#victorian fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

houdikoo · 6 months

Text

Lacrimosa

You never expected your apathetic husband to suddenly die. Even tho you never loved him enough to care, the general public made sure to make your widow life harder. With no interest in love, all you wanted was to finally be independent. Until you met a certain count, who just couldn't seem to leave you alone.

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Vampire!Jungkook x widow!Hesperia(OC)

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: Victorian era au, vampire au, angst, fluff, slow burn(Ig?)

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: (Unimportant) character death, mourning, ignorant OC, toxic social expectations, stigma & discrimination, blood, financial struggles, false murder accusations, manhandling, simp jk, vampire jk(that needs to be a warning).

Note: This is random idea which came to me. It's kinda inspired by Anna Karenina, like the time period and the style. I haven't written anything(like ffs) for quite some time, so kindly don't mind any errors T-T

The delightful cool air entered my lungs, as I stepped down the carriage. Warm yellow lights shunned from the now bustling mansion in front of me.

The trembling pain in my temples grew, giving me a sign of what was to come. It has namly been 2 months since the death of my "dear husband".

It would be lying if I said I wasn't tearful, on the contrary, I was saddened by the problems he left me to deal with it.

The enormous layers of my black mourning dress swayed in the light breeze as I moved thru the doors, stepping into the lightened ballroom.

Numerous of familiar and unfamiliar faces turned towards me. Coming here today, I clearly knew what I was putting myself thru. The so called "appropriate" mourning period; which included no social events, wasn't even half done.

Most women I have known, tended to mourn to at least a year, if not longer. Me coming here, so early will be seen as "disrespectful" to many, but I could care less.

As he, was nobody to mourn over. A man with his ego and lust had no place in my heart. I ought to at least wear black, as to respect the death.

By now, the stares turned away. Turning into whispers and careless giggles. I strodd towards the small corner where the white wine was served in dazzling glasses.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw my lovely sister, Annemarie, stepping closer towards me with a sincere yet confused glance. Sighing, I picked up a glass and took a sip, patiently waiting for the interrogation.

"Hespe! Why have you come here?" her voice calm as ever, yet I sensed the anxiety in her voice from a mile away. I answered nothing, giving her my smile and continued to sip on my wine.

"I know you never cared for that man, but he was still your husband, you ought to at least think of the consequences" she grabbed a hold of my sleeve fixing it slightly as it got wrinkled.

"And you also know, that I don't care even if they throw me on the street for me so called ignorance"

An audible sigh was passed thru the air, and I could only chuckle at the way my sister turned away from me to look at the staring strangers.

"Well, isn't it Lady Selwyn… oh excuse me I meant Lady Dosett"

The sleek smirk painted his face, contrast to his actions as he bowed down in front us. Lord whitmore was never a "pitiful" type. His words striking venom everytime he speaks.

He also took the pleasure of degrading every pitiful women in his are. Who else would have been a better target, then a newly widow like myself.

"Pleasure to see you again, Lord whitmore" I crossed my arm over my waist, turning towards the middle aged man. Clearly he hoped for a better reaction, as his displease was showing slightly thru his happy faced.

"I would say the same, but I would be lying if I said wasn't surprised to see" His stare tighten and his smirk returned. I dug my nails into my arm, it was clear where this was going.

"After all it has been only 2 months since Lord Selwyn's death"

I looked at my sister, seeing her side eye him and tightening her jaw. She might not support my ignorant choices, but she wouldn't let anyone disrespect me.

I just look back at him, giving him back the sly smile. "I'm well aware of that, but I can't quit see how my husbands death should affect my social life"

He moved back, his posture launched, clearly he wasn't expect me to actually say this. He seemed to think, as he grasped a glass of wine, stirring and sipping quietly.

I looked away, staring into the distance. Taking a sip from my glass, calming myself down. He will leave sooner or later.

I watched the over the top dressed figures, coming down the grand red carpeted stairs. Which were mostly used by high class figures, trying to appear dramatic or more "important" to the rest.

Among those figures I caught a red like flare. I searched for the source, and that's when I come to contact with red eyes boring back at mine.

They appeared brown, but a hint of red was reflected on the side. I was a bit dazed, looking to see who this individual was who bestod such unique, or rather weird beauty.

To my unhappiness, my thoughts were interrupted as Lord whitmore coughed, rather intentionally loud. I twisted my head to the side staring into him.

" I guess it makes sense, since you didn't really seem to care for the lords death" His gaze being not so friendly anymore, like he was challenging me for a imaginary duel.

"Almost like the news pleased you…"

I held my breath, but continued to look at him with a blank stare. I see, he couldn't make me ashamed, so he decided to implant the idea that I was behind my husbands death.

"Hope you didn't take it the wrong way, I'm not accusing you of anything dear" The words flow out like posing, and that sanistic smile came back. I held still, keeping my gaze on him.

He poured the last drops of his wine, putting the glass on a random tray. My sister fluffed her skirt, and grabbed me by my elbow.

"I would be carefull with such accusations. We shall get going, the dance is about to start" she spoke it softly, but you could hear the slight anger in her voice.

Lord whitmore let out a chuckle and stroked his chin in amusement. "Oh dance, right, well I'm looking forward to see both on the dance floor", he smiled and bowed down while staring straight at me.

The word "both" being emphasized more then the rest. Clearly he wasn't expecting anyone to ask me. Who would even want to dance with a widow like me, right?

I decided to keep quite and just nod to his words. Anna tighten her grip on my elbow, and guided me away from Lord whitmore.

"Lady Dosett, I'm waiting for an invite to the vigils"

I stopped and turned towards him. The vigils, I almost forgot. One of the traditions of mourning, inviting people over to "pray" for the death. I needed to throw one whatever I liked it or not, just to show respect.

"Of course, I make sure to send an invitation soon, Lord whitmore" I answered with a quick smile at the end, before turning around.

We continued on our way towards one of the doors, dividing the two huge ballrooms. We stood side by side, until the extravagant music started playing.

Within a few seconds people already moved towards the middle, starting to move along with the violin and organ sounds. I loved the ball before.

The warm atmosphere and the dancing figures, along with the smell of faint lavender and the not so lovely scent of sweat throughout the last hours.

Sadly, things changed after my wedding. There was no more excitement, with a man standing right beside, gripping my waist tight enough to make me stiff up.

My husband never loved, he called it being possessive over his "belongings". Another one of his disgusting fantasize. Now that he was gone, I could enjoy those things again.

To an extant. A widow was free, free from her family who wanted nothing to do with her, and her death husbands side who felt like a burden was taken away from them.

On the other hand, the society wouldn't leave me alone. Everyone would know me as a widow. According to most, I was doomed. No man would marry me now. Apparently, I crossed the right age for marriage and now I was "used".

I saw a few young man stare at my sister. Of course, she was young and pretty, everyone was interested in her. In this day and age, for a woman beauty and youth was her only weapon.

All she needed was to get herself a rich husband, give him a son, and she would be left alone be hima and free to do most of what she wanted.

That's how it worked, for us. I all I hoped was that she would end up with someone who respected her. Because there is no way to find love with those men.

I looked at Anna, seeing her give a shy smile towards one of the man's way. Giving her a teasing smile, I looked back at the man.

Count Ashcroft, was indeed a handsome fellow. Out of all the young men his age, he seemed least of a jerk. I looked towards my sister, pushing her forwards towards him.

She gave me a frightened look, but shaked my head giving her a genuine smile. I guess she got the clue, as she smiled and speed walked over to the man.

I was left standing alone, in the crowded room. A few giggles and glaces here and there, but I tried not to be distracted. I focused on the view in front of me.

I wandered back to my youth, the time when dreams of a life full love were still alive. I looked forward to the day I met the one for me, but it never came.

All the man around me were nothing but scoundrels. Their words full of empty promises. They say they love, but the only thing they do is their freedom of doing whatever they please.

As of now the turned more calm with elegant flute in the background, leading the flow. I felt footsteps behind coming closer. I shrugged it of thinking it was someone random walking by.

Sudden, lt the air felt colder than before. It wasn't comfortable rather soothing for my nerves. I heard a short and quite inhale from behind.

Goose bumps ran down my spine, as I stood there awaiting the unknown. I thought it might have been on of those young girls who came to give me fake pity while making fun of my now vulnerability.

"Dance with me"

A smooth like ocean waves voice said softly behind me. I chuckled lightly to myself. Well, this wasn't what I was expecting. It wasn't even a question, rather sounding like a demand.

I turned around, expecting to see a possibly underage lad who decided act cool be dancing with an elder women.

To my surprise, there stood a shallow man, black striped suit with pearly white shirt underneat.

His short hair slicked on the sides, as some strands framed his sculpted face. I moved higher, seeing the familiar red flare in his eyes.

His face was determined with no sign of nervousness. "That's not so gentleman way to ask a lady for a dance" I kept my face straight, focusing my gaze on his reaction.

Was this another one of those pranks pulled by the bachelors when they are so drunk they can't remember their name?

"Excuse my actions, I must have forgot myself while being unconsciously blinded" he spoke taking a step closer to me. I furrowed my eyebrows, crossing my hands as I stared at him.

"Blinded by what possibly?" The question lingered in the air, as he raised his hand laying if flat for me. "None other than your beauty, my lady".

I giggled, it was long since I heard such words from a man. I put my hand on his, as he raised it towards his mouth before planting a tender kiss on my knuckles.

"I rather be called by my name, Hesperia Dosett" He slowly put my hand down, but i felt his grip linger on my wrist before letting go.

"A pleasure to meet you, lady dosett. The name is Jungkook Everhart"

I thought a bit, trying to remember if I heard this name before. That's when I remembered a month before my husbands death, a man of the name count everhart took over a large state of land from my husband, leaving him grief over it with bottles of rum for the continuing 3 days.

"I must say, my eagerness is striding me wild, my lady" his voice taking an impatient tone, but still holding that charming note.

I let a audible sigh, thinking it thru before answering. "It's a dance you wanted, alright then" with that said he wasted no time putting his hand around my waist while softly leading me to the dance floor.

I felt shivers down my spine, as his cold fingers touched me thru the dress. He spun me slightly to stand in front of him as we got into position, and the music started.

I would describe this moment as peaceful. At one point it felt like there were only two of us. I saw and felt only him, the deep brown eyes staring at me with intensity and the mouth which opened a bit every once in a while.

This man was a beauty, maybe if I met him before, I wouldn't hesitate in being his partner. Although knowing the situation now, this would end up being a one time thing.

A simple dance, maybe a kiss if we get this far. His eyes made my want to stay, keep swinging and swaying till the morning.

He had the soft yet calm look on him, something I haven't seen that often. It didn't felt lustfull, but admiring?

The dance ended before I even knew it. I looked still dazed from the moment we had. I saw people staring at me, judgingly. My sister, standing amongst the crowd, stared at me confused.

That's when I realized that I was doing. Being called an ignorant wife was one thing, but getting the title of a "bed warmer" would definitely get me on a bad side.

I looked at him, holding myself from wanting to stay. "It was pleasure, but now I must be on my way" I stepped back holding up the corner of my dress.

He didn't let go of me and moved down to hold onto my wrist softly as he leaned in and whispered in my ear.

"This won't be a one time thing, meet me in the abandoned opera house tomorrow at 10pm. I wanna show my type of romance away from those cunning eyes"

I licked my lips, unsure of what to say. I didn't waste no time and turned around walking towards the exit. I stepped into the chilling air, I wasn't expecting leaving this place with shy smile on my face…

The doors of the old abandoned opera house as I stepped in, making sure to close the doors behind before anyone could see me. This place was restricted to norms, so anyone coming in here could be immediately evicted.

I glanced thru the spaces room with dirty swept red curtains hanging heavily around the stage. The dust lifted up, when I walked closer to the stage.

I questioned my arrival here, I couldn't believe a simple few minute accountant with a unknown man, made me travel to such pace at near midnight.

I sighed putting the strands which fell in front of my face, behind my ear. I stiffed as I heard slight movement somewhere above me.

I hesitated, but nevertheless looked up towards the small balcony just beside the stage.

There, in front of the washed up curtains, a well known figure sat on the railing looking at me with a delight expression.

"I didn't expect that you would come" his grin was big enough for me to see from below here, not to mention the view of his shiny pecks was almost to clear for my purity.

"Maybe I shouldn't have. Who knows, maybe you take innocent girls her to murder them" my voice flew out as a flock of wasps, even though I didn't necessarily feel threatened, I needed to make sure he knew that I wasn't some naivy girl.

On the contrary, coming here was the most naivy move I could have made. But something about him, made me invested.

He giggled heartly at my words, as reached his hand to grab the hanging rope beside him. "Well, I'm glad you gave me the benefit of a doubt".

He stood up pulling the rope closer to his body, before putting the tight clothed leg around it. I raised my eyebrow staring at him closely.

"Are you trying to impressive me by acting like a pirate?" I asked, even tho the motive was clear. He was indeed, going to swing with the rope down to me.

"It's the fastest way down, don't wanna walk down all those stairs"

I chuckled lightly, wondering why he got up there in the first place. He swung forward sending his body to slowly glide down the rope, landing a few steps away from me.

I turned towards him, crossing my arms. "So? Did I come here just to see this, or is there something more you got to offer" the question lingered in the air, as he didn't answer and instead chose to walk closer towards me.

He stepped right in front of me, a thin layer of air being the only thing between us. He was mesmerizing to say the least. The way his hair fall down like oceans waves down the sandy beach.

And the glittery red sparkle in his eyes, and his stare, oh the shivers were real. A thin smile spread over his lips, as he took my hand gently.

He grabbed the rope hanging close by, before staring at me with a wide mischievous grin. "Ready to fly?" his question made me glance at him confused.

His arms, tho they looked masculine enough, I had doubts if he could hold me. He seemed to notice me concern, as he put his arm around my waist, before almost roughly, pulling me towards.

A small gasp left my mouth from the impact. I looked up at him, my fingers clenching his white ruffled collar. I felt a chuckle escape his mouth as stared down at me.

"Only a fool, would drop a girl like you"

The next second, he tucked the rope down, sending us both high up. He used his body and swinged down towards the broken stage. I set my foot down, still clasping his shirt tight in my grasp.

My eyes which I closed a second after being in the air, opened and stared back at the man who looked at me alluringly.

He moved back, letting go as I unclasped my grasp. He tucked his knee back and slightly down, crossing his one arm in front.

He kept his gaze stuck at me, as bend over. "Can I have this dance, my lady?". His words send shivers down my spine, as if that sentence was the scariest of this night.

I felt my cheeks flush, but confusion rose within me. We did just dance last night. Even so, I put my hand forward, letting him take my hand softly. He pulled me closer, almost as close as we were a second ago.

As we got in the correct position, with him holding my waist and hand tightly to the point of blood stop, and me resting my hand on his shoulder. We swinged around the stage, at one point I heard the music from last night in my head.

The notes struck my heart, as my eyes turned tired and glossy. Last night felt intimidating, while this feels soothing. I was away from the eyes of the judgeful people around me.

I thought I enjoyed it, but now I think I just hoped I did. I stared at Jungkook, who closed his eyes as he swayed to the non existing music.

He must have felt my stare, cus he opened his eyes and looked at me. His stare turned soft, almost admiring. His lips parted and slow calm puffs left his mouth.

This felt stupid, we met barely a day ago. Dancing like two strangers at a party. And now I was standing questioning my feelings. I felt attracted to him, in a weird way.

"Last night, wasn't our first ecounter"

His words left his mouth like a calm whisper. My curiosity rose, I never remembered meeting him before. Even tho I heard of his name from my ex husband.

"A year ago, I saw you at your engagement party. And from that moment on, you become someone special to me" He spoke in his deeper tone, and his eyes turned sharper.

He stopped swaying, as his arm moved from my hand towards the back of my neck. "I watched you silently for the past year. Waiting for my time, even tho I believed it would never come".

His face leaned closer, the hand gently grabbed my neck. I let a desperate sigh, I never felt so needy for a connection before know. His words flew past me, I only focused on the fact that he waited for me, for almost a year.

Inside me, I felt he was speaking the truth. His heart did desire me, and only me. He must have felt my anxiety, as his lips met mine. The slow and tender kiss, left me feeling thirty.

He once again stared at me, but this time his eyes sparkled red. My heartbeat stopped as I thought back to a rumour I heard months ago.

A man of the name Jungkook Everhart, possessed red gleaming eyes which both scared and enchanted. Pale skin, which glittered in warm sunlight. It all made sense now, he was a vampire ladies and gentlemen.

That voice range in my head, as I continued to stare at his eyes. He leaned closer, I thought he was gonna kiss me again, but no.

He went passed my lips towards the nape of my neck. His cold breath, fammed my skin as I felt goosebumps form over my whole neck.

I felt two sharp points, grazing my skin. Before I heard his low voice call out my name, trying to grasp my attention. "Hesperia, oh my dear Hesp…".

His voice shivered, like if holding himself back. His arms stroke my waist softly enough to make me melt. "I knew you were gonna be mine, and now… I'll make sure to never leave you alone in despair".

He puffed out, my lips felt dry and my hands held tightly on his arm, almost digging my fingers thru his skin. Before the sharp pain of sharp like dagger teeth sinked in my flesh, he spoke again with honeyed voice, causing my heart to swell with admiration.

"I love you, my dearest…"

189 notes · View notes

weemsfreak · 17 days

Text

Desire ♱

⋆Jane's pov (recommend read second)⋆

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

♱ Main story in readers pov here

Summary: Jane returns to her village after many years and commissions a new dress. A dressmakers apprentice catches her eye, and then Jane catches hers again and again. ~4k words

Warnings: obsession, stocking, mention of child abuse, family trauma and father issues (as in Jane/Edward Murdstone 'David Copperfield')

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Stepping into the dressmakers, a nostalgic feeling washed over. The last time Jane had a dress fabricated by Gladys was nearly ten years ago.

"Well, I'll be. It has been a long while, Miss Murdstone."

Averting her eyes to Gladys, she was nothing but glad to see her still in business.

"Indeed, it has."

Moving further into the room, she threw her coat to the settee, placing herself so that Gladys could get to work. Jane had much to do today.

"How has Blunderstone treated you? Glad to be back at the factory?"

Jane cared not to talk about the past few years, nor the annoyingly disappointing end. She sighed, "It was a good many years, although a dreadful end I'm afraid. I am delighted to be back."

Jane stood with arms out as she felt Gladys' hands roam over her. She attempted to make small talk, she truly did, but as she stared at the wall her head was filled with thoughts of shopping and planning and…

"Y/N!"

Jane almost jumped, pulled from her thoughts, and shutting her eyes as she took a breath.

"Yes, how can I help-"

Silence. Jane wondered what had happened.

Her head snapped to the left to find you, wide doe eyes already on hers, before they averted to Gladys.

Her eyebrows furrowed, why were you staring? If she repulsed you that much, you need not look.

"Y/n, this is Miss Murdstone."

You slowly moved to her, gaze on the floor. You looked so small, so innocent as you bowed. Jane thought it was endearing.

"How do you do Miss Murdstone."

Jane cleared her throat quietly and deepened her voice, "Well, thank you."

She took to observing the wall as you lifted her skirts, then measured her bodice, shoulders, and arms.

You were gentle as you worked, and Jane couldn't decide whether she liked that about you, or resented it.

Still, she did not want to obscure any measurements, so she stiffened her body; not that she carried herself any other way. Your hands on her made it easier, really, for she did not wish to give in to your touch; nor anyone else's.

She heard Gladys let out a quiet chuckle and followed her gaze to your hands, which trembled slightly as you worked.

Pride and schadenfreude swelled in her chest at the thought of you being intimidated by her. Then, her mind went the other way, and she forced away a blush at the thrilling thought of you fancying her instead of resenting her.

Jane attempted to concentrate on her planning until warm fingers brushed against her pale neck and she flinched at the contact, not so used to the touch of others.

She watched you back away with a small gasp; it seemed your attention was focused elsewhere. Apologies flew from your lips, but Jane said nothing in return, for she was not angry.

Jane snuck glances through the doorway as you sat perfectly within her line of view. You began to draw on black fabric as you sat there so obediently.

She had half a mind to mess with you, in one way or another, but she did not wish to distract you, for it was of upmost importance that her dress fit perfectly.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Jane saw you many times after that day on her trips into the village. It seemed that you were as busy as she, and she wondered who you were and where you came from.

You blended well into the crowd, yet your pretty face stood out - delicate and captivating. You appeared so kind and caring, so sweet and naive.

When she caught you staring her way, she was unsure if her eyes were deceiving her.

It was not the frightened or indifferent look she usually received - she thought it might be intrigue, or perhaps something darker, which disturbed her slightly.

She wondered if your outward appearance matched your hidden interior, and briefly wondered if you would bend for her.

Of course, you would.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Jane ventured to the gardens and admired the nettles. Plain little things, not much to the eye, when she felt a presence behind her.

She ignored it, as she usually did, until she turned and caught sight of you out of the corner of her eye.

You sat on a bench next to some Calla Lilies, she thought that they reflected your being. They were soft like you, still and gentle like you.

Perhaps she admired the flowers very much, or perhaps she was unsettled; but for some reason she felt the sudden urge to spill her thoughts to you.

Thoughts about the lilies, thoughts about herself, thoughts about anything and everything, thoughts about you; but she knew she would talk endlessly, unlike her usual self.

Jane wished to move closer to you, to see up close the joy and sincerity written on your face as you basked in the serene surroundings.

You were warm like the sun, she envied that; and at the same time, she wished to take advantage of it.

As much as she desired to get to know you, she knew, and for once feared, the fact that she would come off as cruel, cold, perhaps menacing. She decided against it.

She did not wish to darken your day, but it was who she was; she knew nothing more.

And so, she walked past with her head held high and avoided you entirely, coming off as cold in an attempt not to burden you.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Jane has suffered throughout her life. She often wondered when it would cease.

From one thing to another, this and that, she turned to writing, she turned to the church. But over time, the things that she had found comfort in had betrayed her, just as everyone else had.

'Suffering as I have, a stronger soul emerged; the most massive characters are seared with scars.

As I am.'

She found comfort in the darkness of her deepest self, in the darkness of her room, in the darkness of her thoughts. For it was all that she knew, forever and ever.

Except, well, there was you, a new and profound thing in her life.

At first, she thought you had something against her. She knew your presence was not a mere coincidence, and felt that you would soon bring her closure, peace, and maybe even death.

Alas, after becoming comfortable with your consistent presence, feelings of joy and thrill overtook her when she saw you from afar, more so up close, bright eyes nothing but deep and swirling with intrigue; perhaps craving, perhaps desire.

Jane had not felt desire since she was married.

Her father had given her away to a man who worked in real estate and land development. She was young at the time, not naïve, but perhaps unknowing. Unknowing of a world that was outside of her upbringing.

But, not to her surprise, the marriage changed nothing.

Her husband was cruel, abusive, a tyrannical aristocrat. It was not anything she wasn't used to, but it was also not a life that she wanted to live.

For years she stayed silent, forgetting who she once was, until one day she confronted the suffering she had been through.

If not for nothing, then for this.

No, she never dreamed of men or marriage, she never hoped for children. Money was not a priority, the desire to fulfill her parents' wish absent.

She clung to the thought of independence, craved freedom, desired a life of adventure and knowledge. She resented any and all thoughts of her husband.

And so, when she got older, she took herself back, she took revenge.

'Embrace anger, hurl it into the void.

Transform it into something tangible, wield it until it unsettles you deep to the core. May your existence be meaningful, bold, and heard, for silence and isolation will never undo what they have done.

Retaliate until their power dwindles, crave change.

Shout into the abyss, thirst for revenge.

If the will is not present to fight for yourself, then fight for the person you once were.'

She summoned the strength deep inside, for if she was not true to herself, nobody would be.

Cyanide, easily accessible and almost untraceable.

Ever since, she has not been married, the excuse of being traumatized from her husband's death, the lie that she loved him enough to avoid it.

No, Jane has not felt desire since she was married; the desire to want revenge.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Jane routinely accompanied her brother out. This day it was a venture to the gallery, and she was filled with nothing but the usual feeling of being used.

Dreadful and unworthy the day was, just like her.

But, to her surprise and delight, her day took a significant turn. There you were, hand gently grazing over an artifact under a glass case.

Jane made the easy yet impulsive decision to abandon her brother and venture your way, finding herself increasingly drawn to you with each passing moment. She stood across, copying your movement as she pressed her fingers into a piece.

It felt surreal, being so close to comfort in a situation that would usually make her uneasy.

Perhaps it was new to her, the feeling she got when she felt the atoms that made up the world, maybe a world in which she had yet to know.

Pausing, she reluctantly raised her gaze to you, watching as you met it. She didn't wish to give too much of herself away, staring into orbs that held question, she kept her answers hidden behind a mask of indifference.

As she watched you scan her exterior, she couldn't help but feel selfish, she couldn't help but feel longing.

The longing of comfort, the light of another world, of warmth to balance out her chill, the longing of happiness.

For she wished you could show her how it was done.

'I'm so selfish, you're so kind.

I see the darkness, where you see the light.'

Yet, she dared not speak. This feeling was unfamiliar to her, leaving her at a rare loss for words to describe what she wished to convey.

She saw you and you saw her, but nobody spoke a word.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Once again, Jane accompanied Mr. Murdstone to the factory, following as he inspected the workers. She watched as young children bottled and corked the wine, making her way past the shelves of bottles and barrels.

Her eyebrows furrowed when an eerie feeling came over her, a feeling of being watched, of being coveted.

"Jump, boy" Edward instructed.

The boy tried, pathetically.

Jane snickered on the inside, "You should sooner teach the furniture."

"Jane" Edward warned. She fought off the urge to roll her eyes.

The boy attempted to jump, and she watched her brother become increasingly frustrated with the situation.

"You will not be switched to another job, boy."

The child jumped higher, but still failed to reach.

Jane raised her brow in amusement, "We should switch to a less enjoyable activity."

"JANE."

She saw it coming, Edward's hand travelled to the child's shirt as he drug him to the next room. Jane followed, standing guard as she allowed her brother to reprimand the child.

Eyes were on her, but she glowered the factory workers down until they looked away.

Over the noise she heard a close thud and turned her gaze to the shelves. They would soon snap under the weight, she thought, raking her eyes over the bottles and barrels.

Her heart jumped slightly as she watched a boy near, a tall boy, yet shorter than she. She smirked as he got closer, knowing the event that occurred over and over again.

That was, until she noticed the glass bottle in his hand.

She breathed deeply, attempting to keep her stone façade, a smirk that faltered but eyes that were emotionless, showing plain as day that she was not scared, not frightened of a boy with a glass bottle.

Or perhaps, she just wished that she wasn't.

She wished that her inside reflected her outside, wished that her heart was as cold as her shell.

For she wished he could break it with that bottle, shatter what she had learned over the years, what she had made, what she had turned into, and allow the real her to be shown.

He raised the bottle and a moment of hurt ran through her. A moment where she pictured the bottle making contact, a moment that, as a child, she had no wit nor strength to oppose her father's wrath.

Still, she stood her ground, eyes unblinking.

He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, and she knew.

When the boy turned away, Jane smirked once more, focusing on the lashing sounds behind her.

It was cruel, she knew, she was cold, she knew, but beaten and bruised was nothing new, it wasn't unfamiliar or forced, for she had no choice; it was home.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Jane grew weary as she observed Edward in his suit, appearing as he was going to a flood in the trousers; she almost laughed.

As it was, she had to deal with the situation.

When she entered the shop, she was so focused on her task that she failed to notice you. That was, until she had passed off the suit and took a moment to breathe.

She had remorsefully given up multiple opportunities to converse with you, to be close to you, to sit with you again, although she very much wished to.

She had engagements to attend and preparations to make for the ball, yet she disregarded them. She was unwilling to forgo the chance to be with you, sitting all alone on the settee.

Her boots were loud against the floor as she walked toward you and sat. Once more, a rare occurrence for her, she found herself at a loss for words; so she took to her usual belittling of man.

As a clue, as a question, as a way to convey her feelings.

"Men, incompetent."

There was silence, and for the first time in a long time, she almost regretted speaking.

You snickered. "Indeed."

Jane had absolutely no time to spare, yet she sat and took in your calming nature.

Her heart beat fast, partly due to the multitude of errands she had to undertake, and perhaps due to your proximity.

She withdrew her watch, anxiety mounting as she realized she was already behind schedule. She absentmindedly toyed with her money bag and threaded beads.

With a heavy heart, Jane resolved to curtail what she longed to say to you and the time she yearned to spend in your company.

"I have somewhere to be."

But as Jane went to stand, a clever idea struck her. Her gaze swiftly found yours, and you met it. Her eyes narrowed, trying to gauge your disposition.

Would this work? Would you grant her this favour? Did you share the same feelings she harbored- admiration, longing, desire?

For a moment, you seemed wary of her, but the hesitation quickly passed.

Her voice laced with hope and unspoken affection, "Would you be so kind as to deliver the suit when it is finished?"

She saw you pause, and her usual sureness left her body entirely. Although, she would never show it.

"Of- of course."

A smile played at Jane's lips; you were special to her.

But despite that fact, she had to feign indifference- treat you as nothing more than a passing acquaintance, one toward whom she harbored no affection, and from whom she expected none in return.

It was always the fault of her own, and she knew.

She felt a profound sense of loneliness, her demeanor threatening. She grasped others by the throats and shook them until they gave in for a breath, until they feared her, until they bent.

Yet in this moment, she posed the most important question; would you bend for her?

You had abandoned your sewing, observing her with unwavering attention.

Then, with a widening of her eyes, she saw you, she saw a glimpse of the innocence that she once held, and lost, mirrored in a young woman who was just a little lamb, the total opposite of herself.

Doubt clouded her mind, and Jane was no longer sure that her maliciousness was justified.

But you weren't so convinced, apparently.

"Lovely. Gladys will provide my address. I expect it by 5pm."

Jane stood and clasped her slightly trembling hands as she bid you farewell.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Jane opened the door, utterly surprised to see you standing in her home, nonetheless clad in a beautiful dress that accentuated your features and further illuminated your eyes. She was relieved when you looked her up and down, oblivious to the small blush that coloured her cheeks.

You smoothed the fabric of your dress and extended Edward's suit toward her.

"Here you are, Miss Murdstone. I hope it meets your satisfaction."

Jane accepted the suit with gentle hands, no longer concerned with the fit; it mattered little at this point.

"We are hosting a ball tonight."

She watched you avert your gaze from her and nod, perhaps in disinterest.

"I trust that it will be enjoyable."

Pausing to examine you, Jane pondered for a moment.

"I do hope."

A maid suddenly came barrelling up the stairs and entered her chambers, rudely interrupting, Jane thought.

"Miss Murdstone, let's prepare you for the ball."

As the maid entered, Jane noticed a shift in your gaze from the maid to herself, and she found a fleeting glimpse in your eyes, of something which she had not found previously.

In that moment, Jane decided to offer an option, accepting your response either way.

"It will commence at 8pm. You are welcome to join."

Jane regretted her impulsive words, aware that if you were to attend, she would be unable to focus on her duties. However, the thought of your presence stirred within her a thrill she has not felt in so long.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Jane was focused on her role of hosting, moving throughout the ballroom, and attending to the needs of her guests. She had no qualms, accustomed to yielding to her brother's wishes, until she caught sight of you out of her peripheral.

In the corner of the room, you stood sipping on a drink, bright eyes watching, observing, joyful.

Jane mirrored your actions, her gaze sweeping across the room.

She saw Edward with a woman, and most everyone else she knew paired off with their respective partners—someone they called theirs.

But she, well, she had nobody, and it seemed neither did you.

As the others began to dance in a slow waltz, Jane found herself consumed by thoughts of longing. She thought very much that she would like to dance with you.

Yet she knew it wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be taken lightly.

The only person she desired to dance with was not within possibility. No, she could never bring herself to ask if you would fancy a dance with her, and so she quietly slipped away.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

As Jane sat in her chambers, a creak sounded from the hallway, followed by a momentary pause.

She waited in anticipation, uncertain of who it may be, but knowing there was possibility of it being you.

You, who followed her.

You, who shadowed her every move.

You, an innocent young woman filled with curiosity, fascination, interest.

When she heard nothing more, she mustered the courage to venture out of her chambers.

Slowly, she searched the corridor and other rooms, her heart pounding until she finally discovered a figure in her sanctum with bated breath.

Jane had left her notebook open on her desk, perhaps subconsciously harboring a flicker of hope—a wish that someone would stumble upon it, someone would understand, someone would lose themselves in her deepest thoughts and emotions.

But well, she didn't wish for someone, not just anyone, which was precisely why she had closed it only to reopen it earlier that day without a second thought.

She thought that she thought too much, she had no choice.

You were lost in her thoughts as she watched you from the doorway, suddenly beset by insecurity regarding her decision—to grant you access to her life, to her upbringing, to expose her true self to you.

Yet, your actions confirmed her suspicions, and her wish. As she watched your lips tremble, a surge of fear and anger overcame her.

She approached you silently, her hand landing firmly on your warm shoulder.

In that instant she found solace, and faint amusement flickered within her at the thought of events that had passed.

"I knew I would find you here."

Jane spun you around and grasped your neck, bony fingers tightening as she drew you closer. Your gaze broke her in a manner she had never experienced before; she had no choice but to be truthful.

"You fancy yourself sly, following me around, do you not?"

Your doe eyes widened at Jane's heavy words, hands trembling once again at her touch.

"Do not presume I failed to notice your presence."

She saw you.

"At first, I thought perhaps you wished me dead, the way you stock me."

Jane chuckled softly; this was ironic.

"Then I realized that you made no attempt to be stealthy."

She watched you swallow, an urge surging within her to draw you even closer.

"We share the same interests, do we not?"

With a nod from you, albeit hesitant, Jane became more brazen.

A smirk graced her lips as she leaned closer, her breath brushing against your ear; you shivered.

You closed your eyes, as did she.

"Do not think I miss the way you look at me."

Jane attempted to sound firm and unwavering, yet she was guilty as well.

"Do not think I miss the way you tremble when I'm close."

She knew of the way you craved her, she understood.

"Do not think I miss your desire."

It was incredible, really, how energy made up the universe, how matter was eternal, how it could be neither created nor destroyed.

Both of you, electron orbitals overlap, not separate, but existing as one with her hand around your neck, around your lifeline.

She shook you until you gave in for a breath, until you feared her, until you bent.

But Jane harbored no desire for you to fear her, no desire for you to bend, not in the manner she wished for others to. See, it wasn’t just desire that tied Jane to you, it was hope.

People said that she was cold, cruel, harmful, metallic.

A cold shell of defensive whips and comments; once a girl imbued with warmth, a girl born to love.

Jane wished for her outward demeanor to mirror her innermost self, knowing she wore a facade of disdain, yet feeling anything but inside.

See, she was sly, smart, and deceiving, perhaps appearing as malicious and distant; but perhaps that's how she wished to appear.

You, however, were smart, witty, and perceptive, but you wore her heart on your sleeve, intentions written plain as day. An open book, placed for all to see; but only some to analyze, only some to admire.

Jane longed to shed her pretenses, to be her true self, to be as real as you, maybe even more so.

Your hands encircled Jane's waist as she sensed you pressing closer into her grasp.

Soft lips met her jawline, and in that moment, she decided that she would bend; she wouldn't mind, not for you.

Jane stiffened in defense and increased her grip as she felt you smile against her skin. Her lips opened in a soft gasp as she let out a breath, inhaling your scent.

Your words, spoken with a fervor she never anticipated from your lips, made her falter.

"I suffer, I attach, I crave, and I desire. And I always get what I desire."

#gwendoline christie #wlw #jane murdstone #jane murdstone fic #jane murdstone x reader #the personal history of david copperfield #david copperfield #edward murdstone #victorian lesbians

73 notes · View notes

blueteller · 2 months

Note

Can I ask a question? It's for a fic of mine.

What color is Cale's ass— I mean, eyes. Cuz wiki said they were reddish-gray but I've always seen them in ffs described as reddish-brown and I'm very befuddled rn

...don't know what you're talking about? Even the wiki says "reddish brown". Seems like a pretty easy shade to visualize.

As for your, uh... other question... "sickly pale and skinny" seems like the only right answer? 😂 I mean seriously, the man keeps coughing up blood roughly once every 50 chapters, what else would you expect?? 🤣

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of the count’s family #cale henituse #cale #tcf cale #q&a #replies #seems pretty straight forward to me #cale is the person who gets the most description scenes out of EVERYONE in tcf #i think his visual design should be pretty clear by now #make him the typical swooning victorian damsel just male and goth #good luck with your fic man

75 notes · View notes

islayhawkin · 8 months

Text

Compliment

Jack dawkins x f!reader

1,3k words

Summery: you wake up together and spend time as he escortes you to a social gathering

Request: HIII!! I really liked your posts and if you are okay with writing how jack dawkins spends his day of with the reader I would really be happy!🫶🏻💗

A/N: thank you! This makes me so happy if I get feedback and request. I hope you like this bit of fluff with jack. I wanted to highlight his cocky personality a bit.

Fluff

It was a lazy morning for you both. It was one of the rare days that both you and jack had taken a day off.

You lay tangled together on jack's small bed. Your arm draped over his belly, your head snuggled up against his arm. He was the first awake so he gladly took the chance to observe you.

It was a weird feeling for him to see you lay snuggled up in his arms. Your warmth against his side. Of course he had been physically close with a lot of women. But he never felt someone he loved snuggle up to him in their sleep. In fact had he never really felt love. The only one he always had was fagin. And he wasn't excactly the most warm and loving person.

You introduced him to love so to say. And he was just beginning to learn what it meant. It is a unsetteling feeling to suddenly not only care about his own wellbeing but yours too. When not even more.

It made him want to pull you closer to him to protect you at all times. Wether it was because he grew up constantly living agitated in fear or every men felt this way, he didn't know.

Usually jack was a confident, if not cocky man but this feeling made him crave your care. He'd never admit this but he wanted you to fuss over him. He felt like a child in these moments and he thought himself pathetic for it. Still he loved it when you made him something to eat, pulled his clothes straight, cleaned dirt of his face, went through his hair or even helped him bathe.

He smiled at you softly. You looked adorable to him. Your mouth slightly opened, your breaths tickled his arm slightly. With every breath he took your arm moved up and down with his belly.

Jack waited in this position until you fluttered your eyelids open and groggily took in the place you were at.

"Mornin', love" he grinned at the sleepy look on your face.

"Morning" you smiled and buried your head into his chest. You sighed contently. Hugging his arm to your chest. "How long have you been staring at me for?" You giggle as you breathed in the scent of him.

"Mhm a while." He grinned.

"Creep." You giggled.

"You know you love it."

He pulled his arms around you to pull you on top of him. You laughed as you struggled to get out of his grip. But he held you thight. "You're not getting away from me." He grinned.

You huffed in defeat and let yourself slump on top of him. He let out a small 'oof' at your sudden weight resting on him but he still held his arms thighly around you. "I win?" He teased.

You pouted. "You're awfully strong for a lanky man."

"I was a soldier and a sailor darlin' " he smirked and gave you a wink. You snorted but there was a loving smile on your lips.

He rolled you both around to position himself above you before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours softly. You hummed contently as you kissed him back. Your hand pulling up to his hair.

He pecked your lips one last time before removing himself from you and standing up from the bed. He searched his room for his clothes and started to get dressed while you watched. He looked around for his waistcoat and you spotted it on the backrest of the bed, pulled it off and brought it over to him.

You held it up for him to slip in and he obliged happily. Your hand rested on his waist when you turned him around to face you. You buttoned up the waistcoat and pulled it straight, your eyes switching up to his eyes again. "This blue suits you."

His whole face lights up. "Thank you. You think it looks good?"

You absenently straighten the fabric of his trousers. "You look very handsome."

Jack grins. "Thank you love." He kisses your cheek.

You pull your clothing for the day on too and ask for his help in binding your corset.

With skilled fingers he pulled it close and made a ribbon at the end. "Does it fit well?"

"Yes. Thank you."

All set jack opened the door and held his arm out to you.

"May I escort you my lady?" You curtsied and took his arm. "Gladly mister."

He escorted you outside of the hospital while putting his hat on. The sun was shining brightly again which almost made it too warm in all the layers of clothing. Jack did have a free day but he was expected to attend a social gathering from the governor. So you were on your way to this social gathering you knew very little about, jack after asking him, knew not much more himself.

It was held in a hall as you arrived and jack greeted a lot of people politely. You curtsied and held your hand out a lot of times as you were expected as jacks companion.

"Dr Dawkins." A relatively tall man with sideburns and a mustache greeted him with obvious distaste as he shook jack's hand.

"Dr Sneed." jack gave him a nod with furrowed brows.

The eyes of sneed wander to your figure. "You must be miss Y/L/N." He took your hand and gave it a kiss.

You smiled politely. "Yes. It is a honor to meet you dr sneed."

"The honor is all mine." Sneed smiled sickeningly flirtatious.

Jack pulled you closer against him while he shot daggers at sneed with his eyes. Sneed seemed to share the same feelings as his eyes glared coldly at jack.

Jack escorted you further down the gathering to get away from sneed. "I hate him. Have you seen the way he looked at you?" He whispered furiously.

You layed a hand on his chest. "I know. Relax. You don't want to get in trouble again." You whispered while a polite expression was plastered on your face.

"Easy to say. I wanna punsh him just for that look-"

"Dr dawkins!" Another voice greeted him from behind us and we turned quickly around.

Jack cleared his throat. "Governor. What a honor to be invited. It seems lovely." He smiled.

You could clearly see that this wasn't what jack was good at. He was good at snarky comments. Always saying his opinion. At surviving on the streets or on a ship. He was good at dirty jobs.He wasn't made for fancy gatherings, clean clothes and pearls and polite small talk.

You made a small curty again greeted the governor with equal politeness. After the greetings were done, music started to play and drinks were served, you stood in a rather quiet corner together with a, guess what, fancy drink in hand.

You observed the people around you and your eyes fell on the dance floor in the middle of the room. Mostly courting pairs dancing formally together. Jack seemed to have noticed your interest and stood before you, one hand outstretched to you.

"Will you honor me with your hand for a dance?" You giggled and happily took his hand. He led you to the middle of the room and took a dancing position in. You started to carry out the dance moves with him. Almost moving as one.

"Where did you learn to dance?" You asked surprised as he pulled you closer to him for this move again.

"You didn't trust me to do that?" He teased.

"Actually no."

"I'm hurt. As a sailor. There was a lot of dancing. Though we lacked the women."

You smiled at the thought. "You know you're a real gentleman if you want to." His eyebrows raised with a grin.

"Is that a compliment?"

"I compliment you all the time. Your ego is way too big already."

He cocked his head to the side. "Aww come on. I never get enough of your compliments. Or your touch. Or your care. Or you for that matter."

"You know how to get a girl don't you?" You sighed.

"I assure you." He told you slightly more serious.

"I love you too jack." You whispered as you two swayed to the music.

#jack dawkins x reader #jack dawkins #the artful dodger #fluff #victorian era #dr jack dawkins #the artful dodger fic

221 notes · View notes

atlafan · 2 months

Text

The Arrangement - Prologue + Part 1

a/n: hiiiiii posting this here and the rest on patreon! in fact, parts 2 and 3 are already live on patreon 🤭 This is heavily influenced by Ali Hazelwood's Bride, but it's not supernatural or anything like that. But we do have the arranged marriage, enemies to lovers trope which are always so fun. Also, if you couldn't tell, I'm obsessed with Bridgerton, so there's some influence of that in there as well. The yearning and pining is strong in this. warnings: a shit ton of backstory and angst :D TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of suicide and minor character deaths words: 11.3K (that's the prologue + part 1)

Patreon I Patreon Masterlist I Tumblr Masterlist I Ask

Prologue

Margaret

Arranged marriages aren’t uncommon. They’re the norm, actually. Most heads of households make deals with other heads of households and trade their children like cattle. Since I’m a bit more upper class, I never had to worry about being sold to some forty-year-old man in exchange for three of his best cows or pigs.

No, the arrangements in my society are much more about big business, if you can even call it that. We aren’t traded for items, we’re traded for money. Dowries are like nuclei, they’re the powerhouse of our entire economy. It works both ways: a poor man with a title will often try to find a girl with a large dowry. A girl who may not have much of a dowry to offer can still get married, but she needs to marry well. That rules out a lot of men. Then you’re forced to manipulate some foul soul into courting you. It’s rarely a love match.

It’s all business. Not personal.

Dowries make sense in that it ensures that putting a new household together isn’t solely on the husband’s (or his family’s) shoulders. A man of modest means can’t be expected to buy a home, new furniture, or wardrobe all on his own. I certainly would never expect my husband to do all of that on his own.

My husband could, though, if he wanted to.

I have just married a viscount. Below an earl and above a baron, a viscount is a nobleman that holds a lot of power within society. If done right, a viscount can remain quite wealthy. A viscount owns multiple estates that can include fields, pastures, hunting grounds, streams, etcetera. Middle-and lower-class peoples tend to work this land or pay to have access to this land. To put it simply, you’d be a very lucky lady to marry a viscount.

But I don’t feel lucky. I hate to complain because I recognize my privilege. It’s just that I really thought I would be able to choose my own husband. My parents never gave me any indication that I wouldn’t be able to do so. Hell, I’ve turned down three marriage proposals! I suppose it wouldn’t so bad if I actually liked my new husband.

The fact of the matter is, if I had any choice or say in the matter, I never would have chosen to marry Viscount Harry Styles.

“Viscountess?” My lady’s maid, Agnes, peeps into the women’s parlor that I’ve been hiding in. Clearly, I haven’t been hiding well enough. “You and the viscount will need to make your entrance in a moment.”

“Thank you, Agnes. I just need one more second to myself.”

“Of course.” She nods and curtsies before closing the door.

I look in the mirror and sigh. It’s a shame, I look beautiful. I’m not being vain either. I never thought I could look this beautiful. It’s a shame because I would rather be radiating this beauty for a man I love, or, at least, a man I actually like. Some spouses grow to like each other, even love each other if they’re lucky. Many of my friends have married. Some have enjoyed it, and others detest it. Some seem to be good friends with their husbands, but there’s no sexual chemistry. (I’m a married lady, I can say things like that now.)

If the Queen herself wasn’t making an appearance, I would have fled. Oh well, this is my life now.

I take a deep breath and paint a fake smile on my face before leaving the parlor. No tears. No crying. Tonight, when I’m getting ready for bed, after my husband has taken me, then I will give myself the gift of a good cry.

Chapter 1

Twenty Years Prior to the Wedding

Harry

Something very strange is happening today. Mother’s told me that a girl will be joining me in the nursery for my schooling. I asked if it would be just for today, but she told me it was for the foreseeable future. I don’t think I would have minded, but I’ve gotten so used to having the governess to myself since Brother went off to school. This girl is a few years younger than me, so she’ll be learning different lessons than I, but she’ll be in the nursery with me. Playing with my old toys, getting attention from Nanny.

I asked Mother if this girl was coming to live with us, if that was why she’d be in the nursery with me, but Mother said no, that the girl and her parents would be moving into one of our family homes close by. When we’d go to the country estate, we’d all be under the same roof, but in London, we’d be in separate homes. But since Mother and the girl’s mother are dear friends, she joked and said it will be like they’re living with us all the time.

“Master Styles.” One of the valet’s comes into the upstairs drawing room where I had been playing the piano. “Your mother has requested your presence downstairs. The Abernathy Family has arrived.”

“Thank you, Carver.” I get up and follow him downstairs. My mother smiles at me and waves me over, putting her hands on my shoulders as I stand in front of her.

“Harry, you were about two the last time you met the Abernathy’s.” She tells me. “So, let’s have a fresh introduction, shall we? This is Lord and Lady Abernathy, and their daughter Miss Margaret Abernathy. She’s three, only three years younger than you.”

“Hello, it is nice to meet all of you.” I bow my head respectfully. The other adults smile warmly. I look at Margaret who is sucking her thumb and cuddling a blanket to her chest. She has absolutely no idea what is going on. I almost envy her.

“What a polite young man.” Lady Abernathy crouches to my level. “You may call me Aunt Catharine if you like. And Lord Abernathy gives you his permission to call him Uncle John.”

“What do you say, Harry?” My mother squeezes my shoulders.

“Thank you.” I bow my head again and receive a pat to the top of my head.

“He looks so different from his brother. Looks more like you, Edith.” Lord Abernathy, er, Uncle John, says to Mother. They know Brother?

“You think so? What a compliment.” She smiles. “Margaret, would you like Harry to show you to the nursery? He has a lot of toys to show you. Nanny will be here to meet you shortly. She’s a lovely woman, Harry adores her.”

Margaret continues to suck her thumb, but her eyes lock on my face. Her blanket hangs on the crook of her used arm. Her free hand reaches out to me. I’m not sure what to do.

“Margaret isn’t, ehm, as verbal as most toddlers.” Aunt Catherine explains. “She talks, she’s not dumb, but when she’s shy, she goes quiet. She wants you to take her hand so you can lead her upstairs.”

I nod and take Margaret’s hand. I grimace when I feel how wet her palm is. She must have been sucking the thumb on this hand before. Brother used to tell me he begged Mother and Father for a younger sibling. He wanted someone to play with. We are far apart in age, so it clearly took some time. I never felt the way he did. I like being the youngest, so I will not treat Miss Margaret as if she were my little sister. As a cousin, maybe, if she is lucky.

She gasps when we walk into the nursery, immediately running to get on the wooden rocking horse. She giggles as she rocks herself back and forth, then gasps when she sees my old blocks. She trips over her blanket on her way, but she doesn’t cry. Just shakes it off and gets back up to get to the blocks. She looks over at me, smiling.

“Wanna pway?” She asks me, and I raise an eyebrow at her.

“I need to get back to my piano lessons.” I mutter. It wasn’t a lie, I genuinely needed to practice to show my governess I was working hard.

“Nooooo.” She whines. “Pway wiff me, pwease?”

“Why are you talking like that?” I cock my head to the side. “Your teeth are in, pronounce things properly. You sound like a commoner.”

She blinks at me, scrunches her face, then says, “You’re mean”, before stacking the blocks on her own.

I am not happy about this girl one bit.

Fifteen Years Prior to the Wedding

Margaret

Many of the house workers have children my age, so I play with them a lot. If Harry isn’t with our governess, he usually plays with me. I’m dreading for when he goes off to Eton. He has two more years until then, but still, it will go by quickly. He helps with my Latin and has secretly been teaching me arithmetic. “Girls should know these things too”, he tells me. He’s so smart. He could be a great scholar someday.

George, Harry’s older brother, is back from university. He went to Cambridge a boy and has come back a man. At least, that’s what our mothers say when they gossip. Harry and I usually sneak around the drawing room when people are over. We like to listen in. I do find George to be terribly handsome, but I hardly get to see him. He spends most of his time as his father’s apprentice, learning everything that’s needed to one day become the viscount. When I do get to see George, he pays me a ton of attention, and will play games with Harry and I. If I’m lucky, I will get to marry a man like him someday, and if I’m really lucky, I might even get to marry him. Sure, he would have to wait another ten years or so for me to come out, but I think we would make an extraordinary pair.

When balls are held at Styles House, Harry and I sneak around upstairs and watch everyone dance and drink. I always feel a pang in my chest when I see George dancing with multiple young ladies. Sometimes I wonder if he hasn’t married yet because perhaps Father has made a deal with Uncle Michael to have me married off to George for when I’m older. That would be the greatest thing my father could ever do for me.

One morning, while Harry and I are having breakfast in the informal dining room, as we were so often banished to when we were at Styles Estate in the country, I look at him until he looks at me.

“May I help you?” He asks.

“Are you looking forward to Eton?”

“That is two years away.” He sighs.

“I know, but I am curious. I do not get to go off to school like you. I will remain here with our governess.”

“Your parents could send you to finishing school.”

“Your mother wouldn’t allow that. I overheard her saying finishing school was for the middle class.”

“She’s right.”

“But I am not middle class.” I furrow my eyebrows.

“You are, actually.” He tells me as he wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You just don’t know it because it is hidden from you. Why do you think you stay here with us when we come to the country, and not at a separate home? Why do you think you live in one of my family homes in London? Your family doesn’t even pay mine rent. We pay for all of the servants and maids and cooks, and we pay for the governess. You have what you have because your father has no pride. No Lord would ever accept pity like this unless he were desperate.”

“You’re…you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie to you? What would I have to gain from that?”

“You like to be mean to me.” I grumble.

“Margaret, I am forced to spend all day, every day with you. Unless we have callers that have children, I am forced to be with you. All I want to do is read or go help in the gardens, but I cannot because I am meant to watch after you.”

“Nanny watches after me.”

“Be that as it may, I do not wish to constantly be around a child.”

“You’re still a child.”

“Barely.” He scoffs. “You’re still in leading strings.”

“So?”

“So, you’re a child, a baby. I want to be with children, boys, my own age. I cannot wait to go to Eton.”

“You woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. You are not usually this nasty.” I start grinning. “Have you gotten your mences early?”

“Margaret?!” He nearly chokes on his juice. “How…you…where did you learn such a word?”

“Unlike you, I do not have my nose constantly in the air. When you do not feel like playing with me, I play with the other children in the house, the servants’ children. They know all sorts of things. For example, teasing boys when they have an attitude and blaming it on mences is quite fun, because you cannot have mences.”

“Stop saying mences.” He seethes. “And do not repeat that word again. That word is…not for men’s ears.”

“You are not a man. You are a boy.”

“And you are a girl.” He moves from his seat and stands. “I am meant to see my father today. I will return for supper, and afterwards, I will help you with your schoolwork if you need it.”

“Okay.” I smile. “Thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome, Margaret. Enjoy the day.” He bows his head before leaving the room.

Harry and I tease each other a lot. It’s all in good fun. I know he likes me. I’m his Margaret and he’s my Harry. George told me that Harry is starting to go through boyhood changes, so his mood can change quite rapidly. He told me not to take it personally, so I do not. I think I will venture out into the yard today, find a large bug, squish it, and press it into one of Harry’s books. Yes, I think George and I will have a wonderful laugh over that.

Ten Years Prior to the Wedding

Harry

Summer is my favorite season. It’s when I get to come home from Eton and spend time with my family. Many of my friend’s families are in the country, which means they can take their carriages to our estate, and we can go shooting. We can do whatever we like. Being sixteen, I am almost seen as a man. I have some authority now. Brother, who is now, twenty-five, is home for a while too. I do not get along with Brother. We are very different people. Luckily, he will be leaving soon to travel India. Why he would ever want to go there, I will never understand, but he’s desperate to go where he can while he can. Apparently, after he eventually marries, he doesn’t see himself traveling much. I suppose it makes sense. He’ll be viscount someday; he will need to remain local.

I’m heading outside when I see Margaret all done up, sitting by the windows in the downstairs drawing room. Out of curiosity, I walk in and sit across from her.

“How come you’re all dressed up?” I ask.

“Mama wants a new portrait painted.” She smiles. “She and Father bought me this new dress to wear for it.”

“When is the painter getting here?”

“I think in two hours, but I was so excited, I wanted to get dressed early. The ruffles are rather in fashion, don’t you think?”

“You certainly look like a young lady.” I smile. “How has the new governess been?”

“She’s dreadful.” She grimaces. “She’s nice, but so boring. I like it better when you teach me things.”

“Are you struggling with any subjects?”

“No, my marks are good.”

“Good.” I nod. “I discovered my new favorite subject at school this year.”

“Oh?”

“Botany. I love plants, Margaret, I simply love them. I am focusing my studies on how to best work land without overworking it. It’s quite fascinating, I must say.”

“It’s good you are enjoying your studies. George tells me all the time about how much he disliked school.”

“He’s a dunderhead.” I mutter, making her gasp.

“Bite your tongue.”

“I will do no such thing.” I see through the windows that a few of my mates are outside. “Ah, I need to be going. I’m going riding with my friends. Have fun sitting for your painting later.” I bow my head before heading outside to greet my mates. “Are we ready?”

We head to the stables and dress our horses before heading out. We talk about what dormitories we will be in next semester. We talk about alcohol. Then, not surprisingly, we talk about women. At first, we were discussing brothels. I have yet to go to one, but I know that it’s inevitable. The one thing I heeded George’s warning on was sewing my wild oats. Even though there is less pressure for me to marry and have children, I know it is still important for me to know what I am doing. I know love matches are rare, but the sex should still be passionate. I do not think I could be one of those men that does not care about his wife’s pleasure.

“When do you think your father will tell you you’ve been promised to Lady Margaret?” Simon teases.

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “She’s a child.”

“Children get promised to people all the time.” Timothy points out.

“Be that as it may, I am not going to think about even hypothetically marrying her. She’s only ten and three.”

“I don’t know, Harry, we saw you speaking with her before.” Simon grins. “You seemed awfully happy to be home.”

“She’s a child.” I repeat. “And trust me, I’m not the Styles boy she wants to marry. She has a crush on George, she always has.” We bring the horses back to the stables and walk up to the house to go have refreshments. Margaret is now outside playing hopscotch. “Child.” I mutter under my breath.

“Harry, if you do not wish for us to tease you about Margaret anymore, then you need to do something to prove you don’t have a tiny crush on the girl.” Timothy says.

“What are you proposing?”

“Offer to play with her, and then trip her so she falls into the dirt.”

“I can’t do that. That’s a new dress that she needs to wear for a family portrait. Name something else.”

“Sorry.” Timothy shrugs. “Actually…let’s play tag.”

“Timothy, do not go near her.”

It’s too late, he’s already by her side, bowing his head.

“Lady Margaret, would you care for a game of tag?” Timothy asks her.

“Really?” She smiles up at him.

“Sure. We haven’t played with you in ages. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay!”

“Harry’s it!” Simon yells, nudging my shoulder before running off.

“Bastards.” I curse under my breath before running after them. It would be so easy to trip Margaret, to push her down, but I would feel terrible. On the other hand, I don’t want them teasing me about her. I don’t like them saying things about her like she’s out in society already. It’s disrespectful. She’s a child. She’s giggling and running, and I catch up to her. I sigh heavily, then I push her, a little too hard, and she falls into the dirt and grass.

“Ah!” She gasps, having not expected me to push her so roughly. She gets up on her hands and knees before standing all the way up. She looks down at her dress, now covered in grass stains, then looks up at me. Her bottom lip is quivering and her eyes are watering. Damn. “You did that on purpose!”

“Don’t be such a baby, Margaret. It was an accident.”

“No, it wasn’t! You and your friends are always pulling things like this! I told you this dress was new. Mama is going to be so upset with me!” She stamps her foot. “You need to go inside and tell her what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything. You should have known better than to run around outside in a new dress.” Timothy and Simon gather around, both of them smirking. I could kill them. “You need to take responsibility for your actions.”

“But I-“

“Margaret Leigh Abernathy!” Aunt Catherine shrieks and comes storming outside. “Look at your dress!”

“Mama, Harry and his friends-“

“I do not want to hear your excuses, get inside now. The painter is here, and now I have to clean you up. Hopefully he won’t mind waiting with your father.”

“But, Mama-“

“Margaret.”

Margaret glares at me, then goes inside. She doesn’t curtsy, so Aunt Catherine apologies on her behalf before following her daughter. I turn to my friends and cross my arms over my chest.

“Happy now? You’re not tease me about her ever again.”

Eight Years Prior to the Wedding

Margaret

I hate Harry with a burning passion. He has just come home from his first year at Cambridge. I have been dreading it. Since he’s been gone, my family moved into Styles House. The viscount said that he wanted to be able to give the home to George so he could live comfortably out of the house. A very upscale home for his bachelor’s lodgings. I do not mind living in Styles House. I’ve spent most of my life in this house. We have our own wing to ourselves.

I knew there were rumors about my family, but no one would dare scandalize the Styles family. They were far too respected in our society. So, it wasn’t a big deal that Harry and I would be living in the same place. Out in the country in the larger estates, the rules are a bit laxer. But in London…well, people like to blow things out of proportion.

I’m sitting out in the backyard reading, enjoying the breeze under the shade when Harry plops down onto the seat next to me and snatches my bowl of grapes. I sigh heavily but ignore him. I essentially stopped speaking to him after he purposefully ruined my dress. We only speak in mixed company as to not embarrass our families. When he continues to bite into the grapes, obnoxiously loud, I put my book down and look at him.

“What do you want?” I snatch the bowl back from him.

“Is that any way to greet me? I’ve just returned from my first year at Cambridge. You could at least fake it.”

“I imagine you say that to a lot of women.” I smirk.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He rolls his eyes.

“I know plenty.”

“How?”

“I hear things.” I shrug. “I’m still friendly with the children of the servants. I ask questions and they happily answer.”

“For how much money?”

“They do not ask for money. This may surprise you, but some people enjoy the pleasure of my company.”

“There is nothing pleasurable about being in your company.”

“And yet, you sat down here without an invitation.”

“I’m already bored, I thought bugging you would relieve me from that.” He leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “None of my friends are home. Many of them are traveling. I wanted to come home for a bit. I might participate during the season, dance with some people.”

“Are you going to marry?”

“No, but George is looking for a wife this season, and I want a front row seat to that trainwreck.”

“What do you mean George is looking for a wife this season?” I sit up a bit, frowning.

“I overheard him telling my parents. He’s of age, he’s had plenty of time to enjoy being a bachelor. He probably wants a wife now so that she can learn everything she’ll need to know about being a viscountess. Also, he needs to select someone who is alright with a family of freeloaders living with us.” He looks at me, probably thinking he just got a good jab in, but I stare off into space. “Come on, Margaret, it’s no fun to bash you if you don’t bash back.”

“George is going to marry this season…” I say more so to myself. “But I’m only fifteen…I’m not out yet…how…how could he do this to me?” I look at Harry now. “I thought he was waiting until I came out.”

“To marry you?” His eyebrows fly up. “I do not want to be cruel, but Margaret, George was never going to marry you. He sees you as a little sister.”

“I thought maybe my father made a deal with yours…”

“Nope.” He shakes his head. “No deals. I would have told you, I know you like George.”

“What do you mean you know? I’ve never said a word to you about my feelings.”

“You’re not exactly subtle. The way you look at him…ever since you were a kid. I mean, it’s painfully obvious.” He swings his legs over to sit on the edge of the lounger, facing me. “Are you terribly heartbroken? I could take you into town for ice cream.”

“You’re mean.” I stand up with a huff and Harry stands.

“I just offered to take you for ice cream.”

“Like a child!”

“You are a child!”

“And you’re mean!” I do something bold and push on his chest. “I am so sick you, I hate you!” I push him again, causing him to take a few steps back.

“Do not push me again.” He says lowly.

“Or what?”

“I’ll really treat you like a child and push your face into the dirt and make you eat worms.”

“I’d like to see you try. I’m not afraid of you.” I push him again. “In fact, I’d love to wallop you.”

“You should go inside. The heat and sun must be affecting you.”

“I’m perfectly fine in this heat.”

“You sure?” He leans forward, getting in my face. “Perhaps you have your mences, then?”

He’s barely finished smirking when I tackle him to the ground. I’ve clearly taken him by surprise, but it doesn’t take him long to fight back. We roll around in the grass, both of us holding our own, but at the end of the day, Harry is a man, and he is much stronger than me, so I end up with my arms pinned down on either side of my head and him hovering over me, straddling me. We’re both breathing heavily, and our eyes are locked.

“Get off of me.” I say through gritted teeth.

“Not until you’ve calmed down.”

“Harry!” I struggle under him and let out a frustrated sigh.

“I’m sorry that I had to be the bearer of bad news, but it was never going to happen with you and George, ever.”

“Stop it!”

“You need to accept it.” He presses harder on my arms. “Margaret, in a few years, you’ll enter society, and you’ll go to balls and you’ll be courted and the eligible men in this city will be beating down the door, desperate to come inside and call on you. You just need to be patient.”

I take in his words and nod. His grip loosens, but he doesn’t get off of me. He lingers, and for whatever reason, I’m not mad about it. I’m feeling sort of strange, actually. Harry and I haven’t wrestled since we were children. And that was fun wrestling, back when we used to get along. Now I’m all too aware that he, a man, is straddling me. And he’s not moving.

I clear my throat and that seems to get him to snap back into reality, remembering where we are. He gets off of me and lays down next to me in the grass, sighing.

“We should do this at night. Laying in the grass, I mean, not the fighting. I could point out the constellations to you. Have you read any of the books on astronomy I sent to you?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think so far?” He turns his head to look at me.

“I think it’s all very fascinating.”

“Good.” He smiles, then faces up at the sky again. “Still hate me?”

“Yes.”

“For telling you about George?”

“For pushing me into the dirt while wearing a new dress and purposefully getting me in trouble with my mother.”

“Perfect.” He grabs my hand and kisses the back of it before standing up. “Just the way I like it. At least that’s a valid reason for hating me. I respect it, actually. I’m off to the tailor. I have to pick up some new suits for the season. See you at dinner?”

“Yes.” I grumble, and off he goes.

I fucking hate him.

Four Years Before the Wedding

Harry

Margaret is coming out today. She will attend her first ball tonight. It’s a long day for a new debutante. She will present herself to the Queen, then come home and prepare for the ball. I’ve been wrestling with all of this. Now that I’ve been a part of multiple seasons, I know about the seedy underbelly.

I’m part of it. I have quite the reputation as a rake, but not the kind that would repulse people. In fact, the mothers can’t wait to flock to me at events to talk up their daughters. I’m a gentleman rake, meaning, the women I bed never leave unsatisfied. Whether I have paid for a French prostitute, or I’ve seduced a middle-class lady, they always leave happy. I’m also quite charming. I can talk myself out of any situation. It pisses my mother off to no end. My father just winks at me.

And George…he still hasn’t married. But I’m not surprised. He’s never going to meet a woman he wants to marry because he doesn’t want a woman. He wants a man. He doesn’t know that I know his little secret. I don’t personally care that he’s a dandy. It’s not something that can be helped, he was born like this. What person would ever choose to be burned at the stake by their society? A masochist, I suppose. But George is no masochist.

So, I’m the Styles son that the women flock to. I don’t mind the attention, I revel in it. But I have a feeling that this season is going to be far different from any other.

I head out to the stables to go for a ride. I don’t care to be around while Margaret gets ready for tonight’s ball. However, when I get to the stables, I hear her voice. I hear her laugh. And I hear another man’s voice. I approach cautiously, the expert eavesdropper that I am.

“And what if you get a marriage proposal tomorrow?” The man says, grinning, and awfully close to Margaret.

“I doubt it will happen that fast.” She smiles up at him, leaning back against the wooden wall. The man places a hand next to her head, slightly caging her in. “Will you be jealous?”

“Terribly.” He twirls his finger into one of her loose curls. “We will have to get more creative with our rendezvous.”

“Perhaps, you should switch chores and start tending to the fires in my bedchamber.”

“You know that’s not allowed.”

“Pretend to be attending to my father’s, then come to me instead.”

“That could work.” He grips her chin and leans in. That’s when I step in and snatch her wrist, pulling her away.

“Harry!” She gasps. “What…what….”

“Be quiet.” I tell her, keeping my grip tight on her. I look at the man, a stableboy who I’ve known for years. “Whatever this is, it is over. If you want to keep your job, which I think you do, you will not speak to Lady Margaret again. And if I hear of anything, I will have you fired and shipped off to mucking shit out of the streets. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy nods, shaking where he stands.

“Good.” I tug Margaret along, and once we have enough distance, I let her go. I place my hands on my hips and tap my foot. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“An explanation.”

“I do not owe you one.”

“You do if you wish for me to keep this a secret.”

“Please, don’t have him fired.”

“I won’t if he heeds my warning.” I take a step closer to her, inspecting her. “Has he compromised you?”

“It’s really unfair. You men get to go off and fuck random women all you want, and get praised for it, but if I do anything, I’m a whore.”

“I’m sorry about the double standard, but I have less to lose. I don’t have to worry about becoming pregnant. Now, answer my question. Has he compromised you?” I get right in her face.

“No.”

“That includes kissing. Has he kissed you?”

“No.”

“It looked like he was about to a moment ago.”

“He was going to kiss my nose. Or my forehead. Or me cheek. It’s all I’ve allowed.”

“Are you telling me the full truth?”

“Yes.” She pushes me away. “I’m not an idiot. I know better than to compromise myself. Everyone in the house thinks he and I are friends. Men and women can be friends, you know.”

“I’m aware of that, but you can’t…you can’t sneak around with a stableboy.”

“You’ve had sex with a ton of the servants!”

“It’s different!”

“How?!”

“Because I am not a beautiful, naïve young lady who has barely been out in society for three hours! I am a man, Margaret.” I place my hands on her shoulders, drawing her nearer. “I know what goes through a man’s head when they see a young lady like you. Stableboy or nobleman, they will do anything to trap someone like you into marriage. Is that what you want? To marry someone because you couldn’t control yourself until your wedding night?”

“Are you going to tell me that you’ve never slept with one of the debutantes?”

“I never have. I’ve slept with widows, I’ve even slept with married women, but I have never slept with an innocent girl that’s trying to find a husband. The risk is too high. I also don’t want to get trapped into marriage. Please, you need to…fucking hell.” I let her go and groan. “I’m going to have to attend every bloody ball this season.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to need to chaperone you. Lord knows your mother will be trying to get you to dance with every moron in the place. I love Aunt Catherine, but she’s still a desperate mama.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Apparently, I do.”

“You always said you’d never treat me like your little sister…why are you starting to now?”

“Margaret, let me make something very clear: I am not looking out for you because I see you as my baby sister. I have never looked at you and felt brotherly fondness. I am looking out for you because it’s the right thing to do. George can be your big brother, but I certainly will not be.”

“Okay, okay.” She blushes. Wait, what? I’m making her blush? I step back another foot and clear my throat.

“You should go inside. You need to get ready for tonight, and apparently, so do I.”

Margaret

My first ball as a woman of society. I have never been so excited. I’m on my father’s arm, and my mother is on my other side. I’m really happy with the dress I’m wearing. The modiste tailored my bust perfectly. My mother says the bosom is the first thing a man looks at when speaking to a woman. I was put off at first, but she kept explaining. Men want to see a healthy bust and wide hips. I have both. I am perfect for child baring. I didn’t want that to be my only worth, but at the end of the day, all girls are married off, forced to leave the comforts of home, and grow their own family.

When I see some friends, my father lets me go speak with them. We’re all sipping on lemonade, talking about how excited we are about being here. I look around and raise an eyebrow when I see a gaggle of women surrounding someone.

“Who are they flocking to?” I ask the group.

“As someone who was out last year,” Alice says, “it can only be Harry Styles.”

“You can’t be serious.” I respond flatly. “The rumors are true?”

“Truer than true.” Alice nods. “The mamas surround him first, introducing and pointing out their daughters. Once they fan out, the widows and the lonely wives try their luck. I wonder who the lucky lady of the evening will be.”

“God help whoever it is.” I sip my lemonade, then see Mildred’s jaw drop. “Millie, what is it?”

“He…Lord Styles is coming this way.”

“He is?!” Alice chokes on her drink.

I roll my eyes just as he’s approaching us.

“Ladies.” He bows his head. “Having a nice time thus far?”

“Oh, yes, Lord Styles.” Alice smiles, clearly nervous.

“You all look lovely.” He turns to me. “Even you, Miss Abernathy.” His eyes roam up and down my body. “Turquoise suits you.”

“Mhm.” I grunt and finish off my drink. I catch him looking at my dance card that’s dangling on my wrist. He takes it between his fingers.

“Ah.” He takes a pencil out of his jacket pocket and writes his name in the first slot, then draws a line down through the rest.”

“Harry!” I shriek. “Erase that, this instant.”

“No can do.”

“It’s improper for us to dance more than twice. You just filled up all five of my slots!”

“I am aware of what I have done.” He takes one of my hands and brings his mouth to my ear. “I said I’d be keeping an eye on you tonight, and I am a man of my word.” He pulls back and looks at Alice and Mildred. “Ladies.” He bows his head, then tugs me to the dance floor.

“Mean.” I mutter as he begins to lead me.

“Do you remember when our governess would let us practice dancing together? You liked it when I’d let you step up on my feet and dance you around.”

“Yes, I remember. It was one of the few times you and I got along.”

“I’ve always gotten along with you. I’ve just created boundaries over the years.”

“Right because it would have been horrible to treat me like a member of your family.” I scoff.

“It would be. I’ll never look at you or treat you like someone I’m related to.” He twirls me around, then continues our waltz.

“Mean.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

“Because you think I, and my parents, are freeloaders.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. You’ve said so several times throughout the years.” I look around. “Where’s your brother? I’d rather dance with him.”

“He’s at the gentleman’s club tonight, having brandy with some mates.”

“You didn’t want to join him?”

“No, I needed to be here.”

“You didn’t need to do anything. Now no one else will be able to dance with me. Everyone is going to think I belong to you.”

“You do.”

“Harry.” I suck my teeth. It’s very undignified, but there’s no need for us to be formal with one another. The rules don’t always necessarily apply to us.

“Margaret, I am the son of a viscount. Do you have any idea how many callers you’ll have tomorrow? Everyone will see us dancing, and then-“

“I didn’t need help.” The music stops and we bow at each other. “Erase your name. If we dance more than two times together, people will think we’re courting.”

“No.”

“Harry.”

“Margaret.”

“Why do you care so much?! Are you out to ruin my life?! I have to take this seriously. This is my future that I’m trying to secure.”

“You’re not getting married this season.”

“Whether it happens or not, I get to decide for myself.” The music picks back up, and he starts leading me again. “I’m going to put a dead fish under your pillow.” I threaten him.

“If you want to come into my bedchamber so badly, you could just ask.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you like me anymore? You used to adore me.”

“You were mean to me one too many times. Now I hate you.”

“This isn’t hate.” He chuckles lowly, shaking his head.

“What is it, then?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

I huff with frustration at him. I’m silent for the rest of the song, then I excuse myself. I head to the women’s parlor room and stop when I see my mother and Aunt Edith chatting. They both see me and smile, so I approach.

“Having fun, dear?” My mother turns my dance card over and gasps.

“What?” Aunt Edith says. Then a gasp leaves her. “Why did he do this?”

“I don’t know.” I frown. “But I’ve already danced with him twice, and I do not wish to flaunt a third.”

“He’s probably using you to avoid the flock of desperate women.” Aunt Edith rolls her eyes. “Luckily, I have a pencil.” She reaches into her bust and pulls out a pencil, then erases the line Harry drew. “There, you’ve just freed up three more spaces.”

“I think there was a young man your father wanted you to meet.” Mother says. “Come, I’ll lead you to him.”

“I’m going to speak with my son.” Aunt Edith says.

Later on, I see Aunt Edith having a few words with Harry. Serves him right.

I end up dancing with three other, very charming, young men. I’m walking on clouds as I make my way up to my bed chamber later that night. Agnes helps me undress, and then I send her on her way. I wanted to write in my diary for a bit before getting into bed. Just as I’m getting into my nightgown, I hear a knock on my door.

“Mama, is that you?” I open it and see Harry. He puts a finger up to his lips before forcing his way inside and closing the door. He paces around my room. He stops to look at me, then blushes. He looks around and tosses my dressing gown at me. Wait…he was blushing because of me? “What do you want?” I whisper. “We haven’t been allowed in each other’s bedchambers since we were old enough to leave the nursery.”

“I’m aware of the rules.” He continues pacing. “Names. I want names.”

“Of whom?”

“The other men you danced with tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I will need to speak to them about how to be respectful. Some of these men are vultures. Some of them are much older than you. You’re still a child, Margaret. I will not have a forty-year-old man asking for your hand.”

“I’m nineteen, I’m out, I am no child.”

“You’re naïve and innocent and immature. Now, the names.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow when they come to call on me.”

“Margaret, I am not asking.”

“Harry, I am not telling.” I cross my arms over my chest, he plants his hands on his hips. We’re having a classic standoff. He usually wins. “Ugh, fine. Lord Blythe-“

“A rake.”

“It takes one to know one, I suppose.” I shrug. “Lord Howard.”

“Too old for you.”

“And Lord Fairchild.”

“No money.” He shakes his head. “None of them will do.”

“Harry, I think my father and mother will take care of all of this. I am not your ward. It is not your responsibility to make sure I’m married off.”

“You have to marry someone you like, Margaret. You won’t like any of those men.”

“Alright, what about Simon or Timothy?”

“What about them?”

“They’re your friends, you must trust them.”

“Not with you.”

“Tell me who you would have me marry, then?”

“I’m going to bed.” He shakes his head.

“Oh, so I have to answer your questions, but you won’t answer mine?”

“Exactly.” He smirks. “Even you aren’t a match for my charm.”

“Mean.”

“Too bad.”

“Get out of my room.”

“I already said I was going to bed.” He brushes by me. “I will be dancing with you at every ball you attend. I don’t care what my mother says. Your father is a nincompoop. He won’t make sure you’re cared for. My father is too busy focusing on George and pressuring him to settle down. That leaves me, the only other man in your life, to look after you. I will be chaperoning any callers tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll intimidate them.”

“Good. Whoever you marry will have to deal with me. Best for them to learn that now.” He opens the door and looks back at me. “You looked really…pretty tonight.” Then he leaves.

I hate him.

Three Years Before the Wedding

Harry

There is nothing more cliché than rain at a funeral. I’m just glad we’re in the country, otherwise all of London would have fought tooth and nail to be at this service. I knew this day would come, I just didn’t think it be before my father could be a grandfather.

It was sudden. I wasn’t there, but I was told that he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. The doctors suspected it was some sort of heart attack.

George is currently giving a eulogy, my mother is sobbing, and I am as frozen as a statue. I feel more angry than sad. I haven’t cried yet. I tried to, but nothing would come. I hear a sniffle beside me and see Margaret dabbing at her eyes. Unexpectedly, I feel a warm hand in mine. It’s hers. I look down in shock. She’s squeezing it and rubbing her thumb along my knuckles. She looks up at me and gives me the most somber smile. That’s when I feel tears streak down my cheeks. I squeeze her hand back, and face forward again.

That’s the thing about Margaret. She can’t always find the words, but somehow, she’s able to say so much without saying anything at all. She’ll never know how much her holding my hand helped me through my father’s death.

Two and a Half Years Before the Wedding

Harry

“Sir, we must start making the necessary arrangements.” Peters, my valet, says to me. “How would you like to proceed?” I look at him, then I look back down at my brother’s lifeless body.

“Do what you think is best, Peters. I have more important things to worry about. I’m the viscount now, and I don’t know a single thing about being a viscount. I have a lot of studying to do, I have ledgers to read, I have deeds to go over. I’ll be very busy. You know how to put a funeral together. Send for the coroner, get him embalmed, and get the carriages ready to bring us to the country. He will be buried in a plot by my father. Oh, and have someone collect all of the contents of George’s study. I’ll need to look over any contracts or anything he may have signed off on.”

“My lord…” Peters places his hand on my shoulder, not something most people would allow, but I allow it. “Your brother is dead.”

“I didn’t know him. He never let me know who he really was. That isn’t my brother. That’s just…that’s just a man named George Edward Styles. And he was nothing more than a coward.”

“Do you not even want to read the note?” Peters holds it up.

“No. Burn it.”

Margaret

It seems like I’ve been wearing nothing but mourning attire these days. I’m devastated over the loss of George. Styles Estate House isn’t the same without him. I haven’t had romantic feelings for him for years, but George and I grew to be wonderful friends. I miss him dearly.

And Harry…Harry has grown cold. He’s as cold as he was when I first met him. I’d never met a more adult child than him. It fascinated me. I forced him to warm up. Now, I’m not sure what I can do. Aunt Edith is catatonic, I do not blame her. My own mother spends her days doing her best to console my aunt. She even moved her bedroom to Edith’s wing of the home. I’m not sure how my father feels about that.

Harry spends a lot of his time in the study. The good student that he is, he has learned how to be a proper viscount in no time flat. I feel bad he can no longer focus on his agriculture studies or his astronomy studies.

Things with him have been weird even since before George died. Right before we left for the country, I had been proposed to. It was rather awkward because I had been courting with multiple men. When the man proposed, he did it in front of my mother and Harry, my usual chaperones. I looked at Harry, and that was all it took.

“No.” He said. “She doesn’t accept. Please leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

He wasn’t even viscount yet, but he held so much power in that room that the man who proposed scurried away. Even though Harry is my mortal enemy, I took comfort in knowing that he and I can still communicate nonverbally like we did when we were children.

I come down to the study one evening. He did not come to dinner, so I had Cook plate something up for him and I offered to carry it. The country is much laxer, I love it.

“Harry?” I knock on the door and open it. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I’m not.” He says, not looking up at me, scribbling in a ledger.

“You need to eat.”

He puts his quill down and slowly and looks up at me. His eyes are red, bloodshot. He’s either been drinking or crying…or both. I set the covered plate down on his desk.

“Why did you bring this to me?”

“You weren’t at dinner.”

“Why would you care?”

“Harry, your-“

“I’m not Harry anymore. I’m the viscount. I own all of this.” He stands up and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you know how fucking terrifying this is? This was never supposed to be me. My father never trained me on any of this because he didn’t think he’d need to! And now my brother is gone! He left on purpose! He didn’t care about what he’d be leaving me with.”

“What do you mean he left on purpose? I thought he died in his sleep.”

“He did, after he poisoned himself.”

“Why…why would he do that?” My eyes water.

“It’s not for your ears. You should go get ready for bed.”

“Harry, can I help with anything? I’m good at arithmetic because of you, I could-“

“You can help me by leaving me be. I just want to be alone. I have a lot to do.”

“Okay.” I nod. “When you feel like not being alone, I’m here.”

“You’re a distraction. I don’t need any distractions right now.”

“Sometimes you need a distraction to-“

“Margaret!” He slams his hands down on the desk. “What are you even doing in here alone with me? You shouldn’t be alone with me. Not now, not ever.”

“This is absurd. You’ve come to my bedchamber before.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you! Get out!”

“Mean!”

“You’re damn right I’m mean. Now get the fuck out of here before I show you just how mean I can be.”

I fled after that, tears running down my face. I took a reprieve from hating him. I won’t be doing that ever again.

One Year Before the Wedding

Margaret

It appears as though every time I receive a marriage proposal, someone dies. I turned down another, and then three days later, my father died. He had been rather ill, he caught a flu a few months ago and never recovered. It was so slow and painful.

Being in mourning means that we can’t attend any functions. We can’t even leave the house. I’m a bit worried about what is to happen to our own estate. Even though we have no land, my father was still a lord. That should count for something. Some distant male cousin may come and tell us we need to live with him now. I’m petrified of that happening. My mother doesn’t seem worried about anything, though. If she isn’t worried, then I suppose I won’t be either.

Harry

Lord Abernathy’s funeral was rather well attended. He was buried in London, but since we’ll be in mourning, we have gone out to the country a month or so earlier than we intended. It’s fine by me. I much prefer the solitude of the country.

“Harry?” My mother knocks on my study door, Aunt Catherine is beside her. This conversation was inevitable. “Do you have a moment, there is something we must speak with you about.”

“I know.” I sigh. “Come in, and please close the door.”

“Darling, ehm, years ago, your father, George, and Lord Abernathy wrote up a marriage contract for Margaret.” Mother says.

“I know.” I round my desk and open one of the drawers, pulling out a file. “It was amongst George’s things.”

“You’ve known about this since your brother died and you did not bring it up?” Catherine asks.

“Neither of you brought it up, and Lord Abernathy certainly didn’t bring it up to me. I thought maybe he had secured a different marriage contract for Margaret. In all honesty, I was rather disappointed in all of you. George was much too old for Margaret.”

“He would have made Margaret happy.” Catherine says.

“And George needed to settle down before he got too old. Your father made him a deal: if he could not find a woman to marry, then he would marry Margaret when she was at a more appropriate age. It worked out for everyone. She would make a perfect viscountess, it would secure her family’s finances…”

“Did Lord Abernathy secure a new marriage contract for Margaret or not?” I cut to the chase.

“No.” Catherine answers, her eyes watering. “I do not know what to do now. I do not have any male relatives to turn to for help. My ladyship hangs in the balance, which means Margaret’s ladyship hangs in the balance. My husband does not have any male relatives close to here. Someone I do not even know could come claim Margaret and I…and I’m terrified that she will be taken advantage of.”

“Someone from parliament will be by to discuss the Abernathy lordship.” Mother says. “I know of a few men who might-“

“I will marry Margaret.” I say. They both go silent and wide eyed. “It is the quickest way to write up a new contract. I can forge George’s signature. Aunt Catherine, you must be able to forge Uncle John’s. We can write up a new marriage contract stating that George knew he was sick and wanted to secure a proper match for myself and Margaret. It would honor the original Abernathy agreement, and it would explain why a young lady would be promised to a second son. This would also ensure that you and Margaret will not be taken away by some male cousin. Everything that’s left of your estate will go to me, that will be Margaret’s dowry.”

“We have money set aside for that.”

“I do not want your money. Save it for clothing and jewelry.” I grab a fresh sheet of paper and dip my quill into some ink. “We have to do this quickly. This will need time to dry and I will need to dunk it in some tea and dry it again so it looks older.”

“Harry…Margaret was never told about her arrangement with George. I am worried she will not take this news well.” Catherine says as she forges her husband’s signature.

“She is not ready for marriage yet. Wait for her to actually consider a proposal from a suitor, and then you can tell her of the arrangement.”

“What if she’s in love with the suitor?” Mother asks.

“She won’t be. I know Margaret Leigh very well, like the back of my hand. Believe me when I tell you, she will not fall in love with any man who tries to court her.”

“Harry, are you certain you are alright with this?” Mother asks, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“It is how Father would have handled things. Besides, at least with me, Margaret will actually be able to produce an heir.”

“Why would she not have with George?” Catherine asks. My mother and I make eyes, then look at her. “What?”

“George was a dandy. He may have bedded Margaret on their wedding night, but probably not again after that. And sometimes, an heir is not made during the first go at things.” I explain.

“Oh, goodness. I suppose George wouldn’t have made Margaret happy, then.”

“No, he would have. They were good friends, and that’s how they would have remained. She would have just needed to seek out nightly comfort from someone else.”

“Enough, this is not appropriate.” Mother says. “Do what you need to do to the document. Speak with the representative from Parliament, let them know that there is a plan in place for Margaret. She will be informed of everything when the time is right.”

Seven Months Before the Wedding

Margaret

“Give me one good reason that I had to turn down Lord Chesterfield?! It was a perfectly acceptable proposal!” I shout at my mother as we enter the upstairs drawing room.

“Because! Because you have a marriage contract already!”

“What?! Why did you never tell me? When did this happen?”

“Your father arranged for it well before he died. We were just waiting to tell you until you became a bit older, a bit readier for marriage. The man we originally planned for you to marry was much older than you.”

“Why are you speaking of this man in the past tense?”

“Because he is no longer alive.”

“Who was it?”

“George.”

“As in George Styles?”

“Yes.”

“Why wasn’t I ever told about this?!” I’m about ready to rip all my hair out.

“It would take too long to explain.”

“I think I deserve an explanation.”

“I honestly do not have one. Your father kept me in the dark about most of it. I was just happy that he secured a good match for you. He did his job.”

“And now? Who am I to wed now?”

“Harry.”

“Very funny.”

“I am not kidding.”

“Mother.”

“You have been promised to him.”

“I’m not marrying Harry. I refuse!”

“You can’t.”

“What will he be getting out of this?”

“Aunt Catherine, may I have a private word with my betrothed?” Harry stands in the doorway, smirking. He’s like the villain in a children’s story. “I think I will be better able to answer her questions.”

“Of course.” My mother stands up and leaves the room.

Harry closes and locks the door. We stare at each other for a few moments.

“Not excited?” He finally asks.

“Why would I be?”

“You could do worse.” He shrugs.

“Why would you…you just agreed to this so easily?”

“There are many factors at play. You no longer have a male close to you to look out for you. We haven’t heard a thing about any relatives. I think my mother would off herself if you and Catherine were taken from here.”

“That would have happened when I eventually married.”

“No, just you would be taken away. Catherine would have remained here.”

“So, you’re doing this for your mother?”

“And for you. I don’t require a dowry, I have plenty of money and plenty of homes. You’ll be taken care of. You won’t even have to move. You can go on existing as you do now.”

“You don’t want to be married!”

“No, but I need to. I need to produce an heir at some point.”

“You could choose any other woman to marry. Why me?”

“Well, you’re the most suitable option. You can carry on an intelligent conversation. So many of these girls…they just say what they think you want to hear, what their mothers have told them to say to a man like me. I can speak candidly with you. It would take years for me to forge a relationship like that with another woman. You already know how an estate such as mine needs to be run. You’ve been watching my mother be a viscountess for ages. You’ll slip into the role flawlessly, Margaret. You’ll take your place in society. And she’s still here to keep showing you the ropes. You also know every single person who works for us and they all like you. That’s a big deal. Why should I bring a new woman in here? What if none of them like her? Some of these women are witches in disguise. This is convenient for both of us.”

“But…Harry…I hate you.”

“So?”

“So?! So?! I want to marry for love!”

“Margaret, grow up!” His voice booms, and he stalks toward me. I back up until my back hits a bookshelf. “You are an over-privileged little brat who has never been told no. You’ve gotten everything you’ve ever wanted throughout your entire life! People like us? We don’t get to choose what happens to us! I was never supposed to be viscount, and yet, here I am! I have to produce an heir. I need a wife. I can’t keep going to these events, pretending to care about anything any of these girls have to say! Don’t you think I’d want you to marry for love? That’s typically the exception, not the rule. Most people like us don’t marry for love. They marry for money and stability. Your mother will be well taken care of into her old age now. She and my mother will move into the other family home, the one you grew up in. We will have Styles House to ourselves. You can make it your own.” He takes a step back from me. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair! I lost my father and my brother within a year of each other. I had to grow up in the blink of an eye. I had to put all of my interests and dreams aside to come home and take care of my family. And if you think for a second that I wouldn’t see to it that you weren’t also well taken care of, then you’re a lot dumber than I thought.”

“In order for me to produce an heir for you, that means we will need to…share a bed.”

“I’m aware of how babies are made.” He rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean…you would really…bed me?”

His face is, well, I can’t read it. He’s looking at me like I’m crazy. His hands come up and they look like they’re about to cup my face, but he just grips the bookshelf on either side of my head, caging me in.

“For the last four years, I have had to endure you being out in this society. I have had to watch you be called on, courted, and proposed to. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to wring the neck of every man that thought they were good enough for you? None of those men could have you. None of those men would even know what to do with you.” He’s so close. I can smell the mint on his breath. I can see the sweat forming on his face. My heart is racing.

“Why would you care about any of that? It’s not like…it’s not like…you agreed to push me down into the dirt just so your friends wouldn’t tease you about me, so don’t stand there and tell me you’re more than willing to marry me.”

“You need to let that go.” He growls. “I’m not a boy anymore, and you’re not a girl. I’m a man, and you are a lady.”

“I’m not marrying you.”

“Yes, you are.” He steps back from me. “The contracts have been signed. I went to the bishop to apply for a marriage license. We will marry at the beginning of next season. That leaves you plenty of time to plan the wedding of your dreams. Make it as lavish and extravagant as you like.”

“None of this makes any sense.”

“Let me make it make sense, then. If you don’t marry me, you will be forced to marry someone out of absolute necessity. You know who doesn’t care about dowries? Disgusting old men who will force you to give them an heir.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything with your body that you don’t want to do. But if you want some shit-stained, yellow-teethed, drunken old fuck with lots of cash, be my guest.”

“There are plenty of other gentlemen-“

“You don’t have the time to find one. You and Catherine have been given a grace period, one that I asked Parliament for. That’s why you haven’t been taken by a male relative yet. No one has been contacted. But that grace period is almost up. I looked into who would end up taking over your estate. Would you like to live in the Scottish countryside? Because that’s where you’re going if we don’t get married. This is about survival, on both of our ends.”

“Mean.” Is all I can say, just above a whisper as tears burn at my eyes.

“This is all business, Margaret, try not to take it too personally. I’m not doing anything to you on purpose. I learned my lesson when I did that to you the first time.” My eyes snap to his. “I have a ring for you. I picked out something I think you will like quite a lot.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the small box. He kneels before me on one knee and takes me left hand. I’m shaking. “Miss Margaret Leigh Abernathy, would you do me the great honor of becoming Viscountess Styles and being my wife?”

“Why are you asking if I don’t even have a choice?”

“Because even you deserve a proper proposal.”

I nod and he slips the ring on. It is quite beautiful. Damn him for knowing my taste in jewelry. He stands back up and brushes himself off.

“Good. Now the moving can begin.”

“Moving?”

“Yes, you and Catherine will be moved back to the other London house during our engagement. It wouldn’t be proper for us to live in the same home. People would talk. People don’t talk about my family often, but this is something that would be talked about, and I will not have your reputation ruined. This works out well since Catherine will end up living there after we’re married anyways. Gives her time to become reacquainted.” He places his hands on my shoulders. “Buck up, princess, you’re marrying a viscount.”

#the arrangement #viscountrry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #regency era #victorian era

73 notes · View notes

strscrossed · 1 month

Text

introducing — the victorian serial killer au!

tw: murder, graphic descriptions of said murders, and prostitution

this will deal with some pretty dark topics and I have put the triggers above.

the gist of it

mikasa is a prostitute, working at one of the higher end brothels. one day a strange but handsome young man comes along and starts demanding her nights. very rarely does he request sex, most nights he just wants to lay with her, let his heart bleed out in front of her, and feel her warmth. at first he’s just another client, until he becomes a fixture in her nights. he cares for her, so he claims. and her heart melts at the sweet little promises he whispers to her in the dark.

all this as a killer starts prowling the street, leaving prostitutes dead and dismembered. Eren promises mikasa that nothing will happen to her. he promises. whatever that means.

the leads

eren: the son of a well off doctor and belongs to a respectable family in the upper echelons of society. however there is a dark secret about his family — his mother was a former prostitute and she was eren’s whole world until she died. and when he uncovers why, it unlocks a very dark side of him. a loner by nature, he keeps his truth well-guarded secret and no one suspects him. he starts prowling the red light district when he catches sight of mikasa, a prostitute at a high end brothel and she becomes the only exception to his twisted thrill. he starts visiting her almost every night after killing.

mikasa: a fairly popular prostitute at a high-end brothel. a quiet, shy girl by nature, she keeps mostly to herself. she knows how to fake a smile and play a man. her life story is fairly tragic one, having lost her parents young, growing up in an orphanage, and then selling her body to put food on the table. it’s become mechanical to her. until one dr. eren jaeger shows up in her life and makes her cold world just a little warmer, just a little more beautiful. but, something isn’t right about him, and she can’t place her finger on it…

#victorian serial killer au #this is a wip not the actual fic!#tw: murder #tw: prostitution #this is introducing the fic

54 notes · View notes

dorliart · 8 months

Text

seeing the bookshop for the first time

…and each other, again.

The second piece I made for The @go-minisode-minibang ! Also made for the very lovely Ink from your lips to mine by Imaed

#good omens #das my art #if you’re confused about the name don’t worry it makes sense once you read the fic lol #crowley #art #aziraphale #good omens fanart #ineffable partners #fanart #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #victorian era #historical #good omens fanfiction

146 notes · View notes

shadowtriovibes · 1 year

Text

dance in a storm in my best dress

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3K

Summary: by request: "I have a fun idea! How about Sebastian and f!mc are "just friends" until one day she asks him to help her try on/give his opinion on some new dresses, and desire and spice ensue??"

"Go on and change back into your robes, Mister Sallow," the shopkeeper says. "I suspect we’ll be inquiring about your opinion shortly." While Sebastian returns to the back, Mr. Hill summons a modesty screen around the rack of dresses you’d pulled and waits patiently while you slip out of your school robes and wrestle your way into that first dress – the periwinkle blue. There are so many layers that it takes you at least ten minutes to even put on your crinoline, which Mr. Hill assures you he’ll let you keep on for all three options. "Have you even put one on yet?" you hear Sebastian call out when he returns. "Merlin's beard, you’ll take on a den of trolls by yourself but you’re bested by today’s fashion trends!"

“Thank you for coming with me,” you say softly, shyly tucking your face a bit deeper into your oversized scarf as you avoid snow swirling around you.

It’s not an intense blizzard by any means, but nevertheless you appreciate that Sebastian had agreed to trudge down to Hogsmeade with you that afternoon when he could have spent the day with a dreadfully boring book by the fire in his common room, which is typically how he spends any free time he has as a seventh-year N.E.W.T.s student.

“Of course,” he says easily. “It’s about time I came up for air, so to speak.”

Despite the ongoing pressure of your final year of school, it had felt like all of Hogwarts had been abuzz about the upcoming holiday ball for what felt like weeks. Even you and your treasured trio of Slytherins had made plans to go together, and your daydreams of twirling across an enchanted dance floor in a fabulous gown had helped get you through some of the most arduous study sessions you’ve ever experienced.

With your end-of-term exams having concluded the day before, there was now only one thing standing in the way of you blowing off some steam at the ball with your best friend.

You need a dress.

Poppy had been the one to inform you that Mr. Hill had specially ordered some lovely fabrics from London as soon as he’d caught wind of an upcoming formal occasion. While it’s certainly too late to have anything custom made, you hoped you’d be able to find something in his shop that would suit you with a few minor alterations.

You’d invited Sebastian to join you on your shopping trip primarily for moral support, as the two of you were going to the ball together as friends.

(Anne had been quick to claim Ominis as her date so that she wouldn’t have to take her own brother, and you and Sebastian had been equally loath to bother asking anyone else.)

However, you suspect you may also need some help physically donning the dresses. You may not know much about what’s in fashion these days, but hearing some of your classmates boast about precisely how many garment layers they’d be wearing had nearly made your head spin.

“Do you have your dress robes?” you press him skeptically. “Anne said you were procrastinating.”

“Yes, nosy,” he laughs. “Ominis made me pick some out last weekend, and Mr. Hill should have them in for me by now.”

“Good,” you say primly. “You’ll have to try them on while we’re there and make sure they fit.”

“This is now my second trek into Hogsmeade for this silly ball,” he points out with a cheeky grin. “I hope it’s going to be as enjoyable as you lot are saying it’ll be.”

“It will,” you insist. “We all need something like this, something that’s just… joyful, I suppose.”

Sebastian glances sidelong at you with a tender smile.

“Fair point,” he agrees. “Right as usual, you are.”

“You’re still surprised after all this time?” you tease him, bumping your shoulder against his while he laughs.

When the two of you walk into Gladrags, Augustus Hill perks up excitedly and slips out from behind the ornate counter.

“Ah! Just the young witch and wizard I was hoping to see today,” he crows. “Come in, come in! I dare say, it’s awfully frigid today.”

You hang up your cloaks while Mr. Hill rustles up a tray of tea for the both of you. Ever since that troll encounter years ago, the Gladrags shopkeeper has always had a soft spot for you and Sebastian, which often results in the two of you feeling downright spoiled every time you visit him.

“Thank you, Mr. Hill,” you say as you accept the warm mug he offers.

“Mister Sallow,” he says as he hands Sebastian his tea. “Your dress robes came in just this morning! Why don’t I send you off with young Otto to try it on and mark up any alterations?”

You glance warily at Sebastian, reluctant to split from him as you do your shopping.

As though he’d read your mind, Mr. Hill laughs and insists, “He won’t be kept long, my dear! Fitting a young man’s dress robes is a much simpler task than that which you have on your hands, I should expect.”

“Why don’t you just pick out some things to try while Otto works his magic?” Sebastian teases. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Once you agree, Mr. Hill sends Sebastian to the backroom while you sip your tea and discuss some of your preferences with the kindly shopkeeper. You admit to not being very knowledgeable about fashion, but you have some colors in mind that you think may suit you – as well as very strict expectations on how much range of motion you want to maintain.

“I need to be able to breathe,” you insist, glancing hesitantly at some of the impossibly small corsets in the window display.

Peering over his spectacles with a wise smile, he answers, “I think that can be arranged.”

He then begins to show you the collection of remaining dresses he has in stock. As the premier clothier for the majority of your fellow witches at Hogwarts, he doesn’t have an unlimited supply this close to the ball, but his selections don’t disappoint.

“This blue color is quite pretty,” you sigh, gingerly inspecting the sleeve of one of the dresses he offers.

“I suspected you might like that one,” he says brightly. “Let us pull it for now and select a few more for you to try on, hmm?”

You end up also selecting a red gown with a smart-looking cape that would show off your house colors brilliantly and a crisply white evening dress with delicate golden embroidery around the bottom of the skirt.

“This should do for a start,” Mr. Hill says.

“Really? No green?” Sebastian asks from behind you.

When you turn to remind him pointlessly that you aren’t actually a Slytherin, your words fail you.

He looked utterly dashing in his dress robes. At first glance, he appeared to be wearing what looked like a Muggle tuxedo, but the extra-long tails and high collar gave away that it was most certainly wizarding apparel. His jacket and pants were both inky black – so dark that they appeared to even darken the room around him, or maybe you had just lost focus of everything that wasn’t him.

Of course, having been expertly fitted by Otto, Sebastian’s robes seem to cling to every inch of him. The waistcoat makes his waist look exceptionally narrow, or perhaps it’s that his chest looks so broad. His shoulders appear to be broader as well underneath his jacket, and while the long tails might appear to shorten other men, on Sebastian they merely elevate the length of his legs.

He slips on a pair of white gloves that Otto hands him and you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. He looks like a proper gentleman dressed like this, you think – not at all like the haphazardly-robed young man you’re used to seeing.

“Ah! Excellent,” Mr. Hill says with a clap, breaking your trance. “A perfect fit.”

“How do I look?” Sebastian asks you teasingly.

“B-brilliant,” you stammer. “It, um. Fits. You’re fit – I mean, it fits very well.”

“Of course, we’ll charm the waistcoat to whatever color you’d like to match your dress, once you’ve made your selection,” Mr. Hill explains as he gestures to the garment. “Or simply leave it white.”

“Of course we’ll match,” Sebastian says easily. “But getting this one to make a selection isn’t going to be easy.”

You scoff and turn back around to the rack of dresses to hide your persistent blush.

“Go on and change back into your robes, Mister Sallow,” the shopkeeper says. “I suspect we’ll be inquiring about your opinion shortly.”

While Sebastian returns to the back, Mr. Hill summons a modesty screen around the rack of dresses you’d pulled and waits patiently while you slip out of your school robes and wrestle your way into that first dress – the periwinkle blue. There are so many layers that it takes you at least ten minutes to even put on your crinoline, which Mr. Hill assures you he’ll let you keep on for all three options.

“Have you even put one on yet?” you hear Sebastian call out when he returns. “Merlin’s beard, you’ll take on a den of trolls by yourself but you’re bested by today’s fashion trends!”

“Come and help me then!” you whine.

“Er – is that alright?” Sebastian asks Mr. Hill.

“Of course!” he exclaims. “He’s your date, it would be unchivalrous not to assist you.”

That’s when you realize that Mr. Hill probably thinks you and Sebastian are properly dating, but for reasons you don’t want to admit to yourself just yet, you don’t correct him.

You could also sorely use some help as well.

“Mind the petticoat,” you mumble as he ducks behind the screen.

You’re both quiet as Sebastian helps carefully bundle up the skirt of the dress and drape it over your upright arms, slowly working it down your body so that it doesn’t catch on any of the boning in your corset. Once the skirt gracefully pours down over your petticoat, you gently smooth the bodice and turn around so he can lace up the strings crossing your back.

“Too tight?” he asks softly.

“N-no,” you murmur. “You can even do them a bit tighter, actually.”

You gasp softly when he pulls on the strings and cinches your waist tighter, and Sebastian pauses for a beat, but you don’t instruct him to loosen it.

Once he fumblingly ties the strings together at the small of your back, he mumbles, “All set.”

He offers you a hand to steady you while you shuffle out from behind the screen. Mr. Hill immediately laves praise onto the dress, and while you agree that it is quite lovely, a glance in the mirror reveals that periwinkle blue just isn’t a color in which you shine.

“No matter,” the shopkeeper insists. “Onto the red, shall we?”

Sebastian again helps you slide the dress off up over your head and replace it with the red one, this time lacing you tightly from the start. There’s a delicate cape that goes with this one, so you turn around to face him so he can drape it over your shoulders and tie the small silk ribbons that sit just at your collarbones.

“Ought to be plenty warm in this one,” he jokes halfheartedly, trying and failing to resist the urge to sneak glances at your décolletage.

“Is the cape a bit…?” you ask quietly, wrinkling your nose. “Is it too much?”

“What?” he asks dumbly. “O-oh, no, I – I think you look great. It’s a great dress, really.”

You’re nearly as red as the dress when you emerge for a second time, and once again Mr. Hill thinks you look like “a buxom Beauxbatons beauty from the boulevards of Paris.” However, regardless of your house pride, if you’re going to be blushing like this all evening at the ball – and the odds on that are significant – you know you simply can’t go with red.

“I have one more to try on,” you tell Sebastian softly. “It’s that white one, just there.”

You notice Sebastian’s gaze linger on the ornate embroidery, a pleased look passing over his face.

“It’s stunning,” he tells you. “Shall we get it on you?”

You merely nod, not trusting yourself with words at the moment.

The moment Sebastian helps you slip into the white dress, you know you have a winner. As if imbued with magic (and perhaps it is indeed), the white silk shimmers almost like the fresh snow outside the shop window. However, instead of feeling like a proper ice princess, you feel warm all over – especially where Sebastian’s hands mindlessly reach out to trace the fine embroidered patterns on your bodice.

“You look…” he exhales. “You just need to see, come on.”

He walks you out for the last time and even Mr. Hill refrains from commenting until you twirl in front of the mirror, your skirt gracefully lifting and falling with your movement.

“...I look beautiful,” you whisper. “Oh, Mr. Hill, it’s just lovely.”

“This is the one,” Sebastian insists. “You have to pick this one, it’s hardly even a choice.”

“Your companion is correct!” Mr. Hill crows. “My dear, it’s as if that gown was made precisely for you.”

Otto comes by to charm a few simple adjustments into the fabric of the dress and you watch yourself in the mirror with wide eyes as it molds itself to your body. Now it looks just like one of those custom dresses in the illustrations that the girls in your year pour over in the shopping pages at the back of the Daily Prophet.

“I think we’re done here,” Sebastian says quietly, his eyes still fixed on that one embroidered seam at your waist where your bodice meets your skirt.

“Of course,” Mr. Hill agrees. “Let’s get you out of that crinoline so I can send you two lovebirds on your way for a nice Butterbeer or two!”

As he babbles on about how it’s just like the last time the two of you came into his shop together, you meet Sebastian’s gaze and realize both of you are steadfastly refusing to correct the man. You know that you’re blushing, but seeing him blush just as fiercely is quite revealing.

After you pay Mr. Hill and make plans for Otto to deliver the dress to the castle once the storm lets up, you and Sebastian wordlessly trudge down to Sirona’s lively pub. There you manage to snag a small booth in one of the far corners – one that you’re well aware is a popular spot for snogging.

“So…” he says softly. “Lovebirds, are we now?”

“Don’t start,” you warn him. “You know how Augustus is, it’s usually just better to let him talk than spend all afternoon trying to correct him.”

“You didn’t even try,” he observes.

You counter, “Nor did you.”

Just then Sirona drops off your drinks and Sebastian forfeits his turn in your verbal duel by taking a pointedly long sip.

Then you forfeit your own turn when you get too distracted by the bit of Butterbeer foam on his upper lip to offer anything remotely witty.

“Well, regardless,” Sebastian eventually murmurs. “You did look beautiful in that dress.”

“Thank you,” you say. “And you were very handsome in your robes.”

“Proper fit, one might say,” he retorts.

The cheek, honestly.

“Sebastian,” you say quietly. “I need you to be honest with me about something.”

“Go on,” he says, taking another long sip while you consider your words.

Slowly, you ask him, “Since we met… have you ever once thought about us being more than just friends?”

“Have I ever once thought about it?” he repeats. “Of course I have. Countless times, probably”

“Then why haven’t you ever said anything?” you ask, staring deep into your mug to avoid having to meet his eyes.

You flinch slightly when Sebastian reaches across the table and plucks one of your hands off your mug. He laces his fingers with yours and pulls you closer, and the noise in the room seems to dwindle to a whisper as he meets your gaze.

“Between you and me, you’ve always been the brave one,” he tells you earnestly. “And I’d rather have only friendship with you than ask for too much and lose you entirely. Believe it or not I have learned when to stop.”

You smile ruefully at the reminder of just how much Sebastian has grown since you chose to give him the chance to do so.

He drags his thumb across yours. “So, if you want to be brave, I’ll be brave with you.”

You exhale shakily before you finally confess, “Of course I want to, Seb.”

You’re nearly in his lap at this point, and there’s absolutely no way the conversation you’re having could be interpreted as merely friendly by any onlookers. So, you think, why not be brave?

When you kiss him, the first thing you notice is that he tastes like the caramelly richness of the Butterbeer you’d both been drinking. But then it melts away and it’s just him, just Sebastian. He’s wonderfully warm, and underneath the initial sweetness he tastes a bit like the fluxweed stem he mindlessly chews on while he studies to help him focus.

His nose slots against yours as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, and you wonder what he’s noticing about you.

But a moment later, the feeling of his warm hand on your thigh immediately makes you lose your train of thought.

“Seb,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to press your forehead to his.

“Let’s go back to the castle,” he blurts out eagerly.

You fondly roll your eyes and let him steal another kiss before you push him back with a gentle hand on his chest.

“I believe you just said something about having learned when to stop?” you tease him.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he says cheekily.

“You’re just going to have to be patient, Mister Sallow,” you insist as you reach for your drink. “I thought I saw quite the gentleman in you today. I don’t suppose you could act like him until after the ball?”

“I could,” he offers. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Tell you what,” you bargain, leaning in close. “If you can be a perfect gentleman from now until the ball, I’ll let you help me put my dress on, and then afterward I’ll let you take it off.”

You hear him loudly swallow and take a deep breath before he holds out a hand for you to shake and breathes, “You have yourself a deal, love.”

#my fic #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #it's not the yule ball but not NOT the yule ball #i did so much googling about victorian era fashion but i'm probably still wrong #at least it was fun to look at pretty dresses #also when i say the image file i picked for this was originally fuck-off MASSIVE... converting took me like half an hour

876 notes · View notes

crazylittlejester · 22 days

Text

oh my god what the hell is happening why the fuck am i turning into a Wars x Athena shipper whats going on

this was not the plan. this was not the plot. im bonking them both over the head like “YOU DONT LIKE MEN AND YOU DONT WANT A RELATIONSHIP. YOU ARE COWORKERS AND BESTIES STOP IT” and somehow this fic keeps going in a completely different direction!!!!!!

im the writer but its starting to feel more like im a prisoner. why am i writing a tragic straight romance, why am i writing ROMANCE?? HOW DID I GET HERE.

#what yearning victorian soul possessed me that i suddenly feel so much about this ship that i dont even ship what’s happening.#i just gotta write this one fic to get it outta my system 😭#i guess this is what musicals do to a man what the fuck #jes rambles

42 notes · View notes

commanderbuffy · 3 months

Text

Done with the Compass

A Tanthamore fic by pirateygoodness (@swashbucklery) and rochke11 (@commanderbuffy)

coming this fall….

#name a more research driven writing duo #circus au #Victorian au #tanthamore #tanthamore fic #willow 2022 #jade claymore #kit tanthalos

60 notes · View notes

earl-grey-teacake · 5 months

Text

This might not make sense to anyone but this photo makes me want to write a Victorian AU. (Some people had a childhood obsessed with boats, trains, sea animals, the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire, etc. I had the Victorian era.)

Hear me out. This would make a fantastic romantic comedy.

Logan in frilly, lace Victorian era clothes with lace gloves and parasols. Suitors vying for his hand with letters and gifts. Alex is very much “I love Love” and George being “no one is good enough for Logan.”

Lewis is amused “he’s a spitting image of his grandfather (Nico) it’s no wonder he’s popular.” George screaming and throwing the request letters into the fireplace.

Alex is chaperoning Logan and Oscar on their first walk of their courtship. It should be a time for the young couple to get to know each other but it’s really a three-way conversation about why George is there as well.

Oscar: Uhm I might be new to this but I didn’t know both parents would act as chaperones.

Logan: Ignore him. He insisted on coming

Oscar: Does he not trust me? Have I offended him in any way?

Alex: He doesn’t trust any suitor. It’s a miracle we made it to the courting stage. They usually don’t make it past the request letter.

George: They are ill-mannered idiots who do not need to be given the time of day!

Alex: So Oscar, you mentioned horses? Logan loves animals.

I want to write this but I need to finish other stuff before I do.

Let me know what you think or add to it.

#let me write galex and loscar fanfic #f1 rpf #f1 rpf fic #galex #Loscar #brocedes #everyone in the family but George is supportive of any courtship #Logan is just whatever but really wants to date Oscar so he cheats and turns the letter into his grandparents (Lewis and Nico) first #Logan and Oscar walk on a bumpy road and they touch hands for the first time because Oscar is helping Logan across it #I was a huge nerd about Victorian culture and this is the result

197 notes · View notes

yona049 · 4 months

Text

𝕻𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Part 3

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○

Disclaimer!

This is a story following the events after the Phantom of the Opera (2004) and only follows the movie and not any other adaptations!

This has evolved into its own story, if its not something you're interested in, feel free to skip this one and check out some other fics on my page! °v°

°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○

Christine Daaé, first a dancer, then Opera singer, beautiful slender shoulders and Radiant eyes to stun even the toughest man.

No wonder the Opera ghost fell for her, it's easy to forget they knew each other for years before Christine's debut. He was her teacher, and she was his muse.

"Isn't she beautiful!" Meg says excitedly, watching Christine in her white dress on stage.

Meg Giry, daughter of Madam Giry and best friend to Christine. She was so supportive and a good friend to Y/n aswell.

Y/n looked back at the stage with a bright smile feeling Christine's voice vibrate the floorboards beneath her feet.

Just as the chorus started Y/n could hear arguing from back stage. A very loud conversation beneath Christine's voice. No one seemed to mind since they were all bewildered by the Opera singer, except Y/n.

"Aloïs?" she questioned holding her puffy tutu up and past all the onlookers until she was back stage.

She could hear her Lover Aloïs arguing with someone, quite aggressively, any louder and they'd match Christine's Volume.

Finally she spotted him at the back of back stage near the curtain ropes. The man he was talking to was hidden behind the curtains, so hidden that Y/n entirely missed him.

"You can't take Christine! Then Carlotta will certainly take her place again!" Aloïs Yelled.

"She will be returned soon. I've been planning this for years, she won't be harmed." the voice said defensively.

"You set small accidents for Carlotta now you want to resort to kidnapping! End it! Or I will!" Aloïs suddenly grabs the man's face and yanks a white mask off it.

Y/n gasps loudly causing Aloïs to turn suddenly.

"Darling? You should be near the stage! It's almost time for your dance number!" he quickly hides the mask behind his back.

"I heard arguing?"

Y/n explains looking at what Aloïs hid behind his back. She smirks and moves against Aloïs placing a small kiss on his lips. This caught Aloïs off guard.

With swift turns in her ballet shoes, she spins around Aloïs and grabs the mask from his hands.

"What's this?" she questions holding it up to look at it.

"Hey! Y/n! Give that back!" Aloïs reaches to take the mask again but Y/n, still on her toes, En Pointe, spins away and holds the mask to her face.

"Why? I'm assuming it's just a prop?" she tilts her head sightly with the wide mask not fitting her face at all.

"Y/n!" Aloïs says with an angry tone.

With a giggle she stops teasing and hands Aloïs back the mask. Aloïs gives a sigh of relief and looks back at Y/n before placing a delicate kiss on her head.

"Thank you, darling. And yes, this is a very important prop."

Y/n smiles back at Aloïs's before her ears perk.

"Oh no!"

Putting her feet back flat on the ground, she shrinks to her natural height that's much shorter than Aloïs.

She blows a kiss to Aloïs before running off to the stage, right on cue to her dance number.

Aloïs turns back to a deep chuckle behind the curtains. Phantom had been watching Y/n's playful spectacle.

"Quite the witted beauty. Perhaps I'll take her instead?"

Aloïs growls and shoves the mask against Phantoms chest.

"Take whoever you want! Just leave Y/n out of it!"

"Y/n?" The Phantom taunted with a venomous rumbling voice. He places the mask back onto his face and swings his cape dramatically.

"I shall remember her." His last words before disappearing into the inter mechanisms of the Opera house.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

Months passed since Y/n and Erik were hired in the Tavern. Things were going well. Their room had been upgraded to one with a proper washroom and two beds.

Even tho two beds still in the same room, Y/n made a point of it to put up a curtain between her and Erik's bed for a little privacy.

After the first few days of working Erik noticed the knot in Y/n's dress was starting to ruin the dress completely.

He saved up and bought her a band new dress the next day. One with frills and extra light material to emphasize the dance moves.

Slowly they started building a living! First properly cleaning the room best they could, adding curtains and a carpet. Then clothes and accessories to match their taste.

Erik's first time in a market was a wonder to behold, like a child scattered in all directions. Spices from India, silk from Asia. All exported goods Erik never really considered beyond the walls of the Opera house.

Y/n had to hold his hand to keep him from wandering off. This ended up turning into a tugging to every stall that caught Erik's eye.

At nights when it was time to work, Y/n took the time to properly warm up then dance for hours on end.

Erik usually leaned against the wall or sat at the edge of the bar. Watching every step and every beautiful lock of hair glide through the air as Y/n danced.

Tho his face was dark and intense, he always felt the magic of the theater when watching Y/n dance. A twinge of nostalgia.

Unfortunately there were times when he had to twist a mans arm or almost break his hand for even almost touching Y/n.

Y/n always lost track of time. Erik took this oppertunity to pull her to a corner and probably hydrate and give her a needed break.

After the day was said and done they'd go up to their room for the night, still buzzing from the energetic bar.

"Ha! Come now my dear, if I danced I'd surely look like waddling pigeon!" Erik laughed while delicately massaging Y/n's legs.

Back in the room after a long night of dancing for drunken men. A small candle was flickering against the wooden walls of the room.

Y/n had finally taken Erik up on his nonsense that she 'wasn't doing the proper cool down stretches', and told him to show her how he thinks it's done.

"C'mon! I'm sure you can do a perfect walts! You should've learned something from never leaving the Opera house!"

She watched Erik at the foot of her bed struggling with the basic massaging methods. She was finishing her dinner that Boris had brought up for them.

"Well of course! Walts and many other partner dances. But I wouldn't dare dance alone!" Erik mumbles.

"Mmh! Ow!" Y/n wines yanking her leg back.

"That's enough of your 'help'. " she lightly smacks Erik's hand with the back of her spoon.

She is quick to get back on her feet before pulling Erik to his.

"Now show me this waltz!" she excitedly puts her hands on either of his shoulders with a little bounce.

"Alright, alright! Let's start with this." He mentioned with a little chuckle before pushing Y/n down by her shoulders to stop her bouncing.

He takes one of Y/n's hands off his shoulder and holds it to the side. His hand traces down her side until it's firmly placed on her hip.

"Follow my feet, when I step forward, you step back." he looks down at their feet and starts humming a small tune.

Ta, ta tum! He steps forward and Y/n is quick to match, then another step forward and Y/n steps back.

"Good. Now there's a very important thing to remember about the Waltz." He smiles looking at Y/n's intense focus on his feet movements.

"What's that?" she questions.

Erik smirks and uses his finger to delicately lift Y/n's chin until she looks at him.

"Read the words that come from your partners eyes."

Y/n feels the blood rush to her cheeks and she nods still following Erik's steps and his hummed tune.

"Very Good." he complimented, his voice barely above a whisper now.

Their dance slow to a few small steps and Erik watches Y/n's gaze, hypnotized by his voice and the flickering of a candle in his eyes.

Erik felt his chest start beating faster. Their bodies close enough to feel Y/n's steady breathing. A delicate hand on her hip controlling her movements and keeping her tightly in his grasp.

Y/n's eyes never waver from Erik's gaze. He moves down slowly feeling an immense need to kiss her delicate lips. Their lips graze only for a moment, the want for the sweet taste of each other rushing through both their bodies before :

Knock Knock. "Y/n! A letter for ya!"

A sudden knocking pull both of them from their thoughts and Y/n is first to turn into a red tomato.

"Coming!" she yells, feeling the cold air away from Erik's embrace.

Finally opening the door she looks at Boris still holding his cigar firmly in his mouth with an abnormally white envelope in his hands.

Y/n thanks Boris and whispers a small goodnight before closing the door.

She turns back to Erik with her eyes plastered on the wax seal on the letter. Very formal one compared to any common folks letter.

She traces her fingertips over the oddly familiar crest on the seal.

With a satisfying snap she breaks the wax quickly unfolds the letter.

"What is it?" Erik questions after recovering.

Y/n reads intently which quickly turns to worry. She brings her thumb to her mouth and starts chewing on the nail.

"Floquet..." she talks with a mumble because of the nail she chewed on.

Erik delicately takes her hand from her mouth and holds it to his chest like you would a book.

Y/n looks at him then takes a deep breath.

"Aloïs Floquet. That was his family's name. I recognized the crest from back in the Opera, when he received multiple letters from his mother and father." she explains.

"The letter says they'll be coming here within the next few days. But it doesn't explain why?the letter was sent a week ago! They could arrive tomorrow!"

Y/n's hand clenches out of reflex. Erik delicately traces circles on the back of her hand before questioning.

"Why would they come here?"

"I don't know! Aloïs must've told his family about me! And they heard of me dancing here! Now someone from the family is coming here to yell? Ask me where he is? Arrest me?!"

Y/n starts breathing quicker but Erik swiftly pulls her into a hug.

"Calm your breathing, my dear. It's surely nothing of the sort, and if it is? You did nothing illegal. They will have me to deal with."

He places a kiss on the top of Y/n's head trying to calm her spinning thoughts.

Y/n nods slowly in agreement still feeling fear in her soul. She squeezed Erik tightly and sniffed her tears back.

"Thank you Erik."

She whispered so quietly Erik almost missed it.

Not long after Y/n fell asleep in hed bed. Another mental blow adding to stress that never quite left her after the Opera house burnt down.

Erik peaked through the curtain at Y/n peacefully sleeping on the bed before closing the curtain again.

He walks to the closet then kneels down to the very bottom of the wooden cupboard.

He pushes the false bottom out to reveal a small dagger he'd retrieved from the Opera house. Tho he'd like to use his Rapier sword, being the excellent swordsman he is, it would be far to obvious. Keeping a large sword visible would give him away to his opponent.

This was how Erik planned his encounters with any hint of a threat.

Christine's voice drifted through the open window and into the room. It filled Erik with a breath of fresh air once again. Christine still preforming in an opera nearby giving Erik all the more reason to think about her.

He pushed the dagger back into its sheath and set it down then pulling the ring from his shirt tied to a necklace.

Sitting on his bed he watched Y/n's silhouette through the curtain, her body tense while she slept, then back at the ring. While in thought he starts humming.

"No more talk of darkness,

Forget these wide-eyed fears,

I'm here, nothing can harm you,

My words will warm and calm you." his thoughts turned into a comforting melody.

Y/n's shoulders relax by hearing Erik sing like she's gotten so use to. He smiles seeing her figure calm down.

"Christine, you'll have to wait. I must protect My Y/n first."

○○○

Loud cheers from two or three men early in the morning. Their obnoxious voices make Y/n jump out of her dreams and right into the bright morning.

She groans rubbing her eyes with her palm, her wild, lioness hair never breaking the morning routine it kept.

She sighed and stood up from the bed, quickly pulling back the curtain. Erik was still fast asleep with his newly made black mask on the bedside table.

Y/n smiled warmly walking over to him and placing a very quiet kiss on his cheek. A small groan from Erik still fast asleep, then Y/n prepared for the day ahead.

She sighed pulling her shoes on and quietly closing the door behind her. Breakfast was served downstairs as a way of welcoming her and Erik to work in the mornings.

She skipped downstairs with a smile before sliding down the hand rail skipping the last few steps.

"Bonjour Boris!"

She smiled and spun around to the back of the bar where she grabbed a fork.

"Bonjour, girl. Hope you're hungry!" he said tossing a cloth over his shoulder and pushing two plates onto the counter."

Y/n takes a deep breath inhaling the fresh smell of warm bread. She swiftly grabs the bread and took a seat on one of the bar stools.

"Mm~ You spoil us, boy!" she teases Boris while chewing happily, only to receive a smack over the head with the cloth Boris had.

"Ow-!"

Boris smirks with a little chuckle before looking at the door that creaked open.

"Welcome! What can I get for you?"

"I'm looking for a girl."

Once again Y/n stops chewing and drops the bread into the plate causing the fork to fall out and onto the floor. Her heart pounding in her throat at the familiar voice she heard behind her.

Her body slowly turns to see a young gentleman in the doorway. A coat hung over his shoulder and a neat vest over a white V-neck shirt.

His eyes bright blue and his curly blond hair pulled into a formal ponytail with a few stray strands.

"A-Aloïs...?"

Y/n stands straight only for the shock to hit her fast. She falls back onto the bar holding herself up with her elbows.

Slowly Aloïs walks closer and kneels down to match her hight. Delicately he lifts her chin to look at him.

"Y/n, My darling. I've been looking for you for so long." a smooth whisper before he plants a kiss on her lips.

Y/n is taken by surprise and pushes Aloïs back with her hand on his chest.

"Hold on!" she objects but Aloïs scoops her into his arms and lifts her bridal style.

"Aloïs! Please wait! I-I need to-!" her heart now in her throat she couldn't get the words out fast enough as Aloïs carries her to the door.

"Don't worry! You're safe now!" Aloïs boasted with his head held high, feeling like a knight in shining armor rescuing the damsel.

Aloïs was inches from the door when he's slammed to the side and Y/n is dropped to her feet. With one hand she's pulled into Erik's chest, holding her body tightly against it. So tight that she could hear his heart pounding aswell.

Erik holds his dagger out to Aloïs and glares even more daggers towards him.

The villain come to claim back the damsel, he held Y/n's shoulders then growls out his objection.

"She said, Wait."

Aloïs stands up from where he was pushed and looks at the masked man confused.

"You?" he proclaimed.

Y/n squeezes her eyes shut and listens to Erik's heart for just a moment. He was terrified of her leaving. Tho he doesn't talk much about his past, Y/n knows for a fact he's terrified of ending up alone again.

"That's enough!"

She shakes herself out of her panic, at least enough to talk then looks straight back at Aloïs.

"Let's talk outside."

After getting Erik to lower the dagger, they meet outside of the tavern to talk. Erik right beside Y/n leaning against the wall and listening to every word.

Y/n is the first to talk with her hands fidgeting with her dress.

"How is this possible Aloïs? I saw you get crushed by the falling beams! I heard you scream as you got burnt."

She looks at Aloïs though her hanging locks of hair.

"I did, but I was found. And thanks to my parents, I got the right treatment." his hand moves to his collar only to pull it down low enough to reveal some scarring peaking out of his shirt and crawling up his neck.

"After that I made it a priority to find you. I asked the Managers but those cowards didn't even bother to check how many people survived!"

He takes a step towards Y/n but stops the second Erik growls.

Clearing his throat he looks back at Y/n.

"I hired a private investigator to find you. In the end, they told me of a girl dancing in a tavern matching your description. I knew it had to be you! Now I've come to take you to a safer place."

Y/n shakes her head with her body still tense.

"Leave with you? Aloïs? I barely recognize you! It's been months since, I saw you die. Now you have fancy clothes and an expensive carriage!"

"Yes! To live the life we always talked about! Y/n, I have the money now."

He reaches for Y/n's hand but she pulls away.

"Aloïs... I've mourned for you, I've finally gotten myself to stop crying and move on, you want me to come right back?"

She clenches her teeth and pushes her index finger against Aloïs's chest.

"You may have been in the Opera for a few years, but I've had to learn to create an entire new life for myself and Erik!"

Y/n feels angry tears fill her eyes.

"We can't just start loving each other again!"

Y/n proclaims.

"We still could! I'm still the same Aloïs, Y/n. All you have to do..."

Aloïs pulls a sparkling ring from his pocket and holds it out to Y/n making her gasp.

"... Is give me a chance to show you."

Y/n looks at the glittering jewel as he places it in her palm and folds her fingertips over it.

"Think about it, my love."

He places a kiss on her hand. That was the final straw, Y/n couldn't take everything anymore, she took off back into the tavern leaving Erik and Aloïs.

Aloïs gives a long sigh before straightening his coat and popping the collar.

"That didn't go as planned, I'm afraid."

As much as he didn't want to, Erik chuckled at Aloïs's failed proposal allowing Aloïs to glare him down.

"You! You said you would leave her out of it."

"No, I said I'd remember her." he teased Aloïs.

Aloïs retorts.

"Don't forget, I know exactly what you are. What would Y/n think if she knew she was living with a murderer. The Phantom."

Erik's eyes go red and he shoves Aloïs against the wall and was about to plunge the dagger into the fancy vest Aloïs wore, but Aloïs grabbed Erik's mask almost yanking it off.

"Careful now! You kill me, Y/n will know instantly by my screams." Aloïs warns.

Phantom looks at Aloïs with his one eye that's not covered by Aloïs's palm. Taking a careful step backwards, he let's Aloïs go.

Aloïs straightens his coat and smirks walking to his carriage.

"Tell Y/n I will return for her answer, and you better not be here."

A final threat from Aloïs before the whip echoes and the horses gallop down the street.

71 notes · View notes

weemsfreak · 17 days

Text

Desire ♱

⋆Reader's pov and main story (recommend read first)⋆

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

♱ Jane's pov here

Summary: When the lady of the village returns after many years and ends up in your place of work, you fabricate a dress for her; and then you follow her. ~5k words

Warnings: obsession, stocking, mention of child abuse, family trauma and father issues (as in Jane/Edward Murdstone 'David Copperfield')

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The bakery, the factory, the church, and the bank.

Places which she ventured on a normal day,

Places which you ventured on a normal day.

Things that she did,

Things that you did.

The gallery, the haberdashery, the manor house gardens.

She was busy,

You were busy.

Wherever she went, you followed.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The ball rang out, signifying that someone had entered. You ignored it from the next room, not wanting to drop your task at hand.

"Well, I'll be. It has been a long while Miss Murdstone."

You rolled your eyes and mouthed Gladys' words, mocking the dressmaker as you continued to cut out fabric.

"Indeed, it has."

Your hands stopped working at the sound of a voice, gaze slowly raising to the wall as you listened. You heard shuffling to Gladys' workspace, a coat hit the settee.

"How has Blunderstone treated you? Glad to be back at the factory?"

A hum. "It has been a good many years, although a dreadful end I'm afraid. I am glad to be back."

Your eyes flit around the room; the factory? Miss Murdstone?

Oh. OH. The Miss Murdstone of Murdstone village. The sister of factory owner Mr. Murdstone.

You had never met the Murdstone's, but you had heard of them and their reputation in their own village. They had been gone for some ten years; a marriage, you had heard. And it seemed that now, they were back.

You prayed that Gladys wouldn't call you in for help as you were not very confrontational, and you had heard that the lady could be, well, cruel.

Slowly you continued to cut out fabric, listening in on their conversation as you did.

The contrast of murmuring and sureness calmed you, the new voice in particular was melody to your ears. It was strong yet weak, cold yet warm, confident yet weary, cruel yet sweet; you longed to know what body housed a voice like that.

Inevitably, Gladys called your name from the next room.

You screwed your eyes closed and took a deep breath before dropping everything and heading through the doorway.

"Yes, how can I help-"

Your eyes flit from Gladys to a tall dark figure. One which caught you off guard, before it consumed you.

Ghost white skin sandwiched between midnight hair and a dress to match, the length of which you've never seen the likes of before.

Her gaze was locked onto the wall, until she noticed you staring.

Expectant eyes shot to you and made your heart flutter nervously, you averted your gaze back to Gladys.

It seemed that the only colour this woman possessed was that of her iris', which made them stand out even more.

"Y/n, this is Miss Murdstone."

You moved closer and gave a small bow, eyes on the floor. "How do you do Miss Murdstone."

"Well, thank you."

You nodded with a small smile.

"Help me with this, will you?" Gladys passed you a measure and gestured to her skirts, to which you lifted and got to work.

Black fabric, not something you worked with often, although it was certainly growing on you. You looked between dark and the light of her petticoat, and you wished for the chance to see long legs hidden underneath. Alas, petticoats were not see through.

Miss Murdstone was not a very social woman, though you were not surprised at her lack of emotion or chatter, as there was not much about her that was mainstream.

You stood and helped Gladys with small things, measuring around her bodice, shoulders, and arm length, the lady stiff as a board. Your hands trembled as you worked, which neither woman failed to notice.

You couldn't help but steal glances at the lines in the woman's skin, dark hair tied up neatly, scars and light freckles placed perfectly, as if they were intentional.

You couldn't help but think that she looked as if she was made of wax.

Cold fingers brushed against the pale skin of her neck and she flinched, a string of apologies flowing from your mouth. You stepped away and let Gladys finish the job, the only thing going through your head was how warm the woman was to the touch.

Being sent on your way with the measurements, you began to cut out black fabric. More length added to the sleeves and skirt, waist cinched just a bit.

You worked in the corner of the room, stealing glances at the dark woman though the doorway now and then. When you had left, the women began to make small conversation again; you closed your eyes and listened to her voice.

You hadn't noticed when the bell had rung and she had left, until Gladys walked in.

"A pretty young thing like you shant be intimidated by Miss Murdstone."

Your eyes shot to Gladys as a light blush overtook your cheeks. You were intimidated alright, but not in the way she thought.

You hummed, "Maybe not intimidated, but overtaken."

"Get to work silly girl" she chuckled, pointing down at the barely touched black fabric in your hands.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You could tell by the way she carried herself through life, by the way that she spoke to people (or didn't acknowledge them at all), that she was cold, iron, wrought, metallic.

Yes, that was it, she was metallic, and she possessed some type of pull. You failed to fight it off with bated breath when dark yet enchanting eyes met yours.

What really pulled you in, however, was her mysterious nature. Her front was menacing, her cruelty was obvious, her exterior freezing anyone who dared cross her path.

She was a delight, far more true than you could ever be.

Being a dressmaker's apprentice, you didn't have every day to venture around Murdstone village. But when you did, you made it worthwhile.

You had been intrigued by her since the day she stepped into the shop, and soon enough, you became attached.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

It was easy to spot her through the crowd of people, being one of the tallest, darkest, and notable around.

You wouldn't say that you stalked her, no, for you ran your errands in the same way as she, and your interests matched hers well.

That became clear when one day you took a stroll through the manor house gardens and found her, admiring the Nettles from afar.

Nettles were not much to the naked eye, and they stung like a bitch when one got close. Alas, their being was important, indispensable, beautiful; like her.

Cold on the outside and warm on the inside.

You sat on a bench next to some Black Calla Lily's, and couldn't help but think about how the flowers reflected the both of you. These particular Lily's caught your eye and drew you in, but get too involved and their toxins could harm you.

Warm on the outside and cold on the inside.

Perhaps you were both deceiving.

Her back faced you tauntingly as you longed to admire her features. You hadn't gotten a satisfying look at her, although you assumed nobody had ever gotten very close.

Holding your breath, she turned to continue down the path, head held high as she gazed straight ahead.

She didn't look your way, she didn't acknowledge you, no, she didn't say a word.

Yet you knew her, you knew she was perceptive, she noticed every detail.

And deep down you knew that she knew you were there.

She always did.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You were suffering throughout your days and nights, physically unable to get the metallic lady out of your head. You hadn't been this obsessed, this buried, this crazy for a woman.

You knew it was wrong, to want her, to want to know her, to want to feel her dark locks run through your fingers.

You knew it was wrong to watch from afar, even worse to get close; but you couldn't help it.

She was enchanting, she was brooding, she was maddening.

One bright morning you arrived to church early, and placed yourself in the very pew where the Murdstone's always sat. You took the hymnal and prayer books and moved them to another pew, leaving only one set of books available.

After some time, Mr. Murdstone passed the pew, giving you a look of disdain before continuing on.

Your gaze dropped to your lap nervously, unsure as to where she was.

Another moment passed, and you noticed a shadow beside you, then felt a soft brush against your leg.

It was so soft you believed it was imagined.

"Apologies."

Looking over in disbelief, you found the metallic woman beside you, her attention set on the priest.

As the service progressed, you couldn't help but wrack your brain around her being. For as much as you knew her, or at least thought that you did, as much as you saw her, you couldn't tell.

After eyeing her at church a couple days a week, you realized she was a devoted congregant. She gave the impression that she was one who would reprimand for breaking the rules, for not adhering to the faith's principles.

But all the same, she seemed as though she'd like to bend them, challenge society's expectations, and oppose normalcy, as it was obvious she didn't follow every mainstream convention.

You had confirmed recently, after some research, that 'Miss' Murdstone was not married; but for which reason, you wondered often.

Long fingers opened the prayer book and held it still as a stone on her lap, eyes scanning the words slowly.

Silently, you leaned closer, setting your gaze on her as she peered down at you. You smiled, watching her lips twitch and eyes bore into your own in question; then the prayer book was angled so you both could recite together.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

One day, you set out determined for your destination: the gallery.

See, there was not much that you knew, but there were a few things. One being that the gallery bustled with activity on a certain day of the week, and another being that Jane Murdstone was a sucker for all things nice.

The Cultural and Historical collections always inspired you, and allowed you to indulge in the fantasy of a better world, a more interesting world, a world in which you were yourself, truly.

And well, as did she.

As expected, Miss Murdstone made her way around a glass case following the male version of herself. You recognized him immediately, the man of the village.

Watching from the other side of the room, you took note of their differences and similarities. Physical was obvious, they were tall, they were dark, and they were chilling.

Your heart couldn't help but feel heavy, as although she was striking, easily catching your eye even next to her brother, she was the lesser.

It was obvious that she was more brazen, more intelligent, and more capable; alas, he was the man, and she was the woman.

You ran your hand over an artifact, pressing your skin hard into the rough texture.

Glass should cover something so fragile, so special, so significant, you thought, for someone could steal it with the snap of a finger.

You could steal it with the snap of a finger. You wouldn't, however, not now. For you had something far more important to tend to.

A dark figure caught your peripheral, your eyes discreetly landing on the woman as your head stayed focused in the direction of the artifact.

You watched as long fingers ran over a piece opposite, feeling the atoms that made up the world, perhaps a world in which you had yet to know.

You took a deep breath, gaze lifting when her pale hand paused in its track.

You were expecting it, her eyes on her pray, on her goal, on you.

Touché. You respected the effort, the care, the menacing stare, but it was of no use.

You stared back, taking in the elements of her skin, the light in her eyes, and the hate in her heart.

It was incredible, really, how energy made up the universe, how matter was formed, how it could be neither created nor destroyed.

She saw you and you saw her, but nobody spoke a word.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Miss Murdstone spoke few words to you the couple times that she entered the shop; for her measurements, her dress, and then again when a colleague had tailored a suit for her brother.

You understood that you knew her better than she knew you, for you were just a dressmaker whose name had most likely slipped her mind.

Alas when you watched her on the streets, back and forth with long strides, elegance never faltering, haughtiness never letting up, she never failed to deepen your infatuation.

You admired the way she gave no thought nor care about others' opinions, the way she could allow- feed into the absolute cruelty, perhaps hate that came out of her mouth.

The way she let it happen, the way she lived for it.

You were high as the heavens the one time she had spat at you. It was short, nothing that she thought twice about, but you were truly and utterly drunk on her.

Others you knew, didn't appreciate being spoken down to that way, looked at with a bitter glance, nor dealt with in that sneering tone.

And well, most of the time you wouldn't either.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The factory, a place of your dreams and nightmares.

In your favour, it wasn't difficult to sneak into at night, the bottles and barrels and wine and corks the only witnesses of your doing.

Their livelihood, their significance, the thing that gave the Murdstone's the justification to be poison; possibility to be ruined within hours.

You ran a finger along a trail of dust as a smirk crept over your face. Mr. Murdstone was too pretentious for his own good, careless perhaps, not too smart it seemed; but you were.

For his sake, and his sake only, it was a damn good thing that his sister had consumed your every thought.

By morning you had tucked yourself deep behind the shelves.

People of every age, those of every kind made their way into the factory, cleaning, filling, corking, labelling, and packaging.

You were caught off guard when you eyed Mr. and Miss Murdstone make their way around the factory, inspecting the work and the workers. They passed by the shelves with a step that felt far too long. You froze at their proximity, for you had no escape.

Letting out a breath, you watched as they halted near a small boy, a boy far too short to reach the corking lever.

"Jump, boy" Mr. Murdstone instructed.

The boy tried, pathetically.

"You should sooner teach the furniture" the lady said to her brother.

You held in a snicker.

"Jane" Mr. Murdstone warned.

You watched as he attempted to jump, Mr. Murdstone frustrated with his lack of effort.

"You will not be switched to another job, boy."

He jumped higher and had yet to reach.

Miss Murdstone turned to her brother with the raise of a brow, "We should switch to a less enjoyable activity."

"JANE."

Mr. Murdstone grabbed the child by his shirt, dragging him to a secluded room and slamming the door with no hesitation.

Miss Murdstone followed with hands clasped in front of her, then you heard grunting and lashing sounds. Your eyes shut and you flinched at the suddenness, whacking your head off a board.

Blue eyes travelled your way, somehow hearing your skull make contact with the wood over the loudness of everything else. The metallic woman looked in your direction, around you, above you, and you could swear it, straight at you. But she couldn't see you through the willful blindness of the bottles and barrels.

Her gaze was averted, however, when a tall boy made his way toward her with intent.

Your eyes widened as you watched him pick up a glass bottle, your brain registering that he most likely wished to protect the child; but harming Miss Murdstone wasn't the way.

With a deepening heart beat you contemplated the fact that you may have to reveal yourself, jump in front of hard glass in shame and remorse before ghostly pale skin turned crimson.

But, as you watched the metallic woman, you noticed her smirk; joy, thrill, and humour behind her eyes.

She faltered for a moment when she noticed the bottle, lips twitching; a moment of hurt. Still, she stood her ground, eyes unblinking.

He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, and she knew.

For they were cruel, they were cold, and they were abusive, perhaps.

But she now had no fear, for she was used to it.

When the boy turned away and you watched her smirk return, chest falling slightly in relief, it made sense.

You realized why she was the way that she was; beaten, bruised, petrifying, and cruel. It wasn't anything new, it wasn't unfamiliar or forced. It was all that she knew.

It was what she knew, it was who she was brought up to be; the little girl, the woman, the one who took care of the men.

The one who listened to their commands but rose to control when they were too coward.

The one who was reprimanded when she spoke her mind but was brought up to be superior all the same.

The girl who said nothing and was harmed for her warmth, now a cold shell of defensive whips and comments; in a woman's body tall enough to make the men resentful.

She was born to love and taught to hate, for she had no choice.

She had no choice.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The lady had returned to the shop days later with Mr. Murdstone's suit, shoving it into your coworkers' arms.

"You measured incorrectly" she grumbled.

His jaw fell open as he looked it over, scratching at his head, "Where is it incorrect, my lady?"

You held in a laugh as she flung the trousers over his arm and pointed to the hem. "They need to be taken out. He's not lacking in stature like yourself."

Nodding, he made his way to the next room. "I need it finished for tonight" you heard her holler.

"Of course, Miss Murdstone."

You were sat on the settee, sewing a piece and trying your hardest to pretend she wasn't there, hoping you wouldn't have to entertain her.

Alas, as it was, you longed to converse with her, you longed to entertain her.

You longed to run your eyes over her frame, yearned to move closer and take in her deathly smell, her serene eyes and ghostly skin.

You longed to run your hands along the warmth of her neck once again and know that she was real.

Heeled steps approached as your mind went blank and heart began to race. She sat down next to you.

"Men, incompetent" was all that she said.

You felt bad for him, of course you did, but you couldn’t help but snicker at her comment.

"Indeed."

You admired very much that she spoke her mind and wished to give her the ability to feel freely, without reprimand and without judgment.

Attempting to focus back on your work, you were distracted when she withdrew her pocket watch. Busy fingers wrapped around the intricate watch and chain before moving to toy with the money bag and beads hanging off her chatelaine.

A sigh, "I have somewhere to be."

You ignored the burning question in your mind, 'where?'

The woman turned to you suddenly, your gaze shot to hers.

Her dark blues narrowed as if she knew what you were doing: following, admiring, chasing, craving her.

Your heart almost jumped out of your throat as you thought of her knowing, knowing of your attachment, knowing of your enamour, knowing of your desire.

You calmed however, when you realized that you didn't see rage in her eyes, but intrigue; for she had an idea.

"Would you be so kind as to deliver the suit when it is finished?"

You tilted your head at her sickly sweet tone, figuring that it was the only way she knew to get people to bend for her, to get you to bend for her.

But you would bend for her coldness, you would bend for her cruelness, you would bend for her warmth, you would bend for her anyway she'd ask, fake or sincere.

You would bend for her.

Yes you knew of many places, the factory that you should not enter, the bakery, the grocer, the bank, the haberdashery, and her leisurely activities, but you didn't know of her home.

You didn't know her that well.

You stuttered in surprise, "Of- of course."

A smile played at her lips, but you knew you weren't special.

When her dark blue eyes bore into your own and you saw the hate, you knew that her thoughts were nothing but careless, nothing but mean, nothing but questioning.

You wondered how someone could be so…brave? Sadistic? So content with being unliked by others, even intentionally resented.

Lonely? You could say. Perhaps you both had something in common.

She grasped others by the throats and shook them until they gave in for a breath, until they feared her, until they bent.

You wouldn't mind that, not from her, not at all.

You saw it run through her mind with a slight widening of eyes, as if she was attempting to convince herself that her maliciousness was justified.

For you, well you were just a young girl, a little lamb. You were the innocence that she once had and lost, the total opposite of her.

But you, you weren't so convinced.

"Lovely. Gladys will provide my address. I expect it by 5pm."

She stood abruptly and exited the shop, leaving you alone.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The suit was done by 4pm, you prayed that it would fit perfectly. Not that you were opposed to being rebuked by Miss Murdstone, but you truly wanted nothing but to please her.

Wearing one of your favorite dresses, you set out to the Murdstone's estate, walking through the surprisingly busy streets with curiosity.

The door was open when you arrived, and you were greeted by a maid who was bustling around. They informed you where to take the suit due to their current occupation.

You found yourself nervously knocking on a door in a dark hallway, sure that this was a ruse.

The door swung open quickly at the hand of Miss Murdstone, making you flinch in surprise.

You took in the sight of her in her new black dress, one which you had the pleasure of aiding in the fabrication of. It clung to her figure perfectly, defining strong shoulders and a cinched waist.

Smoothing out the fabric of your dress, you attempted not to drool as you extended the suit out to her.

"Here you are, Miss Murdstone. I hope it meets your satisfaction."

She took the suit from you gently, giving you an expectant look as she stayed silent.

"We're hosting a ball tonight."

You averted your gaze to the window at the end of the hall, nodding in understanding and jealousy.

"I trust that it will be enjoyable."

You watched as she looked you up and down, you felt that this was the most attention she had ever given you.

"I do hope."

Silence. You had much to say, but no will to say it.

Whether it was your imagination or a mutual understanding, your relationship seemed to be based on physicality, lacking verbal connection.

A maid then came barreling up the stairs, carrying many things in preparation of the night. "Miss Murdstone, let's prepare you for the ball."

You watched as she entered Miss Murdstone's chambers and disappeared from your sight, the lady allowing her access. Your eyes flit from the maid to hers, screaming with want for a job which you did not have, did not desire; until now.

She spoke with a tone of genuine disinterest, yet the invitation in itself told you something.

"It will commence at 8pm. You are welcome to join."

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You had been welcomed into their home, but it felt unsettling all the same. Her unknowing of your presence, or at least not expecting it, gave you the ability to be discreet.

But here, you felt as if something was expected of you, as if she had invited you just to watch you. Ironic.

Few eyes glanced your way as you took your time admiring the Murdstone's estate. Upper class fascinated you, elaborate décor and offerings made you feel envious, yet insignificant at the same time.

You weaved through the crowd of people, introducing yourself as you picked up a glass. Most likely you looked out of place, you knew, despite the fact that you were dressed appropriately.

You were intrigued, however, as you desired to learn more about their lives; desired to learn more about her life.

Not to your surprise, as the night progressed you caught her moving throughout the ball room.

She was on a mission as always, it seemed, tending to others needs and wants in hopes of a pleasant ball; in her role of pleasing her brother. Your eyes followed her tall form as you sipped your drink in a corner, absolutely content.

For a while.

Enjoyment flowed through you as you watched others dance, resisting the urge to join in. You hesitated as your heart panged, knowing that the only person you desired to dance with was not within possibility.

Eventually you had lost sight of her, only Mr. Murdstone in the centre of the room dancing with a woman, so you left.

You quietly snuck to the main room of the house, debating on departing until you realized that nobody was around.

Sneaking up the stairs, you ran your hand along the balustrade, stopping at the top to utilize the light of some candles. If anyone caught you, you were searching for the loo.

A large family portrait on the wall greeted you, an eerie feeling overwhelming you at the sight of the Murdstone family.

The mother, a force to be reckoned with. The father, a tyrannical aristocrat. And the son, vindictive.

As your eyes raked over the young girl, however, you realized she was just that, a young girl.

A young girl born into upper class, born into cruelty, born into a life that was not chosen but wholly hers.

You supposed nobody really had a choice.

The candles guided your attention to an open door, the floor creaking when you stepped closer.

You longed to enter, but a deep dreadful feeling in your chest told you not to.

Shaking your head, you stepped away; but your curiosity got the best of you, as always.

The dimly lit room was lined with books and filled with décor, artifacts, and art. It was the most interesting room you had ever known.

You ran your fingers along an open book on the table, the intricate writing making you guess it was that of a woman.

'My father has gotten…better.

I cannot help but wonder if it is too late.

He now asks me why I am so angry, why I raise my voice.

He does not understand that

I learned it all from him.'

You sucked in a breath as your hand traced the ink. Being lost in her deepest written thoughts was…intense.

You turned pages upon pages for more, stopping at the most recent.

'I question my ability to experience the tender emotions of humanity.

To harbor affection in the manner of mortals.

The question for this issue is

Do I have a human soul,

And can I prove it?

And, of course,

There is no definitive answer.'

Your lip began to tremble at the tug of her words, of her thoughts, of her feelings.

She was no ghost, she was no wax figure, she was as real as you, maybe even more so.

As a small tear escaped your eye, a hand landed harshly on your shoulder.

"I knew I would find you here."

An amused but mocking voice.

She spun you around and grasped your neck, fingers reaching until they squeezed and pulled you close.

It felt pleasant, it felt warm, it felt real.

"You fancy yourself sly, following me around, do you not?"

Your eyes widened, hands trembling at her touch, clenching them at your sides.

"Do not presume I failed to notice your presence."

She saw you.

"At first, I thought perhaps you wished me dead, the way you stock me."

She chuckled.

"Then I realized that you made no attempt to be stealthy."

You were at first, but then you got sloppy. You swallowed thickly.

"We share the same interests, do we not?"

You nodded your head the best that you could, you truly did.

A smirk grazed her lips as she brought them to your ear, making you shiver at the proximity.

You closed your eyes.

"Do not think I miss the way you look at me."

She knew, she knew of your attachment.

"Do not think I miss the way you tremble when I'm close."

She knew of the way you craved her.

"Do not think I miss your desire."

It was incredible, really, how energy made up the universe, how matter was eternal, how it could be neither created nor destroyed.

Both of you, electron orbitals overlap, not separate, but existing as one with her hand around your neck, around your lifeline.

She shook you until you gave in for a breath, until you feared her, until you bent.

But you knew her now, unlike you did before.

You knew she wanted to toy with you, and well, you with her.

You wouldn't say that you were cold, cruel, or that you had ever harmed another; for you were just a little lamb.

But, when she looked at you with disdain, you wished to give her a taste of her own medicine.

You wished to slap the sly look off her face, tell her that she wasn't as cruel or deathly as she thought she was, put her down until she lost her sense of fabricated self and cold exterior- until she found her real self again, warmth staring back at you as her clothing and shell were shed.

See, she was smart, witty, and perceptive, but she wore her heart on her sleeve, intentions written plain as day.

An open book, placed for all to see; but only some to analyze, only some to admire.

You, on the other hand, were sly, smart, and deceiving.

Perhaps she saw you as a dumb, innocent, oblivious young woman; but perhaps that's what you wanted her to think.

Gently, you placed your hands onto her waist, pressing yourself further into her grip.

Your lips met her jawline softly, watching as her mouth opened slightly in a gasp, warm breath fanning across your temple.

You bit your lip in pleasure as a smile spread across your face, you breathed low:

"I suffer, I attach, I crave, and I desire. And I always get what I desire."

#gwendoline christie #wlw #jane murdstone #jane murdstone fic #the personal history of david copperfield #edward murdstone #victorian lesbians #david copperfield #jane murdstone x reader

67 notes · View notes