anenglishmansinamorata

[anenglishmansinamorata]

england x reader: an aside

Been dabbling in Victorian literature again; I have a feeling in played a role in this one. Hope you enjoy~

“Do you really think so little of me?”

His tone was sharp, distressed; it was an accusation you couldn’t bear to face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to even look at him, casting your gaze back towards the cracked pocket doors, shadows from the parlor dancing along the walls of the secluded library.

Yet you knew that should you wish to clear the air between you, should you dare hope to force away this incessant, ridiculous longing, you must face him head-on, damn him with the same truth that had been tormenting you so relentlessly these past few weeks.

“I don’t know what to think of you anymore." 

You heard his intake of breath, the first whispers of a rebuttal, one you swiftly interrupted before it could fully take shape. "You once claimed you were above attachments, that such ‘frivolities’ are beneath you.”

Your eyes closed out of reflex, allying with a refreshing breath before you turned your attentions to him yet again, resolve burning within your core-

-all for it to be smothered again upon taking in his appearance, firm expression eclipsed by the naked vulnerability in his eyes.

You weakened at the sight, gasping quietly as your given name slipped almost silently past his lips.

It was too much, summoning the very emotions that you were trying so hard to be rid of.

You took a step back, then another.

He followed, slowly, each step in this broken dance made with cautionary hesitance, as if he were afraid you would run from him. But all things eventually come to an end, and there at last came a moment when you could step no further, one of the bookcases preventing your escape.

For want of fleeing that desperate gaze, to escape the eyes that were looking at you with the same reverence a desperate sailor casts upon a safe harbor, your hands pressed into the rosewood, silently wishing for it to fully consume you.

“What do you want from me?”

Your words were enough to give him pause, halting a mere few meters away.

His features shifted, clear considerations shining as he dismissed one explanation, then yet another and another. Finally, perhaps only a few heartbeats after you had first demanded his answer, he settled, lips twitching in the flicker of a pained expression before he spoke. "You’re right; I did once consider myself beyond such things.“

A small thrum of victory trilled within your veins, an air of superiority coating your own accusation. "So you admit it?”

His eyes narrowed, sharply angling to once more meet your own. While you were certain he possessed no magical capabilities, the fire in his gaze burned, sending a not unpleasant, hauntingly familiar ache through your veins.

“Yes,” he hissed at last, seemingly unaware of his effect on you, the indignation laced within his response doing little to spare your increasingly erratic heartbeat.

In a desperate attempt at retaliation, you latched onto whatever remnants of your prior haughtiness still remained, fleeting as it had become. You narrowed your eyes, dared to step forward and straighten your posture, meeting his challenge as candidly as circumstance could allow. "Tell me then: what made you change your mind?“

His silence was suffocating as ash, muffling the party just beyond the doors of what had been your sanctuary. It settled heavily between you, the unspoken conveying more than any words freely given could ever hope to say.

You sensed an ending, upon observing his reluctance, sensed a finality to the exchange which left you inexplicably disappointed. Resigned, overcome with an unfathomable bleakness, you bowed your head in acknowledgement. "Mr. Kirkland.”

You made to move past him, intent on rejoining the other guests, hoping there was yet still some chance to enjoy the rest of the evening, but- 

“You did.”

-a quiet admission had you firmly rooted to the spot.

The confession had fallen past his lips much like a prayer, cradled so tenderly and with such broken affection that you couldn’t help your gasp, felt silent relief that he couldn’t see the impact of his words likely painted across your face.

A deep breath- a second, a third- and you had restored your composure, turning back to face him. “Pardon?”

He still faced the bookcase, his posture relaxed, attentions elsewhere. But soon he was turning to face you, darkened gaze sweeping across your features before finally ensnaring your own.

You felt as if your defenses had been reduced to charred rubble, your whole soul now laid bare, the pieces exposed for him to do with as he pleased. A ridiculous notion, you reprimanded yourself. And yet, you couldn’t find it within you to fully ignore that sensation, equally enthralling and alarming.

“I’ve been alone, for so long,” he murmured, haltingly, the admission bearing with it the weight of centuries, as opposed to the mere handful of years to which he must be truly referring. His words were enough to give you leverage, to pull yourself firmly back to present circumstances, focus on the here and now.

“So long,” he continued, “that I accepted it as my fate, truly believed that I was doomed to never form any real attachment; I was never going to yearn for anything more than what had been given me.”

At that, he paused, once more surveying you, a fond warmth tempered by exasperation shining in his eyes. “Yet as you always seem so damned determined to do, you’ve challenged my convictions on that front, too.”

Your heart, which had nearly resumed its customary cadence, stuttered at his words. He couldn’t possibly mean that-

In a moment of weakness, decorum forgotten, his given name tumbled past your lips, unrestrained and befuddled. “Arthur, do you-”

“Again.”

Your brow furrowed at his interruption, breath catching as he took yet another step nearer. 

“Pardon,” you scarcely stuttered out, senses attuned to his steady approach, feeling half-drowned by the yearning in his gaze. You found yourself mourning the decision to abandon the bookcase’s support, suddenly uncertain of your own footing.

Finally, thankfully, he stopped, allowing you a little freedom, just enough to flee should you truly wish it.

Though, frankly, were you being completely sincere, all desire to do so had abandoned you ages ago, leaving only your curiosity and the tattered scraps of hope.

Surely, there was no way he-

“You asked me earlier what I want; do you still wish to know?”

Emerald eyes which always seemed to glisten with an inner fire had darkened to nearly black, pulling you even deeper into their depths. Entranced, you offered a nod of assent, unable and unwilling to put faith in your voice.

“I want you. I’ve wanted you for longer than I could hope to quantify. I-” He cut himself off with a derisive scoff, turning away for a moment before his attentions were once again on you, an angle to his gaze that pierced straight through your heart. 

“We come from very different worlds, you and I. I told myself to accept your companionship, your friendship. I had myself convinced that I could cope with that alone. But then-" 

His eyes narrowed, bitterness etching into his features. "I couldn’t bear to see you with another suitor. Couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else vying for your affections.”

Clarity gleamed with the radiance of a freshly polished looking glass, recognition burrowing itself deep into your thoughts. He was impassioned, and his deplorable behavior earlier this evening only heightened the credibility, yet you couldn’t resolve yourself to anything beyond incredulity, doubt casting a shadow on your fleeting sparks of hope.

“Arthur… What is it you want?”

You could feign being ignorant of your hand coming to rest on his arm, could feign obliviousness at having drawn near enough to see the sheen of dim light against the collar of his dinner jacket, and you could likely feign innocence in how you could now decipher the delicate detailing of his buttons. 

But you couldn’t feign naiveté at the way his eyes widened at the movement, at the awareness that this witchery had dragged you both under its spell, that your hopes were not unfounded after all.

His eyes found yours once more, all awareness of the world beyond falling away. At last, at long last, you saw that smile that you had come to adore, lighthearted and whimsical and always tentatively hopeful.

This was more the man you knew, more the man you had come to care for and cherish most out of all your companions.

“As incomprehensible as this may sound-” He cut himself off for a moment, his eyes studying yours carefully, searching for an answer you were eager to give. 

You could only pray your actions had made your wishes clear, still uncertain of your voice. Perhaps he found something in your expression, as soon enough his smile was growing ever brighter, his words continuing in barely a whisper.

“I want to spend Eternity with you.”

Thanks for reading!

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Let’s say England has a long-term girlfriend he knows isn’t the biggest fan of marriage bc her family had been really really pushy (before she got the heck out of dodge) about her marrying + reproducing ASAP. How might he react if she came to him and said she was kinda starting to like the general concept of marrying him — that is, the whole ‘together forever’ bit. Thanks!

I confess darling that I have been trying to finish this prompt for well over a year, and I offer my sincerest apologies that it’s taken me this long to finish it. Still, despite my tardiness, I hope you enjoy, and I thank you for your patience with me.

You had never intended to fall in love, not with the constant push of your relatives to fall in line like a perfect child.

First, marriage to someone they deemed acceptable, raising the perfect 2.5 children, followed by quietly settling into parenthood and complaisant contentment until the day you last drew breath.

Truth of the matter was, you had avoided all chances of romance for the first few years after you moved away from home, carefully slipping away from anyone who seemed remotely interested in you.

You knew your folks would have disproved such behaviour had they learnt the truth, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. You had your own dreams to pursue, your own story to tell, your own life to live; you didn't need someone by your side to feel complete.

You were happy as you were, finding enjoyment in your work and figuring out your place in the world.

You didn’t need, or frankly want, anything more than that.

That was of course until you met him.

Falling in love with Arthur Kirkland had been a complete accident. He slipped past all of your defenses and took up residence in your heart as if he had always belonged there.

It started out slow enough; at first you simply knew him as a familiar face from the cafe in Waterstones, steaming cup of Darjeeling and a chocolate croissant sitting forgotten on the table in front of him, always too focused on his reading to pay any attention to the outside world. After one particularly crowded Sunday afternoon, he began to transition into your favorite dining companion, the two of you often taking turns paying for each other’s food. Slowly but surely, you began forgetting about your books, too wrapped up in conversation, and before you knew it-

You had come to love every part of him- the gentleman that you begrudgingly introduced to your parents, the rebellious and passionate activist, the cocky and playful little shit who had long ago memorised all the best ways to disarm you, and the ancient soul who cared so deeply, who still stretched himself thin most days in effort to protect each of his loved ones.

You fell in love with his voice, whispering sonnets and sonatas and sweet nothings in your ear while his arms cradled you from behind.

You fell in love with his eyes, still losing your footing sometimes when the light caught them just right, dreaming momentarily of summer forests and grassy glades and the misty dews of spring.

You fell in love with his smiles, from the satisfied grin at stirring up Peter’s ire to the breathless wonder each time you kissed or complimented him, to the bright, beautiful, blinding smile he wore when he was incandescently happy, his entire countenance iridescent from his joy.

You loved him completely- for his devotion, for his sweet gestures, for his damned impishness, for his wit, his sass, and the soft spoken affection.

You loved him: for his patience, for his recklessness, for his resilience, for his possessive pride that was somehow more charming than alarming.

He was unique, an enigma that, even after having lived together for years and dating even longer, kept you on your toes, his energy and random spouts of spontaneity proving to you that, even if you spent one hundred lifetimes with him, he would always remain a puzzle you would never fully solve.

And by God did you want to.

Arthur had stolen your heart away from you before you had even noticed he was close enough to take it, offering his own in its stead.

You had remained reluctant, confided in him your fears about settling down, how much you dreaded becoming trapped in a monotonous rut of tedium. He was quick to reassure you, showing through words and actions far more impassioned and teasing than he had ever shown prior, that an eternity with him could never be boring.

Even on quiet days, like today, with a steady drizzle painting the world in greys, Arthur humming quietly while adding another patch to his denim vest, and no other disturbance apart from the cat’s chittering at the robins playing in a puddle by the iron fence- Even now, you weren’t so much bored as you were pensive.

You had been thinking about a future with him a lot in the past few days, some irrelevant ad on your mobile about wedding venues catching your attention and slithering into the back of your mind.

What kind of wedding would he like? Would Arthur prefer something small and intimate, or would his hubris crave a larger venue, giving him yet another chance to prove to the world that he belonged at your side, no one else?  You couldn’t help but wonder if he would wear his uniform or a suit, if he would leave the rats' nest he called a hairstyle untouched, or if he would perhaps slick it back in that way that somehow made the normal rakishness disappear, a confident, refined cavalier standing in his place.

You knew of course that none of this mattered unless you actually talked to him first; as far as you were aware, he was content with the current arrangement, and he respected your views of marriage.

He had known, for a long time, just where the grim outlook stemmed from, and he never breached the subject again.

But now-

You had thought it was enough to hold his love, his faith, his vulnerabilities. But life was so fleeting, and now those few things were no longer enough.

You wanted to wake up every morning next to him, wanted the cheesy partners’ towel and flip flop sets. You wanted the physical reminder that you held his heart, the comforting reminder that he completely possessed your own. You wanted to be by his side forever, holding his hand through the good and the ill, facing new worlds and challenges and the uncertain future together.

You knew the risks, of course.

Marriage to a Nation carried an even heavier burden than the simple oath of “till death do us part.”

No, marrying Arthur would mean weaving your entire lives together, binding you on a spiritual level far surpassing mortality; it would mean sacrificing your chance to ever grow old, to eternally give yourself away: heart, mind, body, and soul.

But this was Arthur, who sang showtunes in the shower, who spent hours making silly faces at the cat, who was ridiculously competitive about Halloween costumes, the man who sat down and memorised the entirety of The Tempest in one night just for the bragging rights.

He already owned your heart, constantly invaded your thoughts and daydreams, and God knew he had long, long ago claimed your body, making certain not a single millimeter of his new territory went unexplored.

Would it really be so bad to give him your soul, too?

Glancing back up, seeing his eyes narrowed in concentration, his fingers handling the needle with expert precision, lips slightly parted, reading glasses fallen halfway down his nose-

You knew your answer.

It was always going to be Arthur for you, only Arthur.

Forever, should he have you.

But now you faced the challenge of telling him that.

It should be simple enough; you really held no more secrets from him, and he no longer bothered trying to hide anything from you. You loved how open you were with one another, cherished the honesty that served as the very foundation to your relationship.

But the truth was that you were terrified.

It had been so long since either of you had spoken of marriage, since the topic was even a thought in your minds, and-

What if he didn't want you anymore?

What if he-

"I can see the steam coming outta your ears."

The unexpected presence of Arthur's voice startled you, eyes darting back over to the very man who was unwittingly tormenting you.

He had barely moved from his earlier position, though his glasses had been pushed up into his hair and he was studying you curiously, if not bemusedly.

"You good there?"

By default, you nearly responded with an affirmative, some playful, lighthearted thing that would have dismissed his concern immediately. You cut yourself off mid-start, then, while shifting to sit properly in the armchair, you decided to push forward. "Can we talk?"

You watched as his expression shifted, revealing his concern as he tied off his thread, setting aside the patchwork and gestured for you to join him on the sofa.

There were a few awkward moments where you took up your favourite positions, Arthur tossing an afghan across the pair of you despite your insistence that you didn't need one, the flicker of a grin as you begrudgingly thanked him, and then shifting around as you both got comfortable, but soon enough-

"Alright, now; talketh at-eth me."

It was impossible to fight the smile his choice of words triggered, a reference to an inside joke so old now that you could scarcely recall its origin. Seeming to deem it a success, his own soft, reassuring smile greeted you.

"Seriously though, luv-" His hand came to rest atop your own, his fingers gently tapping a familiar rhythm against your skin. "What's troubling you?"

You were half-tempted to offer something short of sincerity, something innocuous and mundane that you could both laugh over and forget again within a few hours. Yet, you knew that if you didn't tell him now, didn't ask him now, you would never find the courage again.

"I've been thinking-"

"Ah. A scary premise in its own right."

"Oh, shut up," you retorted to his tease, smacking his arm for his troubles. He rewarded you with a grin, all fondness and mischief. Opting to ignore him, you pressed on, eyes downcast to avoid whatever judgement he may offer.

"As I was trying to say earlier, before I was so rudely interrupted-" The teasing fell off, and the worry crept back in. "I've been thinking. About us."

"O-oh?"

Were you not so consumed by your own anxieties, you would have noticed his stutter, would have seen the sudden tension in his posture, the fear in his eyes. As it was, you were completely oblivious to all of it, and made yourself continue at his prompting.

"I- I think I'm ready."

He mimed the word "ready" to himself, parroting it with utter befuddlement. "For wha-"

"I mean, I know I wasn't for such a long time, and-" Suddenly, you were off, half unhinged. Now that you had admitted the truth aloud, it was all rushing out of you, everything you had come to love about him, everything that-

A finger pressing firmly against your lips stopped you mid-tangent, and when you glanced up to find piercing, blazing emerald focused on you as if you were the very center of the universe, whatever remained of your ramblings disappeared entirely.

"What are you trying to say?"

A simple question, so easy to answer, yet it carried with it the weight of Infinities, demanding nothing save the truth, in its most basic state.

You were lost in his gravity, half-drowning in whatever this new feeling was. It was addicting, another riddle to be solved.

"Marry me."

Time stood still, the words weighing heavily in the space between you, now seemingly insurmountable despite being no more than mere decimeters.

Arthur showed no reaction, revealed no indication that he had even heard your plea, your query, your command, your request, and yet it echoed over and over in your own mind, the tone, the weight, the untimeliness-

Every facet- from your inflection to chosen tempo- crescandoed as an accusation, a mocking symphony that he would reject you, that you would be left with only the haunting strains of your ill-conceived proposal.

And yet-

There was a hesitation in his eyes, the face of a man who wanted wholeheartedly to believe what he had heard, but had been burned far too often in the past to dare allow himself hope.

"You-" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed as he studied you once more, only for the suspicion to disappear again almost immediately, disbelief swiftly taking its place. "You're serious?"

It was then that you finally read his nervousness, understood the strange emotion reflecting in his eyes.

You had lead him to a precipice, the vast Unknown before you both, and-

And he was just as fragile as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

You gave his hand a light squeeze, hoping to ground you both, and offered him a nod. “If you’ll have me, anyway.”

His eyes flickered between your own, darting back-and-forth so quickly in search of a lie, of any doubts, of any hint that you were less than certain- yet you knew he would find none of that.

“What about your family?”

The question took you by surprise; in the moment, you had completely forgotten anyone else even existed.

You weighed his question carefully. Marrying Arthur would give your family leave to gloat in self-satisfaction, and you knew with absolutely certainty that they would hold it over your head for the next three decades. But looking into the eyes of the man before you, remembering all that you had already seen and done together, you found that others' opinions no longer mattered, really hadn't mattered in a long, long time.

“I couldn’t care less about them. Arth-”

Whatever you were going to say was forgotten as he closed the remaining distance between you, moving so swiftly that you scarcely had a moment to steady yourself before he captured you in a searing kiss, one of his most passionate by far.

Somehow, despite the suddenness of it all, the initial force, the intensity- 

He was being incredibly gentle, and moving slowly enough to almost be more a torment than a treat. Almost.

You found yourself lost in a daze when he finally pulled away, just enough for each of you to catch your breaths, just far enough that he could study you with rapt attention. You could have drowned in his eyes, endless greens magnetizing in their intensity. His hands were still cradling your cheeks, still holding you firmly in place, a not completely foreign expression creasing his features.

You couldn't quite place it, even as your memories shifted desperately in search of its mate.

"'If I'd have you?'" His words, a rhetorical refrain of your own mere moments earlier, were scarcely a shared breath between you, murmured in timbre so low it summoned a shiver. There was the smallest twitch of his lip, his head tilting ever so slightly as more of that damned deviousness made its presence known. "I fully intend to have you regardless, luv. But the formality of it all certainly adds a particular je ne sais quoi, wouldn't you agree?"

You'd be damned if he knew just how that made your heart flutter, if he knew just how much weight that reassurance had lifted from your shoulders.

Carefree, content, you offered a playful smile. "Till death do us part then?"

Arthur no longer bothered trying to restrain his smile, soft and sincere in a way that left you breathless. "I'll love you till even the stars go cold, my dear."

Thanks for reading~

[anenglishmansinamorata]

england x reader: an aside

Been dabbling in Victorian literature again; I have a feeling in played a role in this one. Hope you enjoy~

“Do you really think so little of me?”

His tone was sharp, distressed; it was an accusation you couldn’t bear to face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to even look at him, casting your gaze back towards the cracked pocket doors, shadows from the parlor dancing along the walls of the secluded library.

Yet you knew that should you wish to clear the air between you, should you dare hope to force away this incessant, ridiculous longing, you must face him head-on, damn him with the same truth that had been tormenting you so relentlessly these past few weeks.

“I don’t know what to think of you anymore." 

You heard his intake of breath, the first whispers of a rebuttal, one you swiftly interrupted before it could fully take shape. "You once claimed you were above attachments, that such ‘frivolities’ are beneath you.”

Your eyes closed out of reflex, allying with a refreshing breath before you turned your attentions to him yet again, resolve burning within your core-

-all for it to be smothered again upon taking in his appearance, firm expression eclipsed by the naked vulnerability in his eyes.

You weakened at the sight, gasping quietly as your given name slipped almost silently past his lips.

It was too much, summoning the very emotions that you were trying so hard to be rid of.

You took a step back, then another.

He followed, slowly, each step in this broken dance made with cautionary hesitance, as if he were afraid you would run from him. But all things eventually come to an end, and there at last came a moment when you could step no further, one of the bookcases preventing your escape.

For want of fleeing that desperate gaze, to escape the eyes that were looking at you with the same reverence a desperate sailor casts upon a safe harbor, your hands pressed into the rosewood, silently wishing for it to fully consume you.

“What do you want from me?”

Your words were enough to give him pause, halting a mere few meters away.

His features shifted, clear considerations shining as he dismissed one explanation, then yet another and another. Finally, perhaps only a few heartbeats after you had first demanded his answer, he settled, lips twitching in the flicker of a pained expression before he spoke. "You’re right; I did once consider myself beyond such things.“

A small thrum of victory trilled within your veins, an air of superiority coating your own accusation. "So you admit it?”

His eyes narrowed, sharply angling to once more meet your own. While you were certain he possessed no magical capabilities, the fire in his gaze burned, sending a not unpleasant, hauntingly familiar ache through your veins.

“Yes,” he hissed at last, seemingly unaware of his effect on you, the indignation laced within his response doing little to spare your increasingly erratic heartbeat.

In a desperate attempt at retaliation, you latched onto whatever remnants of your prior haughtiness still remained, fleeting as it had become. You narrowed your eyes, dared to step forward and straighten your posture, meeting his challenge as candidly as circumstance could allow. "Tell me then: what made you change your mind?“

His silence was suffocating as ash, muffling the party just beyond the doors of what had been your sanctuary. It settled heavily between you, the unspoken conveying more than any words freely given could ever hope to say.

You sensed an ending, upon observing his reluctance, sensed a finality to the exchange which left you inexplicably disappointed. Resigned, overcome with an unfathomable bleakness, you bowed your head in acknowledgement. "Mr. Kirkland.”

You made to move past him, intent on rejoining the other guests, hoping there was yet still some chance to enjoy the rest of the evening, but- 

“You did.”

-a quiet admission had you firmly rooted to the spot.

The confession had fallen past his lips much like a prayer, cradled so tenderly and with such broken affection that you couldn’t help your gasp, felt silent relief that he couldn’t see the impact of his words likely painted across your face.

A deep breath- a second, a third- and you had restored your composure, turning back to face him. “Pardon?”

He still faced the bookcase, his posture relaxed, attentions elsewhere. But soon he was turning to face you, darkened gaze sweeping across your features before finally ensnaring your own.

You felt as if your defenses had been reduced to charred rubble, your whole soul now laid bare, the pieces exposed for him to do with as he pleased. A ridiculous notion, you reprimanded yourself. And yet, you couldn’t find it within you to fully ignore that sensation, equally enthralling and alarming.

“I’ve been alone, for so long,” he murmured, haltingly, the admission bearing with it the weight of centuries, as opposed to the mere handful of years to which he must be truly referring. His words were enough to give you leverage, to pull yourself firmly back to present circumstances, focus on the here and now.

“So long,” he continued, “that I accepted it as my fate, truly believed that I was doomed to never form any real attachment; I was never going to yearn for anything more than what had been given me.”

At that, he paused, once more surveying you, a fond warmth tempered by exasperation shining in his eyes. “Yet as you always seem so damned determined to do, you’ve challenged my convictions on that front, too.”

Your heart, which had nearly resumed its customary cadence, stuttered at his words. He couldn’t possibly mean that-

In a moment of weakness, decorum forgotten, his given name tumbled past your lips, unrestrained and befuddled. “Arthur, do you-”

“Again.”

Your brow furrowed at his interruption, breath catching as he took yet another step nearer. 

“Pardon,” you scarcely stuttered out, senses attuned to his steady approach, feeling half-drowned by the yearning in his gaze. You found yourself mourning the decision to abandon the bookcase’s support, suddenly uncertain of your own footing.

Finally, thankfully, he stopped, allowing you a little freedom, just enough to flee should you truly wish it.

Though, frankly, were you being completely sincere, all desire to do so had abandoned you ages ago, leaving only your curiosity and the tattered scraps of hope.

Surely, there was no way he-

“You asked me earlier what I want; do you still wish to know?”

Emerald eyes which always seemed to glisten with an inner fire had darkened to nearly black, pulling you even deeper into their depths. Entranced, you offered a nod of assent, unable and unwilling to put faith in your voice.

“I want you. I’ve wanted you for longer than I could hope to quantify. I-” He cut himself off with a derisive scoff, turning away for a moment before his attentions were once again on you, an angle to his gaze that pierced straight through your heart. 

“We come from very different worlds, you and I. I told myself to accept your companionship, your friendship. I had myself convinced that I could cope with that alone. But then-" 

His eyes narrowed, bitterness etching into his features. "I couldn’t bear to see you with another suitor. Couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else vying for your affections.”

Clarity gleamed with the radiance of a freshly polished looking glass, recognition burrowing itself deep into your thoughts. He was impassioned, and his deplorable behavior earlier this evening only heightened the credibility, yet you couldn’t resolve yourself to anything beyond incredulity, doubt casting a shadow on your fleeting sparks of hope.

“Arthur… What is it you want?”

You could feign being ignorant of your hand coming to rest on his arm, could feign obliviousness at having drawn near enough to see the sheen of dim light against the collar of his dinner jacket, and you could likely feign innocence in how you could now decipher the delicate detailing of his buttons. 

But you couldn’t feign naiveté at the way his eyes widened at the movement, at the awareness that this witchery had dragged you both under its spell, that your hopes were not unfounded after all.

His eyes found yours once more, all awareness of the world beyond falling away. At last, at long last, you saw that smile that you had come to adore, lighthearted and whimsical and always tentatively hopeful.

This was more the man you knew, more the man you had come to care for and cherish most out of all your companions.

“As incomprehensible as this may sound-” He cut himself off for a moment, his eyes studying yours carefully, searching for an answer you were eager to give. 

You could only pray your actions had made your wishes clear, still uncertain of your voice. Perhaps he found something in your expression, as soon enough his smile was growing ever brighter, his words continuing in barely a whisper.

“I want to spend Eternity with you.”

Thanks for reading!

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Will you be doing more Victorian England fanfics? Because I absolutely love the one you posted here! It makes my heart go crazy every time I re-read it! Also if you happen to know any Victorian England fanfics, can you recommend me some ����? They’re so find to hard! 🥲

Hello Dearest~

I'm very happy that you enjoyed Sectando in Caritate as much as I enjoyed writing it.

At this time, I have taken a break in writing from Hetalia seeing as I tend to suffer from horrible writer's block but also the lack of response from readers. BUT that doesn't mean I won't be writing in the future! Domesticity and romance involving Arthur Kirkland will never be off the table! Hehe...

Currently, I haven't had a chance to browse the respective fanfic sites for Hetalia x Reader fics, but I'm sure there would be something that will tickle your fancy. I tend to reblog publications that I absolutely love here, so please feel free to look around--Send love to the other writers as well!

[anenglishmansinamorata]

drunkard

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Original Work: The Inamorata Series

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

Imprudens Occursus

Contra Opinione Vulgi

In Perpetuum et Unum Diem

Sectando in Caritate

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Just wrote that fic in less than a day. I guess we’re back in business??

X O X O

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Hello my horny fellow hetalians

This was meant to be my part in frukmerunning pinup calendar, such a pity it didn’t work out 🤧 Now this is a shout-out to them 🥀

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Sectando in Caritate

[Alternative Title: In Pursuit of Love]

[Notes: Aristocratic Victorian Era]

The sound of horse hooves and the wheels of the carriage making its way down the cobblestone path barely roused the vehicle's passenger as she stared at the darkening sky. She had glimpsed a few people walking down the busy streets and has silently wished that she had been among the crowd, making their way towards their homes after a busy day of work, instead of being forced to attend another drab gathering. The woman had initially kept track of the number of lampposts she had passed but had lost count as she drifted farther from the town.

She could hear the wind howling as the snow began to fall and the road turned uneven. She could tell that they were close, considering the number of lampposts began to dwindle. The scenery outside slowly turned brighter as she approached the gates of the Wesleye estate. Once the carriage had passed the gates, a canopy of beautifully crafted lanterns hung over the road. Silently, the female admired the decorations, awed as to how the lights remained burning even with the telltale sign of snow slowly beginning to appear.

The female felt restless as her carriage began to move closer to the entrance of the main building. Clutching her fan and a small bag in the other hand, the young woman slowly angled herself towards the door, bracing for the sudden sting of cold wind and praying that she would not get her dress caught in the carriages' steps. She watched as a footman appeared before the doors and opened it. A gust of cold wind filled the small space and the young woman began to descend from the protection of the coach. 

The young woman could barely hide her displeasure as she took the offered hand of her coachman before her slipper-clad feet touched the damp cobblestone. She held unto the hood of her fur coat as the was immediately chaperoned into the great hall.

Once her coat had been taken and stored, the female was about to make her way towards the brightly light ballroom, when she felt a gloved hand take hold of the crook of her arm. She turned to find the smiling familiar face of Marie--one of her cousins from her maternal grandfather's side.

"I recognized your carriage even with the dazzling lights." The younger woman smiled as they finally walked towards the entrance of the ballroom. "Did the old crows put you up to this?"

"So you've heard." A small affectionate smile was followed by a sigh. "How have you been, Marie?"

"I have been well," Marie replied before pausing and hid behind her fan, huffing. "Other than the fact that the whole of London suspects that I refuse to bed my husband after finding out he has a mistress."

"Which you do." The female replied.

"It is private." Marie objected, fanning herself as the two approached the hall. 

"Not exactly, my dear. It hasn't been since you threw a bowl of brandy balls at him last month at the Winter Montrose Ball." 

"Brandy balls," Marie mumbled, looking amused. "Whenever I feel particularly irritated, I imagine the way it bounced off his fat head, leaving questionable marks--as if a bird had flown overhead and left a delightful little gift. I am so glad I have yet to see the fool."

"I'm sure after that no one would believe that you retain any amicable relations in the bedchamber. Not when you are shrieking about--" 

"There's no need to go into details." Her companion interrupted quickly. "You aren't exactly the jammiest of jams, are you?"

"My decision to attend this gathering does not change my mind about marriage."

Marie merely snorted.

"How is your snorting any different from Lord Abberton breaking wind?" The young woman inquired.

"You are not listening!" The younger woman cried. "My point is that you needn't deal with a man ever. You don’t have to listen about what turnips do to his stomach, or be smirked at by his mistress--who appears to be wearing diamond earrings tonight, by the way!"

"You are wearing diamonds," The female observed with a smile.

"They are the same earrings." Marie huffed in indignation. "I much prefer your emeralds than my diamonds, which my cheat of a husband seems to have purchased in bulk."

The two women continued their rather lively conversation behind embroidered fans, each accepting a glass of champagne as they stood close to the table where various appetizers and cakes were laid in tiers. Mid-conversation, Marie let out a small gasp.

"Oh look! I had no inkling that he would be in attendance. I haven't seen the Earl in London for over a year." Her companion turned towards the female. "Do you not remember? There is only one man in this universe who could change my mind."

"About?" The woman pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she continued to nurse her second flute of champagne before eying the multitude of sandwiches to choose from. There had been egg and cress, ranch and anchovy butter, smoked salmon, cucumber and dill butter, and the ever-famous cucumber sandwich. She mulled over the choices, knowing that she would like to avoid feeling sick from overeating but at the same time regretting passing over the chance to try such delicious dishes.

"You never remember anything I say," Marie complained. "You are as bad as my husband, but you're my beloved cousin, and you ought to be more attentive."

 "I apologize." Plucking an egg and cress sandwich from the platter, the woman turned her attention to her relative. "Would you please remind me?"

"That I never want to bed a man again in my entire life."

"Alright."

"A moment." Marie stared at her with large grey eyes. "Aren't you going to deter me from such a decision?"

"Ah." A thoughtful pause. "Birthing a child is quite dangerous."

"My husband has a mistress," Marie huffed as she took a sip from her flute. "I believe it is only proper that I take a lover. Or three."

"Isn't that quite excessive, Marie?"

"There is only one man in London who might change my mind--no, it is not my husband; I can tell you that much."

"Someone younger perhaps?" Marie only shook her head, looking almost scandalized.

"Of course not! I would give my virtue only to one man." " Marie interjected before continuing, displaying her flair for the dramatic. She nodded towards the other side of the room. "That Earl."

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she took a minute to properly taste its contents while racking her head of a single earl with whom she would like to share more than a dance. Unfortunately, the rest of the room seemed to be engulfed in a feverish excitement while she did not. She wasn't one to be easily swept away with just one exchange or look for that matter.

"I would follow him to Constantinople after a mere nod." Her companion smiled as if in a reverie.

"Which man?" 

With keen eyes, the female observed Marie who seemed to be caught in her thoughts as she ogled the said man who must have been situated across the ballroom. Chuckling softly to herself, the woman hid her mouth behind a fan as she compared her lovely cousin to a child seeing Westminster Abbey for the first time. With a snap of her fan, the female placed a stop to her thoughts--she really shouldn't compare a church to a beddable earl. It seemed sacrilegious.

"Are you retiring soon? I shall accompany you." Her cousin seemed to come out of her daydream before her attention was diverted. "He's just a few meters away!"

"Who?" Turning her head ever so slightly, the female saw a crowded floor of familiar faces who didn't seem to be of great concern on her part.

"The Earl of Kirkland, of course," Marie answered happily as she tugged at her cousin's sleeve, nodding toward the man's supposed direction. "You must be mad if you wouldn't consider having an affair with him."

The woman furrowed her brows in exasperation before replying. "I've heard of him but we have never met." She emptied the last of the champagne before placing the glass flute on a nearby table, not bothering to take another glance due to disinterest.

She did not incline to find a spouse at such a gathering. She had more important things to deal with her parent's properties, possessions as well as the management of her parent's textile store. Marriage would only allow those things to be taken by her potential husband while she would be left with very little.

Her companion was currently on her toes, peeking over the crowd. "He's quite handsome," She mumbled. "I cannot fathom as to why he's remained a bachelor."

"My dear, I will not be going to the retiring room; I am going to leave." The finality in her tone made her companion whip her head towards her in disbelief. "I have documents and ledgers to--"

"You are so unusual." Marie interrupted, " You mean to tell me that you are more interested in such things than finding yourself a lover?"

"There's more to life than finding a man, my dearest Marie." the female patted her cousin's hand before glancing at the window, its ledge seemingly beginning to fill up with snow. "I'm going home. I do not want to get caught in a snowstorm."

"Rubbish," Her cousin said. "My couch man was complaining about the same thing. You will get caught in the traffic and it will take much longer than usual for you to arrive home."

The young woman was determined to return home regardless of what her cousin said to convince her to stay. Truthfully, she would have rather stayed at home and feigned an illness than ventured outside her parents' estate at this time of the year.

"Oh very well. I will walk you to the entrance," Marie took her arm as they began to walk towards the middle of the floor--straight towards the crowd of people. "Lord Kirkland is on the right standing next to it."

If her companion decided to start liaison with the Earl--bachelor or not--all of London's elite would talk wildly about it for weeks--maybe even a year. Sir Abberton would be enraged and would not forget, even as most people have moved on to the most recent gossip.

"Marie," The woman started, opting to sound wise. "I think you should rethink the idea of having an affair with Kirkland."

"For goodness' sake, lower your voice," her younger relative mumbled. "Do you see him now? He's almost right in front of us."

The female couldn't help but freeze, almost stumbling. It was rather inelegant of her and the fact that her vexatious cousin burst out laughing. 

"Didn't I tell you?"

No.

Marie didn't tell nor describe what the Earl of Kirkland looked like. It wasn't just that he was handsome, or rich, or had an air of self-respect like the rest of everyone in the crowded ballroom. Rather, it was the intensity and colour of his eyes that caught her attention for a few moments before it was stolen by the gentle tug on her sleeve.  

Next to her, Marie was hiding her smile with a fan. "He's handsome, no?"

Rather than responding, the young woman kept staring. Clearly, the Englishman was uninterested in the night's festivities or the two ladies who were trying to engage him in conversation. 

The young woman flipped her own fan open, in an effort to hide her discourteous gawking. "What is he doing here? He doesn't seem to be someone that is interested in societal gatherings like this."

The last three years she had been attending the season and not once had she seen the said man appear. She had attended these gatherings to the behest of her relatives--mostly her aunts--to both placate and humour them. She enjoyed dancing and conversing but clearly not the popular activity among other ladies at this time--which was searching for a husband. 

"My husband is one of his acquaintances, so I shall go greet him. As per the reason why he is here, I hear that he is looking for a wife."

"What?"

"My dear cousin, do you not pay attention to anything?" Marie sighed with a shake of her feathered head. "His grace had been previously engaged to the Count of Highgrove's eldest daughter but she had eloped with a man from Yorkshire; apparently the man was an acquaintance of her father's."

"An acquaintance," the female echoed as she glanced at the group of people all the while keeping her fan up as her cousin guided her through the crowd. "Marie, I cannot possibly measure up to a Count's daughter. My family isn't even that notable in high society."

"Oh, nonsense. You have done quite well for yourself seeing as you have been rejecting all your potential suitors. Also, this will keep our meddling aunts from pestering you for a husband. " Before the female could make a snappy retort, Marie held unto her arm--as if to prevent her from escaping--and continued to walk over to the unsuspecting lord. "Now if we don't hurry, he'll move away from the door and I'll miss my chance."

The two women were not the only ones who seemed to be heading towards the blonde. There was the distinctive drift within the large ballroom, akin to the water coming from a tide that was fast approaching a sandy shore.

The two young women were close enough that she could see that the Englishman's eyes were a mesmerizing forest green. His face was bony and his blonde hair having a shaggy, almost boyish look to him. His face held a prominent chin and his lips were set in a firm line of sternness--as if trying to look intimidating in the hopes of keeping the eligible women from approaching him. The lord was standing with one leg bent in front of him and the young woman could feel the heat rising in her cheeks just from glimpsing at his posture.

He was lean but she could not deny his attractiveness. Although the man's arms were hidden under the sleeves of his tailcoat, she could tell he had a set of well-toned arms. The female was willing to bet five shillings that he must enjoy dancing secretly. 

But those vivid emerald orbs and the rumours of women vying for his attention were enough to deter her. He wasn't the sort of man who would ever interest her and she was certain she wouldn't be able to keep pace with a nobleman's lifestyle.

"I should leave, truly." the young woman said with sudden resolution. "You may stop and talk to Lord Kirkland, but I have matters to attend to in the morning."

"Very well," Marie said, clearly not listening.

She had wanted to wretch her hand out of her dear cousin's hold and point out that his grace was clearly not in the mood to entertain guests, but she dismissed it. Marie would soon find out whether the blonde man was interested or not. Even when they were younger, Marie had always found ways to get what she wanted so she wasn't even surprised when her younger cousin would walk right up to the Englishman and suggest an affair.

The two of them were almost at the door, so the female glanced at the infamous Arthur Kirkland again. He was looking at them. No, at her.

She could feel the heat returning to her face, and she had barely caught herself tripping over her gown and falling forward. She was a merchant's daughter, the only remaining one of her family. A countryside noble but nevertheless, a respectable one. Definitely not the type of woman who welcomed a man's eyes taking her in over a crowded ballroom, as if she was a lady of the night.

She merely narrowed her eyes and the man blinked in surprise when a small crooked smile appeared on the corner of his mouth. 

"He's looking at you!" Marie half-whispered and half-shrieked beside her. "Oh, he's surely too much for you. He's dangerous."

The young woman's head snapped towards her companion, breaking the haze caused by the Earl's attention. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, feeling her pulse quicken as she feigned innocence. "Don't be silly, Marie. He must have surely mistaken me for another, that is all. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"It could be that he's walking towards me." Her poor cousin seemed to be out of breath. "He may be glancing at you as a trap." She could feel Marie's gloved hands digging into her arm almost hard enough to leave a mark. "What do you think he would say if I lured him into a side room and tied him up?"

"What in heaven's name are you going on about?" The female whispered behind her fan. "You don't tie up Abberton, do you?"

"Of course not…."Marie, who seemed to have been reduced to a giggling mess replied. "It's just a silly thought."

The woman lowered her fan ever so slightly, just enough to steal another glance. The earl's emerald orbs remained not on her relative but on her. The blonde was walking directly toward them, intent on ignoring the multitude of women who seemed to throw themselves into his path.

"Did he know of your father?" Her cousin spoke, sounding quite confused. "He's really looking at you."

In all honesty, the female was just as confused. She was definitely not the kind of woman whom a man lost his head over. She was independent, headstrong, resilient and--as her cousin stated earlier--unusual among other ladies.

"If he was acquaintances with my father, he can pay me an afternoon call, as all his other friends."

"You'd better leave unless you want to refuse him yourself;" Marie sighed softly. "Lady Parlow caught hold of his arm, but I'm sure he'll be heading this way soon."

The female surely did not want an encounter with the earl. He looked like a huntsman, walking across the ballroom in that gray coat in the pretense of being a gentleman--which he clearly was not.

Absolutely not.

She gave her sweet cousin a speedy peck on the cheek before setting out for the door. In a few moments, she picked up the pace almost leaping into the ballroom's entryway with her skirts hiked up in both hands. Turning ever so slightly to squeeze between two gossiping individuals, she felt a hand around her elbow sending a shock of surprise up against her spine.

"May I help you?" She kept her tone cool as she turned towards the individual whose hand was holding unto her. She met the Earl of Kirkland's bright eyes as she raised a delicate eyebrow. "You must have mistaken me for someone else," A placid smile on her painted lips.

It was the first time that anyone has ever looked at her like that. Maybe the earl had mistaken her for a maiden that he had loved in his younger years. 

"I am not mistaken," Those emerald orbs were a vivid green, the colour of unearthed agate from the Achates River.

His voice caught her off guard because it was more deep and soothing than she would have imagined. He had the allure of a devious fox. In fact, he looked like one that was ready to pounce and devour its prey.

She was no fawn for any man's expenditure. She came with no intention of acquiring a husband and thus, she shall leave with no lover either. She had no intention of bowing nor bending to the will of Arthur Kirkland.

"Pardon me," The female could not hide the agitation in her voice as she gently pulled her arm from the blonde's grip and briskly walked away.

Behind her was a moment of stillness. And then, to her panic, a soft chuckle of amusement before the said man continued on with his pursuit of her.

.

.

.

.

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Ma atuchmenn to Arthur ‘s unhealtee. Bastard maid me lyke em sho match dat I cryed wen I luked at hem becuz I luvs hym dat mush. I spenden sho muchy thyme thinken aboot im moer dan I tink bout money tings en mah lyffe. Tanks ta yu mai stndardts arr skii hei aan naw nu mahn kan mesurre uh two dem. I hade yuo butt I luv ya too. Ah reily lyke yur ice simce day remime mi of dah clam foreist behand my grans bayckard. Wai, Bstrd gib meh bakk my prcsius tymme dah I spnt fawenn ober yuo.

[anenglishmansinamorata]

chu～♥（メイキング）

Pixiv ID: 58932437

Member: リイロ

☆ ☆ Permission to reprint this fanwork was generously given by the original artist! ☆ ☆

[anenglishmansinamorata]

I tried some drawings of Arthur in different uniforms

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Hi there! :) i just wanna say i really like your tumblr and the headcanons you make for mr england ☆ it really helps to fuel my nerdy art scribbles and art ideas. Btw do you see england as having scars or marks from his past? And how would his s/o react? Thankies ^_^

Arthur has a myriad of scars on his body that he has accumulated in the past centuries. When he was younger, he had been insecure about the collection of marks on his body since it looked quite unsightly for the public eye. He was also rather preoccupied with a large number of freckles on his body which was, thankfully, mostly found on his arms. In his younger days, he had secretly inquired on how to get rid of them with Francis’ advice unfortunately.

Most of Arthur’s scars had been acquired from his years when he ruled the world during the 18th century. During this time he no longer was the lanky, pale, shy boy and instead sported a light tan--which made his freckles more pronounced--with his arms slightly more muscular from hauling heavy hemp ropes during his time at sea and engaging in fights with other privateers--and his golden locks slightly damp from the seawater. Nowadays, the Brit sees the now-healed marks as a sign of him proving his manliness strength but doesn’t outrightly flaunt them but rather hides them underneath his dress shirts and sweater vests.

Once you and Arthur became much more intimate--not only physically--the blonde was surprisingly approachable and can recount how he had received the majority of the scars on his body when asked. Usually, the Brit does not enjoy being excessively physical but he finds it amusing, almost relaxing when you trail your fingertips against areas where his skin had been bruised and cut decades ago. You had reassured him that you loved him--blemishes, freckles, and all--and his scars only helped in telling his past and if he had never gone through all his pain, he never would have met you.

If he finds a few scars on you, Arthur would also trace patterns on your skin but he tends to write out rather sweet nothings like ‘My Love’, ‘Dearheart’, and the most common of all being ‘I Love You’. 

He claims he’s sentimental and not a sap but you both know he’s a hopeless romantic.

((A/N: Sorry for nothing able to answer this ask in a timely manner, doll! I’ve been working more hours and to be honest I’ve been feeling more exhausted than usual. I hope that you enjoy this short snippet and again, thank you for sending this ask! Hope to see you again~!))

[anenglishmansinamorata]

If Arthur has a S/O that is a Wiccan...

Arthur enjoys engaging in deep conversation regarding the different practices when it comes to Wiccan rituals. Although he knows a large amount of information when it comes to the Black Arts and Evocations but is clueless when it comes to other branches of Magicks. He listens intently when you explain the principles, practices and seasonal festivals of Traditional Wicca.

There are some days where he would indulge you to read the cards that he had chosen as a way for him to gain insight into either the present or future. The blonde is also quite forthcoming, he offers to buy you certain materials--such as candles, incense, crystals and some herbs--that you may need for the small ceremonies that you would perform. Arthur has also bought you a few books which included the infamous ‘Book of Shadows’.

One time, the blonde decided to try his hand in performing one of the ceremonies that he had read in one of your books. Unfortunately, Arthur hadn’t been able to secure the candles against the floor and accidentally drew a different pentacle on the ground--honestly, it looked more like a pentagram. All in all, you came home to hear him screeching and later on trying to remove the partially scorched curtains and dumping them into the trash--soot covering his clothes. When you inquired about what had happened he refused to tell you anything.

You eventually found out that he had indeed summoned something--something that looked akin to Ivan--and he cried out in both surprise and horror.

((A/N: Apologies to Cosmic-badlarry once more! I was in the middle of finishing this ask up and I had accidentally hit the 'post privately' button and I had to double check with them about the ask. I literally paused and clutched my head--as if I was having another midlife crisis--before moving on. Anywho's sorry for being MIA.))

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Hey mun~ I just wonder where are you from?

It’s a SECRET~✰

I’m from Canada. Hehehe

[anenglishmansinamorata]

I wonder... How would Arthur respond to his foreign s/o giving him pet names in their native language? I speak several languages so I got several cheesy nicknames for our favourite British man. Would he like it or be a bit irritated because he can't understand them?

He gets a little annoyed because he cannot for the life of him understand what you are saying to him, he knows its a pet name but he wants to know what you are calling him. You can say whatever you are saying endearingly but god forbid you could be calling him some weird nickname like ‘My little cabbage’ or ‘My little Microbe’ which gets lost in translation.

Arthur isn’t so petty as to have you outright stop calling him that so he tries his best to give you an equally odd nickname. Don’t get him wrong, he tries to learn your language but he butchers it so bad and he also gets tongue-tied and sounds like he has a lisp.  He sticks to the regular nicknames he has given you to save himself from embarrassment.

[anenglishmansinamorata]

Hi im a New follower But the more I read your work the more I love it, you are amazing and that's the only thing I can say because I can think of any other way to describe you!🤩😍🤩😍🤩😍

You flatter me too much, doll! I’m embarrassed. I’m glad that you both frequent and enjoy my silly little blog. Thank you for sharing your kind words and taking the time to let me know, I greatly appreciate it. You’re more than welcome to drop by in the future. I hope to hear more from you~!

xoxo.

-Catharia