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muddyorbsblr · 5 months

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the final Lady Sharpe part 5: sent away

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: Your plans with Thomas are coming to an end as his machine parts arrive and you both head into the city to set into motion Lucille's arrest.

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k (get a drink ready)

Warning/s: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers exit the room i only ask nicely once); vaginal fingering; oral sex (f receiving); Lucille Sharpe (yes she's a warning) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: married blorbos are snowed in (oh no how terrible 😈😏); Thomas is a simp for his wife; mutual pining sad blorbos hours

Dick-tionary: smut starts at "If we cannot lay together, then at least let me pleasure you." and ends at "…except one somber truth"

Logically there was no good reason why Thomas would wake this morning in a significantly better mood, considering that he was still stuck in this manor, a death sentence care of his psychotic murderous sister still looming over your head, and tasked with a nightly distraction that even the mere thought of it made his stomach want to turn. And yet somehow, in these few moments when he got to rouse from sleep before you did, getting to really look upon your features at a seemingly peaceful rest while he held you in his arms, there was a contentment that blanketed him and kept him warm despite the biting cold of winter.

If he could keep even at least this after this treacherous endeavor was done with, if he could keep you, then perhaps he could believe himself still deserving of happiness despite all the devastation he'd wrought throughout the years. There was no version of the near future that he could picture where he would be denied the simplest pleasure of getting to see you, perhaps even hold you. And with those thoughts, his mood had begun to sour, fully knowing that that was what awaited him at the end of the road. Dissolution of marriage.

And he couldn't even fault you for that. Why would you wish to stay with him given the context on why he'd chosen to court you? Why would you have any reason to believe him if he could muster up the courage to tell you that he'd fallen irretrievably in love with you and that he wanted more than anything to try to make this marriage work? To make it real?

He traced the back of his finger across your cheekbone, his heart twisting and melting all at once when you smiled and nuzzled your cheek against his chest. "I love you," he whispered, hoping that somehow his message would reach into your dreams. "I don't want you to leave if we make it through this. I wish to stay with you. Wherever you wish to go, I'll happily follow."

You began to stir in his arms, soft groans coming from you as you slowly roused in your husband's embrace. "Hmm?" The baronet's heart caught in his throat when your eyes fluttered open and met his, a soft smile stretching across your face. "Morning..."

He couldn't resist the urge to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, doing his best to fight back the desire to do nothing more than simply to stay in bed just like this when you rewarded him with such a lighthearted, melodic giggling in response. "Good morning, wife."

"Big day today," you mumbled, failing to fight back a yawn as you worked your way out of his embrace to sit up on the bed. "Your machine parts arrive today if your supplier and the postal service is on schedule. I just have to get all the duplicate documents I've had hidden away in your workshop together so I can send them over to my contacts in Scotland Yard." Excitement colored your features as you reached for his hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "It's almost over. We actually did it. You're almost free."

Thomas' stomach dropped as the reality of the situation dawned on him, mentally counting back on how long it had been since he carried you in his arms across the threshold of Allerdale Hall and you concocted a plan that might grant him his freedom from Lucille's reign of terror. Three and a half weeks. He would be expecting the notice from the post office any day now. Tears prickled in the back of his eyes as your words haunted him.

You'll be free from me, too.

You seemed oblivious to the darkness that begun to plague him as you bounded your way over to the wardrobe, starting to dress yourself so that you two could grab something to eat. And check on your mail for the day.

Thomas made his way to you, gently placing his hands over yours while you did up the buttons up the back of your dress. "May I?"

"Go ahead," you said breathily, releasing your hold on the stiff buttons. Your husband took his time carefully slipping each stiff button through its loop, softly kissing your temple as he worked his way up your back.

He rushed to grab for your collar piece before you reached for it, making you both break out into light chuckles as he tightened his other arm around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek once he'd successfully grabbed the piece of fabric. "Never pictured you to be the type that had a playful mood, husband," you giggled, righting yourself and gathering your hair in your hands so he could secure the piece around your neck.

Before he could stop himself, he pressed his lips to the back of your neck, the sound of your staggered breathing and faint whimper spurring him on to press another. And another. All so that the words that danced on the tip of his tongue couldn't escape. Come back to bed. I wish to hold you a while longer. I have no desire to leave this room.

And the most dangerous words of all. Words that he never thought he would say to another and fully mean them. I love you. And I wish to spend the rest of my life with you.

"Thomas," you gasped his name like you were fighting for breath, reaching behind you and holding on to him to keep yourself upright. He groaned against your neck when your hand met the bare skin of his stomach. "What's gotten into you?"

His adamant words from many nights ago nearly slipped from his lips. You're my wife. I should be with you. It should be you.

"Can I not simply indulge in greeting my wife--"

The sharp rapping of knuckles on your bedroom door pulled you both harshly out of the moment, worsened by the shrill tone of Lucille on the other end. "If you both dawdle about, breakfast will get cold."

"We'll be down shortly, Lucille, just start without us," you called back, muttering something about mood ruiners. "We should go," you told him with a downhearted exhale, your breath hitching again when it seemed that the last few moments seemed to have no effect on Thomas, who resumed with kissing along the column of your neck. "Thomas, didn't you hear your sister? Breakfast will get cold."

"Then we'll eat it cold, darling," he mumbled, setting your collar piece back down on your dresser so he could wrap his arms around you. He turned you around in his arms, mesmerized as he watched your hair slip from your hand and fall to frame your face. "Have I told you how exquisite you look in the morning light?"

You broke out into a smile, averting your gaze from his as you made a motion to step out of his hold. "Thomas come on, we should go you need to--"

"Or how I think you're absolutely brilliant?" he cut you off, framing your face in his hands before pressing a tender kiss to your lips. Will I ever get to tell you that I've fallen in love with you? he thought to himself, savoring the fleeting moment where you returned his kiss before breaking it, taking a step backward and looking visibly flustered.

There was a long moment of deafening quiet before you spoke again, your tone soft, almost wistful. "If you keep this up, Sir Sharpe, I'll have no choice but to miss you when this is all over." Your expression became guarded, veiling to your husband the poignant fact that you, too, dreaded what would come after today.

The truth was that you already missed him, longed for him, even when he was already within your arm's reach. Just as he longed for you.

"There is still no mail that has come for your wife, Thomas," Lucille seethed the moment she made his way to his side as he fixed some tea for both of you. "I am growing quite impatient, it's nearly been a month and still no correspondence regarding her inheritance has come for her. In fact, no correspondence has come for her at all. As if there isn't a single soul that even cares to check up on her. Keep in touch. Could it be possible, sweet boy, that this Y/N is playing us for fools?"

A lump formed in Thomas' throat at his sister's suggestion, panic rising inside of him knowing how close her speculation actually was to the truth. "She did mention her father was quite the busy man, perhaps he has been overwhelmed with his work and will reach out soon."

"Well the old fool better hurry," she hissed. "The sooner we get what we need from this one, the sooner we can build toward an even better life together. Perhaps even make our way out of this decaying house. Finally let it sink to the ground."

The only better life I can envision is with the woman waiting for me at the dining table, he wanted so desperately to bite back. "Has any correspondence arrived for me, sister?" He struggled to keep his composure, forcing a smile on his face as he faced her cold, calculating features. How could you ever have convinced me that what we had, what you had me do, was love?

She was visibly taken aback by how he diverted the conversation, no longer speaking in a hushed tone and ensuring that you could hear from where you sat. "There--There is. A notice that those parts you ordered for your machine have come in. You'll need to sign for them at the post office."

"Excellent, I can bring Y/N along with me. Make a day of it."

Your face lit up at the mention of the notice. His supplier was perfectly within schedule. The end of your time together truly was drawing near; nearer than he ever wanted. "I would love to come with you to the city, husband," you beamed at him. "There are some letters I wish to send to my family as well. Keep them apprised of what I've been up to since getting married. All about Allerdale Hall and its rich history."

"That sounds like a perfect idea," Lucille told you both through gritted teeth. "I hope you two have a lovely time, then. Do try to get home before the blizzard strikes." Before Thomas made his way back to you, Lucille grabbed his arm in a talon-like grip. "The moment any form of correspondence comes for her, you are to tell me right away, dear brother. My patience can only last for so long."

"Ah, Miss Y/L/N, aren't you quite the sight to behold. How long has it been since you've aided us in a case with your expansive knowledge?" Detective Jeffries, a colleague of yours from Scotland Yard, was there to pick up his own mail from the post office and bumped into you and Thomas right as you arrived.

"Too long, Jeffries. Hopefully not so long that you'd all forgotten that the reason for my prolonged absence has been my acclimation to married life. I actually go by Lady Sharpe now," you politely corrected him, giving his hand a firm shake before gesturing toward your husband. There was a noticeable pinch at your heart calling yourself that. Lady Sharpe. You wouldn't be for long if things worked out according to plan. "I'd like to introduce you to my husband, Sir Thomas Sharpe. Lord of Allerdale Hall."

There was a fleeting moment of pure glee on Thomas' face at your introduction before he settled into a more cordial expression, stepping forward to shake the detective's hand. "Good to meet you, Detective," he greeted, placing his other hand on the small of your back before stepping back to your side. "I shall go see to my deliveries now, darling." Before he walked away and let you catch up with your colleague, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, giving you a soft smile before walking further into the post office for his parcel.

"And here I once recalled a feisty consultant insisting that she'd never fall in love or become the marrying type," Jeffries teased, wagging a finger at you as if to tell you 'I told you so'. "Matrimony becomes you, though, my friend. Both you and your husband are positively radiant with your adoration for one another. It doesn't take a detective to notice that."

His remark sat heavily in your heart, every part of you struggling not to give it away that the words struck a nerve. This marriage was a sham, and it would all be over soon. Thomas was just doing a remarkable job at pretending, and you…you didn't have to. Out here in public, feeding into the image of a newlywed couple happily in love, this was the only time you could let your love for him show. To communicate the sentiment that you would never dare to with words.

"Right well uhm…" You cleared your throat, shaking your head as if to shoo the conversation away. "What you said about aiding you all with a case…that's actually what I came here for. You remember those cases on the board that we could never make any headway on? Enola Sciotti? Edith Cushing? Pamela Upton? All missing persons cases?"

"Don't tell me you were spending your honeymoon investigating these cases, Y/N, that's simply depressing--"

"I didn't actively seek out the information, I stumbled into it," you cut him off, clutching the envelope of documents in your hand with a death grip. "Married into it, really."

Sheer horror colored your friend's features, throwing a look at the baronet currently making small talk with the workers inside as he signed for his parcels. "He--"

"No, Jeffries, not him. His sister. Lucille Sharpe. Right piece of work, that one. Sad to say they're no longer 'missing persons' cases." You placed the envelope into his hands, holding his gaze and hoping that he could see the desperation in your eyes. "These are copies of death certificates, marriage certificates, and money transfers. It paints a morbid timeline that will tell you what happened, what's been happening, behind the doors of Allerdale Hall. I've also made a transcript from recordings I found from a phonograph. One of his former wives caught a confession from Lucille Sharpe. There's a map of the manor in there as well, showing you where you'll find all the original documents and the recording cylinders."

"Y/N, if this is all true, you're not safe in that manor." His tone was laced with more than understandable concern. "Neither of you are."

"That's why I need you to get those documents to Scotland Yard as soon as you can and come to Allerdale Hall to arrest Lucille," you told him, your own fears starting to creep into your words as they stumbled out of your mouth. "She's already getting stir-crazy waiting for an inheritance to come to me that doesn't even exist. We've only barely managed to convince her that there's a windfall coming my way, but it won't be long until she grows impatient enough to kill me anyway and start fresh. Jeffries, we can't let her harm another woman for the sake of satiating her bottomless pit of hunger for money and status."

Now the detective clutched the documents tightly in his grasp, giving you a nod before flagging down a carriage. "We should have a squad there tomorrow. Until then you two stay safe. Perhaps try and spend the night elsewhere, just to make sure." He reached out to you, both of you grasping the other's forearm in a show of trust and respect. "Thank you, Y/L/N--I mean, Sharpe. You're about to bring closure to a whole lot of distraught families with this."

You only nodded, fear for your own safety creating a lump in your throat you found near impossible to swallow. "Let's focus on putting Lucille behind bars before we focus on what comes after. Thank you, Jeffries." You closed the door to the carriage and tapped on the wooden panel twice. "To Scotland Yard!" you called out to the coachman, who tipped his hat to you before the carriage began to move.

As you made your way back into the post office, you tried to force a wide smile onto your face, stomping down any fears you had for what awaited you once you made your way back to Allerdale Hall. And any anticipation you had for the heartache that would accompany your inevitable divorce.

Once you were within arm's reach, Thomas reached for your hand, pulling you towards him and wrapping his free arm around your waist before softly kissing your lips. "There you are, sweetheart." He quickly noticed the absence of the envelope from your hands. "It's done?"

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. "It's done," you confirmed. "We really did it."

The entire time that Thomas inspected the coil springs and other machine parts that were delivered for him, he kept his arm around your waist, his hand over yours and lacing your fingers together. His face was a mix of emotions, the plainest to see being relief, no doubt from the realization steadily creeping in that in a few short days he truly would be free from all of this.

There was a disquiet in his eyes, too. One that he tried so hard to mask, but you'd gotten to know him well enough ever since your courtship that no smile, no matter how bright or breathtaking, could ever mask it from you. And you knew exactly where his concern lied. It wouldn't take long for Scotland Yard to conclude that even though he had not been the one administering the potion, or the one holding the cleaver, he still bore a great amount of responsibility for the deaths of all his former wives.

Thomas would be seen as an accomplice to his sister's crimes; perhaps a case could even be argued for third-degree murder because of his administering of the cyanide. Sure the documents would reveal Lucille to be the mastermind, but they would also reveal that in some of those cases that had gone cold, Thomas was partly the executioner.

You flinched in his hold when the sound of the post office's main doors slamming shut hit your ears, all of you inside turning your heads toward the man holding the handles, a frantic look in his eyes. "The storm's gotten too strong," he huffed out, slumping to the ground. "No carriages in or out of the area, if the lot of us value our safety."

Your husband let out a sigh of relief, holding you closer against him before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Perhaps when we arrive at the manor tomorrow we need not even face her," he whispered into your hair.

"Yes, and while that is a marvelous turn of events, husband, we are faced with one…tiny problem." He tilted his head at you slightly, prompting you to continue. "We're still stuck here, and the nearest inn to rent a room is a good walk away. In this storm we'd likely freeze before we even reached the front door."

"Ah, yes…that," he murmured, brows knitted together as he tried to look around the post office for a possible place to pass the time.

"Erm…we might have something that could house yous," one of the workers spoke up, jerking his head towards the back of the office, signaling for you to follow him. "We 'ave a little suite here set up for whenever the owner comes by and wants to spend a few days in the city. Sure he won't mind if you use it for tonight."

He opened the doors to reveal a quaint bedroom that felt a far cry from the echoes of faded opulence that your room in Allerdale Hall held, and yet still emanated the feel of a warm embrace that home was supposed to feel like. When you looked upon Thomas, you could see from his expression that he likely held a similar sentiment.

"This will do more than fine," he stated, holding out his hand to the worker to shake. "Thank you."

"So now that your grievous time with Lucille is finally coming to a close, what are your plans for…well, the rest of your life? Your freedom?" you asked Thomas through the divider in the room, trying to keep your tone casual as you changed into your underdress, preparing for sleep.

He answered you with a sharp huff. "In truth, darling, I haven't even begun to think about it yet. I feel as if I am not completely in the clear yet. Best to focus my attention on that first before thinking about what I wish for my freedom to look like."

You took out the final pin in your hair, setting it down on the little table by the window, next to your blades, before stepping out from behind the divider, your husband immediately catching sight of the furrowed brows and the grimace on your face. "I'm sure Scotland Yard will have a degree of leniency, considering that Lucille's arrest will lead to the closing of multiple cold cases on their board."

"That was entirely your work, Y/N. Your work in making the arrest possible is all that they will see--"

"And I wouldn't have been able to accomplish any of it if I didn't have help," you cut him off, making your way over to him and placing your hands on his shoulders, giving him a slight shake. "Not just from the spirits in that house, but from you. If I didn't have you in my corner, I would've been caught that first night. I know that I owe you a great debt for what you--"

The rest of your words died in a muffled squeak as he pulled you to him, the jerking motion causing you to straddle him on the bed as he captured your lips in a sudden kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of his lips moving against yours, his hands roaming your body freely until they buried themselves in your hair.

He groaned against you, the sound melting into the sweetest sounding whimper when you crossed your hands behind his neck, pulling him closer. This would be the last night that you could call him your husband; perhaps you could allow yourself a sliver of indulgence. When he broke the kiss, he wrapped his arm securely around your waist before flipping you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thud.

"My beautiful, brilliant wife," he rasped, the gravelly tone of his voice sending thrills up your spine. He proceeded to kiss along your neck, softly sucking at the base of your throat while he undid the tie at the top of your underdress. A mix between a gasp and a moan escaped you when he hooked your leg around his waist, pressing your hips together.

"Thomas what are you doing?" you asked him dumbly, breathlessly. "We don't need to do this tonight. Or ever again--"

"I want to," he mumbled, pressing a kiss above your heart. "I wish to lay with you, Y/N Sharpe." He kissed his way back up to your lips, looking at you with those pleading pup-like eyes that made him near impossible to resist. That whittled your resolve down to nearly nothing. "Please…"

You were finding it increasingly difficult to deny him, especially with how he was pressed against you, and you could feel his erection even through the layers of his trousers and what sheer clothing you had on yourself. And considering how you'd come to feel about him in the weeks past, how alarmingly quickly you recovered from the shock of his true predicament and the actual circumstances of your marriage, and you still found yourself falling so recklessly in love with him, most parts of you wanted nothing more than to say yes to him.

But then there was the borderline unwelcome party in your internal argument. The logical voice in your head that rationalized his actions as an overwhelming gratitude mistaken for desire. That you had done so much to get him out of the diabolical inescapable captivity that Lucille manipulated him into, and he couldn't articulate his gratitude to the point that in his mind, he saw it as an urge to lay with you.

"Thomas…" you said his name slowly, trying so hard to keep your head level and work against your more primal urge to just shout your assent. Taking deep breaths wasn't any help; it just pressed your bodies closer together, the slightest shift in his hips threatening to drive you mad. "Think about this for a moment…Wouldn't you rather wait until you could lay with someone that you love?"

There was a split second where a pained look crossed his face, before he leaned back down to softly capture your lips, moaning into the kiss when you threaded your fingers through his curls. "I wish to at least do something for you." He kissed you again before presenting you with another all too tempting offer. "If we cannot lay together, then at least let me pleasure you."

He kissed a trail along your jaw, his breath warming your skin before he traced the shell of your ear with his tongue. His next words had you letting out a whimper of his name, your desire for him that had been simmering for weeks now starting to boil over.

"I've been reading through the books in the manor's library, and all I wish to do is show you what I've learned. To explore these avenues of pleasuring with you. My wife. Please. Let me at least do that."

Another whimper escaped you, the only sound you could manage to make as you finally relented and nodded your head. There was a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he scanned your face, eyes never leaving yours as his hand made its way under your dress and up between your legs. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan once his fingers made contact with your slick arousal, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile.

He breathed your name, carefully studying every detail of your face as he traced up along the length of your slit, his mouth breaking out into a devilish grin when you arched your back off the bed, screaming for him when he touched the hardened bundle of nerves above your entrance. "Exquisite," he rasped, repeating the motion and causing you to let out a sharp moan. You could only manage a whimper when he started to kiss along your collarbone while those sinful fingers kept on stroking you, dipping into your warmth before making their way back to your clit.

Before long you felt a tension at your lower stomach, begging to be released. Whenever you'd reached this point in your solitude, back in the city, from your own touch, you would close your legs. The sensation was too great and you would stop yourself. Catch your breath. Having your husband situated between your legs made it impossible to close them now, his fingers still diligently stroking you. "Thomas p-please," you squeaked, struggling to breathe. "'S too m-much for me."

"Not enough," he muttered against your skin, stroking at you faster as he kissed at your collarbone. "Let go, darling. I've got you." He pressed an open mouthed kiss to your neck, flicking his tongue against the spot and letting out a whimper that sent you over the edge, your walls fluttering and clenching around nothing as he continued to stroke at your clit.

Thomas proceeded to kiss down your chest while you tried to catch your breath, pulling back his fingers from you to firmly hold on to your hips, pinning you to the bed as his lips descended further down. You uttered his name in a breathless question, your heart beating even faster when his hands moved to hike your underdress up your legs and place your thighs on his shoulders.

"I'm not done yet," he said with a whimper, kissing his way up your inner thigh and looking up to meet your eyes, his pupils blown out so wide his eyes were near black. Shining with a sincerity that stole what air remained from your lungs. "I wish to taste you."

"Thomas what are you--Oh!" You arched your back off the bed once more, letting out an obscene moan as he licked up your entrance and closed his mouth around the oversensitized nub above it. The sight of his onyx curls subtly moving with every bob of his head, his hands grasping your thighs to keep you in place, immediately burned itself into your memory.

You would remember every devastatingly pleasurable moment of tonight for as long as you'd live. Remember him.

It wasn't long before he brought you to the brink of orgasm again, mercilessly flicking his tongue against you until you came undone, your husband making you ride his tongue while you came down from your high. Soft groans slipped from his mouth while he licked away at your release, kissing along your inner thighs again when he brought the fabric of your underdress over your legs again.

There were no words left in your mind except one somber truth. "You're going to make a fortunate woman very happy in the future, Mister Sharpe."

Thomas couldn't sleep that night, holding your sleeping form in his arms as he absently stroked at your hair. His life felt like a stick of dynamite that could set off and crumble around him at any moment now; while he allowed himself to feel a touch of relief that soon he would finally be free from Lucille and her wretched ways, that freedom came at a heart-wrenching price.

You.

Your words before you went slack in his hold haunted him, ringing constantly in his mind now like an eerie church choir. You're going to make a fortunate woman very happy in the future, Mister Sharpe.

His day ended the same way it began, watching your peaceful features as your head rested on his chest. With him speaking words he hoped would somehow reach you in your dreams. "I want to make you happy, Y/N." He didn't bother fighting back the tears that welled in his eyes as the thought slammed into him that this may very well be the last night he had with you.

And then you would disappear from his life. You'll be free from me, too.

"I don't want to be free of you," he whispered through the suppressed sobs. "I wish to be free with you. I love you, Y/N Sharpe." He pressed his lips to your forehead, a tear rolling down his cheek as he did so. "Please don't leave me."

A/N: In today's episode of "YN is stronger than all of us" 🥴 I know that this is super slow going but I promise there are plans to guide me through writing the rest of the series and I'll get to finishing it 🫡

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

#thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe smut #thomas sharpe x female reader #crimson peak fanfic #crimson peak fanfiction #the final lady sharpe #muddyorbs writes #fic requests #500 follower celebration

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muddyorbsblr · 3 months

Text

the final Lady Sharpe part 6: dire consequences

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: Things come to a head when you and Thomas arrive back at the manor and find Lucille waiting for you

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Lucille; ghosts; fight scene involving blades; injuries; brief mentions of murder and child sexual abuse (Lucille when I catch you--); mentions of scars [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Thomas being a complete softie for his wife; idiots in love hours

"Do you suppose that Scotland Yard will be at the manor by the time we arrive, darling?" There was a palpable excitement in Thomas' voice as you two sat rather cozily together in the carriage, his arm wrapped around you as he lazily traced the tip of his finger along the detailing in your dress. "Perhaps we do not even have to deal with Lucille."

"Regardless, what's important is that by the end of the day this will all be over," you answered lazily, your eyes still not fully open, allowing yourself a final indulgence of settling into his embrace. Of lacing your fingers between his. "But in case they aren't, we have to keep the appearance that we have no clue what's coming. We shouldn't give her any reason to suspect something might be amiss."

He held you a bit tighter against him, squeezing your hand. "Of course," he sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sighed once you began to see the snow turning crimson from the carriage window, reluctantly working your way out of Thomas' hold and grabbing hold of your satchel to place your blades in your pockets.

"They weren't on you since yesterday?" he inquired, the lilt in his voice giving away his bewilderment at the realization.

"I saw no reason for it," you answered him simply, holding back the rest of your answer. The part that you dared not admit to yourself, let alone share with him. I only have them on me when I feel unsafe. "Now that we're about to be in the same vicinity as Lucille for at least the next few hours, I have every reason to have them well within my reach."

There was a familiar pit in your stomach as the carriage drew to a full stop in front of the manor. It was a feeling you'd grown accustomed to that made its presence felt every time you drew closer to the final stretch of a case, when you were minutes away from the arrest. And despite the solemnity of the snowy crimson fields, there was no calming the heavy disquiet in your gut that you'd learned to trust implicitly.

Just because this ordeal was nearly over didn't mean that you could breathe easy quite yet.

Even when Thomas helped you step down to the ground that was soft enough to give under the pressure of your feet, keeping his hands on you and leaning in to rub your noses together. You let out a giggle from the tender gesture, melting into his touch when he pressed his lips to yours.

"What was that for?"

"Can I not simply wish to celebrate with my wife--"

The rest of his words stopped dead at the loud bang of the manor's front door bursting open, the sight of Lucille emerging from the other side, crossing the distance between you in long and visibly raging strides, the massive sleeves of her sleeping gown billowing around her in a blasphemous image that resembled angel's wings. Your heart fell to the ground when you saw what she held in her hands.

A knife in one hand. And a cleaver in the other.

Before you could speak, Thomas stepped in front of you, shielding you from her path with his body. "Lucille. Sister," he said cautiously, holding up one hand in front of her to tell her to stay back . "What seems to have you so…perturbed?"

"Sist--" she scoffed, unable to even say the word. "I'd suspected that perhaps you've begun to lose perspective, Thomas. I hoped it wasn't true, but then I saw your workshop. Your sketchbooks filled with illustrations of that woman's face and it became suddenly so clear to me why your touch has felt…distant."

"That woman," he repeated, scoffing her words back at her. "I won't have you disrespect my wife like this, Lucille."

She looked at the two of you, the paranoid look in her eyes quickly giving way to something crestfallen and rageful when she caught sight of how his other hand had reached behind him fingers reaching out toward you as if ready to push you out of the way at any sudden movement from her. "Well then," she said with a sharp exhale, her eyes darkening as she looked into Thomas' eyes again. "It seems my fears have merit after all."

Lucille made her way over to the two of you, stopping a few feet short in front of your husband, holding up the knife with the handle facing him. In turn you reached a hand into your pocket, wrapping your fingers around the handle of your own blade.

"You have lost your way, sweet boy," she told him, placing the knife in his hand and wrapping his fingers around the handle. "Now you must prove to me that you can find your way back. To me. To us. Rid us of this hindrance so we may start from scratch. We shall find a way to start our new life together without her incoming inheritance."

"Lucille--"

"Vigorous as you might have been these past weeks when you would visit me at night, I could tell something was distracting you. Holding you back. You lacked…tenderness, sweet boy."

"Visits?" you spoke up, looking at her with widened eyes and tears that came from fearing the cleaver she still clutched tightly in her other hand. "Vigorous?" You looked to Thomas, shame coloring his features before he closed his eyes, his knuckles whitening from gripping the knife too tightly.

"Yes, sister," Lucille hissed, a sadistic grin spreading across her face as she watched you piece it together. "How naive of you, that you didn't once question how night after night you would sleep without your darling husband by your side, and yet--"

"I can't," you cut her off, squaring your shoulders as you stepped out of Thomas' hold, tightening your grip on your own blade. "I can't have you actually thinking you were able to slip this past me when you were so painfully, laughably obvious," you chuckled toward the end, smirking and haughtily scrunching your nose at her as her mouth faded into a grim line. "You didn't exactly make it hard to figure out, Lucille. What with the way you behaved as if you had to compete with me for Thomas' attention. His touch. Subtlety was not your strong suit, sister."

"So you know," she seethed, a cloud of smoke escaping her mouth as she let out a sharp exhale. "Then I suppose you can see that from where I stand, I cannot have anyone privy to our…treasured secrets. No matter how much you stand to inherit." She gave Thomas a single nod.

"How adorable," you teased, mimicking her tone from earlier. "You actually believed something was coming." Her nostrils began to flare at your revelation. "I'm not an heiress, you sadistic incestuous bitch. I am, however, friends with a good amount of people from the city. Scotland Yard, to be precise. And I ran into one of those friends yesterday. Told them all about my darling sister in law."

"You--!" she shrieked, her tone resembling a banshee's. "You fooled us. Exposed us. Exposed him." She gave your husband a pointed look. "Prove to me you can find your way back, my sweet love." You couldn't help the way you gagged at her endearment for him. "Do away with her and protect us. Protect our family. Our legacy. Our love."

His eyes snapped open and glared at Lucille. You reached into your other pocket for your other blade, taking deep breaths and doing what you could to mask how your heart was already splintering at the thought of having to defend yourself against the man you'd fallen in love with.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, it crossed your mind that this outcome was more than feasible. That when the eleventh hour struck his loyalties might shift and he would do what he could to protect his sister. This was the love that he'd known for his entire life, of course he would choose her familiarity regardless of what the alternative was.

"No," he snarled. For a passing moment your heart warmed at the sight of him tossing the blade that was handed to him into the snow as he stood to his full height, once again moving to shield you from his sister. "I will no longer be part of your schemes, Lucille. And I will not hurt my wife to please you. What we had is long gone. Our love has been dead for years."

Lucille visibly shook as she took in her next breath, her knuckles almost as white as the snow as she held her cleaver in a death grip, raising it in the air. A single tear rolled down her cheek, her lip quivering as she whispered to Thomas, "Traitor." She took a step toward him, the cleaver aimed at his chest, and that was when you sprung into action, taking out your blades and parrying her before the blade got too close to him.

"Don't you dare touch him," you warned, fully stepping in between the two Sharpe siblings. "You wish to do away with me, Miss Sharpe? Pluck up the gall to do the dishonor yourself and have at least the tiniest shred of decency not to put any more blood on his hands."

You were a touch too late at deflecting her next strike, the blade nicking at your shoulder and slicing through multiple layers of fabric. Your outcry of pain filled the air; warm blood slowly began to ooze out from the wound. When she struck again, you made a point to return the favor and cut at her arm, using her shock to your advantage and kicking her squarely in her stomach, knocking her to the ground.

"When Jeffries and his squad get here, tell them we're inside," you told Thomas, keeping your eyes on his sister, waiting for her to rise. "This will all be over soon."

When she began to get back up on her feet, she clumsily charged toward you again. You kept deflecting her until you were walking backward toward the front door of the manor, your blades poised at the ready for her attacks at all times. Only once you were past the threshold of the front door did you sneak a final glance at your husband, trying to memorize his features as your eyes met his.

I love you, you thought to yourself before you sidestepped out of Lucille's way as she charged at you again. You'll be free soon.

"You turned my sweet perfect Thomas against me," she snarled at you, smirking when she successfully made another nick at your arm. "You poisoned his love--"

"What you had wasn't love, you psychopath," you hissed, deflecting blow after blow until you reached the hallway where Edith had guided you to the recording cylinders. "You assaulted his good senses. Suffocated him with your perverse attentions until that was all he knew. He's as much a victim as everyone you killed within the walls of Allerdale Hall."

Right as you said the words, a vase shattered on the ground close to where she stood, making her stumble when she charged for you again. Her bare foot had caught on a shard. She looked at the shards on the ground before looking back at you, the crazed look in her eyes worsening before she charged again. "You charlatan--!" The rest of her words caught in an incredulous squeak at the back of her throat, finding herself unable to advance a being made of what seemed like either thick, overly viscous blood, or the liquefied clay from the mines, materialized before your eyes and held her back with a talon-like grip to her shoulder and her forearm.

"I don't think so, demon child," the spirit hissed, forming into a shape that painted a gruesome sight of a woman about Lucille's height, a weapon that was shaped exactly like the very cleaver she wielded now sticking out from the top of her head. "You've corrupted my boy for too long."

"Hold on, you're--"

"Their mother," Edith's voice finished, sounding as if she were right beside you. "Smart of you to lead her here, my friend."

You took a deep breath before turning to your side, a horrified cry slipping from your lips when you saw her own crimson silhouette where the shape of the cleaver stuck out from her upper back. "Edith, I'm so sorry," you whispered, tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision.

"Oh don't sound so sad, sister," Lucille seethed as more silhouettes formed around her, holding her back as she struggled against them. "You'll join them soon enough. Because I won't stop. Not until you kill me. Or I kill you."

"I won't kill you, Lucille," you told her plainly, bravely walking closer to her when one of the spirits managed to yank her cleaver from her hand, the blade clattering to the floor. "You don't deserve to die. You deserve to rot. In a prison cell for the rest of your days. Suffering as the law sees fit for all the atrocities you've committed since you were a maniacal bitch of a child that molested her kid brother."

She let out a strained yell, still trying to fight against the hold the spirits had on her. "You foolish girl, you've hurt him, too!" she shrieked, finally starting to show a shred of genuine emotion when she started talking about the consequences your efforts would have on Thomas. "They would hang him for what he's done."

"For what you've done, demon child," the elder Lady Sharpe's spirit spat back. "What you've made him do."

"And I will see to it that he doesn't suffer any more for any of the crimes you've orchestrated, Lucille." She glared at you, no doubt wishing that the spirits would let her loose so that she could detach your head from your body. "Because unlike you that placed him in harm's way time and time again, making him do your bidding in the name of more money and more status all in the name of the horror you manipulated him into thinking was love? Unlike you, I will do what I can. Sacrifice my security and my leverage in exchange for his freedom and his safety. That is protection, Lucille. That is love."

The manor doors burst open once more, multiple voices filling the air as Jeffries and a good handful of officers from Scotland Yard announced their presence. The spirits surrounding Lucille suddenly dispersed into the air, allowing her to charge at you again and wrap her hands around your throat, her long sharp nails digging into your skin.

"I told you this will not end until you kill me, or I kill you. Stupid girl," she whispered, her wicked smile growing wider as you struggled to fight and pry her fingers away from your neck.

Just as she squeezed harder, your lungs screaming for air, something pulled at her and your feet, bringing you both down to the ground and making her slip from her hold on you. That was just enough for you to take in a deep gulp of air and kick her off of you. The sound of pounding against the floor alerted the officers to your location.

"Over here!" you heard Jeffries shout, loud footfalls fast approaching before you heard Lucille's incredulous tone as she protested against the men that hauled her to her feet.

You spied a quick flash of red at the corner of your eye while you rose to your feet, whispering a 'thank you' to Edith and the other spirits in the manor for helping you how they did. Despite how your altercation with Lucille weakened you, you were determined to see her whisked out of the house in cuffs, an officer on each side making sure that she was unable to get a single move in edgewise and attempt an escape.

You wanted to see for yourself that Thomas' nightmare truly had come to an end. That he was free. You both were.

"And I told you…" you said, your voice raspy and your throat hurting from forming words after her final attack. "You deserve to rot in a cell for your crimes, Lucille Sharpe. Death is a kindness you don't deserve."

Thomas barged into the manor, his expression the picture of panic as he scanned the room, trying to look over the officers that fought to keep Lucille in line. "Where is she?" he huffed out; you could see even from this distance that there were tears in his eyes.

"Close your eyes, sweet boy," his sister told him shakily. "I don't wish for you to see me like this. You do not deserve this discomfort."

He hardened his gaze on her, looking as if he fought against the urge to so much as blink as the officers escorted her across the threshold and into the biting winter cold. "Seeing you finally get what you deserve could never be a discomfort, Lucille."

Her protests faded into a muffled cry the further she got away from the house, and the worse that your pulse thundered in your ears. You were all too quickly becoming acutely aware of the wounds you sustained from your fight with her, adrenaline finally subsiding and letting you feel the complete aftermath of facing the murderous bitch head on.

"Where's my wife?" You vaguely heard Jeffries point your husband -- for the next few hours, at least -- in your direction.

"Thomas," you breathed out, unable to hold back your smile as he started to walk down the hall toward you. You tried to take a few steps toward him, meet him halfway, but the moment you let go of the wall, it was as if the manor itself began to tilt in your vision. "Is the room spinning?" you slurred before you began to fall to the floor.

You braced yourself to hit the ground hard, with a dull thud and a slight rattling in your brain that you'd grown familiar with from getting thrashed around by particularly rowdy suspects. But the contact never came. Instead you were held in a pair of strong arms that you'd grown so familiar with in the weeks past. Your tired gaze found his wide shot stormy eyes, tears starting to roll down his pale cheeks.

"It's alright, Thomas," you whispered, straining to give him a smile. "It's all over now."

He didn't say anything in response, choosing instead to pick you up in his arms and carry you to the main living area of the manor and laying you down on a chaise, careful not to touch any of your injuries. Once he rested your head on the cushioned end of the seat, he took a moment to brush your hair away from your face before pressing his lips to your forehead. You could feel him trembling when he did so.

"I'll get something to dress your wounds, sweetheart," he told you. Even his words came out shaky. When he stood, he shrugged off his overcoat, draping it over you and briefly touching his fingers to your chin before he went off into the house.

"You gave your husband quite a scare there, Sharpe." You could only let out a mirthless chuckle at the sound of Jeffries' voice, footsteps drawing closer to you. "He looked like a right ghost when my men and I arrived here, telling us his wife went in and faced off with a homicidal lunatic."

"Have a bit of care with your words, Jeffries, that homicidal lunatic is still his sister, you know."

"Those were his words, Y/N. I don't think he gives a damn what happens to her…not after she hurt you." You tried not to wince at his words, not to read too much into what he was telling you. After all, he didn't know what he was talking about. "There is the small matter of his involvement in these cases, though--"

"No," you cut him off. "Scotland Yard will leave him out of this. I did not put in all this work just so that he would have to relive this horror in any degree after today."

"We can't just turn a blind eye to his participation in this. He was still at the very least an accessory to murder by poisoning. Marriage under false pretenses."

"You can and you will, Jeffries. Because Scotland Yard owes me," you told him shakily, your body struggling as you tried to hold your head up while you spoke with him. "Years worth of cold cases, you lot have told me that time and time again. Now I'm collecting."

Jeffries pinched the bridge of his nose, the image of frustration that you'd grown familiar with after years of collaborating with him. "Stubborn as ever," he grumbled.

"More so now, my friend," you clarified. "You'll understand better when you fall in love. The lengths you would go to keep them safe." You weakly raised your hand to him. "I'll see you all again in a few weeks."

"Very well then," he sighed, taking your hand in his and giving it a firm shake. "Take care of yourself, Sharpe. We'll see you when you recover." He looked to the arch that led to the kitchen, a smile playing on his face as he saw your husband. "Looks like you'll be in exceedingly caring hands, my friend."

"Detective," Thomas acknowledged him once he'd made his way back to you, bandages and a bowl of hot water in hand. "I suppose I'll need to give you a statement--"

"No need, Mister Sharpe," the detective waved off the offer. "The documents along with your wife's testimonies are more than enough. We can see ourselves out." He gave you both a little wave before making his way to the main door of the manor. "Take care of each other, you two," were his last words before closing the door behind him.

Now you were left all alone with your soon ex-husband. And you surmised that the sooner you could liberate yourselves from this sham of a marriage, the happier he would be. You made a motion to sit up and reach for the items in his hands. "I can handle it from here," you started. "You don't have to--"

"Don't be absurd, Y/N," he said in a rush. He placed everything down on a nearby table and moved to kneel on the floor beside you, placing his hand on your head. "Lay back down, darling. Let me take care of you. Please."

His breathing went ragged as he peeled off the blood-soaked fabric that clung to your skin, starting to cry again as he assessed the damage Lucille had dealt you. You almost had to look away when he'd wiped the blood away and horror colored his features as he discovered there were more scars on you from prior altercations. Prior cases.

"This isn't my first time being attacked by a suspect, Thomas," you mumbled, bracing for some offhanded comment about how the scars further diminished what little beauty you possessed. You'd heard it before. And while it would particularly hurt coming from the man you'd come to love, the words from his lips wouldn't surprise you in the slightest. "This might have been the closest I came to actually losing, however…"

He said nothing, only grimaced again when he picked up the bottle of disinfectant and soaked a rag with it. "This is going to sting. Rather harshly. You'll need to bite down on something--" His eyes widened when you waved your blade in response, seeing the wooden handle. "No. That is not an option, it's too hard for--" He let out a sigh, moving to take off his belt and loop it around his hand a few times before presenting it to you. "This would be softer, less harsh on your teeth."

You talked him through bandaging the worst of your injuries, and when he'd finished he insisted on carrying you upstairs to the bedroom you shared. Once he sat you down on the chair in front of the vanity, he took great care to take out the pins that held your hair up, brushing out any knots that might have formed earlier. He helped you into a clean underdress, making a point to shut his eyes when you were exposed and offering his hand for you to steady yourself if you needed it.

When you'd finished, he lifted you into his arms again and carried you to the bed, gently laying you down. "You really don't need to dote on me like this, Thomas, I can walk," you told him, a traitorous giggle escaping you. In truth you rather enjoyed the attention; your stomach was all a-flutter with how delicate he made you feel ever since you two were left alone.

He sent your heart in the same violent fluttering state when he placed his hand near your head, bracing himself to lean over you and bringing your faces inches apart. "Did it ever cross your mind that perhaps I want to take care of you, sweetheart?" he said softly, taking you aback when he closed the distance between you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "You've done so much. And you've suffered a great deal today. Taking care of you and seeing to your recovery is the least I could do."

You had to put in the effort to even out your breathing as you watched Thomas walk over to his side of the bed, shrugging off his waistcoat and pulling his white shirt over his head before laying down next to you. A new pit had settled into your stomach now, not quite the same as from earlier but just as foreboding. He must be anxious to start his new life, we should work on settling away with this divorce as soon as possible.

"I think you should refrain from going out until your wounds have healed," he said softly, gently positioning you so your head lay on his shoulder and he could wrap his arm around you. "Whatever's left for you to do can wait until you're better."

"If you're sure," you cautioned. Your exhaustion from the day finally betrayed you when you relaxed into his embrace, his free hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. "I can imagine you would be as eager as I am to have all this finished--"

"There's no rush. That is if you could endure having a wretch like me as a husband for a few more days." There was a strain in his voice as he said the words, almost as if he wished he could take it back. As if the utterance physically pained him.

You gave him a small smile, doing what you could to hold on to him just a touch tighter. "It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. And you're no wretch, Thomas Sharpe."

For the second time today you found yourself taking a moment to commit his features to memory, along with how treasured you felt under his caring gaze, his face somehow even more hauntingly beautiful with the way it was illuminated by the pale winter light. The pit in your stomach gave way to an ache in your heart, remembering the words you uttered to him the night before. Yet another moment with him that you would forever strive to keep in the very forefront of your mind.

One day he truly would make some fortunate woman know what complete, overwhelming happiness felt like. To have a husband that would treasure her and pleasure her with every ounce of devotion he was capable of giving.

And every day moving forward you would live with that ache throbbing away at you, burdening yourself with the infallible knowledge that that woman would never be you. You wouldn't just simply miss him, you would yearn for him.

"Then stay…for as long as you need." His voice hitched toward the end, and he held you a touch tighter before kissing you softly. "There is absolutely no rush, sweetheart."

A/N: omg they're freeeeee 🥹 but also…we all know what's coming next 🥲

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