#jane Murdstone fic

[weemsfreak]

Desire ♱

⋆Jane's pov (recommend read second)⋆

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

♱ Main story in readers pov here

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

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

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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."

[milfsloverblog]

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

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

Unlace me (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x fem!reader

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————————

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

[rippersz]

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore. 

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you. 

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety. 

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed. 

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby. 

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while... 

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh. 

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh. 

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to. 

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience? 

Thinking about it gave you a headache. 

For where was the point in wondering? 

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because- 

Because-

Wait. 

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of… 

“Fuck.” 

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right. 

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood. 

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill. 

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy. 

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell. 

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength. 

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet. 

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.  

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you. 

Too late. 

You were too late. 

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead. 

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage. 

 Too late. 

You were too late. 

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed. 

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you. 

Something–a sound–made you freeze. 

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement. 

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag. 

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did. 

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then- 

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap. 

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere. 

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.” 

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle. 

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life. 

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.” 

“And the others?” 

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent. 

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies��, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in. 

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.” 

The gun still didn’t move. 

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?” 

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away. 

But you didn’t. 

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures. 

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth. 

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.” 

“How long since?” 

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own. 

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned. 

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-” 

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world. 

“-we can’t just leave them-” 

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-” 

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window. 

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone. 

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-” 

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?” 

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told. 

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade. 

But she didn’t move. 

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak. 

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed. 

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went. 

“More like a rat.” 

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you. 

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot. 

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest. 

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked. 

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.” 

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched. 

“You heard me. Shoot them.” 

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?” 

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off. 

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude. 

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact. 

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming. 

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers. 

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-” 

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return. 

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view. 

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep. 

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun. 

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word. 

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you. 

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass. 

The grass. 

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh. 

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit. 

How fucking lucky were you? 

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance. 

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that. 

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger. 

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead. 

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches. 

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her. 

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms. 

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall. 

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps. 

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority. 

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline. 

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck. 

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up. 

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.” 

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group. 

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself. 

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway. 

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue. 

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.” 

Lucifer? Naked under the what? 

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and  crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were… 

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?” 

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?” 

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.” 

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?” 

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body. 

“Okay. Yes. Sure.” 

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider. 

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors. 

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you. 

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes. 

Red lips twitched. 

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.” 

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder. 

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up. 

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.” 

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat. 

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully. 

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right. 

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat. 

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.” 

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard. 

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through. 

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang. 

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.” 

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips. 

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done. 

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time? 

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa. 

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?” 

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded. 

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted. 

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.” 

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath. 

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it. 

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you. 

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence. 

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.” 

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.” 

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened. 

“Oh.” 

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow. 

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away. 

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering. 

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant. 

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand. 

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.” 

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts. 

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶��︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

[cappulcino]

I guess this post is kind of a cry for help(?)

I love writing and have severe ADHD that has been hindering my passion for months on end now, which makes me feel profoundly depressed

I absolutely need to find the strength to write again and thought that if I shared my WIPs and fic ideas with a short explanation, and found people who would be interested in reading them, I might find that strength because, you know, accountability and all that (am I delulu?)

So here is the list so far (all titles are temporary):

Broken Souls and Apple Pies (WIP): Devil Wears Prada, Mirandy, +70k words planned, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, slow burn, idiots in love, family reunion – Miranda reunites with an unexpected element from her past thanks to Andy, that element then reunites them

The Eveningstar (WIP): The Sandman, Dreamingstar (Morpheus/Lucifer), canon non-compliant, slow burn, slight angst, exes to ennemies to lovers, family reunion – Lucifer convinces Morpheus to help them with personal matters; Morpheus discovers a secret that the Ruler of Hell has kept from him for over a century

Animi Metamorphosis (idea): Wednesday, Larissa/Shapeshifter!OC, canon-non-compliant (Larissa is alive) and post-canon, hurt/comfort, slow burn, repressed feelings, found family, self-acceptance – There is a new music teacher at Nevermore; Larissa gets a bit too involved

Redemption (WIP) with @magnoliamei: Okja, Lucy/Male!OC, canon non-compliant (Mija is replaced by an OC), family reunion, exes to ennemies to lovers

The Balancing Act (idea): Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale, canon divergence, slight angst, Ineffable Family – After Aziraphale returns to Heaven, Crowley discovers a celestial being apparently born from their love, a neutral force embodying balance. As Crowley navigates the challenges of single parenthood, Aziraphale’s visit to Earth leads him to reconsider his allegiance to Heaven and rekindle his feelings for Crowley

I shall take away thy heart of stone (idea): The Personal History of David Copperfield, Jane Murdstone/Maid!OC, secret relationship, escape to freedom, angst – A young maid falls in love with her stern mistress, Jane Murdstone, leading to a forbidden and hidden affair. When Jane's brother intervenes, Jane must risk everything to rescue her beloved and escape to a new life together

Apart from those, I also wanted to open my requests for people to send prompts (I suppose writing short one-shots/ficlets would also help me get back into writing).

So feel free to comment about the list or send prompts, any help is welcome!

[asimperingswannsong]

Miss Murdstone's Crooked Path

Jane Murdstone (The Personal History of David Copperfield)

Notes/Summary/Warning: The GIF's not mine, but Jane Murdstone has the beadwork of a woman who's repressing the hell out of some stuff...thought some context might be helpful...it's a villain backstory situation. Homicide, Physical/Verbal Abuse, Period Typical Misogyny

---------------------------

Little Jane Murdstone was born in the village of Brockley to Emily and Andrew Murdstone. Jane's brother, Edward, was the apple of his father's eye and Jane was a constant source of irritation.

Jane tried as hard as she could. Always completing her numerous assigned chores, always keeping her appearance tidy, and always acting well behaved and quiet as expected.

Her brother, who's only assigned chore was to see to his education so that he might one day become a vicar like his father, was lazy and obstinate. He loafed about observing the women of the house in their work and offering unsolicited advice. He loved to treat Jane as his personal maid.

No matter how hard Jane tried to earn her father's affection she found herself on the receiving end of a hard smack across her face or stern words directing her to go to her room and not come out.

No matter how many times her brother was caught shirking his studies and lying about it, he always found favor with their father. As Edward got older, he realized his position and would use it to torment Jane for his own amusement.

He would go behind her after she'd tidied an area and create a mess for their father to find or he'd break cups and plates and leave them after Jane had finished serving the family.

She was the obvious culprit in her father's eyes, and she knew her protestations would fall on deaf ears. Her father came to regard her as a stupid insolent child. The physical abuse become more frequent, and he started speaking of sending her away.

Once she became aware of her brother's involvement in her misfortunes, Jane started to bargain and plead with her brother. She would complete any task he assigned her, and he enjoyed the feeling of superiority he held over her.

But, sometimes, he would become bored with her pandering, and he would revert to his devious behaviors because he found it amusing to see their father rage at her over an infraction she hadn't even committed.

One evening when she'd been sent to her room without supper, she snuck out and stood at the top of the stairs straining her ears to hear the conversation between her father and brother. Her father had begun to include Edward when he retired to his study post dinner for brandy and a cigar since he was becoming a man.

Jane was anxious to hear whether her father was planning to be rid of her. So, she stood and tried to make out their conversation. "I believe it's time I locate a husband for that troublesome sister of yours Edward."

"Jane?" her brother laughed loudly at the idea. "It isn't amusing Edward. I don't plan to go on supporting her forever, and if she never marries, at some point she'll be your burden." "I'd always just assumed she would be. I mean who would want to marry her?"

"I think I could find a young man who could be persuaded, if he possesses the right disposition." "A feeble-minded young man you mean?" her brother asked jokingly. "Perhaps," her father said seriously.

Jane stood at the top of the stairs with a pit in her stomach. Tending to her father and brother was one thing, but doing the same for a complete stranger for the rest of her life was more than she could fathom. And bearing his children? Absolutely not!

She resolved then and there to behave so abominably, no matter the consequences, that her father would be left with no choice but to banish her. Suddenly all she wanted out of life was to be forced into a convent.

Before she knew it, the potential suitors started to arrive. Most of them gave up easily under her withering stare and her harsh manner. Her efforts didn't go without consequences. Her father was furious with every failed match and Jane suffered more and more as a result.

He father struck her, shouted at her, refused her food, banned her from her usual shopping trips into town, failed to replace her worn dresses and stockings forcing her to patch and darn them herself, and denied her other small freedoms she'd previously enjoyed.

Jane became the obstinate child he'd always accused her of being, and Mr. Murdstone's dislike of her grew greater and greater. Eventually, her bedroom became her prison cell, and she rarely left it without being instructed to return to it as soon as her father spotted her moving about. If she wasn't on display for a would-be husband, she was locked in her room.

One afternoon, he noticed her face in the window as he crossed the back garden, and the next day, her view of the flowers and the birds outside was boarded over and her worldview was reduced to the unadorned walls of her bedroom.

But Jane continued to defy his wishes and to ostracize her potential spouses. Until her father found Jacob Norman, or rather Jacob's mother, Lilian Norman. Jacob was the only son and heir of the widow Norman, a well to do landed woman, who was determined to find a match for her spineless dim-witted lout of an offspring.

Between them, she and Jane's father convinced young Mr. Norman that Jane's seemingly off-putting character was actually just a terrible shyness that prevented her from reaching out to him. So, no matter how vitriolic Jane became with Jacob, he continued to laugh it off good naturedly. It was astonishing to Jane how inattentive he was to her dour mood.

Jacob became a regular additional guest at family meals and despite Jane's best efforts she seemed unable to be rid of him. She was horrified when she overheard her parents discussing a potential wedding date for the pair.

She couldn't shake the sense of dread and panic that stayed with her the following morning. As she did the washing up following breakfast, an idea formed in her mind, one born from panic and fear.

She was desperate for her idea to be successful because if it failed, she'd be ruined and forced to marry. She crept quietly from the kitchen out into the stables hoping to avoid notice.

She made her way to the back of the stable to the storage shed where her father kept the arsenic, he used to kill nuisance animals that raided his garden and devoured his plants.

Later that afternoon, she sat down to tea as usual with her fiancé to be and three days later when she read his obituary in the paper instead of the announcement of their engagement, she was surprised to find that she felt a sense of relief instead of any sense of guilt or remorse.

For more than a year following the untimely demise of Jacob Norman, Jane found her path unmarred by the potential for matrimony. Her father's once mild dislike of her had settled into a hard-boiled active hatred, but Jane did not care.

She continued to comply with the elder Mr. Murdstone's wishes and she continued to pander to the younger's whims. As a result, her brother became more and more reliant upon her.

When enough time had passed to not be construed as improper to the community, Mr. Murdstone surprised Jane by making another attempt to wed her off. This time instead of trying to manipulate a gullible moron, her father found a brash arrogant misogynist not unlike himself.

Much to her surprise, Jane was introduced at dinner one evening to Mr. William Baxter. Her father hadn't tried to convince Mr. Baxter that Jane was just shy, instead he'd been entirely upfront with the man, introducing her as his strong-willed opinionated daughter who needed a man to teach the proper role of a wife.

Mr. Baxter greeted Jane and assured her he was just the right person to help her learn her place. Jane's stomach churned as he held her hand and leered at her.

When Jane responded to his flirtation with her usual venom, Mr. Baxter just laughed, "Let that tongue of yours run rampant while you can Ms. Murdstone, once we're married, I'll either tame it or I'll have it removed."

Jane was once again panicking. She didn't want to use the arsenic again for fear that it would look suspicious, and she didn't know what else to do. But then one day, as she swept in the kitchen, she saw out of the window the reckless way her suitor whipped his one-person chaise into their drive.

He'd cut off a family in a coach and the husband had had their driver follow Mr. Baxter into the drive. He came out of the carriage as William stepped down from his chaise and the middle-aged husband proceeded to harshly reprimand him for his careless behavior. He upbraided him for endangering himself, the man, and his family with his driving.

William was unrepentant and short tempered in return and the husband eventually gave up and returned to his coach in a huff. William came inside to visit as though nothing had happened and Jane was left with a crystal-clear vision of how to be rid of him.

She waited for William and her father to go on their usual pre-dinner stroll, no doubt plotting all the ways in which he might make her miserable following their nuptials, and Jane once again stole out and into the stables.

This time she quietly and gently approached his horse and used her sharpest fillet knife to wear away at the underside of the leather reins. She wore it down until it was thin but not cut through and then she returned inside and sat through yet another dreary dinner with a trio of smug men (and one inattentive mother) who cared not at all for her wishes.

When Jane read the ghastly details of Mr. Baxter's road accident and how severely his skull was crushed by the impact with a tree due to his high rate of speed she once again felt nothing but a flood of relief wash over her.

The elder Mr. Murdstone moved through the house casting a pall everywhere he went, but he appeared to give up entirely on the prospect of finding a husband for his daughter. He began to think of Jane as a curse for some unidentified indiscretion of his youth.

His demeanor toward her remained as harsh as ever, and their usual routine resumed until Mrs. Murdstone suddenly passed away following a brief bout of consumption. After her funeral, Edward began to leave home and stay gone for days at a time, running around with friends and getting into trouble.

Jane's father started to work more and more outside on the grounds of the family property. Jane couldn't tell if he wanted to stay busy so he wouldn't have to think of his dead wife, or if he wanted a distraction from his son who kept returning only long enough to ask for money to cover a gambling debt or pay for lodging and food, or if he stayed out all day to avoid Jane as much as possible.

Whatever the case, Jane wasn't complaining. With her father busy and Edward always gone, she found her situation improved greatly. Of course, there were still episodes, where her father would come in for lunch and find her sitting and reading one of the books from his study and he'd rage at her for being a burdensome unwed daughter pretending to be a woman of leisure while there was plenty of housework that needed doing.

When he was angrier than normal with her, he'd lock her back in her room when he left in the morning and leave her there until he was ready to be fed in the evening. He'd keep the routine going for a few days or a week and then he'd forget to lock her in before going out and Jane would resume her new normal routine in the empty house.

Eventually, her father fell down dead in the garden of a massive heart attack. No doubt, overworking himself played a part in his end, and that left Jane and Edward. They buried him and then Edward left again to meet up with friends in London.

Jane then experienced her first window of true happiness, as Edward was often gone, and she was finally given full unrestricted use of the family home all to herself.

She placed a framed photograph of her father on the mantlepiece in his former study and every day, she'd raise her teacup to him as she sat in his plush wingback and sipped her beverage peacefully while reading from the extensive library that had always been kept from her.

Everything was going so well, until she received word from her brother of his intentions to marry one Mrs. Clara Copperfield. She was exceedingly annoyed when he requested her presence.

[winterfireblond]

Hi, I saw you were looking for Gwendoline Christie related fics! The thought of suggesting one of my own fics makes me feel like my organs are shrivelling, but it’s a small fic so I feel pretty confident you haven’t seen it which means it might be what you’re looking for. Anyway, it’s on AO3 so I don’t know if that will work. The link is on my Tumblr, so you should be able to find it pretty easily if you decide to check it out (I think it’s one of the top three posts that appears at the top of my page). Anyway, have a great day! If you check it out, enjoy, and if not, don’t sweat it.

P.S. Don’t bother replying you this <3

Hey!!! First of all THANK YOU for mentioning your works and for messaging me<3 And no, it's not a bother to reply on messages like this so I can at least show my appreciation for people like you<3<3<3 Thank you thank you thank you

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

apparently i cannot just write a smutty fic like a normal person i need to research the 1850s to make it Historically Accurate

[igelmanz]

You know that situation when your mind comes up with a few sentences that are just AMAZING and you definitely want to incorporate them into your writing but you have no idea what kind of scenario they fit into and once you finally have that figured out, you have no idea how to write what you want to write??? Because that's me right now.

[h-doodles]

i need a moment hold on

Warmth of Your Doorways - Chapter Nine

Jane Murdstone x dressmaker!Reader

In collaboration with @daydream-cement and beta'd by our baby @tunarunes 🧡

Summary: Jane learns what it means to forgive.

Jane remained outside a cafe all afternoon. She nestled herself in a corner near the front window to wait for your nightly walk home from work. Unfortunately for her, this was another day in which you stayed late into the evening - resulting in her having to wait near the mouth of an alleyway when the establishment closed. Regardless of this, Jane Murdstone would not be deterred.

You finished up your work, eyes growing heavy through your last few stitches. You took your time in cleaning up your station and locking up the shop - the thought of your empty home keeping you moving at half the pace in which you normally would be working.

The walk home felt uneventful, but there was an uneasiness to it - almost as if you were being watched. You made your way up the stairs and the uneasiness being quelled by the feeling of your home nearby.

As you made your way inside, you quickly made yourself comfortable by shedding your outer skirts and corset. You draped them over a chair and left them behind to fix yourself something small for dinner, going about your business absentmindedly while softly humming to yourself as you cooked.

Little did you know that Jane was positioned outside your front door, wrestling with her anxieties about knocking and making her presence known. She was terrified that she would be met with rejection and vile words - the same that she had subjected you to not that long ago. With the clench of her fist, Jane raised a shaky hand and pushed herself to gently knock at your door - the possible reward of earning you back ultimately outweighing the potential rejection.

At first there was no sign of movement, the wooden store staring back at her, mocking her. She strained to hear any sounds of life, music, puttering, footsteps. The windows were barely lit, though surely you'd had time by now to turn a light on or two.

So she waited. Knocked softly again. Waited.

When the door finally creaked open, Jane felt an immediate rush of relief fill her. There you stood, pretty as ever, hair half piled up. Jane noted you looked a wee bit run down, and if your hours tonight were indicative of your usual work schedule, she couldn't fault you.

She also noted how you did not move, so still Jane had to focus briefly on your chest to see that you were indeed breathing.

"... Jane?"

It was so quiet, so broken that it took all of Jane's remaining strength to stay upright. The tears now flowing down your cheeks matched hers, and she tentatively took a step towards you.

"Yes, little violet. I'm here."

You sobbed and flung yourself into Jane, nearly toppling the two of you over. Aware of potential onlookers, Jane quickly pulled you indoors, shutting the door behind her with her foot as you clung to her. Though her chest was filled to the brim with apologies and explanations, she allowed herself a moment to simply comfort you, gently smoothing down your hair as her tears stained it.

"Jane… Jane, you're here… why… how?"

Wobbled and unsure, Jane attempted to tell you how Marjory had bought her tickets, to come find you, fight for you. The mention of Marjory seemed to stir something in you, as you pushed back from Jane and now held her an arms distance away. Jane felt her resolve crumble slightly as anger lit your pupils, and she braced herself for what she knew was coming; what she knew she deserved.

"And is that why you're here? To fight for me? After… after everything you did? Everything you said?"

Jane cringed and wrapped her hand around yours, hoping to keep you from drifting too far.

"Please, let me explain-"

"Explain?! Explain what exactly? Never in my life have I been called such nasty things, or been so thoroughly disrespected… and I… I thought you loved me Jane, I… I love you-"

You knew you were yelling, knew that perhaps your neighbors could be privy to your rage, but staring at the woman who had hurt you so badly…

Damn them all. And damn her too if her excuses weren't good enough.

Even if she looked as weary as you felt. Even if the guilt and pain were written clear as day on her features, rolling down her cheeks to meet her throat.

Damn her, damn her, damn her-

"I love you too, little violet. I swear it."

Spoken with such hushed sincerity, perhaps you could believe it.

"Please. Please just- let me explain. Let me speak. Let me… show you. Prove to you. That I am worth the love you hold for me."

Every atom in your body screamed for her, as they had since the moment you met her; her pleas echoed in your marrow, and you felt some of the anger melt away when you noted how hollow her cheeks had become.

"Fine. But do not think you can simply… walk back in here and everything will go back to normal. I can't- I couldn't handle this pain a second time. You need to mean it, Jane."

You hadn't thrown her out on the doorstep, and truly that's what she'd been expecting. She nodded, and even dared offer you a small smile.

She would do this, that she knew for certain. She'd spend the rest of her life proving her love to you, if that's what it took.

"You can start by telling me why you ever pushed me away to begin with."

Jane’s mouth gaped for a moment. She didn’t know where to begin. How could she explain a lifetime of pain and violence in a way that also allowed her to take ownership of her mistakes?

With a gentle tug of your hands, Jane drew you to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. There was a nervousness about Jane as she worked up the courage to open up about her trauma. Her dedication to winning you back pushed the words from her mouth. “Since my father died... my brother became the head of the house. When we were young, he learned of my... love of the fairer sex. This was something I was... ahem... routinely punished for...”

While this hadn’t fully explained Jane’s behavior, her words tugged at your heartstrings.

“I slowly became more callous... more of the shrew others told you I was. So much of that changed when I came to live with Marjory. I was so much happier, and so much more myself. And then you came along...” Jane paused briefly when she thought of how you changed her life irrevocably, a shy smile causing her to turn her gaze into her lap. “Edward came back... He found out we were together. He threatened to tell people... to ruin your career. I knew it was wrong to turn you away. It was wrong to hurt you the way I did...”

“I never meant any of it. I-I was scared... I was set to be married three days ago... and I would have. I fell into such despair when you left. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t journal... I just sat there thinking of that night you came to me in the rain.”

You sat in a stunned silence, overwhelmed by the story she had told you. All of the insults. All of the ways she hurt you could be attributed to her fear of her brother. So much of you wanted to remain angry. You wanted to scream and call her a coward, but as you observed her typically proud and rigid stature, you saw Jane wasn’t her normal self.

The dress she wore hung looser around her body. Her face displayed an uncommon exhaustion and ghostliness. It was then you saw the true extent of Jane’s heartbreak.

“What do you want from me now?” Your question wasn’t aimed to wound Jane, but you needed to know more about her intent on being there in your home. As much as it pained you, you wondered if this was all a sick joke.

“I want to love you... I want to apologize for all that I’ve put you through.”

“I... I forgive you...” Your response immediately made the ravenette perk up, but the way you finished your sentence made her face fall with a sad understanding. “But... I need more time to trust you again, Janey...”

"Of course dearest. Might I, at the risk of toeing over the line, ask to stay the night? I'm afraid in my haste I've forgotten to book a proper room. I can… I can stay on the couch-"

You shook your head, the thought of the statuesque woman cramped in your living area almost comical, and tentatively took Jane's hand. Neither of you commented how much you had missed the feeling as you led her towards the spare room, fetching an extra blanket to help keep out the night chill. There was an awkward tinge to the air as you bade her goodnight, the yearn on her face palpable, and for a brief moment, you thought she might ask you to stay.

You wished she had.

--

Sleep did not come easy, if at all, and after tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, you finally sighed and tossed the covers aside, padding quietly towards where Jane slept.

You stood in the doorway for a few moments, simply watching her. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, her long black hair spilling over the pillow beside her. It made your heart ache every time you looked at her, and in the peaceful thrum of the night, you allowed yourself to be drawn to her. Carefully, you pulled back the blanket and slipped beside Jane, your breath catching when her perfume hit your nostrils. You'd been so overwhelmed earlier you hadn't noticed it; now however, it consumed you. You brushed her hair off the pillow and lay fully next to her, hardly daring to breathe.

It was the best you'd slept in weeks.

Jane had awoken to your presence not long after you slipped into unconsciousness. Through half lidded eyes, she thought she was experiencing the same recurring dream she had since you left. A dream where you crawled into bed and she held you throughout the night, only to wake heartbroken when it had all been a figment of her imagination. As she always did, Jane embraced the fiction and looped an arm around you - not caring of the heartache to come. Only if she knew that for the first time in weeks, her wildest dreams were a reality.

--

Waking up was slow, easy. The first rays of sunlight were spilling into the room, and you felt warm… almost too warm. Your brow furrowed as you shifted slightly, the smells and sheets not at all familiar. Cracking your eyes open, you peered around you, your heart stuttering when you met Jane's piercing blue gaze.

".... good morning, sweeting."

You couldn't help the sleepy smile- you'd missed her so much. Missed waking up to her like this. Rather than let the moment pass, you simply curled under her chin and wrapped your arm around her, breathing her in for a few moments.

"Good morning Janey. Did- did you sleep well?"

Jane nodded, and dared to gently run her fingertips up and down your spine. You felt that familiar twang pull in your chest; you'd missed this too much, and it all came rushing back as to why.

"We should eat something. I have to be off to work soon."

Jane had noticed the way you'd stiffened in her arms, but stayed silent as she watched you rise for the day. You left for your room without so much as a glance back at her, and it made her throat feel tight.

She could do this. She would do this.

Breakfast was manageable, that awkward tinge back in the air as you moved around each other seamlessly, cooking eggs and laying plates and cutlery. Any attempt at small talk felt… odd. Stifled. For now quiet seemed best, and Jane opted to tidy the kitchen while you finished readying yourself for work. She met you at the front door, a small bag with lunch for you in her outstretched hand.

"I hope you have a good day today."

"Thank you. Will, um… will you still be here when I return this evening?"

You looked so small and unsure of yourself Jane wanted to scoop you in her arms and never let you go.

"If you'd like me to be."

Your shoulders relaxed, and you took the lunch from Jane, butterflies skittering in your chest as your hands brushed.

"I would."

Jane smiled, a real smile, and opened the door for you. Some long-lost remark of her gentlemanly nature was at the tip of your tongue, but playful banter still seemed too… raw. Much like everything else at the moment. You simply squeezed her hand on your way out, and wondered what it would once again be like to come home to Jane.

--

@weemssapphic @bitch-we-have-a-hulk @yourlocaldisneyvillain @renravens @thegoddamnfeels @dvrkhcld @blessmysouljessisonaroll @opheliauniverse @ahsfan05 @ness029 @carnivorousflowers @willowshadenox @mysaviorfalsegod @myzzjolanda @bigolgay @pluied-ete @h-doodles @pro-weems-places @kimiinou @vigelvictoria @pigeonbrewster @saturnnnnl @azu-zu

[weemsfreak]

Desire ♱

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

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

♱ Jane's pov here

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

Places which she ventured on a normal day,

Places which you ventured on a normal day.

Things that she did,

Things that you did.

The gallery, the haberdashery, the manor house gardens.

She was busy,

You were busy.

Wherever she went, you followed.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

"Indeed, it has."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inevitably, Gladys called your name from the next room.

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

"Yes, how can I help-"

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/n, this is Miss Murdstone."

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

"Well, thank you."

You nodded with a small smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

Cold on the outside and warm on the inside.

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

Warm on the outside and cold on the inside.

Perhaps you were both deceiving.

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

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

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

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

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

She always did.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was so soft you believed it was imagined.

"Apologies."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

And well, as did she.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

The factory, a place of your dreams and nightmares.

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

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

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

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

By morning you had tucked yourself deep behind the shelves.

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

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

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

"Jump, boy" Mr. Murdstone instructed.

The boy tried, pathetically.

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

You held in a snicker.

"Jane" Mr. Murdstone warned.

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

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

He jumped higher and had yet to reach.

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

"JANE."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had no choice.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

"You measured incorrectly" she grumbled.

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

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

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

"Of course, Miss Murdstone."

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

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

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

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

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

"Men, incompetent" was all that she said.

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

"Indeed."

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

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

A sigh, "I have somewhere to be."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You would bend for her.

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

You didn't know her that well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you, you weren't so convinced.

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're hosting a ball tonight."

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

"I trust that it will be enjoyable."

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

"I do hope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆♱✮♱⋆  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a while.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You supposed nobody really had a choice.

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

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

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

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

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

'My father has gotten…better.

I cannot help but wonder if it is too late.

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

He does not understand that

I learned it all from him.'

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

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

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

To harbor affection in the manner of mortals.

The question for this issue is

Do I have a human soul,

And can I prove it?

And, of course,

There is no definitive answer.'

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

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

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

"I knew I would find you here."

An amused but mocking voice.

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

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

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

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

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

She saw you.

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

She chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

You closed your eyes.

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

She knew, she knew of your attachment.

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

She knew of the way you craved her.

"Do not think I miss your desire."

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

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

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

But you knew her now, unlike you did before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[milfsloverblog]

How Eve Felt (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

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

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

✨ AO3 LINK IN TITLE ✨

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t look. Don’t look. Do not look.

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

“I am looking at you, Miss Murdstone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How many women have you laid with?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————————————

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

[rippersz]

𝔈𝔵𝔭𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢

・—・—・—・—・—・

・—・—・—・—・—・

(A Jane Murdstone x Maid!Reader oneshot) (Angsty/Romantic) (TW: Mentions of lesbianism being a disease; Bad self-image) (Reader is chubby :>)

・—・—・—・—・—・

You think you talk softly at night, but you don’t. And certain curious ears often overhear what should not be whispered - not even in the black of the evening.

・—・—・—・—・—・

There was a single window in your bedroom. It was slim, framed by white wood, made spotless by your hands, and had a sill large enough to lean your entire body against. You tried sitting on it once before, but the second it creaked beneath your weight, you scrambled off and vowed not to test it again.

On sunny mornings, the clean glass panes greeted the rays of the sky and let them into the room with open arms. Although it was annoying at first, having to wake with the sun, it eventually became a benefit. You did not have to invest in alarm clocks with the few bits of coin you got, nor ask a fellow maid to wake you. And even if you did- you couldn’t. Being a Lady’s maid offered many things, but companionship wasn’t one of them. In your little room, it was just you. You and the sun in the mornings and you and the moon in the evenings. The stars stayed around all day, mostly hidden and mostly silent. They whispered hellos when you dipped into your room throughout the working hours, taking a moment of solitude to breathe and freshen yourself up in the length of your mirror. They watched as you did that, too - as you fixed your hair and cleared your throat and settled your face and smoothed down your apron and smiled falsely at yourself, wondering briefly if it would please a certain someone. It never did. The stars told you it never did and it never did. But nonetheless, you straightened your back and reset your shoulders and carried on throughout the minutes and hours and tasks of the day until you could finally return to your room again and sidle up to your window and indulge. Finally finally indulge. Finally give yourself a moment of reprieve. Finally grant yourself some closeness with something other than the houseplants.

“Hello.” You spoke softly, heart pounding in your ears as you carefully leaned against the sill and opened the window. It made a little cracking noise - forcing you to pause and listen - before giving way and going up smoothly. During those bits of time, you held your breath; scared half to death that someone would think you’re opening the window to try and escape - or that you’re doing it to disobey or something similar to that. You weren’t, of course. You didn’t have much desire to leave - and you never opened the window during the day. No, only at night. Only when the moon crested over the dark tree-lined horizon, smiling softly and humming beneath her breath. Only when she was in perfect view of your wanting eyes, shimmering instantly at the sight of her cool glow. Like a sprinkle of hope within desolation. Like a lifeline when you fell so hard that your body refused to work. Like the only force in the universe that you felt comfortable sharing your greatest secret with.

A great secret that… well, if it got out, you’d be ruined. Finished. The maids would whisper and the guests would gasp and any future employers would look upon you with utter disdain before sending you away to a place to be fixed.

Cured.

Because you were diseased. Because no woman with breasts and hips like yours, wider than most, bigger than most, should ever yearn for another woman. And no woman, with a heart like yours and soul like yours, should ever want anything other than a man. Because men were your end and beginning. Men were your chains, your roots, the grounding element. Men- a man - kept you in that house. Kept a roof over your head and food on your table. Kept you warm and busy. Kept you with at least one coin in your pocket at all times. Kept you from running off into the wilderness and dying in the snow. Kept you from thieves, and raiders, and other villainous beings you’d heard whispers of. Kept you working, resting, breathing.

But he never kept you living.

And he never kept you wishing.

And he never kept you dreaming.

And he certainly never kept you loving.

No… no he didn’t do that. He didn’t have the privilege.

But his sister did.

Oh his sister did.

She did - over and over and over again.

She kept you existing. She kept you wanting to get up in the morning. She kept you desperate to be of service. To do a good job.

Hanging on to her every word. Her every breath.

Ms. Jane Murdstone.

Your executioner. Your greatest secret.

When waking from slumber, she smelled like fresh linen and rosewood. When dressing, taking her morning tea, and allowing you to do her hair, she smelled like earl grey and fresh snowbells. When going about her day, dealing with business and spending time with needlework, she smelled of newspaper and lightly roasted coffee. And when the sun fell and it was time to take out her hairpins and slip a nightgown over her head and throw more logs into the fireplace and fix her up a final cup of tea, she smelled like the stars. And the stars, in turn, smelled like love.

Your love.

All of the love you held and hid for her. All of the love you shoved into a withered corner of your mind when standing behind her in the mirror of her vanity, palms caressed by soft dark strands of hair and gaze forced to look away from the glass for fear of revealing every little thought you had. It was maddening to be anything less than her lover, but you knew better than to assume you could ever be anything more than her maid. Her maid. Lady Jane Murdstone’s maid. A woman above all women. A mortal above all gods.

Though perhaps that was your penchant for dramatics talking.

She was no god. Sure, she was cruel like one. And occasionally arrogant like one. And cold like one. But ultimately she did little more than run the house and offer advice to her brother when he needed it. Though still, that within itself, in comparison to your little societal standing, was considered godly. Was considered… better. For she was better. Better than most women. Better than most Ladies. Some of them were horrid. Some refused to make eye contact with their maids, while she insisted upon it. Some kept their maids up until they swayed with exhaustion, while she preferred an early bedtime. Some threw things at their maids, were violent with their maids, but the only weapons she used were her words. They cut deep enough, she knew - and they never drew upon the mess that was bloodshed.

And you loved her.

You weren’t entirely sure why, but you did.

It could have been the way her lips pursed, maybe. They were a gentle pink, with a defined cupid’s bow and a sweeping lower lip and a small scar on the right side of the top one. Or it could have been her eyebrows and how expressive they were, how they twitched when she was contemplating something or furrowed when she was angry (which was often). Perhaps it was her skin and how pale it was… how flawless… how it glowed white in the sun and went warm beneath the flickering of the fireplace. Hell, it could have been her voice. Low, occasionally soft and placating and mean, nearly melodic when the sound of her accent twirled like vines around each syllable. As though each day she grabbed the English language by the balls and made it her bitch. The brief thought of that always made you smile secretly to yourself. Jane Murdstone… grabbing a language and owning it… honestly it wasn’t far from the truth. But then again, maybe your love didn’t stem from any of that. Maybe it wasn’t her incredible height and the way she towered and maybe it wasn’t how her dresses cinched so much at her waist that they left you curling your gaze over the small of her bust and width of her hips with desire. Maybe it wasn’t how long her thin tapered fingers were or how strong her grip seemed to be or how talented she was with a needle. Maybe it wasn’t her dark hair, secretly wavy and long, consistently tied into a severe bun. And maybe- somehow, maybe- it wasn’t her eyes either. Blue and icy and feeling like the chill of ocean waves whenever they ran over you, whenever they drowned you. Taking you in and criticizing and judging and accepting that you were different from the other maids. That your fingers weren’t bony and spindly like theirs and you couldn’t fit through the cracks of doorways like them and your cheeks were naturally bigger, with more fat and more sheen - consistently giving away a violent blush whenever you walked up a flight of stairs too fast or hurried along a hallway too quickly. Your thighs mushed together, gladly touching, leaving you with a bad chafe on the worst of days and some redness on the best - and your venus mound and ‘muffin top’ as some of the other maids liked to call it - were more pronounced and much harder to suck in when you were feeling insecure. Which was often. Nearly always. Only going away and fading when you went to sleep, just to find you again the next morning and force you to face yourself in the mirror. In your own and in your Lady’s, both of which you did try to avoid.

But you wanted to be perfect for her - so you faced your self-hatred and fussed over your appearance until the voices gave up with one large combined sigh and sent you on your way.

And in the vanity, you only glanced when you felt it was safe - and never to look at yourself but always to see how pretty Ms. Murdstone’s reflection was in the sparklingly clear glass. To see how she chewed on the inside of her cheek while reading a novel, to see how she closed her eyes gently when powdering her face. To see how the blue of her irises lit up like lightning through the din of dark clouds once she realized that it was a perfect day to go for a walk in the gardens.

But beyond that, beyond her, you couldn’t stand yourself. You couldn’t stand your weight, your short height, your fidgety anxious nature, your too-romantic heart, your love of pretty things, your bone-deep, terrible, horrible, most horrid disease… You hated it all. You wanted to be better. You wanted to be cured.

But you didn’t want to lose her.

“Gods it’s chilly tonight, isn’t it?” You let out a little huff, crossing your arms and clinging to yourself.

The moon stayed silent, watching you shiver.

“Are you keeping warm?” You knew she couldn’t respond. “I bet it’s quite hard up there in the clouds. With all that… wind.” You also knew she lived in space and you knew space held no wind, but it gave you peace of mind to humanize her a bit. To connect as though she could hear you.

She never spoke. Never moved. She simply watched, listening as you sighed and propped your elbows up on the window sill and leaned against your hands, eyes tired and shining as you stared up at her.

“Just another day down, isn’t it?” You kept your voice soft for fear of waking up the entire house. It certainly didn’t help that your room was right beneath Lady Murdstone’s, but it wasn’t like you were loud. Ever. Honestly, you were quite the opposite. You rarely talked around her. A small ‘Yes, My Lady’ did well enough most times. And she didn’t seem to take offense to it, thank goodness; quite frankly she preferred the quiet anyway. And that was fine by you. You could admire from afar without risking an embarrassing voice crack or weird sound. The moon, on the other hand, heard all of your little scoffs and sighs and groans and squeaks. You often imagined her smirking at you, amused by your expressions as you talked. “I’m happy you’re here tonight, though. Today was tiring but good. My Lady was in one of her better moods… she even let out little hums when eating her toast this morning.” A smile curled onto your lips. “She never used to do that. Or maybe still doesn’t… I don’t know. I think only tomorrow will tell.” There was a pause as you took a moment to listen to the sounds outside. Lightning bugs flitted around from behind the wire-meshed screen, and other various little critters clicked their legs together and chirped and ruffled the bushes outside of your window. It was very soothing, all of the background noise. It made your one-sided chat less awkward than it could have been. “…Will you be here then, as well? Tomorrow? Because it’s Friday and My Lady spends most Fridays doing needlework and the- goodness the complacency,” you sighed and shook your head, smiling at the thought of her little grumbles as she either stuck herself or missed a stitch, “it makes her cranky to say the least.” Your lips were stuck in a permanent simper. “Cranky… and yet endearing.”

You paused, tilted your head, and wondered over your own words.

“Well,” your eyebrows raised while you snorted, “No one’s ever described her as that before, I’m sure… But it’s true. Sometimes she can be endearing. Sometimes she can even be… domestic. Soft, almost.” You mused aloud, nodding. “I mean other maids can’t see it, of course. But she can be. You’d even be surprised.” The moon was silent. “Like she… well I know that she knows lullabies. She hums them sometimes when she’s preoccupied, right before realizing what she’s doing and then stopping…” Your lips twitched into a frown. “…like she doesn’t want to reveal that she knows stuff like that. Soft stuff like that, is what I mean.”

The moon didn’t even blink as you chose to change your train of thought, finding the one you were on to be too dull. Your heart was full after all, and the night was growing darker, and you could feel exhaustion pulling at your body, and you wanted to scream your love to the heavens… but you couldn’t. So you chose to whisper it instead.

“I’m very lucky to be here with her, I think.” Your eyes traced the hazy horizon. “I’m honestly not sure what I’d do if I weren’t with her here. I can’t- gods I can barely remember what life was like before I met her… All I can tell you is that it was dull.” The moon shimmered. “Anything without her is dull. When she goes on business trips with her brother, or spends some time away at one of the seaside homes, the world loses its color. And I’m left to- to just rot here, dwelling in the blacks and whites and greys.” Your shoulders and neck felt tense. “If I could go with her, follow her everywhere, I think I would. Even if she led me straight off a cliff, I think I’d still go willingly……. Though maybe that’s foolish to say. Maybe I wouldn’t follow her at all and would instead try to save her from falling off the edge herself. Maybe I’d beg her to hold on a little bit longer… I’m not sure.” The moon seemed to sigh with you then, inhaling and exhaling into the ether as you ran your hands through your hair and yawned into your forearm. “But either way - I’m glad I’m here by her side. I’d rather it be me, who wants to do a good job, than a girl who is too scared to face her. She hates that, you know. When others become timid and slow because they can’t meet her ‘head-on’, so to speak.” Your fingers did the little quotation marks as you pushed more of your weight against the windowsill. “She doesn’t accept anything less than perfection…. Which is interesting, considering I’m far from perfect. In fact, many of the other maids would be great candidates for my position. And yet… they’re not. I’m still here. Employed and happy - or, well, as happy as one can be in this state,” you shrugged, moving to run your hands over the lines in the wood. “…I just- I just wish- I ugh I just wish…,” your voice got very quiet, your heart got very slow.

“………….I just wish she’d notice me…….”

But it was silly to want that.

And it was silly to daydream. And it was silly to wish for what could not happen. Because tall slim Ladies did not want chubby little maids. And cruel gods did not want pitiful humans. And women did not want women because that was sick and terrible and you were sick and terrible and Lady Jane Murdstone would never be sick and she would never be terrible.

And as you closed the window and smiled one last little smile at the moon and said your silent goodbyes, your mind strayed to nothing else but the woman sleeping in the room above yours.

・—・—・—・—・—・

Every night the moon felt gracious enough to show her face through the clouds and trees, you grasped the moment in both of your hands and thanked her with your words.

“You look beautiful tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. I know our chats have become a bit dull because I’m tired all the time, but I promise I cherish every moment I have with you. Seeing as you’re the only one keeping me company… well I appreciate your presence, either way. And I wish- hope- that your light is spilling into the window of My Lady’s bedroom right now too, making everything white and glowy as she sleeps. Rests. Cuz she deserves that more than anything. The days can be difficult for her….. And unfortunately all I can do is hope that she gets the rest she deserves. Which is deep and long and full of the best dreams a woman is capable of having.”

Sometimes, you cried to her too.

“She barely looked at me today. Sometimes I think she thinks I’m disgusting… and doesn’t really want me anymore. And maybe she’s just forcing herself through it, seeing as she doesn’t have to look at me if she doesn’t want to.” Hot tears ran down your cheeks. “And I don’t think she wants to. I don’t think she’ll ever want to. Someone so- someone so beautiful- should not have to gaze upon me. Should not have to cringe. Sometimes I wish I could apologize to her for it. I wish I could offer to wear a mask of some sort so that she’d feel more comfortable. But I can barely get myself to speak to her… I’m so scared that she’ll blink and realize what’s been standing before her all this time and find that she absolutely abhors it. And will want me gone.”

Sometimes, you hummed.

A small low melody vaguely reminiscent of one of the ones Lady Murdstone had been singing beneath her breath earlier that day. You weren’t able to memorize each pitch and tone then, but you improvised and repeated the parts you knew over and over until you got sleepy. And even in your dreams, even randomly in the shower, or the halls, or the kitchens or gardens, you found a sweet little tune dancing across your tongue.

Sometimes, you even read.

Maids were allowed to take one book out per month from the Murdstone family library. Some chose novels, some chose picture books, some chose short stories - but you always managed to find and pick a collection of poems. Some small, some large, some old, some modern. You treated them like infants, clutching the book to your chest like a child you swore to protect. Which, in some ways, was true. You couldn’t lose it- couldn’t damage it- for fear of being punished. Though one time around, you took a risk. A minor, nearly imperceptible risk that would not have alerted anyone if they didn’t know what they were looking for. After managing to sneak in a spot of research when no one was looking, you caught eye of a specific collection atop one of the tallest shelves in the library. It had two worn red hardcovers, fabriced and scratchy, with a golden title engraved on the spine: Sappho’s Best.

‘I desire; And I crave.’

‘You set me on fire.’

‘Eros; Giver of pain…’

‘I tell you; someone will remember us; in the future.’

‘I don’t know what to do: I am of two minds.’

‘Love shook my heart; Like the wind on the mountain; Troubling the oak-trees.’

‘…You burn me…’

The moon beamed brightest when you read from the heart.

And once she became new, waning into darkness before waxing again, you took the time to pay attention to the stars and give them a small talk as well.

“I always wish upon you all, by the way. Especially the one that burns the brightest - which is that one, tonight.” You pointed to it, fingertip brushing the window’s wire-mesh screen. “Hi, pretty…” A smile washed over your lips. “…You know I think My Lady would like you. If she ever looked at the stars, I think she’d find you to be lovely. Very lovely, really… but not like her. You’re beautiful, of course, but not like her. She’s more like… well, she’s not like the moon. She doesn’t quite glow like that. And she’s not like the sun, she’s not nearly as optimistic and bright. And she’s not like you either, because she doesn’t twinkle. She kind of… well… hmm…,” you leaned against your knuckles and contemplated your affections. A comparison between Your Lady, between Jane Murdstone, and something from space- the ether- the universe- was hard to find. She was many wonderful things but she was also so complex… so odd… so…. “Ah,” a soft gasp fell past your lips, “Like a supernova.” You nodded, pleased with your connection. “A supernova, indeed. Beautiful and complex and shiny and…well- I believe- explosive.”

・—・—・—・—・—・

You spent months talking to the moon. How many exactly? You weren’t sure. But it was a delightfully long while and you were incredibly happy to sit down at the end of each day and spill your heart out onto the windowsill for the cosmos to pick at. It was your pleasure, always, to indulge in your thoughts - and your dreams - and your hopes, all of which surrounded the strange wonderful existence of Your Lady.

Jane Murdstone… what a mystery. What an enchanting mystery….

A mystery that swiftly changed into your worst nightmare in the blink of one evening.

You’d taken the time that night, after guiding her through her own nightly routine, to soak in a bath in the maid’s restrooms and wash your hair and hum a song and then slip yourself into a long white nightie. It was one of your prettiest pieces of clothing - and made you feel somewhat beautiful even though you were the only one to see it. In the moonlight, it was just as bright as the stars, and with the candle on your bedside finally snuffed, the quiet of the evening poured over you happily. Just in time for another chat. And like clockwork, you opened the window, waited for any sound, opened it further, leaned against the sill, and made heart-eyes at the galaxy.

But as soon as you opened your mouth, as soon as you took a soft breath to speak, your bedroom door flung open and hit the wall with a dull bang.

・—・—・—・—・—・

Jane Murdstone was a proud woman.

A very proud, very intelligent, very strong woman. She didn’t accept mess and she didn’t accept laziness and she didn’t accept impertinence and anyone who thought they could treat her with anything less than respect would be quickly sliced by her silver tongue. She kept it sharp for a reason, dipping into quiet moments of self-contemplation to pick apart and judge the people she was unfortunately surrounded by. From maids to guests and business partners to her brother. She loved him, she did, but sometimes he acted like an idiot. Of course she’d never say that to his face, but nothing stopped her from thinking it.

Just as nothing stopped her from thinking that, when night fell, she was somehow going mad.

A few months previous is when it started. Sparked by the new year, leading through the seasons, into the months, past the holidays. Someone was talking somewhere in the house - nearby enough for her to hear every individual word. It was always at night, it was always beneath the light of the moon and stars, and it was always from the voice of a young woman. A young woman she hadn’t heard before. A maid, to be precise. A maid that sounded vaguely familiar but not familiar enough.

Everyone called her ‘My Lady’ - everyone treated her with civility - everyone was polite and knew their places. But the strange girl that spoke of her- her, Jane Murdstone- beneath the veil of night, was one step over the line. Was one step over the threshold, somewhere in the house, close enough to know that Jane could hear her if she so wished.

And she did wish.

She did wish- but not out of curiosity and not out of wonder and not out of some strange self-centered delight at knowing someone was talking about her, but because she was scorned. She was enraged. How dare someone speak of her behind her back? Who were they? What more were they saying? Why did they think so much about her and why did they talk so freely and why- why why why did they read, recite, ponder over Sappho in the dead of night when everyone else was fast asleep?

Everyone… except for her and Jane.

Everyone… except for the moon and stars.

….

But a supernova? Truly?

Jane felt hot red hatred fill her veins.

Whoever dared to speak her name not to her face was a coward. A mocking, stupid, rude little coward that could never gain enough courage to face her head on and admit that they thought she was worth laughing about. That they thought she was worth making fun of. Just like those in her youth. Just like those her brother needed to protect her from. Girls and boys that saw her to be too complex- girls and boys that never bothered to understand her- girls and boys that thought her love of flowers and poetry and constellations and needlework was somehow too girlish and stupid to be considered ‘fun’. Girls and boys that left her isolated and alone, forced to tend to her own devices and make a world for herself. Because if she could not be in one, then she’d have to create one. So she did. And she lived in it, occasionally, in her own mind.

But the infuriating distraction of the fearful wimp that spoke of her was occupying her thoughts far more than necessary. So much so that she couldn’t even go for a walk without looking around at each maid that passed, wondering if they were the one she was looking for. If they were the one she seethed over.

For some time- months, weeks, however long, she peered and searched as discreetly as she could. No one noticed. Even the maids, as silly and dim-witted as they were, didn’t pay attention to her gaze. That was probably because most of them couldn’t meet it, but still. Still. No one took note of her viscous curiosity.

And thus, she never found the culprit.

Until one morning… one morning when she was due for a small day-trip with her brother when she had to get up a bit earlier than usual and take tea with the sun. Her handmaid knocked and walked into the room at the exact time she was instructed - and thus the day began.

The handmaid in question was an interesting girl. A smart girl, with rounded features and a small weighted body. She was very quiet, replying with a soft ‘Yes, My Lady’ and a gentle hum whenever she was told to do something. And always, without fail, she carried out Jane’s orders to a level of perfection that no other maid was ever able to achieve in the past. Nor in the future. Or ever, Jane truly suspected. The girl, although bigger than the other maids and more introverted- isolated- alone- was still smarter and more efficient than the entire Murdstone staff put together. She seemed kind, with a warmth in her eyes that Jane was never really privy to considering the little thing was never able to look at her. And during the moments when she was angry, when she insisted that the maid make eye-contact as she demanded she do something, the girl was quiet and timid - disappearing into her own mind as Jane spoke. Though clearly, she was paying attention enough to get her job done. And with no complaint. Ever.

So it was that morning, the day of her little trip, when her idea of the silent introverted handmaid was absolutely shattered.

・—・—・—・—・—・

“Where is- what- urgh what did I do with it?” Jane’s voice was gruff as she muttered beneath her breath, eyes and hands moving in tandem as she nearly flipped her bedroom upside down looking for her lost book.

It was at that moment when the handmaid stepped through the en-suite bathroom, bits of beauty products held in her careful hands. Blue eyes paid her no mind as she mosied over to the vanity, quiet and precise in putting the products down without making a noise and without dropping anything. Jane noticed her of course, but she was too preoccupied to follow their routine. Her book was gone- her novel- and she needed to find it before someone else did. Someone like her brother.

“I swear- no I know I put it here yesterday- what on Earth-” she was growling, she knew, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t like her maid would tell anyone that her Lady went a bit frantic that morning. Over a book, no less.

A book that she was very interested in. A book that she intended to finish at some point either during the day or at night after listening to the coward talk some more before going to bed. But she wouldn’t be able to do either of those things if she didn’t find it. Last evening she had slipped her bookmark snugly between two pages before sliding it onto the smooth wood of her bedside table and snuffing out the last flickers of the candle’s flame - right before falling into a deep dreamless sleep. A sleep that saw her waking up, eyes swiftly widening, when she met the sight of her book-less table. Not a soul could have taken it without her knowing and she was certain she had read it the night before (she remembered the last few scenes) and there was no way she misplaced it, so where the bloody hell had it go-

Oh.

“Florence.”

The maid’s head snapped up, eyes wide at the sound of her Lady calling her name.

“Yes, My Lady?” Her voice was soft as she took a few steps forward, coming up behind Jane with her small hands clasped at her waist. The little thing was always so timid, her shoulders tilted in, her head always slightly bowed, her gaze locked onto her shiny little black buckle shoes with unblinking eyes. Jane found it intriguing just as much as she found it annoying.

But it wasn’t the time to focus on that. It was the time to find her damned book.

“Look under the bed. My book is missing,” and then she was turning on her heel and flicking her hand through the air, gesturing that she should find it and find it quickly so they could get the morning over with.

“Yes, My Lady.”

And the girl dropped to her knees, palms pressing against the wood and shoes squeaking loudly as she pushed herself and crawled under the bed. Jane ignored the little grunts that left those plush lips and instead tended to her beauty products, lining them up in order of which one she’d use first. Once she finally took her seat, back straight and neck stiff, eyes glancing into the mirror to look over her face (noting it was pale and the tiniest bit tired), her gaze also slipped over the picture of- oh goodness.

Florence on her stomach, squirming under the bed, most likely biting her lip to keep in her noises of struggle as she pushed herself to grab the book. The edges of the mattress frame dug into her shoulders and back, pressing against the white and black of her maid’s uniform, leaving indents as she scrambled. And kicked… Jane watched as her legs moved a little bit, trying to get leverage, pushing her backside in the air… leaving Jane’s face red and hot as she ripped her gaze away and focused on something else.

“M-My Lady I- ungh- I believe I may have- gotten it-” Florence’s voice was strained as she grasped onto the book with four fingers and tugged as hard as she could, sliding it across the hardwood to get it closer.

Jane’s ears perked up.

“Is it- oh-” the maid shuffled onto her knees, rising up with an arched back until she was kneeling and holding the book in her palms. “Carmilla? My Lady?”

Jane wasn’t focusing.

11 words.

Those 11 words… the most words Florence had ever spoken to her. Ever.

…And that’s why the coward sounded so familiar.

That’s why she was vaguely recognizable.

The little gossip was her own handmaid.

“My Lady?”

Jane blinked, watching as Florence turned to face her with wide doe eyes and a gentle hand- extending the book for her to take. She smacked down the sudden urge to snarl and growl and yell, deciding instantly that she’d catch the little scaredy-cat in the act and put an end to her mockery later that evening.

“Yes. Now get up - you’re becoming filthy.”

・—・—・—・—・—・

Bang!

Your heart split in two.

One part fell to your toes, weighed down by a sudden influx of dread.

The other part stayed near your ears, pumping blood so hard that you grew dizzy.

“You.”

There, in the doorway, outlined by moonlight and starshine, was your Lady.

Draped in a cream dressing gown, dark hair falling over her shoulders and down her back in gentle waves, loose curls twirling around her ears and temples, eyes alight and burning… she looked furious.

Her fists were clenched at her sides. Her pink mouth, still soft and ever so beautiful, was caught in a frown - and once she reached around to grab the doorknob without even looking at it- closing the door with as much quiet as she could muster in her angered state- you knew you were screwed.

And you also knew that she knew. She knew.

“H-how-”

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are little, you dreadful little brat.” And before you knew it, your Lady was taking quick steps forward - ocean eyes blazing with anger, disdain, contempt, betrayal.

You swallowed, hands shooting up to shield yourself by instinct alone. There were hot tears building in your eyes, sparked by sick surprise and horrid fear, and you couldn’t stop them from flowing over the shelves of your eyelids as Lady Jane’s face came further into the moonlight. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her faint smile lines twisted with shadow, deepening as she sneered down at you. There was no place to run. The windowsill bit into your back and the chill of the world outside, seeing as autumn had come around once more, seeped through the thin fabric of your clothing - making you shiver. Making you gasp.

“I didn’t- I’m- I’m so sorry- please-”

“Hush,” Your Lady spat, white teeth flashing for only a second before she was so close that you could feel the heat of her body mingling with your own. Her breath smelled like mint and raspberry tea and sleep. You wished you were kissing her. You wished she weren’t so angry. “You foolish girl,” you flinched at the steel in her tone, “did you think you’d get away with it? Hm? Did you think I wouldn’t know? I know everything that happens in this house, girl. Everything.”

Well clearly not everything. Your eyes glanced at the small drawer in your bedside table, picturing the lone collection of poems that lay within it… and unintentionally giving away your greatest secret. Ice blue eyes caught your look - and followed suit. You felt what was left of your heart start to drain from your body, mixing with your tears as you began shaking your head.

“What else are you hiding? A plot to run away? Dirt that you’ve collected on me? Thinking it will get you anything?” Lady Jane hissed before she was jerking herself away from your body and walking over to your bed.

“N-no! Please!” You nearly yelled, hands reaching for her and grasping onto her sleeve. “P-please- I didn’t- please- please don’t open the drawer-” your voice was heavy with breath as you sobbed, eyes burning and body buzzing.

If she found you out- if she knew for certain- she’d send you away. She wouldn’t just fire you, she’d send you away. Banish you. Report you to whoever she could and then rip away any other chance at a good life you could ever have. She’d sneer and gag and spit and that very night, you’d be forced to pack up what little belongings you had and then toddle off into the dark - bearing only the moon and stars as your company. And they probably wouldn’t help. In that moment, watching in slow motion as a strong pale hand grasped the small golden knob of the drawer and tugged, they didn’t help. They just watched everything unfold as blue eyes bore witness to your disease. To your sickness. To your greatest shame and most horrid realization and painful way of existing.

“Please,” you begged, stumbling until you fell and were forced to knock yourself onto the bed, fearing the commotion you’d cause if you made a loud noise with your body hitting the floor. “Please- please My Lady- it’s- it’s harmless, I didn’t mean to. Please, please, I swear I won’t- not again- I didn’t– I just wanted- please-” and you tugged at her sleeve, nearly ripping the damn thing, until she tore her arm away with a loud click of her tongue.

Whimpers and sobs had your chest heaving while you watched, helplessly, as she reached into the drawer and took out the red-bound book. With the title proudly engraved on the spine… right next to the date of your death. Your hands twisted together in your lap, strong and unforgiving as you clawed at yourself and felt shame paint your skin and body. Your Lady was quiet.

“Don’t let me go, My Lady, please. Please don’t let me go. I won’t- I won’t do it again. I won’t even open my- my window. I won’t talk to the moon- won’t look at- at- at the stars, just- please. Please, I can’t leave from here- can’t- can’t leave you- please- please please please please please please-”

“Do you want to wake the whole house? Be quiet,” she barked, finally turning to you with a strange look in her gaze. From behind your blurring tears, all you could see was anger - but she was feeling far more than that. Curiosity lingered there, curiosity and wonder and concern. Lady Jane’s furious expression twisted into one of grave distrust.

You flinched at her tone, hating the way your body shook with shock.

“Please-” you began to beg again, whispered and breathy, but she cut you off before you could continue your pleas.

“Where did you get this?”

You glanced down at the collection of poems, figuring that her harsh grip on it was purely out of disgust.

“The- the library,” came your heavy sniffle.

“Where in the library, you foolish thing?” Lady Jane huffed, looking down at you coldly.

“One of- of- of the highest shelves, M-My Lady. One of the bigg-biggest ones. At the top.” Your heart was slowing in your chest, eased by the lack of immediate termination.

“…..Did you finish it?”

“Pard-pardon?”

“Did you finish it? Don’t make me repeat myself.” There was a sharpness in her tone, but it was softened. Barely there. Hidden behind something you couldn’t place.

“N-no, My Lady. Not yet. I- I read slowly, My Lady.” And that was true. You did read slowly. You were also so busy that you had to take the time, every single month it wasn’t finished, to select the same book and start off from where you ended the last time.

That seemed to silence Lady Jane. You weren’t sure why. But there was a tremor to her body that wasn’t there before - and you were suddenly struck by the beauty of her nature while you sat helplessly on the bed, trying to hold in your sniffles. The moon lit her from behind, cradling her body in a sea of silver as she looked down at the book in her hand with a troubled expression on her face. Brows still furrowed but cheek teased between her teeth - a sign of her contemplation. Her worry. Her stress? Like she was fighting with herself internally, debating on sharing something she should not share. You sniffed, suddenly stuck in an odd limbo; a grey area between space and time as Your Lady’s attention was swiftly directed elsewhere.

But not for long.

Blue eyes snapped to you, instantly halting the breath in your lungs as she washed her gaze first over your red teary face - then your chest - then the rest of your shaking body. Not sizing you up… but still deciding on something. Questioning something.

You watched pink lips part.

“…Who do you gossip to?”

What? Gossip? Who do you… who do you… oh. She must think– she must- oh. Oh no. Oh no no no, Lady Jane, no. It was time for your expression to relax into realization before you hesitantly pulled a hand up to wipe your eyes and cheeks.

“I don’t- I share my thoughts with no one but- but the moon, My Lady. And the stars.”

You swallowed as you watched her frown. She was misunderstanding you, you figured. She was getting it all wrong. Lady Jane’s eyes snapped down to the book.

“Then why?”

You blinked.

“Why?”

Silly girl. Never make her repeat herself.

In the smallest of seconds, Your Lady’s hand tossed the book onto your pillow as roughly as she could- ignoring the way it bounced and bruised your leg- before that same hand was wrapping around your throat. Five cold fingers pressed into the left side of your neck while a strong thumb held the other side, digging into your flesh, prodding the heavy quick thump of your pulse. You sucked in a gasp before wincing as she tightened her hold and tugged you closer - until you were nearly nose to nose. The shadow of your bodies fell over her face, making her eyes appear nearly black as she sneered at you, baring her teeth in anger.

“Why?”

You briefly flinched on a swallow and watched the way her eyes snapped to your neck, rolling over the sudden movement of your throat. Instantly, her grip softened. The hand stayed, but it no longer hurt. You sniffed, drawing her attention again.

“I- I-”

“Tell me.”

You wanted to. Gods, you wanted to. But she heard it all, hadn’t she? She heard every word you spoke to the moon and stars. She heard everything you said about her. She heard your humming and she heard your recitations and she heard your mindless rambles. She heard what was supposed to be private - but that was your own fault. Of course nothing could ever be truly private. It was her job to know things, after all. It was her job to make sure that all of the maids were to be trusted. And you could be. You could be trusted. She could trust you with her life; she didn’t know that in the moment, but she could. You’d do anything for her. You’d capture your friend- the moon- for her. You’d lasso it from the sky and bring it down so she could hold it in her strong cool palms. You’d memorize every poem there was, every poem in existence, if it would please her to have you read them out by heart. You’d collect every piece of lavender - every sunflower - every lily, every rose, every gardenia, every snowbell, every raspberry from every garden and every bush in the entire world- if she wanted them all to herself. To have in her own tea. To have in her own garden. You would. You’d do it. You’d do it all.

Even though some believed she didn’t deserve it. Even though some thought she was crazy - rude - mean and heartless. Even though some saw her as unforgivable and so cold that she was worlds above the chill of ice. She wasn’t. She wasn’t. She was… but she wasn’t.

You could see the human through the cold. You could see the heart through the heat. She was in desperate need of a soft hand- of a soft person- and though you weren’t sure if she’d understand, though you weren’t sure if she’d throw you out to the wolves or not, you knew you had to try. You knew you had to take another risk, like you did with the sweetest collection of poems… you knew you had to select your heart from the shelf and hold it out for her. So she could have it. Read it. Study it day after day, week after week, month after month - with no need to renew it because you wanted her to own it.

And own it, she did.

Own it, she would.

“I- because- I… love you….” Your words were a breath into the cosmos. A promise to the moon and stars. A declaration of no other.

And it had Lady Jane Murdstone blinking, face still twisted in confusion. Mistrust. She was quiet. She did not understand.

“I love you, My Lady,” your chest stuttered on a breath, making her gaze flicker down before coming back up, “I- well I have loved you… for months. Longer, even. I just- I couldn’t- I just couldn’t….” you glanced to the space where the book was at your thigh, somewhere there, past the vision of her arm near your face.

But through the lines, she understood. And before you could say more, maybe beg her one more time not to let you go, she took her hand away and reached over to grab the collection. You weren’t entirely sure what she was looking for but once she flipped to the very last page, the one where it flipped over to the left side and allowed the raw of the book’s cover to face the air on the right, you realized the truth of everything.

Of course. Of course of course of course… There was a reason why Sappho’s Best collection was in the Murdstone library. Atop a high shelf. Supposed to be hidden - but grabbed by your curious eyes and wanting hands. It was there not to stare at, it was there not to be forgotten about, it was there as a memory. A testament to what once was. The very last piece of evidence from something that you were never privy to. A statement from long gone. A crumb that fell off of the biscuit that was Jane Murdstone’s heart. She held the book with reference. Softly. Gently. You watched her expression fall into something soft. Something… kind. Something that hid sorrow- so much of it- behind those usually cold blue eyes. She was sad. The collection brought her great sadness…

“I’m sorry, My Lady,” you whispered, electrocuted with the sudden urge to apologize. To say you're sorry for causing her grief- for causing her stress- for making her think she was being betrayed when she was being the exact opposite. Appreciated. Loved.

The sound of your voice brought her out of her reverie, making her look up. You watched, starstruck, as her lips quivered for a millisecond before hardening into a straight line, and then with a blink, the warmth in her gaze was gone. Like a reset. Like when she hummed her lullabies and corrected herself. You immediately scorned whoever made her feel as though she couldn’t be vulnerable. You scorned them and hoped, secretly, that they were rolling over in their graves - never able to be comfortable. Never able to rest easy.

“If you want to talk about someone,” your Lady began, voice deep and serious, “do not be a coward and talk in the shadows. You have a voice. Use it.”

And with that, she was gone. Dropping the book in your lap, making you scramble to hold it to your chest, casting you one last glance, and walking out of the room as quickly as she had come. The door closed behind her with the softest ‘click’ - and then you listened to her footsteps recede.

The quiet of the world past your window came back in a flood, carrying with it the chirp and hoot and rustle of various animals while the moon watched from her place in the sky. She shone at you as she usually did, but her positioning had changed. She was a bit further away. Looking down - casting a spotlight on your lap - making you peer at the book in your hands before you pulled it away from your chest and looked at the pages Lady Murdstone had turned to.

And there, beneath the light of the moon, was a message you had yet to see. Written in scrawling dark script, small and hasty along the inside part of the back cover.

‘To Janey,

For I know that even once I’m gone, you will find another heart. Do let the walls down when that happens, yes? She will burn through your iron just as I did. And you know that never once have I regretted it.

Until next time. They will remember us, I tell you. Yours forever, Elaine’

・—・—・—・—・—・

Hope you enjoyed! I wanted to test out a new character. I also didn't proofread. Oops. - Ripley x

・—・—・—・—・—・

[inlovewithgreta]

I would die for you to make more Gwendoline Christie's character fics like my fav ultra 'green' flags Lady Jane, Jane Murdstone, Jan Stevens and Captain Phasma!! Although I do also love a green flag like yummers Larissa Weems, Miranda Hilmarson and Brienne of Tarth!! WORDS CANT DESCRIBE HOW I LOVE YOUR FICS SO FKIN MUCH!!

Lipstick Stains & Ice Cubes - Larissa Weems x Fem!Reader

Summary: Both you and Larissa were eager to please each other, but in your own special ways.

Warnings: praise, pet names, oral sex, ice cubes, body worship, g!p, fingering, p in v, breeding kink, I believe that’s it?

Word Count: 2.3k

Taglist: @celasteria @shslbunnylover @enchantressb @dopenightmaretyphoon @weemswife @bellatrixsbrat @finnja555 @pllduniverse @aemilia19 @winterfireblond

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

You were waiting for Larissa in her hotel room, gazing outside the floor length mirror at the city below you. She told you to wait for her while she finished up some business, and of course you listened.

Whenever Larissa had a business meeting out of town, she would bring you along. The two of you were inseparable, not wanting to be away from each other as it drove you both crazy.

You were inevitably and ultimately in love with the woman. But the words were never said aloud, leaving you to wonder if she felt the same. For now you were content, but you still longed for the words to come out of her sweet mouth.

Larissa had finally arrived as you were lost in thought. You had only noticed her presence when the heavy clicking of her heels grew louder. You turn to face her from the window, and a smile instantly spreads across your face.

"Don't move, darling. You look absolutely divine with the moonlight reflecting off of you." Her voice was dripping with honey, her elegant accent giving you butterflies.

You nodded your head, smile growing impossibly bigger as you listened to her light command.

Larissa swiftly moved to the nightstand, grabbing her phone, and making her way back towards you. "Pose for me, darling," she commanded once more, lifting her phone to take a picture of you.

You eagerly did as she said, posing sweetly and elegantly towards your lover. With a few clicks, Larissa licked her crimson coated lips, before quickly tapping away.

"Well?" You tilted your head.

"Look how beautiful you are," she cooed, showing you her new wallpaper that was now of course you, standing in front of the window with the most ethereal look on your face.

Your cheeks grew a bright red. "Thank you," you said, wrapping your arms around the taller woman's waist to pull her closer to you.

Your eyes were twinkling gorgeously. Larissa couldn't help but fall harder for you. You were the most perfect woman she had ever met. So kind, sweet, caring, and gentle. And her heart skipped a beat when her lips dipped to meet yours in a tender kiss.

Larissa cups the back of your neck, and you couldn't resist returning the kiss. You had been waiting for her all night. She had spent the entire day teasing you, and you were overcome with need.

You pulled her in tighter, but the blonde refused to let you have control. This was all about you. You being taken care of. Being cherished. And Larissa intended on making the most of it. Your moans were muffled as her tongue engulfed your own.

You go to pull back for air, your chest heaving. But Larissa wasn't having it. She places a soft palm flat to your chest, pushing you gently against the window.

"Larissa..." You whined against her parted lips.

"Yes, my love?" She tilted her head, with a big smirk plastered across her face.

"I can't wait anymore.."

"So demanding..." She teases, grabbing your wrists and guiding them over your head, before holding them in place. You let out another quiet moan as you grow more excited.

Larissa keeps one hand on your wrists while the other runs down your body. Thankful that you were wearing the easiest garment to undress, Larissa skillfully dragged the clothing off your body before letting it look at your feet.

You can't help but let out a groan when your gaze follows her hand as she palms herself through her own clothing. She was hard beneath her clothing, her cock straining against her tight underwear.

"Baby if you keep making those noises..."

"What? Like this?" You let out another quiet moan, this time adding her name to the mix.

"God, yes..."

"Then I think we'd better get you out of these clothes and do something about it.."

Larissa bit her lip, before letting your wrists go. She had to bite back a laugh when your hands quickly and eagerly discarded her clothing to the floor to pool with your own.

You both nearly rip your undergarments off, unable to hold back anymore, and you nearly salivate at the sight of Larissa's long, hard cock dripping with precum.

"Like you said, how about you do something about this, hmm?" She raised a high brow, using one hand to stroke herself. "Get on your knees, sweet girl."

In one swift movement, you're settled onto your knees, hands clasped behind your back as your gaze darts from Larissa's bright blue eyes and down to the cock in her hand.

"Like this?" You ask, gazing back up at her once again with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Larissa nods, reaching down to stroke your face with her free hand. The blonde loved having you like this, on your knees and eager to please her.

You glance around the room, taking in your surroundings, examining your options. When your eyes meet the ice tray, you don't hesitate to grab a singular cube.

You trail the ice cube over Larissa's milky skin, leaving a small trail of liquid up her leg. "Ooh..." she breathes, attempting to pull away from the cold.

You tsk and pull her back, forcing her to stay still as you trace lazy patterns across her large upper thigh. The trail goes up her hip, before reaching her navel. You circle her button slowly, letting a few icy droplets fall down to her length.

You bring the ice cube to your mouth, pushing it past your lips and suck on the cube. Larissa's chest rose and fell rapidly and her eyes grew darker as she watched you, doing everything in her power to hold herself back.

It only took a second for the ice to melt completely before you leaned in and lick a strip up the bottom of her length with your tongue. "Fuck..." Larissa breathes, burrowing her fingers in your hair and making a makeshift ponytail.

You look at her through your lashes as you slide the tip of her cock past your mouth. Cheeks hollow instantly as you take more and more of her, slowly letting her fill your mouth.

"I want to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours," she groaned, feeling your tongue swirl around her. "May I move now?"

You mumble, and Larissa doesn't hesitate to thrust her hips forward. She was quick with her pace, watching you intently as her cock disappeared after every second down your throat.

"Yesss..." The blonde was pulling your hair tightly, keeping you right where she wanted you so she could fuck your mouth. "Suck me off, baby.. fuck, you look so pretty like this.."

Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes as the air in your lungs grew thin, your body doing its best to breathe in through your nose that was now pressed right up against her skin as Larissa shoved her entire length into your mouth and held you still.

The blonde didn't let up until you gagged, the salty tears burning your eyes as they fell. "You're doing so good for me.." She groaned as your tongue swirled around the tip of her dick. "So..so good."

You looked up at her through your wet lashes. Larissa immediately felt her cock twitch at the sight of you. Flushed cheeks, tear stained cheeks, messy hair, and on your knees with her dick in your mouth. It was a sight of pure filth.

And she couldn't help but release her warm, thick load into your mouth as you sucked her. "Yes! Swallow for me, baby." You could feel the wetness between your legs drip down your thigh as you did what you were told.

Your hands sat at her hips, fingers digging into her sweaty, milky skin as you swallowed every last drop of her release.

"Christ..." she moaned, gazing at the saliva dripping down your chin and down to your breasts as she eased your head back.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. But Larissa wasted no time, as she pulled you to your feet. The woman nearly tossed you onto the bed, your body instantly falling limp as you fell into the mattress.

"Such a pretty little body.." She said, standing tall at the end of the bed, "And it's all mine." Your legs involuntarily spread, inviting Larissa in.

"Kiss me.." you whispered.

"Where?" She teased, crawling onto the bed.

You slide one knee up onto her shoulder, your heel pushing her back down so her head was just mere inches away from your center. "Here..." Your fingers trail down the valley between your breasts and go straight to your core.

Her lips fall open as you show her exactly what you want her to do to you. Larissa immediately moves your hand to the side to give herself the opportunity to take all of you in.

"If that's what you want..." She husked, placing tender kisses to your inner thigh. Crimson lipstick smudges were left behind, as Larissa placed one kiss after another across your skin.

Just as she marked one thigh, she ghosted her lips over your cunt before placing featherlight kisses to your other thigh. When your hips bucked, Larissa used her large hands to pin your hips down to the mattress.

Red lipstick stains covered your thighs as she mapped out the lower half of your body. "You're so beautiful..." She mewled. Her plush lips ghost over your entrance but she replaces it with her tongue.

"'Rissa..." Your hand finds the top of her head, twisting with her luscious blonde curls. You coax her to apply more pressure as you lowly moan out her name.

"Add your fingers...please.." You quietly begged her. Blue eyes snap up to meet yours, tongue not wavering at your cunt. "I need you.."

"I'm all yours.." She reassured, focusing on your button with her tongue while she slides two fingers inside of you. You almost let out a scream at the onslaught of pleasure.

"Yes...'Rissa just like that..." The blonde moves her fingers faster, picking up her pace as her tongue works wonders against your clit.

You look down between your legs, watching as the blonde fucks you, the tension that has been slowly building in your core threatened to explode just from the sight alone.

"Mm, I-I need..." You were truly at a loss for words, but you needed more. More than just her mouth and her fingers. "I need—"

Larissa's cock was twitching, and it was taking everything in her not to bust. And at your words, it's as if she knew exactly what you were trying to mutter out.

"Me too..." She groaned, between gingerly fucking you.

"Let me ride you, please..."

The request was barely out of your mouth before Larissa was lying flat against the bed and pulling you on top of her to help you get into position.

Hands were immediately grabbing at your hips as you straddled your lover. Her long, platinum locks were sprawled against the pillow and her usually perfect lips were now a smudged mess.

You could feel her entire length pushing up against your center, and you couldn't help but rock your hips.

Larissa reaches between you to pump her cock in her hand before lowering yourself on her as she pushes up into you, completely filling you and stretching you out.

You let your head fall back as you let out a soft moan from the sensation. The thrill of her filling you up and making you so warm was exhilarating, but it was still not enough.

"More..." You whimper. Larissa cups your cheek, urging you to look down at her as she scans your tear-stained face. Your eyes prickled with tears once again, but this time out of frustration.

You were so worked up. So hot, horny, and in dire need of Larissa to fuck you senseless. Words couldn't explain how desperate you were to come.

"Are you sure?" She tenderly asked, stroking your cheek lovingly with her thumb.

"Please... please, I need you. Fuck me already.."

That's all the answer Larissa needed. She moves, and not at a slow, sensual pace. At a pace that had you seeing stars and letting out moan after moan, her hips pistoning in and out. The pleasure within you grew stronger and stronger with each thrust that elicited a quiet grunt from the blonde.

Skin slapped against skin and Larissa pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss. "I love you..." you mumbled against her messy lips.

"I love you too, darling.. so, so much..." she moaned, cock twitching inside you as she grew close.

Your forehead rested against hers and your hands grabbed at her freckled shoulders. "Come inside me. I want you to fill me... please.." Larissa had never heard you beg so much in one night, and she loved every second of it.

With a thrust, a grab of your ass, and a grunt, Larissa stilled herself inside you as she filled you up with her warm come in antagonizing slow spurts.

The gesture alone had your orgasm rip through your entire body, nearly paralyzing you as you nearly screamed out her name. Your senses were on overdrive, and your legs shook violently.

You felt your body quickly overcome with exhaustion as Larissa coaxed you through your orgasm. Your breathing was heavy as you struggled to regain your senses.

Larissa helped you to lay down, sliding herself from your grip. She left a chaste kiss to your forehead before heading to the bathroom. She wanted to be quick to clean you up, before you passed out.

Luckily for her, you were able to keep yourself awake just long enough for her to run a warm, damp washcloth between your legs, cleaning both your orgasm and her lipstick stains on you. She would have you run to the bathroom once you regained consciousness, but for now, you were too exhausted and fucked out to move a muscle.

So Larissa got back into bed, pulled you into her loving embrace, slid the covers over the two of you, and let you fall asleep with your head in the crook of her neck. Letting your body go limp in her arms while whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

general masterlist | gwen masterlist | taglist

[cappulcino]

Navigation post / Masterlist

Hello, everyone! My name is Ash (though you can also call me Samael), and I am a storyteller in the making. I have always been reluctant to share my work, but in the spirit of self-improvement and because I actually love writing so much, I recently decided to take the leap.

All of my works will be posted here, as well as on AO3 (though only accessible if you're logged into your account).

Requests now open!

My requests are currently open for ficlet prompts. It would really help me get back in the mood for writing and then maybe I can also finish my WIPs (see list below).

What I will write:

Character x character

Character x OC

Character x reader

Almost all genres

Adult content I feel comfortable with

What I will not write (unless maybe you pay me? 👀):

Any pairing including a real person (no actor x reader or shipping real celebrities together)

Adult x minor interactions other than parent/child or hurt/comfort settings

Pairings with two characters played by the same actor (I personally don't like it)

Graphic depiction of extreme violence

Extreme sexual kinks unfit for public viewing

Anything in a style I deem too different from mine/the style I want to develop

Anything so personal in a character x reader request that nobody else could enjoy the fic

(List to be completed later)

You can check the fandoms I currently write for on my profile in my bio. They are in "order", meaning they go from most to least interested in as of today and/or from most to least "knowledgeable". If the fandom you're looking for is not in my profile, it's no use asking; I either don't want to write for it or don't know anything about it.

Fanfictions will be under #cappulcino writes. Answered asks will be under #cappulcino replies. Fanfic recommendations will be under #cappulcino recommends (For lack of a better free tag)

Masterlist

The Sandman

Seven Days Til Fall (Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader) Posted, complete

The Eveningstar (Dreamingstar / Dream of the Endless x Lucifer Morningstar) Unpublished WIP, preparation phase

The Devil Wears Prada

Broken Souls and Apple Pies (Mirandy / Miranda Priestly x Andrea Sachs) Unpublished WIP, 45% completed

Wednesday

Animi Metamorphosis (Larissa Weems x Shapeshifter!Teacher!OC) Unpublished WIP, preparation phase

Okja

Redemption (Lucy Mirando x Male OC) Unpublished WIP, 1% completed – collab with @magnoliamei

You'll also find short summaries of my current WIPs and ideas here.

Don't hesitate to check them out and show your support for the fic(s) you would like me to finish and publish!

My edits

Good Omens X Hayloft II

Sandman crack vid

Taglist

Comment under this post to be added to the taglist.

And while you're here...

Please consider signing this silly petition to try to get Gwendoline Christie back on Wednesday as Larissa Weems!

Note: the line dividers I use in my fics are by @strangergraphics-archive

[viivenn]

making an important announcement about some things i’ve noticed in the gwendoline christie fandom that really bug me.

disclaimer: read this at your own convenience and discretion. i am not responsible for any sort of hurt feelings and frankly… i don’t care. if you’re mad about this, you are probably the problem. /lh

to start with id like to begin on a positive note so that i’m not diving into negativity, i don’t want to be completely negative about my experiences because i’ve actually met some of the kindest people in the world through this fan base.

the gwen fandom, the gwandom, the gwendoline christie fandom , the lesbian cesspool, has been an incredible experience that i’m grateful i’ve had the pleasure of being apart of.

i went through a rough patch during november, and if i hadn’t found out about gwen, or met such wonderful people during my time here , i honestly wouldn’t be here right now. i owe my life to these people, gwen included. i will forever adore miss christie and what she stands for alongside the friends i’ve made along the way.

and while i know someday this hyperfix will end, it’s really disheartening to me when a fandom is what makes me grow distant from things i enjoy. it happened before, i feel as though it is happening all over again.

and no, i’m not taking issue with anything like the catrissa stuff or the brienne and larissa ship going around or anything like that. i like that we can all be weird together and enjoy aus like catrissa and crackships like bririssa (not sure the official name that was decided lol). my issue is the amount of content i’ve seen that either focuses on gwen herself, or the strange relationship with minors, or the odd artwork of gwen, and the absolute disgusting behaviour towards giles.

gwen would be absolutely appalled seeing fanfictions of herself that involve nsfw or just her in general, anyone would, it’s disgusting to make works of real people in that setting. it’s like you’re treating them as an original character you can mould and manipulate as you see fit and using someone who is real with thought and feeling and consciousness for smut fics is not okay, or any fic in general. i totally get the hype around her characters, i literally have “brienne’s princess” in my bio and i’ve had “jane murdstone’s bloodbag” (in reference to my vamp au) as a name in a discord server.

but i think the fandom has begun to blur the lines between fictional characters and reality settings when it comes to gwen and the personalities she portrays on the television screen. it’s not fair to her. it’s disgusting. i’ve seen a minor do it, i’ve seen a grown adult do it. it’s something i don’t see shamed and frowned upon often enough and it’s really not okay.

on that note i’d like to quickly mention the photos, we alllll know what photos i’m talking about. the bunny one, the nudes, the ones gwen has expressed regret towards and wishes to not have them spread. was there not a “fan” who brought her a book of her nudes and wanted her to sign it? that person who was blocked on instagram by gwen because they reposted her nudes on their story and tagged her???? how can you refer to yourself as a fan after behaving so abhorrently? absolutely disgusting behaviour. as a collective fandom we need to stop touching those photos (metaphorically speaking) and leave them in the past.

i’ve been told of numerous circumstances in which adults have shown their nsfw works to minors in this fandom and it has to fucking stop. it’s disgusting!! how can you do that knowingly? i constantly ponder terminating my account after a minor got ahold of my nsfw work, and upon realising they WERE a minor it was as simple as blocking and moving on. it’s truly not that hard, folks. and the minors on tiktok who fight with others saying silly things like “that’s my wife” or worse. i’ve seen it all, i feel like, and the more i see it the more sick i become. i cannot stand it.

i have seen and heard of fans who have fat shamed gwen for that one pink dress she wore to the met gala. she looked so happy in that dress, and the audacity one must have to fatshame that poor woman on twitter then turn around and continue to proclaim your ‘love for her’ as if you’d done no wrong? are you fucking serious? are you mental?

and the sexualisation over the porcelain doll look, gods some of you are sick. those were not real breasts, people. considering the fact she wholeheartedly regrets her nude photoshoots , what possesses you to believe she would actually flaunt her chest in that outfit?

the blatant mistreatment of poor giles is not fucking okay either. just because you’re jealous of someone who makes her immensely happy does not give you the right to post something so vile and cruel about him. shame on you. why do you believe this is okay to post:

????????

are you serious? have any of you stopped to consider how HAPPY giles makes her? or is her happiness the last thing you ponder when you look at her? have you even noticed how unhappy she looks lately? have you truly paused to consider how she would feel about seeing this on your page, random twitter user, or the rest of you who think this is okay? bless your hearts.

and some of the absolutely horrific things i’ve seen about her online and the hurtful behaviour towards giles makes me question the difference between a fan and just the general paparazzi. because if you truly loved her and you truly loved giles then i would not be ranting into the fucking void about it for no reason.

i avoid interacting with pages i find problematic on here to keep from stirring the pot but tonight i chose violence and got reeeeeal pissy about how i felt about this place. it’s not okay what i see on here and it’s getting exhausting seeing the same cycle of content on a daily.

that’s everything i have to say, i think. i probably missed a lot that should be discussed in the comments but i’m done for now because i know if i go on i’ll probably cry.

before you post things about real people with real feelings , stop to consider how they will feel those real feelings towards the content you put out. chances are you’ll become less problematic and obnoxious that way. 💘

[igelmanz]

To wake up to this was the best thing that ever happened to me

chapter 5 of my jane murdstone fic is here :)))))))) enjoy