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wellpresseddaisy · 1 year

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Long Ago (and far away) pt. 24

He regretted losing his temper. Potter…thankfully Potter seemed to understand that it wasn’t directed at him. That Lily’s sister, who claimed to love her so, could leave her child in a cupboard and only let him out for two minutes to use the bathroom…he rather wished he had another wastebasket to kick down the hall.

Or a pair of snogging students to terrorize.

He reeled in his temper as he strode from the Hospital Wing to the Headmaster’s office entrance. Dumbledore, while the architect of much of Harry Potter’s suffering, likely hadn’t done it purposefully. He still possessed a rather more rosy view of family life than Severus could believe. It was, hopefully , unlikely that he knew the full extent of Potter’s experiences. He’d learned to read between the lines of ‘I just like it better here, professor’ or ‘We don’t get on very well’ when necessary, mostly pulling from his own life. Albus Dumbledore…unfortunately retained some of the marks of a Victorian childhood, despite his best efforts to keep up with the times.

He'd make it crystal clear to the headmaster that going back was not an option. Not for this child. With his Mark gone…it ought to be easier to make his argument.

He let the twisting staircase do the work for once, too tired in body and soul to march up it as he usually did. At the top, he stood for just a moment to gather his thoughts before he raised a hand and knocked, Potter’s thick file clutched against his chest.

“Come in, please, Severus.”

The door swung open and Severus stepped into the office, steeling himself. He would not lose his temper again. And after this, he would go and get some bloody sleep, marking be damned.

His NEWT students could just cultivate patience. For the good of their souls, of course.

“Are you well, Severus?”

The quiet question startled him as he made his way to the chairs before Dumbledore’s desk.

“I find myself somewhat inclined to a headache this evening, sir.” He answered truthfully. He felt the dull throb of an incipient headache at the back of his skull.

“I hope this won’t keep you long then. You said you had something to share?”

In lieu of an answer, he set Potter’s file on the chair next to him and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. He showed Dumbledore, the skin not even scarred, as if he’d never carried the Mark.

“Severus, you’re certain…”

“I made some delicate inquiries. It’s gone, sir, as if it never existed. Apparently some of the older guard attempted a ritual. It did not go as planned.” Bonding to the man who certainly was not marking anyone had its benefits.

And Tiberius Nott should never have been put in charge of anything. He’d completely lost his wits and started shrieking the moment Severus poked a head into the Floo on the pretense of asking after Theodore’s dietary needs this term. He wondered if that was the sort of thing one ought to tell one’s husband before racing ahead with it.

Probably. This whole problem was precisely why he’d declared at eighteen that he never wanted a husband. They stopped you doing anything interesting…if you allowed them that liberty. No, he was NOT going back down that rabbit warren.

“Then…it’s over. We’re…we’re free of Tom Riddle.” Dumbledore seemed to cast off his premature old age as he spoke.

They weren’t, precisely speaking, free of Tom Riddle as he currently sat in on Monday evening in the Slytherin common room. Given his personality, Slytherin might wish to be free of him in about an hour once they discovered that he meant what he said and cared not one whit for complaints. They were, however, free of dark lords. Severus didn’t think it quite the moment to divulge that bit of conversational dynamite.

“And he can be moved.” Dumbledore breathed. “He can be safe.”

“Who, headmaster?” Severus found himself asking.

“Why…why Harry, of course. I looked back today, at every letter Arabella sent in the years she kept watch and…I don’t know how I missed it. If you read…and I told him he had to go back.”

“Mr. Potter asked, as he seems to have been suddenly remembered by quite a few people, if there could have been some additional magic done to him to make him…overlooked. Could…” he wasn’t quite sure how to finish the question.

Dumbledore blinked at him for a moment, slowly dawning horror creeping across his face. “That’s precisely the sort of thing Riddle would have done. He was a particularly cruel and vicious young man. I…I only hope young Harry can forgive me.”

“He has a forgiving disposition, if you apologize sincerely.” Severus spoke quietly, staring down at his unblemished forearm. “You wish him to be moved?”

“I know that you, Minerva, and Poppy have formed a bit of a war council on that front. All I ask is that you keep me apprised.”

Severus almost bit his tongue at that. They’d been so careful…how? How did he always know?

“There isn’t much that goes on here I don’t know about, at least in the general sense.” Dumbledore explained gently. “Now, is there anything I should know about Mr. Potter?”

“Are you sure you don’t know about it all already?” He couldn’t help the acid comment and felt himself flushing as the words left his mouth.

“Only what Poppy has shared, Severus. I do try not to pry into specifics until absolutely necessary. People do deserve privacy.”

Why the bloody hell did he feel scolded? Severus swallowed and steeled himself.

“In general, Potter’s continued existence is nothing short of miraculous. He…” how much should he reveal? Technically, the headmaster had the right to know everything as Potter fell under his guardianship during the academic year. “Due to a harrowing incident when he was eight, he is currently suffering from Complex Magical Trauma, in addition to the issues caused by undernourishment from a young age. His lungs are also not as robust as one might hope.”

The headmaster sighed deeply, looking grave. “Eight, you said?”

“He apparated to the top of a building. They locked him in the cupboard under the stairs for months, in the dark. The…the elder male Dursley liked to stand by the door and threaten to keep him locked up forever.” He wouldn’t dignify Vernon Dursley by calling him an Uncle. The man barely scraped to ‘bottom-dwelling slug’ in his book. The slugs, of course, were of more use to society.

Dumbledore looked as ill as Severus felt, having to explain that. “He knows he won’t have to go back?”

“I think it was the only reason he told the truth.” Severus paused for a moment. “It took a great deal of trust for him to speak at all.”

“I remember another boy, struggling with CMT. I failed, then, to be at all trustworthy. I won’t fail a second time, Severus. I promise you that.”

The words fell into the quiet like breaking crystal. Severus pressed his lips together to stop the quiet, anguished gasp that threatened.

“I sent you away when you most needed help, when the only people your father knew to ask were the Malfoys. If I had taken five minutes care, I could have found an apprenticeship for you. I am sorry, my boy, that I never did.”

Once, he would have reveled in the Headmaster’s obvious grief and guilt over the past. Now, though, now he most wanted to disappear to the least populated island in the North Atlantic.

He and heat did not get on.

“I…I was seventeen at diagnosis and I told Poppy she couldn’t disclose to anyone but my father.” He managed, finally. One more emotionally charged scene and he really would test whether he could disapparate from Hogwarts.

“I’m still terribly sorry for all of it, Severus. Looking back, I couldn’t have handled everything worse in those years if I’d been assigned ‘find the worst possible way to deal with this’.”

That startled a laugh out of Severus. “As much as I appreciate the apology, sir, could we please…” he trailed off, uncertain of what he even wanted. “I’ve spoken with the Weasley boys regarding Potter, Potter twice, and Bulstrode and her dormitory mates and if I have to…”

“I understand completely.”

On second thought, he loathed that gentle, quiet understanding more than the grief and guilt combination of five minutes ago.

“Is there anything else, sir?” He tried to salvage some dignity.

“Have you checked, recently, Severus? It’s been quite a few years since eighty-one.”

That question hit like a cosh to the skull. If he hadn’t been sitting, he would have reeled.

“I completely forgot.” He murmured, staring down at the ring that anchored the complex enchantment that allowed him to appear to age, no matter what his magic decided. He hadn’t removed it since the day in nineteen eighty-three that the headmaster finished the enchantment. “I didn’t…disclose…”

“Are you…Severus!”

He hadn’t known he could still move that quickly. Quite frankly, until about fifteen minutes before this, he probably couldn’t have. As Severus went an alarming gray, Albus darted around his desk. He caught the young man around the back of his neck and shoved his head between his knees before he went completely arse over teakettle.

“I was certainly not trying to frighten you into a swoon, my boy.” He remarked gently.

“Not swooning.” Came the sulky, muffled reply.

“Oh no, of course not. You simply turn gray and start to topple sideways every Monday at this time, hmm? Terrible of me to have interrupted your schedule.” He sounded far less concerned (and more sarcastic) than he felt. “When did you last eat, Severus?”

Cautiously, he let Severus up and faced the ferocious glare. Prouder than a cat, that one.

“I attended dinner in Hall.” He answered with great dignity and accuracy, if not truthfulness.

“Ah.” Albus guessed the rest. “And mostly picked at your plate and moved things about? Harriet, could you attend, please?”

A house elf popped in. “Yes, headmaster?”

“Could you please bring a tea tray? Professor Snape wasn’t able to eat dinner this evening.”

“Oooh, yes, headmaster. Harriet will be right back. And Harriet will be telling Betsy of this!” She popped out again.

Severus glared at the room in general. “Why is everyone hell-bent on coddling—” he cradled his head in his hands.

He broke off, clamping his mouth shut before he could finish. Albus shook his head fondly and moved Harry’s file off the seat next to Severus. He sat, cheerfully ignoring Severus' icy reception, and patted his hand.

“It really is all right, my boy. You aren’t losing your touch or whatever else ridiculous notion is bothering you. Put simply, people in this castle care for you. You really must get used to it. I’m sure crashing blood sugar hasn’t helped even a bit this evening.”

“I forgot to tell him.”

Albus didn’t need to ask which ‘him’.

“What does one even do with a husband anyway?”

He nearly missed the softly, miserably murmured question. Instead of an answer (he didn’t think Severus in a receptive frame of mind for ‘climb him like a tree’ and in any case they did try not to upset the boy’s sensibilities. Pomona often bemoaned the bizarre prudery of the current generations), he patted Severus’ hand again.

Harriet popped back in with the tray, frowning at the pair of them. She set up tea things on his desk quickly, handed an already made up plate to Severus, and popped back out. Albus rose to pour himself a cup of tea, giving the poor young man a moment to compose himself.

“You really must be easier on yourself, Severus. I don’t doubt that your condition is not one you regularly consider. Of course you might forget, especially with everything on your mind this weekend.”

“I should have…the contract…no one asked…”

“Dear boy, could you perhaps have a sandwich? I fear you’ll hurt Harriet’s feelings otherwise.” He hoped he could interrupt Severus’ self-flagellating spiral.

Severus stopped muttering long enough to get egg and cress down, at least. Albus leaned against his desk (really he felt quite spry all of a sudden) and studied him for a moment. He looked dreadful. Usually after a weekend away Severus appeared well-rested and comfortable in his own skin. The current set of his shoulders, the restlessly twitching hands, and the deep smudges under his eyes spoke of no rest, entirely too much stress, and poor sleep. Although, the poor sleep may have been an ongoing problem. If it were even forty years ago he’d have sent Severus for a seaside rest cure.

Sometimes, just sometimes Albus wished he had authority in Severus’ life beyond being his employer. Someone ought to make sure he slept. And ate properly. And didn’t spend half the night brewing.

They all tried, at least. They could say that much. Perhaps dropping a word to his new husband would do the trick. Once the initial shock wore off (and he would get Minerva back for that), he liked the look of the man, questionable parentage aside. One could not help one’s parents, after all.

“Now, are you feeling a bit steadier?” He asked once Severus finished his plate.

Severus blinked at him for a moment and then nodded.

“Excellent. You are going to remove that ring and see where you are, have a bracing cup of tea, and then off you’ll pop through the Floo.” Albus spoke decidedly, taking the empty plate from Severus. It was best to simply tell him what would happen on some occasions. “You look exhausted and I’m not having you try that many staircases this evening.”

“Headmaster—” Severus began, haltingly.

“We are not tempting fate this evening.” Albus said firmly. “Now, the ring?”

Severus stared at his hand, took a deep breath, and slid the ring from his finger. The changes were subtle, but there. Instead of a man in his early thirties, Severus clearly looked as if he’d only reached his middle twenties. Which, as he’d still looked barely out of his teens at twenty, showed an improvement. Complex Magical Trauma, Albus decided, was an absolute bitch of a thing. By the calendar, of course, one progressed in age. But physically and emotionally, one remained mired until one’s magic decided the threat passed. And it reoccurred.

Severus accepted the looking glass he conjured and studied himself.

“I suppose is isn’t as bad as it could be.” He tried for a light tone. It came out rather fragile. “At the very least I don’t still look like a seventh year.”

“Do you wish to discuss this or would you rather have that cup of tea and speak of something else?” Albus asked, already pouring fresh cups.

“Was there something you wished to speak of, sir?”

He’d always prided himself on knowing his staff. He passed a cup to Severus and sat next to him again.

“Actually, yes. You once gave me two rather interesting proposals—one to develop a community of scholars centered here and another to require a certain amount of physical activity of our students daily—would you still have copies of those?”

Severus blinked at him. Oh dear. Had he broken the boy?

“I…most likely yes. Why now?”

“With Tom Riddle gone we can focus on the future. Do you think I enjoyed watching my professors run themselves ragged? We were on a war footing, Severus. The only new person I could bring in, in…well really rather troubled conscience to be honest, was a DADA professor. But now, now we can staff appropriately and begin new projects, like revamping the first and second year Potions curriculum.” Albus tried to rein in his enthusiasm. Overwhelming Severus would get them back to a swooning Severus grumpily swearing he never swooned.

“How do you hear of everything?” Severus stared at him.

“In this case, Minerva told me yesterday. Your plan had her quite giddy. I think she’s going through all her own selected texts as we speak.”

“She…really?”

Sometimes Albus had the irresistible urge to go back in time and hex himself. A course of overpowered stinging hexes in the seventies might have stopped him from being such a colossal idiot. How could he have so consistently and, quite frankly, maliciously behaved in a way that eroded students’ self worth into their adulthood? Perhaps he ought to see Poppy and rule out magical interference.

“Of course she is. She’s an extremely sensible woman. I’m going to suggest we all look to see what can be changed at our next staff meeting. You may have quite a few requests for that clever runic sequence. Minerva was all a-twitter. Wand movements can be so much more clearly demonstrated, you see.”

If it ever got back to Minerva that he’d described her as ‘all a-twitter’, he might not live to morning.

Severus went rather pink and busied himself drinking his tea. “Oh, well, I’m sure it will be no trouble.”

“Wonderful, wonderful, my boy.” Dumbledore rose when Severus did.

“I really should be going, sir.” He tried heading for the door.

“I said the Floo and I meant it.” Albus herded him to the fireplace. “You’ve run yourself ragged these last few days.”

He tossed Floo powder on the fire and gave the direction. As the flames turned green and Severus stepped forward, he said,

“Oh, and don’t worry about your morning classes tomorrow. You simply must get some rest. I’ll cover them for you, of course. I’ll just send a note down in a moment as a reminder, dear boy.”

The Floo whisked Severus away before he could even reply, but by the stiff back and outraged shoulders it would have been a corker. Albus poured himself a fresh cup of tea and conjured a comfortably squashy armchair. He had personal correspondence to catch up on—Dahlia and Mehitabel both wanted the latest chapter of the ongoing saga of Hogwarts.

He could meditate on his own failings as headmaster at the appropriate time: two o’clock in the morning when he invariably woke.

Thankfully, they all knew how to keep their own counsel, as uninhibited as their letters might be. He waved his wand and his lap desk soared over. Setting aside his tea, he took out a stack of paper and took up his pen.

Darling Dahlia and Hitty,

You will never believe what’s happened now…

#hp society/the ton #hp the season au #severus snape #hp the season/the ton au #long ago and far away #albus dumbledore #Albus tries very hard and is currently rather disgusted with his past actions #and yes we are doing interesting things with how emotion and magic interact #albus might be a ginger again by morning #honestly all his friends think it's utterly disgraceful that he looks SO OLD when he's barely a third of the way through his lifespan #vera dalrymple keeps sending him vouchers for madame primpernelle's #and claude montrose gently suggested a hot oil treatment and a trim when last they met

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yep-ishouldbesleeping · 1 year

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Comunque Sanremo sta finendo e io ancora non ho capito perchè tutti odiano Ultimo o se Madame è veramente antivax

(perchè io ero rimasta al fatto che questa era una fake news ma a ‘sto punto mi stanno venendo i dubbi... e diciamo che mi scadrebbe molto...)

Gianni perdonami, so che mi chiameresti una boomer 😔

#Sanremo #Sanremo 2023 #Sanremo2023 #Madame #Ultimo #no vabbè a parte gli scherzi non seguo molto i social quindi non so bene che stia succedendo e se la storia di Madame è vera ci rimarrei #troppo male

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mygreatadventurehasbegun · 2 years

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One Dress a Day Challenge- Part Two!

Multicolored August

Call Me Madam- Vera Ellen as Princess Maria

Now I haven’t actually seen this movie outside of this one dance number, but this outfit was too pretty not to include! I love the color combination of the peachy pink, black and that bright red sweater and belt. I like the embroidery/appliques on the sweater and how the collar peeks out over the top. And of course, since this is a dance number, the skirt and those petticoats move like an absolute dream!

#one dress a day challenge #call me madam #vera ellen #costume design

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pallart · 1 year

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💀 Madame M 💀

#this one... i love this one so much #dnd #oc #original character #madame x #digital art #dnd art #oc art #vera #digital painting

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ireneead · 1 year

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Hercule Poirot & Vera Rossakoff

#David Suchet #Kika Markham #Hercule Poirot #Vera Rossakoff #Poirot #The double clue #A pista dupla #Ahhh esse ep!#Muito bommmm!#Sensacional ver o Poirot #caidinho pela madame la comtesse!#Awww #Hahaha

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siipoesia · 2 years

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“Non sapete che ci sono anime senza tregua tormentate? Vivono di volta in volta nella brama del sogno e dell’azione, delle passioni più pure e dei godimenti più furiosi, e finiscono per gettarsi in ogni sorta di follia e di fantasia.”

- Madame Bovary.

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jetbluebishop · 2 years

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Sea ladies, only lineart for now

#my art #fanart #idv #identity v #helena adams #helena #minds eye #sea witch #vera nair #vera #perfumer #madame coral

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ulrichgebert · 6 months

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Zu diesem oft und gerne verwendeten Beitrag innerhalb der immerwährenden George-Sanders-Wochen (He sings, too!) ist auch schon einiges gesagt. Wir müssen es halt ab und zu trotzdem anschauen. Donald O'Connor hat nie schöner getanzt.

#Call Me Madam #Ethel Merman #George Sanders #Donald O'Connor #Vera-Ellen #Billy De Wolfe #Walter Slezak #Film gesehen #Walter Lang #Musical #Irvin Berlin

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madame-vera · 8 months

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idk who started this but.......👀👀👀 here we go! XD

#poll #polls #fanfic #wips #writing #help me pick #wip #fanfics #fanfiction #drivingmebonkas #madame vera

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tarjapearce · 5 months

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Poppy Blue

Blue Jones! Miguel x Baby Doll! Reader.

Art by @marbipa on x

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Power play, choking kink, rough sex, mentions of abuse, preying, toxic and perverted behavior, implicit clandestine and illegal activities, lobotomy, dissociation, implicit depersonalization, objectification, hate sex, manhandling, violence, sub space. No Proofread.

Summary: Messy things ~ (I guess?) Miguel as Blue Jones from Sucker Punch.

A/N: Watched Sucker Punch last night and... yeah. Had to get this out of my system. ~ Another one for the Miguelverse ~

Masterlist

All it took was a bullet. Aimed at your assailant with no intentions of missing. Yet you did. You missed, failed terribly so. His chest was your goal, instead it went directly to his shoulder.

Projectile ripping and scorching skin, tissue and muscle in the go, earning a shaky and pained yelp. But it was the least he deserved after trying to be sneaky on your sister, that laid cold and bled out in the floor. She was no match for his knife and his blood thirst of the night. The rest was a blur.

And now, you were dragged down to the wet and dull greys walls of your future home. Lennox House. Or rather Lennox Asylum for the Mentally Ill.

Everything about the place screamed danger, everything about the people working in the monstrosity of place yelled I'm no better.

Barefoot, soaked in rain, holding your new uniform and gazing at the biggest man you've seen in you life, holding a bunch of keys while his eyes bore into you.

The way he stared made your skin crawl and it didn't help your clothes clung to your body. Arms braced the uniform closer to your chest, trying to cover it up. His eyes wandered to the man behind you, a police officer with three scratched lines into his face. You hadn't left him unscathed. Not when he tried to play rough with you back at your old home.

The man showed you around, place was as depressing as it was from the outside, but The Theater took the prize.

Girls your age dressed in gray, socializing in the area. And by socializing it'd mean to watch them either receive therapy with a polish beautiful woman named Vera Gorski, or watch them fight over the stupidest things. But who could blame them?

Some probably had enough time inside that had memorized the cracks in the wall, the scratches on the floor, the number of chewed gums underneath the table or how many dust particles were accumulated in the windows. Gray. Everything was gray and dull.

Even the voice of the men behind you talking about a price for your silence were tiresome and dry. Two thousand. That's what your memories were valued as. A number you now hated.

Corrupt pigs

The police officer gave you a gentle push forward as a nurse came to fetch you. The simple touch of that man made your skin revolt and slapped him hard across his wilting face, a scowl on your grimace that slowly turned into a smirk as the police officer tried to catch you, but you were being dragged away by two nurses into a life that would turn your head upside down and backwards, the many times it saw fit until you'd understand that you weren't in charge.

Until you'd understand your purpose.

Dance.

"If you don't dance, you have no purpose."

Madam Gorski murmured to you. Pretty, dangerous and aware of the many many situations revolving in the brothel. Cause in truth, the asylum was just an alibi and a frontage for the real deal. House Lennox. A house of pleasure.

Bets, drinks, sex, meds and a hell of a show to anyone that filled Miguel's pockets.

The main attraction? Girls that society deemed unfit to keep within her picky guts. Too into messy situations to keep the pretense around relatives. Too fucked up to function properly but good enough to mold and shape into something useful, and too tempting to break even further.

She mumbled while circling you, her dark eyes scrutinized you unabashedly, taking in everything her sight could reach. Pursing her pouty lips upon your body.

Pretty, scared, still holding a grip on reality while trying to swallow a really hard to deglute pill, and oh so perfect for a new purpose.

"We do not keep things in here that serve no purpose."

The collide of her cane on the floor was like a metronome, setting the pace to enter a forbidden place, somewhere that none could reach but you. Mind splitting in two, dissociating soul from conscience, leaving an empty, moving vessel behind. You were free for a moment. And now you wanted more, more of that place where your imagination ran rampant.

Where Gorski's words meant nothing, where the guards had no power, where you were allowed to break down and feel without second intentions or being frowned upon. But mainly, without Miguel’s preying gaze licking you raw while undressing your form with it.

But the clapping and praising brought you back to this reality. Red eyes fell upon you, studying, raking over your body upside down, stopping at your thighs to then go back to your flushed and breathless face.

Mr. O'Hara. Miguel 'Blue' O'Hara. The asylum guard, the key bearer, perverted pimp, and your new shadow.

Ever since that dance many things changed.

Even though you danced, duties in the asylum weren't to be neglected. If you said no, you'd get a visit to the hole.

If you didn't dance, you'd get a visit to the hole.

But if you didn't do things Miguel's way, you'd get a personal talk with him, and then a visit to the hole.

And those talks, surely weren't words.

Scrubbing the floors gave you the chance to listen a bit of everything. Girl's derangements, psychotic outbreaks, mumblings that were filled in with regret and many more flourishing emotions; the ever loud music from the cook, and the unceasing mewls and obscene noises coming from Miguel's office.

Some girls misbehaved on purpose, just to get a taste of him. Others did anything to draw his attention to them, specially in the dance floor. But you knew better to anger him.

Sure, pleasure came in hand with a high price. He wasn't good, he wasn't nice nor gentle, matter-of-factly some girls cried during their one on one sessions and the degradation only enhanced the tears.

Sick fuck.

Gorski's alarms flared up upon seeing belt marks on their legs and ass, bites in their inner thighs and bruises on their hips. Eyes a bit too gone and tired to actually work in anything. They might have spread the gossip around of Miguel fucking them, and even enjoyed it.

But the aftermath of it, said otherwise. And it was enough to keep you on check, but even so he was pulled to you like a magnet so strong you could see the refrain in his eyes every time he approached you.

Hands shaky, tongue rubbing and wetting his plump lips, a soft flush on his cheeks and pleading eyes. A silent 'Let me play too' cause he wasn't allowed to touch, or taste you. Instead, he'd use the girls willing to please him to take his anger out. Their bodies meant nothing, they meant nothing cause they weren't you.

They didn't have your body, they didn't have your sweet voice that distorted into moans and gasps that he'd kill to induce every time you danced, but above all, they didn't have your spark.

That little interaction with the police when you first arrived, had him folding on a bathroom, stroking himself to oblivion at the mere sound of your slaps.

Unbeknownst to you, you held so much power over him. Power he was set to dull, because he was the only one in control. Not even Gorski and her stupid polish methods to get in the rest's head. He ran the place and had it under control.

For how long though?

You wanted out. His little Poppy wanted out and surely would get everything to be free and leave him, forsake him in this damned place.

Anger flowed within his veins like molten lava upon remembering how other men looked at you, how other men wanted you. They'd possibly been imagining how good and tight your insides would feel cause the way you moved when you were up in the stage, was surreal. It was like another person took over.

But he, a sick fuck through and through, would want both. No. He'd have both. He craved and needed both, even better when you were dressed in such things that only added more dry bones to his needy fire.

Fucking lucky of them to feel you and be a your second skin. Even that stupid and everything but innocent uniform you were to dress every day, stirring up enough to let him take a peek of your panties, or the stockings underneath that remained etched on your supple thighs he'd often fantasize in getting lost between.

He just had to wait for you to misbehave. But sadly you didn't seem keen into breaking the rules. He'd wait.

---

"Stormy, come."

Vera called another girl. Whoever gave their names either knew them too well or picked random words in a go. Gorski too engrossed into her lessons to notice you had been dragged away by other guards under Miguel's petition.

Had you forgotten about something? No. Surely not. Last week's chores were fulfilled completely, the bathrooms were clean, the kitchen's dishes turn were washed up, and so were the floors. Your wrists sore, a reminder to ask for a new brush.

And-

Shit.

Fuck.

The laundry.

Some dancers had ran out of stockings, lingerie, and some sheets from the brothel needed to be replaced ASAP.

But you, Poppy, as Vera had called you and it stuck with the rest ever since, had trouble. Just cause you had forgotten about the damn laundry.

Miguel's formidable frame came into view, he was on a call, lying on how well someone's daughter was doing after a lobotomy. How they didn't have to worry about her anymore.

Your stomach felt sick and your heart leaped on your chest once he ended up the call. The guards had been long gone, leaving you with your shadow alone.

If honest, you knew Miguel either followed or kept you watched under hawk's eyes. Time stopped as soon as he turned to face you.

Pupils wide blown as soon as you came into his sight.

"My sweet, sweet Poppy."

He inhaled deeply and clasped his hands together before his face. An uncontainable smirk morphed into a light titter.

"You've been a bad girl, princesa."

His hands slamming on the table before him made you jolt and blink at his sudden mood shift.

"We..." He wetted his lips as he came behind you, "We were counting on you, Mi cielo. But... you failed us. Failed me."

A gulp as his breath fanned over the crook of your neck.

"You see..." His big and long fingers brushing your hair away from the right side of your head joint, "Now I gotta improvise something for the next show. "

"I'm sorry, I forgot-"

His hand took a hold of your neck and the contact made him growl. Warm, smooth, feeling every heartbeat underneath his big and calloused palms.

Lips dangerously close to your ear, breathing and panting as he pulled you closer to him, your back colliding against his torso and abdomen.

"Shh"

He hushed while taking a big whiff off you. A mix of soap, perfume and cigarettes. His hand squeezed tighter, earning a lovely and sweet yelp from you as he pushed you against his desk.

Your eyes widened in surprise upon feeling the hardening cock in between the slot of your thighs, poking, begging to be released and finally take you.

"You remind me of someone. Too bad she lost her spark."

His hand riled the skirt of your uniform up, passing up some layers of extra clothing, your underwear and stockings. Hand plunged inside to finally allowing his fingers to have a sample of your flesh.

"But I'm keeping yours alight, sweetheart."

His cock twitched when he found your clit. Fingers dexterous and peeling the outer folds away to give a gentle rub before you closed your legs almost instantly. A little delaid reaction, your brain was still processing it.

You went completely still when he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips. He sucked them off with hunger, groaning and trembling at the taste.

"Por Dios, preciosa..."

You tried to pry his hand out of your neck but the struggle made his breathings more labored and needy as he humped and ground against you from behind. Letting his tip to speak volumes at how hard and wanton he was. How bad you made him react. How much power you had over him.

Of course.

The idea of having him subdued to you assaulted your mind. Pressuring you into pleading, just like your clit that clenched and twitched upon having his tip rubbing in a slow yet firm strokes.

His hands went back inside your panties, searching for the nub of nerves that had you melting. Tongue skimming at the tender skin of your neck.

Just as he was about to bury a finger knuckle deep, the ever annoying voice of Vera urging Miguel from outside the door, asking for you. Her dear and lovely Poppy.

"Chingada madre" (Fucking shit)

He sighed with an exasperated growl and looked at the door.

"The fuck you want?!"

"I need Poppy on the practice. Now."

Where was the shocking baton when he needed it the most?

For once, you were relieved to know that you didn't go unnoticed under Gorski's watch. She protected the girls in her own way.

Knees trembled as he kept the hand inside. A little miscalculation had you whimpering while his fingers remained trapped in your flesh. His eyes snapped back on you with a smirk.

A hand clasped on top of your mouth, suffocating any moans as he worked his fingers between your pussy. Touching and prodding at the forbidden flesh, a moan vibrated through his hand with a high pitched Hmm

"I'll get her to you right away!"

Miguel yelled while working his fingers harder and faster, alternating between rubbing and fucking your hole with them.

"Spread your legs wider, pretty baby" The husk of his voice made you close your eyes and hips hump ever shyly at his hands. Gaining as much friction as possible.

"Miguel, I need her now."

He grumbled under his breath while moving his hands faster. The wet smooch and sucking squelch had him humping against your panties, breaths agitated, muttering something you could only decipher as filth in spanish, your hands clenched onto him, tightly fisted on his clothes.

Just a bit more

He heard Vera cursing in her native tongue as he prodded his fingers inside, toying with your opening. Stretching and fucking it at his likings.

"You fucking little slut"

He tittered while rubbing furiously in your clit. A bit too rough that had you bucking and trembling in his arms. If his hands made you quiver and melt he couldn't wait to see what his cock could do. You drenched his fingers.

Said fingers were cleaned up again by his mouth with a droopy and pleasure drunk face.

Despite having your legs shaky, he held you by the hips, and forced you to grab onto his desk. His hands quickly fumbled with his pants and boxers, pulling his cock out.

He stroked a couple of times, tip susceptible to stimulation. He pulled the panties aside, your stockings the only barrier between you and his erection. The flimsy layer of clothes instantly adhered to your soaked skin, He pushed in between your thighs, rubbing his cock back and forth with slow thrust against your pussy. His hot length brushed against the already engorged and sensitive nub.

The tightness of your warm thighs smooshed together created the perfect friction hole for him without actually penetrating you. So close and yet so far of that forbidden territory. Soft mewls and whimpers came out your mouth, too enraptured in feeling than verbalizing your pleasure.

He also needed his toys. Specially his favorite. Stockings were thoroughly soaked the more he pushed his cock in and out. Labia clothed and slicked parted to feel his shallow moves. He used you as his fleshlight, his hips smacking yours. His chest rumbled with animalistic and low growls.

His hands were clumsy as the pleasure turned overwhelming, you could see the flushed tip of him peeking out your thighs, the urge of tasting him turned bigger the faster he went. You were trying so hard to keep it as quiet as possible.

"Wished I was inside you, don't you?"

You gasped as he purposely angled his tip in your dripping hole. A shivering breath was all he received.

He took you by your chin and squeezed

"Don't you?!"

"Y-Yes!"

"Yes, what?!"

"Yes, sir."

Jesus fucking Christ.

He pushed in deeper in your cunt, his cock pushed a bit of the stockings inside as he doused it with his cum, unable to hold back any longer, marking you.

You had never heard a man pant and wheeze like that before. So deep, raspy, needy, cradling you tighter, anchoring to you as he shook his orgasm out.

"Fuck- Ay Dios, fuckfuck-"

He slurred while engulfing your frame against the table. Breathings matching his erratic ones.

Your skin between supple thighs felt clammy and sticky. Black stockings ruined completely by the white and wet patch of his scent.

Hot breath fanned over your neck.

"Can't wait to feel the real de-"

The door banged.

"Boss! We need you!"

The guards and Vera had proposed to fuck around with him cause his patience had been tested many times.

Your steps marching away from him snapped him out of his thoughts, He blinked and held you by the wrist, pulling you once more to him to kiss you.

Your first kiss in years. Soft but needy and filled in with a promise to fulfill later.

Now that he had a taste, there was none to stop him. He'd take his favorite toy and go home.

----

Freedom was taken away from you, right before your eyes. Forsaken by your so called friends, marooned by the crew you had gathered within the depths of despair. Your hope had given them a chance at surviving, your courage had transformed you into a fucked up sisterhood, but it was their greed that made you the ultimate sacrifice to their success.

You could only watch while thrashing your way out, but the more you fought, the more guards came to you, but one in particular pulled you out of the mess like a feather. But you didn't stop fighting. Not even when your tabs were in absolute zero probabilities of winning, not when Miguel dragged you inside manhandling your crying form like a ragdoll.

Scratches, fists and other punches didn't move him in the slightest. His grip tightened once you both were locked up in his office once more. He tossed you on the floor.

"Why... Why did you want to leave?"

His tone menacing yet hurt.

The idea of you almost slipping away from him had sent him in a berserk mode that unleashed hellbent through the asylum. Just to find you and when he did, he wanted nothing but hurt you, just the way you've hurt him.

Wasn't his attention enough? , wasn't him being lenient on you and your chores enough? Wasn't he enough?

"WHY?!"

You were too dumbfounded to process his question. Too marked with shame at your failure and rage to pay him attention, and that alone sent him grabbing you by the neck and crash you against a vanity. Tossing everything above it to the floor.

Your back collided against the now shattered mirror, you yelped but still managed to slap him and that made him groan and nod frantically.

Yes

One of his hands was more than enough to hold your both arms as he positioned between your thighs, pressing further against you.

"You don't like me, Poppy? Why?"

"Let me go!"

His hand squeezed your neck tightly, cutting all air for a minute while he kissed you. Sloppy, angry and so full with lust and rage. It gave you no time to react while his other hand tore the panties from underneath your skirt.

You kept slapping him, but that only enticed him to spread you further

"Love that fucking spark on you, preciosa."

He then thrashed you against the table sending a painful jolt through your body, It made you still for a moment.

"No! No! Don't-" his eyes widened in panic, "Don't lose it. Please-"

"No" You panted, "Just found it" A flower vase was smashed in his forehead. And that granted you freedom from his hands as you fell on the floor, gasping for air and crawling away from him.

Heavy steps echoed, trailing dangerously after you. Miguel took you by the ankle and dragged you towards him.

"No!"

He hissed and pulled you upwards, like a statuette, and slammed your torso against the desk you had been clenching onto. All air knocked out your lungs.

A hand passed over his buckle and removed in a swift motion his belt in one go. The sight of your pussy peeking underneath the ruffles of your skirt made a smile that didn't reach his eyes to appear.

He quickly got the belt around your neck, your hands instantly pried, or at least tried to pry it away, scratching yourself in the process. The smell of copper filled in the air, the vase had broke the skin of his forehead.

"You fucking ungrateful bitch!"

He secured the belt tighter and you wheezed, hands flailed to get a hold of him. Fingers already prodding and toying with your cunt, to his surprise, the struggle and fight turned you on, knowing that a man wanted you so badly that would do anything to have you, and you denying such power had you soaked.

Specially when the man in question was this 6'9" cell guard that wanted nothing but to wreck you, destroy you the way you had destroyed his fucked up illusions.

"All I did for you, everything I did meant shit for you-"

He rasped before slapping your butt with such force it stung and left a red imprint on the now reddening flesh.

"I didn't... a-ask you for shit!"

He grunted at your broken words as he pulled the makeshift leash backwards, separated your legs and pulled out his cock once more.

"There we go, baby"

"Y-You're so pathetic-"

Words died in your throat as he slid inch by inch inside. The intrusion made you sob a feeble whimper, it burned and hurt, but in a way you weren't expecting and you liked it.

"Me? Pathetic? Ay muñeca, is not me whose gonna beg me to stop" He pulled your face towards him and kissed you once more, "You won't even remember your name once I'm done with you."

He buried to the hilt as he watched your expression. Troubled yet blissful. A little grip was loosened as he felt you were about to speak again.

"You talk too much shit-."

Part of you regretted said words, cause he smashed your head in the desk and dug his fingers around your hips.

"Is that so?"

Nothing had you prepared for the assailing onslaught of his hips. Fucking was a measly word compared to what he actually was doing to your poor and snug cunt.

It wasn't slapping, his hips thwacked yours with such force you were sure your cervix would be bruised and your legs wouldn't walk properly for the next few days, but as it hurt, it felt good. Too good for your own comfort. Specially when propped a leg ontop of a stool for more leverage to ruin you deeper.

A garbled moan came out your lips, before gritting your teeth together and shaking your head vehemently. He laughed in between deep growls and moans.

"Am I dulling that spark, muñeca?"

Your body lurched forwards, pussy drenched him with every remorseless push he delivered. Eyes struggling to keep on the front, but it was unavoidable to have them rolling back as your jaw slacked open.

High pitched wails rumbled out of your gaping mouth, permeating the once silent room. Two of his fingers slid in your mouth, hot breath colliding against them. They hooked forcing your mouth to keep open.

The desk shook under your weight, the room filled in with moans so sweet and delicious, unlike the many that had been under him.

You were experiencing first hand the danger. Miguel wasn't nice, he wasn't gentle. The latter made an emphasis on its own as he pulled the belt impossibly tighter. A gurgling and rasping noise came from your throat. He wasn't squeezing anymore, he was choking you.

And Dios mio, you were sure you'd die. But dying sounded way too much of a reward than staying in this awful place.

"Yes"

You hissed in between butchered pants and wheezing mewls. Mind set in welcoming the reaper as air was still cut out of your lungs. Legs too weak to keep on their own. Dizziness fogging your mind, fire engulfing your body, Your cunt slurped him in, wetness no longer an issue since he slid and out so easily.

The only indicator you still had consciousness was the little pathetic cries you did as his hips plowed you with a new intensity you didn't know possible.

He had been whispering the filthiest things into your ear, a couple of degrading words you couldn't quite hear, too busy being cock drunk and slipping in and out of consciousness.

Your torso and arms laid in between his arms and the desk, his upper body keeping you still as his hips did the whole assault. His face too snatched in a myriad of things.

Pride cause he finally got to have you and proved you wrong, lust cause you felt just like he had imagined, anger because of your previous words. He was the one that was rawing you into oblivion, had your brain turned upside down, not Gorski, and had you cumming with such an intensity it was overwhelming and too much for your brain to digest.

Too much.

The choking had your brain's fuse in a shortcut, shutting itself off for what it felt like forever, until he spilled himself inside. Renovating your walls white.

Hot cum spurted and not a single drop was wasted as he made sure you kept it inside.

His hulking figure trembled, torn in between subtle and violent spasms that shook him to his very core and raged pants that sent a shiver down your sore spine.

He finally had you and you were his. He wasn't letting you go. Not when he was about to give you a new purpose.

Being his.

---

Everything that he thought good and right blurred. Eyes filled in with tears at your state. Gone. Gone from this world, gone from him, the spark had vanished.

How this happened?

His mind raked through the memories, trying to find the right moment everything went to shit.

He signed a paper. A lobotomy authorization in your behalf.

No!, no!.

"Come back" He pleaded while kissing you and squeezing his hands on the joint of your head and shoulders, to pry something out of you. But nothing came.

The spark had been lost.

And so were you.

"Please, muñeca"

He sobbed and cradled you in his arms, but there was no push, no retaliation, nothing. Only a lovely vessel of his love.

You were gone. For real.

He had been so naive to believe that fucking you senseless meant to have you. He had been such a fool to fall for such a simple thing as that.

And now he had lost you. His own hand brought his demise. Guards and Gorski dragged him out, his hand latched on to you, but even your skin felt different.

"Poppy!"

He yelled but you didn't answer. Just watched him with a look that shattered his heart.

You were free. Free and far far away.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel smut #spiderman 2099 smut #sucker punch #t writes✨#one shot #Miguelverse

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rheya28 · 6 months

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Darlington Castle [ Wedding Venue ] ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

Welcome to Darlington Castle, a beautiful wedding venue located on the Island of Windenburg. This one of a kind venue is known for not only its iconic architecture and stunning views but also for its timeless elegance and romantic atmosphere, making a popular destination to hold weddings and other occasions. Whether you’re planning an intimate ceremony or a grand celebration, Darlington Castle is the perfect setting for your sims dream wedding.

Programming includes an indoor and outdoor ceremonial space, an indoor and outdoor reception hall, suites for both the bride's and the groom's bridal party. Additionally, this venue also include a kitchen and multiple private bedrooms for the newly weds and their wedding entourage.

NOTE: The exterior of this venue was based on Villa Erba

As I'm posting this, I realize there's so much more I wanna add, so maybe I'll do a part 2

♥ Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ♥ Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ♥ Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ♥ Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ♥ Thank you to all CC Creators ♥ Please let me know if there's any problem with the build!

♥ SPEED BUILD VIDEO 00:00 Beginning 00:02 Intro 1:11 Speed Build 25:26Photos

♥ LOT DETAILS Lot Name: Darlington Castle Lot type: Wedding Venue Lot size: 64x64 Location: Windenburg Island

♥ MODS: TOOL MOD by TwistedMexi

♥ CC LIST:

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make life a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama.

Joyceisfox: Simple Live (Bathroom, Blooming plant) S- Imagination: Rutland Kitchen Felixandre: Colonial (all), Chateau (all), Fayun, Berlin pt (1), Florence (all), Georgian, Gothic Revival, Grove (all), Kyoto pt (2), London exterior & interior, Paris (all), Jardane, Shop the look, SOHO, Tudor Sooky: Horizontal oil Painting (Landscape, Still life), Vertical oil paintings (landscape, still life, portrait) Awingedllama: Nostaligia Living Felixandre x Harrie: Baysic, Harluxe, Livin Rum, Orjanic (all) Bbygyal123: Minimal Prints Charlypancakes: Chalk, Lavish, Miscellanea, Smoll, Telly Harrie: Heritage, Brownstone Collection, Brutalist, Coastal (all), Shop the look 2, Spoons Madame Ria: Back to basic floor Myshunosun: Midsummer Eve Arsbotanica: Peonies bouquet Pierisim: Auntie Vera, Coldbrew (all), Domain du clos (all), MCM pt (2)(3), Oak house (all), Winter garden pt (1), Woodland ranch (all) Charlypancakes x Pierisim: Precious Promises Simplistic: Magnolia Cottage Rugs, Rug Holland Sixam: Stylistwood Nursery Simten: Playable Harp (mod) thecluttercat: Sunnysundae pt (3), Dandy Diary Syboulette: Nothing to wear Taurus Design: Eliza walk in closet Other CC Cowbuild: Family Kitchen (sink flowers only), Blooming Garden cafe (Hanging wisteria only) [ I think these are locked behind paywall, but you dont really need to download as they are not too important. howeber, If you do wanna dl it....iykyk]

♥Tray File: x ♥Origin ID: Applez ♥Twitter: Rheya28__ ♥Tiktok: Rheya28__ ♥Patreon: Rheya28 ♥Youtube: Rheya28__

#ts4 #sims 4 #thesims4 #sims #thesims #showusyourbuilds #sims 4 cc #sims 4 builds #builds #sims 4 screenshots #simblr #the sims 4 builds #build

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fayes-fics · 1 month

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When The World Is Free: Epilogue - Peace Ever After

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: None… the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. Also, our pair have some news for the world.

Word Count: 0.7k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl . Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the neat little bow I wanted to wrap this fic up with. I hope you have enjoyed this story; it's been a pleasure to write. Thank you for reading, and many thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Wiltshire, UK, 8th May 1945

Benedict’s arm is curled securely around your back as you dance together, Vera Lynn warbling from the wireless in the corner of your living room.

There'll be bluebirds over, The white cliffs of Dover, Tomorrow, just you wait and see…

His breath is warm on your hairline as you sway gently. A spontaneous, uplifting and tender moment to celebrate the end of the war. A lightness in your heart that this dreadful era is finally over and the overwhelming gratitude that all your loved ones have survived. This dance is also a peaceful, romantic interlude from the whirlwind your lives have become in the last few weeks.

There'll be love and laughter, And peace ever after, Tomorrow…

The shrill ring of the telephone echoing from the hallway of your cottage interrupts your reverie.

“Ignore it,” Benedict whispers in your ear.

“But we just had it installed! It’s only our third call. How exciting!” You lean back and shoot him your best pleading face, and he sighs and, with an affectionate eye roll, gestures for you to go answer it.

You rush over and pick up the heavy bakelite receiver, a crackle on the line that is an operator.

“Overseas call for the Bridgertons from Madam DuLac,” the operator announces primly.

“Oh wonderful, yes, please put her through!” you enthuse.

“Salut y/n!” comes that familiar voice from the past after a short delay.

“Solene! It’s so wonderful to hear from you! How are you? How’s Paris?”

Benedict walks over at the mention of her name, hovering nearby to partially eavesdrop.

“I am wonderful. Paris is finally free and as beautiful as ever. On this monumental day, I wanted to check on the lovebirds who didn’t invite me to their wedding,” she jibes good-naturedly.

You can’t help but giggle. “We are very well, and yet again, sorry.”

“Tu connais, there is one way you can remedy this,” she singsongs.

“Name it.”

“Your daughter shall be Solene oui? At least a middle name.”

You laugh heartily, then shoot Benedict a sultry look that makes his brow crease, intrigued.

“Why don’t you nag my husband about that?” you challenge lightly as he draws nearer.

He crowds into your back and takes the receiver from your hand, tilting it between you so you can both hear.

“What is my darling wife roping me into now?” he inquires dryly.

“Giving her a daughter that must be named Solene…” your ex-landlady chimes cheekily.

“Is she now?” his voice drops to a throatier register that immediately has you flustered. “And what is wrong with the son I just gave her?” he queries casually as he raises a flirtatious eyebrow at you.

“Vous avez un bebe?!?” Solene gasps. “Felicitations!!”

“Oui!” You grin happily as Benedict's lips ghost over your temple lovingly. “We were about to send out telegrams with the news. Louis Jerome Bridgerton,” you pronounce proudly. “He is three weeks old, and he is our whole world…” your sigh so contented as you lean into your husband's attention.

“You named him after my brother-in-law?” Solene protests with mock indignance. “Then I definitely get the middle name for the girl!”

“It was after the man who married us,” Benedict points out laconically before conceding, “who, yes, coincidentally is also your brother in law…”

“And I shall expect a visit when petit Louis is a little older to see the wonders of Paris,” she hints unsubtly.

“Of course! His first trip will be to the Louvre,” your husband pronounces. “It was the very first place his parents went on a date, after all,” he adds, shooting you that trademark lopsided grin.

You elbow him mildly. “That was not a date!”

“It was for me, mon amour….” he side-eyes you heatedly. It makes you want to drag him upstairs and start on those daughter plans immediately.

“I should go and make my next call… to your sister and Phillip indeed; I just wanted to wish you a very happy Victory Day!” Solene interrupts your amorous moment.

“Et toi aussi,” you both answer in unison.

“Vive la France! Vive L’Angleterre! We won mes amis! Le monde est libre!”

You and Benedict’s eyes meet, a poignant moment, as the call disconnects.

“The world is free indeed,” he echoes softly, putting down the phone and sweeping you into his arms for a stirring kiss.

FIN

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#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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