#david copperfield x reader

[jd-loves-fiction]

"There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close" + "I’m dying and I’m confessing my love for you"

✦ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: David Copperfield x GN!Reader

✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff + comedy

✦ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm not too confident about this one but uuuhh let me know if you enjoyed it! (Also Monkey Man one shot coming with the same prompt soon muah!)

[14:24] “Here! Turn here!” David exclaims, pulling you into an alley with him and leaning against the wall while pulling you to his chest. It heaves as footsteps thump past where you hide.

Once the anxiety-inducing sounds have faded, details around you become clearer – the fast beating of your heart against your ribcage, how David’s own heart pumps wildly against you, how his breath fans over your hair or how his hand has not moved an inch from around your waist.

“Think they’re gone?” He whispers cautiously before you push lightly on his broad chest to get some space to breathe. Once you step back you take a moment to take him in; shifting eyes, parted lips, sweating hairline, twitching hands hovering over your body– “I don't have much time…”

You blink, “Huh?”

David nods down to his thigh, fancy striped pants ripped to show a cut to his caramel skin, already beading up blood, like red little pearls…. Your confusion persisted, “What're you on about?” 

“I'm bleeding!” He exclaims, as if the answer to your question should be as obvious as the Earth being round. “Not to mention my pants are ripped! Aunt Tilda surely will not be pleased, to say the least!”

You give him your best deeply unimpressed expression, still remaining only a breath away from David’s heaving chest. Upon realizing this, you move to step away, before his strong hands grip your arms to stop you, “If I am to die, there is something I must tell you–”

“David–” You start to protest, but one of his hands gently takes hold of your chin, tilting it up to lock eyes with you. You've never seen him so serious, save for that time at the factory and it makes you suddenly forget what you're supposed to be doing. The amber of his shifting eyes draws you in like a siren song.

“I must tell you what I could not for so long. I- I am in love with you. I have been for so long I cannot remember a time when I did not feel this way. And I cannot bear the thought that I might die without having told you!”

Alright, that snaps you out of it, “If you really mean all that, there really was no need for an excuse to do it. You could’ve just told me.” Stepping away from his reach, you look around the corner for any sign of your pursuers, “Come on, I’ll stitch that up for you.”

“But then–” Looking back at the sound of his voice, you find David tousling his (already messy) curls nervously, “Do you… feel the same way?”

The shakiness of his tone seems to reach out and tug on your heartstrings. How in the name of everything holy could you not love him?

Sighing fondly, you draw closer to David, so close you can hear him suck in a nervous breath. Emboldened by the reciprocity of your love, you quickly lean forward to plant a chaste little kiss to his luscious lips, “Oh David Copperfield, I would have to be completely mad not to love you.”

[the-yellow-birdy]

Is it better to speak, or to die?

A/N: Long time no see! This is an unedited first draft of the "Call me by your name" with Jane Murdstone idea(without the grooming ofc). Please let me know if you want me to continue and idk if im gonna change this draft as well, since I wrote it a bit fast. Feedback is definitely appreciated!:)

L.O.L. - Yellowbird

//18+ audience only! - all characters are above the age of 18\\

Summer, 1867

As you felt the lightness and warmth spread across the naked skin of your body, the repeating of your thoughts was tuned out by the sound of crickets in the all-round shrubbery. Sweat dripped from your neck and down your clavicle, going further with every breath you took in of the thick mid-summer air. The serene crystals reflecting from the icy lake had never been more inviting. Your hair was drenched from your own sweat and sticking to your forehead in need of a wash from the shining water. You looked at your pocket watch.

A quarter to five.

Summers spent at your uncles were where you found the most solace. He and his wife were wonderful, they so often invited you to come here and visit them and their charming vacation home. Days here were spend, swimming in the many lakes and ponds you would find on your outings, visiting nearby cities, reading various books from your uncles’ impressive library and cherry-picking in the midday with your uncles’ wife, Mary. Mary was a warm, outgoing woman. She found joy and interest in everything she saw, while speaking terribly loud and out of order about it. A significant contrast to your more timid uncle. A quiet and closed of man, who preferred the comfort of his study and the much-appreciated knowledge of ancient artifacts from the dusty books he kept. 

When you saw through the personality differences, you found quickly, that they were made for each other. Especially when you on occasion caught a glimpse of them in the family room on your way to your chamber in the late evenings. There, in the privacy of their relation, they laugh, talk and exchange tender touches, soft laugh lines forming around your uncle’s mouth. 

More you haven’t dared stayed to witness, it would be rude and improper to impose on such tender moments.

The grass tickled your bare feet as you stretched the whole of your body.

There was to be a visitor this year. Uncle Cyrus was a widely acknowledged archeologist professor, teaching at the Da Vinci institute back in Berlin. He was a passionate individual who spent his summers nose deep in the same subject and area as his livelihood.

Although this year, your uncle had decided to open his home once more for interested candidates, who would very much like to visit the north Italian countryside with many findings from the grand sea not far. It had been several years since a fellow interested had accompanied him over the summer. Your uncle was an elderly gentleman, about seventy, his wife around a decade younger having carried no children nor related to any nieces or nephews except you, therefore he had begun searching for a new candidate.

It was to be a woman, he told you. A professor in anthropology, beginning the early stages of research in the areas of archeology.

“It is a marvel! Have you ever heard such unique wonder, Mary!”, your uncle shouted out of character, several weeks ago from his office, as you were sat reading in front of the fireplace. Truly a neck-breaking sight, as he stumbled frantically out of his study, your presence going unnoticed by him, and up the spiral staircase.

A woman. You had thought. 

Never had you heard of such a thing. A woman professor in anthropology.

You weren’t a daft girl yourself, of course you knew it was possible, never had you simply heard of it, often being told as a young girl to keep your head out of the clouds, the books you read had formed. Followed later, by restriction of said books. 

You sat back on your heels and let the wind blow against the ample flesh of your chest, yawning at the thought of the walk back to the vineyard. Brown and green stains had soiled the white fabric of your dress. You had laid upon it as an alternative for the blanket you had forgotten. Your undergarments used for drying the water of your skin. 

You begin dressing yourself by efficiently buttoning up your corset, followed by tying your undergarments and chemise. As you had put your dress and heeled boots on you stepped out of the Oaktree’s shadow and began your walk back home. You couldn’t remember at which hour the candidate would arrive, so you thought it best to pick up your pace.

---------

“Y/n! Wherever have you been, dear? You look as if the bear had gotten its paws on you.”, Mary looked bewildered as she descended the staircase.

The house was a French inspired Cascina residence. Beautifully build from the first laid brick to the last, with simple tree carved windows and a robust brick red roofing. The foyer of the home displayed simple white-yellow walls with paintings placed on them and the floor covered with a variety of Axminster carpeting.

It wasn’t grand, nor expensive, yet it was charming and the life it oozed never ceased to calm you, when you spend your summers here.

“Simply by the lake, Aunt Mary. I apologize for my appearance; I… tripped… on the way back.”, you lied, trying to seal it with a genuine smile.

She came quickly to where you stood. She held a gentle grip on your forearms, turning you in her grasp to further inspect. 

Her eyes looked upon your face, “tripped you say?”

“…badly”, you added, choosing not to look her in the eyes opting for the dress.

Aunt Mary apparently chose to leave the matter at hand, knowing the visitor would be arriving at any moment now.

“Alright well, go wash yourself off and change to a dress that doesn’t make you look like a rogue child. Ms. Murdstone shall be arriving shortly.”, she gave you a light squeeze to your upper arms.

“Ms. Murdstone?”, you whispered.

“Yes yes, you know? The assisting candidate of your uncle.”

You nodded slowly, letting the name of the woman sink in. Ms. Murdstone. It was a rather odd name for an unmarried woman you pondered.

“Off you go!”

As you gave your aunt a curt smile and looked down, you went to ascend the staircase. Unbeknownst to you, a soaked washcloth was further from your reach than you had thought--

You froze in the middle of the staircase, quick steps of your uncle coming into view at the top, as three knocks had rung out in the room. Silence. 

You turned to look down at your aunt, yet her eyes already laid upon her husband. Hurriedly your uncle went past you.

“Y/n, there is no time, give a quick greeting and leave to change thereafter.” Mary whispered tightening your uncle’s butterfly.

How utterly humiliating. 

It is no secret that first impressions matter, yet your disorderly mind has kept you from making just that. This woman was going to be met by a soiled dirty looking young woman, will she not have a fright? 

Please lord, forgive my poor deeds.

As your uncle took a deep breath to calm his nerves and looked towards your aunt and you, a quick furrow of his eyebrows as he laid his eyes upon your dress, he turned the doorhandle and stepped aside.

In your peripheral you observed the darkness of the woman’s shadow, yet you couldn’t keep your gaze fixed upon the carpets any longer. 

“Ms. Murdstone, a pleasure to meet you!”, your uncle nervously laughed, his figure disappearing behind the woman.

It was the first glance you ever laid upon her.

As she sauntered through the blackwood door, the first thing you noticed was a significant height difference between her and yourself. She had the skin of a snowclad field in winter and hair black as raven feathers, styled to the sides of her head. She looked around the space as if assessing the quality of the housing, foregoing any introduction of herself. The woman wore an all-black attire, from her corsage to her skirts, to her low sitting cap. Her gloved hands were clad in front of her, trading the warm energy of the home with a sophisticated and poised aura.

The woman turned midway through the door, looking at your uncle, “pleasures all mine, Mr. Bamford”, said the woman with a faux saccharine undertone. 

She smoothly shifted her focus in front of your aunt. “Mrs. Bamford, I presume?”, her honeyed smile went wide as she looked down upon your aunt, yet her eyes held something much unalike.

You looked to your aunt, her mouth fell slightly agape, “Uh.. Uhm.. yes, welcome”. She stuttered.

It was clear that the woman’s intensity had gotten the better of both Aunt Mary and your uncle.

“And this is…?”, you quickly turned your head to the woman who now, was meandering in your direction. Her eyes were trained on your face, and unamused expression had fallen upon hers. She looked back at your uncle as if expecting an answer. 

“Uhm Y/n, sorry... Ms. L/n…, Ms Murdstone”, you looked down. Your vision was disrupted by black fabric coming to place right in front of you.

Ms. Murdstone gave an unimpressed glance to your aunt and uncle, “I see. Look at me girl.”

A hand came to lift your chin.

You watched as she tilted her head to observe the state of you. Definitely not impressed. Your eyes searched for your aunt and uncle, who simply ignored your silent pleas, and kept up their mannered smiles. They gave each other a short-whiled look and went back to woman and the scene unfolding.

As your eyes went back to the woman, your spine chilling at the sight of the woman’s light blue eyes and found she had been staring directly at your face. 

Hopefully she is not bothered by it, it is not simply a dress to clean.

She quickly let go of you again. Her gaze leaving as fast as it came. Ms. Murdstone wandering further into the house, “My belongings have been left outside by the carriage, I believe a maid will fetch it, or am I to do so myself?”

“Oh yes, of course uhm, right away!”, exclaimed your uncle and went to call for the staff, while your aunt scurried after the observing woman, already entering another area of the house.

*click*

As you closed the heavy wooden door you watched your reflection in the window. Nervously you studied yourself. 

I don’t believe I have any filth on my face.

Tagelist:

@readingtheentrails @ladybathoryy @aemilia19

[milfsloverblog]

How Eve Felt (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

A/N: Listen, this is just pure filth. 1500 words of porn without plot. Nothing but Jane Murdstone smut. I started this WIP months ago and thought I’d never publish it but a few of you liked the snippet I shared, so... Anyway, enjoy <3

tw: spit kink, mention of Christianity related stuff (this is how I deal with my religious trauma)

✨ AO3 LINK IN TITLE ✨

You always tried your best to keep your eyes away from your lady’s flesh when you undressed her. That night had been no different as you only looked at your fingers working on the lacing of her corset.

Jane stayed quiet for a while, her eyes never leaving your reflection in the mirror as you worked behind her.

“You did say this was your first time working as a lady’s maid, didn’t you?” She asked, her voice as stern as it usually was.

“Yes, Miss Murdstone.” You nodded and carefully peeled the corset from her, folding it before placing it by her dress on the chair.

“In that case,” She said as she turned around to face you, cocking her head a little. “I cannot help but wonder where on earth you have learnt how to undress a woman so swiftly.”

You swallowed thickly. Your eyes had caught sight of the swell of her small breasts under her chemise and it instantly made your throat go dry.

What were you supposed to tell her? Oh, well, I have undressed my fair share of women, right before laying with them.

“Well?” She insisted. “Cat got your tongue?!”

You knew then by the smirk on her face that Miss Murdstone probably had a good idea of how you’d become an expert at undressing the fairer sex.

“I suppose I'm a quick learner, my lady.” You simply answered, hoping it would satisfy the tall woman’s curiosity.

Jane narrowed her eyes, silently looking at you for a moment while the gears turned in her head.

“Take my chemise off.” She eventually ordered in a bark.

It felt like she was testing you. Sure, this was part of what a lady’s maid had to do but the way she said it, it did feel like she was testing you.

You ended up doing as you were told, silently thanking your hands for not shaking too much when you grabbed the hem of her chemise and pulled the garment over her head.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Do not look.

“Look at me.” Jane demanded, your eyes immediately snapping from your hands to her face.

“I am looking at you, Miss Murdstone.”

“Look at me the way you really wish to.” She smirked again and you were sure your thumping heartbeat could be heard throughout the whole household.

You exhaled shakily and eventually moved your gaze from her eyes to her nose, then down to her mouth. What would it be like to kiss her? To lick over the scar on her lip? To have her tongue push into your mouth?

You spent a few seconds on the length of her neck, watching her pulse point steadily move up and down. From the look of it, she didn’t seem nervous about what was happening, at least not as much as you were.

Her shoulders were next, pulling a smile from your lips. It was a funny thing, really, for a cold and metallic woman like Jane to have such an inviting freckled skin.

Your breath hitched in your throat when your eyes landed on her chest, her nipples visibly hardening as you took in her pert breasts.

“Miss Murdstone, we should not-“ You were cut off by Jane’s hand roughly grabbing hold of your face, her fingertips digging almost painfully into your cheeks.

“And who decides on what we should or should not do, hm?” She asked, using a honey-dripping voice as if she wasn’t holding you with a vice-like grip.

“You, Miss Murdstone.” You whispered barely audibly, nearly letting a whine out when she let go of your jaw.

“Good.” She gave a slight nod and sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving yours.

Your eyes widened when you noticed that she was slowly spreading her legs. Her lips pulled in a devilish smirk seeing how your face twitched as you tried your best to keep your eyes locked on hers, knowing full well the sight that would be waiting for you if you allowed yourself to look down at her crotchless bloomers.

Jane had to admit that she was impressed by your self-restraint, many girls would have run for the door while some, fewer, would have touched her already.

“Kneel.” She barked, delighting in the way you slightly jumped at the unexpected order.

Your legs wobbled and you fell to your knees like a devotee praying at the altar. Your gaze inevitably fell on the wet pink flesh between her legs, your mouth watering at how inviting it looked.

“Well, do come closer!” Jane spoke as if she was in a hurry and for a split second you wondered if she was eager to feel you on her.

You did as you were told, crawling closer until you were kneeling between her legs and tentatively placed your hands on her covered knees. Jane raised an eyebrow at the boldness of your move but decided she would allow it.

“I assume you have done this before, haven’t you?” The woman asked, her chin never lowering as she looked down at you, making her appear even more condescending.

“Have I ever found myself between a woman’s legs? Yes. Have I ever knelt before one? No.” But I don’t mind kneeling for you. I don’t mind praying at your altar. I would spend the rest of my life on my knees if you asked me to. I do want to worship you.

“Let us make it a memorable first time, shall we?” Jane purred and her fingers took hold of your face again, gentler than they did before.

She tilted your head back as far as it would go and pried your jaws open, chuckling when you stuck your tongue out instinctively.

“Aren’t you a well-trained slut?” Jane cooed, gathering the saliva in her mouth and slowly letting it fall on your tongue, a wave of arousal coating her sex when your pupils dilated.

The older woman raised an eyebrow and, knowing exactly what was expected of you, you closed your eyes and swallowed. You couldn’t help but be reminded of your first Holy Communion when, kneeling before the priest, the sacred host had been placed on your tongue.

You almost let an Amen slip from your lips when Jane suddenly grabbed a handful of your hair and your eyes snapped back open.

“How many women have you laid with?”

“Plenty.” You admitted in a whisper, wondering how many Jane had shared her bed with.

“Prove it.” She smirked, bringing your face closer to her cunt.

You didn’t waste any more time and dipped your thumbs into the warmth between Jane’s legs, brushing the tip of one thumb over her clit to watch the way her whole body responded. Jane jerked, hips canting forward, and you hid your grin by placing a soft kiss on the milky skin of her inner thigh. The woman’s breath hitched and you wondered if it was caused by her not expecting any softness from you (or anyone else).

Keeping your fingers holding Jane open, you leaned in closer, blowing lightly over her cunt before burying your face in it. You wrapped your lips around the woman’s clit and sucked sharply, Jane’s body jolting above you as a moan tore itself from the back of her throat.

The woman opened her mouth to speak but cut herself off as you sucked harder, drawing tight circles around her clit. Moving one hand from where you had it braced around Jane’s thigh, you pushed your thumb into her entrance, tugging at her opening and massaging inside of her. The streak of moans that escaped your lady’s lips made your whole body shudder.

Then suddenly her hand snaked back in your hair, holding tightly and so close to your scalp that you felt your skin burn. Jane pressed you so deep into herself you could hardly breathe. She had taken back control of herself, and of you as well. You fisted the material of Jane’s drawers and squeezed your eyes shut as your tongue was ridden, your lady grinding herself into your mouth exactly how she wanted, how she needed.

Feverish shivers ran down your spine, your knees slowly sliding open on the wood flooring. You wished you had tucked a pillow between your legs before this began so you could ride out your own pleasure as you dripped from having your face fucked. But your lady wouldn’t have allowed it, you were quite certain she enjoyed having you squirm helplessly.

Jane’s movements became erratic, her chest quickly heaving up and down as she desperately chased her release. And then you felt it. You felt her come. You felt the cruelest woman you knew come into your mouth, her clit throbbing against your tongue as she let a single loud guttural moan out.

As the hand on the back of your head loosened its grip, you slumped against the older woman’s thigh. And as you knelt there, half of your face slick and chin dripping with Jane’s essence, you wondered - is this how Eve felt, taking the first bite of the forbidden fruit, as pomegranate juice dripped on her naked breasts from her open lips?

————————————————————————

tag list: @mysteriouslysapphic @opheliauniverse @yourlocaldisneyvillain @notinmyvocab @h-doodles @teeniegreeniebeanie @katie-bennet @willowshadenox @bikergurl5 @renravens

[weemsfreak]

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."

[daydream-cement]

Across the Room (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x Reader

Lust at first sight when Jane spots you from across the room.

Author's Note: This is the fourth week of Smutember with @alexusonfire! The prompt was lust at first sight and who better for this prompt than sweet Janey.

You felt her burning gaze on your body all night. You have heard stories of Jane Murstone. Stories of her cruelty... and murmurings of her preference for the fairer sex. These quiet rumors had been told by your past lovers, and from the way Jane was watching you, she must have heard the same stirrings about you.

The party was big enough that no one would notice Jane and you eyeing one another. Her raven hair was pinned back so neatly and her pursed lips would shift ever so slightly when she smirked. She wore a gorgeous red gown - a shade of deep, dark crimson that was certainly clouding your judgment more than the spiked punch.

Your eyes watched her intently through all of her conversations and movements. It wasn’t until an acquaintance broke your train of thought that you lost sight of the beautiful ravenette. When you glanced over your chatty friend’s shoulder, Jane had moved from her earlier spot causing you to shift from foot to foot to search for her. 

A commanding voice from behind startled you from your search for Ms. Murdstone, “Pardon for my intrusion…”

When you spun around to see who was speaking, you had to turn your gaze upwards when you were met with the sight of a chest of a woman covered in crimson fabric. Your eyes traveled her face Your lips parted slightly to suck in a breath - her beauty from up close left you speechless.

Jane’s eyes journeyed over you. Her gaze seemed so critical, but by the glint in her eye you knew she liked what she saw. A smile growing on her lips only further confirmed your suspicions that she had sinful intentions behind her words and movements.

“I was told by a mutual friend that we share a love of needlework.” Jane’s hand rose to rest on your arm, thumb brushing the inside of your elbow, causing chills to run down your spine. “Would you care for a walk?”

“Yes-” Your answer came far too quickly, so you had to deliberately slow yourself down so as to not seem too desperate for her attention. You spoke to Jane before turning to your acquaintance, you gave an apologetic smile, “I would like that very much. Apologies. I’ll see you later, hm?”

Jane held your elbow as she guided you through the crowd, her voice low and thick like honey, “I do love your dress, sweeting. The fit is absolutely divine...”

“This color on you is ravishing, but I could certainly do with less fabric.” You return at a volume low enough for only Jane to hear. 

You knew where this was headed. There would be no grand romance tonight. Jane’s grip on your arm was proof of that. She was only interested in the anatomy that lay under your skirts, and you weren’t opposed to hiking up your dress in some darkened corner for this beautiful ravenette. 

“Such a wicked imagination you have.” Jane growled as she led you away from the dancing and socializing towards a garden dimly lit by lanterns every fifty feet or so. When Jane passed her own acquaintances, she looked from them and then to you with a concerned expression, “Poor child was feeling faint and in need of fresh air.” 

It was hard to act out your fictional illness as Jane’s white lie pleased you greatly. You were able to shoot her friends a sad look before dropping your gaze to the floor so they couldn’t see how pleased you were with your current situation. 

Once out of the manor, Jane tugged at your arm as she strode towards a bench seated against the home in a delightfully darkened area. If you weren't mistaken, you would have nearly a half hour to return to the party lest you are missed and someone were to come looking. 

Jane gestured for you to sit and you did as you were told, grinning widely as she seated herself so your thighs were touching. 

“You seem to have an issue with staring.” Jane chided - her tone seemingly harsh while the smirk on her lips told a different story. 

Your reply was simple, “You are quite beautiful.” 

Jane was pleased with your response as she inched closer, looming over you in a way that made your heart race. Her voice was a low and silky, “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.” 

“I’ve heard stories about you, Ms. Murdstone... of your power over women.” Your words were a question if Jane would do the same to you disguised as a simple statement of fact. You would feel honored to have her slender fingers dip between your thighs to take you to heaven and back. 

Jane’s face inched closer. Her one hand sliding over the back of the bench while the other reached over you to grip the arm rest, effectively pinning you into the corner. “Would you care for a sampling?”

She wasn’t truly asking. Her lips dipped down to yours before you could even respond. You moaned upon contact. Her lips were so incredibly soft and you weren’t but a few seconds into your kiss when Jane’s hands seized your hips and her body shifted to lean against yours. 

The odd angle of your back pressing into the wood would have been more agonizing, but Jane’s hand sliding up your chest over your breast drove you wild. She paused for a moment to cup your breast through your corset, her finger tips gracing the top of your breast where it lay exposed. All of her hand movements preambled something so much more pleasurable and you felt your heat dampening in response. 

Her hand slipped in the waistband of your underwear, her fingers wasting no time dipping into your folds. You sucked in a breath as Jane made contact with your clit while Jane exhaled slowly. “Oh, darling...” 

Your eyes glued themselves to Jane’s face, watching her every expression as her fingers explored your cunt. In an instant her fingers slipped from your heat as she drew them up to her mouth and tasted you with a long overzealous moan. Her eyes focused on yours for an intense moment as her tongue swirled around her digits. She wanted you to see how much she loved your taste. 

“Open.” Jane ordered as she transferred her fingers from her mouth into yours. The taste of yourself was faint, but you were more so aroused with the knowledge that Jane’s saliva was on your tongue. 

Jane watched you with darkened eyes. Her words made you feel as if she would consume you, “I’ve heard about you, darling. A maid and a cook in my home have told me about your wandering hands and talented tongue. When I saw you, I knew I needed to try you out for myself.” 

The ravenette pulled her fingers from your mouth and down they went again to play with your throbbing cunt. She found your clit with ease and began rubbing slow, methodical circles. To silence yourself, you attached your lips to hers - an action Jane accepted happily as her tongue traveled across your bottom lip before swiping across your tongue.

Your mind was clouded from desire. You couldn’t think of anything other than her hand between your legs. Any thoughts of being caught with Jane were absent. 

Her fingers moved faster around your clit. The ravenette knew you were limited on time and she wasn’t looking to extend out the orgasm by teasing you. 

Jane snaked her spare arm around the back of your neck, drawing your body to hers, and all the while her mouth never left yours. Your hips were writhing and bucking against her hand, desperate to come. 

She increased the pressure against your clit and you could hear the faint slick sounds of her fingers working against you. These sensations combined with the sloppy, intense kisses from Jane drove you over the edge. The ravenette swallowed your cries and quickly pulled her hand from your bloomers, not wanting to be seen in such a compromising position. 

Jane pulled away from the kiss and smirked down at you as her fingers pushed past her lips once again. You watched helplessly as she sucked her fingers clean. 

When she was finished she reached out and grasped your cheeks with a hand, tugging you close. With a wide smile, her tongue darted from her mouth and she licked your lips, delighted in the power she held over you. 

“That’s a good pet. We should probably return to the party before some notice our absence.”

“Indeed.” You murmur, slightly disappointed when she withdraws her hand and stands. 

You stood on wobbly legs and followed suit, trailing after her like a love struck puppy. Before you could draw too close to the manor entrance, Jane paused and waited for you. Her demeanor was significantly brighter than when you saw her roaming the party beforehand. 

“Would you care for tea tomorrow afternoon, darling?” Jane whispered, her teeth nipping at your ear. Her hand shifted from the small of your back to palm your ass through your gown. “We could continue our conversation.”

“Sounds divine, miss. I’ll have the opportunity to return the favor.” You coo before leaving a lingering kiss to the corner of her lips and leave her standing in the darkness of the gardens. 

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @scream-queenlover, @mcufanisme, @peanutbutterprincess, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @dumbasslesbi, @giogwensversion, @milciak, @gela123, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @h-doodles, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic

[royalsunshinehotel]

Hello again! Sorry I didnt see that you answered my message tumblr didnt notify me for some reason 🤦‍♀️. And boy do i have ideas for ya boy, our heart and soul, David. (If u still write for him that is).

Picture this: you and david are newlyweds and on a honeymoon. Im picturing something like the channel islands like Jersey, where theres still a nice city aspect but you can get pretty solitary if u want. You run around, do some shopping maybe, goof off together. You both have a cottage that overlooks the water. You both walk by the edge of the water for a bit, completely lovesick and he just chats about how lucky he is that you said yes to him. He keeps telling you how lovely look and you keep teasing him too. Eventually the banter gets very heated and he drags you back to your room in the cottage and ✨️christens✨️ it with you.

This is just an idea btw, not a request or anything so think on this , and have a lovely day!

A Lucky Cloud (David Copperfield x wife!reader, 18+)

Giddy was the perfect word for it.

It had been exactly two days since you had met David at the church and become his wife. You find it's quite convenient because early that morning, you were able to kiss the top of David's nose to wake him, and instead of leaving, the two of you would take breakfast together. Your husband is quite a handsome man, it simply has to be said.

You watched him, as you always do, take a sip of his tea, large hands, long elegant fingers holding the cup. Those were the same hands you'd felt everywhere the evening before. He had the nerve to bat his long lashes at you, "What are you thinking, dearest?"

"You're all mine." You stated simple facts, David smiled and put his cup down.

"I am, we signed the papers." Til death do us part, though David said longer.

"And I'm yours." You grinned for no real reason, and David moved his chair back, leaving his lap open. It would have been a shame to leave that seat empty, so you pounced.

"You are. Gone soft on me, have you?" He sighed as you sat down in his lap, as if he had been holding his breath. 

"I have. How sad." David takes your chin with his thumb, and brings your mouth to his, kissing your pout. He tasted sweet, from the sugar cubes piled in his tea. He enjoyed your mouth for a moment, hands roaming over clothes, but he pulled away…

"As much as I would like to take you back to bed, I think we should take a walk today, just to say we did." You blinked at him.

"Outside?" You cocked your head. Why would he want to do a thing like that?

"Outside. Maybe just along the water." Oh, David did enjoy large bodies of water, you wouldn't deny him that.

"But not too far." You stated, looking him in his big eyes. 

I’d like to be back in bed within the hour, you thought. 

"Not too far." He confirmed, kissing your cheek. Your husband helps you up off his lap, coughing lightly, ignoring the state of his trousers. 

It's just another moment, that the two of you finished your breakfast, and got changed. You wouldn’t bother to tell David why you’re not putting on your various layers. You’ll just be wearing your overcoat and hoping for the best. 

You squeaked as David kissed the back of your neck, while helping you put on your coat. It was something simple, but you still felt weak in the knees. How strange it was! You weren't a woman who squeaked before you met David, and it still managed to surprise you.

He opened the door for you, and you tried not to wince as the cool air hit your skin. This would be a lovely interlude to what had been an alarming amount of time spent on marital relations. You would enjoy the break, or you wouldn’t let David see that you would much rather be inside, underneath him. 

Overall, you’d say your honeymoon was going quite well. You never saw yourself as someone who could get married, but then David barreled into your life and showed you how wrong you were. 

The autumn sun hit your skin and you sighed lighty, letting the cool fresh air take hold. He was right, as much as you’d hate to admit it. It was a lovely idea. 

You snuggled into your husband's arm, fingers toying with the cuff of his wool overcoat. Jersey was a fantastic choice for the two of you, plenty of good food in town, but plenty of nature too. You knew David grew up with natural life close by, maybe you could give your children the same luxury!

The two of you leisurely made your way down to the stony beach, you released his arm, and let him go to the edge of the water like you know he loves to do. 

“You were right husband, just this one time.” He scoffed at you, giving you a big toothy grin, sticking his hand into the lake. 

You sat on a large log and watched your husband enjoy himself. You breathe deeply, letting the air refresh you, cleanse. David came to sit by you. 

“Do you think our children will come here one day?” You asked, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Our children?” He asked, voice tinged with incredulousness. 

“Tell me you’ve thought of them.” Before the wedding, it was practically all he could talk about!! 

“I have!” Since the wedding, he hasn't. He’d been a little lost in you. But he was thinking of them now.

David put your hand in his own, linking your fingers. 

“David.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to meet our children sooner?” 

“...Yes.”

Getting home was both a sprint and a blur. 

As a former chorus girl, you had to be athletic. David, your beloved, was typically not. However, today the power of desire would make him keep pace, behind you like a loyal dog.

A chilly fall breeze blew the two of you through the front door, David slammed it immediately after, as you pinned him against it, about to tear through his coat and shirt to get to him. 

He beamed as you put your mouth everywhere you could reach, frantically, like the two of you were reuniting after a war. He moaned into your mouth, your grip on his coat lapels unforgiving. 

“You’d debase me in the hallway, dearest?” he asked, coming up for air, only for a moment. You scowled at him, pretending to pout. 

Slowly, you backed away from him, and he batted his big eyes at you, “You should run then,” he cocked his head, “Or I’ll start without you.” 

His eyes flash as you strip off your coat, and sprint to the main bedroom, you whirl around and try to slam the door, only for your dearest husband to dramatically throw himself into the door frame. Oh bless him…

He gaped at you, and you laughed at him, “Minx!” he declared, “You’d lock out your husband?” 

“When he’s misbehaved, yes!” How dare he be unwilling to take you in the hallway! It never stopped the two of you before!

“I’d argue it was you who misbehaved!” He tried, as if you hadn’t been suffering on your day out. 

“Then come over here and punish me for it.” 

David stared at you a moment, as if he was trying to make a memory. You huff at this, kicking off your shoes, and flopping back in bed. He wouldn’t punish you, he puts the idea down immediately, as well as falling to his knees. 

“May I serve you?” 

“Since you asked so nicely…” He crawled to you, and you pulled him up next to you on the bed. How ridiculous it was, to have missed someone you had spent the whole day with. 

“I’d like your mouth, husband.” You purred, brushing your nose against his. 

“So take it, wife.” He replied softly, waiting for your next cue. 

You think a moment, about the first time you mounted your David’s face, and how relentless he’d been for you. Only stopping when you said. What a good man you had. All yours, just like he said. 

Your heart skipped as David gave you the goofiest of smiles, before pulling your shared pillows into place. He’s much too tall to fuck around without pillows.

“You’re a very good husband, dearest,” you beamed at him. You had read it was important to share such thoughts. 

“I can be better!” You scoffed, undoing the buttons of David’s shirt to reveal a lovely amount of his chest. The bedroom in the house where you were staying was tightly insulated, the autumn sun streaming through the windows, making the two of you perfectly warm. 

David’s face should have felt more familiar with how much time you spent enjoying it. It was almost unfair how he was designed, looking up at you from two comfortable pillows, expectantly, mouth open. 

You thanked yourself for having the foresight to strip off your heavier clothes, as you migrate in bed, to do what David had so nicely prepared for. 

Your firm grip on his hair, his long eyelashes fluttering, a pleasant, sharp nose. How every lady he set eyes on didn’t fall, was beyond you. 

Properly seated, and your husband’s neck supported, you slowly grinded against his beautiful face. Your husband didn’t stand for this, taking a harsh grip on your ass, and pushing you down further. 

Rolling forward, you took hold of the bed frame, and took one of David’s wandering hands in your own, placing it on your belly, the other supporting your lower back. 

You adored his tongue. You practically married him for it. 

You continued to rock slowly against his face, harder and harder as your skin gets hotter and hotter. David made it so hard for you to contain yourself! You had been so calm and concealed when you met him, and now you were practically about to break his nose! 

A hand wandered up to feel your breast, and he groaned against you when he found it. 

You came loudly, boldly, onto David’s tongue, and you swore you could feel him smile against your pussy. He used his tongue to fuck you the whole way through, wobbling, clinging to the bedframe as tight as you could. 

He was the only one who could do this to you, the only one who stripped you down to your most vulnerable, and lavish you with care and sensitivity regardless of what mess he might see. 

His face was still wet with your release as you leaned back, your knees angry with you for staying still for so long. A lovely floaty feeling settled on the top of your head, like a very lucky, wispy cloud. 

David caught his breath, observing you closely. You crashed, pressing your face into his neck, his grip steady, unrelenting.. 

“Need you,” You mumbled into his hair, and you heard the vibrations of a chuckle in his chest. You really were a minx, and you knew it too.  

He helps you pull your underskirts up to your waist, his forehead pressed to your own as you feel a blunt pressure against your wetness. He’s warm, familiar by now, and it’s absolutely perfect. 

The two of you weren’t rushed by any means. David firmly rolls you back on top of him, your mouth sucking and biting at his neck at your leisure, as if he was some kind  of rare treat.

He thought, for a moment, about the first time he had you, like this, completely calm and unguarded. He vaguely registered you changing your pace as the relief the two of you were chasing got closer and closer. You’d said something so ridiculous he could almost laugh now, “You’re so good to me David, I’m afraid I don’t deserve you.” 

“What utter nonsense.” He said in the bedroom. You didn’t notice his words, completely preoccupied chasing release, faster and faster as you kept his pulse under your teeth. Your breathy little gasps and familiar squelching sounded like music, and your husband thinks to write this down. For personal use, obviously. 

The two of you held each other tightly through the come down, your head firmly resting on David’s chest, and he drew thin lines all over your skin with his fingertips. 

“I think I want to keep my hands on you forever,” He hummed into your hair. You laughed a little, leaning to press a kiss to his throat. His eyes fluttered shut at that, as they always did. 

“You can, you know,” you replied warmly, smiling as he did what he said, running large hands over you. 

“Hmmm…legs,” he traced his hands down feeling you there, as you casually brought your fingers through his dark, curly mane. 

“Hair.” You announced. He brushed his nose against your own.

“What are we doing?” 

“Saying what we love.” You hummed as if it was the most simple thing in the world. 

“Everything.” David sighed into your mouth, “Everything. Us.”

consulting credits to my dearest @youlooklike-clarabow

[weemssapphic]

I desire. And I crave.

part three

Jane Murdstone x fem!reader

series page

summary: Jane's recovery is going well. You are ecstatic for her, of course - but what does that mean for the future of your relationship?

words: ~4.3k, ao3 link

chapter-specific warnings: fluff, not really angst but maybe angst-adjacent?, nsfw (brief smut) - tribbing, cunnilingus

the final part to my lil three part series! i hope you enjoy <3

Jane’s recovery continues to go well. You spend nearly every waking moment with her, save for mealtimes (though, on occasion, you claim you aren’t feeling well and bring your own supper up to Jane’s room so that you can eat together - these are the most joyous evenings for you, being allowed to share in something so simple and domestic with Jane). Sometimes you even sleep in her bed - you make love into the night, muffling the sounds of your cries into the pillows, then fall asleep with Jane’s arm slung around your middle.

It is when Jane seems to have fully overcome the disease that your heart is the lightest - and yet somehow the heaviest - it has ever been.

The lightest, because seeing Jane up and about - with boundless energy, with her appetite back and a healthy glow about her - makes your heart sing. She is healthy and alive and everything feels normal again, and you are relieved beyond measure.

The heaviest, because it means that the two of you can no longer hide away in her chambers, indulging in your secret affair whenever it pleases you. There are places to go and people to see (and prying eyes to avoid), and what had felt exciting and new and yours suddenly causes you a twinge of worry.

You miss being able to touch Jane whenever you like. You miss the random moments of intimacy, the stolen kisses - you have to be so much more careful now. You miss calling Jane, Jane.

It is late in the evening - everyone else in the house has long since gone to sleep - and you are in your own bedroom. It is dark and you are curled up under the covers, but you cannot sleep - ever since you’ve felt the divine comfort of falling asleep in Jane’s arms, it has become much harder to fall asleep on your own.

Tonight, the feeling of missing Jane, that longing feeling that gnaws at your heart, is stronger than ever, and you slip out of your own bed and pad lightly down the hall to Jane’s room, careful to be quiet so that you don’t wake anyone else.

You open Jane’s door and slip inside her room. You are expecting to find her asleep in bed - what you don’t anticipate is that she is standing at the window, and that she doesn’t seem at all surprised by your visit. She simply turns her head towards you, her lips curling up into a wistful smile. Her face is illuminated by the moonlight that filters into the room - it casts a silvery glow over her skin. She looks like an angel in this light, youthful and sweet - that sense of longing grows stronger and you take a few strides across the room until you are standing in front of her.

Jane reaches down, cupping your cheek with her hand - it is warm and you lean into the touch, turning your face so that you can kiss her palm.

“Hello, little dove,” she whispers, ducking her head and pressing her lips to yours in a tender kiss that makes your heart flutter.

“Jane,” you whisper back, loving the way her name rolls off your tongue. Jane seems to love it, too, for a grin stretches across her face from ear to ear and she rewards you with another kiss, longer and deeper than the last.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be awake,” you murmur. “Are you well?”

“I am very well,” she replies. Then her expression turns serious. “I have something that I would like to speak with you about.”

Your stomach churns at the solemn tone to her words, and you can’t help but chew nervously at your bottom lip. “Is everything alright, has something happened?”

“No no, it’s nothing like that. I have… a proposition, of sorts. Something that I value your opinion on.” Her tone has turned more gentle, which confuses you further.

“I’m not sure I should have an opinion on anything,” you start - you are still Jane’s maid, after all, and you cannot imagine her requiring the opinion of a lowly servant.

“Nonsense, girl,” Jane tuts. Her eyes flash dangerously, impatiently. “This is something that I very well require your opinion on - or rather, your consent.”

“My consent?” You furrow your brow - you are even more wholly confused than before.

“Come, sit with me.” Jane takes your hand and leads you to her bed. She sits primly at the edge, and you take your place beside her, wringing your hands in your lap as you wait for her to speak.

“As you are aware, I have taken a great liking to you-”

You cannot help but snort at the understatement of the century - the woman nearly died as a result of her love for you - then quickly cover your mouth in horror at having made such an ugly sound.

Jane flushes, briefly averting her eyes before continuing. “I have not felt this sort of affection for anyone in a long time. What we have goes beyond the bounds of a professional relationship. I have gathered that the feeling is mutual?” 

You are sure she knows the answer to this question - she should know - so the fact that she is seeking confirmation amuses you greatly. You smile, suddenly feeling a bit shy, and nod - you still wonder where Jane is going with this.

“It has become… increasingly difficult, following my recovery, to carry on in a professional manner. I no longer wish for you to be my maid, nor do I wish to hide in shame in my own home.”

“I understand.” Your heart begins to pound - you somehow feel you are about to hear either the best or the worst news of your life, with no in between.

“I spoke with my brother this afternoon. We decided it best for my health that I move permanently to our summer cottage by Windermere, and that my lady’s maid accompanies me to act as a caretaker.”

You are still confused. “But you are fully recovered, are you not?”

Jane smiles wryly. “My brother is, fortunately, still unaware of what ailed me. Of course it would not be in anyone’s best interests if I were to fall ill again.”

Suddenly, it clicks. Jane has found a way for the two of you to be together - to live freely, bound by your love for each other. Butterflies spread out their satin wings in your belly, fluttering madly about, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“Will you do me the honor of accompanying me?” Jane’s face is an impassive mask - she holds her chin high and gazes down at you with an expression bordering disinterest - but you can tell from the slight tremble in her voice that she is worried you will say no.

You won’t, of course. You could never say no to Jane - stubborn, brash, haughty Jane - beautiful, witty, thoughtful Jane.

“Yes, Jane,” you breathe out. “Yes.”

A smile breaks out across Jane’s face and she surges forward to capture your lips with her own. She deepens the kiss almost immediately, licking into your mouth - you let out a soft whimper at the urgency she shows. Her hands grasp your waist and she lays back against the pillows, pulling you with her. You rest on top of her - her arms are wrapped possessively around your middle, keeping you in place.

You pull back from the kiss to catch your breath, propping yourself up on your elbows so that you can look down at Jane. The way she is staring at you - as if you are the sole reason for her world continuing to turn - makes your breath catch in your throat.

“When do we leave?” you finally ask, playing with the loose plait in Jane’s hair.

“Edward is arranging travel for us for Saturday.”

Three days. Three days before you get to spend the rest of your life at Jane’s side, as her lover rather than her maid. Three days before you can cease to worry about keeping quiet, before you can steal a kiss whenever you wish and openly admire Jane as you please - the thought makes you light-headed and giddy.

Jane’s fingers curl in your hair, nails scratching lovingly at the nape of your neck, before she yanks your head back and attaches her lips to your throat. She kisses and sucks - gently, not hard enough to leave a bruise - you can tell she is holding back.

Her lips move lower, down your sternum, finding the hem of your nightgown. She unbuttons a few buttons then tugs it down, freeing one of your breasts - her tongue finds your nipple, soothing its velvety surface over the small bud until it hardens. You let out a soft moan of encouragement and Jane scrapes her teeth harshly over the bud, sending a shockwave of pain through your body that morphs into pleasure somewhere along the way. 

Jane lets go of your nipple and her hands come to rest on your waist, flipping you over so that you are on your back and she is hovering over you. You yelp at the suddenness of the movement and there is a flash of warning in Jane’s eyes.

“If you aren’t quiet, I’ll have to punish you - no one will be able to hear your cries out in the countryside.” Her smile is dark, sickeningly sweet - you can tell she is picturing herself carrying out your punishment. Her hand taps your outer thigh, a warning - you feel heat pooling in your belly at the thought. 

“If you’re a good girl, however, I will show you the greatest pleasure imaginable. Tell me, little dove, can you be good for me?” Her voice drops an octave as she speaks and you feel a knot beginning to form in your belly.

Your breathing stutters in response and you nod frantically - this earns you a light slap to your upper thigh, not harsh enough to really be painful (and Jane seems insistent on being as quiet as possible), but you feel a sticky wetness coat your inner thighs anyway.

“Words, girl,” Jane growls threateningly.

“Yes, mistress,” you breathe out.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I can be a good girl for you.”

Jane appraises you for a moment with a raised eyebrow. She seems pleased with your response and pushes your nightgown up over your waist, before hiking her own over her hips. She straddles you and you think she might crawl over your face and have you pleasure her from below again, but then she lowers herself onto your stomach, smearing her juices over your skin. You gasp - she is soaked, and your own arousal trickles down your thighs. 

She rolls her hips, looking down at you with dark, hooded eyes - her gaze is piercing, filled with lust - you cannot tear your eyes away from hers. There is something deeply erotic about the way that Jane meets your gaze as she pleasures herself on your stomach, and you rest your hands on her waist, feeling each thrust and roll of her body against yours.

Her lips part to let out shallow breaths - she is getting closer - and she smiles wickedly as she maneuvers herself further down your body, rubbing herself against you. You watch her questioningly - then you feel her spread your legs and rub herself against your clit and you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out.

Jane bucks her hips erratically, holding onto your waist to steady herself as she comes - a soft, strangled cry leaves her lips, then her jaw goes slack. She looks so beautiful - there are beads of sweat rolling down her forehead, her eyes are squeezed shut, her chest is flushed and heaving. She grips at your waist with surprising strength as she rides out her high, and you feel her arousal dripping out of her, mixing with your own.

“Sweet girl,” she rasps once she has stilled, her breathing still labored. She reaches between your legs, gathering up the mixture of your arousal - you squirm as her fingers brush against your heat, you are still very turned on - and bringing her fingers to your mouth. 

You close your lips around her digits, groaning at the heavenly taste - your walls clench around nothing, desperate for your own release. 

“Please,” you mumble. Jane smirks down at you, before sliding down your body and lining up her face with your cunt. You watch her, entranced - her eyes flutter shut as she inhales deeply. It embarrasses you a little, but she seems to be aroused by your scent - her eyes snap open and meet yours, and she looks starved. She nips at the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, smirking when you flinch. 

You writhe and push your hips towards her, and she relents, her tongue lapping at your folds before reaching your clit. Jane hums - the vibrations feel heavenly on that sensitive little bundle of nerves, and you swallow back a moan. 

Jane is unrelenting in her devotion to bringing you to your peak, and your orgasm quickly washes over you. You work hard not to make any noise, tears spilling out of your eyes as your thighs tremble and wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

You barely realize that Jane has crawled up next to you until you feel her thumb caressing your cheek, her warm breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Little dove.” The nickname makes you smile, and you reach out your arms. Jane looks confused for a moment, but scoots closer nonetheless. Wrapping your arms around the older woman, you pull her flush against you. The thin fabric of your nightgowns separates you tonight - that makes you smile, as you realize that in three days, you won’t need them anymore at all - it will just be the two of you, always.

Soon, Jane will shoo you from her bed. You will insist on helping her clean herself up, before padding back to your room, careful not to get caught - you will fall asleep, alone, in your own bed. Perhaps you will hug a pillow and pretend it is Jane. Then, come morning, you will pass by Emily on your way to Jane’s chambers - Emily will greet you, and you will smile back at her, making some remark about how you are running late and how cruel, merciless Miss Murdstone will have your head if you linger too long. You will enter Jane’s chambers and the older woman will be waiting for you - as soon as the door closes, she will pull you in for a kiss, and you will take your time helping her get ready for the day. You will go about your duties and nod courteously when you pass her in the hallways, until you are needed again.

It has been your daily routine for the past few weeks - a routine that, in just three days time, will no longer be necessary. 

For now, you hold Jane close and stroke her hair, listening to the deep rhythm of her slow breaths - enjoying the peace that her presence gifts you with. 

~~~

Jane has had enough - enough of carrying a secret around her own house, as though loving you is shameful, something to be disgusted by, rather than the most precious thing that has ever happened to her. 

She is nothing if not determined, however, and she knows her younger brother has a soft spot for her. It is no surprise to her when, with little convincing, he agrees to allow her to move permanently to the family’s summer cottage, with her lady’s maid as a caretaker. She doesn't know if he is aware of the nature of your relationship - she has her suspicions, but as long as he keeps quiet then, frankly, she doesn’t care.

You show up in Jane’s chambers that evening - though unannounced, from the way that you’d looked at her when you’d finished plaiting her hair for bed, she had her suspicions that you’d stop by. She can tell you haven’t been sleeping well since you’ve been relegated permanently back to your own room following her recovery, and she can hardly blame you - she feels much more at ease with your steady breathing to lull her to sleep.

When Jane asks you if you’ll accompany her, she feels anxious - this is not something she feels often, and she loathes it. She feels as though her entire future rests in your delicate hands - it is an unfamiliar feeling to her, that another person may have this much power over her. She cannot help the slight tremble that laces her voice and it disgusts her so that she nearly considers taking everything back.

But then you say “yes”. The relief that washes over her in that moment is cathartic in nature - she feels almost childish in the excitement that suddenly buzzes through her entire body. Her lips find yours in an instant and she pulls you on top of her, an intoxicating sort of possessiveness clouding her mind as she wraps you in her embrace.

When you pull back for air, Jane can see the adoration and love written plainly across your face - she still doesn’t understand how it could be directed at her, but she has decided not to question it. 

She wants so badly to mark you where everyone can see - to show the world that you are hers and hers alone. She shows restraint - she is proud of herself for it. Three more days - then she can litter you in black and blue marks wherever she sees fit.

The way the two of you make love this evening is different somehow - Jane feels as though she is baring her soul to you when your eyes meet as she rides you, but she finds she doesn’t mind as much as she thought she would. Instead, she feels exhilarated, able to express a yearning for intimacy that she didn’t know she possessed. She finally feels seen - and it doesn’t scare her. She doesn’t trust many people, but somehow she feels she can trust you, and it is that fact, more so than the steady grinding of her hips or even the slight power play, that brings her over the edge this time.

When you move to wrap your arms around her, she finds herself conflicted - a vulnerability is creeping up inside of her, and it makes her want to shut you out. But the craving for your warmth is too great and she gives in, allowing you to envelop her completely - it is a feeling that brings her great comfort, and she allows herself to drown in it.

~~~

Three days. Three days that pass in a blur - there are belongings to pack and loose ends to tie up: company calls and Jane finds herself exhausted and on edge as she fields questions about her health and her future. What gets her through is what waits for her at the end of those three days: the promise of a lifetime with you.

On Saturday morning, Jane is both excited and nervous - she is awake much earlier than usual and finds herself pacing about her room, jumping when your usual knock sounds in the silence of the space.

“Good morning, Jane.” You beam up at her with a smile so infectious that Jane cannot help but smile back. It assuages her worries a little bit - at least you don’t seem to regret your decision to accompany her.

Jane is silent as you help her dress. As she sits at her vanity, watching you pin up her hair (your brows furrow slightly in concentration, and Jane finds it so cute that she wants to kiss you senseless) the worries return - a persistent gnawing in her stomach, a constricting of her lungs. She wonders if you’ve only said yes because you are paid to assist her, if you realize that saying yes means you will be stuck in a cottage with an old spinster like her for the rest of your life. 

You are taking your time with her hair this morning, pinning each wave methodically, allowing your fingers to dance along her scalp after each pin that you’ve placed - this makes Jane feel even more on edge.

“I’m not paying you to dawdle,” she hisses, immediately regretting her harshness when you jump back as if burned.

“I apologize, milady,” you say automatically, meeting Jane’s gaze in the mirror - your eyes are wide and your cheeks blaze scarlet. Her stomach drops.

“Jane,” she whispers. You blink slowly, and Jane is now certain she must look insane - she certainly feels it. Ever since you have called her by her first name, she no longer cares for the smug sense of superiority that milady or Miss Murdstone bring her - at least not from you. There is an intimacy in your use of “Jane”, a closeness that she has come to crave. “Call me Jane.” 

You pause, and she hates the silence - she feels she may drown in it.

“Well then, Jane, what are you paying me for?” You raise your chin - your voice wavers slightly, but you glare at Jane and she feels a deep, burning shame bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

Another uncomfortable silence fills the room and Jane is left, for possibly the first time in her life, speechless. When she finally speaks, she can hear the uncertainty in her own voice and it makes her sick to her stomach.

“I… do not wish to pay you at all.” At your raised eyebrow, she takes a deep breath and continues. “I wish for us to be equals in our new home. I simply… wonder, whether or not you’ve put due thought into this decision. I do not wish you to regret your choice.”

Your face softens and Jane finds herself looking away. She has rarely afforded anyone such honesty about her feelings and it causes her great unease. Your hands rest on her shoulders and squeeze gently, causing a shiver to travel down her spine.

“I have thought about my decision, Jane.” The emphasis on her name causes her heart to clench, and she glances up briefly to regard you in the mirror. “Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than to accompany you. I would do so as your lady’s maid if it afforded me the chance to be by your side, though I would, of course, prefer to come as your lover.” 

Your cheeks are pink but your voice is steady, and Jane feels her heart thundering against her ribcage. 

“I love you,” she whispers - the words feel foreign on her tongue, and she realizes she hasn’t voiced them properly until this moment.

“I love you,” you whisper back, clearly trying to hide the smile that threatens to overtake your entire face - then, mercifully, you turn your attention back to her hair, pinning up the last waves before placing her bonnet on her head and tying it in place. 

“There. It suits you, you know,” you say with a smile, and Jane waves a hand in front of her face, her cheeks warming. She is not accustomed to being complimented, and you do so often - it makes her go weak in the knees, and she is glad she is currently seated.

“You flatter me,” she murmurs, turning in her seat to cup your cheek and meet your gaze. “Will you give me a moment, little dove?”

“Of course. I’ll just take your things to the carriage.” You lean forward and press your lips to Jane’s - your lips are soft and warm and the kiss is chaste, and, for the first time that she can remember, Jane feels wholly loved.

You offer her a dazzling grin before taking her suitcase and exiting the room, giving Jane a moment to collect herself before she follows you downstairs. Her brother and the rest of the servants wait near the front door.

Jane watches you bid the servants farewell. She tries to hide the soft smile that threatens to creep up on her face - you are kind and sincere as you wish the others well, and Jane feels proud that, out of everyone in the world, you have chosen her. 

She hums dismissively when the servants curtsey towards her - she is too busy watching you step into the carriage, and she has never cared much for them anyway. If anything, she is glad to be rid of their incompetence - she will fare much better if it is only you by her side.

Edward says he will visit soon, and she nods absentmindedly, saying goodbye and ducking her head to step into the carriage. The driver closes the door behind her and she glances out the window - the servants look happy to see her go, but she cannot find it in herself to care. Not when her own heart is threatening to burst at the seams with joy.

Jane finds any lingering doubts dissipating as she feels the carriage begin to move. She meets your gaze - you are smiling giddily at her and she feels her heart swell in response. You place your hand on the bench between the two of you, palm up, and wiggle your fingers. Jane offers you a small smile, barely perceptible - bordering on a smirk, really - she is unsure how to properly express her elation, but the giggle she receives in response indicates that you understand. She peels off a black glove and places her bare hand in your own, lacing your fingers together. The warm touch of your skin on hers grounds her as she looks out the window, feeling - for the very first time since her youth - euphoria at the thought of her future.

x

tags: @dianneking @yourlocaldisneyvillain @anti-bright-places @mrs-hilmarson @rainbow-hedgehog @s-c-rambledegggs @sapphicsbeloved @eveymay @scream-queenlover @orchidsshine @brienneswife

thank you for reading and sharing this series, i really enjoyed writing it and i hope you liked it as well <3 any and all feedback means the world to me!

[dianneking]

10 Days of Gwen Goodbyes - Day 2 (Jane Murdstone)

Welcome to day 2 of my little 100w drabble series celebrating Gwendoline Christie's characters as well as my one true love, angst.

Today's character is our beloved dour lady, the one and only Miss Jane Murdstone... I hope you enjoy (the pain)!

As always, this drabble is crossposted on AO3 and the link's in the title below.

Summary: Jane has always been a private woman, keeping her feelings and personal affairs close to her heart. And nobody knows that in a secret pocket close to her heart is precisely where she still to this day carries this letter. The last one her lover sent her.

---

Day 2: Jane Murdstone - The Last Letter.

TW: angst, goodbyes, drabble, implied terminal illness, implied death, letter format, epistolary drabble. Wordcount: 100w

“My dearest Jane.

How desperately I miss you. I can see you frowning at this letter as if you were here in front of me, not an enthusiastic supporter of outward displays of affection, are you? Yet, oh, how my lips yearn to kiss the little crease between your brows!

Allow me my sentimentality, my beloved. One last time, at least. Even now, it is getting harder and harder to hold my quill. This might be the last letter you’ll get from me, but you’ll be in my thoughts and in my heart until my last breath.

Forever yours

YN”

Liked it? Here's the link to the previous one as well as to the next one! And to the 10 Days of Gwen Goodbyes masterpost! And to my own masterlist of all my fanfictions!

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

MUMMY... trying this again. I have a request for you, if you'd like. You would make me the happiest person ever if you were to write a coffee shop au for Lucifer (or Jane actually, but idk anything about victorian cafés hahaha - though, maybe... a modern day jane? <.<) <3 love you

hi, darling :))) here it is. a modern jane coffee shop au, chapter 1. enjoy! <3

please don't hesitate to leave me a comment if you feel so inclined, it makes my heart sing! <3 <3 <3

[igelmanz]

I NEED someone to write more about Jane Murdstone and Jan Stevens, my underrated queens

[spikershoyo]

guys send more dev and his characters request I can feel the creativeness flowing (I am still working on the angst but I HAVE THE VISION)

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝔻𝕖𝕧 ℙ𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕝 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

Characters: Sir Gawain (The Green Knight), The Kid (Monkey Man), Joshua Madika (Modern Love), David Copperfield, Sanjay Menha (The Wedding Guest).

[m]- mature, [s]- suggestive, [a]- angst, [f]- fluff, [c] - crack/comedy, • - headcannon

Sir Gawain

Opia [m], [f]

Joshua Madika

Black Tie [f], [s]

David Copperfield

[14:24] [f], [c]

Monkey Man

[21:54] [f], [a]

Requests are closed :(

[ierofrnkk]

Organized generally by the actors that play each character. Requests are open!

Oscar Isaac

Fics

Many Moons Are Deep at Play - werewolf!Steven Grant x reader

The Sum of His Parts - Steven Grant x reader

Summer’s Over - merman!Cecil Dennis x reader

I Love You, Go Back To Sleep - Poe Dameron x reader

Bots

Basil Stitt - he ended things on a weird note

Cecil Dennis - he’s a merman

Jake Lockley - rainy late night drive

Jonathan Levy - it’s getting late

Jonathan Levy - caring for you after a long day (CG!Jonathan)

Llewyn Davis - he needs your couch for the night

Steven Grant - help him stay awake

Steven Grant - cuddling on the couch

Hugh Jackman

Drover - he’s not so talkative

Eddie Adler - you’re his new roommate

Jack Willis - he really does love you

Logan Howlett - happy retirement

Logan Howlett - waking up early

Wolverine - roommates

Dev Patel

David Copperfield - you’re lodging with him

Deon Wilson - you have his undivided attention

Gawain - the knight

Saroo Brierly - still lost

The Kid - you clean him up after a fight

Timber Woods - the radio’s broken

Jay Baruchel

Dave Stutler

- best friends, right?

- he takes you to his lab

- cozy night in with your bf

- he’s texting you!

Oliver Whynacht - mortician’s assistant

Misc.

Calvin Weir-Fields - semi-successful author

Danny Foster - coworkers

Eli Brooks - amateur filmmaker

Eric Bottler - you reunite at a halloween party

Ethan Whyte - he wants the best for you

Hutch - he’s got the hutch touch

Jam Bruce - the drummer

Jay Cavendish - he’s indebted to you

Josh Levison - he’s a wolf

Newt Scamander - magizooligist

The Eleventh Doctor

The Twelfth Doctor

header creds to @silvernight-m !! 🩵

[milfsloverblog]

hello! I love your Larissa fic and I was wondering if you would write for Jane Murdstone (ik she is a red flag but I’m colorblind) ? Jane and reader are in a secret relationship, maybe a oneshot about reader waking up in Jane’s bed after they spent the night together ? Some fluff and angst ? Thank you 🛐

A/N: Hi anon!! Thank you for your request, sorry it took me so long to write it. I’m in post con/post meeting Gwen depression lol. I hope this exceeds your expectations, I added some smut because why not ? Thank you again for the request <3

Unlace me (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x fem!reader

TW: smut, internalised homophobia, Jane is a tw in herself

You could talk about it for hours, the feeling of waking up next to Jane for the first time. And yet it was indescribable.

—————

Jane had waltzed into your life a few months ago when her brother had married your Lady. You knew right away that she would be trouble, not only in your Lady’s household but in your personal life too.

What had struck you first was, of course, her height. When she had walked into the kitchen where you had been working to introduce herself, you looked up right in time to see her duck to get through the door. Her face had been hidden by her black bonnet and when she finally lifted her head, you dropped the whisk that you had been holding. Her cerulean eyes looked you up and down and the corner of her lips tugged into what you later learnt to be Jane’s way of smiling.

Your Lady had told you that Miss Murdstone would be living at the manor, ostensibly to relieve you of some of the housework. It didn’t make much sense to you as you’d never complain about the number of chores you had to do, but it was not your place to question your Lady’s decision. Quickly after that, the Murdstones siblings moved into the manor.

It didn’t take you long to realise that Jane Murdstone thought of herself as superior to you, and treated you more as her maid than a fellow housekeeper. And so you had found yourself, more often than not, caring for the tall woman’s needs. Not that you minded, you would be a fool to complain about tending to a woman like Jane.

You had been another kind of fool though, for your heart skipped a beat every time Jane’s eyes bored into yours and your knees went weak each time your name was on her lips. You still had a hard time admitting that you had fallen in love. Not only had you fallen for a woman, but a cruel one at that. One who only seemed to acknowledge you when she needed someone to brush her hair or unlace her corset.

But then again, you didn’t mind. You thought there was something deeply intimate in unlacing the woman’s corset, allowing her to close her eyes and take a deep breath as she stretched her back.

Jane rarely said a word as you helped her disrobe before leading her to the dressing table. You would take the pins off her hair and carefully brush through it, your fingers often lingering there for a second too long once you were done braiding it. And if Jane noticed, she never mentioned it.

Once that was done she would usually gesture towards the door, silently letting you know that your help wasn’t needed anymore. You would nod and leave the room, never forgetting to wish the woman a good night. Jane never answered, but as soon as you were out of the room her lips always spread in a small smile as her fingertips grazed her braided hair. Perhaps she was a foolish woman too.

—————————

You knew that evening would be different as soon as the woman stepped foot inside the manor. You heard her climb the stairs two at a time and close her bedroom door a little too vigorously.

“Miss Murdstone ?” You called from the hallway, waiting for permission to walk in. After a few long seconds of silence, you decided to push the door open and walked inside the room. Jane was standing in front of the tall mirror, hands twisted in her back as she unsuccessfully tried to loosen up her corset. She was muttering something under her breath that sounded unintelligible to you, making her look like a crazy woman.

“Let me help you, I will unlace it.” You said as you took a few long strides, hands reaching for the woman’s back.

“Keep your dirty hands off me!” Jane immediately snapped at you, making your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. “I do not need your help. I do not need you, or anyone else for that matter!” She said nearly out of breath, hands still fumbling with the lacing on the back of her corset.

“Jane for Heaven’s sake! You will make yourself faint, let me help!” You said urgently, so urgently that you didn’t notice you had used her first name until she spun around to face you, her eyes wide and her face flushed.

“How dare you ?!” The tall woman spat the words out and raised her hand, making you flinch as you waited for her palm to hit your cheek.

Jane realised what she was about to do as soon as you flinched and her hand immediately dropped to the side of her body. You were scared of her. You were expecting her to hit you. And she almost had.

A strange feeling crept inside the woman’s chest, making her take a step closer to you.

I am so sorry, please forgive me. Jane wanted to say, but she was unable to. She’d never said those words before and they died in her throat before she even managed to push them out to you.

You watched as Jane’s brows furrowed, her mouth falling slightly open as she seemed to be searching for something to say. Her eyes were filled with something you’d never seen in them, something you did not think Jane Murdstone could feel. Remorse. Guilt.

“I love you.” You whispered barely audibly, eyes still locked on her face. You had no idea why you’d said it, but you did. You knew Jane thrived on power, and you had just given her the power to ruin your life with this simple admission.

And so you waited for her harsh and cruel words to hit you, for her to call you unnatural or deviant, but she didn’t. She let out a shaky breath and the next second her lips were crashing against yours.

It wasn’t soft nor sweet, Jane’s kiss was almost as demanding and almost as bruising as she was. You couldn’t help but wonder if she had wanted this for as long as you had, thought about you the way you had thought about her.

You grabbed her waist, your fingers digging into the fabric of her corset as you pulled the woman impossibly closer. Don’t let go, you wanted to say. But you wouldn’t take the risk to pull away from her lips to speak, too afraid to ruin this moment.

Jane eventually broke the kiss, her blue eyes searching for yours. “Speak.” the word came out sounding like an order and she cleared her throat, her voice softer when she added, “Tell me what you want, what this means to you.”

“You.” You answered, your hand moving to cup her cheek. “I want everything you are willing to give me. I have no idea what this means, I simply…want you.”

The older woman blinked a couple of times, taking in your words. When had anyone ever wanted her? She knew what people thought and said about her, most of it being true. But you, you’d always been nothing but nice to her, even when she rarely returned your kindness.

This isn’t right, Jane. You can not, you should not, the thoughts flooded the woman’s mind.

You could see the fight that was happening inside the tall woman and gently rubbed your thumb on her cheek. “Jane…” you whispered and her blue eyes bored into yours again. You got on your tiptoe and claimed the woman’s lips, making Jane’s hesitation wholly dissipate in an instant.

It was only a matter of seconds before Jane took control of the kiss again, her hands grabbing your waist to push you up against the wall.

Your heart started racing in your chest when you felt one of her hands bunching up your dress. You had never done anything like this before and by the look of it, Jane had way more knowledge on the subject than you did.

Her fingers grasped a handful of your hair, tipping your head back to latch her lips on your neck. You couldn’t hold back the whimper that passed your lips when her mouth sucked on a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear.

“You are such a sweet girl, offering yourself to me so easily.” She whispered in your ear, her hand slipping inside your knickers only to find you soaked. “Have you been thinking about this ?” She wondered aloud.

You felt dizzy, your head spinning when her fingertips grazed your clit. “Please-“ you whined, not even knowing what you were begging for.

“Please-“ Jane mocked you, a low chuckle escaping her throat.

“Look at me.” She demanded and you happily obliged, the tall woman relishing the way your eyes widened when she pushed two fingers inside you until she was in knuckle deep.

There was nothing like it, Jane thought, watching a woman being made love to for the first time. And to be the one making love to her.

You knew Jane was a passionate woman and the way she pulled and pushed her fingers in and out of you in a perfect rhythm only further proved it. And just when you thought it couldn’t get better, the older woman curved her digits inside you to rub on a spot that had you writhing against her in a couple of minutes.

“Can you feel it ?” She asked looking into your eyes. “The coil tightening inside you? How close it is to snapping ?”

You answered something unintelligible, your mind hazy from the incessant movements of Jane’s fingers inside you. All you could focus on were the sinful wet noises coming from between your thighs.

You felt something, yes, something growing inside you and on the verge of exploding. And for a second you feared that this is what dying felt like. Oh, what a beautiful way to go it would be, you thought, to die in the arms of the woman you loved and with her lips on your neck.

“I wish we could let the whole household hear you. What would your lady think knowing you are nothing but a depraved whore, fucking a woman under her roof…” Jane grinned, giving your collarbone a harsh nip.

To hell with your lady and the whole household, you’d let the whole world know you were in love with Jane Murdstone if only you could.

“Look at me, please.” You managed to say, feeling your core tighten around Jane’s fingers when her blue eyes locked with yours.

You threw your head back against the wall, the older woman’s name leaving your lips in a streak of moans as you came.

Jane didn’t let it show, but her heart swelled with a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long while, making her hold you a little closer as you came down from your high.

“I love you, Jane.” You repeated, a small giggle escaping your throat as you watched Jane’s cheeks turn a pinkish colour.

“Silly girl.” She simply answered with a shake of the head and turned her back to you. You quickly unlaced her corset and helped her out of her heavy black dress.

You expected her to dismiss you as soon as you’re done braiding her hair but instead, Jane turned around and unbuttoned your dress, leaving you in your underwear.

“Stay for the night.” You knew it was neither a question nor an offer, not that you would have declined anyway.

It felt weird, lying down next to someone else. Next to her. Next to the woman you loved. You wanted to ask what this meant, if there would be more moments like this, or if it had just been a one-time instance. But you stayed quiet, listening to Jane’s breathing becoming slower and evening out as she fell asleep.

“I love you.” You whispered, knowing the older woman couldn’t hear it this time.

—————————

You watched as Jane’s eyes slowly fluttered open and it was the sweetest thing really, waking up next to the woman you loved. But it made you want to cry knowing it was morning and this moment wouldn’t last. In just a moment she would go back to being the cold and often cruel Miss Murdstone, and you would go back to being a housekeeper. But it didn’t matter, you thought, not now that you knew what it felt like to be kissed by her lips and touched by her hands. No, it didn’t matter anymore. You would walk through Hell and back for a chance to wake up next to her again.

[weemsfreak]

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."

[daydream-cement]

hihi, is it possible for me to ask for gwens characters with a curvy/chubby s/o ?

Thank you x

Gwen’s Characters with a Plus-Sized SO

Authors Note: As a plus size gal, YOU BET YOUR BOOTS I WILL WRITE THIS!!! Phasma and Brienne are written by @bri-sonat!!

Larissa Weems

This woman loves herself a plus-sized woman.

She profoundly appreciates a little extra to love and squeeze. 

After a long day at work, Larissa loves laying between their legs with her head on their tummy. 

She will ALWAYS have a hand on her SO’s thigh in the car.

She can’t cook for shit but she always has sweets that she will offer with the brightest smile.

Larissa becomes deeply invested in plus size fashion and finding them the best clothes to match her partner’s aesthetic.

She loves their hugs too as they always feel so warm and comforting. 

In self-conscious moments for her partner, Larissa is always ready to lend a listening ear. This is always followed up by her partner being smothered in love for Rissa to share how much she loves every inch of her partner.

Miranda Hilmarson

She LOVES having her plus-size SO lying on top of her as they watch a movie. 

Expect absentminded booty rubs as she watches the movie too.

Miranda and her SO always have the best snacks at all times

Days on the beach where she and her partner lay under an umbrella with Miranda’s head resting on their thigh

They can always expect Mir to nip and bite at their thighs when she has the opportunity 

Miranda is a physical touch girlie so just expect wandering (and squeezing) hands at all times

Miranda is The Obsessive Loving Girlfriend™️ so her partner can expect her to be bragging about how beautiful they are all the time (no matter how often Robin tells her she knows already because “you have already told me a million times, Hilmarson”)

Brienne of Tarth

Are you kidding me? This woman loves thighs and boobs. She adores laying down next to her significant other after a long day and just keeping one of her hands on their thigh.

Considering she herself has been judged and ridiculed because of her appearance and body, she is quick to defend her partner against insults and comments.

Because of the previous - she also understands what it is like to not fit into society’s norms and what it is like to be stared at so she is incredibly empathetic on the rougher days.

During the colder nights after she has returned from patrol or her duties, she loves laying down next to her partner and feeling them snuggle up next to her, one arm and one leg draped over her.

The thick thighs also serve as a very comfortable pillow after intimate times… or during. Either way, Brienne loves feeling them next to her head as she services her partner.

When her partner is feeling insecure - she is quick to lend an ear and is more happy to do so. After a heartfelt talk, she kisses the back of their hand and then presses a kiss to their lips before offering to take them for a small walk. On that walk, she gifts her significant other picked wildflowers with a comment on how the flowers are equally as pretty and breathtaking as her partner.

Captain Phasma

Phasma does not care what the person’s body looks like. She may be an asshole, but she’s not fatphobic.

A big butt means more surface to slap and make red and she likes that very much. 

Her significant other can expect Phasma’s hand on their ass during all their alone time because she will have her hand glued to it. Squeezing, caressing, slapping.

During intimate times she is also known to bite and kiss it.

The woman loves ass.

People are too scared to make comments on her partner’s body considering they’d face her wrath if they did.

She is also known to knead her partner’s breasts whenever they change or whenever they sit in front of her. 

If her significant other is changing, she will walk up to her partner and grab both the boobs in her hands and squeeze them once or twice before planting a kiss on each of them. 

If her partner is sitting in front of her, she is known to scooch closer and wrap her hands around her significant other’s waist and slide her hands inside their shirt and up to grab a handful of boobs. She loves it.

She also loves thighs. She loves sucking and biting them. She loves slapping them. She just loves thighs and the more thigh, the merrier. Same with ass and tits.

Lucifer Morningstar

This being’s mantra is ‘All Bodies Are Beautiful Bodies’

Don’t ask them to pick a favorite body part because they won’t be able to

They call their SO their ‘sweet cherub’ and they say it with the SOFTEST expression.

Will always pull their partner into their lap as they sit on their throne to coo and fawn over them

Luci always has a way of making their SO feel small and delicate 

Death to those who refuse to appreciate their partner’s beauty 

They have a very intentional and serious way of admiring their partner’s body

They have been accustomed to the harsh roughness of Hell so the sweet softness of their partner’s body is something they are quite infatuated with

Jane Murdstone

As being plus size isn’t necessarily accepted in her time, Jane is quick to shut down any gossip surrounding her partner’s size

She frequently writes poetry about the luscious beauty of her partner’s body

Jane appreciates thick thighs when giving head (we all know giving head is Jane’s #1 hobby).

Jane is the definition of a soft, obsessive sapphic poet so she will need to worship her partner’s body at LEAST twice a week.

She is delighted by her partner’s soft warm body during those chilly winter nights

She is always quick to compare her plus size SO after her favorite fruits: ‘soft peach’ or ‘little plum’.