I found this hiding in my old drafts (ugh, why did I not I finish it??? 😩) and thought somebody might enjoy it. Just a short little cheeky something.
Not really appropriate for minors, so you fuckers stay away.
Word count: 848
Content: domestic life, smut, James being a bit rough, Lyra liking it 😌
#YESICALLEDTHECHARACTERLYRA
#Iwasprobablyovulating #fangirlcringe
GIF credit: @harrydasouza
She saw him parading up the front path, composed brutality in his strides and anger whipping his coat-tails.
She scoffed and smiled to herself, hands in the sink, busy scrubbing a pot.
The front door slammed. Her hands left the hot water and she wiped them on her apron.
Gruffing and huffing was heard from the hallway as his coat came off, dropped in a heavy heap. His hat was thrown somewhere across the floor and she heard him wrestle his boots off, one by one with loud, impatient thuds.
Familiar steps approached the kitchen.
Her smirk only grew as she poured him a brandy.
“Lyra!” he boomed.
She turned and held out the glass just as he stepped through the door.
“James.”
He stopped abruptly, heaving a breath high in his chest and frowning at the glass in her hand.
A nodding grunt, then he took it.
Lyra smiled and leaned back against the kitchen counter, hands tucked lazily in the pockets of her apron. For a moment she simply watched him breathe. The beastlike rise and fall of his chest. The anger steaming off his powerful shoulders.
James sipped his brandy in silence. Stared out the window.
When he spoke, he held the drink with a lethal squint, forefinger raised off the glass, pointed towards the docks, the tanning factory and the incompetent people he had no use for.
“Know this,” he warned, as if his enemies were right outside the window looking back at him. “That when you say one thing and you doo, another…” He nodded slowly for emphasis. “There will be consequences.”
“Oh certainly, my love,” she agreed with a smile that said whoever angered him would know his wrath in good time, but perhaps for now he should sit down.
He rolled his head slowly to look at her, eyes still narrowed like nothing could cure his foul mood.
“At least I always do what I’m told,” she added, well aware of what he’d make of it.
James grunted, suddenly drawn to her mouth, distracted by it.
He flexed his fingers around the glass and nibbled his moustache hard enough for the bristles to scratch his lower lip.
Restless eyes scanned the wispy strands around her temples, drifted back to her perky cupid's bow and the way her mouth tugged to the side. He noticed the sheen of hard work down her neck, gathering between her breasts.
“You do… You always do…” he mused in a low murmur, nodding to himself.
He looked at Lyra as if he admired her, or possibly questioned if her words could be trusted. As if he needed to squeeze the truth out of her, one way or another.
A swig of brandy. Eyes on her mouth again.
Oh but he trusted her, for she was his wife.
He trusted her eyes and ears and heart and cunt. He trusted her filthy mouth and the way she screamed his name when he fucked her.
James knocked back his drink, sucked air through his teeth and shook his head to rid himself of burning alcohol and those useless factory workers.
With a slam he placed the thick glass on the kitchen table.
“Sit.” he ordered with a flick of his chin, rolling up his shirtsleeves.
Lyra pulled out a chair and sat down, all calm and deliberate, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap.
James pinched his nose with a grotty snivel then reached for his belt buckle, eyes on Lyra’s dainty hands as he tugged on the leather and let the ends dangle freely at his sides.
Next second he lunged at her, dragging her chair across the floor towards him, stiff legs scraping and struggling over the wooden floorboards.
The chair fell into position and Lyra made a startled noise that rippled into laughter, which James immediately silenced with a violent clasp around her jaw.
Like a curious, wicked snake, he moved in and hovered over her, rumbling at the sight of her lips and cheeks all squished and pouting up at him.
His grip smelled like leather, horse and sharp smoke from the tanning factory.
She wanted to lick his dirty skin.
With his free hand James began to undo the buttons of his trousers, searching her face for signs of fear or lust or that endless fucking patience that could drive him mad.
Lyra just blinked, breathing slow and steady through her nose.
“Spread your legs,” he said and she obediently uncrossed her thighs. “Wider.”
James glanced down between them with a pleased hum, then shoved a hand down his trousers and lifted his cock out.
“Skirts up.”
Lyra kept her eyes on his as she slid her hands up her thighs, bringing the fabric of her dress and apron all the way up her lap. James leaned out slightly to get a better view, forcing back a groan as he gave himself a squeeze and a first few strokes.
She watched him suck his lower lip, then he grit his teeth and the grip on her jaw tightened.
Summary: Sister Agnes Hill wasn't always who she claimed to be. There was a time when she was Inés Serra, a Spanish girl that went to London with her father and brother when the patriarch lost everything he had. It was there that she also met James Delaney. "Stay away from him" her father warned her. And she should have listened to the man.
Series warnings: Everything that Taboo is, including incest. || Religious theme. || Dark themes, like murder. || My oc is a nun. || Unrequited love, for now at least. || Angst. || Not fluff at all in this series.
Words: 2.8k.
Author's note: The name Inés Serra is the Spanish version of Agnes Hill. They mean the same. All my ocs are named after flowers and there's one called "st Agnes" || I wrote some dialogues in Spanish but their translation is next every line.
1795-1803.
Inés Serra arrived at London with her father Fernando and Felipe, her eldest brother from the coast of Cantabria, Spain. Specifically, the city of Santander after the patriarch lost absolutely everything making business with a Portuguese man who stole from him. But it was legal and Fernando Serra couldn't do anything about it. He put his signature not knowing the consequences of it.
Fernando Serra was a traveller merchant sailing through the seas where he met Horace Delaney. It couldn't be said that both men became friends, but they had a mutual respect for the other and a relationship based on trust. Something that it wasn't usual those days. Not in times of constant wars, at least. Both men, collected several enemies but the other weren't one of them. Widower and without places to go, Fernando sold his last possessions and bought three tickets to England, hoping that Horace Delaney could help him. Maybe his children could have a future in the Capital city. Perhaps his daughter could marry a rich man, even that could help. But Inés was still a little girl and was only 8 years old. Felipe Serra, his son, probably could work for Delaney trade company as well, he was 13 years old was old enough to work.
Horace Delaney received them and same as Fernando. Their respective children were more or less the same age. Delaney was weird man, but Fernando couldn't complain about it. He never asked him anything and Fernando didn't bother him at all, except for the times that they talked about job. Felipe, few years older than James, preferred to work at his father's side instead of focusing on his studies. On the other hand, Inés was admitted in a school for girls.
For the next seven years, Inés studied in London where she learnt the local language along with Latin and French as it was usual. She learnt history and art. They taught her how to sew and to paint. And they taught her to respect the King and God like they were the same person.
But when Inés was 14 years old tragedy knocked on the Serra's door. Working on the docks, Felipe cut his hand with an old knife. It didn't seem to be that serious at first. It bleed but they put bandages on his hand and the young boy could keep working. But few days later he got fever and couldn't move from his bed. In less than two weeks, a terrible infection affected his whole body and Felipe, only 19 years old, died a summer night. His body was buried in the cemetery in a funeral that only his father, sister and Mr. Delaney assisted.
Inés left school a year later to stay with his father that never seemed to recover from his Felipe's death.
It was there that she started to pay attention to Delaney's son.
James was a young boy that never seemed to talk too much, but he was well educated and courteous. As far as Inés knew, he was always polite to her and her father. It wasn't until Inés started to live with Fernando that she really got to know James. The past years, he was just the firstborn of her father's boss: the heir of their fortune.
And there was also Zilpha, his half sister. Inés loved her poor brother, he was a good boy and always protected her but the relationship between the Delaney siblings, in her eyes, was totally devotion the one with the other. Zilpha was the same age as her but they studied in totally different places. Her social status allowed her to go to a better school so Inés didn't know her at all. And to be honest, the Delaney girl didn't seem to be interested in being friends with her at all.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Inés said once to James when she found him in the city. She started to work as governess for a rich family not long after she left school. She was still young but her education was enough to do an acceptable work teaching and taking care of those kids.
"It is, Ms. Serra," he said, smiling.
Inés confirmed that moment, that she was falling in love with James the instant his blue eyes met hers. Even when he was an impossible dream. The few last weeks, she had spent her free hours looking at him through the distance.
"Aléjate de James Delaney," her father said once he caught her looking at him. "Su madre murió en un asilo. Rumores dicen que alucinaba y era un peligro para los demás y ella misma. Y Horace no está cuerdo del todo tampoco. Si ambos padres están enfermos, sus hijos también". (Stay away from James Delaney. His mother ended in an asylum. Rumours says that she was hallucinating and was a danger to the rest and herself. And Horace isn't completely sane. If both parents are insane, so are their children.)"
Inés nodded.
"Vas a encontrar un buen hombre algun día." (One day you'll find a good man)
And yet despite the warnings, Inés couldn't stop looking at him.
Inés probably could never forget the day that everything changed. It was an afternoon that seemed to be night because a heavy thunderstorm. She was returning home after work when she saw them even when at first she thought it was her imagination, but it wasn't. There, under a tree and believing there were no one, James and his sister were kissing. They were kissing in ways that the church and also society forbade.
Maybe she was young, just 15, but she was old enough to know that everything about that absolutely wrong. The closeness between the siblings was darker than she, innocently thought at first. Inés ran inside her bedroom and thanked the rain that disguised her tears.
Her father was right: the Delaneys were sick.
Inés, that usually found an excuse to talk to James now started to avoid him completely and that didn't go unnoticed by him.
"Are you going to work?" he asked days later. "I have my horse, if you want to."
"I'm fine. Thanks, I prefer to walk this morning."
"Is everything alright?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, Mr. Delaney I've to go."
James looked at her, walking fast and disappearing from his view as soon as she turned the corner.
Inés thought about telling her father what she saw, but she was afraid of the consequences that the revelation could cause inside the family and Fernando Serra still depended on Delaney generosity to keep working. So she said nothing, but the girl started to resent Zilpha. Her money, her education, her last dress and her relationship with James. World wasn't fair and it wasn't Zilpha's fault that she couldn't afford those dresses or the professors she had, but the envy started to grow inside her like a cancer. But it was especially because of James. Maybe it wasn't Zilpha's fault that she was poorer, but it was that she had James' attention. Because it was wrong, it was forbidden and Inés was sure both siblings knew that. In top of all the things Ms. Delaney had and Inés didn't, the other girl also had the love of the only person that Inés felt she could give her heart.
.
Maybe his sister didn't notice anything because Zilpha never really paid attention to Inés, but James did notice the way the teenage girl who used to greeted him every time they saw each other, suddenly didn't do it anymore. And it was clear now that she was avoiding him. If James' suspicious were right, then it was better to him to talk to her. His life, after all, was going downhill no matter what. His insubordination against the East Indian Company could cost him his head and his love for his sister already condemned him to hell, and he was barely 16 years old.
He wrote a letter to her asking Inés to find him at the port. There were always people there and none were going to pay attention to two young friends talking.
The wisest thing to do was not going there. It'd have been clever if she'd have listened to the voice in her head, but she didn't. First, because she was just 15 years old and then, because she was madly in love with the boy who sent her the letter asking her to meet him.
James saw her coming, she was wearing a blue dress and a hat with a veil covering part of her face. James was sure that boys did pay attention to her because she was pretty and her Spanish accent help her to be more captivating. Sadly, for him, the only thing he noticed looking at her was that she wasn't Zilpha.
"Am I late? I couldn't leave in time the house where I work because one of the kids is sick. Poor boy, but I guess he'll be fine soon."
"No, you're just in time, don't worry."
"I'm glad then. What do you want? Your letter said it was urgent, but you didn't say anything else."
"Mmh. Yes. Inés, I know that you know. I know you saw us- my sister and I. I don't know exactly what did you see, but I know you're avoiding me because of that."
Inés stared at him for a moment before looking down, playing with her gloves.
"Under the tree. A thunderstorm months ago, you and her were kissing."
James sighed. Yes, he remembered now. It was Zilpha's idea and he accepted because he didn't know how to say no to her.
"Inés-"
"No. Don't. I know enough to know that it's bad and I don't want to be involved in that. I don't want explanations… Mierda- fuck." Inés felt her eyes filling with tears and hated herself. "Te amo," she finally said to him.
She shouldn't have said that, but if she didn't say it, the envy, the hate she felt towards Zilpha it was going to be the end of her. Tomorrow morning she was going to ask her father to send her to Ireland, or maybe back to Spain to start a new life far away from James and his sister because the only thing that Inés was getting of all that was corrupting her heart.
"You don't love me," James said. "Give your love to a good man, because you're a good woman, Inés. I don't deserve it."
"Don't tell me what do I deserve or what I don't. And I do love you, so bad I love you. My father is waiting for me, James. I have to make dinner for him."
She hated her weakness in that moment. She hated her voice trembling and her tears running down her face.
The boy that James was back then, wasn't the cold man that he was destined to be and even when probably he was just motivated by pity and a bit of compassion, he kissed her. Inés felt his hand first on her waist and then him bringing her closer to him. She let him guide her. Inés felt she was dreaming, because she dreamt about it but even there it wasn't that good as it was now. Her hands were caressing the back of his neck, as James pushed even closer to him.
She loved him, so it happened that she offered him her virginity when the kisses weren't enough and James took it. It was behind a cantina, while she was sitting on a barrel. Probably, Inés thought, Zilpha was even privileged enough to be in his bed and never where they were now. Not where probably people passing by, and ignoring them, just believe she was a cheap whore. Another one of the dozens that were there.
At least he didn't hurt her and it was as gentle as he could. She hid her head on his neck when both of them climaxed. They kissed again, slower this time.
"Te amo," she repeated. But he didn't answer back, just tucked her hair behind her ear.
James pulled up his pants and helped her to get off the barrel.
"Goodbye, James." Tears were burning her eyes, but the girl didn't gave him the chance to do nor say anything because ran away from there.
Her father wasn't there when she arrived to the house and Inés was grateful for that. She cook something for him and left a note saying she didn't feel good and didn't want to eat.
Alone in her bedroom, the girl hugged a pillow to muffling her sobs, while she remember what happened.
She couldn't bear to see him next to his sister. Or watching her clinging to him, while she whispered something to him. Inés couldn't bear the idea of them pretending to be siblings during the day when they were lovers during night.
James sought her the following days but not avail. He wanted to apologize but didn't know how. Even when he didn't force her to do anything, the barrel, the cantina felt so bad to him. She was a good person, she didn't deserve what he did.
But destiny was ready to play its cards and the apologies should wait ten years, if the man he was about to be was still willing to apologize to her.
Ten years later: 1813.
Inés Serra was dead as her brother was and also her father. Fernando Serra died seven years ago probably because his liver failed after drinking just rum for over a decade. But Inés died two years before him and in her place was now Agnes Hill.
Sister Agnes, specifically, the one who worked in st. Bartholomew hospital, helping people and near the American man surnamed Dumbarton.
She didn't trust him but the hospital did and she was there just to follow orders. So far, the doctor besides being a weird man who loved chemicals never bothered her or the other sisters ever. Yet, everything about him didn't like her.
Agnes started her day as always. Her little and modest bedroom faced the streets and the morning workers always woke her up. She prayed before having her breakfast and after cleaning her space, went like always to the hospital.
"Thanks, sister," a man in wheelchair said to her, after she helped him to sit there and wheeled him outside to enjoy the sun.
Agnes heard the voice of sister Clarice, telling a man "just follow the smell." She saw his back and hat but not his face. She didn't care, probably another one looking for Dumbarton.
Agnes forgot completely about the unknown man, the American and even Sister Clarice, because she was talking to her patient. He was a funny grandpa always talking about his son and granddaughters and he made her laugh, but it was getting cold and he should return inside.
It was when she was heading to another wing, when Agnes saw the man wearing the top hat and she felt her heart stop. Ten years passed, she knew that. She even could say how many days passed since he left.
James Keziah Delaney is dead. She heard the rumours about his death one time she left the monastery to visit her father. James Delaney died in the sea.
Or he was alive, or he was the devil visiting her.
James' eyes caught a nun staring at him and for a moment he didn't pay attention to her until he looked at her again.
It was her. Clearly older, but it was her.
James turned to walk towards the nun but she wasn't there anymore. James looked around but didn't see her. He was busy, he couldn't stay there for a person who escaped from him once again. Through a peephole of one of the many doors that the hospital had, she saw him walk away.
And Agnes knew that even when Inés was dead, the feelings she believed dead as well, were still there. Burning her like the infernal flames around the Devil.
