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milfsloverblog · 1 year ago

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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?

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

#gwendoline christie #jane murdstone x reader #jane murdstone #the personal history of david copperfield #I felt so seen when you guys said you’d let Jane spit in your mouth #me when I get to the gates of heaven and they pull out this fic 😀#no beta we die like larissa #larissa weems x reader

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weemsfreak · 3 months ago

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Desire ♱

⋆Jane's pov (recommend read second)⋆

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

♱ Main story in readers pov here

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

"Indeed, it has."

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

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

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

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

"Y/N!"

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

"Yes, how can I help-"

Silence. Jane wondered what had happened.

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

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

"Y/n, this is Miss Murdstone."

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

"How do you do Miss Murdstone."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, you would.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

As I am.'

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

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

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

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

Jane had not felt desire since she was married.

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

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

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

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

If not for nothing, then for this.

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

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

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

'Embrace anger, hurl it into the void.

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

Retaliate until their power dwindles, crave change.

Shout into the abyss, thirst for revenge.

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

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

Cyanide, easily accessible and almost untraceable.

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

Dreadful and unworthy the day was, just like her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

"Jump, boy" Edward instructed.

The boy tried, pathetically.

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

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

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

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

The child jumped higher, but still failed to reach.

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

"JANE."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, she stood her ground, eyes unblinking.

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Men, incompetent."

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

You snickered. "Indeed."

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

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

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

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

"I have somewhere to be."

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

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

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

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

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

"Of- of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you weren't so convinced, apparently.

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

"We are hosting a ball tonight."

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

"I trust that it will be enjoyable."

Pausing to examine you, Jane pondered for a moment.

"I do hope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

You, who followed her.

You, who shadowed her every move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I knew I would find you here."

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

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

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

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

She saw you.

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

Jane chuckled softly; this was ironic.

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

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

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

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

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

You closed your eyes, as did she.

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

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

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

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

"Do not think I miss your desire."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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jd-loves-fiction · 6 months ago

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"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.”

#david copperfield #the personal history of david copperfield #david copperfield x reader #dev patel #dev patel x reader

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xisumashiptournement · 1 year ago

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Side B: Round 1

propaganda for: DocM77

doc with his server breaking redstone and xisuma trying to keep everything running, also they were big fans of each other in the early days :3 "Breaks the server" & "fixes it"

propaganda for: Pixlriffs

they are so chill and smart together but still so goofy <3 the david copperfield (5? i think) is on hermitcraft now only because x saw pixl's cool machine and pix was like "you want one??" and then they dug a hole for half aweek. and then built it. incredible. also snapshot streams <3 <3

#polls #duo with: DocM77 #duo with: Pixlriffs #xisuma #xisumavoid #docm77 #docm #pixlriffs #mcyt polls #hermitblr #mcytblr

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 2 years ago

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✼ 𝕗𝕒𝕟𝕗𝕚𝕔 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ✼

♥ Larissa Weems ♥ (Wednesday, TV 2022)

on wednesdays we wear black (ongoing) -> a Morticia Addams/Larissa Weems Mean Girls!AU story that is currently on hiatus. needs to be reworked

little miss perfect -> a teenage Larissa Weems/Morticia Addams one-shot. dealing with internalised homophobia. angst with a happy ending.

push me gently (into love) (nsfw) -> two chapter Larissa x reader story in which the reader is a goth art teacher at Nevermore. fluffy, cozy, and sweet, featuring easily skippable smut. rom-com vibes. written for a lovely human being and i hope it continues to bring her joy.

particular (nsfw) -> Larissa Weems x (adult) Wednesday Addams, aka the fic that got me cancelled. rom-com with dark humour and some more mature themes, but still relatively light. sort of a coming-of-age story. author is considering making people take a reading comprehension test before being allowed to comment.

making do -> one-shot. angst, hurt/no comfort. past Larissa Weems/Morticia Addams. a character study of Larissa Weems. mentions sexual assault, deals with processing trauma.

pathetic (nsfw) -> part of kink!week. a short piece describing a toxic relationship. Larissa x reader, but nothing abut the reader is specified -- almost like their identity doesn't matter and they're just a plaything meant to pleasure their boss. featuring foot fetish. it's hotter than you think :)

inevitable (dead dove: do not eat) -> a very dark piece of fiction dealing with sexual assault and trauma. features horror elements. please, take the tags seriously, this isn't a light read.

marvellous girl (dead dove: do not eat) -> a dark Wednesday/Larissa fic exploring grooming. please take all tags and warnings seriously, but be aware that it is your job to curate your internet experience and i am not at fault if you find certain themes upsetting.

periwinkle dreams (nsfw) -> Morticia/Larissa smut. features very dubious consent and somnophilia. no real plot.

pretty girls, she wants to be them (nsfw)-> Morticia/Larissa. Larissa has complicated feelings about sexual shapeshifting. angst. body horror.

♥ Lucifer Morningstar ♥ (The Sandman, TV 2022)

violet soul (nsfw) -> two chapters. one of my most popular Lucifer fics. Lucifer x reader. deals with the topic of selling one's soul to the devil. dark. features very filthy smut.

my ruin tastes so sweet (almost as sweet as your lips) -> a choose-your-own-adventure story with three possible endings, that explores what it means for an angel to fall. Lucifer x angel!reader.

our little dance (nsfw) -> Lucifer/Mazikeen. character/unconventional relationship study. explores neurodivergency. very sensual smut in the 2nd chapter.

kiss my sorrow away -> tooth-rottingly fluffy Lucifer/Mazikeen one-shot. Lucifer is being the most extra of drama queens, and Mazikeen cheers them up.

call the devil's name (nsfw) -> Lucifer/Mazikeen one-shot. very romantic. hot and tender smut. depicts love as devotion/religious experience.

belong (nsfw) -> dark Lucifer x reader one-shot. non-explicit non-con. explores the concept of free will after one sells their soul to the devil.

the secret (nsfw) -> last part of kink!week with a surprising twist at the end. Lucifer x Mazikeen... and a curious voyeur?

♥ Jane Murdstone ♥ (The Personal History of David Copperfield, 2019)

when the last restraint is gone (ongoing) (nsfw) -> an intense victorian romance between Jane Murdstone and her lady's maid, Laura. sort of in the style of Sarah Waters's historical romance novels. heavily influenced by Vita and Virginia's love letters. featuring a lot of sensually read victorian poetry and dirty, delicious smut. currently being edited/rewritten.

one and a half sugars (ongoing) -> modern!AU. Jane is an insipid accountant with very specific opinions about coffee, and reader is the only person who knows how to make it for her. fluffy rom-com vibes. will feature smut in later chapters.

don't look away (as i bare my soul to you) (nsfw) -> part of kink!week. dominatrix!Jane x reader. how healing is it for someone to see the worst parts of you and never avert their eyes? the kink in question is watersports and it's much tamer and more sensual than it sounds.

♥ Captain Phasma ♥ (Star Wars, sequel trilogy)

danger level - one (nsfw) -> filthy smut featuring the good ol' sex pollen trope. Phasma x fem!stormtrooper!reader. hot and a bit silly. straightforward and simple porn lol.

chrome and lipstick (nsfw) -> technically a Wednesday fandom crossover, but honestly you can read it without knowing anything about Wednesday except the fact that Larissa Weems is a person that exists. filthy smut (sensing a theme for fics featuring our beloved captain here? lol). non-con/dub-con, so read at your own risk!

easy prey (nsfw) -> part of kink!week. tentacle erotica, non-con. features glittery pink tentacles and a very pretty alien oc, if that spark(le)s your fancy.

♥ Jan Stevens ♥ (Flux Gourmet, 2022)

hazy (nsfw) -> Jan x reader smut, featuring the infamous egg aka oviposition kink. give it a go, it's not as weird as you think it is :)

beautiful (nsfw) -> a gift for a lovely tumblr mutual. Jan x reader fic exploring love, devotion, and body image. very smutty. featuring eggs because it's Jan and it has to :)

fill me (with your love) (nsfw) -> part of kink!week. Jan x fem!reader. a very sensual piece with disturbing erotic imagery. featuring alvinolagnia, food play and bloating fetish.

♥ Brienne of Tarth ♥ (Game of Thrones, TV 2011-2019)

so very chivalrous (and so completely oblivious) -> Brienne x princess!reader. very fluffy. Brienne is very good with a sword, but a bit oblivious in the matters of love. featuring good ol' lesbian yearning.

sweet dreams (nsfw) -> part of kink!week. brienne is injured in a heroic pursuit, and a lovely lady takes care of her while her injuries heal. kink of choice is erotic lactation. very fluffy and sweet.

cup runneth over (nsfw) -> Brienne/Cersei. Brienne mourns Jaime and finds consolation in Cersei. fucked up. use of sex as self-harm. pure, unadulterated filth.

♥ Miranda Hilmarson ♥ (Top of the Lake, TV 2013-2017)

...but we could be (nsfw) -> part of kink!week. Miranda Hilmarson x Robin Griffin. Miranda starred in a lesbian gangbang porn video and she is very proud of it. Robin thinks Miranda that's absolutely nuts and she definitely doesn't want to see it, thank you very much... except somehow she finds herself in Miranda's apartment, watching it. why is Miranda's shirt see-through? and why is she so nice to Robin while Robin is actively trying to push everyone away?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

♥ kink!week ♥ masterlist

♥ sapphtober prompts ♥ (in progress)

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✼ you can buy me a coffee if you want to support me! ✼

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

writing requests are currently closed!

#fanfiction #masterlist #gwendoline christie #larissa weems #jane murdstone #lucifer morningstar #captain phasma #jan stevens #brienne of tarth #wednesday addams

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itspileofgoodthings · 1 month ago

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anyway I don’t have the whole Jordan Peterson dating propaganda rebuttal fully locked and loaded but basically it’s just never about statistics. never was, never will be. and I’ll say that while acknowledging that the statistics can be objectively bad, especially for certain specific sub-groups, people with strong and specific convictions, highly intelligent people etc. but it doesn’t matter because the fundamental truth is that it’s always “one in a million the chances of feeling the way we do” etc. etc. and always was?? things are hard right now, on the dating scene, because life is hard right now and it’s hard to make money and find a stable situation that makes you happy. things are extra hard because society is incredibly fractured on the basis of both belief and vibes (lol) so the odds of finding someone just out in the great wide world of indiscriminate datings apps who’s going to believe what you believe and have the same set of cultural values (if that’s the word I want) are incredibly low. It’s not going to happen! And if you’re out looking you’re going to run into those obstacles over and over and over. But it kind of doesn’t matter? Because love is still real, people can still feel it, God brings people together. And I actually don’t think you need to do anything except continue living your life and doing things because they’re good for you, if and when you can, like having as much of a social life as you can and is feasible. The rest, in my humble opinion, is out of your control and you should just let it go! Yeah we’d have an easier time if our culture was more unified, if we fundamentally believed the same things and shared the same values. But even then the stars aligning of it all in terms of liking each other and wanting the same things and being in the same place and communicating in a way where we can actually understand each other is just out of our control and the answer is trust, love, and patience. And also a willingness to accept that you might just be alone, romantically speaking. So start filling your life up with other things and start getting used to the burden of it. Because what is there else to do? Except NOT accepting it and growing increasingly desperate. In any case, and to return to my point, this is my answer to the fundamental lie of the Peterson dating discussions. And it’s just that statistics have nothing to do with ANYTHING when it comes to finding love and happiness. It is never statistical; it’s always beyond that. My parents’ love story, my friends’ love stories, coworkers love stories—it can’t be quantified because they did x. On some level it just happened to them. They were lucky enough to find it all. (Or you know they forced it and are now unhappily married. Happens a LOT. But presuming that we’re talking about ending up happy.)

AND.

ON ANOTHER NOTE (that is still sort of related)

That same study of statistics doesn’t apply because it only takes one. So his whole tired repeated take about how intelligent women have the hardest time finding husbands because men are scared of their intelligence? Might even be true! But it doesn’t MATTER because nobody should want to marry everybody! If that makes sense! It’s always personal. I have felt the fear/lack of interest that he’s talking about as an intelligent woman (hey-oh!) walking through this world and I don’t give a damn because a man being afraid of me is proof that he is not FOR me. He is like my students except that I am not in the position to take him by the hand, metaphorically speaking, and walk him through David Copperfield. If someone ever wants to marry me, they will be delighted by me and confident that they have something to offer me. Period. And I used to think that that was true only for me but I think it is and should be true for everyone!!!! Peterson might be even stating something true or at least COMMON when he talks about this fear but his fundamental premise is faulty a) because we never have to marry a whole group of people and b) Because he acts like this is a problem for people, specifically women, to wrestle with and it just isn’t. There is nothing to do WITH the problem. As far as our list of actionable items goes it doesn’t make the cut. Or close to it. It doesn’t matter because that lack of interest and fear is not something to be engaged with and “solved.” Literally: go with God. Yeah, maybe you get your hopes up or get hurt because you think there is a chance and then turns out there wasn’t. That sucks and is painful! But. There is still nothing to do with that except move on. A person interested in me (in you, in anyone) would not react in this way is what you gotta tell yourself. It’s just a sign it isn’t right; it’s clear communication from the universe. (The person, God’s Plan etc.)

And. This isn’t even getting into him saying things like “the average age gap between men and women who marry is 4 years” for no clear apparent reason. So the fuck what Jordan? What does this have to do with anything??? (Sorry for swearing.) Yeah I can believe in some circles that’s a common number that occurs. I also know lots of people who are not in fact four years apart. I am actually having trouble thinking of a married couple i currently know who are four years apart. Like. So. What is even being said????!??? What is the purpose behind it????? Except an attempt to fear-monger, spread a lack of hope, sow discord. But honestly sometimes I think he’s just yapping.

He’ll also contradict himself by saying things like “you only have five people to try on statistically speaking” (the hell??? Jordan???) “so choose wisely” while also saying things like “a relationship isn’t something you find, it’s something you build.” So like … which is it? Because I think solemnly choosing someone in this objective way and trying to settle into building a relationship is going to lead to a lot of needless frustration. Like. You can’t build a relationship, IMO, until the opportunity to do so appears. And feels right to both of you. And you both take it. And you cannot manufacture that, force it into existence, call it into being. I mean you can TRY. But it won’t end well. The happy right comfortable good ones are just times where the opportunity is given and both people want to take it. He won’t admit the role of grace here and I think the role of grace is everythinggggg. And this Not even getting into him referring to marriage as being handcuffed to a person and unable to walk away which is imo the wrong vibe.

Which is kinda my too-long point. It’s the wrong vibe. Things are not bleak if you look at them right. They just are what they are. I actually think the more specific of a person you are the more likely you are to find someone capable of making you happy. And yeah maybe that process will be easier for people who are younger and just sort of around people who share the same values as them etc. though even then, even !!!!! then !!!!!!!!! there’s a mystery to who finds someone and who doesn’t at certain times because you’re dealing with the human soul and free will and all its mysteries in addition to everything else. It’s always kind of a miracle. It’s always one in a million. It’s always specific, singular, personal. And once again: we desperately want to believe that there is something we can do about this to bring it about and I guess there might be, indirectly. But we can never manufacture the opportunity into existence, or study the problem away, or analyze the difficulties out of being and into our power. We just need to let it go, if we can. Jordan’s rhetoric preys on that fear in a ridiculous and ultimately contradictory way and I hate to see people believing it, being affected by it, quoting it, spouting it, internalizing it. In conclusion he can’t scare me but he can deeply annoy me. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#making this unrebloggable yayyyyyyyy #anyways maybe this is useful or interesting maybe not but I feel it so here it is #if you don’t know Jordan Peterson this won’t #make sense. but in which case count yourself lucky #have a great day sorry for the typos #I am hovering near my main point and haven’t #quite gotten there. but I’m dancing around it. so here ya go

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ierofrnkk · 2 months ago

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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 !! 🩵

#oscar isaac #dev patel #jay baruchel #hugh jackman #the sorcerer's apprentice #monkey man #x men #Wolverine #moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #logan howlett #jonathan levy #sir gawain #kodi smit mcphee #newt scamander #the eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #character ai

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nowiamcoveredinyou · 1 year ago

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Clock

Victorian bbc Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 493

30 days writing challenge

A/n:- I think this is the longest one till now in this 30 days fanfiction writing series.

I sat by his desk, my husband's, Mr Sherlock Holmes, turning pages after pages of "the count of Monte Cristo". The intense adventure made me read 50 pages at once. It's 1890, and my bookshelf is filled with every new released novel. Yet I was reading this for the second time and it felt like the first time ever. Perhaps, this love for adventure drawn me to marry my detective.

The clock's ticking and crackling of fire were the only sounds that were to be heard in the house, because the detective was out with Dr John Watson. Even though when I finally lifted my head I noticed the time, 'an hour late!' I thought to myself. He promised to be back at sharp seven o'clock in the evening and it was eight. The clock confirmed as it chimed eight times. And then my attention was shifted to the sound of the horse shoe's hitting the road. There came a horse driven cab and stopped infront of 221b. No wonder the great detective finally remembered he has a house, a wife, and a violin. I saw him getting down and eventually he looked up at the window, we both exchanged smiles. And soon enough his footsteps were heard coming up, then with the creek of the door he entered. I put down my book and sighed, "so".

He humed putting off his deer stalker hat and coat.

"someone remembered he has a house to turn up to." I knew I was teasing and his serious face confirmed his case isn't the easy one, however there was a package in his hand.

"still reading that?" he asked pointing to my book.

"oh yes, for the second time." I replied, way too proudly.

"wonder when will these books be read, david Copperfield, a tale of two cities, north and south, emma, the three musketeers.."

He kept on naming every book that was there in the bookshelf. Unread.

"I will but..." he didn't let me say but interrupted saying,

"and great expectations."

I was baffled, "I don't own that novel yet."

To these he smiled and handed me the package, "now you do".

I took it, rather snatched it to find it was a book, Great expectations by Charles Dickens.

"thank you" I almost whispered admiring the book, sniffing the pages.

"now read them" He said, he meant all the unread ones which I neglected for one book in particular.

"I will, but after I complete it." He rolled his eyes to my answer and sat by the fireside.

"you know what?" I started, and he asked me to continued with a hum.

"even though I love the count of Monte Cristo, but it's not my favourite adventure." I replied.

"then what caught my wife's attention more than the count?" he asked a little unamused.

"rather obvious" I put the book down and sat on the arm of his sofa and said, "The adventures of Sherlock Holmes."

#bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #sherlock tv #sherlockbbc #sherlock x reader #sherlock x you

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aneurinallday · 4 months ago

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The Tragedy of James Steerforth

Chapter X: Blood and Broth

Steerforth was woken, as always, by the need to clear his lungs. He awoke coughing, opening his eyes to find himself in a sunlit bedroom. He was lying in a clean and spacious bed, between crisp sheets that smelled freshly laundered. Plump pillows propped him into a sitting position, and his rags had been removed and replaced with a white night-shirt.

David Copperfield was sitting at the foot of the bed, his elbow leaning against the wooden frame, his head resting in his hand. He looked tired. His eyes were closed.

“...Daisy,” Steerforth whispered. “Daisy…”

David quickly opened his eyes and straightened up.

“James.” He clasped Steerforth’s lower leg through the quilt. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“...Throat hurts.”

“There’s some beef tea on the boil.”

Steerforth’s bleary eyes drifted about the room, lingering on the curtains, the cluttered writing desk, one of Agnes’ shawls draped forgotten over the back of a chair - the trappings of a comfortable and well-loved home. Something he hadn’t experienced since the day he’d left London for Yarmouth.

“Where are we?” he mumbled.

“At my home.”

“How did I get here?”

“We brought you here from the East End.”

“Why?”

“So we can take care of you. You’re going to stay here until you’re feeling better.”

“But why would you do that?”

“What else could I do? You were my friend for much of my life. That isn’t so easily forgotten.”

“I forgot it,” said Steerforth quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did any of those things. I just - ”

“Let’s not talk about it right now. You need to concentrate on getting well again. We’ll have plenty of time to talk once you’re well again.”

“Is it morning?”

“Yes. It’s about nine o’clock. I’ve sent for a physician to come and have a look at you. His name is Dr Barrow and apparently he’s very skilled. He’ll be here in the afternoon. I was hoping he could come sooner, but his schedule was busy…In the meantime, I’ll write a letter to Mrs Steerforth, to let her know you’re here.”

“No!” Steerforth quickly protested, ”No, don’t. Don’t tell her. I can’t…I can’t let her see me like this.”

“But she loves you, James. She’s your mother, for God’s sake. She’ll want to see you, to hold you, to look after you.”

“No,” Steerfooth shook his head, “Please, don’t. Don’t tell her I’m here. I can’t face her.”

He was breathing too fast - short, sharp gasps, trying to compensate for the fact that he couldn’t take a deep breath. His lungs were filled with viscid mucus, leaving little room for air.

“Alright,” David reluctantly gave up. Steerforth was growing agitated, and stress would only cause his weakened body to deteriorate further. “I won’t tell her. Once you’re better, you can write to her yourself, alright?”

Steerforth began to speak again, but coughed instead. The infection had plagued him for a fortnight now, but had drastically worsened in the week since his eviction. He’d started coughing up thick, discoloured globs which took minutes of coaxing to eject, and which were instantly replenished. After each expulsion, he would breathe a little easier, but the blessed relief only lasted for a few moments until the catarrh returned. No matter what position he lay, sat, or stood in, he simply couldn’t find any respite. The heavy rain had been the final nail in the coffin.

His coughing subsided, and he wiped his mouth on the white sleeve of his night-shirt. David watched him with worry.

“Wait here,” he said, as if Steerforth could go anywhere. “The tea should be done by now. I’ll go and check.”

David hurried out of the room, leaving Steerforth alone, wheezing in the silence - wet, rattling wheezes from deep within his chest.

He looked towards the sash window. The elegant curtains were only half-drawn, revealing a blue sky outside, and he could hear the familiar sounds of Central London - the clip-clop of horses’ hooves, the rattle of coach wheels, the soft chatter of voices. People going about their daily business, unaware that in one of the nearby houses, just a few feet away, a man was dying.

Soon David returned, carrying in one hand a tea-cup on a saucer, and in the other hand a small plate with a bread roll. He put the plate down on Steerforth’s lap, and carefully placed the tea-cup and saucer in Steerforth’s grasp.

“Here. It’s beef tea. Try to drink.”

The savoury smell of boiled beef drifted up to Steerforth’s nose. Trembling, he took a sip. His feeble hands threatened to spill the hot liquid on himself. David cupped his own hands around Steerforth’s, steadying the cup so that he could continue.

“Have as much as you can.”

Steerforth did his best, but only managed a few more sips. The rich smell was getting to him, making him nauseous. Sensing that he was pushing Steerforth too far, David quickly set the unfinished cup aside.

“There we go. Well done. Now try to eat something.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Just a little. It’ll help you, I promise.”

Steerforth looked down at the bread in his lap. He was both hungry and not hungry; his belly was empty yet his appetite was curiously absent. Pulling the roll in half, he tore the soft white crumb out of the crust and ate it. The mere act of chewing felt like a Herculean endeavour. He washed the mouthful down with another sip of beef tea, but that was all he could handle.

“I can’t eat it,” he said.

“What about a soft-boiled egg?” David suggested, “Or maybe some mashed potatoes?”

“No. I feel sick.”

“Alright. We’ll try again later.”

Steerforth lay back, trying to suppress the unease in his belly. The hot liquid had thinned his phlegm, and he was able to breathe more easily. As he lay there, he heard distant voices from downstairs - Agnes and Ham.

“Is Ham Peggotty here?” he asked.

“Yes. He’s been staying here while taking a break from Yarmouth. He helped search for you, and he helped bring you here.”

“Is he still angry?” an edge of panic entered Steerforth’s voice.

David hesitated, but it wasn’t in his nature to lie.

“Yes,” he admitted, “But don’t worry. He won’t harm you. He’s a good man.”

“Don’t let him near me, Daisy, please.”

“Shh,” David shushed him, ”Listen to me. Ham’s a good man. Remember that night on the boat - he swam out and rescued you. Remember? He rescued you!”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Oh, of course.” Steerforth calmed. Stifling a cough, he closed his eyes and tried to rest.

He heard David walk to the other side of the room, settle down in a chair, and start rustling through papers. Soon he heard the scratching of David’s quill-pen against the page, which lulled Steerforth into a deep stupor, the closest he could come to true sleep. He didn’t realise time had passed until he felt someone shaking his shoulder.

“James.” David roused him gently. “James, wake up. The doctor is here.”

Groggy, Steerforth opened his eyes.

“The doctor?” he croaked.

“Yes, the one I summoned. Agnes is showing him in now.”

“...Ah.” Steerforth tried weakly to sit up. In the cold light of day, his face was haggard and grey. “Is it afternoon already?”

“Yes, it is. For supper, I was thinking we could - ”

Before David could finish his sentence, the door opened and an elderly gentleman entered, carrying a large leather kit. He looked Steerforth up and down.

“Good day, Mr…?”

“Steerforth,” the patient introduced himself. “James Steerforth.”

“Mr Steerforth. I say, that name sounds familiar. Was there a book about you? My granddaughter likes to read these silly things, and she spoke of a James Steerforth who lived in London - ”

“Please, Dr Barrow,” David interrupted, “Is there anything you can do to help him?”

“You say he has consumption?”

“That’s what we suspect.”

The physician placed his kit down with a thump and began to rummage through it. David and Steerforth were both disturbed to hear the metal tools rattling inside. Barrow donned his stethoscope.

“Hold still for me, Mr Steerforth.”

He held the resonator to Steerforth’s chest and listened for a minute, then sighed and pulled out the earpieces.

“There’s no doubt about it,” he said, “It’s as you feared.”

“What can be done?” David asked nervously.

“Nothing that has been proven to work. I recommend food, rest, and exercise.”

“But sir, he can’t eat, he can’t sleep, and he can’t walk.”

“Well then, he must apply himself with more determination.”

“Is there really nothing else you can do? Medicine or...”

“Well, I could try to let out the bad blood.”

“Isn’t that a little old-fashioned?”

“Mr Copperfield, don’t be so quick to discredit old remedies. They have been relied upon for centuries for a reason.”

“Then please do it. Anything that might help him.”

“Very well.”

Barrow pulled out a set of scalpels, a bowl, and a short iron rod. Rather roughly, he pushed Steerforth’s left sleeve up as far as it would go, and placed the rod in Steerforth’s left hand.

“Grip this tight.”

Steerforth obeyed. His arm went rigid as he squeezed, the veins and sinews standing out starkly. Barrow took advantage by quickly nicking the inside of Steerforth’s elbow with a small knife. Steerforth winced as the incision was made, letting out a whimper at the pain. His right hand clutched at the quilt for comfort.

“Don’t move, Mr Steerforth,” Barrow commanded, placing the bowl underneath Steerforth’s elbow to catch the drops. “The contaminated blood needs time to drain.”

Steerforth tried to take a breath, steeling himself against the sharp sting in his elbow, but the inhalation triggered a cough.

“Be careful,” said Barrow, “You’ll knock the bowl over.”

Steerforth did his best to keep still, but his discomfort was plain. He’d gotten in plenty of fights at school, but the amount of blood accumulating in the bowl was making his head spin. He turned his face away from the sight, but couldn’t block out the sound it made. The steady drip-drip-drip of liquid seemed unnaturally loud.

“Daisy, do I really have to do this? I don’t like it.”

“I’m sure it’s for the best, James. Dr Barrow knows what he’s doing. Just try to relax.”

Minutes passed, then a half-hour, then an hour. He watched as the blood slowly drained from Steerforth, taking with it what vestiges of vitality he still had. Any semblance of colour left his face, leaving him as white as the bed-sheets.

“Is it enough yet?” he asked faintly.

“Not quite. Soon,” David assured him.

Blood continued to drip into the bowl, and Steerforth’s strength continued to fade. David tried to take his mind off the bleeding with conversation, but Steerforth became less and less responsive. He lay motionless on the bed, propped up on pillows, too weak to move. His pale and sickly form, dressed in a white night-shirt, seemed to disappear into the sheets. He began to mutter meaningless noises.

“Dr Barrow, how long do we have to do this for?” David asked uneasily.

“Until the bowl is full,” the physician answered.

For a while, Steerforth lay gazing at the ceiling. He seemed to have achieved a state of serenity, or at least of resignation. But then he looked down at his arm, and remembered that he was bleeding, and a panic came over him. He sat bolt upright with a jerk, struggling away from the blood, almost knocking the bowl over.

“What are you doing?” he cried out. He grabbed the edge of the quilt and pressed it to his arm to stem the bleeding. “What are you doing to me?”

“Calm yourself, Mr Steerforth,” said Barrow sternly. “Hold still or you’ll make a mess of the bed.”

“It hurts. Why are you doing this to me?”

“It’s for your own good.”

“But it hurts! Please stop.”

“Enough of that nonsense. Hold still or I’ll have to tie you down. You don’t want that, do you?”

David grasped Steerforth’s shoulders, trying to soothe him.

“My friend, please be calm. We’re trying to help you.”

“Make him stop, Daisy. Make him stop.”

David looked up at the doctor.

“Are you sure this is for the best?” he demanded.

“Mr Copperfield, from the lack of a ‘doctor’ before your name, I assume you’re not in the medical profession.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then don’t seek to tell me how to treat my patients.”

“But surely this agitation can’t be good for him?”

Steerforth swayed.

“Daisy, I don’t - I don’t feel - ”

His eyes abruptly rolled back, and he blacked out, collapsing onto the pillows.

“Right, that’s enough,” David snapped, “Put a bandage on that arm, or - or a tourniquet or something.”

“Abandoning a course of treatment halfway rarely results in recovery, Mr Copperfield. I recommend that you continue with the bleeding.” The doctor was already packing his things.

“You can’t be leaving already?” David exclaimed.

“I have many other patients to see today. And Mr Steerforth seems determined to be uncooperative.”

“Fine. My wife has the payment ready for you - ask her for it.”

“I certainly shall.” Barrow left.

David fetched clean clothes and began to clean and dress Steerforth’s arm. Steerforth regained consciousness just as David was bandaging his elbow.

“Daisy?” he mumbled, “Did it work?”

“I think so - I mean, I’m sure it did.” A dark red stain slowly formed on the white cloth. David pulled down Steerforth’s sleeve to hide it. “There. All better. Do you want something to eat?”

But Steerforth was already gone again, his eyes wandering behind closed eyelids.

Chapter XI: Sickbed

#aneurin barnard #fanfic #the personal history of david copperfield #james steerforth #david copperfield #charles dickens #fanfiction

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girljeremystrong · 2 months ago

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going thru your book tag & I love your recs - are there books you've recently read that you've loved?

hiiiii 💕

YES i have been reading some great books. here's a list of my favorites from the past few months!

classics:

a streetcar named desire by tennessee williams: the very beloved play and it was incredible and the way these characters come alive so stunningly is so impressive.

david copperfield by charles dickens: a classic that i was so intimidated by but ended up absolutely loving. what a wonderful character and of course the writing was perfect.

master and commander by patrick o'brien: man do these sailors talk a lot. this was very fun and entertaining and i thoroughly enjoyed it. need to watch the movie now.

non fiction:

all the beauty in the world by patrick bringley: this guy was a guard at the metropolitan museum of art in NY and this is a really good memoir, sorta moving in parts.

the three mothers by anna malaika tubbs: it's a very well researched and very well written book about the mothers of malcom x and martin luther king and james baldwin.

black af history by michael harriot: an account of american history from the experiences of black americans. this was super interesting and eye opening and i think it was great.

how to survive a plague by david france: very important and moving book about the aids crisis written by a gay man who had just moved to NY by the time it broke out.

the transgender issue by shon faye: this is a book that mainly discusses trans rights in the UK but i think it's important that everyone reads it.

fiction published more recently:

blue sisters by coco mellors: i liked it. it is good and it's about sisters and grief.

the god of the woods by liz moore: really good thriller with multiple timelines and suspicious people and it kept me on my toes.

henry henry by allen bratton: i really enjoyed it. it is the sort of funny sort of serious story of a boy dealing with a bad father and complicated siblings and they're all rich and dysfunctional.

family meal by bryan washington: i cried my whole way through this but it's not a tragic story AT ALL. if anything it is hopeful and wonderful and it's about found families and belonging.

the trees by percival everett: just so great and masterful and fast paced and it's at its core about police brutality and race.

interesting facts about space by emily austin: i loved this book. it's about finding a place and anxiety but it has so much heart.

i think this is mostly it from the past months! but please if you have more specific requests or anything i am all ears :)

#book recs #books #ask #anonymous

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royalsunshinehotel · 6 months ago

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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

#david copperfield #david copperfield reader #david copperfield smut #david copperfield fic #dev patel #dev patel x reader #dev patel fic #dev patel imagine #dev patel smut #the personal history of david copperfield #PHoDC

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weemsfreak · 3 months ago

Text

Desire ♱

⋆Reader's pov and main story (recommend read first)⋆

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

♱ Jane's pov here

Summary: When the lady of the village returns after many years and ends up in your place of work, you fabricate a dress for her; and then you follow her. ~5k words

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The bakery, the factory, the church, and the bank.

Places which she ventured on a normal day,

Places which you ventured on a normal day.

Things that she did,

Things that you did.

The gallery, the haberdashery, the manor house gardens.

She was busy,

You were busy.

Wherever she went, you followed.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The ball rang out, signifying that someone had entered. You ignored it from the next room, not wanting to drop your task at hand.

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

You rolled your eyes and mouthed Gladys' words, mocking the dressmaker as you continued to cut out fabric.

"Indeed, it has."

Your hands stopped working at the sound of a voice, gaze slowly raising to the wall as you listened. You heard shuffling to Gladys' workspace, a coat hit the settee.

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

A hum. "It has been a good many years, although a dreadful end I'm afraid. I am glad to be back."

Your eyes flit around the room; the factory? Miss Murdstone?

Oh. OH. The Miss Murdstone of Murdstone village. The sister of factory owner Mr. Murdstone.

You had never met the Murdstone's, but you had heard of them and their reputation in their own village. They had been gone for some ten years; a marriage, you had heard. And it seemed that now, they were back.

You prayed that Gladys wouldn't call you in for help as you were not very confrontational, and you had heard that the lady could be, well, cruel.

Slowly you continued to cut out fabric, listening in on their conversation as you did.

The contrast of murmuring and sureness calmed you, the new voice in particular was melody to your ears. It was strong yet weak, cold yet warm, confident yet weary, cruel yet sweet; you longed to know what body housed a voice like that.

Inevitably, Gladys called your name from the next room.

You screwed your eyes closed and took a deep breath before dropping everything and heading through the doorway.

"Yes, how can I help-"

Your eyes flit from Gladys to a tall dark figure. One which caught you off guard, before it consumed you.

Ghost white skin sandwiched between midnight hair and a dress to match, the length of which you've never seen the likes of before.

Her gaze was locked onto the wall, until she noticed you staring.

Expectant eyes shot to you and made your heart flutter nervously, you averted your gaze back to Gladys.

It seemed that the only colour this woman possessed was that of her iris', which made them stand out even more.

"Y/n, this is Miss Murdstone."

You moved closer and gave a small bow, eyes on the floor. "How do you do Miss Murdstone."

"Well, thank you."

You nodded with a small smile.

"Help me with this, will you?" Gladys passed you a measure and gestured to her skirts, to which you lifted and got to work.

Black fabric, not something you worked with often, although it was certainly growing on you. You looked between dark and the light of her petticoat, and you wished for the chance to see long legs hidden underneath. Alas, petticoats were not see through.

Miss Murdstone was not a very social woman, though you were not surprised at her lack of emotion or chatter, as there was not much about her that was mainstream.

You stood and helped Gladys with small things, measuring around her bodice, shoulders, and arm length, the lady stiff as a board. Your hands trembled as you worked, which neither woman failed to notice.

You couldn't help but steal glances at the lines in the woman's skin, dark hair tied up neatly, scars and light freckles placed perfectly, as if they were intentional.

You couldn't help but think that she looked as if she was made of wax.

Cold fingers brushed against the pale skin of her neck and she flinched, a string of apologies flowing from your mouth. You stepped away and let Gladys finish the job, the only thing going through your head was how warm the woman was to the touch.

Being sent on your way with the measurements, you began to cut out black fabric. More length added to the sleeves and skirt, waist cinched just a bit.

You worked in the corner of the room, stealing glances at the dark woman though the doorway now and then. When you had left, the women began to make small conversation again; you closed your eyes and listened to her voice.

You hadn't noticed when the bell had rung and she had left, until Gladys walked in.

"A pretty young thing like you shant be intimidated by Miss Murdstone."

Your eyes shot to Gladys as a light blush overtook your cheeks. You were intimidated alright, but not in the way she thought.

You hummed, "Maybe not intimidated, but overtaken."

"Get to work silly girl" she chuckled, pointing down at the barely touched black fabric in your hands.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You could tell by the way she carried herself through life, by the way that she spoke to people (or didn't acknowledge them at all), that she was cold, iron, wrought, metallic.

Yes, that was it, she was metallic, and she possessed some type of pull. You failed to fight it off with bated breath when dark yet enchanting eyes met yours.

What really pulled you in, however, was her mysterious nature. Her front was menacing, her cruelty was obvious, her exterior freezing anyone who dared cross her path.

She was a delight, far more true than you could ever be.

Being a dressmaker's apprentice, you didn't have every day to venture around Murdstone village. But when you did, you made it worthwhile.

You had been intrigued by her since the day she stepped into the shop, and soon enough, you became attached.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

It was easy to spot her through the crowd of people, being one of the tallest, darkest, and notable around.

You wouldn't say that you stalked her, no, for you ran your errands in the same way as she, and your interests matched hers well.

That became clear when one day you took a stroll through the manor house gardens and found her, admiring the Nettles from afar.

Nettles were not much to the naked eye, and they stung like a bitch when one got close. Alas, their being was important, indispensable, beautiful; like her.

Cold on the outside and warm on the inside.

You sat on a bench next to some Black Calla Lily's, and couldn't help but think about how the flowers reflected the both of you. These particular Lily's caught your eye and drew you in, but get too involved and their toxins could harm you.

Warm on the outside and cold on the inside.

Perhaps you were both deceiving.

Her back faced you tauntingly as you longed to admire her features. You hadn't gotten a satisfying look at her, although you assumed nobody had ever gotten very close.

Holding your breath, she turned to continue down the path, head held high as she gazed straight ahead.

She didn't look your way, she didn't acknowledge you, no, she didn't say a word.

Yet you knew her, you knew she was perceptive, she noticed every detail.

And deep down you knew that she knew you were there.

She always did.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You were suffering throughout your days and nights, physically unable to get the metallic lady out of your head. You hadn't been this obsessed, this buried, this crazy for a woman.

You knew it was wrong, to want her, to want to know her, to want to feel her dark locks run through your fingers.

You knew it was wrong to watch from afar, even worse to get close; but you couldn't help it.

She was enchanting, she was brooding, she was maddening.

One bright morning you arrived to church early, and placed yourself in the very pew where the Murdstone's always sat. You took the hymnal and prayer books and moved them to another pew, leaving only one set of books available.

After some time, Mr. Murdstone passed the pew, giving you a look of disdain before continuing on.

Your gaze dropped to your lap nervously, unsure as to where she was.

Another moment passed, and you noticed a shadow beside you, then felt a soft brush against your leg.

It was so soft you believed it was imagined.

"Apologies."

Looking over in disbelief, you found the metallic woman beside you, her attention set on the priest.

As the service progressed, you couldn't help but wrack your brain around her being. For as much as you knew her, or at least thought that you did, as much as you saw her, you couldn't tell.

After eyeing her at church a couple days a week, you realized she was a devoted congregant. She gave the impression that she was one who would reprimand for breaking the rules, for not adhering to the faith's principles.

But all the same, she seemed as though she'd like to bend them, challenge society's expectations, and oppose normalcy, as it was obvious she didn't follow every mainstream convention.

You had confirmed recently, after some research, that 'Miss' Murdstone was not married; but for which reason, you wondered often.

Long fingers opened the prayer book and held it still as a stone on her lap, eyes scanning the words slowly.

Silently, you leaned closer, setting your gaze on her as she peered down at you. You smiled, watching her lips twitch and eyes bore into your own in question; then the prayer book was angled so you both could recite together.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

One day, you set out determined for your destination: the gallery.

See, there was not much that you knew, but there were a few things. One being that the gallery bustled with activity on a certain day of the week, and another being that Jane Murdstone was a sucker for all things nice.

The Cultural and Historical collections always inspired you, and allowed you to indulge in the fantasy of a better world, a more interesting world, a world in which you were yourself, truly.

And well, as did she.

As expected, Miss Murdstone made her way around a glass case following the male version of herself. You recognized him immediately, the man of the village.

Watching from the other side of the room, you took note of their differences and similarities. Physical was obvious, they were tall, they were dark, and they were chilling.

Your heart couldn't help but feel heavy, as although she was striking, easily catching your eye even next to her brother, she was the lesser.

It was obvious that she was more brazen, more intelligent, and more capable; alas, he was the man, and she was the woman.

You ran your hand over an artifact, pressing your skin hard into the rough texture.

Glass should cover something so fragile, so special, so significant, you thought, for someone could steal it with the snap of a finger.

You could steal it with the snap of a finger. You wouldn't, however, not now. For you had something far more important to tend to.

A dark figure caught your peripheral, your eyes discreetly landing on the woman as your head stayed focused in the direction of the artifact.

You watched as long fingers ran over a piece opposite, feeling the atoms that made up the world, perhaps a world in which you had yet to know.

You took a deep breath, gaze lifting when her pale hand paused in its track.

You were expecting it, her eyes on her pray, on her goal, on you.

Touché. You respected the effort, the care, the menacing stare, but it was of no use.

You stared back, taking in the elements of her skin, the light in her eyes, and the hate in her heart.

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Miss Murdstone spoke few words to you the couple times that she entered the shop; for her measurements, her dress, and then again when a colleague had tailored a suit for her brother.

You understood that you knew her better than she knew you, for you were just a dressmaker whose name had most likely slipped her mind.

Alas when you watched her on the streets, back and forth with long strides, elegance never faltering, haughtiness never letting up, she never failed to deepen your infatuation.

You admired the way she gave no thought nor care about others' opinions, the way she could allow- feed into the absolute cruelty, perhaps hate that came out of her mouth.

The way she let it happen, the way she lived for it.

You were high as the heavens the one time she had spat at you. It was short, nothing that she thought twice about, but you were truly and utterly drunk on her.

Others you knew, didn't appreciate being spoken down to that way, looked at with a bitter glance, nor dealt with in that sneering tone.

And well, most of the time you wouldn't either.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The factory, a place of your dreams and nightmares.

In your favour, it wasn't difficult to sneak into at night, the bottles and barrels and wine and corks the only witnesses of your doing.

Their livelihood, their significance, the thing that gave the Murdstone's the justification to be poison; possibility to be ruined within hours.

You ran a finger along a trail of dust as a smirk crept over your face. Mr. Murdstone was too pretentious for his own good, careless perhaps, not too smart it seemed; but you were.

For his sake, and his sake only, it was a damn good thing that his sister had consumed your every thought.

By morning you had tucked yourself deep behind the shelves.

People of every age, those of every kind made their way into the factory, cleaning, filling, corking, labelling, and packaging.

You were caught off guard when you eyed Mr. and Miss Murdstone make their way around the factory, inspecting the work and the workers. They passed by the shelves with a step that felt far too long. You froze at their proximity, for you had no escape.

Letting out a breath, you watched as they halted near a small boy, a boy far too short to reach the corking lever.

"Jump, boy" Mr. Murdstone instructed.

The boy tried, pathetically.

"You should sooner teach the furniture" the lady said to her brother.

You held in a snicker.

"Jane" Mr. Murdstone warned.

You watched as he attempted to jump, Mr. Murdstone frustrated with his lack of effort.

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

He jumped higher and had yet to reach.

Miss Murdstone turned to her brother with the raise of a brow, "We should switch to a less enjoyable activity."

"JANE."

Mr. Murdstone grabbed the child by his shirt, dragging him to a secluded room and slamming the door with no hesitation.

Miss Murdstone followed with hands clasped in front of her, then you heard grunting and lashing sounds. Your eyes shut and you flinched at the suddenness, whacking your head off a board.

Blue eyes travelled your way, somehow hearing your skull make contact with the wood over the loudness of everything else. The metallic woman looked in your direction, around you, above you, and you could swear it, straight at you. But she couldn't see you through the willful blindness of the bottles and barrels.

Her gaze was averted, however, when a tall boy made his way toward her with intent.

Your eyes widened as you watched him pick up a glass bottle, your brain registering that he most likely wished to protect the child; but harming Miss Murdstone wasn't the way.

With a deepening heart beat you contemplated the fact that you may have to reveal yourself, jump in front of hard glass in shame and remorse before ghostly pale skin turned crimson.

But, as you watched the metallic woman, you noticed her smirk; joy, thrill, and humour behind her eyes.

She faltered for a moment when she noticed the bottle, lips twitching; a moment of hurt. Still, she stood her ground, eyes unblinking.

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

For they were cruel, they were cold, and they were abusive, perhaps.

But she now had no fear, for she was used to it.

When the boy turned away and you watched her smirk return, chest falling slightly in relief, it made sense.

You realized why she was the way that she was; beaten, bruised, petrifying, and cruel. It wasn't anything new, it wasn't unfamiliar or forced. It was all that she knew.

It was what she knew, it was who she was brought up to be; the little girl, the woman, the one who took care of the men.

The one who listened to their commands but rose to control when they were too coward.

The one who was reprimanded when she spoke her mind but was brought up to be superior all the same.

The girl who said nothing and was harmed for her warmth, now a cold shell of defensive whips and comments; in a woman's body tall enough to make the men resentful.

She was born to love and taught to hate, for she had no choice.

She had no choice.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The lady had returned to the shop days later with Mr. Murdstone's suit, shoving it into your coworkers' arms.

"You measured incorrectly" she grumbled.

His jaw fell open as he looked it over, scratching at his head, "Where is it incorrect, my lady?"

You held in a laugh as she flung the trousers over his arm and pointed to the hem. "They need to be taken out. He's not lacking in stature like yourself."

Nodding, he made his way to the next room. "I need it finished for tonight" you heard her holler.

"Of course, Miss Murdstone."

You were sat on the settee, sewing a piece and trying your hardest to pretend she wasn't there, hoping you wouldn't have to entertain her.

Alas, as it was, you longed to converse with her, you longed to entertain her.

You longed to run your eyes over her frame, yearned to move closer and take in her deathly smell, her serene eyes and ghostly skin.

You longed to run your hands along the warmth of her neck once again and know that she was real.

Heeled steps approached as your mind went blank and heart began to race. She sat down next to you.

"Men, incompetent" was all that she said.

You felt bad for him, of course you did, but you couldn’t help but snicker at her comment.

"Indeed."

You admired very much that she spoke her mind and wished to give her the ability to feel freely, without reprimand and without judgment.

Attempting to focus back on your work, you were distracted when she withdrew her pocket watch. Busy fingers wrapped around the intricate watch and chain before moving to toy with the money bag and beads hanging off her chatelaine.

A sigh, "I have somewhere to be."

You ignored the burning question in your mind, 'where?'

The woman turned to you suddenly, your gaze shot to hers.

Her dark blues narrowed as if she knew what you were doing: following, admiring, chasing, craving her.

Your heart almost jumped out of your throat as you thought of her knowing, knowing of your attachment, knowing of your enamour, knowing of your desire.

You calmed however, when you realized that you didn't see rage in her eyes, but intrigue; for she had an idea.

"Would you be so kind as to deliver the suit when it is finished?"

You tilted your head at her sickly sweet tone, figuring that it was the only way she knew to get people to bend for her, to get you to bend for her.

But you would bend for her coldness, you would bend for her cruelness, you would bend for her warmth, you would bend for her anyway she'd ask, fake or sincere.

You would bend for her.

Yes you knew of many places, the factory that you should not enter, the bakery, the grocer, the bank, the haberdashery, and her leisurely activities, but you didn't know of her home.

You didn't know her that well.

You stuttered in surprise, "Of- of course."

A smile played at her lips, but you knew you weren't special.

When her dark blue eyes bore into your own and you saw the hate, you knew that her thoughts were nothing but careless, nothing but mean, nothing but questioning.

You wondered how someone could be so…brave? Sadistic? So content with being unliked by others, even intentionally resented.

Lonely? You could say. Perhaps you both had something in common.

She grasped others by the throats and shook them until they gave in for a breath, until they feared her, until they bent.

You wouldn't mind that, not from her, not at all.

You saw it run through her mind with a slight widening of eyes, as if she was attempting to convince herself that her maliciousness was justified.

For you, well you were just a young girl, a little lamb. You were the innocence that she once had and lost, the total opposite of her.

But you, you weren't so convinced.

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

She stood abruptly and exited the shop, leaving you alone.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The suit was done by 4pm, you prayed that it would fit perfectly. Not that you were opposed to being rebuked by Miss Murdstone, but you truly wanted nothing but to please her.

Wearing one of your favorite dresses, you set out to the Murdstone's estate, walking through the surprisingly busy streets with curiosity.

The door was open when you arrived, and you were greeted by a maid who was bustling around. They informed you where to take the suit due to their current occupation.

You found yourself nervously knocking on a door in a dark hallway, sure that this was a ruse.

The door swung open quickly at the hand of Miss Murdstone, making you flinch in surprise.

You took in the sight of her in her new black dress, one which you had the pleasure of aiding in the fabrication of. It clung to her figure perfectly, defining strong shoulders and a cinched waist.

Smoothing out the fabric of your dress, you attempted not to drool as you extended the suit out to her.

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

She took the suit from you gently, giving you an expectant look as she stayed silent.

"We're hosting a ball tonight."

You averted your gaze to the window at the end of the hall, nodding in understanding and jealousy.

"I trust that it will be enjoyable."

You watched as she looked you up and down, you felt that this was the most attention she had ever given you.

"I do hope."

Silence. You had much to say, but no will to say it.

Whether it was your imagination or a mutual understanding, your relationship seemed to be based on physicality, lacking verbal connection.

A maid then came barreling up the stairs, carrying many things in preparation of the night. "Miss Murdstone, let's prepare you for the ball."

You watched as she entered Miss Murdstone's chambers and disappeared from your sight, the lady allowing her access. Your eyes flit from the maid to hers, screaming with want for a job which you did not have, did not desire; until now.

She spoke with a tone of genuine disinterest, yet the invitation in itself told you something.

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

You had been welcomed into their home, but it felt unsettling all the same. Her unknowing of your presence, or at least not expecting it, gave you the ability to be discreet.

But here, you felt as if something was expected of you, as if she had invited you just to watch you. Ironic.

Few eyes glanced your way as you took your time admiring the Murdstone's estate. Upper class fascinated you, elaborate décor and offerings made you feel envious, yet insignificant at the same time.

You weaved through the crowd of people, introducing yourself as you picked up a glass. Most likely you looked out of place, you knew, despite the fact that you were dressed appropriately.

You were intrigued, however, as you desired to learn more about their lives; desired to learn more about her life.

Not to your surprise, as the night progressed you caught her moving throughout the ball room.

She was on a mission as always, it seemed, tending to others needs and wants in hopes of a pleasant ball; in her role of pleasing her brother. Your eyes followed her tall form as you sipped your drink in a corner, absolutely content.

For a while.

Enjoyment flowed through you as you watched others dance, resisting the urge to join in. You hesitated as your heart panged, knowing that the only person you desired to dance with was not within possibility.

Eventually you had lost sight of her, only Mr. Murdstone in the centre of the room dancing with a woman, so you left.

You quietly snuck to the main room of the house, debating on departing until you realized that nobody was around.

Sneaking up the stairs, you ran your hand along the balustrade, stopping at the top to utilize the light of some candles. If anyone caught you, you were searching for the loo.

A large family portrait on the wall greeted you, an eerie feeling overwhelming you at the sight of the Murdstone family.

The mother, a force to be reckoned with. The father, a tyrannical aristocrat. And the son, vindictive.

As your eyes raked over the young girl, however, you realized she was just that, a young girl.

A young girl born into upper class, born into cruelty, born into a life that was not chosen but wholly hers.

You supposed nobody really had a choice.

The candles guided your attention to an open door, the floor creaking when you stepped closer.

You longed to enter, but a deep dreadful feeling in your chest told you not to.

Shaking your head, you stepped away; but your curiosity got the best of you, as always.

The dimly lit room was lined with books and filled with décor, artifacts, and art. It was the most interesting room you had ever known.

You ran your fingers along an open book on the table, the intricate writing making you guess it was that of a woman.

'My father has gotten…better.

I cannot help but wonder if it is too late.

He now asks me why I am so angry, why I raise my voice.

He does not understand that

I learned it all from him.'

You sucked in a breath as your hand traced the ink. Being lost in her deepest written thoughts was…intense.

You turned pages upon pages for more, stopping at the most recent.

'I question my ability to experience the tender emotions of humanity.

To harbor affection in the manner of mortals.

The question for this issue is

Do I have a human soul,

And can I prove it?

And, of course,

There is no definitive answer.'

Your lip began to tremble at the tug of her words, of her thoughts, of her feelings.

She was no ghost, she was no wax figure, she was as real as you, maybe even more so.

As a small tear escaped your eye, a hand landed harshly on your shoulder.

"I knew I would find you here."

An amused but mocking voice.

She spun you around and grasped your neck, fingers reaching until they squeezed and pulled you close.

It felt pleasant, it felt warm, it felt real.

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

Your eyes widened, hands trembling at her touch, clenching them at your sides.

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

She saw you.

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

She chuckled.

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

You were at first, but then you got sloppy. You swallowed thickly.

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

You nodded your head the best that you could, you truly did.

A smirk grazed her lips as she brought them to your ear, making you shiver at the proximity.

You closed your eyes.

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

She knew, she knew of your attachment.

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

She knew of the way you craved her.

"Do not think I miss your desire."

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

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

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

But you knew her now, unlike you did before.

You knew she wanted to toy with you, and well, you with her.

You wouldn't say that you were cold, cruel, or that you had ever harmed another; for you were just a little lamb.

But, when she looked at you with disdain, you wished to give her a taste of her own medicine.

You wished to slap the sly look off her face, tell her that she wasn't as cruel or deathly as she thought she was, put her down until she lost her sense of fabricated self and cold exterior- until she found her real self again, warmth staring back at you as her clothing and shell were shed.

See, she was smart, witty, and perceptive, but she wore her heart on her sleeve, intentions written plain as day.

An open book, placed for all to see; but only some to analyze, only some to admire.

You, on the other hand, were sly, smart, and deceiving.

Perhaps she saw you as a dumb, innocent, oblivious young woman; but perhaps that's what you wanted her to think.

Gently, you placed your hands onto her waist, pressing yourself further into her grip.

Your lips met her jawline softly, watching as her mouth opened slightly in a gasp, warm breath fanning across your temple.

You bit your lip in pleasure as a smile spread across your face, you breathed low:

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

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

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