, her cherry wine scent seeping into his silk sheets and soft pillow, a reminder that she’s been there, that in this life, her heart still beats, and her soul is never too far away.

Climbing up the staircase and pushing down on the handle of his bedroom, Sylus quietly steps inside as another streak of lighting causes the room to light up for a brief moment before falling back into darkness. No sign of her here either, or so he thought, because under his four-poster bed, Sylus can just about make out a pair of pink fluffy socks peeking out from underneath the bed frame.

Crouching down, Sylus sticks his head under the bed, only to find her lying down with her eyes squeezed shut, her small palms pressed firmly against her ears while her body trembles as she murmurs a soft melody under her breath, like she’s trying to calm herself down.

“Oh Kitten,” Sylus sighs, heart shattering at his beloved’s shivering frame. At the sound of his voice, her eyelids flutter open, her body turning to face him, revealing her tear-stained cheeks.

“Sylus,” she whispers, lips trembling. “You found me.”

“Of course. No matter where you are, I’ll always find you.”

A small, brittle laugh escapes her lips as her nose twitches with a sniffle.

“I really hate thunderstorms,” she says, lips wobbling as if she’s a child admitting that she’s afraid of ghosts.

Sylus reaches out to tap the tip of her nose with his index finger.

“Even the Gods feared the sky, you know. Its unpredictable nature often made them anxious,” Sylus says in a gentle voice, hands reaching out to brush the fresh tears that are beginning to fall like little glistening pearls from her eyes.

“I’m not sure if I’m able to move,” she says, averting her gaze due to embarrassment. “I must seem pathetic to you. What kind of Hunter is afraid of thunder?”

“Pathetic? You? My love, have you gone absolutely insane during my absence?” Sylus asks, chuckling as he moves to lay beside her under the bed. It’s a tight fit for a six-foot-two man and a well-built Hunter, but Sylus makes it work by curling into her as much as he can.

“We all fear something. That’s what makes souls so precious. Their varied emotions are what keeps them burning so bright. It’s how I was able to find you.”

He pulls her into his arms, his back pressing against the soft carpet as he looks at the poles of the bed frame above his face. Immediately, she buries her face into his warm chest, soft sobs escaping her chapped lips as Sylus whispers sentences of reassurance that it’s okay now, he’s here and he’s not going anywhere.

The storm rages on, but like an umbrella, Sylus shields her from every noise. For every flash of lightning and for every roll of thunder, he’s there, holding her so close that he can count her heartbeats.

In between the hours of comforting her, he tells her tales of dragons and stories of Luke and Kieran’s ridiculous antics that always end up with Sylus getting pranked some way or another. When the stories become boring, he recites her jokes he’s collected from Christmas crackers, and fun facts he’s read on the back of cereal boxes.

It takes time, but slowly, she unravels herself from her labyrinth of darkness that she created for herself. Sylus welcomes back the sparkle in her eyes with subtle delight as she slowly becomes a little more brave with him by her side. She becomes so brave, in fact, that halfway through his rendition of the famous Clementine nursery rhyme, she surprises him by joining in, two voices singing in a mismatched harmony due to Sylus’s lack of talent, and her voice being a little hoarse from crying. But nothing is perfect, and despite popular belief, Sylus adores the imperfect, for the most beautiful moments of life bloom out of adversity, not perfection.

“What happens if the storm doesn’t stop until dawn?” she asks after a while, tracing little patterns on Sylus’s chest, her ear pressed against his heart.

“Then we stay here until dawn,” Sylus says, kissing the top of her head.

“I doubt you have time to be lying here on the floor with me until dawn,” she replies.

Sylus merely squeezes her tighter in his arms.

“I have all the time in the world for my beloved,” he says, pinching her side to distract her once more as lightning flashes across the sky.

If only you knew, he thinks to himself, as she squeals into his shirt, his palms moving to cover her ears as more thunder booms overhead. If only you knew how many centuries of different lifetimes I lived through. Always looking, always searching for you in every crowd, every city. And when I eventually found you in each life, I counted all the ways I could make you notice me, and no matter how many attempts it took, no matter how many full moons came to pass while I waited, it was always worth it.

Because after so many years of finding and losing her, Sylus has come to a definitive conclusion that no matter how many lifetimes his soul is forced to search for its other half;

She is always worth it.

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #qin che #sylus #lnds #lads #fanfic #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace fanfic #sylus x mc #soft sylus #lover boy sylus #sylus headcanons #yearner sylus returns #sylus fluff #love and deepspace sylus #sylus fanfiction #sylus fanfic

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dizzydaisychains · 12 days ago

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my literal reaction reading through your reactions !!!! thank you so much for reading as always, you are much too kind !!! i’m also glad you found it funny because i was trying to be humorous because sylus is so goofy sometimes no matter how rich and powerful he is x

𝐻𝒾𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ pairing: sylus x reader

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ summary: in the humble town of asterville, the duke yearns for the attention of only one woman. if only she knew. (or alternatively: sylus falls in love and attempts to find the courage to act upon it.)

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ word count: 6.8k

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ ao3: read on ao3 here if you so wish :)

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ notes: this fic contains mature content, so please read with discretion :)

⋆ ˚。⋆౨ৎ˚

Although geographically a small, provincial town, Asterville has become renowned for many things over the centuries despite its humble origins. A bustling spot for merchants to dock their ships weekly to trade goods and news, the town has flourished under the watchful eye of the rather infamous Duke, who is popular among his fellow monarchical acquaintances for giving fruitful advice over a plate of desserts.

If one has not heard of Asterville through conversations of wealth and trading, then it is likely they would have heard of it through snippets of tales from the legendary balls that are held by the Duke for each quarter of the year. Always an event of lavish luxury, each season brings a new frenzy to the residents of Asterville as the Duke insists that everyone is welcome to Fumbally Estate for a night of firework displays and dancing that often begins at midnight and ends at dawn.

Moreover, the Duke’s generosity goes even further than hosting parties for the entire town, because if you are fortunate enough to pass him in the streets during one of his weekly promenades, he’ll spare even the poorest man or woman a good portion of his time. Always polite, he talks to you like he’s interested in what you have to say, even though everyone knows he’s often occupied with his daily affairs. If he’s feeling particularly generous, he might even offer for you to come for tea in Fumbally, but if he’s short for time, a quick pastry from the local bakery might have to suffice.

There are many rumours that the mothers of Asterville have formed a sixth sense for forecasting his visits to town. The Duke is coming! Quick! Run to the seamstress and fetch the dress you had ordered in preparation (the Duke often asks to be referred to just as Sylus, or Mr. R. if he is feeling formal). Ribbons! It is said that he is fond of silk ribbons in curled hair, his favourite flavour of cake is vanilla sponge with raspberry jam, and he always drinks his coffee with a dash of liqueur. The mothers pride themselves for knowing such prized information regarding the Duke, and they always make sure to have their daughters fluffed up like peacocks upon his arrival, because if you manage to catch his eye, he may gift your daughter with trinkets and a charming smile.

But if there is one location where you really must visit if you seek the company of the Duke, you are more than likely to find him examining the window of Madame Amelia’s boutique; a tailors and modiste where only the prettiest dresses and smartest-looking suits are sewn and stitched with the finest materials that have been imported from all around the globe.

Pretty things. It is also said that the Duke adores pretty things. That’s why he’s always visiting the boutique. It is the only logical reasoning for a man of such calibre to be interested in such mundane things. Or else, of course, he frequents the boutique because he is in search of a wife. Either way, the Duke present or not, one would find it hard to get an appointment at Madame Amelia’s, particularly during ball season, for the fantasy of the Duke searching for a wife only sparks pandemonium across the town as the ladies of Asterville scramble to prepare for the upcoming festivities with haste, false smiles hiding true intentions as each girl hopes to outshine the other for the Duke's hand in marriage.

But of course, all follies and rumours aside, the only person who knows the truth regarding the Duke’s romantic affairs is Sylus himself. A truth that he likes to keep locked away in fear of what might happen if it were to escape his lips.

Because in the Madame Amelia’s boutique, a young seamstress with gentle hands and a calm demeanour works behind a velvet curtain, every stitch sewn with love as she hums sweet melodies under her breath, her hair always loosely tied up in a bandana to match the colours of the season. Yes, Sylus visits the shop every week in hopes of catching a glimpse of you, the only woman who has managed to enrapture his heart and soul in ways he cannot fathom at times.

He comes into the boutique with the Summer breeze. The familiar tinkling of a bell announcing his arrival as the workers of the shop straighten their posture, and the daughters getting their measurements taken tilt their chins upwards, hoping to catch the Duke’s attention.

Madame Amelia herself curtseys as she greets him. Still pretty in old age, her silver bun is always neatly slicked back in a professional manner. Sylus knows she runs a tight ship, hence why the results are immaculate. This is mainly because instead of instilling fear into her workers, she nurtures them. Nurtures their talent, for it is only the talented that may be allowed to work in her boutique. She does not merely hire any seamstress off the street.

Sylus nods in greeting, but his ruby eyes are already searching behind the curtain for a glimpse of you. The flower blooming in the dim backroom despite the lack of sunlight.

“I’m afraid you just missed her, Mr. R.” Madame Amelia gives him a soft smile.

“I sent her out to fetch the latest shipment from the Docks.”

“Materials for the upcoming ball in Fumbally, I assume?” He waves at a girl getting fitted. The action only makes her giggle and blush in response.

Madame Amelia tuts as she takes out her fan and waves it briskly towards her face.

“I admire your generosity for inviting all of Asterville and beyond to your estate for an evening of grandeur, but the orders for gowns and suits are nearly impossible to keep up with. If it wasn’t for her, not a single dress or waistcoat would be ready in time for your extravagant parties.”

“Has she made any inclination that she’ll attend this time?” Sylus dusts off his jacket, feigning nonchalance.

“She has been her usual clandestine self,” Madame Amelia sighs. “It’s rather pitiful. All she does is scratch away with her quill late into the night, and then once the sun rises, she’s back to stitching hems and lace.”

Madame Amelia raises an eyebrow as she notices the dainty little box of macaroons in his arms.

“As always, you have not come empty handed.”

“It is rude to come to a place of such excellence without a gift of thanks.”

“Your business is more than enough, Mister R. In fact, I do believe most of Asterville’s wealth is all due to your capabilities of turning stones into diamonds, thus, it should be us thanking you.”

“It is not often that your workers get to indulge in decadent treats.”

“I don’t suppose it has anything to do with macaroons being her favourite, no?”

Sylus chokes out a cough as Madame Amelia looks at him with the eyes of a stern mother. Although she is not your mother by birth, her fierce protection of you has often deterred him from seeking information about you. It would appear that with age, she has acquired a wisdom that allows her to see right through his poker face that often fools many.

Clearing his throat, he straightens his posture while trying his best to remain nonchalant.

“Perhaps I could see her before–”

“Mr. R!”

Sylus blinks as three young women suddenly appear in front of him, rosy cheeks and sparkly eyes. The Patterfields. Sylus would recognise the blonde ringlets and citrus-coloured bonnets anywhere.

“Hello ladies,” he says as they giggle, pushing and shoving each other, fighting like cats in order to gain the spotlight under his–seemingly–fleeting attention.

“Mr. R, what brings you to town?”

“Mr. R, is it true that the ball will include a full roasted pig?”

“Mr. R, will you please buy us some ribbons for the ball?”

“Girls! Leave the Duke be!”

A woman with sharp features and a severe stare seizes the girls, giving him an apologetic bow.

“I do apologise for the lack of manners my girls seem to possess. They know better than to act so boisterously in front of the Duke–”

“No need for apologies, Mrs.Patterfield. I do enjoy the confidence of your daughters. Young ladies ought to be taught to have faith in their words, as there might be a time where their voices will need to be heard.”

Mrs.Patterfield chokes as the girls squeal in delight.

Sylus gives them a warm smile. “Ladies, do feel free to browse the ribbons. It would be my pleasure to purchase a ribbon for each of you.”

More shrill squeals fill the little boutique as the girls scamper off, their curtsies forgotten as Mrs.Patterfield chases after them, mumbling embarrassed apologies to Sylus as she attempts to round the girls up once again, like a shepherd attempting to farm wild cattle.

“My oh my, the Duke certainly is as generous as the handsome rumours paint him to be.”

A teasing voice that calls to him like a childhood friend; but who would dare treat him as an old acquaintance in Asterville? A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. There’s only one woman who would dare. Only one woman that has him wrapped around her little finger; and she doesn’t care. Never vies for his attention, nor grovels for his affection. Yet she knows his waist and chest measurements. Knows how to make every pair of trousers hug his hips, and waistcoats button perfectly around his figure without squeezing the air out of his lungs.

He turns around, only to be met with your teasing smile, a wooden chest full of new fabrics resting against your hips as you lean your body against a shelf.

“Mr. R,” she says with slight jest. It sends a shiver down his spine.

With your hands full, you can only manage the formality of tilting your head downwards, which only causes one of your ringlets to fall out of your baby blue bandana. It lands just above your collarbone, and Sylus can’t take his eyes off of it. Can’t seem to stop his heart racing in his chest as his hand twitches to reach out and touch it.

Despite having luncheon before leaving, he suddenly feels starved.

“Miss,” he replies, the formality rolling off his tongue. “Allow me.”

He takes the wooden chest in his arms without hesitation, not seeming to care that the conversations within the boutique have suddenly become nothing more than hushed whispers as curious eyes watch the brash seamstress interact with the gentle Duke. Their encounters often make great entertainment in club rooms and around dinner tables, should you be so lucky as to wrangle the gossip out of the mouths of jealous mothers.

“What brings you back so soon? If you’re curious about how your suit for the ball is coming along, I’m afraid that it is not quite ready yet. I must apologise, but the gowns that have been requested to catch your eye this season are even more flamboyant than usual.”

Avoiding your quizzical gaze, he holds out the box of macaroons, gesturing for you to take it.

“I was just passing by and thought you and the other seamstresses would enjoy something sweet.” He keeps his gaze on the decorative string tied around your waist. It appears no one has bought you a ribbon since his last visit. He wonders if he bought you one, would you wear it?

“Always so kind, Mr. R. I do hope we aren’t bankrupting you,” you joke, leaning in to take the sweets, your sudden close proximity making him clumsy as he tries to keep the wooden chest from slipping from underneath his arm.

“I heard you had a preference for them.” The sentence slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

You raise a brow in response.

“Did Madame Amelia but you up to this? She’s been trying to stop me from leaving Asterville recently. Apparently I’m much more suited to work as a seamstress as opposed to gaining a proper education.”

“You plan to leave Asterville?” The idea of a life without you hits him sharp and sudden, like an arrow that has been aimed and fired right into the centre of his heart. The wound bleeds. Without you, Asterville would be miserable.

You shake your head. “A silly dream, I know. What could possibly be out there for a woman like me? No family, no chance of marriage, and very little to my name….” you trail off, a wistful look in your eyes as you stare off into the distance to a place where Sylus cannot reach you.

“It is not a sin for a lady to have ambition,” Sylus says, voice stern. “In fact, I…find it…admirable.”

Seeming to snap out of your woeful daze, Sylus can only stand there and look at you longingly as you give him a delicate curtsey.

“I do apologise for speaking so liberally in front of you, Mr. R. I doubt a seamstress’s desires are of any interest to a man, let alone a Duke.”

Please don’t go, Sylus wants to say. For I have waited all day for this interaction, and if you are to leave now, I’ll have to wait through another week of sunsets and sunrises before I can see you again.

“I’ll have Madame Amelia write to you immediately when your suit is ready for collection. Or perhaps we can just send it directly to Fumbally if you find yourself occupied with more important matters.”

“Thank you,” Sylus says, disappointment flooding his body as you slowly back away from him.

“I do enjoy our encounters, Mr. R, no matter how brief they may be. But sadly, I must say farewell for now, or else Asterville will be home to many unhappy ladies without gowns for the Fumbally soirée.”

Like cherry blossoms in the wind, he barely has time to fully register your beauty before you disappear, leaving him standing with nothing but an aching heart and a wooden chest in his arms.

And as he sits back into the velvet seats of his carriage on the journey home, he cannot help but let his face fall into his hands as he curses himself for yet another failed attempt of earning your affection.

⋆ ˚。⋆౨ৎ˚

One week later, Sylus finds himself holding his breath as he stands in front of the familiar velvet curtain of the boutique, another box of macaroons in his hands as the ladies of the shop watch him like a hawk.

“How wonderful! Mr. R has graced us with his presence again!”

“Mama, may we please have Father write to Mr. R. and ask him over for tea one day?”

“Do you think Mr. R. is here to see that seamstress again? I heard he only allows her to take his measurements.”

“Shhh! He might hear you and think of us as rather impolite!”

Taking a deep breath, Sylus pushes down his swirling emotions and enters into the dim lighting of the store room.

“You’re late.”

Standing on a ladder, you continue to root through the shelves, barely sparing him a second glance. Your bandana is maroon today. The colour of romance and desire. Or perhaps Sylus is just hoping you’re trying to send him a subtle message.

“I didn’t think you would come today. The ladies who visited he shop said they did not see your carriage enter town today.”

“I was travelling on a different route from a neighbouring town. An old friend needed advice.”

He holds out his hand as you begin to descend from the ladder. You take it in your own, and Sylus forgets how to breathe. This is the first time he has touched you. The first time he has felt the weight of your hand in his. It is more calloused than he had imagined, but this does not make it any less lovely.

“I assume you're here to be re-measured, despite me only measuring your impressive proportions last month. Madame Amelia mentioned you were fretting over your suit not fitting you. Did you know she thinks that your chest rivals Hercules? If you believe what the ancient poets wrote, that is. But I find that men like to exaggerate their stories, particularly when it comes to the details of their bodies.”

You let go of his hand as you arrive safely to the ground, and suddenly Sylus is aware of the lack of space between your chests. It may be the closest he has ever been to you.

Red eyes boring into yours. If a single gaze could reveal a man’s feelings, Sylus wonders if he would make the entire Earth shake with his desire for you. When did you get so close? He can see the faint remnants of ink stains on your fingertips, can smell the scent of roses from the soap you must use. He aches for you. Surely you must know by now? That every trip to town is only an excuse to visit you, and if chance encounters are not in the stars, then Sylus sees to it that he bends the constellations to his will in order to bribe the Heavens into letting him catch even a single glimpse of you.

“Perhaps those men could take a few lessons on the art of poetic language from you,” Sylus says eventually. Unable to hold back any longer, he tucks the loose ringlet of hair back into your bandana.

You inhale sharply as his hand accidentally brushes your cheek; or is he simply imagining it?

“I was afraid I missed your visit today. Madame Amelia had me fetch another delivery from the Docks. It was quite busy today. Lots of royalty sailing in for the ball. I could barely squeeze by the gaggles of girls.”

Sylus nods, but he’s not quite sure if he fully understood anything you said, because his desire to reach out and hold you is burning him alive from the inside-out.

“Most ladies wear the most brilliant of bonnets when they visit the Docks. It is a known spot for stumbling across royalty. The Princes of the neighbouring countries often sail to Asterville to marvel at its ancient beauty.” He says this while looking at your collarbones. So thin. He wonders if you would ever dine with him in Fumbally.

You let out a deep, dramatic sigh. “I do not find joy in the superficial affection of anyone, let alone a Prince. Mr. R, have our weekly conversations revealed anything about my personality at all?”

“I find you rather difficult to read, Miss seamstress.”

“How amusing. I find you rather inscrutable too, Mr. R.”

“Shall we?” He gestures towards the connecting dressing room that is used for measuring important customers in private.

“I suppose we shall.”

⋆ ˚。⋆౨ৎ˚

A dozen candles burning, emitting a soft hazy glow as you kneel before him, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as you tighten the measuring tape around his hips. It’s becoming unbearable for Sylus to remain still. Your skin looks ever so soft in the amber hues, and the scent of roses is making his head spin. Not even an entire garden of roses would smell this strong. If he does not convince you to attend the ball in Fumbally today, he might simply wither like a tree in Winter and die.

You both haven’t spoken a word since stepping inside the dressing room, but Sylus doesn’t dare disturb you while you’re working. So instead, he waits patiently for you to invite him into conversation, even though the silence that is enveloping the two of you feels like a form of torture.

Still not breathing a word, he watches as you move up towards his chest, humming tunes under your breath as you squint in the light, a small laugh escaping your lips as you shake your head in what looks like disbelief.

“Perhaps your visit has not been in vain after all. I do believe your chest has grown slightly larger since our last appointment.” You pause, looking up at him through long lashes.

“The ladies of Asterville won’t know how to behave if this news were to be spread into the streets.”

“You’re willing to sell other peoples’ information just like that?” Sylus gives you an amused smile.

“For a price, yes.” You look at him, your features arranged in a serious manner. “But there are some secrets that I like to keep for myself.”

Getting to your feet, you take a step back before taking a mock bow with such dramatic grandeur, it actually makes him burst into a fit of laughter.

You smile at him, your eyes twinkling like little stars.

“You are free to go, Mr. R. As I have said before, I do enjoy our time together. It’s always such a shame that you can only stay for such a short while, but I suppose a Duke must fulfil his duties.”

I can stay forever, if only you so much as utter the word, Sylus wants to say. If you were to even show a sliver of interest in me, then I would ride out to the mines and pluck a diamond from the dark depths myself, and then I would carve it into whatever shape you desire, placing it on your finger in the Asterville Chapel for all to marvel at. It would be a grand occasion, no expense spared. So please, just say you want me as much as I want you. Or if you want, I can throw away my title if it means you will allow yourself to find safety in my arms.

“Mr. R? I do pray you say what ails you. Your face looks rather troubled.”

Sylus exhales, suddenly feeling exhausted. Had he forgotten to breathe for a second? Or perhaps his travels have worn him out. He never sleeps well in the carriage.

Stepping down from the footstool, he bows graciously before you.

“I apologise for taking up your precious time. I assume the orders for the ball have not quite dwindled down,” he says, shrugging on his jacket.

“No matter how busy we are, everyone must make time for the Duke. It is Madame Amelia’s policy.”

Sylus nods, but he is only half-listening, because inside, he’s at war with himself. Should he ask? He would never forgive himself if he came across as pressuring you into doing something you did not want to do. No, he won’t ask. He’ll simply take his leave as usual. But then again–”

“Mr. R?”

“T-The ball.”

How embarrassing. It comes out in a stutter, far from his usual eloquence. Thank God for the dim lighting, for he can feel a faint blush rising from his neck to his cheeks.

“The ball in Fumbally next week. I do hope you attend. It will be the best one yet. The firework show will be even bigger than last season’s.”

Avoiding his eyes, you stare down at your hands.

“There is no room for a seamstress in a place as wonderful as Fumbally.”

Sylus shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How could you say such nonsense? The ball is for you. They always are. So you must attend. I beg you.”

“The ball…is…for me?”

Silence.

And suddenly Sylus’s world crumbles, for what has he just said? Too much. And now that the truth is out, it is too late to take it back.

You step away from him in shock, hands wrapping defensively around your arms as your eyes look at him with…with what? Terror? Disgust? Had he raised his voice? He must have, otherwise you wouldn’t have reacted in such a visceral manner. He can feel his calm composure slipping away from him as the room begins to spin. Perhaps he should have taken his leave when you had so clearly wanted him to go.

Giving you an apologetic bow, he reigns in his spiralling emotions and puts on the most formal tone of a respectable Duke that he can muster up.

“I deeply apologise for raising my voice in your company. I hope you know that it was not on purpose, nor was it done with any ill intentions.”

Unable to look at you any longer in fear of seeing something that will give him sleepless nights, he bows once more, eyes downcast on the floor as he takes strong strides towards the curtain, pausing briefly as he hesitates to say one final sentence.

“In regards to what I said…I meant every word. However, it would pain me to think that you would force yourself to attend the ball just because the Duke asked you to. Your agency is a gift, and I have made a fool of myself in front of you by letting my emotions get the better of me. Forgive me.”

Silence. Sylus gets the message.

“Good day, Miss seamstress.”

Not daring to look back, he exits the boutique at a brisk pace, bowing to Madame Amelia as he tears open the door and steps out into—to his dismay—the pouring rain.

Thunder claps above in the grey clouds as his men jump to alert upon his sudden arrival, quickly preparing the carriage as the rain soaks through his clothes. Who knew his life would become a pathetic fallacy that the poets will probably write about in their pitiful sonnets? All his hard work of earning your trust has been ruined by his lack of self-preservation. He might as well never step into society again. What is the point, if you will no longer wish to see him?

He’s about to step into the carriage when he hears the tinkling of a bell as the boutique door swings open, and you come tumbling out, the rain soaking you instantly, but you do not seem to care in the slightest.

“Wait!”

A hand reaches out to catch his wrist, stopping him abruptly in his tracks.

Another clap of thunder. He dares not to turn around. Dares not to hope, for it would destroy him if this glimmer of hope were to be extinguished as quickly as it had been lit.

Frozen in place, time slows as Sylus finds his fate suspended in the air.

“Just…wait.”

The words can barely be heard over the sound of the rain, but Sylus has always had an ear for your voice.

“What more can be said?” he asks, to himself or to you, that is a question that he cannot seem to answer in his current state.

“If I were to tell you how I truly feel right now…they would throw me into the deepest dungeons of the Asterville and toss the key into the ocean.”

Sylus holds his breath once more as the grip on his wrist tightens.

“No one is here but me,” Sylus says, voice low. “And I swear, whether you wish tell me or not, your feelings that you fear will not cause any harm to you if you were to speak them aloud, for they shall not be repeated. I promise to take them to my grave."

“Oh, Sylus.”

He whips around as you drop his wrist, shocked that you used his name. But instead of meeting your eyes, he finds you with your face in your hands, heavy sobs causing your shoulders to shake as the ran drenches your trembling shoulders.

“Don’t cry, my darling. Please—”

“You deserve someone with prospects. A title. Someone who can play the role of a proper lady in Fumbally. But I cannot live with myself, knowing that you are the man I have fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with. A Duke. How pathetic of me to even dream of such nonsense. It is why I refused those pretty invitations to your balls, despite the wretched pain it brought me every time. Crying myself to sleep like a little girl, sewing a gown for every single season, only to toss it into the fire in fear that I wouldn’t be able to see you dance with another girl if I even dared to show my face in your humble abode…”

Removing your face from your hands, you wipe away your tears as he stares at you in disbelief. He wonders if he heard you correctly—no—he prays to the Heavens that he heard you correctly. Has all his suffering in silence been simply caused by a misunderstanding? That perhaps, you had been suffering too, afraid of your lack of proprietary and low title? Afraid of him turning you down in disgust?

The rain continues to pour down on the forbidden lovers, but neither seem to pay the weather any heed. Instead it serves as a reminder that although fierce, storms can allow for outbursts of emotions, hiding the noise in order to shield secrets from the prying ears of the Universe.

“Say it isn’t true,” Sylus breathes, rain dripping down his face.

“What?”

“Say that you never shed a tear because of me. That you never felt ashamed in front of me.”

“Sylus...”

He reaches out, hands trembling as he takes your face between his palms, his thumbs brushing away the stray tears that continue to pour from your eyes. It breaks his heart, seeing you like this.

“I thought you knew,” Sylus whispers. His eyes flicker down to your lips. So pink and plump. Begging him to just lean in and press them against his own. Heart hammering against his chest, he waits for you to say something. Anything.

“Knew what?” You say after a long pause.

Sylus cannot take it any longer. If not now, when will he ever find the courage to tell you the truth that you deserve to know?

“That my love for you burns brighter than any star in the Universe. It is so heavy, that I have been living like Atlas who was doomed to carry the sky, but instead of the sky, I hold my love for you above my head, hoping that one day, you would wish to carry it with me.”

Like flowers blooming after a particularly harsh winter, the two of you stand in the rain, holding your breaths as a realisation slowly dawns between two lonely souls.

“Why me?” You say it with such sorrow that it makes Sylus want to tear the Earth in two for making you feel like you are woman that is not worth loving.

“You could have anyone, but I only have you.” Your lower lip trembles as you speak.

“Excuse my bluntness, but you are sorely mistaken,” Sylus says, ruby eyes blazing. “For I may have the choice of anyone, but my only wish is to have you, if you will allow it.”

You choke out a laugh. “Was it my sharp tongue or my ragged clothes?”

“It was simply you,” Sylus replies. “From the moment I saw you hiding behind the curtain, I knew it would only ever be you that would be able to make me feel anything at all.”

Another soft laugh of incredulity escapes your lips.

“My room is above the shop. It’s…well, to be quite frank, there is nothing worthwhile up there for you to see, but I…I want to take you up there just to keep you near me for a little longer.”

“My afternoon is yours,” Sylus says, pressing his forehead against yours. “And so is every moment you seek my company from this day forward. From now on, my time shall only be dedicated to you. I will have one of my men always situated in town so he can fetch me whenever you desire to see me.”

Catching your hand as he pulls away from your face, he presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Now show me this room of yours, and I will decide for myself whether it is worth my time or not.”

⋆ ˚。⋆౨ৎ˚

Patience is a virtue, unless of course, patience lacks control, and in the unfortunate incident where both seem to be absent in a situation, one can only be left helpless, which is what Sylus feels as he presses his thigh between your legs, half your corset undone as you sink your teeth into his neck, licking over the bruise as he desperately tries to cling to his sanity, because this feels like a dream.

Both of you are still drenched from the rain, yet it does not seem to bother either of you. In fact, it only adds another excuse for the shedding of clothes, for leaving them on would only be an inconvenience. God forbid, Sylus would never want you to catch a cold in the middle of Summer.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as you detach your mouth from his neck, panting as you watch his eyes rake over your exposed skin and the fullness of your hair now that he’s ripped off your bandana, your full beauty spilling from its restraints.

His large hands suddenly lift you up as he squeezes your thighs through the cotton material of your stockings, a soft moan escaping your lips as he carries you over to the bed, gently placing you down on the rumpled sheets as he finishes untying the strings of your corset.

Clawing at his shirt, you rip his blouse free from his trousers, your hands quickly becoming acquainted with the buttons as you undo them with all the skill of a seamstress. A lady that knows her way around clothes, he aids you by shrugging off the blouse as he leans over you, fingers sliding across the buckle of his belt.

A soft sigh escapes his lips as his cock is freed from the tight fabric all at once. Without a warning, your hand reaches out to palm his hardness through his briefs, your eyes full of lust as he shuts his own and lets the pleasure course through his body. Finally. All those nights of finding a release by rubbing himself to an orgasm with the fantasies of his fingers on your bare skin, all the cold showers he had to take in order to rid himself of his sexual desires that always seemed to involve you; it has finally come to a conclusion. A conclusion that involves fucking you with all the heat that has been building up inside of him for what feels like centuries.

Now, as he sheds you of all your layers, he cannot help but take his time, despite the fact that you’re begging him to just insert himself already.

“I did not know ladies even understood the true, obscene, meaning of intercourse,” Sylus hums, kissing a trail down your thighs as he pulls down your underwear with his long fingers, tossing them aside as he observes the wetness leaking from your folds.

“Any lady with a brain knows that the greatest of pleasures comes from intercourse,” you sigh, catching his wrist and pulling it towards your throbbing clit, a whimper escaping your lips as he begins to massage circles into the little bud.

“You cannot fathom how many times I’ve thought about this,” Sylus growls, leaning down to kiss your bare breasts as you squirm against the mattress.

“How humorous. I often found myself thinking of you when I would touch myself,” you reply with an air of tongue-and-cheek.

Sylus moans, his head falling against your chest as you curl your fingers into his silver hair.

“I wish we had of declared our true feelings of affection sooner. We would have saved so much time.”

“Perhaps we can make up for it now.”

In one swift movement, Sylus finds his position being shifted as you launch yourself into his bare chest, knocking him onto his back as you climb on top of him, pulling down his briefs, your eyes widening at his size.

“It is not just a big estate you possess, I see,” you say, a smirk on your lips as you crawl towards him, lifting your hips before sinking down on his thick cock with one swift movement.

Sylus curses as you take him in his entirety. His hips buck up involuntarily, but you seem to be on the same page, and you grind your hips to meet his repeating thrusts as his hands squeeze your waist, not wanting this feeling to ever end.

As the bed shakes and the room fills with wet noises of skin slapping against skin, two souls intertwine and become whole, an eclipse that only happens once in a lifetime. Your moans only make his cock throb with desire even more, while his thrusts cause your wetness to increase by the second. Far from delicate, it’s a rough dance the two of you find yourselves in. But there is also a tenderness present in the way he runs his fingers over the soft skin of your thighs every few minutes, or the way you look down at him to check if he’s still enjoying your movements.

It lasts longer than a dozen waltzes. Sylus takes you in any way he can. Against the wall, on the floor, every position he can think of, he tries, and you are right there with him, bending your body to his will, greed making your pupils widen with want and need. Please take me again, Sylus. I can handle it. My pussy will always long for the feeling of your cock forevermore.

The rainy afternoon bleeds into a misty twilight as Sylus comes all over your breasts for his third orgasm of the day, painting you with every last drop he has. It’s bliss.

“Sylus…”

You tug on his hand, forcing his fingers into your wet heat as you rub your clit, your legs spread wide.

“So greedy,” Sylus pants, but he continues to move his fingers in the way he has learnt that you like.

“Will you come on my fingers, my darling?”

“Y-Yes,” you sigh, eyes shutting as Sylus feels your walls tightening around him.

“How many more times will you come undone for me like this?” Sylus asks, curling his fingers, taking pride in himself as he finds the spot that sends you into a paradise that only he can take you to.

It doesn’t take you long to reach your climax after that. A few more strategic movements of his fingertips, and you’re coming once more. Sylus makes sure to guide you through it, eventually removing his hand as you whine from the loss. He kisses your forehead as he wipes you down with a handkerchief, assuring you that there will be plenty more time to fill you once more before the day is over.

Laboured breathing and the musky smell of sex. Sylus has lost count of the hours you both have spent lost in pleasure. The ladies of the town will be wondering how he managed to disappear from their sight. Or perhaps someone will have already put two and two together. But as Sylus looks at your naked figure through the dwindling daylight, he simply couldn't care less.

Pulling you into his arms, he rests his chin on the crown of your head as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, legs tangling together as you both bask in the post-sex haze.

“So will you come to Fumbally for the ball?”

A burst of giggles that sounds akin to the bells of an orchestra. Sylus did not know that you could make such a sound, did not know he was capable of making anyone feel happiness that is so pure and genuine.

So lovely. So free. Perhaps this is the true-self that you had been hiding from him in fear that he would not accept you for who you are.

“I do not own a fancy gown that would be suitable for such an event,” you say, once your giggles have died down.

“Then let me commission one for you. You can use whatever material you want. I will see to it that you won’t have to use a penny of your wages.”

“And a ribbon?”

Sylus kisses your head. “From now on, I will only buy ribbons for one woman in Asterville.”

“Oh? The ladies of the town will be terribly unhappy about that.”

“Let them be unhappy, for I am now spoken for.”

Brash as his words may be, he means every single one, for this is only the beginning of his quest to earn, not only the full depths of your heart, but your hand in marriage. But there will be plenty of time to do so, now that he has laid his intentions out for you to bear witness to.

Kissing your head once more, he shut his eyes, slowly falling into a deep sleep.

And for the first time in his life, the Duke dares to dream of a future with the seamstress who has entrapped him in her eternal embrace.

⋆ ˚。⋆౨ৎ˚

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ a/n: thank you to everyone who encouraged me to post this; it has been living in my head rent free. and yes! i did rewatch pride and prejudice 3 times in the past 24 hours in hopes to capture even a fraction of the beautiful essence of jane austen and the power of yearning !!!! as always, much love to all who take the time to read my silly little fics. as always, i dedicate my work to you.

love always, daisy ❀

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ taglist: @peascribbles @dyeinsomniadontwake @blessdunrest @sylusgirlie7 @madam8 @glassandhoney @ash-dreamer220 @sleepykittyenergy

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dizzydaisychains · 12 days ago

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PEAAAA i’m literally kicking my feet reading through your wonderful reactions i’m delighted i was able to make you smile and laugh; it means the world to me !! 💖💖💖💖