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rippersz · 19 days

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𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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

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

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

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

Because-

Wait.

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“Help! Help!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too late.

You were too late.

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

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

Too late.

You were too late.

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

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

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

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

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

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

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

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

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

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

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

The gun still didn’t move.

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

“How long since?”

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

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

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

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

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

“-we can’t just leave them-”

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

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

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

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

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

“Woah-”

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

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

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

But she didn’t move.

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

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

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

“More like a rat.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

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

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

The grass.

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

oh.

Oh.

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

How fucking lucky were you?

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

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

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

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

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

Red lips twitched.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

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

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

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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unmeisenpai · 25 days

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Ok here’s some random omega vers with Brienne because I couldn’t resist yall reading it. Also ❌18+❌ ONLY MDI, omega verse, Brienne being a top, biting/ marking, breeding kink. I think that’s everything please lmk if I missed anything and I hope yall enjoy.

Slamming

“Brienne…mmm.please….slow down.”

Your legs were numb, as Brienne slammed you into the wall. Your whole body off the ground, as she held you in her strong arms.

You never expected your knight, Lord commander of the Kings guard, Ser Brienne of Tarth would be taking you roughly, behind a brothel.

You hadn’t seen her in 8 years, and ever since she left Tarth you heard nothing of her whereabouts, if she was dead or alive.

So when you received a raven from Kings Landing, inviting you to stay in the castle as a personal guest of the Lord Commander. You never expected to see Brienne standing by the Kings side, clad in Gold armor and looking like a Goddess of War.

Now here you are being filled to the brim by the very knight you longed for.

Your arms warped around her neck, as she slams into you biting down on your shoulder. You want to scream at her pace and grunts, but you keep yourself quiet, and decide to bite her instead.

She hisses at that, and grunts into your ear as she digs her nails into your thighs and slams you into the wall harder and harder with each thrust.

“Brienne take me, I’m yours I always have been.” Her only response to your words is her hand moving towards your clit and rubbing tight circles onto it. You hissed at that and did your best not to scream.

Her thrusts grew needy and desperate, as she chanted your name over and over.

“Destiny you’re mine, I’ll never let you go.”

Her thrusts become erratic as she cries out your name, you know you can’t take much more, so you call out to her.

“Brienne I can’t… I’m going to…” She understands your meaning and kisses you roughly, in that moment you can feel her fill you to the brim with her seed. Your whole body reacts and you can’t help but cum on her cock, as you scream her name.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #brienne of tarth #brienne x reader #the sandman lucifer x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #larissa x reader #jane murdstone x reader #wallpaper #top brienne #ser brienne #Brienne x oc

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milfsloverblog · 10 months

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How Eve Felt (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x Fem!reader

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

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

✨ AO3 LINK IN TITLE ✨

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t look. Don’t look. Do not look.

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

“I am looking at you, Miss Murdstone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How many women have you laid with?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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daydream-cement · 7 months

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Across the Room (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #gwendoline christie #gwen christie #The Personal History of David Copperfield #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #jane murdstone smut #smut

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mouse-of-dimitrescu · 5 months

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𝟷𝟸 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 🎄 #𝟽 𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚇 𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ( 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚐𝚊𝚢𝚢𝚜 )

The Dripping Prayer ( TW NSFW )

I DONT WANT ANYONE TRIGGERED OR ANYTHING BY READING THIS ❤️❤️❤️

WARNINGS: mentions of religion, chapel-based, semi-public sex, TW for religiously traumatised babes, lesbian sex, mentions of confessions, guilt, being a pariah, finger-fucking, eating out, rainstorm.

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

You stood in the chapel. It was a Tuesday and the afternoon was due for arainstorm. You sat on the wooden bench in the front and twiddled your thumbs. You didn't know why you were sitting in the chapel or twiddling your thumbs like some depressed old man about to be executed for murdering his ex wife. Nevermind. Your thoughts rambled on until you heard loud footsteps coming from behind you. You turned to see your next door neighbour, Jane Murdstone walk through the arched doorway, boldly looking around and eventually turning her glance towards you.

" Miss Murdstone." You greeted, standing up and looking back at her.

She approached you. Her footsteps never failing to produce a sound of daunting rhythm. " Good afternoon, what brings you here?" She asked, taking off her gloves and hat. You smiled, watching her actions.

" Shelter from the storm. I'd like to say but I don't really know.

Jane nodded and looked at you up and down for a brief moment. " A storm? I hope not. I walked here."

" As did I." You nodded and sat back down. Surprisingly, Jane took a seat next to you and you both gazed at the stained glass. Just then, the rain began pouring down and you let out a small groan. " There it is." You chuckled.

" Well, we wil have to stay here until the storm passes. Where is the priest? I actually came to have a word with him." Jane said, looking around.

" Oh, he went out just as I walked in. He had business to attend to I think."

" What business?" Jane looked to you.

You shrugged. " I don't know. What did you want to speak to him about?" You asked, sitting up properly in your seat.

" Just a few confessions. I'm burdened by then and I need his assistance." Jane explained shortly, not caring to look at you as she spoke. You nodded silently, not wanting to pry.

Jane turned to you eventually. " Have you ever...felt something that you shouldn't have felt?" She asked, her voice sounding a bit colder than usual.

You frowned in confusion. " What do you mean?"

Jane sighed. " You probably haven't. But I wish to know if you've ever felt some...form of...lust for another being. Maybe even love for someone you are forbidden to love?" Jane searched your eyes, feeling a bit anxious.

You nodded silently and looked at Jane. Of course you had experienced love and attraction that was forbidden by society and the church. You wouldn't dare to admit it until now.

" Like a woman?" Jane whispered, making you nod again. " Have you ever repented?" She asked.

" I don't know how love can be frowned upon. I'm not sorry for loving someone. I don't know how love can be a sin." You responded calmly and adamantly. Jane looked at you and have you a small smile.

" You don't think I need to confess?" She asked, her pinkie finger gently grazing over your hand in a secret language — an intimate motion that you initially tried to ignore.

" Confess for what? Loving? Experiencing attraction?" You asked. Jane nodded with understanding and held your hand.

" Thank you." She whispered. " It feels forbidden to speak of these matters in a church or even hold your hand but I find myself careless right now." Jane admitted, looking down and eventually looking back up into your eyes.

Your eyes met hers and like a secret prayer — her emotions translated with yours. " No one is here... we're alone until the storm dies down." You squeezed Jane's hand.

Jane nodded in response and brought her free hand up to your cheek, caressing it. " May I?" She asked, her voice barely audible. The storm outside was blocking some of the syllables in her words.

" Yes, Jane. Yes." You whispered and inched closer towards Jane. Her hand escaped yours and made its way to your waist as she leant closer towards you. Her lips touched your own extremely lightly, a bit hesitant. But you matched her yearning with a mutual kiss — your heart felt like crying. Tears escaped your eyes and you held onto Jane. It was like you were being lifted by something. Like flight — a relief from the unfixed — an end to silence and that longing was met with a single flutter.

When you pulled away from the kiss, Jane leant your forehead against yours and you both smiled breathlessley, shutting your eyes and holding her hands in yours.

" Thank you." You mived your head back a bit so you could look at Jane properly. She brought your hand up to her lips and kissed it, eventually leaning her cheek in your palm as she began kissing up your arm. You gasped when Jane's lips met your exposed neck. Her warm breath sending echoing goosebumps throughout your body. You tilted your head back further to give Jane better access and she happily nibbled on your sweet spot.

" Oh...Jane." you moaned softly. " Jane you're making me feel." The confession fell from your lips like a honey-dipped verse. Jane smiled against your soft skin and kissed your jawline.

" Feel what? A certain need reserved for solitude?" She ran a hand over your thigh. You gasped and nodded, looking into Jane's eyes which were usually cold — instead of coldness, they had a sparkly to them and your body quivered slightly.

You wrapped your arms around Jane's neck and kissed her deeply again. " Jane..." You whispered against her lips.

" Yes darling?" Her one hand trailed your dress up your legs. " Oh you're so pretty." She looked down, admiring your legs and thighs. Jane's arm wrapped around your waist and you leant back into her. Your back leaning against her chest as you slouched. You moved your legs so you were lying on the wooden bench, your knees bent and your head and upped body propped up on that hard wooden bench. Jane smiled and watched your dress fall down your legs, folding into little pools at your waist, revealing more skin.

" Jane...I need you." You admitted, looking up at her.

Jane admired you for a moment before kissing your cheek. Her slender fingers found the waistband of your knickers. You gasped as Jane slipped her hand underneath the lace fabric. You gripped onto Jane's dress, the material scrunched up in your grasp as you tried to focus and compose yourself.

Jane hummed in approval when she felt your arousal coating her fingertips. She ran two fingers through your folds, parting them to have better access to your glistening entrance. Your body jerked at the friction.

" Oh darling, you're so deprived." Jane teased, swirling her middle finger around your throbbing clit. Jane grasped onto your thigh with her free hand, spreading your legs a bit more for her as she dipped a single finger into your pussy, making you moan out.

" Oh..." You had never felt this way before. Jane circled her middle finger inside you, exploring your walls. It was as though your mind had gone blank and the only person that crowded your thoughts was Jane.

She continued her actions and began moving her finger in and out of your tight hole, making your hips buck up at the sensation.

" You're so tight and wet around my finger, darling." Jane whispered against your neck and your moans grew even louder at her words.

" Please Jane...another finger!" You moaned out, feeling Jane's palm brush against your sensitive clit with each movement.

Jane slowly added another finger, watching you moan and pant in pleasure. You gasped at the slight stretch and released a strangled groan of Jane's name. Jane smiled down at you and started to pick up the pace, her fingers curling up and eventually finding your g-spot with each thrust.

" Jane! Oh... Jane...." Your voice trailed off as you moaned. You felt Jane lube up the third finger and slowly slide it inside of you, making you groan and writhe under her touch. Withdrawing her fingers and thrusting into you with a sudden urgency, your eyes rolled back and you leant your body even more into Jane's chest. With every thrust, you felt Jane's fingers hit that sweet spot inside of you and your legs began to shake. Your body herking against Jane as her movements began to speed up. Loud moans echoed throughout the chapel, remaining unheard because of the roaring, tempestuous thunder.

" You going to cum?" Jane asked, her voice low and husky. You groaned, becoming even more and more turned on due to her tone. You nodded quickly and Jane smirked.

" Cum for me." Jane said. The lightning synced with your cries and you came hard for Jane. it was like flying and falling at the same time. You looked up at Jane as your orgasm began to wear off and she leant down to kiss you softly, her fingers still moving in and out of your cunt.

" That was lovely." You whispered against Jane's lips. Jane smiled and withdrew her fingers, humming in approval as she licked up your mess. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight.

" I quite agree." Jane chuckled and held you close to her, you looked up at Jane with a small smile.

" Can I pleasure you too?" You asked softly.

Jane nodded and wrapped her fingers gently around your neck, meeting your lips again in a yearnful kiss. " Kneel for me." She whispered, making your breath hitch.

You immediately knelt down in front of Jane. She gently lifted her dress , hiking it up her long legs, spreading them for you. You bit your lip and teaced your fingers over Jane's thighs, peppering sweet little kisses upwards, reaching her clothed cunt, the fabric damp with her arousal. You brought your hand up and played with her over her knickers. Jane moaned as you accidentally circled her clit and you smiled at her reaction. You took her knickers off, sliding them down her legs, eventually stuffing them in her purse. Jane smirked and adjusted her dress, making it easier for you to reach between her legs.

You experimentally licked a slit up her folds and her sweet arousal triggered your taste buds. You planted a kiss on her pussy and two of your fingers parted her folds. You licked circles around Jane's sensitive bud, hearing her moan out as she gripped your hair, pulling you loser to her, needing more friction.

" Oh...darling." she groaned when she felt your finger explore her slick entrance before pushing inside of her. " Add two more." She commanded, tugging harder at your hair. You happily obeyed Jane, adding two more digits, feeling her hot walls tighten around them. Jane let out satisfied moans and you groaned when she pulled at your hair. In response, you grasped onto Jane's thighs and spread them further apart.

You pumped your fingers in and out of Jane while your tongue continued to stimulate her clit, making Jane release guttural moans as your increasing speed. The light rain pattered against the surfaces outside — like a clock, making the pleasure more urgent.

Jane and you were getting more and more turned on, knowing that someone could burst through that arched door at any moment. The two of you would immediately be dealt with by authority and society — forced to apologise for something you weren't sorry for. You couldn't give a damn about that. All that mattered was Jane.

Jane moaned louder when you curled your fingers up inside of her, her walls fluttered around your digits and you sucked harshly on her swollen clit. Jane's legs began to tremble at your sides, her thighs pressing hard against your head, trapping you in. It was obviously a happy moment for you.

" Oh! Darling...faster! I think I might..." Jane couldn't finish her sentence. The pleasure was overwhelming. You sped up your pace, thrusting your fingers and curling them inside of Jane as you did before while she flung her head back. Jane gazed upon the stained glass — her eyes slightly unfocused, the golden halos in front of her were a blur as she came hard, crying out your name like a sacred prayer. Separated syllables interrupted by moans and untamed breaths.

Jane's slick covered your fingers. You began to slow down your pace, letting Jane ride out her orgasm. Her breaths were still heavy and when you let go of her cunt and slipped your fingers out of her, some of her cum creeped down her thighs. You eagerly licked it up, making Jane chuckle as she looked down at you. Your lips were puffy and half your face was covered in her cum.

" My word, you're a mess, darling." Jane took her small black bag and shuffled through it, withdrawing a handkerchief and leaning down to wipe your face. " You did so well. Your mouth works wonders." She kissed your cheek and you smiled up at her.

You eventually pulled Jane's dress back down like normal, readjusting it before standing up and dusting off your knees. You sat next to Jane and rested your head on her shoulder, she wiped your fingers clean for you.

" May I have my knickers back, darling?" She asked, holding out her hand, expecting you to give them back.

" No, I'm keeping them. Thank you." You laughed, not missing the small blush on Jane's cheeks.

Jane let out a small sigh and couldn't help but laugh. " You're so naughty." Jane wrapped her arms around your waist and gave you a soft kiss. You deepened the kiss and smiled against her lips.

" We should do this again sometime." You mumbled.

" I agree, maybe we could use the confession box for extra privacy?" Jane suggested, her tone darkening with lust at the thought of it.

You laughed and nodded. " That could be arranged." You kissed Jane's cheek and she held your hand. The storm outside began to subside, the pouring rain began to diminish into a slight drizzle.

" We should get going." Jane whispered with a hint of sadness in her tone.

" Come around to my house whenever you'd like." You sat up properly and looked at Jane. you both eventually stood up and she nodded.

" Of course I will. " Jane gave you one soft kiss — that was the only minute you wished for an eternity.

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

#jane murdstone #gwendoline christie #jane murdstone x reader #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems

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readingtheentrails · 1 year

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Look, it's all of us when new Larissa/Miranda/Lucifer/Jane/Jan Stevens fics drop

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #gwendolinechristie #principal weems #gwendoline christie cult #gwendoline christie democracy #larissa weems fanfiction #miranda hilmarson #miranda hilmarson x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #jan stevens #jan stevens x reader

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alder-saan · 1 year

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The taste of Hell

Jane Murdstone x fem! reader

Words count: 3.3k

warnings: mention of slavery, child abuse. NSFW CONTENT (sub! Jane, fingering Jane receiving)

You promised Jane never to betray her...

thanks to @tanith-rhea for beta-reading it <3

The door opened before your eyes. In the giant golden room, already full of people, you could feel joy, amusement. You knew this room, its long white curtains, its big windows, its wonderful paintings. All was shining in beauty and happiness. Everyone was wearing their most beautiful clothes and masks. You too, of course. It was your first official ball. You had just been made lady by the king. You knew you were an exception. You were born a slave. You were raised as a maid. You were now a Lady, and not by marriage. You were a Lady because you had saved the Queen’s life. Pure luck, though. You had heard a conspiracy against her and informed her.

But it wasn’t your first ball.

It wasn’t your first ball dressed as a man.

It wasn’t your first ball at the Lambertus Mansion.

___

“Jane, are you sure? What if someone discovers us?”

“No one will, it’s a masked ball!” the young girl smiled.

“Are you really sure?”

“I am. Trust me.”

“I trust you.”

She took your hand in hers, you blushed. Thanks to your fox mask, she couldn’t notice it. She had dressed you with a man suit, and you really looked like a young boy in it.

“Do you have your invitations?” a man standing in front of the metal gate asked.

“Yes, Jane and Edward Murdstone.” Jane handed him the piece of paper, and he let you in.

Once you were walking in the garden, she chuckled.

“See? I told you no one would notice it.”

You nodded.

“I know it’s bad, but I’m glad Edward is ill.”

“I am too.”

The sun was sinking behind the trees, and you couldn’t help but feel this day was a perfect day like you would never have again. Your hand in hers, you felt the warmness of her soft skin. You were fourteen. You were in love with her. But she was your mistress. It wasn’t appropriate. So all these feelings, you hide them deeply in your heart. You arrived in front of big marble stairs.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“I am,” you answered.

You climbed the stairs, hand in hand.

When the big wooden doors opened, you gasped. You knew why Jane wanted to wear her corset so tight, why she wanted to be in this blue velvet dress. Everyone was wearing the same type of clothes. It was something you could never have imagined. The colours were dancing in front of your eyes, lost in a golden sea.

“You look like a fish,” Jane giggled behind her bird mask.

You closed your mouth.

“Sorry, it’s just… I never saw this before… It’s so beautiful!”

“Now come and dance with me. You wouldn’t want me to dance with another boy.”

“I’m not a boy.”

“You wouldn’t want me to dance with a boy.”

You definitely wouldn’t want this. You placed a hand on her back, and took hers with the other, like you saw her do with her dance teacher, every Wednesday evening. Then, you began to move, in the rhythm, trying your best not to step on her toes. She smiled, and you felt your heart racing. You were so glad she couldn’t see your cheeks, because you knew they were red. She was glad you couldn’t see hers too. You were so absorbed by her eye colour. Blue as a July sky, as an expensive gemstone. She had gemstone eyes. And those eyes didn’t belong to a maid like you. They belonged to the most beautiful prince, who could take care of them, who could give them the most beautiful case. They needed to rest on red velvet, in a golden wood bed. They needed to be cherished, polished. You would never afford these in your life. You knew it. You weren’t worth her. She deserved the world. You could never offer the world.

After a moment, you stopped and decided to go outside and visit the gardens. Many young people were near the pond, watching a swan, and you walked to see it too, but she took your hand and headed to an oak. Thousands of fireflies and glowworms were changing the foliage into a second night sky. You removed your mask to have a better sight on the branches. She did so.

“Why did you want me to come with you?” you asked.

“Because if I was alone, all the boys would want to dance with me.”

“You don’t want to dance with a boy?”

“They would think I want to marry them.”

“You don’t want to marry someone?”

“There is one, and only one person I want to marry.”

You smiled. So she was in love? You hoped the boy was a good boy, you really wanted to know him, to be sure she was in good hands.

“Who is he? Do I know him?”

“It’s you. I want to marry you.”

Your eyes widened. She wanted to marry you? YOU? So, she liked you too, and not only as a friend? This was probably the best day in your life, or maybe this was a dream. You felt like a proposed lover. SHE was telling you she wanted to marry you. She was so perfect, and she chose you. You, over all people. Over all the boys she chose a girl, and that girl was you. But you were realistic. You shook your head, half disbelief, half disapproval. She frowned, her heart sank.

“It’s impossible, Jane, first, I am a maid, second I am a woman.”

“I know…” she looked awkwardly at the grass “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha-”

“But if I was a prince, I would have proposed to you already.”

She looked at you, her lips parted as if she wanted to tell something, but she remained silent. The wind murmured something only the leaves could understand. She took a step towards you.

Her lips crashed onto yours, and she held you close. Jane was a bit taller than you, and you loved having to look up so see her. Now her mouth was on yours, you loved even more having to lift your chin. Her lips were soft, like her hands in yours, and you wondered if maybe, your lips were rougher, like your hands in hers. She broke the kiss, and the realisation hit you. You kissed. You kissed a girl, she kissed a girl.

“We’ll burn in Hell” you whispered, horrified.

“If Hell tastes like this, I want to go there,” she replied.

Your face went crimson. She wasn’t actually saying that, was she? She took your hands.

“Be my lover, be my secret lover like we read in those books. I’ll always keep you by my side if you promise to always be loyal to me.”

“I promise.” you said without even thinking.

_____

You crossed your arms in front of your stomach, remembering Jane’s father’s reaction when he learnt you had been to the masked ball with her. The following day, you were sold to another family.

Jane never answered your letters, and after a year without any reply, you simply stopped sending her mail.

Sometimes, you missed your days in Murdstone’s mansion, even if you learnt later that you were a maid by name only, there. An unpaid maid who’s life is a property isn’t a maid. You had been a slave. And this was a part of your life you wanted to forget. But her. You couldn’t forget her. She had been your only support, your only friend, and your first love.

You breathed in. It wasn’t the time to think about the past. You were here to spend a good evening.

You breathed out and walked in the room, avoiding the middle, on which couples were dancing. And in a corner, you noticed a tall woman, alone, watching something outside. Her dress was blue, and her feathered mask was making her look like an exotic bird. You smiled. You always loved tall women. Maybe because of Jane. You walked towards her and took your lowest voice. Since you were dressing like a man, you couldn’t let anyone think you weren’t one.

“Good evening, my Lady,” you said.

She turned her head to look at you. She had blue eyes, wonderful blue eyes which got you shivering.

“Good evening, Sir,” she replied coldly.

She definitely didn’t want to talk. But you wanted to try a little more. If she continued, you would abandon.

“Would you join me for a dance?”

“I’m afraid I’m not a good dancer, Sir, you should try with someone else.”

“But I wanted to dance with a tall blue eyed lady, tonight,” you offered her a big smile.

She let out a sarcastic chuckle. It wasn’t the expected reaction, but at least you had a reaction.

“Don’t play this game with me, young man, many have.”

“I play no game, my Lady. I just want to dance with you. What does it cost you to allow me one dance?”

“Fine. One dance.”

She didn’t seem really happy. But it was a victory. Now, you just had to make her like this dance. She held out her hand. You smiled and took it. Soon, you were dancing between other couples, your body against hers, your hand on her waist. You were guiding her, splitting the waves of the crowd. It was you and her. No one else mattered. In your head, you were alone. Everyone had just disappeared. But as you danced, you felt she was a bit stiff. Clearly, she didn’t trust you enough to abandon herself into your arms.

“Dear, why don’t you let it go?” you murmured.

“I told you I’m not a good dancer.”

“You are, I can feel it the way you move. But you are too tense. Do I make you nervous?”

“Very presumptuous, young man. You do, but every one would. I don’t trust anyone, that’s all.”

“And what could happen to you, here, dancing in the middle of a crowd? Trust me, I’m good enough to make you enjoy this dance. Stop thinking, let it go.”

She closed her blue eyes behind her mask and breathed out. Under your right hand, you could feel she was trying to relax.

Good girl, you thought.

“Thank you,” you said.

Now you could really dance. You swayed, swirled, you twirled, and you couldn’t help but notice her smile. It was a real smile, you knew it. She was truly enjoying this moment, as much as you enjoyed it. You turned her around, and her skirt flew around her. Her scent wrapped you, the music resounded in your ears. You were in Heaven with your tall blue eyed woman. For a few seconds, you imagined her to be Jane, and your heart raced. What would she look like now? Was she happy, with a good husband and some children? You shook your head. It wasn’t respectful. You were dancing with a woman, you couldn’t think about another. And so your thoughts focused again on your stranger.

Yes, she was a good dancer, probably better than you were, when she was younger she certainly was very popular. And when the music finished, some sweat drops ran on your forehead. You led her on the side of the room, trying to catch your breath.

“Did you enjoy this dance?” you asked, even though you already knew.

“Very much, thank you for this.”

“Would you join me for a walk in the gardens?”

She hesitated. You saw it in the way she squinted. But you were confident. You had just had one of your best dances ever, she couldn’t refuse you a walk.

“I don’t search for a husband, I don’t search for anything.”

“Me neither, I just want to enjoy a little time with a sweet stranger I just met.”

“Honeymouthing won’t lead you anywhere. I don’t know what you want but-”

“Your friendship for the evening. That’s all I ask.”

“And that’s all I have to give you.”

“Wonderful.”

She wrapped her arms around yours, and you went out. The outside air was cold, and as a sir, you gave her your jacket. It was a bit small for her, but she seemed to appreciate your respect for etiquette. You lost yourselves on the paths. Near the pond, lovers were gently kissing. She looked at them, and you couldn’t tell what she was thinking. It didn’t seem to be some disgust, she had that sad smile on her lips. You didn’t dare ask her why.

“Thank you for spending this time with me. I think I would have quit this ball if you didn’t come to ask me for a dance.”

It surprised you. She was not the kind of girl to open her heart like that to strangers.

“You’re welcome, I told you you could have a good time with me. Thank you for having accepted, I would have quit it too.”

She nodded. An owl hoot, far away.

“Why don’t you trust people?” you asked

“I don’t think I have to answer this question.”

“I don’t know who you are, I don’t know what you look like. You can tell me anything, I’ll just know a Lady in England thinks that.”

“You could recognize me by my height…”

“You could wear heels.”

She sighed. You smiled.

“Someone betrayed me. Someone who promised to be loyal to me forever betrayed me.”

“I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”

You walked towards the glittering oak under which you kissed Jane, so many years ago. You liked this place. You liked thinking about her.

“She promised me this under this very oak, exactly twenty years ago, at the same masked ball.”

You stopped. You promised to be loyal to Jane under this very oak exactly twenty years ago, at the same masked ball. Your heart raced. Impossible. Was she…

“Jane?”

She frowned, you hadn’t masked your voice. You couldn’t believe it, since the beginning, you were dancing with Jane Murdstone. You were dancing with your first love.

“Who are you and how do you know my name?” she wasn’t smiling anymore. Her gaze had turned cold again.

“I-”

Your hands reached the back of your head, and you untied your mask. Her eyes widened as she discovered your face.

“How dare you show your face in front of me, traitor?”

“I never betrayed you, Jane. I promise.”

“You ran away. My father told me. He told me you had left the mansion, leaving a letter which said you were afraid of me.”

“I never did such a thing!” you almost yelled.

“THEN WHY DID YOU GO?”

She took a step towards you. In her eyes, there was only anger, rage, hatred. You took a step back, intimidated.

“When you left me, I was alone. You were my only friend. And I loved you. Were you really afraid of me? Did I disgust you? Do I still disgust you?”

“He sold me to another family.”

Tears ran on your cheeks.

“He told me I bewitched you. He told me I was the devil, and I couldn’t stay in the same house as you. He beated me so hard that day. I still have marks on my stomach. I never wanted to leave you. I sent you letters everyday for a year! I knew your father would read and destroy them, but I still had a hope you would find at least one letter. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say a word. She simply took off her mask. Her gaze was sad, now.

“Will you forgive me?” you asked.

“Was it true? All that you said about my father. Was it true?”

“Truth, all the truth, only the truth. I promise.”

“Would you swear on the Bible?”

“I would.” you affirmed.

She closed her eyes. You cupped her face. She opened them.

“Jane, you never disgusted me. I loved you too”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. And it was as if she had never said that, as if she had to learn again how to say it. “I’m sor-”

You softly kissed her. It wasn’t really a kiss though, you simply brushed your lips against hers. But she kissed you. Her hands went on your hips, and she pulled you against her. All you had ever dreamed of was happening now. Your heart seemed to be on the verge of explosion. When you broke the kiss, you took refuge in her neck, to hide your tears. She held you tight.

“Do you think I’m beautiful?” she asked.

“I do. I always have.”

“Even after all these years? I’m so tall, so old…”

“You. Are. Perfect. You. Always. Have. Been.” you said, giving her neck a kiss between each word.

She squeezed you. Your lips kept wandering on her soft skin. She tilted her head, exposing even more skin to your sight. You smiled and kissed every inch of it while making her step back, until she was against the trunk of the oak. You wanted to kiss all the skin you could reach. You sucked her neck. She let out a moan and dissimulated it under a cough.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds, please.”

You continued kissing and licking her neck, then you claimed her lips once again. You wanted more. You moved your knee between her thighs, and grabbed her collar, pulling her closer to you. When your tongue asked her to let it in, she didn’t even think about not letting it. She opened her mouth, and your tongues brushed against each other.

You grabbed her skirt with one hand, and gently pulled it up, slowly revealing one of her legs. When her skirt was up enough, you passed your hand under it, and reached her crotchless bloomer. She gasped. You kissed her lips, and she moaned into your mouth as your hands lingered on her inner thighs and touched her pussy. It was already wet, and you smiled against her mouth.

“Mmh, darling, you’re so wet for me…”

You sank your teeth into her lips and she whined as you rubbed her clit with your fingers.

“Please…”

“Please what, Darling?”

“Please, fuck me…”

You teased her folds with your fingertips, and entered them in her. She cried, and you crashed your lips on hers to muffle the sounds a bit. You didn’t want anyone to come near the oak. You twirled your fingers inside her cunt, caressing her most sensitive spot. Her tongue touched your lips, and you let it enter your mouth. You felt her breathing accelerating as your fingers moved in her cunt. Her walls were fluttering around you.

“More, more, please…” she panted.

You added a third finger inside her and hooked it like the others. With your other hand, you reached her clit and stimulated it. She bucked her hips, and seeing her squirming under your touch was one of the best feelings in the world. Her moans were getting more and more audible, You knew she was close. She was dripping on your hands. Around your knee, hers were weak and shook. She tilted her head back, breaking the kiss. You continued circling her little bundle of nerves.

“I-I’m so close,” she let out between two whines.

“Come for me, Darling,” you commanded.

She kissed you and she came, pinned against the oak, as you swallowed her whines. You let her catch her breath and her skirt fall on her legs, as if nothing just happened. You gently kissed her neck again.

“You did so good for me, Jane…”

She pulled you closer and chuckled.

“We’ll really burn in Hell…” she said.

You put your fingers to your mouth, sucking her arousal on them.

“If Hell tastes like this, I want to go there.”

_____

#gwendoline christie #jane murdstone x reader #jane murdstone

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winterfireblond · 11 months

Text

:Hot Chocolate or Hot Principal?

Me: A hot Principal drinking hot chocolate 🫢

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #gwendoline christie stories #larissa weems x reader #jane murdstone x reader #brienne of tarth x reader #captain phasma #captain phasma x reader #larissa weems #lucifer morningstar

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 9 months

Text

...the dawn of ♥ kink!week ♥ is upon us...

(don't know what kink week is? click here!)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∼ those faint of heart, look away and shield thine eyes — miserable sinners, prepare; for we have entered the unholy week ∼

∼ day one brings us our beloved metallic lady ♥ Jane Murdstone ♥ ∼

∼ tags and the fic are under the cut ∼

♥ i've worked very hard on this series — it was a huge project to undertake and i would very much appreciate if you left me comments with your thoughts and impressions — you already know they make my heart sing ♥ (AO3 link — i prefer it to tumblr vastly)

tags: #alternate universe - modern setting #dominatrix #bdsm #bladder control #watersports #piss kink #mistress/slave #dom/sub play #fetish clothing #leather gloves #face slapping #degradation kink #humiliation #golden shower #masturbation #aftercare #kink!week

don't look away (as i bare my soul to you) (clicking on the title will lead you to ao3)

You will always remember the night you met her.

You were attending a house party organised by one of your good friends — very much a social butterfly, unlike yourself — and you weren't surprised there were all sorts of interesting people there, and that one of them just happened to be the tallest, most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

You could tell she was exceptionally bored as she sat on the couch alone, long legs crossed, typing on her phone and absentmindedly sipping her wine. You probably stared at her for a full minute, just awkwardly hanging by the door with your own drink, taken by her commanding presence and how stunning she looked just in her casual black slacks and blouse that was unbuttoned just enough that you could almost see her bra if you angled your head the right way.

You surely would have stared much longer had she not lifted her gaze and raised her eyebrow at you. You immediately felt your cheeks burn and your palms sweat, embarrassment overwhelming you, as if you’ve been caught doing something terribly wrong. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but you didn’t know what could be said after so rudely staring at someone, so you turned to leave.

What stopped you from fleeing in shame, with your tail between your legs, was that she smirked and gestured you to join her, tapping a spot next to her on the couch. You immediately obeyed. No other option even crossed your mind — something about this woman drew you in.

“Jane Murdstone,” she said with a delicious, velvety English accent, extending her arm towards you as you sat next to her. You noticed how piercingly blue her eyes are.

“My palms are sweaty,” you said stupidly, looking at her with your mouth slightly agape, feeling as if you were in the presence of a goddess.

“Then wipe them on your trousers,” she said calmly, cocking her head. The corner of her lips barely perceptibly curled upwards.

You wiped your palms on your trousers and went on to shake her hand. You immediately noticed how big it is compared to yours, and you didn’t know why it flustered you so much. She gave you a firm squeeze and lingered a second longer than necessary.

“Will I get a name, or just reports on the state of your palms?” she asked.

You stuttered while telling her your name, but she didn’t comment on it.

“Do I have something on my face?” she just asked, leaning back into the couch and swinging her arm over the headrest.

“Why?” you asked back, confused.

“You stared at me for a full minute,” she answered, smirking, and took a sip of her wine. She never once broke eye contact with you — it made you squirmy, but you couldn’t look away, as if under a spell. You felt as if she was looking at your very soul — bare and unprotected and vulnerable.

“I—I’m sorry, I just thought… I just thought you were beautiful,” you managed to utter.

“Did you, now?” she asked, looking very amused .

You nodded.

“Well, thank you. But don’t you know it’s quite rude to stare?”

That finally made you avert your gaze in shame. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, don’t worry — I like making people flustered. I’m having a lot of fun right now.”

You looked up at her again. She was staring at you with that piercing gaze that made you feel completely naked, her blue eyes twinkling in amusement. “And what do you do for fun?” she asked.

Oh, you were completely enraptured by her.

You spent the entire evening talking about everything and nothing. You were surprised how comfortable you felt with her, despite her commanding presence — or maybe because of it. She never paid any attention to you stuttering, nor your blushing — she just sat there and waited until she got an answer to a question she asked. It made it hard to avoid talking about yourself — and oh, it felt so good to talk about yourself for once.

At one point you asked her what she did for work — and then choked on your drink when you heard the answer. It surprised you, even though her commanding presence could have been an inkling — but she just looked so normal, with her dark brown hair in a loose bun, her tasteful and minimal makeup, and her slacks, blouse and pumps that made her look like a businesswoman on her evening off.

“A dominatrix? That’s really cool,” you said, blushing, “I just didn’t expect it. Don’t get me wrong, but you just look very normal.”

She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine. “Oh, and what did you expect? Latex? Or leather?”

You felt very silly because that is exactly what you expected. “Sorry, I just… I just never met a dominatrix before.”

“So, not familiar with that world, I presume?”

“Not really. But, I mean… I’m… interested. I mean, not interested interested, don’t get me wrong. I just, you know, had like, thoughts, and I’d never actually do it, but I think about, I mean not think about, just like… I wonder sometimes, you know, like what it’d be like, like, none of the hardcore stuff, but just, you know—”

She interrupted your pathetic rambling. “Would you want to try it?”

You froze. “What?”

“Would you want to try it?” she repeated. Her expression was completely calm and neutral, as if she just asked you about your favourite colour.

“I—I—I mean, that would make no sense. I was always… I’m boring. I just go to my job and then I go home. It couldn’t be into something like that, like, it’d be so out of character and it… it just makes no sense that I would, you know, be like…. into it,” you fumbled.

“I didn’t ask you if it would make sense. I asked if you’d like to try it.”

You spent the next couple of seconds just staring at her, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. She just sat there in silence, calmly sipping her wine, waiting for you to answer.

And finally, you did.

“Yes.”

You glance at the clock.

It’s 12pm — another five hours until the end of your work day, and you already can’t focus on anything else besides the pain in your bladder.

You press your thighs together — you can do this.

You take in a deep breath before turning your attention to the pile of paperwork laying on your desk — mocking you and waiting for you to go through it. And you will — you must. It has to be done by the end of the day. You won’t let yourself get fired — you’ll push through.

You wouldn’t want to disappoint your Mistress, after all.

Jane has been your Mistress for about six months now, and slowly you are starting to venture into kinks you never thought you’d admit being interested in — to anyone — ever. You were fully prepared to take those with you to the grave.

Truth be told, you once thought the same about trying out a BDSM lifestyle, and then… well. Then you sort of stumbled into it — and now it’s something you do on a Monday afternoon after working hours.

Or, in this case, during working hours.

Your belly tingles with excitement just thinking about it — no one knows you’re engaging in a sexual fantasy of yours right now.

You clench your thighs together again — both to help with the fact that you really need to pee right now and to give provide some friction. You know, however, that you absolutely cannot touch yourself, nor go to the bathroom — not until 6pm today, when your scheduled session takes place.

You smile and start sorting through the paperwork in front of you. You’re giddy with anticipation.

6pm can’t come soon enough.

You can barely stand when you get to her apartment and ring the doorbell. Your bladder hurts — you don’t think you can hold it in much longer.

She opens the door in a black, silken night-robe. Her long hair is loose and fluffy around her shoulders, she isn’t wearing any makeup, and she’s barefoot. She seems to be naked underneath the robe. It’s unusual — she normally puts on something more fitting for her role. however, you still think she looks gorgeous — perhaps even more so than usual.

She eyes you up and down. “Come in,” she says, face impassive, then turns around and walks towards the playroom. “Coat, bag, shoes,” she commands, not bothering to turn around or look at you as she disappears into the room on the right.

You quickly hang your coat and bag and take your shoes off before you follow her, pressing your thighs together and clenching your pelvic muscles as hard as you can.

She waits for you in the playroom, sitting on the big couch next to the window. She gestures for you to stand in the middle of the room.

“Stand here and don’t move. You’ll watch me get dressed. When I’m done, you can go to the bathroom.”

As much as the thought excites you, you don’t think you can last even another ten minutes.

“But, Mistress, I… I don’t think I can hold it in much longer. It’s been an entire day.”

“Well,” she says, tilting her head. She watches you squirm from the couch, lips curling in amusement. “If you can’t make it, you’ll just have to go right here.”

“R-right here?” you repeat. You can feel your cheeks starting to burn. “But… I can’t.”

“Well, if you can’t then you won’t,” she simply says and gets up from the couch. She walks towards the little vanity in the corner of the room and stars sorting through her makeup. “And if you can, you are welcome to. However — you don’t get to use the bathroom until I’m done.” She sits down on the little chair and starts applying moisturiser on her face.

“But—but—” you start, but she interrupts you.

“You will not give me attitude, or there will be consequences,” she says, looking at you through the mirror. The tone of her voice sends a shiver down your spine — cold, uncompromising, and so fucking hot.

“Yes, Mistress,” you say and your voice sounds squeakier than you intended.

“Poor little thing — always so flustered around me,” she coos while dabbing concealer under her eyes, saccharine condescension oozing from her voice. “You just need to be stepped on, don’t you? You need someone to tell you what to do and when to do it — even your bodily functions. Can’t even do that yourself.”

“No, Mistress,” you say, shuffling on your feet, pressing your thighs together. Your bladder really hurts.

“Stop squirming,” she says, dusting eyeshadow on her lids and glancing at you in the mirror. “You have one very simple task and it is to stand still. Or are you too incompetent even for that?”

“It really hurts, Mistress. May I sit down?” you ask.

“No.”

You try your best not to squirm. You press your thighs together as tightly as you can, trying to take deep breaths to soothe yourself and breathe through the pain. You somehow manage to zone out — you watch her do her makeup, as if in a trance, and you’re proud of yourself for doing rather well. You make it through powder, mascara, blush, eyeliner and lipstick, and before you know it, she’s done. She fluffs out her hair and checks her makeup in the mirror, and then she gets up and turns to look at you.

“You’re doing well,” she says. “A bit too well. Is this too easy, hm?” she asks, approaching you.

“No, Mistress.”

She stands in front of you — and fuck, she’s so tall. It makes you feel all fuzzy and tingly inside.

“Oh, I disagree,” she says. She throws the robe off of herself, revealing that she is, indeed, naked underneath. You mouth waters. “You’ll help me get into my corset.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She turns and walks towards the couch. Her ass and thighs jiggle as she walks. You lick your lips, and your belly tingles — you hope she lets you touch her today. You’d love to worship her.

Laying on the couch, you only now realise, is the outfit she picked for herself for today — a black corset, a leather harness, black stockings, and — your favourite — black leather gloves. Black heels are on the floor next to it. You see no panties of any kind, which is a bit unusual, but not unwelcome.

She takes the gloves first. She makes eye contact with you as she slowly puts them on, taking her time, wiggling her fingers and clenching her fist after she slides each of them on — and it’s so hot you almost forget abut the burning pain in your bladder. Your mouth gapes open and your heart beats faster.

“Close your mouth,” she says sternly before she moves on to the stockings, and you immediately obey.

She puts one long leg on the couch and slides the stocking on — painfully slowly — then does the same with the other one. You lick your lips and squirm again. “Don’t. Squirm,” she commands.

“Sorry, Mistress.”

She slides her feet into black heels, then grabs the corset before she slowly walks to you, swaying her hips. Her breasts bounce as she moves and you can’t help but stare. She’s even taller now with the heels on, and it makes you giddy. You feel so tiny next to her.

As soon as she reaches you, she slaps you across the face — hard. You gasp.

“You can’t even follow simple directions — stand still and keep your mouth closed. How many times to I need to say it, hm?” she says and grabs your jaw with her gloved hand. She presses her fingers into your cheeks so hard it hurts. “Answer me.”

“I—I’m sorry, Mistress, it won’t happen again,” you utter, eyes wide, chest slightly heaving. You have to crane your neck so far back to meet her gaze — you love it.

She lets go of your jaw, and then immediately slaps you again, making you suck in a sharp breath.

“How is your bladder?” she asks as she wraps the corset she’s holding around her torso. It’s already buckled in the front, but the laces on the back are loose.

“It hurts, Mistress.”

“Poor thing,” she says, her face stony, as she pokes your belly with her finger. You tense your muscles and clench your thighs together.

“Please, Mistress — it hurts,” you say. You’re doing so well — but if she does that again, you know you won’t be able to hold it in.

“Does it now?” she asks condescendingly.

“Yes, Mistress.”

She simply chuckles.

“Tie this. Make it tight.”

She turns around, holding the corset pressed to her stomach, and you immediately start working on the laces. The pain in your bladder is becoming worse by the minute, especially after her poking it. You can barely concentrate on your task, but somehow you manage to push through.

She turns back around to face you. “Only the harness left. Do you think you can make it?”

She reaches inside the corset to adjust her breasts. Your gaze wanders towards them. You bite your lip as you watch her gloved hand fondle her breast, cupping it and pushing upwards. “Eyes up.”

You look up. The intensity with which she looks at you makes you shiver — it always does. With her, you always feel like you’ve nowhere to hide. It’s like she can see inside your soul, like she truly sees you — pathetic and shivering and naked — and she never averts her eyes.

“I can make it, Mistress.”

“Are you quite sure?” she asks, and her blue eyes twinkle, but her face is otherwise unreadable.

“I think so, Mistress.”

It hurts — badly — but you don’t want to give up now that you’re so close to making it.

“Wait here,” she says and walks out of the room. You watch her ass wiggle and her hips sway as she leaves.

The moment she exits the room, you squirm and press your thighs together as hard as you can. You don’t know how to feel — on one hand, it would be really hot if she made you pee your pants, and on the other, you don’t think you could handle the shame you’d feel. You like humiliation — but this? You’ve never done something like this before. You decide you’ll try your best to hold it in until she lets you go to the bathroom.

She returns quickly, carrying a big water bottle. She hands it to you. Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“Drink,” she says. “All of it.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

You start drinking, and she watches. It’s a big bottle, and you aren’t sure you can drink it all. You can feel your belly filling with water, and the pressure in your bladder is unbearable. You try to lower the bottle, pace yourself, but she tilts it and pushes it into your mouth.

“I said, all of it.”

She reaches under your shirt and grabs your hips. You’re still drinking. She gentle runs her gloved hands over your stomach — lightly, teasingly — then under your bra. You continue drinking until you finish the bottle as she fondles you, sending tingles down your spine.

“All done?” she asks, running her fingers over your ribs.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Give it to me.”

She takes the bottle and puts it on the little table next to the couch, then returns to you.

“You must be so uncomfortable,” she says, sliding her hands under your shirt again, putting one on the small of your back and the other on your bloated belly.

“Yes, Mistress.” You’re sure you can’t make it at this point. “How long… until I can go to the bathroom, Mistress?” you ask.

She gently massages your belly and you whimper. “Oh, but you could go right now, and it would all stop.”

“But I can’t, I’m too embarrassed.”

“And what if I commanded you to go, hm? You wouldn’t disobey me, would you?” she asks, circling around you as she caresses your stomach, until she’s behind you and pressing her body into yours. She leans down and you feel her hot breath on your ear. You whimper.

“I can’t, Mistress, please, I—”

She grabs your neck from behind you, her gloved hand pressing against your windpipe. “Do not give me attitude.”

Suddenly, she grabs your hips and presses her fingers into your pelvis. You gasp and your muscles give in — and the next thing you know warm liquid is trickling down your thigh. Horrified, you watch a dark, wet spot form on your trousers.

Jane lets go of your waist and walks to stand in front of you as you continue to stare at your crotch, deep shame colouring your cheeks red. You can’t help but gasp in relief as the painful pressure bladder finally subsides, which makes you even more embarrassed. You hide your face into your hands and press your thighs together. It just keeps going — you have’t peed all day. You feel it trickle down your calves and onto your feet until it pools on the floor. Tears of shame prickle in your eyes.

“Look at me,” Jane says. You slowly lower your hands and clutch your shirt, breathing deeply and trying not to cry. You look at her. She’s standing a few feet away from you, watching you, her gaze as intense as ever. “Don’t avert your eyes.”

You watch her, tears streaming down your face, your underwear, your trousers and your socks uncomfortably wet, as she walks towards the couch and takes the harness. She puts it on, but it takes a while. You just stand there — embarrassed, blushing, crying and wet.

You aren’t wet just from your own piss, however.

Something about the humiliation makes you incredibly aroused, and Jane knows it — oh, she knows it well. She knew it from the first night you talked — you didn’t even have to tell her — and she pushes you, always pushes you just a bit further than the last time.

She walks back towards you, now clad in the elaborate harness that hugs her neck, her waist, her arms and her thighs, black leather belts crisscrossing. She looks like your dirtiest fantasy.

“Kneel,” she says.

You kneel into the puddle of your own piss, wetting your trousers even further.

You look up at her. As she isn’t wearing any underwear, your gaze wanders to her pussy — it looks pink and delicious and absolutely delectable. You wonder if she’s command you to eat her out, and you shiver in anticipation, heat pooling in your belly.

She lifts her leg and puts her heeled foot onto your shoulder. “Since you’re already so filthy,” she says, “it’ll make no difference if you’re even filthier.”

You stare at her pink, slick folds and your mouth waters. “Tilt your head back. Look me in the eyes,” she says. You do as you’re told and you meet her gaze. She watches you, her lips parted and her eyes dark with lust.

You gasp when warm liquid hits your chest. You feel her piss slowly wet your shirt and your bra and drip down your stomach into your underwear. She keeps eye contact the entire time. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she says. “Filthy girl.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you whimper, cheeks red, chest heaving.

“Nasty, dirty girl,” she says, her voice deep and thick with lust. “I bet your pussy is all wet, hm?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you breathe out. She looks like a goddess, looking down upon you. Your mind feels fuzzy and you feel as light as a feather. You’d do anything she asked of you right now. You just want to serve her.

She removes her foot from your shoulder, and you barely notice that the heel dug into your flesh — you only feel a sort of a euphoria.

“Stay on the floor and touch yourself. You can come.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you say and immediately slip your hand into your soaked underwear.

“Sit down, ass on the floor.”

You do as she tells you and sit down in the puddle of piss. Your trousers immediately soak through on your ass, but you don’t care.

She looks down on you as you start rubbing your clit. “Look at you. Nasty girl. You like sitting in your own filth, hm?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, rubbing your clit faster.

“No wonder you need me to guide you. You can’t do anything yourself except rub your pussy like a bitch in heat.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you whine. You’re already getting close. “Ah, Mistress, you’re so good to me.”

“I’m too good to you. Nasty girls such as yourself only deserve a firm hand.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. You slip your fingers inside of your dripping cunt and start pumping your them in and out — but your trousers are in the way, and you quickly unzip them and pull them down your thighs along with your underwear, and you’re now sitting bare in a pool of piss. You spread your legs as far as you can as you continue to fuck yourself, hitting your clit with your palm every time you pump your fingers into your aching pussy.

“Look at you — so desperate. I don’t even have to touch you for you to fall apart. Such a dirty fucking slut.”

“Ah — yes, yes, Mistress,” you whine. You’re so close.

“Look me in the eyes when you come. I want you to know who you belong to — every orgasm you have is mine, do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Mistress, ah—” you breathe out as your eyes meet her icy blue ones.

“Come for me,” she says, her voice cold and stern and uncompromising as she watches you, her gaze baring your soul. You are unable to hide from her — she is witnessing you at your lowest, in a puddle of piss rutting against your hand like an animal, and yet she never averts her gaze. She disarms you, renders you unable to do anything other than obey. You belong to her.

And you love it.

You keep eye contact as your orgasm washes over you, fast and hard and intense. For you, for you, it’s for you, you think as ecstasy overwhelms you and the only thing you’re aware of are her blue eyes, watching you, judging you and absolving you at the same time. You keep fucking yourself through the aftershocks, mumbling, “I’m yours, Mistress, it’s for you,” as you slowly come down from your high, unsure if anything you say is intelligible.

She is silent — she waits for you to come to your senses.

A wave of shame hits you as soon as the orgasmic euphoria is gone. Tears pool in your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You want to hide your face in your hands or your shirt, but you’re covered in piss and it disgusts you. “I’m disgusting,” you cry, tears blurring your vision. You can’t look her in the eye.

“You aren’t,” she says as she takes off her gloves, and you want to believe her, but you can’t.

You cry and you cry, and she helps you clean up. You shower together, and she wordlessly holds you while you cry, and then helps you put on clean spare clothes that you keep at her place for occasions such as this one. You cry some more, and she caresses your hair and lets you cling to her.

She isn’t a very gentle woman — you learned that quickly — but there is something about her presence that comforts you. You feel safe around her. She says few words, but they are picked carefully — and she won’t argue with the mean voices in your head. She says what she means exactly once.

“I’m glad you trusted me with this,” she says as she bids you goodbye at the door. You say nothing — you just hug her. She tenses up, not expecting it, but then she relaxes and hugs you tighter. She smells like citrus shower gel, and you know you do too. You look forward to lying in your bed tonight smelling like her.

“See you next week, Jane,” you murmur into her chest. She pulls back and kisses your forehead — a rare show of affection.

“Take care,” she says.

As you walk back home, you feel pleasantly light.

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @opheliauniverse @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @zephyr-is-tired @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @alexusonfire @larissaoftarthweems @a-queen-and-her-throne @bikergurl5 @salems-spaghettios @theflashesoflove @catechristiesstuff @vendocrap8008 @billiedeansbitch @coffeemelko @lilfartbox1 @softshrimpy @amateurwritescm @daydream-cement @kaymariesworld

#kink!week #7 days of kink #jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it #gwendoline christie

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weemssapphic · 11 months

Text

I desire. And I crave.

part three

Jane Murdstone x fem!reader

series page

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

words: ~4.3k, ao3 link

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Jane,” you breathe out. “Yes.”

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

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

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

“Edward is arranging travel for us for Saturday.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Words, girl,” Jane growls threateningly.

“Yes, mistress,” you breathe out.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I can be a good girl for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #i desire. and i crave.#i desire. and i crave. series #the personal history of david copperfield (2019)

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rippersz · 9 months

Text

𝔈𝔵𝔭𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢

・—・—・—・—・—・

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

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

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

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

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

Cured.

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

But he never kept you living.

And he never kept you wishing.

And he never kept you dreaming.

And he certainly never kept you loving.

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

But his sister did.

Oh his sister did.

She did - over and over and over again.

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

Hanging on to her every word. Her every breath.

Ms. Jane Murdstone.

Your executioner. Your greatest secret.

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

Your love.

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

Though perhaps that was your penchant for dramatics talking.

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

And you loved her.

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t want to lose her.

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

The moon stayed silent, watching you shiver.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“………….I just wish she’d notice me…….”

But it was silly to want that.

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

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

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

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

Sometimes, you cried to her too.

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

Sometimes, you hummed.

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

Sometimes, you even read.

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

‘I desire; And I crave.’

‘You set me on fire.’

‘Eros; Giver of pain…’

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

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

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

‘…You burn me…’

The moon beamed brightest when you read from the heart.

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

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

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

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

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

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

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

Jane Murdstone was a proud woman.

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

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

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

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

And she did wish.

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

Everyone… except for her and Jane.

Everyone… except for the moon and stars.

….

But a supernova? Truly?

Jane felt hot red hatred fill her veins.

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

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

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

And thus, she never found the culprit.

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

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

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

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

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

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

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

Oh.

“Florence.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, My Lady.”

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

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

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

Jane’s ears perked up.

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

Jane wasn’t focusing.

11 words.

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

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

That’s why she was vaguely recognizable.

The little gossip was her own handmaid.

“My Lady?”

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

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

Bang!

Your heart split in two.

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

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

“You.”

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

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

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

And you also knew that she knew. She knew.

“H-how-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did you get this?”

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

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

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

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

“…..Did you finish it?”

“Pard-pardon?”

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

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

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

But not for long.

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

You watched pink lips part.

“…Who do you gossip to?”

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

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

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

“Then why?”

You blinked.

“Why?”

Silly girl. Never make her repeat herself.

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

“Why?”

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

“I- I-”

“Tell me.”

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

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

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

And own it, she did.

Own it, she would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘To Janey,

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

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

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

・—・—・—・—・—・

#fanfictionwriter #rippersz #fanfiction #fanfic #wlw fanfic #gwendoline christie #x reader fic #x reader #jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #jane murdstone gwendoline christie #x y/n #jane murdstone x y/n #jane murdstone x you

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unmeisenpai · 1 month

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Can someone tell me why she has to look at the camera like that 😍😍 like ser please take me

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milfsloverblog · 9 months

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Green-Eyed Monster (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x fem!reader

A/N: This is a request that I got a long while ago, something about Jane and some drama/smut. I apologise to whoever sent the request, I can’t find it in my inbox anymore. I started writing this fic so long ago, all the wips in my notes cheered when I typed in the last word. As always, Jane is the reddest redflag. Enjoy!<3

AO3 link in title

You loved Alice, you loved the way she always found a way to make you laugh. When she joined the staff at the Murdstone mansion, you immediately knew you two would be good friends.

Oh yes, you loved Alice. But not like you loved your Lady. Not like you loved Jane.

Loving Jane was like sitting in the sun after a long day of hard work. It warmed your heart and soul, making you feel incredibly alive.

Jane, on the other hand, had thought of a thousand ways to get rid of Alice. Going from simply firing her and making sure she’d never find work again all the way to wrapping her strong hands around the maid’s frail neck and squeezing until it snapped.

She would never, of course. But she was thinking about it. The thought of Alice being overly friendly and so close to you made it really hard for Jane to work through her feelings of homicidal rage.

It wasn’t fair. It was not fair that this silly little thing was allowed to spend her days by your side, making you laugh at her idiotic jokes while Jane could only spend a couple of hours with you late at night when the whole household was already asleep.

“She is being overly friendly to you, and I do not like it.” Jane groaned as you pulled the pins out of her hair.

“There is nothing more than friendship between Alice and me, Jane, you know that.” You reassured your lover, placing a soft kiss on her freckled shoulder.

“To you, perhaps! I see the way she is always trying to touch you, squeezing your shoulder as she walks by or holding onto your arm when she delivers one of her idiotic jokes. Has she never been told that we must not touch what is not ours?” The tall woman huffed, getting more agitated by the second. That silly little maid gave her murderous thoughts.

“I don’t think Alice sees me as anything more than a good friend, and even if she does…I’m yours.” You whispered, brushing your fingers through Jane’s raven locks and gently massaging her scalp.

Jane’s shoulders visibly relaxed and you pushed a soft smile, locking eyes with your lover in the mirror.

“I’m afraid I can not stay with you tonight, Jane. Mister Murdstone has asked me to be up at sunrise to run some errands, and I could use the sleep.” You gave the tall woman an apologetic smile, feeling her shoulders tense once more. You would have loved to spend the night with Jane but you barely got any sleep when you did, the two of you usually too busy making love to each other.

“Right.” She spat out, her lips pressed in a thin line. “Go back to the servant’s quarter, I bet you are craving to get back to your Alice.”

“Jane,” You tutted. “You are being rude, my love. There is nothing I want more than to spend the night in your arms, but I can’t. Not tonight.”

Jane huffed loudly, crossing her arms against her chest and refusing to look at you.

“Fine, sulk if you want.” You kissed the top of the woman’s head and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Sleep well, Jane.” You said, taking a last look at her reflection in the mirror before leaving the bedroom.

But Jane didn’t sleep well. She barely slept at all, her mind filled with thoughts of Alice’s hands on your body. It was unbearable, so much so that Jane came up with a plan. She needed that stupid girl to understand that you were hers, and she would make sure of it.

You had not expected Mister Murdstone’s errands to be taking so long to run. You had been gone from the house since sunrise and only came back around tea time, letting a sigh of relief out as you placed the heavy baskets you were carrying down. Food, clothing, newspapers, it was as if Edward Murdstone had decided that everything that could be fetched from town needed to be fetched that day.

You had barely stepped into the servant’s quarter when two hands wrapped around your waist and spun you around.

“I thought you would never be back! Thought you had run away for good!” Alice’s lips spread in a wide smile, making you laugh.

“Sure, and to go where, mm?” You shook your head. “Those errands he makes us run, they get worse every single time.”

“I know. I think he enjoys exhausting us as much as he possibly can.” Alice nodded. “Oh, Miss Murdstone has asked for me to take care of her tonight.”

Your body froze for a second and you had to take a deep breath before acting unfazed. You were about to ask for more details when a bell rang in the quarter, signalling that the Lady of the house was ready for her afternoon tea.

“Let me take care of it.” You pushed a smile and disappeared into the kitchen, quickly putting the kettle on.

A few minutes later you stepped into the study where Jane was sitting with her embroidery.

“My Lady,” You nodded, placing the tray on the table right next to her.

The tall woman barely acknowledged you as she placed her embroidery on the side and poured herself a cup of tea.

“I was made aware that you requested Alice to assist you tonight. Is my presence no longer required, my Lady?”

Jane’s eyes snapped to your face and you hoped she understood the hidden meaning behind your words. Do you not love me anymore?

“Were you made aware that your presence was no longer required?” The woman asked, her eyes slightly narrowing.

“No, my Lady.”

“Good. You shall be in my bedroom at seven sharp, as usual.” She said before taking a sip of tea and shooing you out of the room.

You knocked on the bedroom door at seven sharp, pushing it open and making your way inside only to find that Alice was already there.

“Good. Well, now that everyone is here…Sit.” Jane told Alice, pointing at the chair in the corner of the room. “Can’t you follow a simple order?! Sit!” She hissed when the maid didn’t obey fast enough.

Alice quickly walked to the chair and sat down, eyes wide in fear of what would happen to her next.

You stood still in the middle of the room as Jane circled you, feeling like a prey being hunted and played with by a predator.

“You see, Alice, you have gotten awfully close to something that belongs to me.” Jane said as she came to a stop behind you. You felt her tug at the knot on your apron before she took it off, letting it fall to the ground.

Alice watched in horror as Jane’s hands traveled to your front, groping your breasts through your dress before she moved to unbutton it.

“Did you know our little lady’s maid here loves to forgo underwear?” Jane smirked, watching Alice’s cheeks turn crimson as she opened your unbuttoned shirt to reveal your bare breasts. “Would you like to know how I know that?” The woman asked, placing an open-mouthed kiss on your neck. “I told her to.” She grinned and peeled your shirt from your body, letting in join your apron on the floor.

Alice tried hard not to let her eyes roam on your bare flesh, but she was unable to stop herself which only fuelled Jane’s anger.

“I told you she was interested in more than friendship.” Jane hissed in your ear, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin and your nipples to harden.

“M-Miss Murdstone-“ Alice said barely audibly. “I don’t think I should be here.”

“Quiet!” Jane barked. “Don’t you dare move from that chair or I will have you fired by tomorrow morning.”

“Jane…” You sighed and felt the woman’s fingers grab a handful of your hair before giving it a harsh tug, tilting your head so you’d look at her.

“Oh no,” She smirked. “Tonight you will address me either as Miss Murdstone or my Lady.”

She wouldn’t play nice tonight, then.

“Yes, my Lady.” You whispered, your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

Jane almost considered indulging you, she almost pressed a kiss to your lips but quickly changed her mind. This wasn’t about your or her pleasure, it was about teaching Alice a good lesson.

“Take your skirt off.” Jane ordered, letting her hands roam on your stomach for a second before pulling away. “I doubt you are wearing anything underneath it but if you are, take those off as well.”

A deep blush crept up your chest as you pulled your skirt down and stepped out of it, revealing that you were, in fact, not wearing anything underneath it. A low chuckle came from Jane’s throat and you waited, eyes closed, for the next order when you felt her lips on your shoulder and hands on your waist, her short fingernails digging into your flesh.

“Spread your legs.” She hummed near your ear and you obeyed without a second thought, your body shuddering when one of her hands snaked from your waist to your bush, resting there for a few seconds before she finally pushed two of her fingers between your folds.

“Well, well,” Jane tutted, pulling her fingers away from you and lifting them to show off the wetness that glistened on them. “Do you like having an audience?” She smirked, her eyes locking with Alice’s as she pushed her digits into her mouth and licked them clean.

The heat coursing through your body felt unbearable, a mix of both shame and arousal that made you feel dizzy.

“Yes, my Lady.” You admitted, whining when Jane’s fingers found their way back between your legs.

“You see, Alice,” Jane looked at the girl on the chair. “This one might act like a prude around you, but she is a filthy whore.” She chuckled lowly, her other hand moving to grab one of your breasts.

Jane expertly flicked her thumb on your nipple before giving it a sharp tweak, making you cry out as your sopping wet cunt clenched around nothing.

“Careful, we wouldn’t want the whole household to know you let your Lady have you.”

Jane didn’t let you answer, choosing instead to slip her fingers deep inside you and relishing in the guttural moan that tore itself from your mouth. She let her fingers commence their skillful ballet, pulling them out of you almost entirely only to push them back in up to the hilt.

It didn’t take long for you to turn into a mess, grinding down on Jane’s fingers as she crooked them to press against the soft, spongy spot that sent lighting shooting up your spine.

Your sinful moans mixing with the wet sounds coming from between your legs only spurred Jane on, her blue eyes fixed on the maid sitting in the corner of the room with her mouth wide open.

“Why don’t you tell your little friend who you belong to, mm?” Jane’s voice echoed in your mind.

“You! Y-yours, I’m yours!” You cried out. “All yours, my Lady!”

“Mine.” Jane snarled looking at Alice, hoping the message was clear.

Her free hand joined the busy one between your legs to circle your clit as she relentlessly pounded into you and could hear yourself begging from a distance - please, please, I can not hold back anymore. It felt like an eternity before Jane finally allowed you to cum, your cunt instantly clenching around her fingers as you were pushed over the edge.

The tall woman kept pumping in and out of you for a moment until she decided that you had had enough and pulled her fingers out, giving your core a harsh slap. You fell to your knees, your body still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm, and struggled to catch your breath.

Eventually, you turned around and looked up at Jane who was now standing tall in front of you. You grabbed a handful of her black dress to steady yourself and buried your face into the soft fabric.

“Thank you, Miss Murdstone.” You managed to say with your shaky voice, making the tall woman smirk proudly.

Jane pulled away from you, snatching her dress from your hands before walking towards Alice who was still transfixed by the whole scene. She roughly grabbed the maid’s face with one hand, forcing the girl to look up at her.

“Don’t you dare say a word about what happened here tonight.” She snarled. “No one would believe you. Now get out!”

Alice didn’t have to be told twice. The young woman was on her feet in a second and scurried out of the room as quickly as she could.

“Did you have to be so harsh?” You croaked as you slowly got back on your feet, watching Jane closing the bedroom door that Alice had left open.

“Which other choice did I have?” Jane said, pressing a soft kiss on your lips before moving to sit down at her dressing table. “She needed to be taught a lesson. You are mine, and she mustn’t mess with another woman’s belongings.”

“Yes, my Lady,” You chuckled softly as you started taking the pins off Jane’s hair. “I’m yours.”

You weren’t really surprised the next day when entering the servant’s quarters, you heard one of the maids gossiping with the butler about how Alice had been fired by Mister Murdstone at sunrise.

It did pinch your heart a little to know you had lost a friend, but Jane was right, Alice had to learn the lesson. One mustn’t mess with another woman’s belongings, certainly not Jane Murdstone’s.

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tag list: @weemssapphic @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @readingtheentrails @catechristiesstuff @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant

#gwendoline christie #jane murdstone x reader #jane murdstone #no beta we die like larissa #jane is a red flag but we’re colourblind #jealous women *sigh*#larissa weems x reader

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daydream-cement · 9 months

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Love in Paris (NSFW)

Jane Murdstone x Reader

Author’s Note: When you had this written for days but just didn’t post it. Thank you to @alexusonfire for the beta!

Jane listened to the soft lull of the piano that ascended through the windows of the hotel lobby and up to where she curled up on a little chair on the balcony. She had never remembered this song being so lovely. There were no words to this tune, only the soff rise and fall of notes that made Jane feel like she was falling in love all over again.

——

You had just arrived in Paris with Jane. a trip sold to your father as one to battle the hysteria brought on by winter. You two, however, hadn’t made it farther than the hotel room.

“How is Paris treating you?” Jane whispered to you. Your foreheads touching and breaths mingling softly as you snuggled together in bed.

It was true that you could barely keep your hands off one another, but your kissing never surpassed the sensation of bodies pressed together in bed while hands softly wandered through hair and across backs. Jane had been fully surprised that she was able to wait so long, but this romantic love was unlike anything she had ever experienced and she was looking to savor every drop.

“So far, so good… Although I haven’t seen much outside these four walls.” You answered honestly, nothing in your voice contained the desire to get up out of bed and leave the embrace of the ravenette. Your hands pressed to Jane’s back, holding her close.

“We have all the time in the world.” Jane breathed before pushing her lips to yours.

The ravenette always had taken part in sexual encounters with women since her youth, but since she began dating you, your sex life had been nonexistent as you opted for more innocent forms of physical intimacy. You had been working together for nearly four years and three of those years, Jane considered you to be her best friend. You were the person whom she shared everything with and now Jane was interested in sharing in the next progression of physical affection.

Like clockwork, as soon as you began kissing, you rolled over, bringing the ravenette to rest on top of you as you continued to make out. Your hands stroked up and down Jane’s sides, fingers tentatively sliding low to the base of the ravenette’s corset.

Instead of restraining herself from bucking her hips against your middle, Jane softly began to grind on you. The ravenette’s skirts began to roll up her hips as the movement began. Jane took the next step to further the interaction by taking your hands from her waist and placing them high on her thighs. “I want you, darling… I want this…”

With a soft growl, you sat up with Jane still in your arms. You had been content with the pacing of your relationship, but the push from Jane lit a spark deep within you. Never had you wanted someone like you wanted Jane.

As Jane straddled your lap, your saliva mingled with slow, needy kisses. Her arms once wrapped around your neck now retracted themselves to begin undoing the laces of her corset. At the movement, you pulled from the ravenette so you could watch the events unfurl before you.

With skill, the corset was loosened and shed within a few seconds and Jane couldn’t help but blush when she felt your heavy gaze on her bare chest. You only stared as your hands gently squeezed at Jane’s thighs. For a pregnant moment, there was no movement, only making Jane feel self conscious. Her fears were quickly dismissed when you spoke, your voice cracking as you did, “Y-ou are so…”

“You can… touch them…” Jane choked out. Her face felt like it was on fire, your face matching as it was a soft pink from your own nervousness. Seeing you blushing made the ravenette feel a tad bit better.

Your hands rose carefully, enveloping Jane’s breasts. You seemed in awe of the ravenette’s body, almost as if it felt that you were touching a priceless artifact. With a surge of bravery, you gave the ravenette’s breasts a soft squeeze, smiling to yourself at how much pleasure you derived from touching Jane.

“Maybe try… using your mouth…” Jane urged, a hand circling to the back of your neck and giving a slight tug to guide your mouth to her chest.

You didn’t need to be told twice. With a duck of your head, your mouth latched itself to Jane’s breast. You began nibbling and tasting at the ravenette’s flesh, the faint taste of Jane’s perfume gracing your tongue.

Jane felt herself immediately dampen as you moaned against her skin, one nipple millimeters from your mouth as your hand palmed the other breast. “You’re so perfect. God, how are you so perfect?”

“I- I love you.”

You paused all movements and looked up at Jane, eyes soft at the notion Jane could be in love with you. Your lips were planted back on the ravenette’s in an instant, your hands holding Jane’s face in place as you kissed her over and over again.

“I love you, Janey. More than I ever thought I could love another.”

With the omission now in the open, the intimacy only seemed to intensify. Simple kisses now included battling tongues and your once gentle squeezing now rougher and desperate. Jane’s skirt was now rolled around her waist, and you had taken the opportunity to slip your hands into her underwear and grope Jane’s ass.

When Jane moaned at the increasing roughness, she pulled away from their kisses only to realize you were extremely overdressed.

“May I?” Jane asked with pouty eyes, her hands slipping around you to work at your corset.

You weren't too happy with having to relinquish your grip on Jane’s ass, but you did so in order to allow the ravenette to undress you. Piece by piece, Jane removed fabric from your torso, tossing your corset to the floor and peeled down the loose fabric that once covered your chest. When your muscled chest was revealed to Jane, she whimpered as she awestruck by your beauty.

“You- Oh, sweeting...” The ravenette’s hands wandered to feel your breasts, fingers tweaking at your nipples. She took the time to pay attention to both nipples, sucking each in her mouth and moaning as her tongue swirled the sweet bud. Her mouth pulled away with a pop, her pupils blown with a desire she could no longer contain, “Touch me? Please?”

You didn’t verbally reply, but instead you nodded once, choking back nerves and the feeling of lack of experience. Jane must have sensed your nerves as she pulled at your right wrist, grasped at your thumb, and guided your hand to the front of her underwear.

She even went so far as to guide you verbally in exactly what she wanted - you followed every direction as your heart pounded wildly. “Put your hand in my panties baby… Yes, okay… Can you feel how wet I am for you? Do you feel how wet you made me? I’m always drenched after you kiss me… Slip your fingers a little further in… Oh, god, yes. A little higher... Mhmm… Yes. Rub right there. Oh, sweeting… Rub my clit, baby.”

With her arms thrown around your neck and her face buried in the crook of your neck, Jane’s hips began bucking against your hand in her underwear. Her moans and demands became distorted as she became lost in the sensation. “Play with- Oh, darling. Yes. Yes, you are doing so good. Now… Try… Try going a little lower… I want you to- Oh, dear. I want you to put those fingers inside me…”

Jane raised her hips off your lap, giving you greater access in positioning your fingers into Jane’s dripping hole. As the first digit slipped in, Jane dropped her head to your shoulder, overjoyed with how much she loved having you touch her

This wasn’t the exact sensation Jane was looking for from you… She needed more.

“Another… Please, darling. Add another finger.”

Your forehead had come to rest on Jane’s sternum, your face narrowed as you focused on Jane’s moans, directions, and nonverbal cues. You wedged another finger into Jane’s cunt, earning a guttural groan from the ravenette.

Jane began rocking against your hand, effectively fucking herself and growing more desperate at the same time. “Oh sweeting.. You… Oh my god. darling. Yes, keep going.”

You became lost in it all. It was unlike something you had ever experienced to be so wanted and yearned for. You adored the feeling of Jane’s wetness around your fingers - so much so that you allowed your thumb to wander through Jane’s slick just to play with her clit again. “You are so wet. You- You are so beautiful… I love you. I love you…”

The ravenette’s hands found your cheeks and pulled you into another kiss, only this one was filled with mingling moans and breathy cries. The intensity of your love was almost too much for Jane to handle.

Jane was so disappointed with how she couldn’t hold out any longer. The mingling of the two sensations was beyond what the ravenette’s brain could handle. “I’m sorry- I can’t. Oh, darling- I’m gonna-” In a sudden wave of climax, Jane’s hand gripped the back of your neck and she slammed her hips down on your hand, hoping it would prevent you from teasing and overwhelming her any further.

“Janey…” You mumbled at the suddenness and violent nature of Jane’s orgasm.

Jane’s breathing was heavy, but after a few minutes, she caught it and was able to finally form a coherent thought. “Can I touch you? Can I do the same to you?”

“I- Uh, yes. Please.” You weren't looking to admit your inexperience quite yet, especially when Jane’s orgasm came so naturally. The throbbing between your legs told you that you needed to feel Jane’s delicate fingers against your clit.

“Lay back for me…”

You did as you were told and laid back on the bed, chewing at the inside of your lip as you did so.

With a slight giggle, Jane wobbled to her feet, standing on the bed to remove her underwear and skirts. Her words were absentminded and genuine as she settled on the bed between your legs, “I’ve never been so in love with someone before… You make me so happy…” The ravenette’s fingers began gathering your skirts, pushing them higher and higher until she needed your help, “Come, darling. Lift those hips for me…”

There was a slight hesitation from you which only made Jane sit back on her knees and cock her head. “You are so very beautiful… I would love to touch you, but if that will make you uncomfortable, there is no pressure to do so… Do you want me to touch you?”

You nodded quickly, “God, yes…”

Curling her fingers around the fabric of your skirts once more, Jane gave a push. Her words seeking to rile you up as she bunched the fabric around your waist. “Have I made you wet? God, I can’t wait to feel you against my fingers. What if I tasted you with my tongue? Would you like that?”

“Fuck…”

When the rare curse left your mouth, Jane proceeded with confidence. She settled her body between your thighs. Jane gently rubbed her hands over your thighs and spoke softly, needing your say-so before she proceeded any further. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” You groaned, hips pressing down into the mattress in anticipation. When Jane didn’t touch you right away, you offered a clearer form of consent, “Yes, touch me…”

While Jane knew she should have aired on the side of caution through light touching, she couldn’t help it when she lowered her tongue to your cunt. She used her fingers to spread your pussy open while her tongue probed deeper, sliding around your clit to draw a moan from you.

You hadn’t expected to fall apart and sound as vulnerable as you did. Your whimpers and moans filled the hotel room as Jane seemed to know exactly how to lick and suck. Fists gripping the sheets above your head, you attempted to dispel the strange feeling of the coil tightening in your center.

Jane’s upper arm strength was no match for your bucking hips. Each time Jane tried to keep you down on the bed, you bucked her hips into Jane’s mouth anyway, feeling an insatiable need for more.

Worked up from Jane’s orgasm and now Jane’s sweet tongue, you knew you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Jane ended up driving you over the edge by a final suck at your clit. The ravenette was sure she was in heaven when she felt your thighs clamp down around her head and a flood of wetness over her chin.

Jane gave your cunt a final long lick and pulled away to crawl back up your body with a dazed smile. You were quick to capture Jane in your arms and roll them over so you were laying half on top of the elegant ravenette. Not only had you experienced sexual pleasure from another for the first time, but you knew you were wholly loved by Jane as well.

“Mmm, you are so wonderful… You did a marvelous job…” Jane hummed as she raked her fingers through your long hair and began pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead. “When I think about how much I love you, it makes me feel out of breath… or maybe it’s you laying on me.”

“Mmmsorry…” You mumbled sleepily, shifting slightly off Jane, but still remaining on her enough to smother her with love.

“And some say you are such an innocent little thing. Only if they knew what I did…”

You only chuckled in response. From anyone else, you wouldn’t appreciate the description, but the way Jane said it gave you a deep satisfaction.

——

The ravenette had snuck away from your bed to listen to the music. You had spent an afternoon in bed, exploring one another’s bodies and sharing all the moments over the years that filled you both with love for the other.

Jane’s body was covered in a blanket, her face turned into its fabric as it smelled faintly of you. The ravenette was almost in disbelief that this relationship could be this fulfilling for her.

The sound of the balcony door opening drew Jane from her daydreams of her future with you.

“Enjoying the music, darling?” You hummed as you lowered your lips to Jane’s neck.

“Mmmhmm, but I was just thinking about how much I missed you.” Jane smirked, her hands reaching up for you in hopes you would come snuggle with her. “Care to join me, sweeting?”

“Happy to…” You smiled sweetly as you circled Jane’s chair and placed yourself in her lap, her arms drawing you against her chest. Together you could enjoy the music and beautiful views wrapped in one another’s warm embrace.

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#jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #gwendoline christie #gwen christie #The Personal History of David Copperfield #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #jane murdstone smut #smut

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weemsfreak · 4 months

Text

Midnight Miracle

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟMerry Christmas/Happy Holidays to those who celebrate! I wish you all a midnight miracle this season :) ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Jane Murdstone x Named fReader

A short Christmas story with our favorite victorian red flag ~2k words

Warnings: Talk of religion and the Anglican church (not in detail)

Wrapped in your ebony cape, you shielded yourself from the biting winter breeze that sent shivers down your spine. Usually the cold didn't bother you, but the wind was extra frigid tonight.

This Christmas Eve, the gaslit streets were adorned with an extra twinkle, buildings and shops aglow with an abundance of candles and festive decorations.

You weren't avoiding spending Christmas Eve with your family; rather, you sought a way to keep yourself occupied, and organizing your books provided a diversion.

The care of your books in your quaint store was where you spent your days. You assumed no one would venture to your store at this hour, dinner time on Christmas eve, still, you left the door unlocked. Amidst the aromatic embrace of cinnamon and pine, you immersed yourself in the quiet world of rearranging décor and organizing shelves, the dim light casting a serene ambiance.

Yet, your thoughts were consumed by a mysterious presence, a certain someone lingered in your mind despite the attempted distraction.

You couldn't stop yourself from wondering about her, you never could. Does she share your passion for books? Does she delight in the written word, perhaps poetry or prose? If so, what about? Does she spend her time writing like you?

You wondered what she could be occupied with now. You envisioned her partaking in a familial feast, while you longed for her presence, a wishful dream in the quiet corners of your mind. Your heart carried the weight of unspoken admiration for her, alas, you couldn't bring yourself to say a word to her, her cold yet enchanting demeanour both unsettled and exhilarated you.

You knew her through shared pews and hallowed hymns at the church, you observed her movements as she entered, sat, listened, prayed, sang - captivated by her every blink and breath.

She was a dark enchantress, her aesthetic seamlessly entwined with yours. Curiosity stirred as you wondered about the facets of her life that mirrored your own and the untold tales hidden behind her mysterious gaze. Perhaps she liked books, perhaps she lacked a husband, perhaps she preferred the company of women.

But alas, such thoughts remained in the realm of wishful thinking, your desires weaving through the fabric of a Christmas Eve both magical and elusive.

✧✧✧

You recollected the first time you saw her. Freshly settled in Blunderstone, you decided to venture to the Anglican church. Running late, you had no choice but to occupy a seat in the back. You leaned awkwardly to the side, nearly falling into the pews edge in an attempt to see the presider.

To your astonishment, a far superior sight unfolded—a raven-haired woman draped in black.

In the midst of prayer and hymns, you found your gaze drawn to her graceful figure, an enigmatic figure. Her dark curls were nestled beneath an even darker bonnet, adorned with silk ribbon. Instantly enchanting, her alabaster skin and, as you later discovered, azure eyes captivated your being. Despite the allure of her elegant stride and the way the corner of her mouth would occasionally turn up into a small smile, you dared not approach the subject of your admiration.

Yet, you dared to indulge in stolen glances, each soft gaze kindling a warmth within your heart.

Sundays held newfound anticipation for you, a shift from previous motives of seeking solace in the congregation.

However, on a recent Sunday, you were left devoid of joy and motivation when she failed to grace you with her presence.

✧✧✧

The ticking of the clock echoed in the shop, and before you knew it, the hands pointed to nearly 11 pm. A sense of joy and fluttering anticipation filled your stomach as thoughts of the impending midnight mass danced in your mind. The magic of Christmas enveloped the church, casting a spell that you could feel.

Heading to the back of your store, you stole a glance out the window, greeted by a gentle snowfall that blanketed the world.

You began extinguishing the candles one by one when the bell on the door rang, breaking the stillness and signalling an unexpected visitor.

You froze, who could be seeking books at this hour?

Slowly peaking through the shelves, it was far too dark to see. Creeping closer, you heard the soft shuffle of someone exploring the books.

You peered around the shelf and there she stood- the woman of your dreams, adorned in a black talma.

A gasp escaped your lips, prompting a swift retreat to the safety of the opposite shelf.

Memories of a previous encounter flooded your mind. Before one Sunday service began, you had ventured out early to pray. You stopped dead with trembling hands when you caught her kneeling with a grace that matched the intricately stained-glass windows. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on her profile, enhancing the allure that captivated you and lived in your imagination.

As she navigated the shadows of the books, you swooned, waiting with bated breath. Why had she chosen your shop? Shouldn't she be with her family, joining the congregation? Then again, you should have been with your own.

"Hello? Are you open for business?"

Her voice, a demanding melody, reverberated in the void of your shop. Your heartbeat quickened, torn between fleeing and standing your ground. This was your shop; you had to summon your strength.

Carefully, you stepped out from behind the bookshelf and surveyed the dark. When your eyes met hers, the unspoken connection between you became a silent dance, a tapestry woven with stolen glances and the shared sanctity of the church pews. You noticed the lack of warmth in her eyes and the metaphorical wall that she had up changed when she saw you. Your heart swelled with agony of unexpressed emotions and the delicate joy derived from the mere proximity of her ethereal presence. In a way, you mourned the unspoken connection, for there was no other option but to abandon it.

"Hi, I-I am open. How can I assist you?" you squeaked, attempting to mask any uncertainty or fear. The woman looked down at you, tilting her head in surprise.

"Amelia? This is your bookstore?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but your words eluded you. She spoke with less arrogance and gentler than you had known previous, but even more, she knew your name?

Of course, you were well aware of who she was, she and her brother were somewhat known in this town as the Murdstones—or, as some whispered, the Murderstones.

Perhaps she could be cruel, perhaps she was deceiving, yet she exuded a sickly sweetness, a captivating beauty in your eyes.

"Well I, yes I do" you nodded.

Jane stood tall, her eyebrows raising. You watched as a smile stretched across her face, and you couldn't help but think that this was the first time you saw her smile, a real smile; it was glorious.

"I must express my relief. I had no doubt that I would be greeted from behind the literature by a man." Jane released a small huff of laughter, and you suppressed a giggle.

"No, it's solely me" you replied with a smile.

Jane continued her exploration of the works, her long, slender fingers delicately wrapping around the spine of each one, caressing them lightly. You were entranced as she moved, perhaps she was a lover of literature after all.

Suddenly, Jane turned to you, furrowing her brows.

"Why are you open at this late hour?"

It was a valid question, why were you open at this hour? Well, for her, of course. But you pondered the same about her—why was she out so late?

"I sought fresh air after dinner, and I found myself here. I've been here for several hours" you chuckled, shrugging in embarrassment.

Jane smiled once more, averting her gaze and running her hand over the cover of a book.

"I'd love to spend several hours in a bookstore."

Silence enveloped you as she opened the book and flipped through its pages. Caught up in the enchantment of her presence, you failed to notice the book title, as your attention was wholly absorbed by the proximity of her features. She stood closer than ever before, her lips twitching as she silently mouthed the words her azure eyes scanned. The soft glow from the festive decorations cast a warm hue upon her, accentuating the grace of her features.

Jane's gaze shifted from the book to you, pulling you shamefully out of your trance.

"Do you plan to attend midnight mass?"

You nodded your head yes. "And you?"

Jane closed the book, cradling it against her chest.;

"Indeed. May I purchase this work?"

As Jane placed the book on the counter, revealing the cover and title, you paused. Running your hand over the leather, memories flooded back, reminiscent of the first time you read it. Unpopular, not for the story's shortcomings, but for its rather...unique allure—it was your favorite.

"Is this title familiar to you?" you questioned.

Jane shook her head, "I have not perused it, no."

You collected her payment and passed the book to her, long fingers grazing against yours. "Thank you."

You smiled and bowed your head, "Thank you for your purchase."

Jane's teeth shone through her smile, and genuine amusement sparkled in her eyes.

"Would you care to accompany me to the midnight mass?" she unexpectedly proposed, catching you off guard.

You blinked with surprise, was she serious?

Jane heard no reply, but she didn't budge, and you hopefully determined that she was.

✧✧✧

You and Jane embarked on a walk down the snow-covered cobblestone streets. You thought about the birth of Christ, the miracle of the season. You thought about the Anglican church and worship, you thought about Jane.

Your eyes sought out Jane's, the only eyes that captivated you, and you realized how lucky you were, for she was your sole companion in this moment. Her gaze met yours, a subtle recognition sparking between you. Jane fluttered her lashes, holding the book against her body with both hands. As you walked side by side, the snowflakes seemed to dance around you, and you longed to hold her gloved hand in yours.

As the midnight hour approached, the distant sounds of Christmas carols reached your ears. The Anglican church awaited, its doors open to those seeking solace and celebration. Together, you and Jane entered the sacred space, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the ancient walls.

As you knelt in prayer, Jane's presence beside you added an unexpected grace to the sacred ritual, it embraced you. The air was charged with a sense of belonging, a connection that transcended the unspoken desires of wishful thinking.

✧✧✧

After the mass concluded, the two of you stepped out into the crisp night air, the world adorned in a fresh blanket of snow. Jane's gaze met yours under the glow of the moon, and a shared understanding lingered between you. The magic of Christmas had intricately woven a fabric of connection, and the possibility of your souls uniting felt more real than ever.

"This selection is commendable. It happens to be my favorite," you whispered, the words carrying a warmth that defied the winter chill.

Jane's eyes gleamed with a quiet delight, and a genuine smile played on her lips. The church bells chimed, marking the arrival of Christmas Day.

"Perhaps you'd like to take another stroll?" Jane asked, her voice soft against the stillness of the night.

As you and Jane navigated the mysteries of the night, she took a chance and let go of the book with one hand, carefully reaching out for yours.

In that moment, as the world held its breath in anticipation, you realized that the enchantment of the season had not only brought you a magical Christmas Eve, but also the mysterious beauty of Jane Murdstone. It was a midnight miracle.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #the personal history of david copperfield #merry christmas #edward murdstone #victorian lesbians #victorian era

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