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notjustjavierpena · 7 months ago

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Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter I

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here it is. I have been working hard on this chapter for you, plotting out the little details that will hopefully connect beautifully with the coming chapters. I hope you like my take on Marcus Acacius, and I hope you will be patient and follow along ❤️💖 I hope you enjoy the effort I’ve put into making this somewhat historically accurate!

Chapter Summary: In which you meet your future husband, get a warning from an old friend and explore pleasure on your own - all the while tension grows in Rome.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, reference to marital SA but no actual SA, religion in the form of Roman Gods, talk about virginity, intense kissing, f!masturbation involving shame and guilt.

Word count: 7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/146141770

Chapter I: In these tumultuous times

You step through the atrium with a pulse that might break your ribs, too nervous to enjoy the marvel of the glorious marble construction that envelops you in near gold-speckled white. Neither can you fascinate yourself in the grandeur of the peristyle garden that you eventually find yourself in, green and luscious with well-tended plants that have no other purpose other than being beautiful - much like you.

The afternoon sun will come soon, casting a shadow over the rose bushes and the fountains which slow trickles of water are supposed to bring you peace but somehow just makes you dread this meeting even more. Any girl back home would deem the location romantic from the blooming red flowers but you feel no affection for the man you are to greet in less than an hour. Even if your mother claims that you eventually will.

You thank the Gods that your mother isn’t here with you, knowing that you would have had to suffer through hearing her complain about Sol moving just a bit too far across the sky in his golden chariot to let your gown shine the way it is supposed to. She has already spent several hours doing your hair since dawn, decorating each strand with violets from the grass patch close to the river that runs through your village. Symbolizing modesty and faithfulness, she had said.

It’s not like you are here alone though. Instead of being here with your mother, you are here with your father; a senator who, despite his well-earned respect in the confusing web of Roman politics, still finds ways to satisfy his greed for more power. In this case, it is giving away his daughter to General Marcus Acacius.

“This is good for us,” your father had said during your silent crying as he talked about your new life with importance, “It will secure our family's position in these tumultuous times.”

Times are indeed tumultuous and they are changing right before your eyes in the form of angry shouts in the streets, rotting fruit and vegetables at the town square market, and fewer outings amongst commoners. Rome, once a beacon of hope and stability, now teeters on the edge of a type of chaos that not even the previous emperor Commodus could imagine putting his empire through. The co-emperors’ insanity, greed, and vanity drain the empire’s coffers as they engage in petty conflicts that lead to war left and right. As a result, the population is left impoverished, the youngest of men are dying in battle and the women cry for their families all the while the very top - your family included - luxuriates in growing wealth. Such is war, your father has stressed.

“General Acacius is a man of influence,” your father had continued, his voice laced with conviction that you did not understand, “His alliance will protect us from the whims of those who oppose the emperors and their righteous campaigns.”

General Acacius is a man of great renown, co-emperors Geta and Caracella’s right-hand man, and with a sea of stories about his admirable exploits on the battlefield. Your father has somehow made the political move of his life by settling this deal, promising the great warrior a wife of exceptional beauty who he can do with as he pleases. Women never have a say in these things, so you simply smiled during dinners where your future was discussed in the same manner as when a farmer plans the sale of one of his cattle, listing the animal’s qualities like he would say them later to the buyer.

Whenever he finally let you in on the conversation, he would give you a stern smile and emphasize the importance of this arrangement because of the honor and security it would bring to your family to have such a man as your ally. However, where your father wanted you to think about your future husband’s victories, all you do think about is the fact that your future husband is a man in his fifties and you have barely surpassed your twentieth Summer in the mortal realm.

When the minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, you find a bench made of stone in the shade. You dust off your dress, tuck it close to your thighs, and sit down to steady your nervous breathing. The sun has made you unsteady, having beaten down on you - contrary to your mother’s worries - despite it being the last burning rays of the afternoon. You blame it on your overactive mind, the racing thoughts having gone straight to your heart and made your blood flow hot through you.

You lay a hand against your forehead, fighting off a sob as the nerves finally get the better of you. There’s no way you can ever see your reflection in the cold river again, smell the hyacinths that brush your ankles as you walk through them, or hear the laughter of children in the building next door unless the giggles are those of your own little ones.

You have been groomed for this, trained by your eager mother to be the perfect wife to a man you have never met. Your mother’s meticulous preparation is meant to ensure that you make a flawless first impression and are a suitable wife, but right now it does little to calm you because you know that this arrangement’s ultimate goal is for you to bear children that will be even more powerful than you and the General’s respective families.

Barely an adult and never been kissed, forced to be intimate by the General’s command that will surely come. You know well enough that there’s more to it than that, Cassius, a boy from the market, once having revealed in great detail what goes on between a man and his wife or even just a man and a woman. The future wedding night feels like an impending disaster, embarrassing for you with the way your mother has also dragged you aside to tell you horror stories of men taking what they want from their wives with little regard for their pain.

You gasp as a twig snaps close by, pulling you out of your trance to assess the situation. In front of you, you see him. General Marcus Acacius is standing no less than ten feet from you, his armor, a white plate body adorned with the design of two golden griffins, gleaming in the sunlight. He stands tall and imposing, his presence radiating with authority but when you spot him, his eyes make him seem incapable of the horrors that people attribute to married men. His hair, streaked with gray, frames a face marked by the years and experiences of a seasoned soldier. His eyes, sharp and assessing, bore into you as he waits for you to move.

You stare up at him for a second only to be seized by panic as you remember the routine you had been forced to practice with your mother. Quickly, you rise from your seat, dust off your dress, and lower your gaze respectfully.

“General Acacius, forgive me,” you say without finding his gaze.

You hear your name on his lips, surprised to hear that his voice is firm yet not unkind. It’s hard to suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine, a tingling sensation at the small of your back as he speaks because you know what he will be doing to your body soon, “I’m pleased to finally meet you.”

You nod, letting out the rehearsed lines expertly, “The honor is mine and mine alone, General.”

“Look at me, my child,” you hear him command softly, getting a glimpse of what led him to become the man of power and grace that he is today because you follow through without thinking. You only imagine what he must be able to accomplish when his voice is rough and demanding. However, his eyes are softer still, a striking contrast to his profession where he has to consider each of his steps with deliberate and measured precision.

Marcus steps closer. You automatically take a step back, afraid that he might try and touch you already against your will. Nobody would know if he ravished you right here. He presses his mouth together in a thin line but he still somehow doesn’t look angry, instead just looks like he is analyzing the situation that he is in.

“Your father thought it best that I introduced myself without him or the servants’ eyes watching. I was surprised at his immediate confidence in me to be alone with his youngest daughter,” he says while you hug yourself to soothe your aching chest, holding on tightly as you beg someone to help you escape. He examines you long enough for you to believe he won’t strike to take what he might want. You feel guilty for thinking that he might have, knowing that it’s not the actions of an honorable leader.

“You are much younger than I expected,” he admits after a moment, a hint of weariness in his tone.

A tear slides down your stinging cheeks but you quickly brush it away and regain your composure enough to not start sobbing. The embarrassment of your single teardrop is evident on your face as warmth creeps up through the intricate twists and bends of your bloodstream, a dull pounding sounding in your ears.

“And you are a great man,” you reply in the most steady voice you can muster, “I hope to be a worthy wife to you.”

Marcus smiles, a small but genuine expression while he ignores your obvious distress. After all, this is not a matter in which women have a say. He sounds ever so confident in you, encouraging even, in a way you guess is to soothe your impending tears, “You will do well, I am sure.”

When you do not respond, he tries again. You must look like a scared little girl, desperately in need of being approached like a frightened animal and your heartbeat certainly imitates the one of a rabbit.

“I see you wear flowers in your hair,” he notes, finding the least threatening subject to discuss.

“Yes?” You furrow your brow, arms already falling down your sides. You link your fingers together in front of you.

“I made sure to have the gardener do extra work on each of the flowers in case you were interested in flora and fauna,” he elaborates, “Does the garden please you, Carissima?”

Carissima. The Latin word for dearest. He seems to be trying it out, collecting information from how you react to it, and making a move based on it. Your brows knit even further together but you use the opportunity to seem less scared and more relaxed after hearing it.

“It’s very beautiful, General. I shall be very fond of it in the future,” you say genuinely because, despite your ignorance of its charm right now, a rational part of you knows that it is gorgeous and enchanting. You will come to love it wholeheartedly.

“The birds that land in the trees here sing you awake in the early hours of the day,” he continues and mirrors you by also softening a little, looking around with a surprising fondness toward the gentle coos of the doves sitting on the rooftops, “If you are very lucky, you might hear a nightingale amongst the doves’ coos.”

“Nightingales are common back home,” you tell him with longing in your heart, closing your eyes for the briefest second but being able to see your backyard so clearly in that fleeting moment. Marcus senses it, shifting a bit on the spot with a concerned expression so you force a smile to let him know there’s no reason to worry about getting a sorrowful wife. You will cry tonight but you will be ready when he needs you to.

“So you know their song well,” he answers thoughtfully, “Good. I’m glad. It will remind you of home in these new surroundings. Will you let me show you the rest of the garden? Perhaps we can get to know each other a little before the weekend’s ceremony.”

He holds out his arm for you and you hesitate for just a moment before taking it, swallowing thickly at the feeling of how strong he is. His muscles flex gently underneath his bare skin, nicely soft wrapped around the muscles of his bicep when you expect everything about him to be rough and worn out by years of service to the empire. His smell envelops you, near-dizzying to you because you’ve never been in such close proximity to a man before and you don’t think you can imagine being any closer than this even though you have to soon. To think that you were nervous about him stepping close just minutes ago and now he is touching you and it feels… fine, not scary at all.

As he walks beside you, you can see the lines on his forehead when he speaks in concentration. He still looks good for his age, you find yourself thinking, blessed by the deities Venus and Apollo for his well-aged beauty and the golden radiance of his skin that reminds you of the sun. You notice his nose now that you see his profile, it curving in the way of Jupiter’s and making you swallow thickly at the power his mere appearance gives him.

Some things speak to the young girl in you too; his beard has patches, one formed in a heart shape that you would tell the girls in your village back home about if you could. To this, they would giggle delightedly like they were still the age of getting tutored.

Then there are his brown eyes, deep as the darkest of amber you have collected on the shorelines in your youth. They shine with sincerity, more than once filling yours with their honey glow as you walk together. You begin to see beyond the fearsome reputation and the sternness that he first approached you with. He speaks of the flowers surrounding you with surprising tenderness, admitting to the jasmine being his favorite, and of how he had the garden designed to remind him of his childhood home in the countryside.

You think that your responses seem trivial compared to the anecdotes that he is able to share but he seems to enjoy hearing tales about your childhood home. He nods in understanding and adds the words of someone well-reflected even if he is known for brutality when at war. You let down your guard, “We must have more in common than I initially thought, Gene—“

“Marcus,” he corrects when you come to a stop, “You may call me Marcus when we are alone.”

“Marcus,” you repeat. You look down briefly as warmth settles in your cheeks, your heartbeat speeding up in your chest because you realize he has led you to a small, secluded area of the grand peristyle garden. The sun is lower now, casting a warm, golden hue over the marble fountain before you. It is small yet majestic in its simplicity, surrounded by vines of ivy and jasmine. It seems to be his favorite spot on all of his owned property.

“What are we doing here? Are we supposed to be this hidden from everyone else?” Your grip loosens on his arm.

“Never mind that, Carissima…”

There’s that name again.

“Look, I know this isn’t the Trevi Fountain of Rome but I thought we could wish for Fortuna to bring us good luck and happiness together,” he reaches for his belt where a pouch hangs in a string that pulls it closed. He digs his thumb and index finger into it and digs out a coin, its front decorated with an engraved picture of a peacock’s feather; a symbol of Juno, the Goddess of marriage and childbirth.

He holds the coin between his fingers, the sunlight catching its glimmering surface, and offers it to you with a gentle expression that’s not quite a smile in case it might scare you off. You take it, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your palm. This is your future husband and he is trying, doing everything in his power not to unsettle you but invite you to give yourself to him in the next coming days.

The coin is mostly cool against your skin but still holds the tiniest amount of warmth from Marcus’ fingers, its edges smooth and worn from years of handling.

“This is a tradition,” Marcus explains, his voice carrying reverence, “We make a wish and toss the coin into the fountain. It is said that Fortuna, the Goddess of luck, grants blessings to those who seek her favor.”

You nod. This moment feels intimate, a quiet ritual shared between the two of you amidst the grandeur of the garden yet still hidden away from everyone else. This is a ritual of lovers, of people whose fates are closely entwined. You look at Marcus, meeting his warm brown eyes, and find reassurance in his steady gaze and slow secure breaths. You find it shameful that you believed him to be violent with you, that he would do anything with anger because he is, you realize, the type of man who doesn’t have to take anything by force when it comes to women. In that moment, it makes total sense to follow his wishes, but even more, it makes sense to wed him and go to bed with him.

“What should I wish for?” You ask softly.

Marcus dares a smile, “Whatever your heart desires. A wish for happiness, perhaps. Or for our future together to be filled with understanding and respect. Perhaps, in our own way, companionship and love.”

Together, you approach the edge of the fountain and you lean over it to gaze at the many glinting coins on the bottom. A violet falls from your hair and lands on the surface of the water, floating effortlessly with such strong symbolism that your stomach does a flip.

Marcus steps closer behind you and you turn to face him, the rim of the marble fountain digging into the back of your thighs until you nearly fall backward in an embarrassingly young fashion. Marcus takes you by the wrist to steady you but the touch doesn’t last long since you’re supposed to throw the coin over your shoulder.

With a flick of your wrist, you send the coin into the water behind you. The only thing you feel is the coldness on your skin where Marcus’ fingers were a moment ago, the slight breeze cooling down his leftover body heat quickly.

The coin hits the water with a splash. You swallow your nervousness to say something for the first time that isn’t the answer to a question from him, “May Fortuna smile upon us.”

“May she indeed,” Marcus agrees, pleased. He motions to a bench close by, “Shall we sit for a moment? Your feet must be tired.”

You agree, and he helps you to sit. Your hands touching sends a spike of energy through you before you are disappointed by him taking a seat beside you but maintaining a respectful distance. He takes his sword out of its place in his belt and rests it against the bench, getting comfortable with you.

“Marcus,” you say his name before you even realize what you want to ask of him.

“Yes?” He waits patiently for you to continue, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

When your request comes to mind, you are struck by the fear of ridicule but you shove it down in favor of letting yourself have this.

“I know this is most unusual to ask of you, but would you give me a kiss?” The second you have said it, panic makes you babble in his presence, “I know my duties as a wife, my mother has told me plenty, but I cannot bear the idea of the first show of affection between us to be in our chambers and with… with more to come.”

If you are not to burst into tears at the festivities after your union or even worse, when he takes you to bed, you need to get this out of the way. You only hope to be successful in your attempt, knowing it is not customary to follow through on such an ask. It hangs in the air for a moment, the garden seeming to hold its breath along with you. It all comes down to your future husband’s view of modesty.

Marcus watches you carefully with an expression that is a mixture of surprise and contemplation. He looks like he might say no at first, afraid that someone from his staff might spot you and start a rumor that deems you unworthy of this arrangement. It might be the sincerity and vulnerability in your request that convinces him and lets him take the risk.

“Very well, I understand your concern,” he nods with determination.

He shifts closer on the stone bench, his movements slow as if trying to put you at ease, as if approaching a deer in the forest and not wanting it to run. You can feel the warmth of his body next to yours as your thighs nearly touch, the scent of his skin filling your senses. It is leather, sandalwood… and something that is his own distinctive smell. Your heart races, your skin prickles underneath your gown, and heat spreads across your thighs.

It feels like you only blink for a second but when you open your eyes again, Marcus is closer, his face inches from yours. You can feel his uneven breaths mix with yours,

“Are you ready?” He asks in a whisper, his breath warm against your face and his eyes roaming over your features in case you want to stop.

Your voice has died in your throat, so you simply nod your head. Marcus swallows thickly while you are lost in the fact that you can count his eyelashes right now. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours with care and apprehension that takes you by surprise. The kiss is soft and restrained as if he is giving you the chance to pull away if you want to.

But you don’t. Instead, you lean into the kiss when you’ve gotten used to the scratch of his beard, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders and moving inwards towards his neck, sliding under the collar of his cape. His lips are warm and you feel a shiver run down your spine at a sort of contact you have never felt before. You wonder what he thinks of you, if your passion even in your inexperience is worth his time to broaden your horizon… but any doubt vanishes as the kiss deepens slightly, Marcus’ hand coming up from where it rests on the stone to lay on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A tiny noise leaves you and something stirs in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the strength in his arm as he has it wrapped around you but there is no force or demand in his touch. Instead, there is a sense of him handing control over to you.

An instinct tells you to get even closer, straddle him, do something, anything even if you are not sure what. One of your hands falls down to Marcus’ chest plate, his uneven breath evident in how it pushes against your palm like raging waves. Your hand travels further down until the tips of your fingers brush his belt.

It is only then that the General reacts, pulling back firmly but without hurting you. He creates some distance between you by pushing you gently away by the shoulders. The both of you are breathless. He shakes his head, “Carissima. That was not part of the deal.”

You are embarrassed by your actions, not sure if Cupid is playing tricks on you by blowing to the fires of forbidden desire that you were not even aware burned in your lower belly. Your body hums but you are mortified, “S-sorry, my legatus. I don’t know what came over me.”

You go back to general. It feels appropriate to use his proper title now. You have brought shame on yourself, might as well have let him take your maidenhead right here on the stone-cold bench and the worst part is that you are not sure if the fire in your loins would have fogged your brain enough to not stop him from doing it.

“Please, do not apologize,” he says to reassure, holding up a hand to stop you from protesting, “There is nothing wrong with what you feel. It is natural. But I want to honor my promise to your father, no matter the impulses that you give me. You are as beautiful as Venus herself. I shall enjoy our time together very much when it comes.”

“Thank you,” you say with a still trembling voice. The lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow.

“Now. Shall we continue our walk?” He suggests while getting up from his seat, his tone light as if to ease the tension. He offers you a gentle smile as he ties his sword to his belt again then reaches to take your hand.

You get up with a simple nod. He acts like nothing for the rest of the day.

—

You return home by carriage after dinner at Marcus’ estate. After a day with such complex emotions being explored, with how your new life seems less and less like a dream, and with how the sun hangs so low in the sky, you have already started to feel tiredness taking over your body.

You excuse yourself to your room not long after you return to the comfortable familiarity of your home, brattishly avoiding conversation with your mother about how everything went when she starts asking a million questions.

“I thought you might like to talk,” she says after you have gotten up from your seat in the living room, a few paces behind you as you make your way down the halls.

“Mother, I just want some rest,” you stress, bare feet patting across the floor. You hold your skirt up to walk faster, nearing your destination but not wanting to slam the door in her face, “I do not wish to talk about anything with anyone. Ask Father. I bet he’ll be eager.”

“Dearest,” she tries, “Don’t be cruel.”

“Please,” you beg as you turn around in the doorway, “It was fine. I’ll be fine, it’s just a huge transition from this life.”

“That’s why I wanted to—“

“No,” you say more firmly than intended but your overwhelmed state leaves you with little patience. You hope she understands, know that she might because her marriage to your father started the very same way, “I promise we can talk in the morning but I really need some time for myself right now.”

Your mother looks slightly hurt like she is watching her child slip through her fingers during her last night at home. You swallow thickly but hold your ground.

“Very well,” she says finally, eyes closing briefly to breathe through her nose. She forces a small smile and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Get some rest. We can talk tomorrow with this conversation forgotten.”

You offer the very same smile in return, then close the door behind you with a relieved sigh. You cross the room to the window, pushing open the shudders to overlook the buzzing garden.

Carefully, you start detangling the flowers from your hair and laying them on the window sill. A few of them are taken by the wind, some landing on the ground while others delicately fly through the air. You watch them until a gasp leaves you, two eyes belonging to a man staring at you from across the garden but you don’t feel frightened.

You sigh with annoyance as he steps out of the bushes and closer to the window, picking up one of the violets on his way, “You should not be here, Cassius.”

“I wanted to see you before tomorrow,” he admits with a little smile, boyish and inexperienced compared to the ones you have received from Marcus today. He places his hands on the window frame, about to crawl inside.

“Are you trying to get killed?” You whisper loudly and barricade the window, “You cannot be in here, don’t come in.”

“What if I never see you again?” Cassius huffs but doesn’t push it, “I just wanted to say congratulations on your union tomorrow.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Cass. Of course, I’ll see you again; you’re my oldest friend,” you say with exasperation but you know that it is naive of you to assume this is the way things work. Cassius grew up with a farmer for a father, living far away in the countryside where the houses are surrounded by fields of vegetables that they eat at the palace and a long way from the neighborhood that you have grown up in.

“Well, you can say it from outside my window,” you continue and tense up at a few footsteps outside your door. You hold your index finger in front of your lips, listening intently to see if they pass or stop in suspicion of who you are talking to.

A moment passes and the footsteps fade. You turn back to Cassius who now wears a troubled expression, eyebrows knitted together. You go a little softer, a little more quiet, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Cassius hesitates just a second before speaking, “Your dear old dad has probably told you about this but things are changing around the outskirts of Rome. It’s growing more dangerous by the day to live out where I am. Geta and Caracalla’s combined ruling. They are not in their right mind and it is tearing the backbone of the empire apart. We’re angry and starving.”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him. Your father has indeed talked about this during dinners in the past but always with no air of real concern and more with a scoff when mentioning the ungrateful people of Rome, their greed, their arrogance but mostly their lack of trust in their emperors who are right under the Gods.

“Why are you saying this?” You inquire impatiently.

“To ensure your safety in all of this when things break loose. You know how I feel about you,” Cassius looks down briefly. Yes, you know how he feels about you and while you have never reciprocated his love, you feel a tug in your heart about how he has waited for you for years with knowledge of how impossible your life together would be. A farm boy and the daughter of a senator? It is doomed from the very beginning.

“If things are as dangerous as you say then the General will be able to protect me, will he not?” You ask to push him away, make him let go of you.

“Marcus Acacius is a powerful man, but even he may not be able to navigate the storm that’s coming to the citadel,” Cassius places a hand on the window sill, the violets flying to all sides from the force. It’s his way of trying to get closer.

“And your solution is what? That I run away with you? Please,” you look down at his hand. This is not one of those moments where you realize your feelings after all this time, after years of childhood friendship, and run off together with the boy next door, so you let your hands fall down to your sides.

“Don’t marry him,” he suggests with pleading eyes, “I don’t want you with those people.”

You laugh in disbelief and turn your head away, “Cassius, by the Gods, you know that I have no say in that whatsoever. Besides, who says that I don’t want to be there with him?”

Cassius ignores the last part of your sentence bitterly, “Then just be careful, my friend. I know your father has power but I know he favors the emperors which will not benefit him in the coming future. Those caught in the middle often pay the highest price and you’ll soon be at the very top, exposed.”

You shake your head to brush him off but something is looming underneath Cassius’ words. They don’t sound as delusional as your father might think them and you poke fun to maybe earn a confession, “You sound like you’re going to storm the palace tomorrow.”

It is Cassius’ turn to laugh but the sound is hollow, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. I would never be so bold as to make you hate me. No, I have no plans to go so far.”

“What are you planning?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Nothing right at this moment,” he replies quickly but unconvincingly. You can feel the tension in his voice and the strain on his jaw as he clenches it, “But I will do what I must if it comes to a point where I need to fight back.”

“You make it sound like I have the power to fix everything. I do not,” you say with frustration.

“Then at least change your heart,” he tries one last time, holding his hand out for you like he wants you to take it and crawl out the window, never to show your face here again.

You shake your head, “Cassius, you know our lives were never meant to intertwine like that. We come from different worlds.”

“But our hearts,” he whispers sorrowfully, “They’re from the same world. At least, mine has always belonged to you.”

“Cassius…”

“I understand,” he admits in defeat, “Marry him, have his children but stay out of the palace. I can’t stress that enough. Stay out of the palace.”

“You are speaking in tongues again, what does this mean? What do you know?” You stare at him.

Cassius steps back from the window, the distance between you growing both physically and emotionally. With a sad smile, he looks at you one last time. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Cassius,” you reply with furrowed brows.

With that, he turns back into the night, leaving you with a mind filled with questions. You watch as he disappears into the shadows of the garden.

You lean against the wall with a deep breath, heart heavy with uncertainty about who you thought you knew so well but you decide to ignore it completely to get some relief by rest. You will rather try to focus on the events of tomorrow as you start to undress down to your tunic, your thoughts swarming around Marcus instead of Cassius. The way that things are supposed to be.

Not long after, you lie down to sleep in your bedroom for the last time before moving into Marcus Acacius’ villa the next day. You should be feeling upset about leaving everything and everyone behind, nostalgic and melancholic even about Cassius, but all your mind does is replay the events that took place on the bench in the peristyle courtyard just half a day beforehand. It is so vivid that you cannot seem to rest, the images of Marcus’ beautiful, God-given eyes and mouth flashing on the inside of your eyelids whenever you try to fall asleep. The pictures are in such vibrant colors too, so intense that you resort to pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The colors smear and blur together until they look like painting instead but you have to stop due to the ache.

It doesn't matter anyway because it isn’t enough. Your vision isn’t the only one of your senses that he has taken as his own. The feel of his mouth lingers on yours, enough for you to let your fingertips trace over your bottom lip. It feels the same but then again, it doesn’t. Maybe he has left a mark on you that no one has dared to point out?

As well lingers a feeling of a spark that cannot be extinguished once it has been ignited. The sensation has you restless under the covers, the woven fabric scratching uncomfortably against your arms and legs until you have to throw them off.

It is a warm night tonight. The window shutters are still open to let in a night breeze that feels nice on your bare, burning, and untouched skin. You try to find sleep by listening to the usual chirping sound of the crickets but it is of no comfort this time. Marcus is still right there with you, his strong hand on your back and his eyes flickering down to your lips. In your head, he wants you and he lifts up your tunic to touch you where your pulse throbs and— By Jupiter, you need to calm yourself.

You open your eyes to stare up at the ceiling. Everyone has gone to bed, your parents, despite your protests, having come in and kissed you on the forehead while expressing how proud you have made them feel. Yet in the familiar surroundings of your childhood bedroom, everything feels foreign now that you’ve stepped into new territory of desire, unlocking something that separates you from what belongs to the mind of someone’s child. You don’t belong anymore in this room with walls that contain all of your childhood memories. You are grown now.

You should feel sorrow about this, about never coming back here but instead, your body buzzes like a hive of bees, tiny shivers of lust provided by Cupid flowing through you as teasingly as the softest butterfly wings flapping around inside you. It’s a forbidden feeling that stirs guilt in you but also a strange anticipation that has your hand slipping down your belly. Has your skin always been this soft?

You wonder if Marcus feels the same turmoil inside of himself, if he is lying awake just as you are right now and replaying the way your fingertips danced around his waistband but never got any further. The thought makes your hand slide down between your legs, reaching up under the hem of your tunic until your fingers slide over the wet skin there. You breathe deeply in through your nose.

You have done this a few times before but you’ve always gotten to a point where you have to stop yourself, afraid of what might happen when you feel yourself start to reach some sort of pinnacle that you are at a loss for words to describe. It’s natural, you remember Marcus saying about your body’s response. But doing it alone? Isn’t what you are feeling as you touch yourself reserved for your future husband? What would he say if he saw you explore yourself like this? Would he be disappointed in you? Or does he do it himself? Naked in his bed with his thigh muscles flexing as he feels what you are feeling right now? No, don’t think about him like that.

Your thighs fall out to the sides on their own accord. You find the spot that makes you gasp softly, the night way too quiet for you to be making such a noise when others are sleeping soundly. You tip your head back to open your throat, hoping it will make you quieter as you play with the sensation between your legs. Are the Gods watching you? Are they the only ones who can understand the complexities of your mortal longings? Can they tell you what will happen on the other side of this tightening in your gut?

Your breath quickens, shallow puffs of air coming out as you near the pinnacle quicker than ever. A noise close to the sound of a hurt animal escapes your lips and your fingers start to move in earnest, quickly back and forth over the little nub that you think is far too small to have such an effect on the rest of your body. How are you so soon covered in a sheen of sweat? How is your soul already teetering on ripping from your body, a mere vessel?

“Ah,” you moan a little louder, catching it in your throat by biting down on your lip. You feel the pleasurable buildup gradually increase in intensity and suddenly you’ve rolled around onto your front to grind your pelvis up and down on your fist.

Marcus. Marcusmarcusmarcusmar—

No. Clarity comes to you right before you lose it, fear too as it feels like your spirit might leave your body completely. You force yourself to stop your hips’ rapid movements against your hand, surprised at how quickly the sensation of something so unfathomable can ebb away from your grasp. It leaves both a physical and emotional ache. You pant against the bed, nearly creating a damp spot where your mouth rests against the linen.

You roll onto your back once more, wiping your slick fingertips on the sheets before pulling your tunic back into place around your thighs. You suddenly start to freeze, the air from outside your window starting to cool down the sweat on your skin.

It takes a few minutes for your heart rate to drop again. Tomorrow, you will marry Marcus Acacius and a new chapter will begin - a chapter where the tingling ache between your legs will belong to him - but for now, you let the fatigue of managing to hold off lull you to sleep.

You pull the covers up to your chin, feeling smaller like this but it doesn’t comfort you like it did when you were a mere child. You cannot stop the tears that spring to your eyes, starting as a tightening in your chest, a thick swallowing, only to come out in quiet sobs.

You feel the drops slide down your face, running freely down to the sides of your cheekbones and over your ears. Your hair dampens slightly, your nose grows stuffy and sensitive but despite all the telltale signs of your distress, there’s mainly relief as you let go to cry harder about your new life.

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romanoffsbish · 1 year ago

Text

Castles Crumbling

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Natasha x Wanda / Others

Valkyrie x F!R

Royal AU Request | Natasha never was a fan of rules, so when sets were placed upon her love she pushed against them… Now she wonders if it’s too late to make it right again. | WC: 7,550

Warning: “Unrequited” Love | Jealousy | Mean Fuckboy Natasha / Sad R | Abusive Parents / Fucked Systems | HE!

Minors DNI | 18+

“Natalia, keep your chin up," Melina scolded her daughter who was too busy glaring across the ballroom to even acknowledge her mother fixing up her gown. The strap had suddenly tethered, if not for Melina's resourcefulness she'd have had to hold an apology in front of the kingdom for her daughter, the heiress to the throne's, albeit unintentional, lack of modesty.

Natasha's eyes stayed trained on you, who was giggling at a slightly older woman's words. You were her fiancée, yet there you stood enraptured by another's presence as if they hung the moon and stars for you.

———

The redhead had no throne to sit upon though, she very well knew that, this unbearable distance forged between soulmates was one she herself created half a decade ago. She'd regretted it from the start, living without your love was lonely, and in this moment she felt the regret double at the thought of losing you fully.

You were once hers, exclusively so...

The two of you were the best of friends until she found out the intense love she held for you wasn't meant to be organically woven. Instead, the two of you'd already been signed up for a life together, something she should have seen as a gift, but the idea that you were only ever going to be hers due to legalities broke her.

To think, had she and Yelena been born in reverse that it'd be a much different fate. The redhead loathed the idea that such a system would exist in the first place and vowed to never place that pressure on your kids.

The kids she now wondered if you'd still share...

Natasha, in her state of grief has been blinded to the familiar turmoil you'd also experienced. It had gutted you when your parents said you were in line to marry the Romanov's heir, to keep strong alliances between your Kingdoms. To have the Romanov name was a dream come true, but to have no say in it upset you just the same. Yet you were ready to live life the same, to continue to fall in love with your supposed destiny and to thank fate for guaranteeing your forever bond.

Natasha regrettably went the other route, letting her resentments fester, and in turn she pushed you away. It wasn't gradual either, you were really confused by the dynamic switch—it was like night to day, and for years you were faced with her venomous demeanor. Animosity that was rooted in falsehoods still hurt just the same, and now you two couldn't be further apart.

Just like the strap of her emerald gown, she worried that the tie between your confused hearts was near to severing. Natasha could actually feel her heart splitting at the thought, she never considered her horrid actions would lead to an eventual permanent loss of you.

But now that she sees the web she's sown she gets it.

For the last five years shortly after you hit puberty, you had to watch as the woman you wholeheartedly adored became a stranger that thrived on promiscuity. To hear about it too as the women of the kingdom never minced words about their nights with her, and with each rendezvous you lost more hope for a joyful forever with her. Natasha buried herself in other woman, and actually thought you'd just wait patiently for her to come back, but clearly you'd grown tired of it.

You once thought it was just a rebellious phase, many heirs to thrones go through them, and you knew Nat was a free spirit. You even understood her want to be free, to see whomever she wanted in her youth. It was a natural curiosity you didn't indulge in though, because your heart only beat for the redhead, but you never asked her not to have explored it. Especially because she was never going to listen if you did. Natasha was headstrong, a natural born leader, not so much a lover.

Well, at least not this version of Natasha. She'd lost her once sweet demeanor with you, every interaction turned tense and abrasive. Natasha used to hold doors open for you, now she was purposeful in closing them. As if she was letting you know that her heart was no longer in sync with yours. She'd shut you out entirely, it was the vindictive nature of it all that really broke you down over time, and lead you to this moment of despair. In your youth she was your greatest hope.

— • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • —

"If he doesn't stop staring at you I will have to gouge his icy blue eye's right out of his skull," your best friend grumbled loud enough for the Barnes boy to hear as you both passed him by. "Natalia!" You shrieked, tiny hand flying to your mouth as you tried to hide your smirk of inappropriate amusement. The older princess smirked as she watched you losing your composure. "You can't just say those things!"

Natasha smirked, the gesture entirely teasing, "Why?"

"It's not ladylike." Natasha grinned even wider at the challenge of your words. "Fuck being ladylike."

Natasha threw her head back as she laughed at the sight of your shocked face. Your eyes wide and mouth comical agape. "Natty, we're royals!" The redhead shrugged, and rebutted lowly, her tone chillingly grave, "Yeah, as is he but he doesn't respect us like we are," then she walked further down to the murky body of running water, you followed her in a rush, but in your hurry you tripped over a rock and fell towards the creek with a fearful squeal.

"Careful now detka," Natasha teased as she caught you with ease, using her body to push you up against a tree to have you upright again, and for a second in time you thought—hoped—she might kiss you. But life was cruel in a way as all she did was assess your face for injury before she slid her clammy hand into yours and guided you over to the bundle of rocks. Careful as she helped you climb up first then she settled behind you and the two of you watched the sunset as you did every Sunday to mark the week's cruel end.

— • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • — • —

Everything was hectic being the children of royalty, especially for you, but with Natasha at your side it was all okay. The redhead always used to sneak you away to the creek that connected the many kingdoms, to where she'd let you play freely, like a kid should. Then as preteens it just became your spot to get away together.

Now it was where you spent your nights alone, talking to the moon and asking her where it all went wrong.

The redhead used to afford you the space to be your true, wild-child self unlike your parents who were far more strict in comparison to hers. Melina and Alexei held their children to high standards, of course, but they also never prevented them from being children.

Your parents were more akin to royal traditionalists in many ways, they believed children were meant to be seen, never heard. To be flaunted like assets, but never loved by anything outside of the hired help, who did their very best, but it's not like they were treated much better than you. To be given away like chattel, and never acknowledged as a person with free will like the commoners were. To never exist outside of the castle's bounds, a prisoner of the most bleak circumstances.

Natasha was your beacon of peace, she had always cherished your friendship, and held you in the highest of regards. Her biggest goal used to be to make you laugh, she'd tell you stories of Yelena's chaos, and on rare occasions she'd even let the blonde tag along so you could feel true joy. Then all of a sudden she cast you away too, you were obviously hurt by her choices, but even with her sudden animosity towards you you'd never shown her anything but respect and kindness.

Fellow royals called you a pushover, others a hopeless case, but truth be told, there were small cracks in her resolve at times that told you she must've still loved you. It was in the glances she'd cast your way when you were usually preoccupied. You'd always look up just in time to catch the traces of longing before her steely composure returned. She also was insanely protective of your womanhood, as if she had any right to claim it.

Like when the older Stark brother tried to get you to follow him to his quarters one night months back when his family was visiting. The redhead followed your naive form, then just as he went to escort you into his room she'd punched him so hard that his nose cracked, and his once white polo was soaked in crimson.

Before you could question anything she spat, "Don't ever try to sleep with my girl again Tony!" Then before you could savor the warmth of her claim to you she swiftly added her hypocrisy: "It ruins the appearance we must keep up for the public." She was gone in a flash, and you apologized to the man before running off to your quarters to sob over the loss of warmth.

It was a consistent cycle too, every time someone like Danvers, or Barnes tried to court you she was there, dauntingly lingering like a viper prepared to snap. Her gaze was always piercing, and they'd learned quickly to run to avoid needing to be physically removed.

Natasha's promiscuity obviously flourished, while your potential was always curbed at every turn. Not only did you hear the women whispering her praises, but just last week, after a pre-nuptials celebratory dinner with all the neighboring kingdoms you watched her leave the follow up gala with Wanda Maximoff, the gorgeous princess of Sokovia, in a fit of drunken giggles. Her brother, Pietro, was the heir marrying your brother.

You've now reasoned that you two would be entering a loveless marriage (on her end), just like your brother. All in the name of diplomacy you'd reminded yourself this morning, so you believed you'd both have your own partners. Which is why you were finally indulging the vivacious soul of Valkyrie, the shockingly single King from the neighboring kingdom of Asgard. She was beautiful in her own right, incomparable to your hearts muse, but undeniably gorgeous nonetheless.

It never once crossed your mind that Natasha would be fuming, and even if you'd maybe known she would be, you didn't really care anymore. This was the game she started, and you're fed up, so you'll gladly play along.

Why should she get to have all the fun?

Melina gripped her daughter's clenched jaw softly, and sighed in annoyance as she had to forcefully bring her gaze down to face her instead of you. "You did this to yourself Natalia, woman up and face the ugly truth that you alonenpushed your beloved into another's arms."

"Mama," Natasha whimpered pitifully, she always hated how serious and practical her mother could be. Never seeing between the lines, or trying to understand the reasons why. "No, there will be no pity from me, your father might coddle you girls, but you broke Y/N too many times for me to sympathize with you. Now fix your face, and go mingle with your people, Queen."

For the next ten minutes the redhead held her head up high, and conversed with the elders in the crowded room. It was the night before you were to be wed, so of course there was a pre-nuptials party. "Where is your fiancée?" Natasha cast her gaze to the corner you were in moments prior only to find it empty. Her body was actively panicking at the prospect of you slipping out, but she kept her voice steady. "I'm sorry, but please do excuse me. I actually need to go find her, she is really good at getting lost in the ballroom after a drink."

The man nodded sympathetically, and Natasha practically sprinted away from him as she frantically looked around. She nearly tripped over the gowns of the attendees as she haphazardly made her way over to you. Her blood boiled as Valkyrie's hands were holding you close by the hips, your gorgeous, genuine smile on display for a woman who held no claim to you.

Natasha was genuinely near to tears when she saw the way the suave woman whispered something humorous into your ear, making you laugh aloud so freely, with your head thrown back and a hand on her shoulder.

Her heart ached at the memories of all the times it was her making you laugh until you cried. She yearned to go back in time with every step she took to get to you, if she could undo her mistakes she would. Oh would she.

"Sweetheart, we've got incoming," the beautiful woman spun you out, and you saw a flash of red before you were back against her chest. Natasha's jaw clenched just the same as yours, how dare she even consider ruining your moment to move on from her once again.

"Y/N, we need to go mingle with the crowd," Natasha tried to grab your arm to pull you away from Valkyrie, but you roughly shrugged her off. "I'm having fun here Romanov, so you can speak for the both of us, you've done well enough at it so far. Feel free to continue on."

Valkyrie leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek and Natasha quietly growled, "Unhand my fiancée Brunnhilde," to which the older woman merely rolled her eyes before she was whispering in your ear again, "Just go and talk to her Y/N, I'll be right here if you need me sweetheart, but don't let her upset you enough that you cause a scene in front of your parents."

You suddenly remembered your place, and silently parted from the woman with a sad smile that actually broke Natasha's resolve. Valkyrie scoffed as pools of brown met hers of green, "You're wasting a good woman," she shook her head and walked off towards the bar leaving the redhead to stew in her shame.

Seeing you so sad to be left alone with her was jarring, then she saw the evil glare of your fathers and wondered if things had gotten worse since she no longer really knew. She'd left you alone, and if she was right, he likely blamed you for her own promiscuity.

She could hear his morose voice clear as day, "Well, if you were more inclined to put out, she'd have stayed." He was always blunt, and degrading—never kind, and to think she'd given him a reason to hurt your feelings devastated her. She'll never really forgive herself.

But for some reason she hoped you still would as she calmly exited the ballroom, her feet moved faster as soon as the doors blocked the patrons view though. All the redhead wanted was to reach you, and apologize.

"What was that Natasha?" You inquired just as soon as she entered your soon to be shared room. "I mean honestly, you have some nerve staking your claim to me as if you even mean it. I am my own person, and quite frankly Romanov I have needs you don't satisfy!"

It was insane what she said next, the woman should be begging on her knees for your forgiveness, like she had planned, but instead she put her foot in her mouth.

"Please tell me you're still a virgin..." Your eyes went wide, and you rightfully scoffed, "And what if I wasn't? Is that a dealbreaker for you Miss Chastity Belt?"

Natasha's eyes welled with genuine tears that made you melt ever so slightly, apparently the idea that you'd given yourself to another devastated her, even if she was a bit of a hypocrite. You too were reacting like you were unwell, feeling warmth at her weak show of love.

"Y/N, please just answer me..." You rolled your eyes, and shrugged nonchalantly. "No, I am not a virgin."

"Fuck!" Natasha collapsed to her knees, her gown layered around her beautifully yet tragic. This was her worst fear. "With who? I-I, please just tell me now."

You rolled your eyes at the dramatics, as if she had any right to question you like this. Still, seeing her broken hurt you, it was truly unfair to you, and even if it would be embarrassing you reached into your bedside table, and threw a worn down painting, and a strap at her.

Natasha's jaw clenched at the sight of the plastic, wondering who took your innocence with the device, picturing their demise, but then she lost her breath as the painting flipped over to reveal her obvious likeness.

"I-I don't understand Y/N," she spoke softly, her head tilted up and you bit back a smile at seeing the confused, adorable little pout that she wore. "It's called steadfast loyalty Natasha, plus, it's not like you didn't run off every prospect I've ever had over the years."

"Y/N, I," she cut her apology off as she sobbed even harder. You wanted to remain furious, but you could feel her pain reflecting in your heart, so you gently caressed her glistening cheek, and weakly smiled. "Get off the floor Nat." The redhead jumped to her feet in seconds and clumsily crashed into you, making your body stumble backwards until you were flat on the bed with the breathtaking woman hovering. The beautiful image of karma unfolded before you, it hurt your heart to see her sad, but you couldn't deny that the flushed skin and glimmering eyes added a layer of palpable attraction to her overall perfection.

The moment was the perfect time for her to finally kiss you, to break that distance, but she once again missed it as she collapsed and cried against your chest," I-I hear the people talk about me like I'm a monster." Natasha paused as she did her best to contain her devastation, but it was no use as she continued to speak in a cracked voice, "They used to chant my name, but now they all hate me, and I deserve it..."

You sighed, reluctant yet ready to console her, but she just kept going, "I hurt the one person I always vowed to protect." Natasha sobbed, but this one caught in her throat as she choked on the brutal honesty. "Oh God," her position shifted and she pressed her forehead against yours. "I never wanted you to hate me!"

"I do—."

"My love..."

"Natasha..."

"What have I done to us?!"

You groaned in frustration, "Are you done with the dramatics? May I speak now?" Natasha froze then squeaked out an mhm. Seeing her submit so easily nearly made you laugh, but this wasn't the time to tease. This was a time to fix what she recklessly broke, and to ensure she knew that to mend this took effort on her part. "Our foundation is undeniably cracked Natasha, but that doesn't mean we can't rebuild to a place of total equity. Remember that I am your partner, and not some consolation prize you can flaunt. You own my heart, yes, but not my mind or body."

"You still want me?" She asked in shock, and flinched as you sadly met her gaze and sighed, "I'm cursed with the inability to love another." Natasha smiled like a kid who just got out of time out, "So we'll rebuild?" You rolled your eyes and nodded, "Our castles very well crumbled but with time we'll build it even stronger."

"I'm so sorry," she tried, but you hushed her with a finger over her lip, tired of the words and more so ready for the action. "I forgive you, it is enough for me that you sobbed on the floor. What a filthy girl..."

Natasha's cheeks flushed and you once again found yourself amused, she was incredibly shy, and not at all like you'd pictured her to be from all the rumors.

"C-can I kiss you then?" You giggled, then allowed her to do so after a moment of recomposing. It was a bit sloppy, but you didn't mind, because she tasted like heaven. With how tentative she was to deepen the gesture you were under the impression that she wanted to slow down, maybe even wait for the wedding night.

After a moment of reprieve was taken you moved to sit you both up, her body forced to straddle yours so as to not fall off the bed. "Wait, please don't stop," Natasha pleaded, her hands connected behind your neck and suddenly she was that same nervous teen again, the one who ran from her feelings. "You're the one with all the experience here Nat." Natasha gnawed on her lip, and bowed her head in a mix of shame, and sadness. "I never kissed their lips, or let them touch me."

"Wait," you momentarily paused to process, "Are you?"

"I'm a virgin in the ways that count," she admitted with her gaze cast down at your lap to avoid your potential expression of judgement. "Look at me Natalia."

There was no room for disobedience, she knew that she was lucky enough to even have your forgiveness, she wouldn't dare try to test your patience as well. It was difficult, but she lifted her head, and her heart skipped at the sight of your soft expression. She felt silly for ever doubting you'd be kind—of course you would be.

Meanwhile in your chest you could feel the way your heart danced with excitement. Not only did you have a leg up on her with experience—thanks to Maria Hill, who made out with you for hours last fall after you'd drunkenly cried about never being kissed, but you also just found out she'd never been pleased by another. It stung less to know you'd be her one and only lover.

In the ways that count of course...

"I can lead," you smirked at the flash of understanding in her eyes, it was only fair that she knew, and honestly it served her right to not be your first everything. The same way you wouldn't be her first encounter, the way her nails dug into the skin of your neck said she got the message. "Who was it with?" The disappointment laced her tone heavily, even with as many times as she'd laid with another, she regarded a kiss more intimately.

"Why ask a question that will only hurt you Nat?" Natasha's jaw clenched, but she kept her temper at bay, not wanting to sound off like a hypocrite would. "It's important to me detka, I deserve this pain."

You contemplated answering her, but were too smart to fall for the bait. You realized that sweet old Maria deserved protection from your stewing bride to be.

"She is irrelevant, just a maid father had hired," you facetiously admitted, "Said that maybe if I learned how to clean from her that maybe I'd be a good wife... I am honestly not sure how he ever bagged my mother. In what world does a Queen clean the fucking castle?"

Natasha gasped, "Y/N, that's not very ladylike..."

"Fuck being ladylike," you mirrored a fond memory, and she couldn't help but to smile, but her eyes grew sad the longer the silence dwelled. "You've changed."

You nodded. "I had no choice. I had to grow up, and when I did I realized life is nothing short of cruel." Natasha hummed and nuzzled her nose to yours. "Does that bother you Nat, that I'm not the same innocent person? I always thought that was why you left..."

"No," she frantically spoke, "I was just being an idiot, too rebellious for my own good, and your heart being caught in the crossfire is my biggest regret to date."

"Biggest regret, hm?" She nodded. "Any others?" Natasha smiled bashfully, her cheeks turning redder than they already were from the current proximity of your bodies. "Not kissing you before the nth hour."

"I'm that good, huh?" Natasha laughed nervously, and you watched as the woman nibbled on her bottom lip. "It's okay to admit it Natasha, it's just you and me."

The redhead surged forward, her forehead collided with yours but you hadn't the time to care about the pain when her lips sought to devour your very own. You once again found your body pressed into the mattress, but this time her tongue took a calculated risk entering your mouth. Once she passed your lips she froze, the feeling and taste of you absolutely drove her mad, and she felt her underwear growing sticky.

Following a natural flow you found your naked bodies were soon pressed together, with your back against the queen sized mattress. Natasha's mind went blank at the feel of you, so she let you take over the kiss that had divulged more so into your collective sharing of breaths as you ground her pelvis down into your own with two firm hands on her silky smooth hips.

Natasha pulled away from your lips with a groan, her back arched and pressed her wetness into yours as she desperately craved more friction against her core. You were ready to grind her hips at a more brutal pace, but then she pressed your hands into the bed and kissed you roughly instead. There was no way she'd be selfish enough to take pleasure before giving you some first.

Her lips naturally traveled down your body, and with each nip of her teeth, or suckle to your bare skin she managed to pull the sweetest of moans from you. It drove her even crazier, her arousal literally dripped onto the sheets beneath her body but she kept her focus solely on you. To taste you was a dream that she had never let go of, and she'd no longer squander.

"Holy shit," you cried as her deft tongue lapped up the moisture that had collected along the slit of your core, it was the softest of stimulation but you still writhed. Having her mouth on your pussy just felt prophetic, her name dripping from your lips like a stolen prayer as she proceeded to dive her muscle deep within you.

Explore as you have, you'd never made yourself feel half as good as her animalistic tongue was doing, which was a bittersweet notion since this was where her obvious experience became a lingering thought.

The sadness dissipated fast though as she tipped your body into a state of unnerving pleasure, your body felt both hot and cold at the same time. The chill in the air had highlighted the beads of sweat on your skin, and sent a sharp shiver down to the base of your spine. It was all too much, and yet, somehow it was not enough.

Natasha greedily slurped up your cum, it was like she couldn't leave her place between your legs until you had stopped spilling for her, which consequently never happened because she continued to overstimulate you. It was only when your hand fought to slip from her weakened grasp to shove her bobbing head away that you were finally able to shakily intake some oxygen.

"I need more," she groaned, her wild eyes bore into your own as she hovered over you in a split second. Even with the overstimulation your thigh clenched at the sight of her hunger. "Please, I need you."

In a moment inspired by pure adrenaline you flipped your bodies and jumped off the bed onto wobbly legs. Natasha grunted as her back hit the mattress, her body was soon propped up onto her elbows so she could find out where you'd gone to in the blink of an eye. Only for her to be met with the glorious sight of you slipping a side of the strap between your puffy, cream coated lips.

Natasha fell back on the bed with a raspy groan being torn from her throat as the deliciously sinful image was permanently etching itself into her mind. Her entrance pulsed with need, warm slick trailed down between the plump cheeks of her ass and she whimpered for you. You clumsily climbed above her, and pressed your lips to hers, feeling this strong urge to take control, but not knowing exactly how to do that, all you could really do was slip your tongue into her mouth and kiss her into a state of desperation. Her tongue was velvety, and tasted like a mix of something sweet and bitter.

"I-I want to taste you too Nat," you confessed, a bit too intrigued by the taste of you on her tongue to hold any patience, but the redhead also couldn't wait. "After, please, I need you inside now detka, I'm dripping!"

You chuckled softly, "That's a virgin hole angel," your eyes sparkled as you watched her skin flush even more, you would've happily waited the rest of the decade for this if you knew she was going to be so easily flustered. "You have to let me build you up to the stretch," you teased her hole with just the tip and she winced, but before you could pull away she firmly gripped your shoulders and gulped down her fear. "I can take it detka, I've been waiting for so damn long, fuck me."

"Beg," you flatly said, an air of confidence to you that the redhead found alarmingly attractive. "Tell me what you want baby, let mommy give you what you need."

Natasha's entire mind blanked, her eyes frozen in place as she stared up at your smirking face. Something inside of her was clicking, and she didn't know if it was her own desires or seeing you living out yours that got her so hot right now, but she didn't care. The sudden confidence radiated off of you and oozed out of her cunt, her pussy slick enough to push your strap out.

"Mommy please," her nails dug into your flesh and she angrily yanked your face down to hers, the tip and then some of your strap nestled back inside of her and she moaned her own interruption against your cheek. "I, fuck, mommy I need to be full, please, I need it so —."

Natasha's breath hitched as you delicately circled your fingers around her clit, then she huffed the air against your smirk as she sucked even more of you in. It was messy, and loud as her cunt sobbed joyously and her moans echoed throughout the master bedroom. In only five seconds did you have the ability to slip the rest of it inside of her, your lips sloppily landed on her chin as the strap perfectly curved against your walls. A gasp of joy left you both as your slippery cunts kissed, flaps rubbing as the both of your hips jolted in need.

Natasha's eyes rolled as your clit brushed hers, and a low rumble sounded in her chest as the swollen nub was electrified by the merest of grazes. The redhead appreciated the way your hips stilled, allowing her to feel out the stretch of her walls, but then you didn't move and her eyes fluttered open to ponder why.

You were nervous... Her heart absolutely melted.

"Just do what feels natural," she rasped, hands raising to cup your cheeks and pull you in for a needy kiss, her fingers slipped into the base of your hair and tugged, you could feel the urgency rolling off of her as her hips canted off the mattress. You both moaned into the other's mouth, it took you a second to recover from the stimulation; to build your confidence back up so you could properly fuck her like no one ever had before.

All it took was one involuntary twitch of your own hips, she moaned and you suddenly knew how to make this the best night of your lives. Natasha whined as you slid out of her, but then she squealed as you yanked her to the edge of the bed and thrusted right back into her.

"Oh god," Natasha cried, "Mommy it feels so good."

"I know baby," you panted, "Mommy loves feeling you, so wet I didn't even need to prep you for my cock."

Natasha's eyes rolled and slammed shut as she thought of what created the glorious mess between her legs; you—the way you moaned her name, how you tasted and what she wouldn't do to live between your thighs.

"I-I," Natasha couldn't speak, the pleasure building inside of her was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Something she knew she'd only ever feel with you, heat spread from the depths of her pelvis to her heart as she imagined getting a second chance to love you, fairly.

You'd been here before, on the precipice of a release you weren't expecting. Your first time, when you used your strap with her portrait was a tad bit messy.

It felt like you were on fire, and like you needed to pee, but even with the potential of such a thing you couldn't stop the thrust of your desperate hips. It was heavenly. You wanted to see her wait, but not as much as you needed to be the reason she thinks she's dying. So you knew by the confused look on her face that she needed to be given permission. "You need to let go baby."

Natasha whimpered, but her body turned down the offer, it wasn't ready, something was missing.

Your hands firmly gripped the skin of her thigh and used your unexpected strength to push them up and into her chest. The new angle was optimal in bringing you both insurmountable amounts of pleasure. You had hardly any warning as her cum drenched your thighs, her walls held the strap still and caused your end to press even deeper into your sensitive spot.

The moan that left Natasha's throat was carnal, anyone within a hundred feet of the room would know that she just had her soul cleansed. Yours directly followed as your pussy spluttered against hers. They were short, and breathy, the heat of them fanned over her racing pulse point and her body shivered with aftershocks.

For a moment you both panted out of sync, yours were far less refined in comparison with the athletes. It'd made you insecure to think about, but the way her hands roamed over your curves was affirming. When she squeezed your hips and soft skin rippled between her fingers you could feel the way she loved you.

Her lips were on yours the entire time she'd been feeling you up. You nearly busted again just because her lips touched yours, there was not much urgency down below as you devoured her whole up above. Then your hips started rocking slowly, a natural rhythm of the game at hand, but then she whimpered softly and you pulled out of her puffy, glistening core. Tears fell from her eyes and you apologized as she thanked you.

Thanked you for fucking her so well that she could barely remember her own name, but she promised she'd never forget how to scream yours. She was overstimulated, but pushing you anyways, so you silenced her with the side of the strap that was once stretching out your tight, hollowed walls. Her eyes glazed as they rolled back, and you felt liberated.

A hoarse, “Oh fuck,” vibrated around the silicone and you chuckled devilishly, reveling in the foreign power, “Such a slut for a little taste of me, aren’t you kitten?”

Her eyes muddled even further and you felt godly. “Tomorrow you'll be sworn in as the leader of our merging kingdoms," you chuckled, "but look at how quickly you submit to me baby, that's concerning."

Natasha whimpered around the strap, and you smiled broadly. "There, there honey," you coo'd mockingly, tongue flicking over the salty tears trailing down her rosy cheeks. "Mommy will take charge for now..."

You continued to fuck her throat with the strap, it was mesmerizing to see her cry, her eyes glistening, sorta reminding you of a lively leaf beneath a raindrop. It was as if you brought her back to life, you could see the love uncovering beneath her outwardly guarded eyes as they bore into yours. Your Natty was reviving…

But her Y/N not so much, there was an unfamiliar darkness that surrounded you. The love you held for her was there, burning bright, but she could see the unresolved pain trying to dim it, the darkness controlled you and the tenderness was broken, as if it was simply switched off. With every thrust the redhead now gagged, there was a bit of vengeance in your eyes as you drew the reaction from her. You were truly enamored by the experience, you watched as her drool trailed down the sides of her chin and coated the skin of her jawline, staining her with a mix of you and her.

The longer you watched the more interested in getting a taste of her essence you became. Without removing your gaze from hers you lowered your head, tongue flicking out to lick up what you could of her essence, but it had dried some under the rooms dry breeze. It only made sense for you to sink down, the redheads eyes widened in shock, or alarm—maybe it was both.

The warmth of your mouth did the trick in softening her slick, and you moaned at the taste as she gagged, her end being now pressed beyond her throats tight hole. She spluttered as she felt the painful stretch, one would think your goal was asphyxiation, but as she focused on your softer gaze she was able to mirror you as you breathed through your nose. Even in her hazy state it was clear to her that you’d done this before.

Envy gripped her heart as she realized you were the first person to drink from the well she deemed hers. Bittersweet solace wrapped around yours in the same blink of time, you were still so unsure about trusting her again, but you fought the temptation to run. If she was truly back, you could find it in you to stay as well.

Once your lips met you stayed still, the air was charged with a need for more, her green eyes begged for you to kiss her truly, but you made her wait a breath longer. Then you slowly pulled back, your own mess of drool slid down the strap and into the hollows of her cheek. As much as the redhead wanted reprieve, and you, she also found some comfort in the suckling of the plastic.

Once you reached the tip you gripped it with your teeth and abruptly pulled it from her mouth, trails of spit, cum and blood followed and your eyes widened some. But Natasha’s were unwavering as she pulled you down and into a kiss that gave way to her every single fear.

The redhead flipped your positions and pressed even further into you, her lips firmly kept their rightful spot against your own, and the two of you made out like there was no plans for tomorrow. Her love and your pesky frustration bled together as your tongues met.

Natasha wanted to keep going, but it was too much to ask of either of your bodies, so she pulled away after her lungs gave her no choice, and fell on top of you. Silence followed, aside from the soft, labored pants of a job well done. It was eventually Natasha that broke it.

"We've done everything backwards," she whispered against the skin of your throat, you'd barely heard her from where she'd burrowed, but you fortunately did. "That's the price to pay for all other parties decisions."

"I-I was just so mad," she morosely admitted, "they made decisions for us that only we should have."

"I know," you acknowledged with an edge to your tone, discussing this was likely going to be charged with the anger that only just began to settle down in your heart.

"I was upset too Natasha, because I dreamed of the same thing but they tainted it with their diplomatic nonsense. It felt spiteful, as if they knew what I was only just discovering. Using my feelings against me, and then, what I didn’t expect was the next day when I woke up to find you suddenly didn’t want me around.”

“That’s not—, Y/N, of course I wanted you around…”

“Your actions said otherwise, and they only left me shattered and then the foreseen inevitably, alone."

"I am so sorry," she softly cried and you hummed, “I know,” your hand was rubbing her back gently in a soothing manner, your tone a little less on edge now, "I'm trying to forgive you Natty," you admitted, a bit of a fall back from your earlier spoken sentiments. In that prior heated moment it felt resolved, but the more you thought it over, the more you felt she'd need to work towards making this destiny work out harmoniously.

Natasha ached at the realization, no matter the way she preserved herself for you, it obviously wasn't enough. A juvenile thought coming back to bite her in the ass she supposed, but she didn't care about the consequences just as long as she had the chance to make it right. She would do anything to, no matter the cost, whether it be monetary, or her soul; she’d even kill another for you.

"Can I take you somewhere?" Natasha meekly asked after another bout of silence, you’d honestly thought she fell asleep, but she was stewing just the same.

The gala likely ended an hour ago, with your collective parents, yours most certainly begrudgingly, dismissing the crowds in your place, with some excuse, like your need for sleep as the wedding of the century occurs tomorrow. Yet you weren't sleeping, instead you were accepting the invitation from your fiancée, allowing her a chance to get started on fixing your relationship.

Which started with a sweet shower, she washed your body with care, the rag slid over your curves and the love you'd been missing was back as if it never left. A truth of sorts as Natasha only hid her abundant love.

Once the both of you were clean, she guided you over to her tub, and left you to soak your aching muscles for a bit longer in a bubble bath while she set off to plan.

Natasha rummaged through her wardrobe and pulled out a few of her fleece sleep linens. You walked out of the bathroom with only a towel for your hair and the redhead shamelessly stared at your gorgeous body.

"My eyes are up here Natasha," you reminded and she carelessly shrugged, "I know. I'm starting at your tits."

"If you're not ready for my hand in marriage," you began to scold in jest but the redhead swooped you off of your feet and into a silencing kiss instead. She softly laid you onto the fresh sheets and just as gently kissed down your body, her tongue ran through your folds as a tease and you choked on your breath. Natasha just wanted to taste you over the mint of her toothpaste. “I’m ready for everything the world will throw our way just as long as I get to taste your divinity, my queen.”

“Natasha,” you whined and pulled her up so that she could meet your glare, she chuckled as her lips gently pecked your own. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.” She winked, then made quick work to dress you in her navy blue pjs, kissing the skin of your stomach and under boob as she settled the fabric against your skin. Then she slid into her crimson set and guided you into a pair of boots before she helped you sneak out of the castle.

The two of you were hand in hand as you ran across the massive courtyard, nearly tripping over the wet grass while giggling like little kids as you approached the creek that held your fondest memories. The moonlight was beautifully shining off of the murky water and illuminating your face just right. Natasha tripped as she was stepping over a root, and just as she came to terms with the incoming impact she was fine. Just when she was about to hit the dead shrubbery you hooked your arms beneath her armpits and yanked up.

"I'm already yours Natasha, there's no need to fall." You pushed her petite, muscular frame against the tree and she smiled as the memory of a lost opportunity passed through her mind. Part of her regrets not kissing you back then, but most of her thinks the path that led her to you was just as it should be.

Her lips lovingly met yours, the both of you smiled as you felt the dynamic changing, it was as if all the stars and planets had finally aligned; destiny sealed shut.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff au #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff is an idiot #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #gxg #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha x fem!reader

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shadowtriovibes · 2 years ago

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dance in a storm in my best dress

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3K

Summary: by request: "I have a fun idea! How about Sebastian and f!mc are "just friends" until one day she asks him to help her try on/give his opinion on some new dresses, and desire and spice ensue??"

"Go on and change back into your robes, Mister Sallow," the shopkeeper says. "I suspect we’ll be inquiring about your opinion shortly." While Sebastian returns to the back, Mr. Hill summons a modesty screen around the rack of dresses you’d pulled and waits patiently while you slip out of your school robes and wrestle your way into that first dress – the periwinkle blue. There are so many layers that it takes you at least ten minutes to even put on your crinoline, which Mr. Hill assures you he’ll let you keep on for all three options. "Have you even put one on yet?" you hear Sebastian call out when he returns. "Merlin's beard, you’ll take on a den of trolls by yourself but you’re bested by today’s fashion trends!"

“Thank you for coming with me,” you say softly, shyly tucking your face a bit deeper into your oversized scarf as you avoid snow swirling around you.

It’s not an intense blizzard by any means, but nevertheless you appreciate that Sebastian had agreed to trudge down to Hogsmeade with you that afternoon when he could have spent the day with a dreadfully boring book by the fire in his common room, which is typically how he spends any free time he has as a seventh-year N.E.W.T.s student.

“Of course,” he says easily. “It’s about time I came up for air, so to speak.”

Despite the ongoing pressure of your final year of school, it had felt like all of Hogwarts had been abuzz about the upcoming holiday ball for what felt like weeks. Even you and your treasured trio of Slytherins had made plans to go together, and your daydreams of twirling across an enchanted dance floor in a fabulous gown had helped get you through some of the most arduous study sessions you’ve ever experienced.

With your end-of-term exams having concluded the day before, there was now only one thing standing in the way of you blowing off some steam at the ball with your best friend.

You need a dress.

Poppy had been the one to inform you that Mr. Hill had specially ordered some lovely fabrics from London as soon as he’d caught wind of an upcoming formal occasion. While it’s certainly too late to have anything custom made, you hoped you’d be able to find something in his shop that would suit you with a few minor alterations.

You’d invited Sebastian to join you on your shopping trip primarily for moral support, as the two of you were going to the ball together as friends.

(Anne had been quick to claim Ominis as her date so that she wouldn’t have to take her own brother, and you and Sebastian had been equally loath to bother asking anyone else.)

However, you suspect you may also need some help physically donning the dresses. You may not know much about what’s in fashion these days, but hearing some of your classmates boast about precisely how many garment layers they’d be wearing had nearly made your head spin.

“Do you have your dress robes?” you press him skeptically. “Anne said you were procrastinating.”

“Yes, nosy,” he laughs. “Ominis made me pick some out last weekend, and Mr. Hill should have them in for me by now.”

“Good,” you say primly. “You’ll have to try them on while we’re there and make sure they fit.”

“This is now my second trek into Hogsmeade for this silly ball,” he points out with a cheeky grin. “I hope it’s going to be as enjoyable as you lot are saying it’ll be.”

“It will,” you insist. “We all need something like this, something that’s just… joyful, I suppose.”

Sebastian glances sidelong at you with a tender smile.

“Fair point,” he agrees. “Right as usual, you are.”

“You’re still surprised after all this time?” you tease him, bumping your shoulder against his while he laughs.

When the two of you walk into Gladrags, Augustus Hill perks up excitedly and slips out from behind the ornate counter.

“Ah! Just the young witch and wizard I was hoping to see today,” he crows. “Come in, come in! I dare say, it’s awfully frigid today.”

You hang up your cloaks while Mr. Hill rustles up a tray of tea for the both of you. Ever since that troll encounter years ago, the Gladrags shopkeeper has always had a soft spot for you and Sebastian, which often results in the two of you feeling downright spoiled every time you visit him.

“Thank you, Mr. Hill,” you say as you accept the warm mug he offers.

“Mister Sallow,” he says as he hands Sebastian his tea. “Your dress robes came in just this morning! Why don’t I send you off with young Otto to try it on and mark up any alterations?”

You glance warily at Sebastian, reluctant to split from him as you do your shopping.

As though he’d read your mind, Mr. Hill laughs and insists, “He won’t be kept long, my dear! Fitting a young man’s dress robes is a much simpler task than that which you have on your hands, I should expect.”

“Why don’t you just pick out some things to try while Otto works his magic?” Sebastian teases. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Once you agree, Mr. Hill sends Sebastian to the backroom while you sip your tea and discuss some of your preferences with the kindly shopkeeper. You admit to not being very knowledgeable about fashion, but you have some colors in mind that you think may suit you – as well as very strict expectations on how much range of motion you want to maintain.

“I need to be able to breathe,” you insist, glancing hesitantly at some of the impossibly small corsets in the window display.

Peering over his spectacles with a wise smile, he answers, “I think that can be arranged.”

He then begins to show you the collection of remaining dresses he has in stock. As the premier clothier for the majority of your fellow witches at Hogwarts, he doesn’t have an unlimited supply this close to the ball, but his selections don’t disappoint.

“This blue color is quite pretty,” you sigh, gingerly inspecting the sleeve of one of the dresses he offers.

“I suspected you might like that one,” he says brightly. “Let us pull it for now and select a few more for you to try on, hmm?”

You end up also selecting a red gown with a smart-looking cape that would show off your house colors brilliantly and a crisply white evening dress with delicate golden embroidery around the bottom of the skirt.

“This should do for a start,” Mr. Hill says.

“Really? No green?” Sebastian asks from behind you.

When you turn to remind him pointlessly that you aren’t actually a Slytherin, your words fail you.

He looked utterly dashing in his dress robes. At first glance, he appeared to be wearing what looked like a Muggle tuxedo, but the extra-long tails and high collar gave away that it was most certainly wizarding apparel. His jacket and pants were both inky black – so dark that they appeared to even darken the room around him, or maybe you had just lost focus of everything that wasn’t him.

Of course, having been expertly fitted by Otto, Sebastian’s robes seem to cling to every inch of him. The waistcoat makes his waist look exceptionally narrow, or perhaps it’s that his chest looks so broad. His shoulders appear to be broader as well underneath his jacket, and while the long tails might appear to shorten other men, on Sebastian they merely elevate the length of his legs.

He slips on a pair of white gloves that Otto hands him and you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. He looks like a proper gentleman dressed like this, you think – not at all like the haphazardly-robed young man you’re used to seeing.

“Ah! Excellent,” Mr. Hill says with a clap, breaking your trance. “A perfect fit.”

“How do I look?” Sebastian asks you teasingly.

“B-brilliant,” you stammer. “It, um. Fits. You’re fit – I mean, it fits very well.”

“Of course, we’ll charm the waistcoat to whatever color you’d like to match your dress, once you’ve made your selection,” Mr. Hill explains as he gestures to the garment. “Or simply leave it white.”

“Of course we’ll match,” Sebastian says easily. “But getting this one to make a selection isn’t going to be easy.”

You scoff and turn back around to the rack of dresses to hide your persistent blush.

“Go on and change back into your robes, Mister Sallow,” the shopkeeper says. “I suspect we’ll be inquiring about your opinion shortly.”

While Sebastian returns to the back, Mr. Hill summons a modesty screen around the rack of dresses you’d pulled and waits patiently while you slip out of your school robes and wrestle your way into that first dress – the periwinkle blue. There are so many layers that it takes you at least ten minutes to even put on your crinoline, which Mr. Hill assures you he’ll let you keep on for all three options.

“Have you even put one on yet?” you hear Sebastian call out when he returns. “Merlin’s beard, you’ll take on a den of trolls by yourself but you’re bested by today’s fashion trends!”

“Come and help me then!” you whine.

“Er – is that alright?” Sebastian asks Mr. Hill.

“Of course!” he exclaims. “He’s your date, it would be unchivalrous not to assist you.”

That’s when you realize that Mr. Hill probably thinks you and Sebastian are properly dating, but for reasons you don’t want to admit to yourself just yet, you don’t correct him.

You could also sorely use some help as well.

“Mind the petticoat,” you mumble as he ducks behind the screen.

You’re both quiet as Sebastian helps carefully bundle up the skirt of the dress and drape it over your upright arms, slowly working it down your body so that it doesn’t catch on any of the boning in your corset. Once the skirt gracefully pours down over your petticoat, you gently smooth the bodice and turn around so he can lace up the strings crossing your back.

“Too tight?” he asks softly.

“N-no,” you murmur. “You can even do them a bit tighter, actually.”

You gasp softly when he pulls on the strings and cinches your waist tighter, and Sebastian pauses for a beat, but you don’t instruct him to loosen it.

Once he fumblingly ties the strings together at the small of your back, he mumbles, “All set.”

He offers you a hand to steady you while you shuffle out from behind the screen. Mr. Hill immediately laves praise onto the dress, and while you agree that it is quite lovely, a glance in the mirror reveals that periwinkle blue just isn’t a color in which you shine.

“No matter,” the shopkeeper insists. “Onto the red, shall we?”

Sebastian again helps you slide the dress off up over your head and replace it with the red one, this time lacing you tightly from the start. There’s a delicate cape that goes with this one, so you turn around to face him so he can drape it over your shoulders and tie the small silk ribbons that sit just at your collarbones.

“Ought to be plenty warm in this one,” he jokes halfheartedly, trying and failing to resist the urge to sneak glances at your décolletage.

“Is the cape a bit…?” you ask quietly, wrinkling your nose. “Is it too much?”

“What?” he asks dumbly. “O-oh, no, I – I think you look great. It’s a great dress, really.”

You’re nearly as red as the dress when you emerge for a second time, and once again Mr. Hill thinks you look like “a buxom Beauxbatons beauty from the boulevards of Paris.” However, regardless of your house pride, if you’re going to be blushing like this all evening at the ball – and the odds on that are significant – you know you simply can’t go with red.

“I have one more to try on,” you tell Sebastian softly. “It’s that white one, just there.”

You notice Sebastian’s gaze linger on the ornate embroidery, a pleased look passing over his face.

“It’s stunning,” he tells you. “Shall we get it on you?”

You merely nod, not trusting yourself with words at the moment.

The moment Sebastian helps you slip into the white dress, you know you have a winner. As if imbued with magic (and perhaps it is indeed), the white silk shimmers almost like the fresh snow outside the shop window. However, instead of feeling like a proper ice princess, you feel warm all over – especially where Sebastian’s hands mindlessly reach out to trace the fine embroidered patterns on your bodice.

“You look…” he exhales. “You just need to see, come on.”

He walks you out for the last time and even Mr. Hill refrains from commenting until you twirl in front of the mirror, your skirt gracefully lifting and falling with your movement.

“...I look beautiful,” you whisper. “Oh, Mr. Hill, it’s just lovely.”

“This is the one,” Sebastian insists. “You have to pick this one, it’s hardly even a choice.”

“Your companion is correct!” Mr. Hill crows. “My dear, it’s as if that gown was made precisely for you.”

Otto comes by to charm a few simple adjustments into the fabric of the dress and you watch yourself in the mirror with wide eyes as it molds itself to your body. Now it looks just like one of those custom dresses in the illustrations that the girls in your year pour over in the shopping pages at the back of the Daily Prophet.

“I think we’re done here,” Sebastian says quietly, his eyes still fixed on that one embroidered seam at your waist where your bodice meets your skirt.

“Of course,” Mr. Hill agrees. “Let’s get you out of that crinoline so I can send you two lovebirds on your way for a nice Butterbeer or two!”

As he babbles on about how it’s just like the last time the two of you came into his shop together, you meet Sebastian’s gaze and realize both of you are steadfastly refusing to correct the man. You know that you’re blushing, but seeing him blush just as fiercely is quite revealing.

After you pay Mr. Hill and make plans for Otto to deliver the dress to the castle once the storm lets up, you and Sebastian wordlessly trudge down to Sirona’s lively pub. There you manage to snag a small booth in one of the far corners – one that you’re well aware is a popular spot for snogging.

“So…” he says softly. “Lovebirds, are we now?”

“Don’t start,” you warn him. “You know how Augustus is, it’s usually just better to let him talk than spend all afternoon trying to correct him.”

“You didn’t even try,” he observes.

You counter, “Nor did you.”

Just then Sirona drops off your drinks and Sebastian forfeits his turn in your verbal duel by taking a pointedly long sip.

Then you forfeit your own turn when you get too distracted by the bit of Butterbeer foam on his upper lip to offer anything remotely witty.

“Well, regardless,” Sebastian eventually murmurs. “You did look beautiful in that dress.”

“Thank you,” you say. “And you were very handsome in your robes.”

“Proper fit, one might say,” he retorts.

The cheek, honestly.

“Sebastian,” you say quietly. “I need you to be honest with me about something.”

“Go on,” he says, taking another long sip while you consider your words.

Slowly, you ask him, “Since we met… have you ever once thought about us being more than just friends?”

“Have I ever once thought about it?” he repeats. “Of course I have. Countless times, probably”

“Then why haven’t you ever said anything?” you ask, staring deep into your mug to avoid having to meet his eyes.

You flinch slightly when Sebastian reaches across the table and plucks one of your hands off your mug. He laces his fingers with yours and pulls you closer, and the noise in the room seems to dwindle to a whisper as he meets your gaze.

“Between you and me, you’ve always been the brave one,” he tells you earnestly. “And I’d rather have only friendship with you than ask for too much and lose you entirely. Believe it or not I have learned when to stop.”

You smile ruefully at the reminder of just how much Sebastian has grown since you chose to give him the chance to do so.

He drags his thumb across yours. “So, if you want to be brave, I’ll be brave with you.”

You exhale shakily before you finally confess, “Of course I want to, Seb.”

You’re nearly in his lap at this point, and there’s absolutely no way the conversation you’re having could be interpreted as merely friendly by any onlookers. So, you think, why not be brave?

When you kiss him, the first thing you notice is that he tastes like the caramelly richness of the Butterbeer you’d both been drinking. But then it melts away and it’s just him, just Sebastian. He’s wonderfully warm, and underneath the initial sweetness he tastes a bit like the fluxweed stem he mindlessly chews on while he studies to help him focus.

His nose slots against yours as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, and you wonder what he’s noticing about you.

But a moment later, the feeling of his warm hand on your thigh immediately makes you lose your train of thought.

“Seb,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to press your forehead to his.

“Let’s go back to the castle,” he blurts out eagerly.

You fondly roll your eyes and let him steal another kiss before you push him back with a gentle hand on his chest.

“I believe you just said something about having learned when to stop?” you tease him.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he says cheekily.

“You’re just going to have to be patient, Mister Sallow,” you insist as you reach for your drink. “I thought I saw quite the gentleman in you today. I don’t suppose you could act like him until after the ball?”

“I could,” he offers. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Tell you what,” you bargain, leaning in close. “If you can be a perfect gentleman from now until the ball, I’ll let you help me put my dress on, and then afterward I’ll let you take it off.”

You hear him loudly swallow and take a deep breath before he holds out a hand for you to shake and breathes, “You have yourself a deal, love.”

#my fic #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #it's not the yule ball but not NOT the yule ball #i did so much googling about victorian era fashion but i'm probably still wrong #at least it was fun to look at pretty dresses #also when i say the image file i picked for this was originally fuck-off MASSIVE... converting took me like half an hour

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propertyofkylar · 4 months ago

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kinktober day six: dubcon (m!harper x afab!pc)

word count: 1055

tags/warnings: dubcon, medical kink, inspection kink, fingering, reader has a pussy but no explicit gender, gross medical malpractice

Trips to the doctor always filled you with trepidation, and they always had. Now, with Harper as your doctor, these feelings only worsened. You were sat on the uncomfortable paper of the examination bed, feet swinging awkwardly as you tugged the gown to cover more of your thighs. You felt so exposed, with nothing on underneath the gown, as your doctor requested. Only your socks were offering some semblance of modesty.

Your doctor had you see him weekly, which would be fine, only he insisted on doing a full examination every time. You weren’t sure why you always needed a physical. Harper said it was necessary for your…health.

“And how have you been sleeping lately?” He asked from his seat, scribbling on his notepad.

“Fine,” was your short response. It didn’t faze Harper, though. He simply nodded. Like he always did.

“Mhm,” Harper replied. “And your sexual activity?”

Your fingers clenched the hem of your gown, knuckles turning white. “...same as always.”

“I see,” all you could hear was the scritch of pencil on paper. “A little more detail, please. Activity with penises or vaginas?”

Now, you were chewing on your lip. “...both.”

“Oral, penetrative...?”

“Both.”

“And are you using protection?”

Images of your recent sexual encounters - consensual and not - flashed through your mind. “Um…sometimes.”

“I see.” A few more scratches and Harper set the notepad down, looking at you. “Well, you should know that isn’t very safe. I’ll now need to conduct a physical examination. Please lay back and put your feet in the stirrups.”

You had done this so many times by now, the motions were like riding a bike. Did you even have the right to feel embarrassed with your hole exposed like this? Was there a point to feeling bad?

Harper snapped on his latex gloves and moved closer to you, shining a light into your crotch. He hiked the hospital gown up towards your waist and gently placed his hands on your hips, making mildly approving noises as he moved further down your legs.

“Ah,” now he was looking directly into your cunt. “It doesn’t look inflamed or anything, which is good. I need a closer look, though.”

The same old song and dance, every week. Why did he keep up this pretense? Then again, why did you go along with it? Something shameful burned in your chest. Something that you kept pushed down, out of sight. You liked it.

No, no way. You shook your head. “Doctor, I don’t see why you need to…”

“You are my patient, and I am a doctor. It is my duty to ensure you are in peak condition,” Harper said smoothly, his hands creeping closer to your pussy, which unfortunately, was starting to feel wet. “And you just indicated you are having unsafe sex. A closeup exam will show if you have contracted any sort of STIs or other diseases.”

You weren’t entirely sure that was how it actually worked, but there was no point in saying anything. What would you do? Run out of the office, half-naked? You had heard rumors of places they sent patients who acted out, and they did not sound pleasant. The mere thought made you shiver. So, complacency it was again.

One gloved finger slid into your cunt as heat coiled in your belly. Harper’s fingers were slim and long. He hummed a tuneless song as the finger moved around inside, curling against your gummy walls. The other hand came to rest on top of your lower stomach. “Everything feels normal so far,” he said. But you knew the doctor was far from done.

Another finger slipped in and you let out a small gasp as his knuckles brushed against your g-spot. “I see that sexual pleasure is still normal as well,” Harper said with a light chuckle. “No need to feel embarrassed. This is, of course, completely normal.”

The pair of fingers slowly started to pump in and out, all under the guise of an examination. You whimpered softly, your body squirming subconsciously as it sought out more friction.

“Please try to stay still, or it could mess with my process,” Harper said. The hand on your belly dipped down to tweak your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. “Your clitoris seems normal, too.”

His fingers continued to stroke your insides as his other hand slowly rubbed your bundle of nerves. “I think,” you took in a sharp breath, trying to cover up a moan threatening to spill. “I think you’ve gotten your answer by now.”

“Please don’t interrupt.” You knew that was all you would get out of him.

Both of his hands were making quick work of you, and Harper added a third finger. “Very good,” he said appraisingly. “See how well you took that? Very nice elasticity. That said, you may want to work on strengthening your pelvic floor. We can practice some kegel exercises after this.”

“Ngh–okay,” you managed to squeak out. The consistent pumping of his three fingers combined with the circular rubbing of your clit had you nearing your limit.

“I can feel your walls tightening around my fingers now. I see you are close to climax. This is good, I’m glad to see your functions are working as they should,” Harper kept up his tempo, trying to draw that orgasm out of you.

And no matter how you tried to hold it back, it burst forth from you, just as it did every week with Harper. A low moan came from your lips as it hit you, and stars danced before your eyes. You also felt a gush from your aching cunt as it clenched around those latex fingers.

“Wonderful!” Harper said with a smile, drawing back and disposing of his gloves. “And look at that. Ejaculate.”

You looked down to see a large wet patch on that crinkly exam paper. No fucking way. You squirted on the doctor? Now, your cheeks truly were burning with shame.

“Ah, please don’t feel embarrassed!” Harper was entirely normal, standing up and heading over to his notepad. “It’s completely, totally normal. A perfect response to sexual stimulation. And you did excellent work. It seems like your body is in excellent shape.”

Harper offered you a grin, which seemed kind, but a hungry, predatory look lingered in his eyes. “Same time next week?”

#degrees of lewdity #dol #dol fanfic #harper the doctor #harper x reader #cw dubcon #kinktober #writing #bitches be like 'no fic tonight'#then post fic literally 30 min later #fucking ridiculous

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taintandviolent · 1 year ago

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"Want to see what we can get away with before they come looking for us?" Prompt + Kit or Tate <33

Aaaah thank you anon!! I chose Kit, just cos it’s been a minute and I love me some asylum settings. Sorry this got a little long, it’s below the cut!!! Asdffghkkhajshshsk.

“Want to see what we can get away with before they come looking for us?” You leaned over the checker board, biting down on your plush bottom lip.

His dark brown eyes bored into yours, trying to find the joke. You stared back, assuring him silently that there was no joke, no teasing to be found in your suggestion. The asylum had an influx of new patients, the sisters had been busy with intake and you saw it as the perfect opportunity to have a little fun with Kit Walker.

You two had been flirting, on and off, for the past couple weeks but it was all playful. At least, he’d convinced himself it was. He hadn’t made any serious moves, just teased you here and there. The teasing drove him crazy, those few moments of intimacy in a world of frigid celibacy and isolation. Every night, he’d spend the first half hour after final checks fondling himself, beating off under the white cotton sheets. How could he not? He was a man after all, and you were… such a woman.

His gaze drifted slowly down the front of your gown, which was regrettably baggier than he’d like it to be. Of course, a lady has to keep her modesty, but there was something about the way that the standard issue gown hugged all the right parts of your body; your hips, your ample breasts, he wanted to know what was underneath. He’d wanted to know what was underneath it for weeks. It drove him crazy, if he was being honest.

Last week in the rec room, you’d intentionally grazed your hand over his dick and immediately made him hard No more playin’ it cool with that one, he’d thought. He had to sit at the one of the tables, tucking his groin as far underneath it as he could until the blood flow redirected back to his brain.

“What’s all this fah’?” He leaned to the side, sneaking a peek out the door as a sister pushed her way through it. The hallway she approached was desolate, much like the moral of this place. He repositioned himself, looking back at your pretty face, still plastered with that same mischievous expression you’d had when he looked away. “It ain’t nice to play with someone’s feelins’, sugah.”

“Feelings?” You echoed. You withheld a dreamy sigh, his heavy accent always went straight to your cunt.

Kit swallowed and leaned forward. “ Sweethaht, ‘ahm serious.” All this sternness was coming from a place of nervousness, because he knew that if got a taste of you, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Aside from the brief moments with you, it had been weeks or months since he’d had any physical touch from a woman. But true intimacy? It had been too long.

His knees hit the underside of the table abruptly, his eyes widening. The tip of your shoe pressed into his groin, lifting upward slowly. A whimper tumbled out of your open mouth as you felt the weight of his flaccid cock.

“Shit,” he hissed, leaning his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment of the sensation, he straightened up and looked into your naughty gaze. “Sugah, please…”

“Please what, keep going? You want to do all this right here, in front of everyone?” You could tell, he was trying so hard to keep it together, to keep his cock from hardening, but as the seconds passed, you could also tell that he was failing. The trousers the men got were everything but forgiving. The slightest increase in length was easily spotted, and usually violently chastised by every Sister in the vicinity. Thankfully for Kit, there wasn’t a Sister to be found.

You pressed your foot harder against the rigidity once more before releasing the pressure and scooting the wooden chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. “C’mon. Let’s see what we can do before one of those stuffy old broads notices we’re gone.”

You didn’t wait for Kit’s response to start walking towards the door, with the casual air of one of the Sisters; you, like them, had an assignment to do, and walking out the door was the most normal thing in the world. Before you’d even reached the doors, Kit was behind you, pressing his groin into your backside.

“Whatta’ lil’ devil you are.” He said, planting his hand on the door above your head and giving it a firm push. It swung open, and you immediately headed towards a storage closet you’d seen last week. It was in the bakery, which would also be empty at this time. Lunch had finished, and the prep for dinner wouldn’t start for another few hours.

At the speed in which you both ran, it didn’t take long for you two to reach said closet. Kit opened it, and you slipped in, immediately spinning to face him. Your back was pressed against the half-empty shelves, and it smelled faintly of yeasty dough and flour.

“You sure ‘bout this?”

You took fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him in closer to you. Neither of you said anything, just exchanged heated glances of each other’s lips and eyes. Kit was the one to press his lips against yours first, but you melted into the kiss, sliding your hands on either side of his neck, and tangling your fingers behind it.

He moaned into your mouth, bringing the taste of himself deeper into your mouth, and you reciprocated that moan, giving him more of yourself. The thrill of being caught heightened both of your arousals.

Hurriedly, knowing that the moment could be snatched away in the blink of an eye, he dropped his hands to your tummy, ghosting over the soft flesh. You whimpered, breaking the kiss to watch. It didn’t take long for his thick fingers to find your cunt, where he immediately began thumbing your clit gently. Circling it, dipping down to pick up some of your wetness like an artist dipping his brush in paint before smearing it over the canvas.

You felt his hard-on through the thin fabric, poking into your tummy, and without another word, you reached in, wrapping your digits around the head. You squeezed it, urging more of the pre-cum out and Kit whined pitifully, delving two, thick fingers into your wet slit. As an attempt to stay quiet, your rolled your lips inward and bit down, moaning softly into them as you pumped his cock in and out of your hand, committing every ridge to memory. His skin was velvet soft and hot to the touch, and you desperately wanted to know what it felt like slipping past your lips.

Kit bucked his hips into your fist, demanding speed. You squeezed tighter, and he crushed his lips against yours, muttering words of praise into your waiting, open mouth. He bucked harder, and you felt the thick, sticky ropes of cum flowing over your finger tips. The sensation of that alone sent you over the edge, and you clenched around his fingers, hugging them tight in pulses.

“Sister Anna!”

With a second to spare, you thought. Kit clamped his hand over your mouth, watching as the light disappeared and reappeared from the crack in the door.

“We’re missing two patients. Sister Jude said that she was alerted, we’d better go find them. I’ll check their rooms.”

The voices faded along with the delicate wisp of their steps. Kit immediately moved his hand to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. He kissed you again, but not with the fiery passion that had been there before. There was an urgency, a worry.

“C’mon sugah, if they’re headin’ to the rooms, we’ll be back in the rec room before they get there.”

And, you were. You both separated, tucking yourselves into opposite corners. and pretending like you’d been there the entire time. You stared longingly out the window, watching the rain as it fell. Kit was leaning next to the jukebox, picking absentmindedly at his cuticles. The rest of the patients were none the wiser… except Lana. But she wouldn’t tell.

#mydrabbles #I’m sorry if this is ass I am at work aaaaaaaaa #Kit Walker #kit walker x y/n #kit walker x you #kit walker x reader #smut

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zablife · 1 year ago

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A Wrench in Our Plans

Requested by @chaosinkest1996 for my 2K celebration An Evening at Arrow House. Warning: This is a dark fic 💀

Author's Note: Scarlett Shelby Nelson is my OC and she is married to Jack Nelson. This fic is a bit lighter, a mix of horror and crack fic!

“Mr. Nelson,” Mrs. Shelby exclaimed in shock as she heard the door of the study close with a firm thud.

“Call me Jack. We’re family now,” Jack said a bit too congenially.

Striding toward the door, she attempted to excuse herself with a few polite words, hoping the imposing man would follow. “We should be getting back to the other guests. I’m sure Scarlett will be wondering…” But before she could finish, Jack stepped in front of her, his broad frame blocking her path.

“My wife doesn’t concern herself with every breath I take,” he assured her. Mrs. Shelby regarded her brother-in-law with a watchful gaze as he crossed to the bar and made himself a drink. Wholly unperturbed by her nervous glances, he took a swig of his whisky.

“Well my husband does,” she declared, a note of warning in her voice.

“Is my reputation really that bad around here?” he teased, lips curling into a smirk around the glass. He offered her one of her own, but she shook her head, casting her eyes to the floor. Jack chuckled at her sudden look of modesty, knowing full well she wasn’t the blushing flower she pretended to be.

“You won’t join me in a toast?” he asked, feigning a look of hurt.

“I don’t drink,” she said tersely, pulling at her long satin gloves until she could feel them cutting off the circulation in her fingers.

“I must have you confused with some other gin soaked broad from Fleet Street,” he mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass thoughtfully. “Then again, your ex-husband owned San Marcos didn’t he? Helluva coincidence, dontcha think?” he smirked, pleased he’d uncovered a mafia darling in their ranks.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, finding a triumphant look of smug satisfaction upon his brow. It ignited a rage inside her she didn’t know she possessed. “You fucking bastard! You sat across from me all night pretending you’d no idea who I was and now this?”

“Easy, doll,” Jack hummed. “I won’t say a word. It’s only Tommy who doesn’t know what you are.”

“What do you want?” she spat, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly, the shy, quiet act disappearing with each huff of breath.

“Nothin. I wanna help you,” he said, voice soft and patronizing as he offered a cigarette to calm her nerves.

“Like hell you do. When did the Irish mob ever do anything out of the goodness of their heart?” she asked suspiciously, as she accepted the offering between outstretched fingers. She studied her adversary and seemed to make a decision, what that was, Jack could only guess as he leaned forward to light her cigarette.

Patiently waiting for the flame to catch, he watched her perfect bow shaped mouth purse together. His eyes were transfixed on her low cut gown, the swell of her ample chest rising up toward him with the intake of breath. Suddenly he understood why Tommy had chosen to believe her ridiculous lies.

In such close proximity Jack was quickly forgetting his objective of blackmail. When Mrs. Shelby placed a manicured hand to his shoulder, he didn’t resist. Before he could register what was happening, her hand was cupping his face, urging him toward her waiting lips. He didn’t hesitate to close the distance between them, giving into her practiced moan which only enticed him further. Jack massaged her tongue with his, thoroughly besotted.

Taking that as a cue to go further, she slowly ran a hand down the front of his trousers listening as Jack’s breath hitched. He found himself momentarily off balance under her skillful touch, silently cursing his weakness.

A sudden knock came at the door and they broke apart. Scarlett entered without waiting for a reply, eyebrow raised in an impossibly high arch.

“Everything alright in here?” she asked.

Mrs. Shelby exhaled a plume of smoke as she plastered on a smile. “Just fine. In fact, we were coming to find you,” she lied smoothly.

“Were you? Well that is a happy accident," Scarlett smiled at her sister-in-law insincerely. "I came to say goodbye. You see, I can’t stay this evening. I need to get back to Boston,” she said with a quick nod, finishing her announcement. With a flourish of her skirt, she turned to leave, but not before shooting a dangerous look back at her husband.

Without asking for details, Mrs. Shelby accepted her excuse. It was a relief to be rid of one Shelby. The family had been so inhospitable and now, thanks to Jack, perhaps she knew why. Did they all know she was related to the Sabinis? The thought made her paranoid and she couldn’t wait to escort her sister-in-law from the house. She only hoped her brother-in-law would join his wife so she didn’t have to put on an act any longer to distract him.

Just as Mrs. Shelby called for Frances, Scarlett intervened. “That won’t be necessary,” Scarlett said, motioning toward her single piece of luggage. “Jack and I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but let me see you to your car,” Mrs. Shelby replied, feeling the eyes of her staff upon her. She waved them away and followed the Nelsons to the front drive, the sound of her heels crunching on gravel reminding her that it would soon be their tires.

When they’d arrived at the car, Mrs. Shelby discarded her cigarette and crushed it beneath her heel with finality. Surveying the empty courtyard, she asked the only question left burning on the tip of her tongue. “I assume this means no more questions,” she said pointedly to Jack.

“I think you’re safe for now,” he assured her, looking at something just beyond her shoulder. She had little time to react as she soon felt a crushing blow to the head. She fell forward into Jack’s arms, feeling lightheaded as she heard Scarlett’s voice echo, “Was it enough?”

“Enough?” Mrs. Shelby mumbled, attempting to raise her throbbing head from Jack’s shoulder. When she did, she noticed the deep crimson stain she’d left on his suit jacket. However, the scream caught in her throat as another blow sent her to the ground, vision fading to black.

“Put her in the boot,” Scarlett demanded, tossing the bloodied wrench beside her luggage. “Quickly, Jack, before someone sees you!”

“Jesus Christ, honey, you couldn’t have waited a month like we fucking planned? Now there’s no chance of making a deal,” Jack hissed into the darkness as he leaned down to check for a pulse.

“And no chance for you to fuck her,” Scarlett bit back as she leaned out to glare at her husband.

Jack exhaled loudly as he grasped Mrs. Shelby’s upper body, dragging her to the back of the car. Grunting as he dumped her body, he huffed, “You know, it’s possible your jealousy is clouding your judgement.”

“I could say the same about your dick,” Scarlett retorted. "Get in the car!"

------------------

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#zablife 2k celebration #Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Jack Nelson fanfic #Jack Nelson imagine #Jack Nelson x OC #Jack Nelson

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embarrassedanon · 2 years ago

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Chris had always been embarrassed of his flat ass. If anyone was to blame it was his dad for passing down his pancake behind, but that's neither here nor there. An unconscionable amount of squats made only a modicum of a difference. Resigned to his fate, a friend recommend he head overseas for discounted cosmetic surgery. If boarding a trans-continental flight with the sole purpose of enhancing his cheeks wasn't embarrassing enough, the nurses at this clinic--if you could even call it that--had no concern for his modesty. His flimsy hospital gown was ripped from his body and his cheeks were poked and prodded in preparation for surgery. The other patients subject to the same fate lessened his embarrassment only a tad. He forgot all about his embarrassment when he woke up from surgery with the shapely cakes of his dreams, but of course, this feeling was temporary. He had no idea the future embarrassment of split trousers and accidental exposure that accompanied life with a big booty.

#medical #enm #my writing #alexander skarsgard

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damon25 · 2 days ago

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julieverne · 2 years ago

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When Kate came to, sure she hadn't been going to, it was to Megan's hand on her thigh, pulling down her skirt, protecting her modesty - and the small puncture marks that would release the deadly disease inside of her. And then Megan's hand was on her throat, checking her pulse, and Kate couldn't remember if Megan's hand had ever been on her bare skin before. Not the right moment to notice, but she noticed nonetheless. And then she was whispering Megan's name out of hope and despair, knowing she wouldn't survive, that this was merely a reprieve that would buy her time.

Time to regret that she'd gone after Todd, when it had been Megan she'd wanted. Time enough to regret that Megan's soft caress on her face was the first time she'd felt it. Time enough to regret the look in Megan's eyes as she looked down at her - eyes that held as much as her own did, the same regrets, the same affection.

But Megan had bought her time. And Megan was the smartest person she knew. If anyone could formulate a cure, it was Megan. Maybe with Kate as incentive, Megan would work harder and faster.

As they waited for the ambulance, Megan took off her jacket and placed it on her lap, propping Kate up against her at the appropriate angle to help her breathe. She procured some water and helped Kate gulp it down. They knew it wasn't airborne, but Megan wiped excess water from Kate's chin carefully. It was against all protocol, but Kate couldn't bring herself to scold Megan for once. They both knew the risk, the exposure Megan was risking to give Kate comfort in what could be her last moments. She just closed her eyes, Megan's hands folded across her chest to keep her upright, Megan's reassuring words lost in the muddle of her mind but their meaning coming across anyway. Megan wanted her to survive. Megan cared about her. She whispered Megan's name, and Megan shook her gently to keep her awake, keep her conscious.

"Right here, Kate," Megan said firmly. "Not going anywhere. You're not getting rid of me that easily." If she could speak, she'd say something witty about Megan, maybe something about how she'd never be rid of her because she lived in her mind rent free, but she couldn't so she just squeezed Megan's hand and relaxed against Megan's chest.

---

The medics were a shock, loud and jarring, stabbing needles, running tubes, Megan's arms the only comfort as her breath rasped against her exhausted airways. They had to pull her, eventually, out of Megan's embrace, Kate's sweaty palm still clasping Megan's.

As they loaded her up, Megan hovered, securing the fit of her oxygen mask, brushing Kate's hair from her face, tending to her. Tending. Tender. Megan leaned in, hand on Kate's shoulder.

"Listen to me. You better not die on me. I don't have a lot of girl friends. I can't afford to lose even one."

And Kate's heart, already worn out, skipped at the implication that Megan considered Kate somewhat of a girlfriend.

---

Megan came when Kate called. To answer a question. To confirm something Kate suspected. That the 72 hours wasn't a hard and fast rule. Kate felt self conscious in her gown, Megan in her coat, looking normal. Looking even better because she looked normal, when Kate's world was suddenly doctors and patients, and she was both at once.

---

And then Megan was there, of course she was. In full PPE this time, thank goodness. Kate could tell what was going on, but Megan said girlfriends again, and Kate just stared at her, drinking in the sight of her. And then the cure failed, and Kate was thankful for a moment that Megan hadn't been allowed to try it on her first. That Megan hadn't had to watch her die. And Megan sat there as they wheeled the body away, the warm weight of her a comfort against Kate's side.

And Megan insisted on staying, and Kate insisted that she leave. She didn't say girl friend, but she said good friend, because she was dying quickly and Megan was running out of time to save her. She didn't want Megan mourning her more than she needed to. She didn't need Megan to know. It would only hurt her. Megan was already crying. Kate couldn't - shouldn't - tell her. Not now.

And so Megan left.

---

And when she woke, Megan and the rest of the team was there. Watching her hopefully. That was when Kate knew it was over. That she'd live. That she'd get another chance to tell Megan, once she was stronger, once she could get up and dress herself. For now she just nodded, meeting Megan's eyes, so soft as they looked at Kate even though she must look a mess. And Megan stayed while they distributed the rest, even though she could help someone else.

"Let me be selfish, just this once," Megan had said, when the team had dispersed to dispense the cure. They nodded, all clearly wanting to stay, but knowing Kate and Megan had earned this. Megan perched on the bed again, still in her full PPE, pulling away the tape that held her glove. She slipped her bare hand into Kate's.

"I'm probably still infectious," Kate pointed out.

"Luckily I'm really good at washing my hands," Megan countered, and there it was, the smug arrogance that drove Kate crazy. "I was really worried," Megan said quietly. "Really worried that I'd never get to tell you..." Megan trailed off. "How much I admire you. Anyone else would have been scared for themselves, but you turned me out so I could save more people than just you, when I would have let them all die just for the chance for five more minutes with you."

"And I was scared I'd never be able to tell you. I do count you as a good friend. You're the only person who really sees me sometimes, and that scares me too."

"You can't be scared of me," Megan said, caressing the back of Kate's hand with her thumb. "Because I'm scared of you. You see right through me, Kate. I put on so many layers and shields and defences and you see right through them all. You cut to the marrow of me, and that's terrifying."

"So we scare each other. That's ideal, isn't it?" Kate asked, and Megan chuckled.

"The last time I was this scared was when I held Lacey for the first time. She was so small, so reliant on me, and I was so young. I didn't know how to be responsible for her, but I loved her so much I could barely breathe." Megan took a deep breath, released Kate's hand and cupped Kate's cheek. "I felt that way holding you outside the office."

Kate swallowed; she could feel her raspy throat and heavy eyelids, her tired heartbeat, but this was important.

"I felt safe," Kate said finally, swallowing. "You were the first thing I saw after I thought I'd died, and I thought you were an angel for a moment. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven." When she looked up, Megan was crying inside her face shield. Kate felt her own tears flowing, felt Megan's bare hand brush them away. Biological hazard, she wanted to say, but Megan was looking at her, and she knew Megan knew, knew Megan would wash her hand very well.

"Well, you'd better rest up," Megan said, swallowing. "Because as soon as you're out of here, I plan on taking you as close to heaven humans can get without actually dying." Megan's smirk was back, but instead of being infuriating it was endearing when Megan used it with an euphemism.

And then Megan was gone, the sway of her hips triumphant even in her tyvec.

---

Just watched this episode for the first time and uh

#body of proof #megan hunt #kate murphy

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libidomechanica · 6 months ago

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And that I throw off is ideal— lowerd,

A sonnet sequence

For when I was beguile thy mistes eclipse that treasure pass; with lullaby your dreams speak with gold, with place, and now my heart’s history. Do crown thy murderer’s heart alway. But disturbing court to Lady Psyche, ’ I rejoined, the fifth in line from the hearth, and teache her troth, and which made her safe. And that I throw off is ideal—lower’d, like a salmon sing on, as if for Moses and your crooked shape of Terror crouched, in camps, in close faults, yet soft like a ball a workman that word of Death and fall have been born or some troubles from above to another place; crones, old and so tall?

’Mang heaps o’ clavers: and on the woods, filled the truth, the tribe of myself at the terror crept by each simple seen. Some with that looks dim with such disgrace, nor avarice, nor over-anxious because she’s trying to explained, no two made monastic vows; that weld the kitchen, coffee in her amorous parents, albeit so masked, to whom a watched then an offices of sense is it made his life, and the rising on that is gifted, it never return again. ’—Sires, that hides always death. When proud-pied April cloudy, gracious stone in a moment or broken flesh and bones by turns a churl.

And then wink awhile, with two tame leopards couched the desire had overwhelmed the sex will live and die a death my days should be that without the child, today when we talk thought it knew not wherever be so, as he crept into a present all the high wood, the flower, and you wi’ a’ your Johnny, yet each day, each one another place: holds my hair, whose lillies and the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye lighted, for silk will dare e’en death do us part, but seized her flat hand? Ye wadna been sae shy; for we two were all the clocks in the sky-lark shrills. That I the bed.

Abstract love should be discovering air. I see him counsel may your looks should once or two, such as old Saturn ate his music. Let no man spoke: Behold the moment of my heart works its own, is not end the knock-out drops and next demands a man. ’Ve been the daffodilly her mother, for we two were all its spotted egg releases its wren song today when window’d heart stay, and lose converge to prolong the nature of his song with me in the thought a slight his forehead, then to that waits coolly to be ruined. A bargain dress his beads both thorns once a wee unsought her, O!

As all ruby red, cheek on cheek! Through, especially when fire, and lear, will work even with the twelfth fair and brag the crossbeam of your life too well-guided arrow flew. All otherwise you perish, can decay, lest if a word she spoke, the great or small, to tell us, and after battle, filter’d the river jumps over my soule of sagacious age, had he thought a man in a river; cupid a-shooting went to be annoy, all my endless tabernacle be: if not I? Which hath on a gown of the background; thou art insensible of this hypocrite modesty, child at dead breast the filching age will draws the wild regret the serious Angles in my arms and there are days are that built to be sure you that thou art true, like to travels I return the cried my brothers’ temperament—let no fair faces in a half-empty cup, nails rusting into seamless air.

Went to this: if thou be still the hallan, a chiel maun be patiently his rushing blue movies from this vestal limit, and half a spurn as house betwixt king Arthur’s court? Have eaten within my hands nor weep: all beautifies. For while the fountains, but raine, from the fool the world are destined for a short time to choose: would swear that opposition on the purple grapes and the knock- out drops and next a quarrels last look at the wing’d with suspended scythe to see what women most desire to know each other the hangman’s heart he cheered, and heav’nly paradise; and oh, her labours for thee.

Rain on men of business is with an abstract love yourself, and grace? And they were vice, would find the fence, and nature’s riches from bush to bush about, the very woman’s oath, the royal bed by and bare! That ye can please: or would not learn; they were: still by twos and thee to thee modesty, subtil modesty, this pass’d I blindfold her break like leave me youngest he that fire is repeats the difference, and acted right; and friars that spangled at her ear. Frail mariners afloat with payne, that is my life, or as sweet soul of his birth, ere yet his eyes which on you will say, we loved and his stone.

Each one little thing whitening cell, and nightmare: your head again? Or if I blush when he fell, and all the world. Of orient pearl a double post, and the flower, saying note. Of the seagull diving through our hospital: cut to my hands, and bound to keep fair play. Lips she went with half a spurn as house’s latch too poor for hand upon me like to laugh and tost it to answer, Madam, you so; let me, and a flute plucked and yet I can’t well be true, you the way a stone—sometimes, in entering thirsty asphalte yard; silently we went round and married life, three long years of sword and a’!

Will find in worlds over you except peace. It so befel in this hands in water’s guilt! His eyes white lilies, know, by those holy night to turn back regards on what gars you’re weeping jellyfish. After it ended badly it got so much perplex’d, and shows not half upright. ’ Woo’d and married into a pond of urine. A tomb which all otherwise you perish as young and pure to those of others blest—but were madness in all it doth that: some too little doll child, in shiny black. Of bards and a pond that we covet their jingling modest virgin fill’d his waves poured as the knife. By thee.

When beauty’s graces and quietly, across what history less poetic pages. I say, you have his farme. And by the same princess. A penny for you, no lewd adulterate pair. And close faults, yet soft as pudding, slops in: I shut my eyes, to gratify senses to enclos’d my infinite agree? There is a goal. By all experience taken up the prince and prayed, we grew so tender and the doubt, which promise, during lid of an averted eye— the suit, they’are but we three castles patch my tatters: robert Burns: pass by hunders tore my virgin knowing as thine arm! Apart.

Once a king had loved the human voice doth thy bed, sweet hour, all that inbent eyes can scarce skimm’d the gray linen slacks, all pleasant leave the butchered present, the scourge the wits of the feast, and o’er cloud drop on his screen, especially the world I will go deep, never with the pilgrim bore bloomed in the o’erflow’d with the river, then window. Whither there be tongues. They that indigence thou art by night, and saw, with his life of meate, for while both alike; a night the grasses the watercress so fine to eat not one new comfort or console: and some pleasures: Innocence was t’other was a favours!

The impalpable ash or there were design’d to give for his silver spills across the windchime in her there to shreds within the thatch, a piano at her fifteenth birthday cake and heav’nly paradise for me to you despite its breast in men’s views, than in a round and round, the country yields. Sordid bounteous Earth in nine moons’ time. Judges on the bargain dress of her dresses? No, no, I never moved; pregnant pot Woo’d and leade the mind glows; a paper sat, with the path has lost a third of prejudice, disyoke the Roman brows of Agrippina. Him look so wistfully at the hive.

Some with flawless demonstration: follows? Without sigh one another way; soon on the best, and he answer, and you will fill for sports. Pillow, mix the dust as they will dare the wintry rage of a harsh terror clearer;—in short, the shadows dire. Woe, forgotten till the world with bars lest Christ for all. If not to free him, to produce a great plea deny and many-headed faithful friend; nor apt to the thief. Forgets the best part, variety of silly sheep. Will no other place and light they proclaim: deep down by Sandford, yields each rose wounding, her eyes, and chestnut-flowers do not.

Of the spring of warres and pale to sustain some casually glanced at their chins,— a daily plague, which hides there: for flower. The porch, windchime wasn’t making because the real portrait in my dispose,—think ere your voice which seemed to peep in at a hole. With some small; not thy show! They that exists, aromas, light, though the greater smart, and dear, lest the Temple’s inner shrine with the bargain dress of wives, if that sail toward your true nobility of yore, thyrsis and told, how much more than ever human miracle.— To be half sae saucy yet; I rue the demand; here life was once seem’d the ground!

Received, but I never fails; and left it in thy spleen on? The jolly troop of Oxford up your price, the good housekeepers, to breathing nostrils? Like lies; while loud that which made him sad, it may be stains them, needs with the Berkshire hounds, wears so everyone starv’d, ’mid a’ thy fair appear’d, with soul and dreary: it was the mild canopy of English poets gave; and often when wink awhile, discuss’d her horns the day, it eats the night at the curtain first Romans chose: Fabricius from cold despair, I drafted hymns to the squires marvell’d at merit of youth is always what we drinkin o’t.

As your pain, for someone sits lonely subterraqueous sigh, and one in this return this be heard not to hold. We of thanks to her a new light and land: the noble forms makes noble through thy beauty fades away the cold in the hill, our Scholar haunts not any incubus but here on Bromion’s rage, that passed in all the greatest fearful of the day, ye wadna been such as our atoms were ne’er attracts; and when the danger fear this white, what we wanted? This white rose in fruitless men who groan, then the morning air. Not all the haven with one man, and sick surmise we watcher’s desire!

There is not a woman can be no moan: but such intent on Death and the blossom to impossible to woman, superstition all awaken her thought vpon a wind of the day, ye wadna been set down, and blue-stockings, and no pretence, not only tears, the severity was their jingling keys opened each; and shakes her face. Sun, how after for music’s sound, and hang the way a stone of the sun, resort to farmers rich, though in wretch, and your true—I love you that thou go with me, sweet love, be lovers they ought to forbear to let the stars go over the tilt of a bastard kind?

But even glean your bliss, O Man! May not brother! Would trace the walls: this mop and moon but set to rise, while I am Adrienne alone; yet waile thy mistes eclipse that Psyche, ’ Florian, yet hangs at the shadow steals shadow’d which, for whose base and deformed thy thoughts, all power to hurry and what sedged broom instruments the great urns of fair were born to be wed or dead, the too barbarous, would never a place where I certain what need na jouk behint the basest weed outbraves his eye behold the moon up with all his golden thread most excellently we went to sleep.

Angels used to be unmoved; would be still panted within her ankles go into the purpose still, I know who live, and the female kind. As you gone. Hand. And real the chains where thy fires fade: exit seraphim and Satan’s men: I shut my eyes and obedient wife. Spoke to the hypnotist’s trance girl is your life, no cloud drop on his knee. The trees and the sky, and sold—but this sad to hear this braw and birds are other side of whore, and I will say, we love thee, severed at last by Time’s stops blowing through his Mecænas is yclad in pure madrigal, unto her who believes he’s poor. In contribute to your pathway strays! Seventeen, too, pass’d I blindfold here, he could pass for now the infinite agree? Folded and vain the road where memory of fresh arrivals of the ploughing, and the Graces, grouped in for truckers, that I have broken urn, for his fate. Dear Christ! But the earth.

Your lap, and sock or buskin fine, with idle paines and fire? Thy mither’s life, as in his eye behold the knightly me, but, trowth, I care na show, yet I love April in my breast. The seconds in water on the summer’s nightly me, but, trowth, I care na by. Light, and bound by bands of wire. With plead that which you would trace the sea what is the crowds hae starv’d, ’mid a’ thy face soft desired, adored; but also seen some fruit in our hand upon thy wife’s tongue from those high words, we conscious of our bird-throated mother one. And not our hands when he cross’d the sand; I hate it, as I for one. That Christ toil up and do the thing of us would still these halls, and mean to madness, bound to serve a knight and lose convention the maids in monstrous garb with stars; there’s a hollow silence and villanize his face is this, that nothing. What antres vast and dark lawn. With mop and more braiding time.

But thou take the concord to a grin of bitter look, even the plough. Life; the vigour of the secret wedding, that asking look? A dull and multiple locks, above, be loved and soon her lips and acted right; and that hast my hand in each other side of whore, and I hid in Leutha, seeking: but when on a difference of the hideous shed. From the Muses’ blood on the gallows- tree, wi’ the slender passion’ e’er be took. At a table set and man. She plighted, for swarming at the sky, and I rose up in sackcloth too, our shepheards laddes to leave to describe. Of my race so foul.

Out of his mouth and face, nor drop feet foremost through all the present moment. Who watched with his Cheapside; and a nose that I before it be warme, for thy? Some ne’er presented, vaunted verses swarm at every stone half hidden from your plane, imagining a voice singing the way her interfered in white, they talk, and plenishing to hold a rod over hips, the spring from an ash, and when the dawn: a beam had slanted forward to the heart a whisper’d, and read the stains the rose-buds fill’d with that passed us walking away triumph pales, or could pass for new. ’Mang heaps o’ clavers: and weep.

See the shadows instead of saying what the dead, the tricks, which I envy, that ancient gray, when proud-pied April dress’d in art, must, surprise you covered in a female chastity? I am black despair under the Seven Sleepers’ den? And laid on a Damasque they can’t find out and blear-eyed Will the night that men have melted into place is far too was a heroines in England ran with cheese and felt the pilgrim bore bloomed in this dangerous quality. Because he happed to reel, and near, that tomb already more than a man. People there unseen, and the adulterate pair.

He did lay up; and life is gone, let all the tree so knowing we did—was then in love. And at your senses to enclose me up; and there, light comer, he would find one, each him climbe so hie, and I will not me, and saw a man must weep who watch him climbe so hie, and all day, to thy keeping, it will be, as fortunes of this world about the madonna and chime: o let not yet. Their autumn at my hand in a fit. Are bull, your Highness. That thou go with me through all the hand, proportion of the fair. A goodly veil, which is not at first time, lose thy little to reprove her, she’s lecture.

Was for a long chase, whom for him; to a boon southern hills, then laws were made the hollow silence of thy name. Dear Cloe, how are our brushes; yet I love, I hae seen the Dorian water, some good aduice: or pricke them. And lullaby thy lusts relented to create against the child hiding board are like a deceive; and everywhere. To Life’s appointed bourne: and that jigsawing under and durst inhabit on a bank and betwixt the poet’s verse-men you know that all mine Oten reede, where Cupid, very much a martyrdom, to vex their promise otherwise the most solemn grace.

, Which he in thy joes hae swerv’d frae common— my lady’s prattle, filter’d thee from below, else how couldst thou, modulate me, Soul of America, Oothoon shall I my undoing much disparity of bloody Mars, of warres and think ye are green grass unbidden rills float heart beat thickets: others pay which grows out of the bargain dress of my heavenly together and the air, and brand it and lose convention, since that beside the stairs: and weep. Why so dull and thou wandering sky with infinite brain captiu’d in golden prime! These are themselves most consequential, the right back.

’ Thirdly, that, in purple through throbbing scarcely thought her first inquiring while. When it was white fog creeps with Lar and read this way he was assembled a scientific fact: and the other, but then thy place could make so layd, when she once did, and scorn. Say maidens clad in clamor’s hour. Silently we went round his mother commended the black cord makes you, you know bedbugs? Its raveled fleece made more he spoke, and all the view you don’t—but, pale and held her who is here eagles hide the council, two better changing gown, and phrase, that same place: holds my hair all uncurl’d: pr’ythee quit this hypocrite?

The gilding wears so every thing in all its dreams are cut and sleep little mair blaw sweetly in the girls are other desired, adore it, they miss—but nothing as straws the wind, and knees against the world’s sole through gorges unexplore the perilous grain in the Blind man’s arms and mount her. They do, t will hunt them clash; an auld wife lay smiling by herself, is not worn that men build is built with soul intent of such heaven’s Angels used to be receiver ripped him so that every petticoat, or a clanging gown, and the stake, Let me lie along the van of his mother’s pocketbook.

It was too-too true; henceforth the dead, the golden morning air. Is penn’d: his inexperience made for Man, since could mountains, but not his eye behold their cures the same route, as though thy beauty, education, for woman-kind was wonder what hunted thou when the female or male? But know you, except peace. Nor a closet never would never saw sad men who looked like a year or twa, she’ll no be half of what substance that beneath the severity was not die a death and somewhere black cord makes too long I’ve battle, filter’d new; thy looks should serve her though to its poison the scaffolds the porch these lines that did fetch his daughter shows, they right, and can wipe out blood, and the iron gin that which might not go free, sure thou leaves at th’ shepherds lost as much inspired his black in memory sets forth the right he seemly raiment of my study windows and chime: o let not yet.

Wilt thou find no rose-bud in your hoods about him, and as molten leaue: his music. To do within his lovèd Theotormon! You still it lay that hole where those evil days till night, like to mix some such a wistfully at the world. Of each evil sprite the threshold hard with beauties but that lies by each lily withers they obey the scrubbed, she acted right; and heav’nly paradise of prison? Permit me, Julia, now to go to be the strides best to be; but of a brazen bell give warning to Jack, and if I give them sing in despatches: and being happens to you best, ’ when I reign.

I’ver also seen someone you none. Last Love, she’s standing on the rotation slow, the tries to thee why so pale? Fondly the leaf of the worm shall be either old compose another kind. Thou paints auld Nature’s richest gemme of love will hover, and blond meadow-sweet and know that spicy nest. And uncontested summer by with thee alone. And all greasy hempen band upon a heart thy pipe too she’d choose you in a year i’d wind through the threshold, and I thy clear morning wish to plight, and was wondering round the heaven with the stone of double growth to thee, and sweet love, our wished flight from the cold. Love deceive you all old vices must be confessor he who contempt, and known; unknown? Love smitten, carried at a’! Courtesy to this go. With any manners, wit, or face! Wave shaving an interest and picnics, do you hear you ask proof? With holy voice of slaves, obey.

As e’er believes till deformed got, curst inhabit on a map, but today a coffin, as he marriage. New pearlins enow. Pairs to correct, as the atrocious, unless good therefore cannot blood, that quilts those next hours happiness; and that Death was the moon rides in mist, the lust of law, was late, late in her boddice sae blue, syne blinks o’ your tracks? Aristotle can buy, till the hem of herself that flowery prison of its work. The Princes pallace the mincing mimicry! Cried, one way open? Then did I know the world grows pure invention, bliss from a little red pieces of mind.

Died. Was mischief that whisper everything this be other sense, will work even with the shapes a brothels of the dear beyond time wakes a man shall cease; whether russet, silk, or some block could make leap up with many things beside the hand, so light thee here to row; in the gates of the hot cornfield of the court compact of lucubration; if in patient range of pupils; she hearth, and fortitude it give me. Or want you tell the hole in memory of facts, of court, and wit, then tell to weake? Often and a spirit man not the beames display the shapes partake, I have said, I tell, but my father way to increase, to fight the eastern kings, ’ said so strictest in rymes of flower, and have made the skies, ocean’s flowing sermon, is one of Truth, tops in life’s hat!&In a moment of a mystical sublime at, are there, I think I’ve done, and glean the pit. Admired, and the birds.

Neither cheek all one skin that no one has so soon grow rich, more wretches, that’sauce for goose is smoke, and dews and hang the uneven head up—but not in deed, or wife, as their though a broken heart which don’t know the flesh and be clever; the teeth o’ time machine. Wherewithal to be wed or dead woman ripened earliest knowledge is nowhere in wanting, as the railway: love has not ashamed to die. But the same fervent and plain and you welcome find the state, the age had taught my Theotormon’s limbs: he roll’d his way he kissed me, and came a sudden shock of beach we sat and pictorial.

And a nose that he did not what. I shall be to pleasures: Innocence was too-too true; henceforth the black despairing stay, where quietest of possible, ’ said he, what charm of thy deeds; lilies grow; a heaven, no silver sails all one skin like Munch’s Scream Fairies’ prophecies, in thy sciography? We prized it dearly; while in my throat. Whose noble hands of wit, and fantastic basis, to build up common gender an arch of the heath and to come with the soul should I, who am not mixed equally; if our two loves be one, and in high renown, ere made for Poets on to punish thee.

There was not body; he was a favours! Who ruine am with gold, with three will; and secresy: and the sighed the stream, to swim or sinners gave, because he would see; their disturb your elegant scars. Of pantomime;— he dance. So shall try, but die ye must bury sorrow bring, that matter for the basest brought my still the night and deserts? Jock Milton thrives; wee Pope, the spikes of the slow autumn at my place to make a quarrel shall do so for the starts—but Dick was mischief bent upon earth discoverings made for laik o’ gear ye lights come out of fear, perhaps of pleasure and ennui.

That way, new strung his book appear, and your tracks? For the morning and dark obscurity; where quiescent clay! Their steps into caves, terror clearer;—in short, there’s more— swells towards there: for the Lord of Sin in the throne thou canst vouchsafe the inward soul to pain, my pain I could him castle. Than I have such idleness of habit’s power to take his soul of mind. How can I now expects no fairy guest to skim the night, but said that they dance, and by each spot man makes bread the crystal moon, and let thy image pure? How little hour! Such a victorie, yet growest more wretched growe: yet the best.

So wistfully at the tears you love, do not blood in Man ever shone for being crushed bird skulls in your head, a hand with love I would be your hands they are kind, to please me at this hole your belly, soft and death and fearful, cautious, tremble; in looks the father. Bid that fellow’s got to say, thus bold even fourthly, what we most solemnly their babes have brought a bedde of eastern kings, ’ said Cyril, Madam, all the same fumes of me: and all that right. In a dreadful night she was some movements of old, and learnt a stormless summer of a generous loved and thy face, whilst I stay here, disdain.

With handsome and ears and hung up to dry and haply may forget not yet thy Mother’s terror was still then? It’s not the broad lucent Arno-vale for thought vpon a wind of power; your brain. The Starrs, all the woman, tired of morn arose, here’s little tract. His centric happiness, with white face, secret influence of it self in my breast, and ioy there’s a couple. To wakes; for Sunday next, with the sea. Awkward the phantoms kept theirs be led; heaven rain leaps in the fond eyes upon this vile world, with such as are coin’d in conversing with ease his clumsy Will! The sort of the stubborn shell, while I am talking like a lattice edges lay or book or lute; but here you none. In lieu of sons, of the nightly wont what maid whom there is the key to you. And wise, nor have made the Rhodope, the glebe, but only Stellaes name to confessor he went, griped all nigh on noon, and briers!

The fierce of all. Faint caresses by the bed. By bounty of our lives like a personage began. Then storm we had never a plack on the grainy dusk toward America, Oothoon they vanish in the tableau intact. To court he should rob the red branch of the Ages, and Jill goes down in itselfe, still may lead the new light they had not serve people have loved, and long while you said. Terror of him in the man had forgot, and the beauty bright and daisy, salvia lyrata … oh goodbye like delight can never stirr’d; and sell it in thys humble husband and ill, on either more?

This Hunter and a duteous state reveal. For stealing out of the ills o’er which the great promise everything which did it’s whole, no doubt, yet strive, our ponderous Epic lilted out by violet-hooded Doctors! Less, I shall I dote their boots. It is a bitter cry, and maist thou find none but a woman than Christ toil up and up, to be free; their darkness in another’s brink she laid his musicks might be false and sought for, that a bonne. In the ocean with that once a fluid haze of life, three long hath the very weel aff if by the scent the years of blood, an innocence is it goner?

For thee trouble, thee possessed with forests are: against it holding crushed bird skulls in your life for only be the noon of night and gathers are strewn—so have shapes partake, and ears and horse: the time and bread the worst of all my care, with place, with those three gallant gentle common-place, no one left behind, go sleep. How can you my ravished predecessor saw, you with me!—Not of his own darling, queen Maud in either. My life was once studded, old, white-blossom, to vex their prey; he slays the state, there’s at least satiety both the sort of varnish over every where kind, to do me more?

When I think ye are green, yours is my life. The other nightings bring. And swam for Love, I am all the day, ye wadna been such a point to find, or trots by hazelly shaws and make most solemn thought, may quickly find a term is given out after, I opine: at peace, or so she looket sae sweet flower add them in the heart doth with this can’t win her with beauties but they went, he added a sliding behind the memory of you waking safety in the iron town there oft dull amaze the sea. Love to another’s feeling and the rites of grace not due to that little hour!

Stood without, passions, wit with a bitterness swept their planning and oft with feet of better on the faint rainbow. Unless he tossed in happy ground; from joy to joy to joy and they would taint each in his body destiny depend upon whose crowns the hideous prison walls sudden silence thou liest in rymes, in ridles, and see how it wasn’t making loose desire is— SOVEREIGNTY. And the sorrows know? Cold in the shocks my daily logs of the portional futures on strops of midnight parson claim the night was matcheth not see thee modest virgin joy and braver at night,—without dream not mixed with their own or no: it is a beast is hanged him as he slept on sand again, just to the Abyss, a red, round thee free from seven-and-twenty; for I renounce my roving headless arrows starred, silently we went to shoote agayne: or it mens follies mote be forgotten.

In lieu of sons, of those brown paper sat, with strict injunctions, a people far away are deaf and blacks—now pray shut up the same. A wavering that sleep in mind;—of paying attent to you. No more amongst the indicative, only contradiction; there be prophet, in such a tale. The Warders strutted up and up, to be forgotten, and their brilliant ocean: at eighteen, though in my time, here we must be trusted, and scrubbed, sheenless wood of women will be dear beyond the freak of poetry left on in the stars black in memory’s rapture all the fuller by a sister.

Men gave the far-fam’d Grecian, Roman lines; nae gowden streams of youthful years; it is only she mighty Mother kind. That you please the best part of dialogue, by humouring plac’d in such guise that living thing; a good which the church do what red Hell his sixpence had, before is plainly showed, the wealth, the throne of youth; that flowers to come between friends, through thick as young and flog the first time to child-bed, as men were the vulture? The hands in water will bore any sweetheart, let me give the wintry tempest— surely hath been and failed to and from red tape&to those, that was learning of Heaven.

The catechism in two, nor can pronounce then, when of the sound and round threes, till wanton maids and other surety, that old Florian asked, nor could keep apart. I am holy while my pretty women were all its dreams and that jigsawing under the months in balls and put thee from our avenging her obeisance, let Bedlam out; and swell, soon shall we must house betwixt king Arthur’s court shall wed. I want thee from East to West: whither side be Victor, in the original, a pleasant, if thou when thou seekest solitude, to build him quail, or his darling, you roll down from wealth of living to the purple grapes and husband-fool; but she drag the cold in the day, where grief its hooves if it shows in my story and lastly, by your devouring for days, drafts, carbons, poems are eerie; and often came melissa hitting all the way a women were we: the world.

Although every moment for narrative is no sleep, in May, in those eyes have deeper digg’d love’s long locks that tall grove, you shall live a second life in weary thys long inside my heart to another. So is best; yours is a lower, and came a voice in the cavern with the onward sight, would, like Pygmalion, found Wit: od’s Life! Reflect thy infant animal awesome I would want and proud; how they in the highest tribe? As would spring doe were near. Someone steps into my hand subtracting till my fingers as long inside his last for love; and nocht could reare the elves: whining, riding time.

Poor heretics in love, ’—and wholly spoken and all her spires, she needs na say she’s but still he grew afraid, a rack of pleasures which seemed to die? On strops of might-have- beens, the crowds upon the present mixed with an abstraction, and her whom want betrays, where there’s ane; a Scottish callan! Such nothing I deny, my little: Would you know they in the back t is because the sharp’st intention to the thief. See us whole self once would count eternal fears the brave man was à-la-mort, and sometimes in photographs, and blond meadow-sweet air we went round Theotormon seek this hole your eye.

She call’d The happed to marry; they mocked the man in the spring, was a’ beset me, hopes which might defy a crotchet critic’s rigour. Not able to foreigner is strangling. Before ask no inconvenient kindness now, to move the starry skie. For I am sad and the tins, and married and erasèd. Your ancestors were the joys of old, and which is high, so it was, she had puzzled all the brain on the daily plague, which none should perpetual light He forced forward, falling is strange,—but true; for one his lamentation upon the mighty wing the wind blowing through this I yield.

The war, and fair, in blood were trying to do, own though the breaking well, and calling device in my nature formed thy thoughts as food tree one hand read the stones, we turn this despair for thy dear concern, and by and bare! Her mither they fled, who mighty wing to further back, up like a thermometer, quicksilver voice is out, the white blaze of moss look in you, his wits pierced through the scorn’d like Good-bye; and with knowledge o’ his poets sing, advaunce the reader, nothing more. And by the unmoisten’d through his Mecænas left off begetter’s mind. I take thy repose, and I wanted to a finer mood.

A bachelor he will die—I built it with thorns and took over my soul, which thine eye my heart, which He who sat at my wings, and in seeming skin. The weather’s manners, wit, or face! To early June, when men must die before, how much more gracious, cruel, could’st thou go with a heart is lost, what we wanted— to be free; regretting much, and so lost a third and find our hero, he glancing will be taken, mends our lives made longest quell, the court he should then any thing of soap and I will not say what sense amongst the fall into my hand. Ah my love, I am all those evil days till Easter.

How far from Dolly twitch. The Flower of the spring again and is thy flight. Promise, during life, and caught the awful wish to have but your wise could hear planet close faults, yet you go: the Blessed. The secret wedding, slops in: I shut my eyes and to temptation rent her wise, and the portion of the fear—the joys of mortal chants of clay for there a grave, when proud-pied April dress’d in low estate; one of double growth of the deserts idle’ then would not find their wood still preserving me I shall haue a Kidde to star star cadencing aright, and only this, that sun their full coupe. But both.

Which when I do but see the pain, for she had cross thy string; the village green, yours be the omen! To know it: when the sorrow like Eve’s apple doth admired; a little fairy quires for men to the great wall of tacks around his Daughter shows, they look’d grave within the indicative, only contradiction; if in patiently his rushing face; she played, nor longer by our proffer turn. With blossom, to sweet love, I thus concluded, and the Lycian custom of pleasure by thy sordid bounteous Earth should Human Pity do pent up in your looking ill prevails. Yet growest morn.

In days of birds unknown—trees, and grey, and warn’d before—so deeply had I been by their walls so fair; heap the sand; I hate a motion never saw a man who looked, and why he refugees make a much more gracious gold. Few would sigh and the brain and is the midnight parson claim: then where leather my damnation grew. He better, then a mother is a miracle. Then commended the Dorian pipe, the mountains, and since she fear of the spoons and could spoil his song with his virtue advance; but I gied my head have let others; arts of the nightie and his stone one little tent of a song?

Erect behind; for he who had though much truth; beareth all things that have been dreams, all except peace. For several pitied with tears of stairs into knots. The gulf of rock. I hate an amorous pairs to cross the whole corn-fields, she knew so well to hear and heaven will be firm? Then cause and solace yourselves do cry. He did not with Allegories curious eye, so strangement, one summer’s night and scorn. Their union was upright. Piers, I haue pyped erst so long hath the law. In Homer’s Iliad, since in truth of the longest quell, the court for busloads of the way, christ brings me to you.

The bald-coot bully Alexandria was, straighway from thee, my head, or make a merry goblins disappearing that envise all, I beg all men who this go. Three yards of female parliament; and if that still doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade; but mix’d with subtle soul to paint: some ages had been at by their way again and is the knight, and further of the diff’rence to the common this dress? Floor to the ground commodiously was near, that ether house declare, upon a scaffold of Leutha’s vale: art thou hast leaves.—Or tell me, can you do enjoy, yourself, not half upright.

April cold witch! The boy at the diverged. May bloom go I! Will no other sense, will rank you of the cast all doubt, which is not even glean your hair, whose immortal pinions to their faces seemed too sore, and bawled them, smiling by herself, and only twelve- fingered by women—the sweetest part, and all growth to that your tracks? Woo’d and married and vain the end. If more we swain returning- star. I and the faith so weake and die, but when they fail! As inward soul behind whose head cushions and to the common weal, the fierceness and spirit may no minutes troubled plumes upon the morgin’d rills.

Those of our stars, and my final sign to come, the nombers flowers. I was for a young days, that not, they’are but burnt by cigarettes, they tripped on pointed bourne: and we three years of stairs: and with it; or let her with they loved her pace, nor praise, which to hear the Doctors’ Commons: but she is in its snare. And which thine to eat not only tears and sanctity so near the fen she cast and fair, and binds used to show someone you leave them still, and crooked neighbour with rust, should arrive without discriminal. That Adam, call’d her husband; so loved, whose verdict for sinners gave, an awful wail of lies.

Expansion to regret lets out its neck seeking the chicken shuns the hearth so red, with sidelong glanced: then first in character was a soul in this during life, thy words are? I beate the wit to find all things of thyself we give the way the convulsive rapture of the king him in a brief appendix, to come wheeled in symbiotic lichen in loveless bowers of Albion hear her woes appalling snow; yet the voyage, rank as a honeysuckle. Blow him again I would show mankind mighty titles tied, but I never roll out of the mob of women most desire.

Bright to court chemist mixing better kept behind, go sleep our eyes let its happy’as I can, if I move my body this caprice; and the flame to form men to see him pass with snow-scent and walls so fair; heap the same. There was on his shuddering air, and take the hangman with gold; or does he scent gan fail. That nothing to turn a young then, youth I wrote because it was, she had sparkled through the courtly Chesterfield, who was there before is plain truth of those precious plague pursue; nor jealousy his night. Ere beauties, which Darcy and Elizabeth speak of poetry left on in threshold?

To be simultaneously thing, I own, who, after frost. Thou hardly could not learn; they were living this worldly bent, i’ll do my best to pause, and I am never known ye. Trade will as a’ the tenderness preserving men, so I hurl myself so wary as I, not forced forward to that which never a place could helpe rejects the almond trees, beasts, and hew. And knows what bounds of Christ should temper Juan’s faults, yet open blots will not seem so weak the thing thee, my heart, the Regulation, as ony brat o’ wedlock to be entered, but, with his prophecy: The presented, whence the monster, then thou sing, and by and by oath the scent the wintry blast furnace, you should perpetrate some ice, take my signes must be still as oak-leaves cover thy noble birth, ere yet his eyes; for that her in a female senate was a heroines in England ranks and proud; how they in their man.

Yes, though in wretches, that I dreamed: our friend. Meet in thy chairs and dearest, drowse, or profit and a’! No thing word, the wife and died as flower, imagining a tower when I was rather have. Go to thee, here was thick as hail. The month of May, my dripping a ditty sad for Bion’s fate; and oft the week before Aurora, in the burning. The prince can be. Of all the world at last, and mouth and my finger light of Phœbe served to take their bellies layd: cuddie shall not then the proud as an August night I not say so, to give to learn from all the tower, if men esteem’d to fret with Love speak?

And do you know slime, and laid out a rock. Tell me what I am: as Virgil cold with its white evening tide homeward in snowy limbs, and by this momentary, we continue. With Tithonus the tale remembered, so that sound the flesh and bemoan ye; for, lost like a virgins honourable vows receives: and might have gone out, a possessed with my life, an acropolis so perfect kind; but the mole knoweth what sedged broom instruments the parent’s heart. From what an honest morn. Her who is dry cork, and O that is gone, and see if we our slender pullings of self-denial?

’ She was a model to be half of what the distaind with the mind, and far allusion, till China and chaste, and can wipe out blood, an innocent and tho’ your crooked shape in your ease, our Head, the grave has been an access to win her with bosom of the Babylonian wall,—I hear you to rule a house; men hated learned women: but trowth, I care na by. Of every careless cloud that you are not so much water, that never weep. ’Er their passing prudent, and peace of you and I will last like frosty rime, that thought in? In Humanity’s machine. I wake up that spicy nest.

He who hold our own true lover may be stain’d, to leave thus the queen and I said: with forest-ways, and more by our love will draw some such a tale had but for the horrible cottage-smell, and nothing, twelve fairies to know pining pin, over crisp hairs, they gave us being, and by chance that which obscurity; where your hour; but down his centric happiness; and what were made for beauty was oftentimes too ferocious, unless he tossed me quite enough: how she shard, to eat&see the roots of the faint rainbow. I lay awake when near—the earth tis his farme. I doubt and bade the harvest wheat.

To enter in the courtiers, they gave us were less divine, she kneeled; the width the new polished buxomry demands, laying flesh grows weary. Thoughts would go, piping a ditty sad for Bion’s fate; and if thou bring comfort her; and then she hath sought in all men kill the sky? To dance to where people have little bone by night of ancient loves, yet each high stars; there’s little solo act-that lady with that: some melancholy; the Sultan’s pardon it. The sign to come back, the congruity the pay’s but a lass beside the court a long room in the body bursts, and ennui.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #143 texts #sonnet sequence

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lumensgroups · 7 months ago

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Trends in Hospital Uniforms in the UAE

Hospital uniforms in the UAE are undergoing significant changes, combining functionality with contemporary style to meet the changing needs of healthcare professionals and improve the patient care environment. As the UAE healthcare industry continues to expand and diversify, there is an increased demand for uniforms that emphasize comfort, hygiene and professionalism. Here are some of the main trends shaping the development of hospital gowns in the UAE:

1. Advanced Fabric Technology: Modern hospital gowns are increasingly using advanced fabric technologies that offer moisture wicking properties, antimicrobial finishes and stretch properties. These features not only increase the comfort of healthcare workers during long shifts, but also promote infection control and resilience.

2. Custom Designs: Traditional peelers are giving way to more custom designs that offer a professional yet modern look. This trend reflects a shift towards uniforms that are not only functional but also flattering and stylish, increasing the confidence of healthcare professionals. 3. Gender-neutral options: There is more and more preference for gender-neutral and unified options that fulfill different preferences and ensure inclusion in hosital uniforms in health services. This trend is consistent with wider societal changes towards gender equality and the inclusion of professional dress.

4. Customization and Branding: Many hospitals in the UAE choose customized uniforms with hospital logos and colors. This not only strengthens the institutional brand, but also promotes a sense of unity and professionalism among employees. 5. Environmental initiatives: As awareness of environmental sustainability grows, interest in environmentally friendly clothing made from organic or recycled materials is growing. Hospitals in the UAE are exploring ways to reduce their environmental footprint through responsible and sustainable choices. 6. Technology Integration: Some advanced hospital forms now have technology such as RFID tags to track and trace targets. This improves safety, efficiency in inventory recording and ensures adherence to hospital protocols. 7. Cultural sensitivity: In a culturally diverse environment like the UAE, hospital uniforms are designed to respect local customs and sensitivities. This includes aspects such as modesty in design and adherence to dress codes according to cultural norms. 8. Functional accessories: Along with uniforms, there is a trend towards functional accessories such as ergonomic footwear, compression socks and personalized badges or lanyards. These accessories complement uniforms and prioritize comfort and practicality for healthcare professionals. Overall, hospital wear trends in the UAE reflect a dynamic combination of functionality, style and cultural sensitivity. Thanks to advanced technologies, personalization options and sustainable practices, hospitals not only improve the working environment for healthcare professionals, but also raise the standard of patient care throughout the region. As the healthcare landscape evolves, these trends are likely to shape the future of UAE hospital gowns, promoting both efficiency and professionalism in healthcare environments..

#hosital uniforms #Gift & Promotion service in UAE #led signs solutions Sharjah

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shubham-bhargav · 8 months ago

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12 Lead ECG Placement

Author:- Mr. Ritesh Sharma

An electrocardiogram is one of the most important tests in the field of cardiac care. Whenever someone faces a heart-related symptom, this test is performed by healthcare professionals. Now, due to this, knowing the 12 Lead ECG Placement completely is of utmost importance. If the 12 Lead ECG Placement is not correct, the electrical activity of the heart from different parts of the body will not be captured accurately. Moreover, the people who are aspiring healthcare professionals need to learn the 12 Lead ECG Placement for correct patient care in their career.

In this blog, we will provide you with the complete guide for the 12 Lead ECG placement. Therefore, the next time you perform a 12-lead ECG test, you get confident enough to place all leads on the skin at the right positions. This guide offers a detailed look at the placement of each lead, ensuring precise and reliable results.

Understanding The 12-Lead Electrocardiogram

Before delving into 12 Lead ECG placement, we shall learn, what a 12-lead ECG entails. A 12-lead ECG provides a comprehensive view of the heart’s electrical activity from multiple angles. It includes three limb leads, three augmented leads, and six precordial (chest) leads. Each lead records the heart’s electrical impulses from a specific direction, helping to diagnose various cardiac conditions.

In a 12-lead ECG, the abnormalities are diagnosed through waveform analysis. Therefore, it showcases P-wave ECG abnormalities, QRS complex abnormalities, and T-wave abnormalities in the report. If you happen to have any of these abnormalities then you might be suffering from a variety of heart conditions ranging from heart palpitations to cardiac arrhythmias to a heart attack.

12 Lead ECG Placement

Now, let’s move on to the complete guide for a 12 Lead ECG Placement. We have segregated different facets of a 12 Lead ECG Placement below.

Equipment Needed

Before starting, ensure you have the following:

ECG machine

Electrodes (stick-on pads)

Conductive gel (if not pre-applied on electrodes)

Skin preparation materials (alcohol wipes, razors for chest hair if necessary)

Patient Preparation

Explain the Procedure: Ensure the patient understands the procedure to reduce anxiety.

Position the Patient: Have the patient lie down comfortably on their back.

Expose the Chest: Ensure the chest is exposed; for females, provide a gown to maintain modesty.

Clean the Skin: Use alcohol wipes to clean the skin where the electrodes will be placed. This helps in obtaining a good electrical contact.

Lead Placement

The limb leads are placed on the arms and legs and include Leads I, II, III, aVR, aVL, and aVF.

RA (Right Arm): Place an electrode on the right arm, avoiding bony areas.

LA (Left Arm): Place an electrode on the left arm, similar to the right.

RL (Right Leg): Place an electrode on the right leg, just above the ankle or lower leg.

LL (Left Leg): Place an electrode on the left leg, mirroring the right leg.

Precordial (Chest) Leads

The six precordial leads (V1 to V6) provide a detailed view of the heart’s horizontal plane.

V1: Place the electrode in the fourth intercostal space, just to the right of the sternum.

V2: Place the electrode in the fourth intercostal space, just to the left of the sternum.

V3: Place the electrode between V2 and V4.

V4: Place the electrode in the fifth intercostal space at the midclavicular line.

V5: Place the electrode horizontally even with V4, at the anterior axillary line.

V6: Place the electrode horizontally even with V4 and V5, at the midaxillary line.

Tips for Accurate Placement

Identify Landmarks: Use anatomical landmarks such as the sternum, clavicle, and rib spaces to accurately place electrodes.

Consistency: Ensure leads are placed consistently in the same positions for each ECG to allow for accurate comparison over time.

Patient Relaxation: Encourage the patient to relax and breathe normally to reduce artifacts in the ECG recording.

Avoid Bony Areas: Place electrodes on fleshy parts of the limbs and chest to enhance signal quality.

Troubleshooting Common Issues

Poor Signal Quality: Ensure good skin preparation and proper electrode adhesion. Check for dried conductive gel.

Movement Artifacts: Ask the patient to remain still and avoid talking during the recording.

Incorrect Lead Placement: Double-check lead positions if the ECG tracing appears abnormal.

Interpreting the 12-Lead ECG

After placing the leads and obtaining the ECG tracing, interpreting the results involves analyzing various waveforms and intervals.

P Wave: Represents atrial depolarization.

QRS Complex: Represents ventricular depolarization.

T Wave: Represents ventricular repolarization.

PR Interval: The time from the start of the P wave to the start of the QRS complex.

ST Segment: The time from the end of the QRS complex to the start of the T wave.

QT Interval: The time from the start of the QRS complex to the end of the T wave.

Common Findings

Normal Sinus Rhythm: Regular rhythm with a P wave before each QRS complex.

Atrial Fibrillation: Irregular rhythm with no distinct P waves.

Myocardial Infarction: ST-segment elevation or depression, abnormal Q waves.

Bundle Branch Block: Widened QRS complexes.

Importance of Proper Lead Placement

Accurate lead placement is vital for diagnosing conditions such as myocardial infarction, arrhythmias of different arrhythmia classifications, and other cardiac abnormalities. Incorrect placement can lead to misdiagnosis or missed diagnosis, impacting patient care.

In conclusion, the proper 12 Lead ECG Placement is extremely important for healthcare professionals to get the correct interpretation regarding the heart abnormalities the patient is affected by. All the aforementioned points illustrate each facet of perfect 12 Lead ECG Placement. Every healthcare professional must keep these points in mind before performing a 12-lead ECG test on the patient.

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lesmislettersdaily · 2 years ago

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Sister Simplice

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 7: The Champmathieu Affair; Chapter 1: Sister Simplice

The incidents the reader is about to peruse were not all known at M. sur M. But the small portion of them which became known left such a memory in that town that a serious gap would exist in this book if we did not narrate them in their most minute details. Among these details the reader will encounter two or three improbable circumstances, which we preserve out of respect for the truth.

On the afternoon following the visit of Javert, M. Madeleine went to see Fantine according to his wont.

Before entering Fantine’s room, he had Sister Simplice summoned.

The two nuns who performed the services of nurse in the infirmary, Lazariste ladies, like all sisters of charity, bore the names of Sister Perpétue and Sister Simplice.

Sister Perpétue was an ordinary villager, a sister of charity in a coarse style, who had entered the service of God as one enters any other service. She was a nun as other women are cooks. This type is not so very rare. The monastic orders gladly accept this heavy peasant earthenware, which is easily fashioned into a Capuchin or an Ursuline. These rustics are utilized for the rough work of devotion. The transition from a drover to a Carmelite is not in the least violent; the one turns into the other without much effort; the fund of ignorance common to the village and the cloister is a preparation ready at hand, and places the boor at once on the same footing as the monk: a little more amplitude in the smock, and it becomes a frock. Sister Perpétue was a robust nun from Marines near Pontoise, who chattered her patois, droned, grumbled, sugared the potion according to the bigotry or the hypocrisy of the invalid, treated her patients abruptly, roughly, was crabbed with the dying, almost flung God in their faces, stoned their death agony with prayers mumbled in a rage; was bold, honest, and ruddy.

Sister Simplice was white, with a waxen pallor. Beside Sister Perpétue, she was the taper beside the candle. Vincent de Paul has divinely traced the features of the Sister of Charity in these admirable words, in which he mingles as much freedom as servitude: “They shall have for their convent only the house of the sick; for cell only a hired room; for chapel only their parish church; for cloister only the streets of the town and the wards of the hospitals; for enclosure only obedience; for gratings only the fear of God; for veil only modesty.” This ideal was realized in the living person of Sister Simplice: she had never been young, and it seemed as though she would never grow old. No one could have told Sister Simplice’s age. She was a person—we dare not say a woman—who was gentle, austere, well-bred, cold, and who had never lied. She was so gentle that she appeared fragile; but she was more solid than granite. She touched the unhappy with fingers that were charmingly pure and fine. There was, so to speak, silence in her speech; she said just what was necessary, and she possessed a tone of voice which would have equally edified a confessional or enchanted a drawing-room. This delicacy accommodated itself to the serge gown, finding in this harsh contact a continual reminder of heaven and of God. Let us emphasize one detail. Never to have lied, never to have said, for any interest whatever, even in indifference, any single thing which was not the truth, the sacred truth, was Sister Simplice’s distinctive trait; it was the accent of her virtue. She was almost renowned in the congregation for this imperturbable veracity. The Abbé Sicard speaks of Sister Simplice in a letter to the deaf-mute Massieu. However pure and sincere we may be, we all bear upon our candor the crack of the little, innocent lie. She did not. Little lie, innocent lie—does such a thing exist? To lie is the absolute form of evil. To lie a little is not possible: he who lies, lies the whole lie. To lie is the very face of the demon. Satan has two names; he is called Satan and Lying. That is what she thought; and as she thought, so she did. The result was the whiteness which we have mentioned—a whiteness which covered even her lips and her eyes with radiance. Her smile was white, her glance was white. There was not a single spider’s web, not a grain of dust, on the glass window of that conscience. On entering the order of Saint Vincent de Paul, she had taken the name of Simplice by special choice. Simplice of Sicily, as we know, is the saint who preferred to allow both her breasts to be torn off rather than to say that she had been born at Segesta when she had been born at Syracuse—a lie which would have saved her. This patron saint suited this soul.

Sister Simplice, on her entrance into the order, had had two faults which she had gradually corrected: she had a taste for dainties, and she liked to receive letters. She never read anything but a book of prayers printed in Latin, in coarse type. She did not understand Latin, but she understood the book.

This pious woman had conceived an affection for Fantine, probably feeling a latent virtue there, and she had devoted herself almost exclusively to her care.

M. Madeleine took Sister Simplice apart and recommended Fantine to her in a singular tone, which the sister recalled later on.

On leaving the sister, he approached Fantine.

Fantine awaited M. Madeleine’s appearance every day as one awaits a ray of warmth and joy. She said to the sisters, “I only live when Monsieur le Maire is here.”

She had a great deal of fever that day. As soon as she saw M. Madeleine she asked him:—

“And Cosette?”

He replied with a smile:—

“Soon.”

M. Madeleine was the same as usual with Fantine. Only he remained an hour instead of half an hour, to Fantine’s great delight. He urged every one repeatedly not to allow the invalid to want for anything. It was noticed that there was a moment when his countenance became very sombre. But this was explained when it became known that the doctor had bent down to his ear and said to him, “She is losing ground fast.”

Then he returned to the town-hall, and the clerk observed him attentively examining a road map of France which hung in his study. He wrote a few figures on a bit of paper with a pencil.

#les mis #les mis letters #volume 1: fantine #book 7: the champmathieu affair #chapter 1

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justicespeared · 2 months ago

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Cynthia waited patiently outside the changing room. Of course she wasn’t angling to take a peek or anything - she wasn’t a pervert. Besides, the cafe was quiet enough that Cynthia could afford to stand around. Though, she was starting to get restless.

As soon as she thought that, the door opened. She startled, and saw Mikoto’s head poking out. Just her head. “Oh! You want me to come in there and…” And see her in her underwear. No, that was not the point, but Cynthia couldn’t help but think about it. Maybe she wouldn’t be in her underwear: she probably wore a modesty gown or something. What did Cynthia know?

She was mostly relieved when she saw Mikoto was dressed, but her back was undone. Okay, Cynthia could do that, no problem. She stepped behind Mikoto and grabbed the zip. It was strangely intimate, being so close to her. Cynthia couldn’t help but notice Mikoto’s bare skin from up close. She wondered if it would be as soft to touch as she imagined it would be. She wanted to touch it and see for herself.

Her mind wandered. She yanked it back immediately. Cynthia needed to get out of this close little bubble.

“Sorry, not used to this clasp,” she lied quickly, her throat dry. She yanked up the zipper and turned away quickly, trying to hide her red face. “All good now, right? You don’t need anything else?” Please say no.

maid to serve

( TOA anniversary board - any skill +1 )

#oh where her mind went is not for this good SFW blog i'm telling you that rn #every heroine needs a dash of cuteness ! ic.#supports: mikoto #thread: maid to serve

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itsohh · 2 years ago

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Code Blue

A/N: GN reader, imagine if I was like ‘roleplay oh teacher / student got it’. Anyway this is a bit late, saw Tame Impala (white people music I know) last night and what a concert. Genuinely never been to concert like that before, was like an acid trip light show. Anyway been struggling not to just write ‘he put his thing into your thing.’

Day 16: Roleplay

Word count: 1867

Warnings: NSFT, smut, doctor / patient

AO3 Kinktober Masterlist

It had been out of genuine concern that Gustave came to you. Earlier in the day, Saif had sent you through two soft walls. An event that naturally left you eliminated and while you were an attacker, Gustave couldn’t help but worry about it when you groaned and left the training simulation. Fresh out of the shower you heard the knock on your door. With a dressing gown for modesty, you raised your brows in surprise when Gustave stood there. “Hey, what's up?” You clutched the dressing closed in the middle while you leaned on the doorframe.

“Do you mind if I come in?” You stepped back and gestured for him to enter. “Apologies if I interrupted your shower.”

“I have finished anyway, now is there something you wanted to talk about or are you just here to endure my charming personality?” You smiled as he sat on the end of your bed, rather familiar with your room already.

“As much as I wish it was the latter, I wanted to check up on your back.”

“My back? What a strange pickup line. I’m glad you Olivier are getting on better but I’ve told him before half of his pickup lines don't translate right without knowledge of the French language.” The joke brought a curve to the side of his lips.

“No, I want to check for bruising. Why have you been discussing pickup lines with Olivier?”

“Uh don’t worry about it. Anway my back is fine, my armour took most of the force.”

“You were eliminated.” A cheeky smile formed on your face as you took a few steps towards him.

“If you're so interested in playing doctor, I’ll humour you.”

“I am a doctor.” You rolled your eyes at the man and turned out. With a wink, you watched him over your shoulder.

“See my back is perfectly fine.” The dressing gown dropped partials, held up around your elbow. “That being said I do think I’m due for my check-up.” At the end of your sentence, you allowed the dressing gown to fall from your arms where it pooled on the floor around your feet, your nude body on show for him. His adam's apple bobbed as you turned around and slowly made your way towards him. “Tell me what I need to do, doctor.” You drew out the two syllables and slowly lowered yourself onto your knees. There was a shift on his face and he tilted his head slightly. His eyes gave you an intense look while he leaned forward slightly, his lips in a smile that could only be described as cunning.

Gustave's hand reached for you, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. “Open and say 'ah'.” His voice was deep in lust and you did as he instructed. Your lips opened and your tongue poked out, the smallest of sounds left your lips; sounding more akin to a moan than ‘ah’. Just as he went to move his hand you pulled back a teasing smile on your face. “Do I get something sweet if I’m good?” He leaned closer at your words.

“Perhaps, I’ll give you something to suck on.” Heat rushed to your face and you could feel your pulse increase at his words. There was always something about the change in his voice wherever he spoke dirty, the lowering of an octave, the roughness to it. “Now, I believe I gave you some instructions.” Once again you opened your mouth and this time his thumb pressed down on your tongue. Gustave didn’t protest as you close your lips around his thumb, your tongue swirling it around in your mouth as you sucked on it. His eyes never strayed from yours as you coated his thumb. Slowly he withdrew the thumb from your mouth, a layer of saliva coated it which brushed against your chin and stuck.

“Did I do well doctor?” You looked up at him innocently.

“I believe my instructions were to open wide. Don’t worry I’m a patient man, I’ll let you try again.” He rose up and his hands went to his belt where he undid it with two movements. It was slithered out of his pants and made a clang when it was dumped onto the floor. Gustave's cock now positively hard and throbbing was released after the sound of his lowering zip, no longer bound by his briefs or pants. It was slightly coated with a small amount of precum which he spread when his hand pumped his cock a couple of times. “Now, open wide.” At his instructions, your lips parted and he pushed himself in. Gustave was careful to mind your teeth as he filled your mouth, the slightly salty taste of his precum filling your taste buds. A pleased hum was heard above you.

“Ah you have done so well, now you're allowed to have your reward and suck.” The last word from his mouth was punctured and you leapt at his words. Your left hand immediately grabbed the base of his cock, holding where you didn’t have him in your mouth. One hand petted your hair as you pulled back to focus on the tip of his head. Your lips moved around his, sucking the sensitive area while your hand pumped the rest of him. With each bob of your head, you took a little bit more of him into your mouth until his head touched the back of your throat and you dropped your hand from him.

The hand fell down onto his thigh for stability as he started to rock his hips into your mouth at your pace. Gustave's head fell back with a groan as you pushed him fully down your throat, your lips meeting the base of him. The hand on your head gript your hair as he held you there, lost in the pleasure. Your breathing was lost for a second and you couldn’t help but choke around him causing him to let go of your hair.

Slowly you removed him from your mouth, drool leaving your mouth as you licked him off a few times. Gustave sat down on the bed once again. “Come here.” He patted his lap and you rose to your feet but before you could move too much, he grabbed your waist. Your bareback made contact with his clothed chest as he wrapped his arms around you. One arm held you around the waist while his free cant snaked up in the middle of your chest and found a grip on your throat. There wasn’t much pressure on it, not cutting off your airflow as two of his fingers found your pulse with ease. “Hmm, your heart rate is a little fast, any reason why that might be?”

“No, Doctor Ketab.”

“It’s not good to lie to your doctor now, I’m only trying to help you.” His head rest on your shoulder as he whispered into your ear. “Perhaps we will need to build more trust between the pair of us.” His teeth grazed the side of your throat before he suddenly picked you up at the waist and rolled you onto the bed. Your hand immediately came out and you supported yourself as Gustave left you for a moment. One hand felt up your side when he returned, a gentle kiss placed on the centre of your back.

“It’s important you feel comfortable and can talk to me about anything. I wish to look after you to the best of my ability.” There was truth behind his words, while your official doctor was someone else on base for ethical reasons, that didn’t stop Gustave from trying to look after you where he could. “Now you may feel this just a tad, but tell me if it hurts.” His lubricated cock pressed at the opening of your entrance and his hand glided over your back.

Slowly his length pushed into you. A steady pace that allowed your body to adjust for him. “Doing so well, just a little more.” He breathed out and his hips met your ass.

“Gustave.” His name was drawn out on your lips and he took it as a queue to snap hips out and in. “Keep your back straight.” He leaned over, his arms next to yours, face centimetres from your own. “There, such a good patient for me.” His rathered breath could be heard as he fucked into you, your name on his lips, rocking his body into yours. Your moans and whines filled the room as he hit that sweet spot right inside of you with every thrust. Your body quivered beneath him and his hands interlaced with your own, pushing on the sheet.

Gustave's lips pressed kisses on your shoulder, open-mouthed messy ones that turned into light nips each time he rolled his hips into yours. You whimpered out as your climax neared only for the sound of Gustave's phone to fill the air. At first, he ignored it, increasing his pace but as the call finished and it run again and then again, a frustrated groan left his mouth. He huffed as he pulled himself from you, rolling onto his back and fished the phone out of his pants.

“Kateb speaking.” His voice was close to a snap but he covered his tone with a cough. A sigh left his lips and he ran a hand through his slightly sweaty messy hair. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple.” The phone was shoved back into his pants and he gave you a look of sympathy. You gave him a half smile and sat down on the bed, pulling the sheet up over your body.

“Duty calls?” Quite literally in this situation.

“Max is injured.”

“Wasn’t he doing some motorsports practice or something today?”

“Yes.”

“He crashed?”

“No, supposedly Tori slapped him on his back and he tripped forward down a flight of stairs. Sounds like his leg is going to need surgery, from the sounds of it Masaru got it all on camera. We are quite literally the last to hear about it.” He sighed as he shoved his now softening cock back into his pants and picked up his belt off the floor.

“That’s hilarious.” Gustave shot you a look. “I mean it would be if he didn’t just like cock block the pair of us.” Gustave's eyes narrowed at you. “Oh yeah and if he didn’t get hurt.”

“The fact that that was the last thing that came to your mind concerns me.” He looked down as he threaded the belt through his pants.

“He will be fine, you will stitch him up and hell be back on his feet in no time. You can’t deny it's a little bit funny, that he tripped.” Gustave huffed but you could see the smile on his face. He headed to your door and paused when you called out his name. “Well finish this later if you're not too tired yeah?” He took a few steps towards you and pressed a chase kiss against your lips.

“I promise.”

#r6s #r6s x reader #rainbow six siege #doc x reader #gustave kateb #get blue balled idiot

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