Beneath our Disguises (Mature)

Enstoned Hearts (Gargoyle x Reader)- Part 2

(Gargoyle x Reader)

The dress was much more difficult to take off than it was to put on. But that could have something to do with how badly your fingers were trembling. Mr. Locke wanted you to accompany Johnathon on his next "adventure", whatever that entailed you were not going. It was not in your job description when you were hired and you refused to join this side quest that would end up probably getting you killed.

You weren't stupid, it was why you went to university, you were a well-educated and refined woman that would not take another fucking moment of this. You were there to teach the boy and make enough to continue your own research and return to fucking Oxford. You were not taking some trip with a man known for literal murder.

You shove the corset down, breathing hard as you lean against the bed, fists curled. You were being rash, he could not out right kill you and clearly you were actually needed for something not just meat to be roasted over a fire or sacrificed at a hint of danger. But what the hell did they need you for? Your German? Another language skill, a woman's touch? You scoff at that idea, more than likely it was something with your education and not your feminine charms that you had been repeatedly told were non existent. 

You struggle with the ties of the stupid skirt, finally shoving the red thing down your waist and around your feet before stepping out of it and shoving away those stupid pointed shoes. You couldn't be in this room right now, the polished simple wood and bed frame were just too much in the cramped space, everything was just too tight. You couldn't seem to breathe properly.

Wrapping your house robe over your underclothes and shoving your feet back into the pointed shoes you tie it tightly and grab hold of your latest novel, the outdoor lanterns would have been lit already and you knew as always the perfect place to clear your head. 

Slipping out the door as silently as you can, you look up and down the hall before turning left. Your shoes weren't as stealthy as you could have wished for but on tip toes all the same you slip between shadows to avoid notice of other servants that lived there. Most took rooms in the servant house on another part of the estate, only a few key rooms such as the governess, head housekeeper, butler, and head cook, in addition there was a night nurse for Spencer but she usually slept closer to his room just in case something were to come up.

Holding the book tightly to your chest you finally reach the door at the end held together with an un-bolted latch and handle. You pull it open, flinching as it creaked on the unused hinges. You weren't technically doing anything wrong but you didn't want awkward questions asked either. You couldn't exactly say that your comfort place was sitting next to a stone gargoyle explaining all your problems like it could understand and respond to you.

Once the door was opened just enough you slip out, pulling it closed solidly behind you. You hoped no one would lock it because you didn't have the confidence to knock on the front door in the middle of the night and face Mrs. Sharpe's disapproving glare, yet again.

Picking your steps carefully through the slightly muddied garden pathway towards the front of the house, you don't see the small red butt of a cigarette or the person leaning against the side of the building. 

"Ms. (Y/n)?"

You nearly leap out of your skin at the voice, jumping back and letting your short heel sink into a pile of muck. "Mr. . . Mr. Locke, what are you doing out here?" You ask, holding the untucked edges of your robe a little tighter and becoming aware of your indecency.

It was difficult to see, but you thought he had a small smirk and a raised eyebrow as he lifts the cigarette towards you as if it were obvious. "How about you? Difficult to believe a lady like yourself would come out here for a smoke." John was even more ominous without day or candle light, he looked gaunt and foreboding with the red bud dangling from his fingers.