#Murder Detective: Jack The Ripper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starsinmylatte · 3 months

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𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙵𝚘𝚐

Here is my submission for @kentopedia's wonderful Love Through the Ages collab!

➻ Summary: Trapped in the gilded cage of Victorian high society, you were determined to rebel. You ran the streets in disguise at night and threw yourself into your work as a typist for Scotland Yard during the day, rejecting the label of “quiet, submissive woman.” Further rebuffing the ideals of your time, you scoffed at the idea of love and marriage, but a certain blonde Detective Inspector always seemed to make your heart flutter. You’re assigned to work a case under him, and your feelings only grow more complicated… but will your budding romance be able to survive one of history’s most infamous murderers?

➻ Pairing: Nanami Kento x afab!Reader

➻ Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI)

➻ Word Count: 8.2k

➻ Warnings: Explicit sexual content and Discussions of the Jack the Ripper case/thematic elements related to the case/time period (rape, poverty, etc.)

➻ Song recommendations (in order):

Toxic- From “Promising Young Woman” Soundtrack performed by Anthony Willis Les feuilles mortes- Jean-Michael Blais The Swan- Camille Saint-Saëns

➻ Author's note: I did a ton of research to make sure I had my details correct, so there are tons of easter eggs hidden in the fic. I had a lot of fun with this one!

Join my taglist here!

Colors flew through the air as you tossed various skirts, bodices, and any other accessories unfortunate enough to catch your ire clear across the room. They hit your quilted bedsheets with an audible thunk as Misato shook her head at your antics, tsking at you from the corner.

“Love, you’ll be late if you carry on like that. Wipe that scowl off and pick one already.”

You shot the maid another half-hearted frown, looking as grim as a young woman clad in only her chemise, garters, and stockings could. Misato strode over with matronly confidence, snatching the next garment out of your hands before it could grace the top of the pile. She held the bodice up, inspecting it in the clear morning light before giving a brisk nod.

“Right then, this will do. It’s posh enough to keep your father happy without all those extra frills and ruffles you hate. Grab that skirt, and let’s get on with it.”

You did as you were told, albeit extremely unenthusiastically. Misato hummed soothingly, draping the familiar weight of a corset around your waist. This was a dance you knew the steps of all too well. You fastened the busk up quickly before bending down to grasp at the foot of the bed, adjusting your decollete into the supporting garment. Misato tightened the laces systematically, just as she had done for every year you’d been old enough to dress as a woman.

Standing back up, you moved your body around, wincing and rolling your shoulders as you reacclimated to the squeeze of the steel boning.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, dropping your head in apology at the sight of her soft frown. “I know I’m bull-headed, and I know it only causes trouble for you.”

With a gentle sigh, the maid slipped a muslin camisole over your head before moving to fasten a bustle around your waist. “I understand, love. But you’re a woman of society, and you’re to dress as such. Now, bear you in mind, I’d rather die than see you in trousers like the men, but I think there’s a middle ground to be found yet.”

You smiled at her, grateful for the affection, “I know, but I’m still glad to hear it.”

“Who knows… Maybe you’ll finally attract a husband who’ll let you run as wild as you’d like.” The older woman teased you, pinching your cheek affectionately as she slipped several layers of skirt over your head. Her loving prodding pulled an imperceptible flush across your cheeks, and you distracted yourself with the buttons of your bodice. “Lord knows some of those peelers can’t be too horrible to look at.”

“Love,” you scoffed, choosing to ignore the way your mind immediately wandered to a certain stoic, blonde detective, “is for little girls who still believe in fairy tales.”

You continued on, selecting a hat from a drawer. “I work because I want to do something important… something beyond embroidery and gossiping at garden parties. There are people out there who need help, Misato.”

The maid laughed softly, pinning your hat at a perfect, jaunty angle. “I’ve known that since you stood at the height of my knee, but I can still hope to see you happy.”

You bade Misato goodbye with a quick kiss on the cheek, finally venturing out from your family’s warm, comfortable house to wait by the road for your carriage. An icy breeze brushed past as soon as you stepped outside, ruffling through your skirts and causing you to shiver. As you waited patiently, the damp air slowly seeped under your multiple layers of clothing; the strangely oppressive chill only took a few moments to carve beneath your skin like an icy dagger.

Normally, little birds would flitter throughout the small yards alongside the street, filling your morning commute with their cheerful racket, but there was only silence today. Your only companions were the ever-present fog and smoke that blanketed the city, but today, they seemed so much thicker than usual, making the overcast sky feel even more bleak.

Thick tendrils of gloom trailed over the cobblestones, swallowing the flickering gas lights one by one. There were no people on your street this early, no signs of life to be seen anywhere. Another shiver shot down your spine, but this time, it had nothing to do with the cold. The world was grey and eerily silent as the fog finally reached you, blanketing your entire body with frigid mist. The downy hairs on the back of your neck began to stand on end; everything felt off… like an ill omen.

A moment later, the clacking of hooves on the cobblestone echoed throughout the street, and a familiar carriage finally appeared in the gloom. You barely waited for it to come to a stop before you opened the door and climbed in, not caring to observe the proper etiquette.

“Cold, miss? It’s a chilly mornin’ innit?” The driver chuckled, shouting loudly as he snapped the reins, urging the horses to return to their steady gait. “Don’t worry; we’ll get you back inside soon enough.”

“Ah, yes… It is a bit chilly.” You smiled and brushed your actions off with a laugh, but the feeling of dread still weighed heavily on your heart.

Even the horses seemed restless, rolling their eyes and tossing their well-groomed manes back and forth as they plodded eastward. You were grateful to finally see some sense of normalcy as you reached Victoria Street, where people of all ages milled around, setting up their businesses both on and off the street. Shops opened their doors, and street vendors set out their wares, squabbling loudly over placement and price. You smiled wryly as a young boy snatched a steaming pie from the corner of a table, eyes shining with delight as he shoved the greasy pastry into his mouth. He disappeared into the teeming crowd with the shopkeep still blissfully unaware of the theft.

The sight was as endearing as it was heart-wrenching; the cute little boy probably stole out of sheer necessity. If he hadn’t stolen the pie, there was a good chance he wouldn’t have eaten at all today, even in this area of the city. You suddenly felt guilty that you had the privilege of being able to turn down breakfast.

“So much needs to change,” you murmured, drumming your gloved fingers against the lacquered side of the carriage. Most of the people from the upper crust simply wanted to hide the poor away; their attitude was just to keep them out of sight and out of mind.

Your thoughts continued as you looked off into the alleyways and then glanced eastward to where the worst parts of London were concealed. If your family had their way, you’d have never known those parts of the city existed; you’d have been kept on a pedestal in the opulent West End. To them, all you needed was decorative knowledge meant to accent your pretty face and attract a rich husband, but no one had counted on your tenacity. You had been too intelligent, too fierce of a little girl, always demanding answers from your tutors, rejecting their half-baked excuses about the world and how it worked.

Before long, you figured out that not all people grew up similarly. You fished stories out of maids and butlers, learning about how other people suffered in the cruel workhouses and filthy alleyways hidden in the background of the city you loved. But the most appalling thing by far was how little your parents and their wealthy friends seemed to care.

When you turned ten, you convinced Misato to help you sneak out for the first time, mainly by threatening to go even if she refused to be your accomplice, and from that night on, you began exploring the real London. When your parents thought you were safely locked away in your room practicing embroidery, you were actually exploring the streets wearing ragged clothes “borrowed” from the nearest bin. It was dangerous and wholly irresponsible for a lady like yourself, and if anyone found out, your reputation and life would be ruined forever…. So, of course, you loved it.

“It’s no wonder I ended up here, in the last place a ‘lady’ should ever be.” You murmured, smiling as the carriage finally jolted to a stop outside the stately, brick-and-stone building at 4 Whitehall Place. The driver opened your door with practiced ease, and you entered Scotland Yard’s world of cops and criminals.

“Odd, there’s so few people here…” You murmured, arching an eyebrow in curiosity as you walked in and reached your desk.

Typically, the station was filled with men waiting on their orders for the day or waiting to go on patrol. The few men who were present milled about restlessly, and most wore the trademark blue peeler uniform. However, two men were notably different; they were dressed in everyday clothes and stood off to the side of the Chief Inspector’s office. If you didn’t know better, you could’ve guessed they were gentlemen who simply wandered in off the streets.

“I haven’t seen those two before. They must be detectives.” You pieced together, noting the tension that hung heavily around them.

The two men were certainly young to be detectives, but one seemed more experienced and slightly calmer than his counterpart. They each wore black frock coats and trousers, but from there, the appearance differed. The composed man had kind eyes and tawny, disheveled hair covered with a bowler hat, whereas his friend sported a red vest, fluffy hair, and no hat. He looked younger and full of nervous energy; for some reason, his hair seemed oddly…. pink?

You sighed, chalking it up to a trick of the light as you set up your desk for the day. In a valiant attempt to neutralize your own nervous energy, you began to clean your typewriter, stealing glances at the young detectives, trying to parse together what was going on from snippets of their conversation.

“Do you really think- how long will it take?”

“I don’t know, just wait and see.”

Suddenly, two more men you did recognize walked into the room without fanfare. Chief Inspector Yaga led a tall, serious-looking blonde man over to the others, and your heart fell through your chest at the expression on his face. Not many of the detectives treated you well, but in all the time you’d worked there, Detective Inspector Nanami Kento had never failed to greet you with a small smile and a polite greeting every morning at the bare minimum.

This morning, however, his expression could have cut through stone. The stoic man’s lips were set into a cold, hard line, and he didn’t even notice your presence. His dark eyes glittered in intense concentration, and the two young men snapped to attention as soon as he approached them.

Something has happened. Those aren’t the eyes of the gentleman I know… that’s the gaze of a detective entirely focused on his case.

Scotland Yard and its detectives were no strangers to tragedy and brutal events. They carried the weight of investigating the most unspeakable acts people could inflict on each other, but you had never seen DI Nanami look quite this grim. You watched the four men talk quietly for what seemed like ages before they finally walked over to your desk. Chief Inspector Yaga looked you up and down with a critical gaze as if to size you up.

“How can I help you this morning, sir?” You met his eyes calmly, the feeling of dread rising, squeezing your heart once again.

“You’ve been with us for almost two years now, correct?” His gruff voice rumbled through you like thunder promising an oncoming storm.

“That’s correct, sir.”

“And you’ve never had any-” He paused, gesturing around as if searching for the correct word, “trouble with the cases up until now?”

Nanami’s chiseled jaw clenched as the Chief Inspector questioned you. He seemed to be looking just past your face, staring at a spot on the wall in a manner that seemed as though he was willing it to spontaneously catch fire. You didn’t try to hide the way your brow furrowed in concern at the question.

“Trouble, sir?”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Deep, dark bruises were blooming under the man’s eyes; it looked as if he had gotten little-to-no sleep for weeks. “I know you’ve certainly heard… more than a few disturbing things in your time here. The paperwork you tend to has details of crimes, and you’re around the men every day…. God knows they don’t know when to hold their tongues.”

You nodded along, still confused and growing exponentially more concerned. His words were true; you’d certainly heard more than your share of gory details from the policemen as they returned from their patrols, whether it was just accidentally overheard or they told you directly as if it would impress you.

“Well… It is never enjoyable, but I deal with it in the same way the men do, sir.” You pointed out deftly, unwilling to seem fragile.

Nanami remained grimly silent, but a small smile played across the corner of his lips as Yaga watched you closely. After a moment of silence, the burly DCI sighed again. “Then there’s a job for you. I am about to ask more of you than I would like to, but you’ve excelled at your current position, and this situation calls for related skills.”

For the briefest moment, you could’ve sworn that you saw Nanami’s fist clench at his side. Still, the stoic man stayed silent as Yaga continued on, “You’ll be working under DI Nanami, and your main responsibility will be to organize and keep a running record of the evidence as it comes in. You’re to help them keep track of any papers they need to revisit during their investigation. Other duties will be assigned as needed.”

Yaga nodded stiffly and walked back to his office, shutting the door firmly as if to signal the finality of his decision. You looked up at Nanami with concern, as the man had barely moved since he arrived at your desk; he still looked silently furious. “Are you… do I need to do anything right now?”

His mood seemed to shift to calm in an instant. “No, nothing right now. I’ll have a file to give you as soon as I return, but I do need to introduce the case to you so that you’re not blindsided when you… see it.”

Nanami motioned for the two young detectives to step forward, “First, this is DC Itadori, and this is DS Ino. They will also be working under me for this case; if you have any issues and I’m unavailable, you can go to them.”

The two young men tilted their heads in polite acknowledgment as they were introduced, each giving you a small smile, almost like the one Nanami usually reserved for you.

Ino spoke first, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss. Even under these circumstances.”

Itadori nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! It isn’t often we get to work with a-”

“And I think it’s time for us to go secure transportation to the scene. You’ll have to excuse us.” Ino butted in quickly, placing a firm hand on Itadori’s shoulder and hauling the young man away, blatantly ignoring his noises of protest.

You turned back to the Detective Inspector, whose expression was unreadable as he sighed, “He means well. Please forgive him.”

A small, reassuring smile touched your lips as you gazed up at Nanami, “I’m not offended, Detective. I’m no shrinking violet and a bit of levity won’t go amiss every now and then.”

Your small quip made the blonde man chuckle lowly despite the situation. “I’m well aware. But this case….” His expression shifted once again. “I don’t like involving you in it.”

Hurt shot through you, stabbing through your heart with a dull ache. You had worked alongside him for two years, and he’d never seemed like the other men who constantly doubted your abilities for the supposed sin of being born a woman. You liked this man; you had trusted him.

“Do you really not think I can be of help?” You frowned as indignation seared through your veins.

You must’ve looked truly hurt because Nanami shook his head. “It has nothing to do with ability. You should know that I hold your abilities in high regard, but…” he said softly, “this case- it’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before, and you should never have to see things like this. No one should.”

Your firey attitude froze instantly, turning to shame as you realized his true intent. “Forgive me, I’m used to….”

A flush crept across your cheeks as you took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of your skirt and regaining your professionalism.

Why is it so easy for me to make a fool out of myself in front of you?

“ I understand,” he murmured, studying the typewriter in front of you with a strange intensity. “You may as well come into my office and have some tea.”

–

It took you no time at all to understand exactly why everyone seemed on edge and why the Detective Inspector was so affected by the case. You had read files of violence, murder, and rape before, but what Nanami had to sit down and tell you was beyond all of that. There was a monster, some sick freak brutalizing and murdering women throughout the streets of Whitechapel. He toyed with and desecrated their bodies, and all evidence suggested that he had acted multiple times and was going to continue unless he was caught or killed. This wasn’t some random act of criminal violence or murder of passion committed by a jilted lover…. this was something only the devil himself could be capable of.

The warmth of the teacup against your hands brought you some comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to drink any of the tea. Your stomach roiled violently; you were suddenly immensely glad you’d skipped breakfast as Nanami softly explained what had happened to the women and the events that led to Yaga deciding that you’d join his team.

“They found another body this morning,” he spoke plainly, but his deep brown eyes roamed over your face, his expression full of gentle concern. “Worse than the last, even.”

You glanced at the thick file in front of you, your stomach lurching as your eyes landed on the sketch of the previous victim. If it was only growing worse… God, you couldn’t even imagine…. The room suddenly felt too hot, your corset too constricting as you leaned forward, fighting the bile that rose in your throat.

Nanami was by your side instantly, his large hand warm and soothing on your back as he knelt beside you with surprising grace. “If you don’t want to do this…. I understand. I swear I do. Just say the word, and I’ll have you home.”

It took a brief moment, but you swallowed thickly and straightened up, your eyes glittering in determination as you gazed down at the kneeling man. “No. I can’t- I won’t- sit idly by, knowing I had a chance to help, even if it’s just in a small way.”

An entire moment passed as the two of you stared into each other’s eyes. Nanami rested his hand on yours for a brief moment, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you could feel your brain short-circuit. You were much closer to a bachelor than society would deem appropriate, but the desire to uphold proper values wilted against your need for comfort.

The moment was over quickly, and the Detective stood, brushing dirt off his tan pants. “It’s time for me to head out to the crime scene. I’d like you to use my office while I’m gone.”

Nanami gave you an achingly soft smile, the exact smile you had craved before he tugged his coat on, slid his unique, round glasses into place, and left the room.

–

Weeks turned into months, but the monster who called himself Jack the Ripper still hunted the women of Whitechapel. It didn’t take long for the press to run with the story, drawing more attention to Jack than his victims. An endless flow of letters and tips began to pour in every day, and the monster had even penned a few himself, mocking the police for not being able to catch him yet.

You spent every day working beside Nanami, who insisted you move into his office, claiming you could work more comfortably there. The attraction you felt towards the stoic detective grew as you spent more time with him, sharing the intimate workspace. He was always so busy and stressed beyond measure, but he was unfailingly kind and considerate of you. In return, you went above and beyond your assigned duties to care for him. You ensured that Nanami ate as regularly as possible, brewed him tea when he was having a particularly hard day, and provided him companionship.

You had always known that Nanami was intensely intelligent and focused, but he truly gave all of himself to this case. Unfortunately, the Ripper seemed to be a shade able to pass through walls for all the helpful clues he left behind. You watched, feeling utterly helpless, as the pile of bodies grew and the dark circles under Nanami’s eyes deepened. Despite putting on a brave face, he seemed frustrated and permanently exhausted; if you had to guess, he even slept at his desk some nights.

As the case progressed and even more women were killed, Nanami made it a point to make sure you were safe, even though you lived on the opposite end of London from where the murders occurred. You reassured him that you’d be fine, but he still gifted you a small firearm, a Derringer, that you kept tucked in your handbag every single day as both a good luck charm and a deterrent. The detective also insisted on escorting you home at night, and on the rare nights he was unavailable, he sent Ino or Itadori in his stead.

However, most nights, you only waited inside for an hour or two before sneaking back to the streets. You were convinced the people who frequented the bustling pubs and taverns of Whitechapel had to have more information. Many people weren’t keen on sharing any information with the police, but you knew they’d talk amongst themselves and certainly to a pretty girl at the bar. You knew it wasn’t smart, but you were determined to help in every way possible; too many women were living in fear. However, a small part of you did know that you were also desperately trying to ease Nanami’s burden.

Even though you were determined, you still felt incredibly guilty about the situation. It would undoubtedly drive Nanami mad with worry if he knew what you were up to, but you promised yourself that it was safe enough, that you’d always sneak back home before nightfall. You had even planned only to visit pubs on Whitechapel Road itself, knowing that proximity to the main road made your outings safer. Weeks passed as your covert outings continued without a hitch, but one night, everything changed. You had been far too distracted by the bartender you were conversing with, and before you realized it, the sun had fully set. You might’ve been right on the main road, but you were alone in Whitechapel after dark, where the monster was certainly lurking in the shadows.

Every bump in the night made your heart seize in fear as you started down the street, desperately heading back toward safety. You managed to make a decent headway, but the sound of a familiar voice stopped you dead in your tracks. Nervously, you glanced around to find DC Itadori at the building right in front of you, blissfully unaware of your presence as the young man chatted with a passerby.

You knew that the proper thing to do would be to approach him for help, to admit that you had made a mistake, but you couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of your mind that whispered, “You know he’d tell Nanami, right?”

Telling DC Itadori would be bad enough, but the thought of his mentor being disappointed in you or even hurt by your actions made your heart lurch.

“It’ll be just a quick detour,” you promised yourself as you turned and headed down the closest alleyway.

Your journey was fine for the first few minutes, but it didn’t take long for you to garner unwanted attention. Your dress lacked the finery you usually wore, but it was still the dress of a respectable woman, and this dark alley was no place for any woman. Drunken men leered at you from every shadow, trying to coax you closer. You ducked and weaved your way out of their clumsy attempts to grab you, but you were forced to run down alley after alley to avoid them. The familiar weight of the Derringer that you’d tucked into your garter was the only comfort you had as you fled deeper and deeper into the heart of Whitechapel. An icy chill crept down your spine as you grew painfully aware that you’d gotten lost in the maze of alleyways.

Thick, oppressive fog curled throughout the already cramped alley as you hurriedly turned the next corner, only to hit a dead end. Your blood ran cold, and tears of exhaustion and fear ran down your face as you glanced around, desperately trying to figure out where you were, but it was useless. The fog was too dense, and you were too lost. Two sets of footsteps were still following you. You could hear them approaching faster and faster, and you shrank back into the corner in fear, reaching under your skirts for the cool metal of the pistol as a last resort-

Suddenly, you heard the sounds of a brief scuffle around the corner, followed by the sickening crunch of a nose shattering. A man yelled out in pain; you could hear him sprinting back down the alley as another voice rang out into the night, “Miss, are you alright?”

You could’ve wept at the achingly familiar, husky tone as your Detective Inspector appeared out of the gloom, lantern in hand.

“I seem to have made a mistake,” You managed weakly.

Nanami froze instantly at the sound of your voice. He raised the lantern to illuminate your tear-stained face, and a look of sheer horror broke over his handsome features. You crumpled against the wall, and the Detective Inspector rushed forward to support your body, his strong arms cradling you with breathtaking gentleness.

“Are you hurt?” He asked quickly as his gaze scanned you over systematically, desperately searching your body for any sign of injury.

“No, just cold, afraid….. and more than a little ashamed. Thank you for saving me.” You admitted meekly, fighting the urge to lean into his warmth.

Nanami groaned audibly in relief, tipping his head back as if thanking god. His arms tightened around you slowly as he embraced you, holding you against his broad chest while you shook with latent fear. You flushed furiously as you reciprocated his embrace, drawing enough comfort from his presence for your heartbeat to calm.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, voice low and soothing. “let’s get you somewhere safe, and then you can tell me why you’re out here.”

“I can’t go home. It’s too late; I won’t be able to get back in until morning when my maid returns. Perhaps I should rent a room here for the night? No one will know me this far out. I do have some money.” You rambled, trying to keep from crying even more.

Nanami sighed, stepping back slightly to look into your eyes. “I’m not leaving you out here alone. It won’t be ‘proper,’ but I’d like to take you somewhere where I know you’ll be safe.”

You felt a pulse of clarity flow through you, and you placed a hand on his muscular forearm, gently squeezing it in reassurance. “I trust you.”

The detective’s warm, brown gaze softened as he saw the honesty written across your face.

“One more question, then. Do you think you’re up to walking? I could carry you, but that may draw more unwanted attention.”

You shifted on your feet, testing them out. “I think I’ll be alright.”

Nanami smiled down at you before deftly unfastening his tan, woolen greatcoat. He draped it over your shoulders with heartbreaking gentleness, ignoring your mild noises of protest as he secured it around you.

“It’s cold tonight,” was all he said as he offered you his arm.

You held onto him tightly, instantly comforted by his solid frame and the quiet strength Nanami carried himself with, even in a tense situation like this. You had never been more terrified only moments ago, but now you felt safe and protected, almost warm despite the cold air around you.

“Thank you…. It is quite comforting.” You murmured.

Nanami smiled down at you briefly before guiding you through the maze of alleyways, letting you dictate the pace. Funnily enough, the fog seemed to dissipate as the two of you walked down the streets of London together. You could see the stars twinkling above you, and if you didn’t know better, the two of you could’ve been a couple out on a nighttime stroll together.

Time passed quickly as you walked together in comfortable silence, and soon, you arrived at a comfortable-looking townhouse near Bedford Square. Nanami unlocked the door without any preamble, ushering you inside out of the cold. He led you up the stairs into a tastefully furnished drawing room with a beautiful bay window that overlooked a moonlit garden.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he encouraged, leading you towards a plush settee. Nanami busied himself with lighting the ornate fireplace as you curled up against the arm of the furnishing, still wrapped up in his coat. You snuggled against the soft wool, surreptitiously enjoying how it smelled of his fresh, woody cologne undercut with the deeper scent you could only describe as his.

As soon as Nanami finished tending to the fire, he began to pace around the room in a manner you knew meant that he was thinking deeply about something.

“What is it?” You asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.

He took a deep breath and stopped pacing, turning to look at you. Nanami’s expression held no anger as the firelight flickered across his face, but a profound sadness filled his beautiful brown eyes as he spoke, “I don’t think you understand what it would’ve done to me if you were the next body found.”

You dropped your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as Nanami continued his pacing, “When I realized it was you in the alley, I- I thought the absolute worst had happened.”

He ran his hands through his hair, pacing even more frantic as he tousled the normally neat blonde strands. “You must know by now…. You have to know…”

Nanami turned to you once again, dropping his arms to his side in defeat. “I love you.” He rasped, voice raw with emotion. “I’ve known for months. I didn’t think I could court you properly until I caught this bastard, so I didn’t say anything. You don’t deserve to be associated with me if I fail, but after tonight, I just can’t take it anymore. I understand if you say no, if you need a better man, but-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. In the blink of an eye, you flung yourself across the room and into his arms. Nanami caught you in surprise, scarcely able to believe he wasn’t dreaming as you clutched desperately at his sides. Uncontrollable tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you gazed at him in unabashed adoration.

“I love you too,” you confessed, “ I don’t think a better man exists.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Nanami smiled lovingly, softly as he leaned down to press a slow, feather-light kiss against your forehead. You sighed in bliss, and the detective breathed deeply as if he hadn’t had fresh air in months. Months of stress and fear melted away from both your bodies, the negative emotions paling in comparison to the warmth of your love. Nanami ghosted more kisses across your cheeks and nose, taking his time to savor every inch of your beautiful skin before finally pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss was soft and sweet. Your eyelashes fluttered shut, and you acted purely on instinct, leaning further into his embrace. One of Nanami’s strong, steady hands moved to cup your waist, holding you like precious china as your lips parted from the chaste kiss. As you shared another intimate breath, his other hand slid under your chin, tilting you forward to capture your lips again.

“Marry me.” He mouthed against you, voice rough with emotion. “Let me protect you, love you, worship you. I want to hold you in my arms, to keep you by my side until I die.”

“Yes,” you nearly pleaded, clawing at the material of his blue vest in an attempt to somehow pull him closer. “Kento, please…. I’m yours.”

He groaned desperately at the intimacy of his first name on your lips as his hand moved from your waist to wrap around your back possessively. Nanami trailed his other hand to cup your jaw as he kissed you even more passionately, almost devouring you whole. You had kissed before, but it was only mild, adolescent flirtations with boys you didn’t bother to remember; it was nothing like this. This kiss was searing, threatening to burn you from the inside out if you stopped for even a second. Your chest lay flush against Nanami’s, your body moving against his in a way that made his trousers grow uncomfortably tight.

Nanami realized instantly and broke the embrace, stepping back to hide the way his cock strained against the fabric. The desirous look in your eyes and your attempt to follow him nearly shattered his resolve completely, but he touched your shoulder gently.

“It will get increasingly hard for me to remain the gentleman you deserve if we continue.” He warned breathily, a light dusting of pink gracing his cheekbones. “If you need, I can go stand outside until morning.”

A whimper left your kiss-swollen lips. Your body ached in a way you’d never felt, craving the sweet burn of his touch in places you’d rarely explored yourself. The world felt hazy and syrupy as you tried to regain your mind, but it was a futile task. Your breasts felt heavy, your nipples sensitive as they rubbed against the fabric of your chemise.

“That’s not what I need,” you pleaded, and Nanami shuddered.

“Can you tell me what you do need?” He murmured, taking a tiny step towards you.

“Kento, I-I’ve never done this before,” you stammer, blushing furiously and shrinking back in embarrassment.

Immediately, Nanami is at your side, holding you tightly once again. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, darling. I wouldn’t love you less either way. All it means is that we’re on equal footing here.”

He pulled you into another hug, intent on soothing you further as your mind spun.

“You’ve never….?” You questioned softly.

“No,” Nanami murmured, “I haven’t been with anyone.”

“That does make me feel better,” you admitted, biting the swell of your lower lip. “What I’m feeling right now is new…. strange, even. I want you to touch me so badly that it hurts.”

Nanami groaned again, pulling you against his broad chest; he could easily feel your heart racing, and he wasn’t faring much better.

“Do you want me to touch you now, or do you want me to wait?” He asked, voice deadly calm.

“I think I’ll die if you wait,” you pleaded, pawing against his vest again.

He chuckled roughly, grasping your wrist and pulling it to his lips. Your breath hitched as he kissed the tender skin of your pulse point, savoring the way your pulse raced under his touch. Without further preamble, Nanami reached down for your skirts, slowly drawing the fabric up past the soft leather of your garters. He reached down, tracing up your thigh with his fingers until they caught the cool metal of the Derringer, which you had completely forgotten about.

Nanami tugged it free as he kissed you once again. He smiled into the embrace, pulling you with him as he stepped over to set the small gun on a nearby table. You glanced at him in astonishment, unsure how he had known. As soon as the firearm was safely put away, he scooped you up into his arms with another soft laugh, “Darling, what kind of detective would I be if I didn’t know?”

You smiled up at him, “I suppose you do have a point, darling.”

He sighed in bliss as you turned the affectionate nickname against him. You traced your hands up Nanami’s broad chest greedily, slipping them over his shoulders for support as you leaned in for yet another desperate kiss, unable to sate your desire for his lips. He somehow managed to walk and return the kiss at the same time, only stumbling slightly as he brought you into another room.

You giggled against him, and he smiled, devouring the sweet sounds and eager to hear more. Nanami leaned down, setting you gently on his large bed. He pulled back to gaze at you in utter adoration, loosening his golden cravat and undoing the buttons of his blue brocade vest. He discarded them both, leaning forward to cage you between his arms as you drank in the sight unashamedly.

“You know it isn’t proper for me to see you in just your shirtsleeves yet,” you teased, snaking your hands up his arms and growing bold enough to nip at his bottom lip.

“I don’t think anything that we are about to do is too ‘proper,’” Nanami smiled affectionately as he circled his hands around your corseted waist, pulling you forward to sit at the edge of the bed. He unfastened your boots, caressing your stocking-covered feet gently as he set your shoes to the side. Afterward, his hands returned to your waist, meeting in the middle to trace over the small buttons of your green bodice.

“May I?” He implored, voice low and breathy with anticipation.

You nodded, biting your lip nervously. “Please.”

Nanami’s deft fingers began to undo button after button, exposing the other layers of clothing underneath as he went. You’d chosen to forego wearing a camisole, as none of your outerwear was fine enough to need protecting, so he was immediately met with the sight of your corset and the lip of your chemise beneath. The silken chemise you favored was thin enough to be nearly transparent, and Nanami’s breath hitched at the sight of your pebbled nipples peeking over the top of your corset.

He knelt slightly, enraptured by the sight of your breasts rising and falling with every breath you took. Nanami stared at you ravenously as his breathing grew heavier. You blushed prettily, shrugging the bodice off as the once-stoic detective’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hands dug into the fabric of his duvet as he fought the urge to caress and kiss every part of your body.

“I want to explore every part of you with my hands and tongue,” he confessed with a groan. “I can’t hold myself back much further, but promise that you’ll stop me immediately if I make you uncomfortable.”

You noticed the pupils of his brown eyes were blown wide and dark with lust as he looked at you, fully enraptured but waiting for your response. His expression forced an involuntary whimper to tumble from your lips, and the heat in your core spiked once again.

“I promise, but please… I didn’t think I could feel something like this.” You begged sweetly, guiding his large, warm hand to rest on the swell of your breasts.

He caressed the area gently, watching your face as his clever fingers explored your soft curves. You sighed in delight as he squeezed and traced the barely-covered skin, prompting him to investigate further. His fingertips grazed your nipple, and your back arched instantly, mouth parting in a perfect “O” at the waves of pleasure that shot through you. Nanami’s gaze grew half-lidded and hazy; he squeezed the small bud in response, and you outright moaned as your core clenched in need.

“Feels good?” He purred, utterly shameless in wanting to learn your pleasure.

You nodded vigorously, unable to speak, as you pulled his other hand to your back. He knelt on the floor, pulling you to stand over him as he reached around to unfasten your skirts and small bustle. They dropped to the floor, and he leaned forward to pepper kisses across your stomach and the tops of your thighs. You couldn’t feel his lips directly for the corset and chemise still in the way, but you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours. The intimacy of him kneeling before you, kissing your body so hungrily, made you throb with need once more. Acting on pure instinct once again, you began to rub your thighs together, desperate to relieve the ache.

He reached for the strings of your corset, successfully untying the knot. Nanami felt around for a moment before leaning back to look the silk and leather garment up and down. The detective chuckled lowly, “Would you mind helping me, darling? This is the first I’ve dealt with a corset, and I’m afraid it’s not as straightforward as the other layers.”

You gazed down at him in adoration, guiding his arms to grasp different parts of the lacing.

“Pull here…. and here.” You murmured, and the corset loosened under your combined ministrations, finally becoming loose enough for you to unfasten the busk.

Nanami watched breathlessly as it fell. He grasped the hem of your chemise, the final major barrier separating him from your soft skin, and rose from his kneeling position to pull it over your head. Finally, you stood before him fully topless, and he shuddered in desire as he removed your drawers.

He picked you up again, setting you back on the bed to work on the layers of his clothing. You whined in protest, wanting to undress him as he had explored you, but he simply shushed you, only speeding up his movements as he spoke through gritted teeth, “Darling, I promise you that we will have ample time for you to undress me later…. but right now, I need you, or I’m going to fully lose my mind.”

Nanami was barely able to choke out the words as he threw his shirt aside, granting you a beautiful view of his muscular chest and the smattering of honey-blonde hair that covered it. His arms were just as well-built, and you bit your lip once again, squirming on top of his sheets as you watched him. Nanami hooked his fingers into the waistband of his trousers, drawing your attention to a patch of coarser blonde hair that trailed down his lower stomach, hinting at what you’d see next.

You felt hot, fully and shamelessly filled with lust as you stared at the outline of his thick cock tenting the fabric. Nanami groaned as he saw your reaction, palming his erection as he started towards you, only clad in his trousers.

“Lay back for me, darling,” he cooed, guiding you onto the mattress. It dipped beneath his weight as he joined you, running his fingers over your leather garters. He pulled them down with his teeth, pressing kisses to the bare skin that forced a litany of moans and pleas from your lips as he rid you of your stockings. Dimly, you realized the space between your thighs was sticky with your own arousal. Nanami realized a split second after you, trailing his fingers up to your core after disposing of the garters and stockings.

“You’re beautiful, gorgeous…. Perfect.” His deep voice rumbled against your ear as he traced his finger through your folds. You shivered and moaned in response, your legs falling open even further, begging for him to explore more. He slid up on the bed next to you, leaning down to kiss your bare, sensitive breasts as he toyed with your soaked cunt.

Nanami carried on like that for a few minutes, noting that you grew the most desperate as he circled the small pearl of flesh at the top of your sex. He caressed it, noting with no small amount of satisfaction that his ministrations made you beg for more and whimper his name. Tension coiled in your stomach as he gently circled the puffy bud and kissed you passionately, relishing the taste of his name on your lips. It didn’t take long for that tension to snap in your stomach like an elastic band, and your back arched off the bed as you came hard.

He growled praises into your ear, teasing his fingers into you as your cunt spasmed around nothing. “My future wife… a goddess.”

Your eyelashes fluttered shut in a moment of discomfort that soon gave way to the blissful feeling of being filled. There was no pain as the other women had complained of; your world was a haze of syrupy bliss as your lover prepared you with his fingers, gently stretching your velvet walls.

Nanami rutted his hips against the bed, delaying his own pleasure until you were ready for him to truly fill you. The two of you moaned and sighed, almost in sync.

“You’re so soft and wet,” he cursed under his breath. “I won’t last much longer… Do you think you’re ready?”

You leaned up to kiss him passionately, mouthing your desperate assent against his lips. Nanami unbuttoned his trousers, unclothing his lower half in record time as you lay back against the sheets, eyes fully glazed over with lust. He spread your legs, slotting his hips between them, and you felt the swollen tip of his cock kiss your needy sex as he positioned himself properly. The two of you were panting, moaning together like animals in heat as he pushed in slowly, desperately trying not to hurt you. You cried out at the stretch, digging your nails into his back, the pain pulling another guttural moan from your lover. Any discomfort quickly turned to blinding pleasure as he sank into you fully.

Nanami paused arduously, his cock twitching, desperately begging for him to move.

“Tell me… when.” He forced the words out through gritted teeth, his expression almost a grimace as he fought the urge to thrust into you.

The warmth and pressure of his body, the feeling of being stuffed full, the feeling of his cock twitching inside you… It was all too much. Your fingers scrabbled at his back, desperate for purchase, as you whined, high-pitched and needy in response. “Now, please- oh, God. Need you now.”

Nanami groaned as he began to move his hips slowly, dragging his thick cock along your velvet walls. He began to move slightly faster as you writhed beneath him, your mind too sex-addled to form a coherent thought or sentence as his swollen balls slapped against you.

Your future husband fucked you slowly but thoroughly, filling the room with the salacious sounds of your lovemaking. A familiar tension began to build in your core, and Nanami groaned as your walls squeezed his cock. Unlike earlier, there was almost no warning as you shot straight over the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm, and you cried out desperately.

Nanami growled and cursed against your neck as your cunt milked his cock, desperately begging to be filled.

“So close. Need… need to pull out.” He rasped, almost whining as he left the plush warmth of your sex. You watched him in a lust-filled daze, melting against his sheets as Nanami leaned back, furiously stroking his cock. He grunted and moaned shamelessly, hips still shallowly thrusting against his hand as he desperately sought bliss. His head tipped back as he panted; you could see a beautiful, rosy flush color his chest and neck, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss every inch of it.

Nanami’s thrusts started to falter from their original pace, and you watched, wholly enraptured, as his brows furrowed and his perfect mouth fell open. He came a moment later with a hoarse cry; thick ropes of his seed coated his hands and stomach in spurts. He stroked his cock a few more times, fully milking out his orgasm before collapsing on the bed by your side. You both lay there in silence for a few blissful moments, basking in the warmth and security of each other’s arms.

“I love you,” you whispered, breaking the silence with a smile.

“I love you too, my darling future wife,” Nanami murmured back, entwining his hand with yours.

Tagging some friends: @pseudowho @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @ironandglass @amyroswell @cassandrablacker @lady-valtieri @justanothersadperson93 @orangecremepuff @belle-smith07 @outspokenbrat @enchantedsylveon @khaleesihavilliard @spam-love @silverliningsandstorms @msniks @panteramarron @eldritchbeauty @unoriginalidea @cindyneko-strider @markleeisdabestdrug @gabbyburgers @its-chickenwing-450 @luneariaa @akiiireix @tojispookiebear @dangoank0 @ifuckinghateschool @barryatsumu @voids-universe @mahgyu @themoonmonologues @byul9158 @starlitnotes @makingtimemine

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #kento nanami #kento x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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allwaswell16 · 2 months

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A fic rec of One Direction fics that take place in the Victorian era as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please let the writers know through kudos and comments! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

~ Louis/Harry ~

🌿 A Taste of Desire by @casuallyhl

(E, 104k, omegaverse) Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

🌿 Victorian Boy by @audreyhheart

(E, 101k, murder mystery) Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much.

🌿 The Rose of Whitechapel by @itsmotivatingcara

(E, 100k, murder mystery) Jack the Ripper au - Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past.

🌿 And down the long and silent street by whimsicule

(M, 86k, hurt/comfort) Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

🌿 Coax the Cold by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 86k, mermaid) When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers.

🌿 Secrets in Winter by @softfonds

(E, 82k, omegaverse) If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

🌿 An Ever Fixed Mark (series) by My_words_fly_up

(E, 66k, sex work) Harry Styles lives quite scandalously in the slums of London and never expected to cross paths with a kind, well-bred gentleman like Louis Tomlinson. But once they meet neither will be the same again.

🌿 these still waters run deep by @levelofcharm

(E, 64k, aristocracy) Having accepted his engagement to Viscount Andrew, Louis is aware that it isn’t a love match and has no wish to be swept off his feet… until he meets the viscount’s brother, Harry, who makes him second-guess everything.

🌿 an everlasting eclipse by you_explode / @nobodymoves

(M, 63k, adaptation) Anne of Green Gables/Anne With An E AU. In 1891, orphan Harry is adopted by the Teasdales and goes to live on their small farm in Holmes Chapel. In his new life he finds supportive relationships, he finds himself, and eventually, he finds a home.

🌿 saw some things on the other side by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 61k, mystery) Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

🌿 Forever Never Comes by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow

(M, 25k, friends to lovers) Victorian au, where Harry Styles, the youngest son of the Duke of Sutherland, was always a little in love with his childhood friend Louis Tomlinson, the young Earl of Doncaster, though he would never have told him in a million years.

🌿 The Four Seasons After You by neptune rising / @thelesserneptune

(E, 14k, adaptation) Corpse Bride inspired story where, after months of grief and guilt eating away at Harry’s soul, he finds forgiveness and tentative happiness in an advantageous marriage; only, Louis hasn’t quite caught up yet and isn’t ready to let him go so easily, not till death do them part - if that.

🌿 Even Supposing - by @casuallyhl

(M, 14k, established relationship) a Dickensian London AU where Harry and Louis overcome illness, small budgets, and their own stubbornness to give each other an unforgettable first Christmas together.

🌿 You Light Up the Path by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(T, 12k, mermaids) Harry, or so he likes to be called, is the myth and legend himself known as the Staithes Mermaid. No one has laid eyes on him, but everyone loves to tell tall tales.

🌿 lead me out on the moonlit floor by @scrunchyharry

(E, 12k, Christmas) Victorian!AU where Louis is a wealthy lord throwing a masquerade ball for his birthday and Harry is a toymaker who's only confident when he's wearing a mask.

🌿 We Never Said Our Love Was Evergreen by Pumpkinspice_Lou

(E, 9k, kidnapping) A Victorian Masquerade Ball AU where Harry is basically the Phantom of the Opera

🌿 You're Already Home by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 5k, historical fantasy) It's Christmas Eve and Harry's life is normal. Then he finds someone's barred the door to his favourite hiding spot -- the old groundskeeper's cottage -- and suddenly Harry's life isn't normal anymore.

🌿 Unto You by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 3k, winter) Louis is a lamplighter celebrating the saturnalia season in his own way. Harry is heavily pregnant and new in the city. The holiday of Christmas is yet to be created.

🌿 a rose by any other name by delsicle / @eeveedel

(G, 3k, omegaverse) Harry is a sheltered omega who is the pinnacle of good breeding, but the flowers in his family’s garden – and the alpha gardener who keeps them – prove to be his greatest weakness.

🌿 Rapture by @allwaswell16

(E, 3k, vampires) It was New Year's Eve in Victorian London, and a lonely vampire could no longer resist the stunning lamplighter he watched night after night.

🌿 Too Great a Temptation by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 2k, girl direction) Harry and Louis attend a fancy dress ball.

~ Rare Pairs ~

🌿 for years or for hours by narryblossom

(G, 8k, Niall/Harry) a Corpse Bride AU in which Harry wants to marry for love, and does, after The End.

#ficrec #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #hlcreators #hljournal #hltracks #trackinghome #1dsource #yourlarrysource #tracksintheam #hlsource

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beautifulmakkaris · 10 months

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If you're missing Lockwood and Co, don't despair! Here are some recommendations from fans of the show and books to help fill the void while we fight for season 2 - please share far and wide <3

All recs are from responses to this post, myself and things I've seen floating around the internet (ie, Goodreads suggestions/lists). Recs may be based on specific characters, ships, tropes, genres, worldbuilding or just general ~vibes.

Please make sure to check all content warnings before reading/watching any recommendations on this list.

Books (standalone)

Spellbound by F. T. Lukens

The Agency for Scandal by Laura Wood

The Dead Romantics by Ashley Poston

The Cheat Sheet by Sarah Adams

This May End Badly by Samantha Markum

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas

The Ex Hex by Erin Sterling

A Sky Painted Gold by Laura Wood

The Hidden Dragon by Melissa Marr

Trouble by Lex Croucher

Books (series - *ongoing)

Shades of Magic by V. E. Schwab

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy

A Good Girl's Guide to Murder by Holly Jackson

The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir*

Virals by Kathy Reichs

The Shades of London by Maureen Johnson

The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

Jackaby by William Ritter

Charlotte Holmes by Brittany Cavallaro

The Checquy Files by Daniel O'Malley

Alex Stern by Leigh Bardugo*

Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerry Maniscalco

Scarlet by A. C. Gaughen

Renegades by Marissa Meyer

The Diviners by Libba Bray

City of Ghosts by Victoria Schwab

Percy Jackson & the Olympians by Rick Riordan

Mokee Joe by Peter J. Murray

Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve

Murder Most Unladylike by Robin Stevens*

Letters of Enchantment by Rebecca Ross*

The Left-Handed Booksellers of London by Garth Nix

Dreadwood by Jennifer Killick

The Empyrean by Rebecca Yarros*

The Bartimaeus Sequence by Jonathan Stroud

Ankh-Morpork City Watch (Discworld) by Terry Pratchett

The Mistborn Trilogy by Brandon Sanderson

Scarlett & Browne by Jonathan Stroud

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman

Books (graphic novels)

Locke & Key by Joe Hill

Television series (*-ongoing)

School Spirits*

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Shadow & Bone

Wednesday*

Stranger Things*

CW's Nancy Drew

Shadowhunters

Locke & Key

The Bastard Son and the Devil Himself

Spooksville

The Midnight Club

Teen Wolf

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

Grimm

Please feel free to keep sending recommendations my way and I'll update this list as often as I can! Also let me know if you enjoy anything you found from this list, I'd love to know if you found it helpful :)

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deathmetalunicorn1 · 7 months

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hello can i request a jack the ripper x male reader who is basically sherlock holmes who is his husband.

like the reader would have been the most well known detective in history that stopped a lot of serious crime's like human trafficking groups/operations, serious murders,very dangerous gangs, Drug rings ect. and always gets into near Death experiences, From getting stabbed, poisoned,shot, almost getting assassinated and many more. but by pure luck they always survive as well as making a full recovery

but the twist is that jack doesn't know that his husband is doing a very VERY dangerous job but he does know that his s/o is a detective but he didn't know that his husband was doing a very Very dangerous one he thought that they were only doing investigations of not so serious crimes like robbery's or something getting stolen in the neighborhood

so imagine his surprise seeing his husband on the news finding out that he stopped a well known gang by disguising himself as a gang member giving the police information on the group but he did get shot and stabbed but made a full recovery.

but even so how would jack react to finding this out? i sure he would be VERY VERY against it, i mean how could you not?

-Jack never could have imagined himself being married to another man- especially the man who is regarded to be the world’s greatest detective.

-However, that is what he loves so much about you- you know who he is- the real Jack, not Jack the Ripper as he claims to be. Initially you were perturbed that Jack killed other killers, but he always left the innocents alone, and while this was getting dangerous and evil people off the streets- he still killed them.

-You turned a blind eye, as long as he wouldn’t get caught, something you told him, which he agreed to, and he adored that you kept his secret.

-The two of you were an adorable couple, playing off each other’s energy- you were a morning person while Jack was a night owl, but you both always made time to spend time with each other.

-Jack would spout poetry to you, showing you how he cares, making you delicious meals, while you would surprise him with flowers, cute dates- you were both so stinking adorable!

-Jack knew your profession as a detective was a dangerous one but he believed that you were just an investigator- you weren’t going to be in any danger.

-Ding dong Jack was wrong!!

-Imagine his surprise when he turned on the news and saw you being loaded up into a gurney after you had infiltrated a local notorious gang and managed to get them captured, but you had been stabbed and shot at least once!!

-Jack never ran so fast- full speed power sprinting to the hospital the whole way, skidding to a halt as he made it there, running inside, looking for you.

-You heard the running footsteps and you braced for impact as the door slammed open and you saw your husband there.

-His eyes were wide and you managed to lift your one good arm, smiling brightly, “Hi hon- oof!” he crossed the room in the blink of an eye and threw himself into you, holding you tightly, one hand behind your head and the other around your neck, clutching you tightly.

-Your eyes had gone wide at the embrace before you smiled softly, relaxing and you lifted a hand to his silvery hair, “I’m okay Jack- I’ll be okay.”

-He inhaled deeply and you were prepared for a vicious tongue lashing as he pulled back, only to shock you as you saw unshed tears in his eyes, nothing but worry in his features.

-He was mad with you- once he got back the upset part, “I almost lost you! I didn’t know you did such dangerous things! Why didn’t you tell me?! And don’t tell me that you didn’t want me to worry!”

-You had no answer, because that’s exactly what it was- and he scolded you a second time, reminding you of what he does and that he knows danger and wants to know if you’re in danger, “You’re the only one I have- I can’t lose you too!”

-You murmured apologies into his hair as he hugged you, calling you an idiot, which you took- knowing that you had been the foolish one.

-You only had to spend two days at the hospital, luckily your wounds weren't serious and you were discharged into your husband’s loving arms, as you were now on leave to heal from your wounds.

-Jack basically grounded you- you weren’t allowed to go out without him, and he didn’t allow you to do anything- he became a mother hen, not letting you lift, bend, or do anything without helping you.

-However, you let him, you knew that you had upset him, and he was doing this to remind you of that- so he could help you heal. You did like teasing him sometimes, holding out your good arm, “I’m lonely without you cuddling me!”

-He turned so red, scolding you for being so shameless while you couldn’t help but grin- he was so cute. Jack knew you were intelligent- so he knew exactly what you were doing, teasing him.

-He held you close, giving in to your request and you hugged him with your one good arm, sighing softly and he couldn’t help but melt into your embrace, “You’re a brat I hope you know.” You pressed a kiss to his temple, “I know- but I’m your brat!”

-The swat to your thigh was worth it as you laughed warmly as he snuggled down, hugging you close.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror jack the ripper

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seeingteacupsindragons · 3 months

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User miwhotep has made Milverton analysis posts about his character being inconsistent in The Two Detectives. Do you have theories on why?

I have not seen the posts, so I'm not really sure I can answer this well. Why his character is inconsistent, or why he was written that way?

Personally, I find Milverton about as deep as a kiddie pool, so I'm not sure there's tons there to be inconsistent. I suppose his motivation with setting up William vs Sherlock wasn't his dedication to making people commit "evil" (although, psych, Milvy, you did convince someone to murder a guy, so like), but it seems likely Milverton anticipated William might come after him.

I went looking through some bits with Milverton...when he's introduced, he refers to William as his rival, or opponent. Could call this a "target" perhaps, and indicates he prepping to take William down. Normally with Milverton, this leads to someone "committing evil" or whatever, but...William already does that? And Milverton knows that when he sets his sights on William. So it doesn't seem fair to assume that was his initial motivation for targeting William.

Next, he's researching William to properly challenge him, realizes William is a Good Guy Criminal, and that's why he ruined the Jack the Ripper frame up...and that if he's not mistaken, William is going to prove to be an obstacle to him.

So...I'm not sure what about The Two Detectives is inconsistent with that?

#Yuukoku no Moriarty #Moriarty the Patriot

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winterchimez · 1 year

Video

Set in the year 1911 in the streets of Whitechapel, London, a place infamous for its notorious Jack The Ripper murders that haunted the nation for the past decades.

Except for the fact that the killer after seemingly disappearing for a while at least, decides to strike again. It is up to you as a rookie detective, the handsome yet charming profiler Lee Hyunjae, and your group of friends to finally put the killer behind bars once and for all.

pairing: profiler Hyunjae x detective f!reader

genre & warnings: jack the ripper au, angst, violence, thriller, crime, mentions of prostitution, graphic description of death, major characters death, alcohol, some fluff

release: 26/04/2023

finished: 30/06/2023

status: completed

a/n: this is my very first writing for tbz, or i should say my very first fanfic ever! i’m really excited and nervous at the same time but i really do wanna push myself to try doing so as i have had this in my drafts for the longest time ever (ps. thanks to all of the amazing writers out there who inspire me to do so!!) just to mention that english isn’t my first language so i do hope i’m able to do this fic justice lmao xD anyways i do hope you’ll come along this journey with me <3

update: this is now part of my OT11 series! here is my Old Tales, New Beginnings masterlist!!

prologue

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

epilogue

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privateeye-cj · 10 months

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#most stupid murder motive #16+#put in the tags if you think it was used more than 5 times #meitantei conan #case closed #dcmk #there are a few other options but I can't get them short enough #16+ bc Murder motives

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thepastisalreadywritten · 8 months

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By Parissa DJangi

August 18, 2023

Some say he was a surgeon. Others, a deranged madman — or perhaps a butcher, prince, artist, or specter.

The murderer known to history as Jack the Ripper terrorized London 135 years ago this fall.

In the subsequent century, he has been everything to everyone, a dark shadow on which we pin our fears and attitudes.

But to five women, Jack the Ripper was not a legendary phantom or a character from a detective novel — he was the person who horrifically ended their lives.

“Jack the Ripper was a real person who killed real people,” reiterates historian Hallie Rubenhold, whose book, The Five, chronicles the lives of his victims. “He wasn’t a legend.”

Who were these women? They had names: Mary Ann “Polly” Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly.

They also had hopes, loved ones, friends, and, in some cases, children.

Their lives, each one unique, tell the story of 19th-century London, a city that pushed them to its margins and paid more attention to them dead than alive.

Terror in Whitechapel

Their stories did not all begin in London, but they ended there, in and around the crowded corner of the metropolis known as Whitechapel, a district in London’s East End.

“Probably there is no such spectacle in the whole world as that of this immense, neglected, forgotten great city of East London,” Walter Bessant wrote in his novel All Sorts and Conditions of Men in 1882.

“It is even neglected by its own citizens, who had never yet perceived their abandoned condition.”

The “abandoned” citizens of Whitechapel included some of the city’s poorest residents.

Immigrants, transient laborers, families, single women, thieves — they all crushed together in overflowing tenements, slums, and workhouses.

According to historian Judith Walkowitz:

“By the 1880s, Whitechapel had come to epitomize the social ills of ‘Outcast London,’ a place where sin and poverty comingled in the Victorian imagination, shocking the middle classes."

Whitechapel transformed into a scene of horror when the lifeless, mutilated body of Polly Nichols was discovered on a dark street in the early morning hours of August 31, 1888.

She became the first of Jack the Ripper’s five canonical victims, the core group of women whose murders appeared to be related and occurred over a short span of time.

Over the next month, three more murdered women would be found on the streets of the East End.

They had been killed in a similar way: their throats slashed, and, in most cases, their abdomens disemboweled.

Some victims’ organs had been removed. The fifth murder occurred on November 9, when the Ripper butchered Mary Jane Kelly with such barbarity that she was nearly unrecognizable.

This so-called “Autumn of Terror” pushed Whitechapel and the entire city into a panic, and the serial killer’s mysterious identity only heightened the drama.

The press sensationalized the astonishingly grisly murders — and the lives of the murdered women.

Polly, Annie, Elizabeth, Catherine, and Mary Jane

Though forever linked by the manner of their death, the five women murdered by Jack the Ripper shared something else in common:

They were among London’s most vulnerable residents, living on the margins of Victorian society.

They eked out a life in the East End, drifting in and out of workhouses, piecing together casual jobs, and pawning their few possessions to afford a bed for a night in a lodging house.

If they could not scrape together the coins, they simply slept on the street.

“Nobody cared about who these women were at all,” Rubenhold says. “Their lives were incredibly precarious.”

Polly Nichols knew precarity well. Born in 1845, she fulfilled the Victorian ideal of proper womanhood when she became a wife at the age of 18.

But after bearing five children, she ultimately left her husband under suspicions of his infidelity.

Alcohol became both a crutch and curse for her in the final years of her life.

Alcohol also hastened Annie Chapman’s estrangement from what was considered a respectable life.

Annie Chapman was born in 1840 and spent most of her life in London and Berkshire.

With her marriage to John Chapman, a coachman, in 1869, Annie positioned herself in the top tier of the working class.

But her taste for alcohol and the loss of her children unraveled her family life, and Annie ended up in the East End.

Swedish-born Elizabeth Stride was an immigrant, like thousands of others who lived in the East End.

Born in 1843, she came to England when she was 22. In London, Stride reinvented herself time and time again, becoming a wife and coffeehouse owner.

Catherine Eddowes, who was born in Wolverhampton in 1842 and moved to London as a child, lost both of her parents by the time she was 15.

She spent most of her adulthood with one man, who fathered her children. Before her murder, she had just returned to London after picking hops in Kent, a popular summer ritual for working-class Londoners.

At 25, Mary Jane Kelly was the youngest, and most mysterious, of the Ripper’s victims.

Kelly reportedly claimed she came from Ireland and Wales before settling in London.

She had a small luxury that the others did not: She rented a room with a bed. It would become the scene of her murder.

Yet the longstanding belief that all of these women were sex workers is a myth, as Rubenhold demonstrates in The Five.

Only two of the women — Stride and Kelly — were known to have engaged in sex work during their lives.

The fact that all of them have been labeled sex workers highlights how Victorians saw poor, unhoused women.

“They have been systematically ‘othered’ from society,” Rubenhold says,"even though this is how the majority lived.”

These women were human beings with a strong sense of personhood. According to biographer Robert Hume, their friends and neighbors described them as “industrious,” “jolly,” and “very clean.”

They lived, they loved, they existed — until, very suddenly on a dark night in 1888, they did not.

A long shadow

The discovery of Annie Chapman’s body on September 8 heightened panic in London, since her wounds echoed the shocking brutality of Polly Nichols’ murder days earlier.

Investigators realized that the same killer had likely committed both crimes — and he was still on the loose. Who would he strike next?

In late September, London’s Central News Office received a red-inked letter that claimed to be from the murderer. It was signed “Jack the Ripper.”

Papers across the city took the name and ran with it. Press coverage of the Whitechapel Murders crescendoed to a fever pitch.

Newspapers danced the line between fact and fiction, breathlessly recounting every gruesome detail of the crimes and speculating with wild abandon about the killer’s identity.

Today, that impulse endures, and armchair detectives and professional investigators alike have proposed an endless parade of suspects, including artist Walter Sickert, writer Lewis Carroll, sailor Carl Feigenbaum, and Aaron Kosminski, an East End barber.

"The continued fascination with unmasking the murderer perpetuates this idea that Jack the Ripper is a game,” Rubenhold says.

She sees parallels between the gamification of the Whitechapel Murders and the modern-day obsession with true crime.

“When we approach true crime, most of the time we approach as if it was legend, as if it wasn’t real, as if it didn’t happen to real people.”

“These crimes still happen today, and we are still not interested in the victims,” Rubenhold laments.

The Whitechapel Murders remain unsolved after 135 years, and Rubenhold believes that will never change:

“We’re not going to find anything that categorically tells us who Jack the Ripper is.”

Instead, the murders tell us about the values of the 19th century — and the 21st.

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fallingyams · 9 months

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(Sorry my Op.5 hype is off the charts: super long post up ahead with a bit of analysis into why Sherlock says the things he does to convince William to live)

Can I just say that Morimyu Op. 3 does a fantastic job at setting up the confrontation between William and Sherlock?

William sings, conflicted, about whether he can still find forgiveness. His mind is set on dying (alone), but there's a part of his heart that wavers.

AND THEN. AND THEN!!!!! SHERLOCK MEETS HIM IN DURHAM AND TELLS HIM

A crime is still a crime, no matter how noble the intention. He cannot forgive killing others and using the deaths of people, even despicable people. (Which is beautifully contrasted against the Jack the Ripper case btw). He will catch the Lord of Crime and punish him for his actions.

It's at that point that William turns a bit sorrowful and resigned (and Shogo's expression is so!!!! SO!!!!! wow his despair is palpable) almost as if he's thinking to himself 'as expected, there is no forgiveness for someone like me' and probably solidifies his idea that death is the only suitable recompense for him.

ANYWAY back to the manga itself

His sorrowful condemnation:

I think that it's precisely because of this, the only person whose forgiveness can change his mind is Sherlock.

It doesn't matter that Fred or Louis or what any others think. They can call him a good person all they want, but it doesn't change the fact that in his mind, he is already condemned.

(Besides that, his accomplices are all evil because their plan is inherently evil to him. Their words hold little weight. A sinner can't save another.)

That is, until Sherlock tells him this.

And suddenly his entire worldview is upended. Because all this time, he believed there was only condemnation to be found for someone like him.

Sherlock, his righteous actor in the stage of London's crimes, has deemed him worthy of redemption.

And if the one good person thinks that William can be saved...

But no! How can believe that? William James Moriarty is the devil incarnate. He is stained. His sins are unforgivable, no matter what Sherlock says. Murder is unforgivable, right?

So Sherlock flips the script.

He reminds William that HE is also a criminal and murderer. (It's a perfect crime in the eyes of the law, but William knows the truth)

He becomes the mirror reflecting William's image so that William can come to the realisation that they are all capable of good and evil.

The greatest evil is capable of good.

The greatest good (Sherlock - in Liam's eyes, at least) is capable of evil.

And if William can still think of Sherlock as good despite this,

And if William can forgive Sherlock for murder...

Then why can't William himself be forgiven for murder?

I think, in some ways, here Sherlock also confesses that he has lost the mandate or the right to catch William as a detective on the right side of the law.

He's not standing there as someone catching a criminal.

They're now standing as equals. Friends (or whatever you call that tension they have going on LOL), rivals, equals.

It's no longer "catch" in the criminal sense, but to "catch" a falling friend. A trust fall, if you will.

(It just occurred to me that the whole chapter is just a trust fall exercise on a large scale LMAO)

This changes the whole trajectory of what William believes in. That seed of doubt has been planted in him - that he could, perhaps, still find forgiveness.

More importantly, that he has Sherlock's forgiveness.

And that is what allows him to live on.

#yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty the patriot #sherliam #my writing #the thoughts are falling #sherlock holmes (mtp)#william james moriarty #just a bit of introspection #sparked by my obsession with morimyu #yes I recently rewatched op.3 #the falling in my username actually stands for falling apart #which is exactly what is happening to me every time i think about sherliam #i fall apart

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 1 year

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Ikemen Vampire (JP)

Galileo: "The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Do you know that saying?"

Napoleon: "Huh?"

A man's voice reaches his ears from behind a pillar.

Galileo: "It's nothing but egotism to say that we can go hand in hand even though we are different species."

Napoleon turns toward the voice, but the man keeps his back on him and continues to speak.

His cold, low-tone voice suggests that he has some thoughts about the World's Fair, or that he is talking to himself in the first place, or even to someone else, but...

Galileo: "It's funny to think that once you fall on the brink of death, you can come back to life as a vampire."

Galileo: "The world is dying, and we don't even know we're partly to blame."

Napoleon: "-----!"

Napoleon's eyes widen at the words uttered by the vampire.

Napoleon: "What do you mean? What the hell are you―?"

Galileo: "You are the ones who "don't belong" in this world."

The streets of Paris, enveloped in the deep night air, are filled with serenity as if the riots of a short time ago were a lie.

Galileo: "Has the chaos passed?"

Galileo: "Napoleon Bonaparte. A man who is both vampire and man."

Next to him, a man with an aloof, thin smile approaches.

A sharp-eyed man mutters to himself as he gazes out over the city.

Francis: "Boring. I was expecting an exciting ending."

Francis: "Does this mean you were wrong about the world going south?"

Francis: "What should we do? Maybe we can just take out one vampire at a time?"

Galileo: "No."

The man speaks, dominating the other man's words.

Galileo: "Great men risen from the dead, and vampires一they are distorting the world, that's for sure."

The man then looks up at the star-studded sky.

Galileo: "Like those stars, fate keeps moving. The flower that cannot wither against reason must be plucked."

Francis: "I hear this is a popular play right now."

I notice a man standing next to me.

Francis: "The Detective and his Assistant on the Hunt for Jack the Ripper! A gripping mystery play."

Francis: "So there is a real-life incident, and the Parisians are talking about it."

Francis: "Miss. What do you think will happen to Jack the Ripper in Paris if he continues to commit crimes?"

Mitsuki: "What do you mean...?"

Francis: "For example, if you start attacking people in power or important government officials. Or commit mass murder."

Francis: "Ahaha! Is the country going to be in chaos?"

Mitsuki: "No, that won't happen."

Francis: "Really? Well, I don't know about fate."

He only looked at me from behind his hair.

Francis: "A novel written by a vampire who has risen from the dead. A criminal born out of a book that could never have been originally written drives the world mad."

Francis: "Who would be the worst offender if that were to happen?"

(Wait, did he just say "vampire"?)

(!?)

Mitsuki: "Wait! What on earth are you...?"

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp jp #ikevamp francis #ikevamp galileo #ikevamp mitsuki #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp spoilers #ikevamp #cybird #francis drake #galileo galilei

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anonymousewrites · 9 months

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One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Four

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Four: One Hell of a Case

Summary: Ciel is ordered by the Queen to investigate the killings of Jack the Ripper.

“There are just too many people in London,” grumbled Ciel as he left the carriage and Sebastian opened the door to his city estate.

“It is due to the social seasons, where the upper classes migrate from manor houses in the countryside to their townhouses in London,” said Sebastian with a patient (not) smile.

“I guess even the rich get bored of their estates,” remarked (Y/N).

“Seasons, huh?” Ciel tsked as he walked upstairs. “The carefree slackers.”

“It could be a change of pace,” said (Y/N).

Sebastian nodded. “Those four aren’t accompanying us, so we should be able to enjoy some peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet, huh?” muttered Ciel.

Sebastian opened the door to the sitting room, and that dream was crushed. Lau and Madame Red were already making a mess as they tore up the room in search of tea and treats. Sebastian smiled awkwardly, (Y/N) deadpanned, and an irk mark appeared on Ciel.

“Madame Red! Lau! Why are you here?!” cried Ciel.

“My, you’re early,” said Madame Red cheerfully. Grell excitedly jumped up from behind the couch as he realized (Y/N) and Sebastian were there.

“Since you have, it must mean…” began Lau.

“The Queen’s Guard Dog is on the move, then?” finished Madame Red.

Ciel sighed. “Sebastian, (Y/N), prepare some tea to settle those two down. I’ll explain then.”

Once Lau and Madame Red were happily fed and watered, Ciel addressed them. “Yesterday, at Whitechapel, another prostitute was murdered. It wasn’t just your average murder; it was bizarrely vicious.”

In my opinion, inhuman, thought (Y/N). They were hoping it was just a human, though, since they had firsthand knowledge of such vicious humans and mortals were much easier to deal with than other supernatural beings.

“The victim this time, a Miss Mary Nichols, was cut down by a special kind of blade that sliced her up completely, unhindered by any resistance,” continued Ciel. “Scotland Yard and the newspaper reports are calling the killer ‘Jack the Ripper.’ ”

I got a nickname, once, thought (Y/N). Well, my contract did, but it was really me. “Black Widow” for her husbands continuing to die… (Y/N) smirked. Not my fault none of them realized respecting women was an easy way to stay alive.

“Jack the Ripper, huh?” asked Lau.

“The reason I hurried to London was to confirm the situation,” said Ciel.

Lau smirked. “Do you have the guts to visit the crime scene?”

“What do you mean by that?” questioned Ciel.

“The darkness and the scent of evil that now seep through that place will call out to those of the same breed and eat into them,” said Lau. “If you set foot into that place, it’s possible that you will be engulfed by the madness. Are you prepared for that, Earl Phantomhive?”

“I came here to avenge her distress,” said Ciel, eyes set with determination. “Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”

“That’s excellent. Those are good eyes,” said Lau.

Ciel didn’t flinch.

“Is something wrong?” asked the detective as Sebastian, (Y/N), and Ciel stepped forward through the crowd to see the crime scene. “This isn’t the sort of place good little boys and girls come to. Hurry along back home.”

“Where’s the victim’s corpse?” questioned Ciel.

“Corpse? What on earth are you talking about?” demanded the detective.

“Abberline,” said the head investigator. He addressed Ciel. “What did you come here for, Lord Phantomhive?”

“Is he an acquaintance of yours, sir?” asked Abberline.

“I am here to clean up the mess being made by dawdling hounds. Sir Arthur Randall.” Ciel held up his letter with the Queen’s stamp. “It looks like there aren’t any significant leads, yet.”

“Scotland Yard are taking care of this incident,” said Abberline. “Don’t stick your nose in where it’s not wanted.”

“Fine by me. Let’s go, Sebastian, (Y/N),” said Ciel.

“Yes, my Lord,” said Sebastian.

“Yes, sir,” said (Y/N).

“What are you going to do?” asked Madame Red, following Ciel. She, Lau, and Grell had, like puppies, followed Ciel to the crime scene.

“Asking him would be the best option,” said Ciel.

Him? thought (Y/N) curiously.

“Earl, you can’t mean…” Lau trailed off.

“It’s just as you suspect,” said Ciel, stopping before a shop.

(Y/N) glanced up at the sign, which read “Undertaker.” Their nose twitched, and they smirked. The smell of death was everywhere.

“So, where are we?” asked Lau brightly.

“You looked like you knew what was going on a minute ago!” shouted Madame Red.

“This is the undertaking establishment of one of the Young Master’s acquaintances,” explained Sebastian.

Ah, an informant, thought (Y/N). They opened the door, and the group filed inside.

“Are you here, Undertaker?” asked Ciel.

Silence in the dark room, just a bunch of dark coffins lying in the room.

“I thought you would drop by sooner or later…” said an amused, scratchy voice. “Welcome…Earl…” A standing coffin opened, and a man in all black, even a floppy top hat, peered out. He had a wide grin that accentuated his stitch-like scars as his silver hair framed his face. “Have you finally decided to get your own, custom casket?”

Lau and Madame Red stared in shocked horror at the strange man, and poor Grell had fallen to the ground at the ghostlike man’s appearance. (Y/N)’s nose twitched. Undertaker smelled even more like death than his shop. His gaze passed over the group, his grin growing with each person before finishing on (Y/N).

“As if anyone would come to do that,” said Ciel. “Today, we’re—”

Undertaker put a finger to Ciel’s face. “You don’t have to say it. I understand completely. That particular guest is in an unfit state to be seen by those from the world of light.”

The shadows around (Y/N) and Sebastian shifted in disagreement.

“I made her all pretty, you know?” remarked Undertaker eagerly.

“I want to hear more about that,” said Ciel.

“I see, so being an undertaker is just your cover,” said Lau. “How much is your information?”

“I don’t have the slightest use for the Queen’s legal tender!” declared Undertaker energetically. “Now, Earl, give me that. Bestow the finest laughs upon me! Then, I shall tell you whatever you want!”

“Strange man…” said (Y/N).

“Yes…” sighed Sebastian.

“Leave it to me!” declared Lau. “I was known as the Grinning New Year Tiger of Shanghai. Behold my true nature!” He smiled brightly. “The bed fled!”

Everyone blinked. That had made no sense.

“I suppose there’s no helping it,” said Madame Red grimly, stepping forward. “This Madame Red, known as the flower of social gatherings, will let you in on her top-secret gossip! So, on my dear friend’s birthday, her beau got her the biggest [CENSORED] that had veins going up the [CENSORED] and she got such a good [CENSORED] out of it that we all wanted a turn to [CENSORED].”

Sebastian had smartly covered Ciel’s ears during Madame’s Red’s speech. He nodded to (Y/N), who grabbed a roll of gauze and promptly wrapped it around Madame Red and Lau’s mouths to keep them from continuing to speak.

“Well, then, the only one left is the Earl! Last time, I lost, but I won’t this time!” said Undertaker, giggling.

Ciel narrowed his eyes. He didn’t have a joke. He glanced at (Y/N) and Sebastian.

(Y/N) shrugged. “I’m more mischief-maker than comedian.”

Sebastian stepped forward. “Everyone, please step outside. Under no circumstances are you to peek inside.”

No one disobeyed, even (Y/N), who was extremely curious about what Sebastian was planning. In quiet confusion, the group stood outside of the Undertaker’s shop.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Deranged cackles echoed from inside the shop. The Undertaker sign above the door smashed to the ground from the force of the laughter.

The door opened, and Sebastian smiled at everyone. “Do come in now. I believe he’ll be willing to tell us everything we need to know now.”

“I have seen Utopia!” giggled Undertaker, slumped over a coffin.

Sebastian just dragged Undertaker up so he could finally give them the information they needed. “Do please tell us what we want to know.”

Undertaker sighed. “If you insist…Recently, I’ve been seeing something every-so-often—‘customers’ who have a little missing.”

“A little missing?” asked Madame Red.

“Yes, a little missing. Like a uterus,” said Undertaker.

(Y/N)’s nose twitched.

“It was a pretty harsh splatter, but her uterus alone was precisely cut out,” said Undertaker.

“While it may not have been a largely populated street, would it not be difficult for an amateur to perform such a precise task there in the pitch black?” questioned Sebastian.

“You’re quite a sharp one, Mr. Butler. I thought the exact same thing,” said Undertaker.

He raised a nail to (Y/N)’s neck and drew it across. Their eyes darted down to peer at his fingers, mere centimeters from touching (Y/N)’s skin. Their lip curled distastefully at the idea. Sebastian’s eyes followed Undertaker’s movements, slightly narrowing. The strange man had never been a threat, but Sebastian knew (Y/N) wouldn’t hesitate to snap his wrist if he actually touched them.

“First, to cut the prey’s neck,” continued Undertaker, “then to cut here—” his other hand drew across (Y/N)’s lower abdomen “—to steal what’s important.” He straightened. “He’ll kill again. He’s the type that won’t stop until someone stops him. Can you stop him, Noble of Darkness, Earl Phantomhive?”

“I swear on my family’s crest, those who dirty Her Majesty’s garden will be dispatched without exception, whatever it takes,” said Ciel evenly.

“That story narrowed it down quite a bit,” said Sebastian once they were all back in the carriage.

(Y/N) nodded. “The individual has to have expertise in the medical field, they can’t have an alibi for the night, and since they must still have the stolen organs, someone involved with rituals, sects, or trafficking.” Plenty for Sebastian and them to get on with.

“Just how does that narrow it down?” cried Madame Red. “Dissections are something that any doctor—even I—can do.”

Yes, you could, thought (Y/N). You’re not off the suspect list.

“Summer is almost at an end, too,” said Madame Red. “In two more days, when the season ends, all the nobles will return home with the personal doctors they brought with them.”

“Well, then, we’ll just investigate until then,” said Sebastian with a smirk.

“What?” asked Lau.

“It is only natural for a butler of the Phantomhives to be able to do that,” said Sebastian. “I will draw up a list of suspects immediately and go through everyone on it.”

Madame Red and Lau stared. Ciel smirked. (Y/N) smiled.

“Have fun,” they said as if this was a normal occurrence.

Sebastian opened the door of the moving carriage and bowed to the group. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me.” He let go of the door and disappeared out of view.

“The carriage is going at full pelt!” cried Madame Red.

“If Sebastian says he’ll do something, he will,” said (Y/N), smiling. “He’ll get the job done.”

“We should just take afternoon tea and wait,” said Ciel.

The group walked up the stairs to Ciel’s townhouse, and (Y/N) opened the door. They were unsurprised to find Sebastian standing at attention. Ciel just sighed at the drama Sebastian caused amongst the others.

“Welcome back,” said Sebastian, bowing. “I have been awaiting your arrival. The preparations for afternoon tea have been made.”

“You…why are you here?!” cried Madame Red in shock.

“I finished the business I was attending to, so I returned ahead of you,” said Sebastian with a smile.

�� “You already drew up the list?” gasped Madame Red.

“Of course he did,” said (Y/N).

“Yes, and I then went and directly questioned them all,” said Sebastian, holding up a scroll of statements.

Madame Red scoffed. “Sebastian, that’s a little too far-fetched for anyone to—”

(Y/N) saw Sebastian flourish the scroll. I still remember him telling me dramatics were unnecessary.

“Earl Bailey’s doctor, Richard Oswald, was with friends at the Whitehouse pub. He has an alibi and no occult connections,” began Sebastian, proudly showing off his prowess. “The surgeon of the Royal London Central Hospital, Madame Haywhite, was talking to Boey at Steep Line, and thus has an alibi. No connection to anything occult.” Grell’s eyes widened in amazement, and (Y/N) nodded along with Sebastian with a smirk at everyone’s amazement. “The personal doctor of the Chambers household, William Samset, attended the Howard family party and therefore has an alibi. No connection to anything occult. That concludes my research. I have narrowed those who fit the conditions down to a single person.”

“Are you really just a simple butler?” commented Madame Red. “You’re not from Military Intelligence or something, are you?”

“No, he’s just one hell of a butler,” said (Y/N), smirking at Sebastian as they took his line.

Sebastian glanced at (Y/N) before a smirk of his own appeared. They caught on quick.

Both their smirks quickly fell as they remembered it was their attachment to the other that caused them to pay so much attention. (Ironically, they were thinking along the same lines, too).

“Who’s the suspect?” questioned Ciel.

“Alastair Chamber, of the Druitt Viscount family,” said Sebastian. “He received his degree in medicine at university but has undertaken no work. He seems to have held many parties at his home. However, behind the scenes, he invites those whom he is especially close to secret parties.”

“There is a rumor going around that he is involved with black magic,” said Madame Red.

“It has been said that ritualistic events go on at these secret parties and prostitutes are made into living sacrifices,” said Lau.

(Y/N)’s eyes flashed. If Druitt was guilty, they would enjoy watching him fall.

“Tomorrow is the last party of the season,” said Ciel. “That is our only chance. The only question is how to catch him.”

Madame Red brightened. “Oh! You can wear a dress!”

Everyone deadpanned.

“Excuse me?!” cried Ciel, turning red at the idea.

“Lord Druitt likes anything in a skirt!” said Madame Red, continuing on without a care in the world. “He wouldn’t know you’re a Phantomhive, and you’d be able to get right up there with him! You could go as my niece, and Sebastian could be your tutor.”

“Why the hell would I be your niece?!” cried Ciel.

“Because, dear, I’ve always wanted a girl!” chirped Madame Red. She whirled on (Y/N), who straightened in alarm. “And you! Druitt would eat you up! And I’ve wanted to see you in a proper dress for a while. If you look that darling in a maid’s uniform, a proper ballgown would be simply fantastic! Druitt wouldn’t resist you and Ciel!”

(Y/N)’s nose twitched, and they smiled awkwardly as Madame Red advanced on them. “If you have the Young Master, surely I’m not needed…”

“I think it is an excellent idea to have more than one person to catch the Viscount,” said Sebastian with a devilishly “innocent” smile.

(Y/N) looked at him, “affronted” at the “betrayal.” Their eyes panned to Madame Red, whose eyes gleamed excitedly at the prospect of dressing them up. Damn.

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nikethestatue · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1

London, England

1890

Elain Archeron

London’s Victoria Station greeted its new visitor with a cacophony of noise, chaos and excitement. Clutching the instructions and the address that she received from the stern and cold Mrs. Amren, who was the organiser of this wild scheme, Elain Archeron attempted to follow the directions inside the clamour of the train station, though it was proving to be difficult.

She’s never been to London before and now, the place terrified her. She was pushed and shoved without consideration for her gentler sex, those around her were shrieking, yelling, and shouting something all the time. There were people, whole families, whose skin tones were different from her own, whose fashions and outfits were odd and contradictory. There were people of different religions as well–she could tell Jews and Hindus and Muslims. She was educated and well-read, so she was not surprised to see those who came from Africa, and India, or even the Chinese, and scarf-clad women from Poland, or maybe Russia–but seeing them all in the flesh was overwhelming. She never imagined that people of so many various colours, sizes and shapes existed.

She continued her walk through the station, jerked off her feet by the blaring claxons from the train, clutching her travel satchel close to her chest. It had her only possessions inside–her two dresses, her unmentionables, stockings, another pair of boots, hair ribbons and pins, her spare corset, and toiletries.

Her walk was interrupted constantly, men offering rides and calling out “Miss! Miss!” to her. But she kept her eyes down and shouldered her way to the massive doors of the station.

She must be mad.

Mad.

It had to be that!

To be doing this, she couldn’t be normal.

She was here, in London of all places, alone, to meet with some mysterious man.

What if he was Jack the Ripper?

She’s read the papers–Jack the Ripper was rampaging on the streets of Whitechapel and what if Mrs. Amren was his co-conspirator? What if she lured unsuspecting country girls to London, and into the clutches of Jack the Ripper?

Elain’s read and enjoyed the tales of Sherlock Holmes, that wiley intriguing detective, who solved crimes–but if she thought about it more, why was there so much crime in London? People stole and abused and murdered others. It was horrifying.

Where she was from, St. Margaret’s Bay, the biggest crime last year was Ollie Oswald stealing Mr. Clarence’s goat, and Maggie May becoming pregnant out of wedlock. That thought sobered her right up, though still, Maggie’s out-of-wedlock babe was hardly the same thing as a mad serial killer running around the streets of London and slaughtering women of ill repute.

Elain finally existed the station and stood on the street, all her senses assaulted by even more noise, the stench of manure, hordes of jostling people who were all rushing somewhere, paper boys who were announcing the latest headlines – another Ripper murder, apparently – vendors peddling food and all sorts of items, handsome soldiers, and every spoken language imaginable. Elain recognised everything from French and Italian, to some dialects that she was unfamiliar with, Slavic, German and even Scandinavian speech. She had a knack for languages, and having spent time in Dover, with her father’s ships, she’d seen sailors, merchants and visitors from every part of the world. Stupidly, she thought that Dover was a busy city. It had nothing on this monstrosity.

She walked over to where the cabs were parked awaiting passengers.

“Good mornin’ Miss, in need of a ride?” one of the drivers asked.

“Yes, this is the address,” she handed him the paper that Mrs. Amren had given her, which had the address and all the instructions. Mrs. Amren had also given her ten pounds, which was more money than Elain’s seen in a long, long time.

She could buy so much for ten pounds! Dresses and a pair of shoes, meat pies, maybe even a pastry, tea, lodging…Her whole family survived on four-five pounds a month, and here she was, with ten pounds, six shillings and 3 pence in her pocket. Mrs. Amren told her that the tenner had come from the gentleman who took care of her travel accommodations and spending money.

Once she was situated in the carriage, they took off, the driver navigating the streets and the chaos of other cabs and pedestrians with expert precisions. Elain knew that they were going to Westminster, and she wished to see the cathedral, and the abbey, but she did not, though she was pleased that they’d be staying far away from Whitechapel.

“Dog and Hound, Miss,” the driver announced and then opened the door for her.

It was a public house and also offered lodgings and once Elain exited the cab, she thought that it looked presentable and clean. The facade of the building was well-kept, brick, with garlands of wisteria wrapping around the lower part of the building and the very large bay window. Once she paid for the ride, she walked inside–she’s been to public houses and taverns before–but this one looked very well kept, with a beautiful walnut bar, all sorts of hunting pictures and engravings on the walls, and burgundy and green seats. There were not many patrons milling around, but it was also only 10:30 am.

Elain approached the proprietor, just like Mrs. Amren told her to do and said, “Good morning. I am here to see Mr. Arthur Johnson.”

The man straightened at the mention of the name, and then quickly and accommodatingly told her, “Follow me, Miss.”

“Where are we going?” Elain whispered, baulking at the invitation.

“Mr. Johnson is waiting for you Miss. My understanding is that he wished to have a conversation with you in private.”

Elain’s never been with a man in private, let alone in an unfamiliar city, but what choice did she have? She already felt like she signed her life away, when she was meeting with Mrs. Amren. The woman had a heap of papers and documents for Elain to sign, mostly about confidentiality and non-disclosure of any information that she was to learn. There were financial papers as well, but Mrs. Amren told her that they would be finalised should the contract be signed.

They stopped at one of the doors and the proprietor knocked. A man’s voice answered promptly.

“Enter.”

“You may proceed, Miss,” he told Elain and then stepped aside.

This is where I die, was her only thought.

It was definitely Jack the Ripper. There have been whispers that he came from the upper classes, maybe even nobility, and she was going to meet him right now and he was going to skin her alive. And then her body would be baked into meat pies, just like Sweeney Todd did it. They said that the mad barber did not exist, but Elain begged to differ. Stories like that didn’t just happen to be written due to someone’s fevered imagination. He must have existed.

So she would be abused, killed and then will end up in a pie.

He sat in a wingback chair.

That’s all she saw when she finally dared to enter the room. The man. The gentleman.

A very tall man by the looks of it, considering how far his long legs stretched. He was dressed in all black, elegantly, in a way Elain wasn’t used to seeing men dressed on a Thursday morning. His jacket was stylishly tailored and his boots were perfectly polished. However, it was the man’s face that gave Elain pause. He was handsome to an unusual degree, the panes of his face sharp and sensual at once. Large, slightly slanted eyes of a peculiar colour regarded her with detachment and mild scrutiny. When he licked his full lower lip, Elain couldn't help but notice the movement and she balled her hands at her sides, suddenly feeling tense and hot. He had the look of a foreigner about him–dark bronze skin, thick black hair cut unusually long on top, and those strange light hazel eyes.

“Elain Archeron, I presume,” he asked at last, and his voice was deep, low and just as sensual as the rest of him. Like a whisper of black silk in the wind. The accent was unfailingly upper crust.

“I am, my lord,” she confirmed and curtsied.

“Please sit,” he gestured to the sofa across from his chair.

She did as she was told and noticed that he held a photograph of her in his fingers. His hands were large, with long, strong fingers, but surprisingly, the hands were covered in thick scars–burn scars from what Elain could gauge. Mrs. Amren said that the photograph was a requirement and Elain was forced to travel to Dover to have her photograph taken. It was expensive, and she needed to sit in the same position, unmoving and silent, for almost seven minutes. In the end, she didn’t even think that the photograph looked like her. But following her handing the photograph off to Mrs. Amren, she received an invitation to travel to London–-she supposed that it did the trick.

“How was your journey?” he asked politely.

“Very nice, thank you, my lord.”

“I wished to have our conversation first, if you don’t mind, and then you may rest.”

“Of course,” she agreed. Her fingers were shaking and she attempted to hide them in the folds of her skirt, though she was sure that he noticed it.

His tone was light when he assured her, “there is no need to be nervous. I believe we ought to have a talk first and you aren’t obligated to anything, and neither am I.”

She nodded and allowed him to talk, because it was just easier. Her throat was tight and her mouth dry. Her dress felt itchy against her skin and the collar borderline was suffocating.

He stood up and she had to crane her neck to take in his full height–he was probably six and a half feet tall, and when he moved to pour water into a glass, she definitely noticed how thickly muscled his arms and shoulders were, and how slender he was otherwise, trim and lean and strong. He handed her the glass and then leaned against the desk, crossing his legs at the ankles and drumming his fingers on the surface.

“I am Azriel, Lord Night, the Duke of Velaris,” he announced simply.

Elain’s hand stopped mid-way to her lips, as she stared at him wordlessly.

She’d assumed that he would be a nobleman, perhaps a baron, maybe a count, but a duke? The Velaris family was well-known: it was said that they came to Britain all the way back with William the Conqueror. It couldn’t possibly be the same Velaris? Could it?

“I am sorry, my lord,” Elain said softly. “You are the Duke of Velaris?”

He nodded, “the very same”.

“But…” she bit her lip, “I was under the impression that you were married, my lord? To Lady Morrigan?”

The lovely Lady Morrigan, Countess of Hewn, was renowned for her beauty. Elain had seen her in newspapers and other publications. The Velaris-Hewn nuptials was the society wedding of the year just a couple of years back.

“I am,” he confirmed calmly. “And since you are bound by our confidentiality agreement, I will disclose that my lady wife had suffered a grave incident last year. She was thrown by her horse, and had broken her spine. Unfortunately, she suffered a brain bleed from her injuries as well. She is my wife and will remain so until she or I die. But alas, she is bed-bound and without sense or consciousness. Now, you must understand that her condition is not known to anyone, other than my most trusted servants and her nurses. It must remain so until I produce an heir. The child must be mine, and upon the birth, we shall announce that Lady Morrigan suffered compilation in labour.”

Elain sighed and murmured, “I am sorry, my lord. For you and your lady wife. It is truly tragic and I am…just sorry.”

He cocked his head and regarded her quietly for a while.

She’d only known him for about fifteen minutes, but she could already see how observant he was, methodical even. There was a calmness about him, an almost predatory stillness, and she sensed that he dwelled in some dark places inside his head. Perhaps it was the sorrow resulting from his wife’s condition, or maybe something in his past, but this was a man of secrets and unanswered questions.

“May I ask some questions of you?” he inquired at last.

Elain sipped her water and nodded once.

He didn't use any props, not notes or correspondence, when he said,

“Elain Archeron, twenty-one years old, the middle of three sisters. Tell me, why are you, of all people, responded to my advertisement?”

“We need the money, my lord,” she admitted plainly.

“There are other ways to get money,” he noted, his dark brow raised. “You are a maid of gentle breeding based on your family’s history–a merchant father, a mother who was from a well-to-do family. Surely you can think of other ways to…” he stopped and scrubbed his scarred hand over his chin, before continuing, “tell me, why?”

“My father has lost his fortune,” Elain explained, her voice quiet. “My younger sister has a disease of the stomach that makes her vomit and she is frail and weak. She needs medicines, which we cannot afford. My older sister is a proud woman and…” her voice trailed. How could she explain Nesta? She couldn’t. Nesta was smart, even cunning, but she was better suited for running an estate or even a business. Haughty, proud and demanding is what Nesta was. But she was not one for sacrifices. “And that leaves me. I…well, I answered the advertisement in The Times, and was contacted by Mrs. Amren. We met and discussed the offer…and,” she swallowed, “I am interested.”

“What do you understand of the offer and the proposal?” he asked seriously.

She tugged on her skirt and peered down, looking at the floor.

Quietly, she answered,

“A gentleman requires the services of a female to produce a child, an heir. The gentleman is willing to pay ten thousand pounds for the child and…well, would pay all throughout the pregnancy…That is all.”

He sighed and turned, his movements measured and languid, as he walked to the window and clasped his hands behind his back, as he looked out on the busy Vincent Street.

“I fear, Miss Archeron, that you are underestimating the commitment that this ordeal would require of you,” he said, almost to himself.

Elain’s heart dropped.

He wasn’t interested.

He did ot find her comely or appealing or satisfactory. Perhaps he liked her photograph, but seeing her in person made him change his mind.

Ten thousand pounds was an astronomical amount of money.

It was enormous. At the height of their success, the Archeron family wealth was estimated at about fifteen thousand pounds, which made Elain and her sisters very appealing on the marriage market. To have a large portion of that fortune come back to them would guarantee a bright future for all–they could all marry well, they could cure Feyre’s illness, they could operate on their father’s mangled leg and send him to Italy or France to recuperate. They could have fine homes and wardrobes and servants.

Currently, they existed on about four pounds a month, for the four of them. If they were lucky.

“I don’t think that I am, my lord,” Elain found it in herself to answer boldly and firmly. “I understand what is required.”

“You understand that you must lie with me,” he was still not looking at her, and therefore couldn’t see her flaming cheeks, “and have relations with me as if I were your husband. You would be required to do so at my beckoning and pleasure, for at least six months,”

“What happens after six months?” she interrupted him, confused.

He turned his head and explained,

“I am willing to allot six months for the conception to take place. Children are usually not made in a day…it may take time, and I realise that. I feel that six months is an adequate amount of time for you to conceive. If you don’t, then we will part ways, since clearly we would not be compatible enough to create a child together.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek and then asked,

“And if I don't…conceive that is? What happens then?”

He shrugged,

“You will be paid five hundred pounds for your troubles and you will leave. Naturally, you will be bound by the non-disclosure agreement for the rest of your life. That extends to me as well, Miss Archeron. If we proceed with this…arrangement…whatever the outcome is, your name will not be mentioned or besmirched, so that you have a chance at a successful marriage with a man of your choosing.”

“I appreciate that, my lord,” she said sincerely.

He went back to the desk and gathered a stack of papers in his hands, though he did not give them to her yet. He was clearly still deciding on something, his brow furrowed. At last, he said,

“These are the financial terms of the arrangement, Miss Archeron. If we proceed, you will sign and retain a copy for yourself.

“Again, I urge you to consider everything with utmost seriousness,” he pressed. “This is not a trivial matter. Your involvement with me may last up to a year and a half. It is quite a long time for a woman of your age to dedicate to a…male. One who will not marry you in the end, and whom you shan’t see again.

“Furthermore, if there is a child, it will be wholly mine.”

A shudder ran through Elain and she suddenly became cold. When he put it like that, it did give her pause. Because in exchange for the money, she would be required to give up her baby. Theoretically she understood that–when she began corresponding with Mrs. Amren, and when they finally met, this was thoroughly discussed. But seeing this man in the flesh, even briefly imagining that there would be…coital relations involved, though Elain wasn’t quite sure precisely what it all entailed, and then there would potentially be a pregnancy, which was something that was often fraught with dangers, only to end in a painful labour, and then…the separation. Permanent separation from a baby that she’d give birth to. From the man too. Yes, he was strikingly handsome–to her great relief–but she knew that she was in danger of developing feelings for him, which he surely would never reciprocate. He had his poor wife and was devoted to her, and was only after an heir to carry his name and his legacy. Elain would be left without love, without companionship, without her babe, but with money. She supposed that she could have more children, but the idea of giving up her son or daughter seemed terrifying. Her firstborn.

Azriel looked up at her and watched the warring emotions that danced on her face.

“Would you like me to read out the terms?” he asked at last, his expression slightly softened, even kinder.

She swallowed and nodded.

He glanced at the first page and began reading.

“The female in the arrangement is expected to be an unmarried and unbetrothed maid, of good moral standing and a virgin. She is to be free of diseases and for the duration of the arrangement she may not be seen with a male or engage in any manner of relations with a male other than the Requestor.

She would enter into the arrangement willingly and would be required to have sexual intercourse with the Requestor at his bidding. The Requestor shall not physically hurt, slap, hit, abuse or force the female, and will not verbally insult or berate her. If the female is unwilling or unable to have sexual relations with the Requestor, she is to notify him immediately and provide an explanation as to the cause. Relations are not required from the female when she has her monthly flow.

The female is expected to live on premises of the Requestor’s abode and accompany him upon his travels. She shall have her private room(s) at the dwellings. She is not expected to sleep with the Requestor or share his private quarters. The female is required to maintain her decorum at all times, and may not fraternise with the help. The female is not to divulge any part of the agreement to anyone, including her family. The female will not occupy a place at the servants’ quarters and will not partake in meals with them. The female will have a maid of her own to assist her with personal matters.

Upon conception, the female is to remain at the Requestor’s home, under the care of his physicians. She is to maintain a healthy lifestyle, to ensure a successful pregnancy. She will be assisted during her labour by a midwife, a doula, nurses and physicians. Upon delivery of the child, the female will be allowed to bond and nurse the infant for up to one week (if she wishes to do so). After one week of recovery, the child will be removed from the female’s care and presence. At that time, the arrangement would be considered fulfilled and would be terminated.

The Requestor guarantees the following payments:

£1000 for taking the female’s virginity

£50 weekly stipend, for up to six months of service

£50 weekly stipend for the duration of the pregnancy

£1000 for labour and delivery

£10,000 for the birth of a live child

All legal fees, room and board, wardrobe allowance, personal and beauty treatments, transportation, et cetera would be provided by the Requestor.

The female may be allowed to spend Christmas with her family (up to one week), as well as one week of her choosing as a personal holiday.”

He did not ask whether she was agreeable to the contract, but simply handed it to her and said,

“Read this over and be thorough. Any questions, you should ask me.”

Elain didn't answer for a while, but he didn’t seem impatient, and wasn’t put off by the awkward silence between them. Instead, he went over to a sideboard upon which stood a decanter and some glasses and poured himself a drink of whatever it was.

She finally broke the silence and said,

“This is much more than ten thousand.”

It seemed that she took him by surprise with her comment and he looked at her with expectation.

“The contract was for ten…this is closer to twenty,” she pushed.

“Is that a problem?” he queried.

“I just…” she blushed, “I don’t want to be unfair. I was fine with ten. Why a thousand for the virginity?”

He sat back in the wing chair and sipped his drink, before saying,

“Seems only fair. I would be taking something that doesn’t belong to me and isn’t intended for me to take. You ought to be compensated for that.”

Theoretically, what he was saying made sense to her, but it seemed so…transactional. And, of course, it was a transaction. There were no feelings involved.

Craning his head side to side, he added after a pause,

“The pleasure is free, if that makes you feel better. I won’t be charging for it, and I won’t be paying for it either. You can enjoy it free and clear.”

If that meant to be a lighthearted comment of some sort, it didn’t land, because Elain looked at him, perplexed and said. “What pleasure?”

He chuckled softly, “Sexual pleasure, Miss Archeron.”

“There is no pleasure in relations such as those,” she argued primly.

He leaned back in his chair, relaxing into the leather and smiled at her, though the curve of his beautiful mouth was both challenging and sinister.

“And you are an expert then?”

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, and she couldn’t even believe that she was discussing this with a man she didn’t know.

“I am no expert, my lord,” she told him, “but what pleasure could there be? It is an act designed to propagate the species.”

He propped his head on his fist, crossing his long, muscular legs and swaying his boot-clad foot casually. A lock of his silky black hair fell on his forehead and Elain had the insane urge to go and fix it for him. His handsomeness didn’t help. Elain had feared that the man would be old and paunchy, sweaty and balding. Why else would one need to contract for a woman to give him a child? She figured maybe he was missing limbs, or had distorted features, or perhaps some unappealing trait…but she definitely, definitely did not expect Lord Night. She had some parameters that she had set for herself in regards to the arrangement–if the gentleman seemed brutish, if his looks made her squeamish, if he had a visible disease or if his visage repelled her, she would not have gone along with the scheme. As much as she needed the money, she also knew that she wouldn’t have a child with someone cruel or unappealing. She wanted her baby to live in a loving environment and with a parent who’d want them and care for them.

The problem was that Lord Night’s appearance quickly overrode her good sense. It wasn’t something that she ever considered–that he would be so handsome and so titled that she’d forget all her common sense and all the expectations that she had prior to meeting him.

Stumbling a bit over her own tongue, she asked at last,

“What sort of pleasure is there?”

“Ahhmm Miss Archeron,” he smiled at her, “why do you think people have lost their minds and morals through the centuries over love?”

It was an excellent question, to which Elain did not have an answer. Why indeed?

“Well, perhaps, you will have the chance to find out,” he got up and straightened his jacket.

“I do not want love, my lord,” Elain insisted brusquely.

He nodded slowly,

“Yes, yes. I know. You need the money.”

“I do.”

“Then don’t fall in love, Miss Archeron,” he suggested.

But why did it sound like a challenge.

“Take the rest of the day to think about everything,” he told her. “These rooms are yours for the night. You may order food and drink. St. John’s Gardens are not far–should you wish to take a stroll.

“I will call upon you tomorrow, at 10 am, and I expect an answer.”

* UK £10,000.00 in 1890 would be equivalent to £1,644,035.82 in 2023, an absolute change of £1,634,035.82 and a cumulative change of 16,340.36%.

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