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1980shorrorfilm · 1 month

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dreaming about you and me

using cailee as my ellie because it just makes sense

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…ellie moves back to jackson after a year, hoping you had waited for her.

before you read…angst. modern day fic. emo ellie. like biggg loser ellie. sad sad ellie. ellie has a cat. some bad words.

leaving the chaotic city and lousy job and miserable relationship should be exciting. being welcomed by the familiar wyoming weather, and warm embraces from joel and dina should be exhilarating.

but instead, ellie felt a vast emptiness that seemed to seep from the walls and settle deep within her. she felt alone— again.

her phone occasionally bings with an email while she waits for a text; from you. something she hasn’t received in 8 months.

not that she’s keeping count…or occasionally opens your messages to reread your happier conversations. it’s unfortunately one of the only things that helped her sleep at night, next to a girl she knew didn’t love her. not the way you do…or did.

you were friends. really really good friends.

friends that had to be invited to places together, or neither were going. friends that spent more time in each other’s bedrooms than their own. friends that slept skin to skin, no blanket being able to replicate the warmth the other gave.

friends that kissed the day ellie left; then never spoke about it again.

the occasional calls were long, and they were sweet. you asked ellie about everything and anything as she adjusted to her amazing new life.

her new place, that she was quick to inform you there’s a framed photo of you guys together on her nightstand. it’s from a summer bonfire when she had got high and used your very old camera until it ran out of storage. it's a great picture, though. you look so pretty in it, she reminds you.

she’d rant about her new job, her asshole of a boss, and her overly friendly coworker that somehow annoyed you more than her. the way she described the girl, how clingy she was to your ellie. but you would laugh it off, masking the jealousy with light-hearted jokes, daring not to show how much it truly bothered you.

then, a few weeks later, the worst had happened.

ellie suddenly had a girlfriend, and you suddenly had a broken heart.

you could only be happy for her. even if that meant your phone calls were picked up by another girl, telling you that ellie was busy. even if that meant your texts declined over time, cat memes being sent with only a laughing emoji in response. no genuine, heart-to-heart conversations. the ones you yearned for most on your loneliest nights.

and you had to be happy for ellie. even if she wasn’t for herself.

the worst part is, ellie noticed you begin to pull away, and she let you. she let you go.

now she sits here, on her cheap brown sofa, staring at the tv that has yet to be hooked up. phone in her hand, like an idiot waiting for something that’s not going to happen just because she wishes it would. she simply cannot manifest you to come back. she has to do something about it.

after seconds of contemplation, she curses to herself, grabbing the device and calling your number. which rings, and rings, and rings, up until voicemail. which she decides to leave.

“uh— hey, y/n,” she gets up, scratching the back of her neck, “im…im in jackson…for good,” she chuckles nervously, “if you want to catch up, im free the next couple of days. just let me know…um…bye.”

fucking dumbass, she thinks, ending it and dropping her phone on the couch behind her. the worst you can say is no.

ellie wished that were true.

the worst had happened, and it’s you ignoring her completely. days pass and there’s absolutely nothing from you. she hopes to see you around town, making sure she looks decent enough just to run and pick up groceries, but luck is not on ellie’s side.

a week home and she’s only seeing you in her imagination. flashbacks of the evening she left, a beautiful day before a horrid storm.

ellie is self-aware, she knows it’s pathetic to keep moving in place rather than moving on. pretending like you still care for her as she does to you, even if you have yet to communicate it.

she knows it’s wrong. and she can only mourn the idea of no longer having you for so long.

as told by joel, she should only focus on what she has control of. don’t know when he got the time to read a self-help book, but she listens to him. joel was usually right, she hates it sometimes.

he was the first one to see the sparkle in her eye when she spoke about you. even though she denied what he had thought you two were— he continued to tell her that you’re a good one, and not to screw it up.

she could only laugh about that now.

weeks pass, and her apartment feels more like a home now, unpacked with her little trinkets scattered around the place. the first damn thing she did was stick her glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of her bedroom because you know, priorities. she likes staring at them before bed, knowing you two used to do it together. homemade star gazing, you’d tell her.

her first few days working with joel at his construction company went well. it’s tiring, she comes home feeling like she went swimming in a bucket of sweat, but it’s a nice distraction. and a nice way to keep her arms toned. the summer sun caused her freckles to multiply over her shoulders and collarbones, something you used to admire.

dina and jesse have been spending time with her, smoking at one of the lakes in jackson while sitting in the back of her red pickup truck. a playlist will play lowly from the vehicle's speakers, a few songs she only learned because of you. songs you had told her reminded you of her. she finds herself humming along, the melodies bringing back memories that carve into the center of her heart.

she came home one night, very high, and saw a stray cat digging into a plastic bag filled with garbage. without thinking twice, she crouched down and called to the cat softly. it rubbed against her, and she fell in love. she threw the garbage out and brought the little creature inside. she now has a black cat named orion. the very first constellation she taught you about amongst the many.

it’s hard, the constant reminders of you in little day-to-day things, but ellie gets passed it.

slowly, but surely, she’s finding herself; without you. it’s healthy. it’s good. she’s good.

it’s a random tuesday night when her phone vibrates while she’s getting off work, the woman pulling it out of her pocket while wiping the grim from her forehead. a message, from you.

would you wanna meet up tomorrow?

her heart beats out of her chest, leaning against the chipping paint on her truck. she can’t help it— she responds right away.

yea, is my place cool?

ellie stares at the screen, tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth, tapping her converse on the cement. when you don’t answer promptly, ellie sends another text.

we can do dinner, i can order a pizza. or a movie if you wanna.

you can probably read her tone through the screen, the desperation. but having you right there at that moment, she doesn’t care. especially when you agree— part of her not expecting you to.

ellie gets in her head, part of her convincing herself it was a date…ish…the humbling part of her telling her it was a casual hangout. it’s a win either way. she could see you for a mere minute and still be satisfied.

ellie went home that night, fed her sweet cat, and passed out on her messy bed.

with you in mind, of course.

the following day is long as fuck. she’s antsy, convincing joel to let her go early, organizing the most random shit in her apartment. you hadn’t even reached out yet, she doesn’t know when you’re gonna bless her with your presence.

she doesn’t know if you still like peppers on your pizza, but she orders it anyway. she doesn’t know if you want a romcom or a horror movie, so she finds options for both. she’s anxious, grabbing a beer from the fridge hoping it eases her somewhat.

ellie glances at her phone for the fiftieth time, worried she might have missed a text. she doesn’t. and as hours pass, she drinks more and more.

you never show up.

the full moon is up in the sky by this point. and once again, like deja vu, there is nothing from you. and it hurts.

her mind is foggy from the alcohol she occupied herself with while waiting for you, half of the untouched pizza is cold as it sits on her counter. her cat is watching her pace back and forth.

why? why would you lie to her? why would you get her hopes up after so long? she’s beyond upset. she’s pissed off. you’ve never made her feel this way.

then you text her.

can’t make it. im sorry

she huffs through her nose, shaking her head, then she calls you. which, you ignore, and you ignore again, and again. she keeps calling, she doesn’t care if she’s annoying you. in fact, she wants to. if that’s what it takes for you to acknowledge her.

it’s the tenth time when she listens to the automated voice speak to her, that she leaves a voicemail.

“hey, y/n, dunno if you remember me,” she laughs, scratching the back of her neck, “seems like you don’t. think im a stranger to you now. might as well be, you clearly don’t want to see me anymore— what the fuck —h-how could you? i-i get it, i messed up— i-i left —but im fucking trying here, y/n. and you have to make this so fucking hard for me.”

her voice is breaking, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and despite trying to hold them back, she can't stop them from falling. “we were friends…more than friends…y-you fucking kissed me before i left…or did you forget that? d-did that mean nothing to you? why did you do that? i thought about it for months…d-did you?”

ellie’s rage shifts to pain, catching her off guard. she clenches her jaw, struggling to keep her composure, then takes a deep, shaky breath.

“i-i just miss you…i miss you so bad it fucking hurts. i came back because of you, you know that? and i haven’t even seen you— it drives me crazy. im fucking losing my mind here, y/n. all i think about is you. i wish…i wish you felt the same…i don’t know how to get over you. just tell me how to. please— i’ll leave you alone. just tell me to.”

i’ll leave you alone. just tell me to.

ellie’s soft voice cracks, you dread it. many things bother you in this universe. one of them is bearing witness to ellie breaking down and not being able to comfort her.

you were the only one that could— the only one she felt comfortable expressing herself to. except now you are the cause of it. and that is the worst feeling in the world.

you pull your phone away from your ear, turn it off, and place it face down on the table before you. your dinner is still hot and untouched, your partner’s plate mirroring yours. they took a phone call nearly ten minutes ago, an unimportant one, but they valued anything and anyone else before you.

you don’t know why you’re here…why you ditched her for them. someone you love for someone you don’t. someone who needs you for someone who barely wants you.

a place to stay? a body to keep you warm at night? a person to bring home to your family? what’s the point? she’s home. she’s here. and she’s not out of touch, she’s within your grasp, yet you won’t commit to reaching out to her. why?

“mind putting that away for me? friend needs a favor,” your partner quickly says, already out the door before you could even question them or say goodbye.

you’re alone, but you’ve felt lonely in this dim house since the day you came here.

but nothing is keeping you here. you get up, not bothering to clean up the meal you spent an hour making, throwing on a jacket and grabbing your keys.

you drive to ellie’s place. it feels long, catching every red light and driving down roads with the lowest speed limits. you don’t even know if she’ll still be awake by the time you arrive, or if she even wants to see you anymore. but you need to see her.

you lazily park on the street, letting yourself into the building and knocking rapidly on her door. you can hear muffled music playing from inside her unit, then her footsteps.

“i’ll turn it down—” ellie barely opens the door, and doesn’t look at you, not until your hand is on the wood when she attempts to close it.

when she does, her eyes are bloodshot, and she freezes in place.

“can you let me in?”

she hesitates, not because she doesn’t want to, but rather she can’t believe a drunken voicemail had you at her doorstep so damn quick. she obeys, stepping aside, unable to look away from you. you’d do the same, but you’re too distracted by her home.

the fern green color scheme that compliments it, the framed rare trading cards on her shelves, a photo of astronaut cats on her wall that you had gifted her. so many things that made her, her. very nerdy, very adorable, things. and then you look at her, absolutely desolated before you.

“i…i thought…i thought you couldn’t…” she can’t get the sentence out, scanning your face as she tries to speak. you look so so beautiful. she wishes she could forget the things she said to you, and how upset she is with you right now.

“i was worried,” you admit, “you didn’t sound okay.”

“i’m not,” she laughs, walking past you, the smell of cigarette smoke and oak hugging her body. you follow her to the couch, the woman plopping her body on it, looking up at you with doe eyes.

it’s like she’s expecting you to speak first, to address the shitty message she left you. maybe scold her, yell at her, but you don’t. you kneel before her, placing your hands gently on her knees.

“what you said…i don’t…want you out of my life, ellie,” you tell her softly, thumb rubbing the denim of her jeans, “i could never want that.”

“you have a fucking funny way of showing that,” ellie spits, laughing dryly, “i asked for one thing tonight. and you— you only came here out of pity.”

“i wanted to see you.” “no the fuck you didn’t.”

“yes i—” “jesus christ, stop lying to me,” her voice raises slightly hiding her face behind her hands as she squeezes her eyes shut. “i’m not.”

“you are!” she suddenly throws her hands forward, “l-like when you told me you loved me that night, you remember that?”

it’s the same night you kissed her, the very same moment. the one that is very clearly haunting her, as it does you. it was honest, both those three words you’ve felt for her the moment you got attached to her and the kiss you only pulled away from when you were suffocating against her lips.

neither of you wanted it to end, but it did, along with whatever your relationship was. it was killed, and it is utterly haunting you two.

you move your hands to her own, feeling how hot they are against your cold ones. you two always balanced each other out. “i do love you, els.”

”stop,” she mumbles, “please…stop.”

“i’m not lying to you,” you promise, “yea, i-i pushed you away but you moved away, ellie, you have to understand that.”

ellie is silently crying again, shaking her head, repeating the word ‘stop,’ in a hushed tone. “then you found someone, and so did i, and it got so damn complicated,” you continue, “i don’t want it to be…and i do…i do want you.”

“what?”

“i want to go back— to what we had. i want that, els, i want you.”

she stares at you through her wet lashes, afraid to speak, wondering if you mean it. or if this was a pity love confession, or if this was a cruel joke, or if this was real. any other possibility than you genuinely yearning for her the way she did you.

her head feels heavy, it’s too much.

you hold her knuckles, softly rubbing them, shifting on your knees to lean closer to her. “i need you, ellie,” you whisper, she’s heard those words before.

it was you going to a party you were anxious about. it was you watching a horrible movie you’d only tolerate with her beside you. it was you sobbing on your front porch, waiting to see her headlights in the rain. it was her telling you she was leaving this town and you behind. you needed her then, you need her now.

you push yourself forward, a hand on her cheek to dry whatever tears had wet it. she leans into your hand like her cat does when she gives it affection, wanting it to last forever. then, she feels your soft lips on her forehead, ellie sighing at the sensation.

you tell her once more, “i love you.”

it’s too good to be true.

maybe, if the timing was right, it would be real. if she never left you, if you didn’t settle for something you could hardly call a relationship, if you could just let her back in— this bittersweet moment would happen.

but that’s simply not ellie’s or your reality.

your reality is sitting at an empty kitchen table, your dinner cold, listening to her voicemail on repeat, thinking about how you could just change your mind right there and leave. to see her, tell her everything you want to. but you don’t.

you end up going to bed with a heavy heart. your partner comes home, apologizing for leaving you, holding you to sleep, making you feel loved enough that you don’t want to leave that bed.

ellie passes out with a black-and-white movie playing in the background, envisioning you there with her, trying to salvage what you two have left. telling her you love her again, reassuring her that you truly mean it, that you want her. that you two could live the life you yearn for, but you’re not, and she can’t make you.

she will wait for you.

#-🐈‍⬛#projecting onto ellie williams #probs will delete later #going to vanish now thank you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #tlou fanfic #wlw fanfic #lesbian fanfic #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams imagines #the last of us fanfic #the last of us imagine

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pearl-tarotist · 1 year

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* ༺ Your beauty ༻ *

In this tarot reading I will describe the beauty that you have and I will mixed it with some poems, things, feelings and situations that remind me of you.

Disclaimer: I do not consider beauty only as physical attributes.

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes...

PILE 1

Dear Pile 1,

Your beauty is sweeping and easily strikes the eyes of others at first glance. Your presence is strong as a furious river, people enjoy the scene and they are in awe at it. But the strength that the river has dissolves when they try to cage the water.

Your beauty is natural and pure as the liquid that gives us life; it cannot be replicated or forced at the will of others, it just comes from you, your presence and your soul. It's not the material but the energy that shapes it.

You are passionate, energetic and pure, what in the words of Sylvia Plath would be translated as “I am too pure for you or anyone", from the poem "Fever 103°.

In the same way as the damsel in distress when sad or overwhelmed, you hide yourself in the highest tower or in the lowest cave. Your beauty can just be encased by your own hand...and you do. Your fear that the show of your real self to the world will end in a lose of stability. You hide because you feel that showing your true nature and sweet but passionate soul will destroy your own world and the relationship that you have with others.

You hide under the presence of a basic person, fashion-like or behaviourally-like, but you beauty shines in the unconsciously curves of your cheeks and lips. There's something pleasuring and round about your lips that make your words sweeter and gentler than average. There's something about your back and position that could be beautiful too, stand straight and let other see you.

Your passionate and in that passion you are sweet and cute, just like the childish heroine of a story that never gives up.

Long legs, baby-like face, pouty lips, soft skin, limitless strength, adventures that you want to live and the passion when you speak half-baked of them. I'm not going to lie, for some, your beauty resides in your bad states, when they can take care of you as if you were something to fix or defend, but I do not think that's your beauty but what others find themselves attracted to.

Your beauty is not equalled to their attraction.

Stuff that reminds me of your beauty:

A Poem: My head a moon /Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin / Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive. (Poem fever 103).

The flowing of a mighty river surrounded by grass.

The shaking pale hand of someone that has fought and won.

The elegant makeup of the Geishas.

The warm caresses of a loved one.

Knight of wands/5oW/The Chariot/10oC/5oP/4oS

PILE 2

Dear Pile 2,

You get things done. You are full and complete on your own, independent and capable. There's nothing that you can not resolve, you are efficient, strong and powerful. A scopio, pluto dominant or 8th house energy on your natal chart?

You are so beautiful on your own, so successful and victorious. Your willpower and your resistance towards adversity have created the most polished part of yourself, just like a diamond. If I have to be honest, it's not just your resistance but also your search of fights for truth and new adventures. The need to discover new things.

You are openminded and know that with a simple and small discovery, the perception of your reality can change in seconds, that's why, often, you feel that you do not belong to places or "homes" but that you are your own home. Your ideas and mental world is the only place you should be comfortable with.

There's also a characteristic of foreigner to your beauty, you could travel a lot or be "exotic" to others, in the sense of being different from them, physically and mentally. You are not a copy of the current societies but a mix of everything (past, present and future) and that's why others are intrigued by you, they want to learn about this composition. I would bet for a little bit of aquarius is in your natal chart, I guess.

You are clever and curios about everything what makes other being intrigued by you as they do not know what to expect. They can not tag you in one social group, you are way more than just that.

You do things with security, your hands do not shake in front of others and I would say that you are also quite social as you want to learn about everything, like a bee that goes from flower to flower, you go from person to person.

Piercing eyes, beautiful eyebrows, a nice chest, some of you could have a voluptuous body, an accent when speaking, and knowledge that extends for miles.

Stuff that reminds me of your beauty:

The sword of Arthur Pendragon, Excalibur.

The satisfaction after a job well-done.

The mist of the forest before the faes appear.

“For she had eyes and chose me.” (William Shakespeare, Othello)

"fuck it I love you" by Lana del Rey.

The World/ The Chariot/ The Fool/ Knight and king of Wands/ King of Swords

PILE 3

Dear Pile 3,

I fear that some of you are unable to see your own beauty. The cards that I got are unpeaceful and represent fights and loses.

Nevertheless, let's start with the reading. Your beauty is different from the rest, I like the way that you do not want to be exactly like the others. I applause you for not following the trends, the viral products and the fast-clothing industry. Your best quality is the uniqueness and respect for your natural state. Somehow, I believe that this is also one point of hurt for you, because you are not like the others, so you feel less...but, in my opinion, it lifts you higher than others.

To have an opinion of your own under a society that push us more often to have a single mindset is of respect and admiration.

Following the last idea, you are someone with spark, with cleverness, someone that has great ideas and potential that you can develop endlessly. You are a pool of ideas full of different points of views that need growing and development, a little bit of Gemini/ Sagittarius energy on your natal chart, no?

These ideas are not developed to the end, I think you jump around and start a lot of ideas that do not end up in a solid project, but that does not stop you from enjoying it nevertheless. I feel that there's two types of people: the ones that focus on just one thing and the ones that know a bit about everything. You are the second one, and in it resides your beauty.

Curious, fighter, powerful, with potential and creativity. Soft and uniform skin, probably short height but with a good posture, hands that are warm and search for the touch of others, lover of animals, young but wise. You may decorate your hair with caps, bows or similar. That's your beauty.

Stuff that remind me of your beauty:

Jeanne d'arc - Albert Lynch

The soft fur of animals like a horse or a deer.

The coldness of a knife close to the neck of the main character carried by their "enemy". (Enemy to lovers AU fr).

The endless routine of the sun (sunrise and sunset).

The smell of an old book.

5oS/2oW/The Tower/ 8oS/7oW/Page of Pentacles

This reading belongs in exclusivity to @pearl-tarotist.

#pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #love tarot #tarot reading #pac tarot #pick an image #pick a picture #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #pearl #self tarot #magik #beauty tarot #atractivenes tarot

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ki-yomii · 1 year

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give it to me | myg

➥ pairing | min yoongi x f!reader

➥ word count | 1.6k

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), praise kink, teasing, against the wall, dom!yoongi, established relationship, pet names

➥ summary | of course, it’s as you resign yourself to never getting dicked down by one min yoongi (after flashing him your whole bare ass) that the tides turn in your favor.

➥ notes | man’s is amazing at oral, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

Min Yoongi is unlike anyone you’ve ever dated; always plays the gentleman, eyes and hands kept at a respectful level, albeit unafraid to taunt and tease.

The rest of the boys (mainly Jin) gag at how sickeningly sweet he is towards you, how he lights up the moment you step into the room, all gummy smile and scrunched eyes.

Completely besotted, he is - but then again, so are you.

What he lacks in stature and muscle, he more than makes up for in looks and personality. From the dark halo of hair constantly falling into his eyes, and the plush pout of his lips to a jawline for days; sometimes it hurts to even look at him.

Sassy and savage, witty and wild. Yoongi’s aura practically screams: fuck around, find out.

Yet around you, he’s kitten soft.

The best boyfriend you’ve had by miles: buys you gifts just because he was thinking about you, makes you laugh until you cry, takes care of your needs without ever having to be asked.

You click in such a fundamental way you’ve never experienced before - the chemistry and synergy palpable whenever you’re together.

God, he’s so sweet and earnest and charming.

You’re a total goner… but you can’t help being slightly disappointed.

It makes you feel terrible to admit but you’ve been dating for almost a year, and you’ve been more than ready to kick the relationship up to the next level half a century ago.

Yoongi’s kept everything strictly above the waist (exactly the opposite of what you want).

It’s not because he’s not interested either. Most of the time his cock’s digging into your ass, half-hard and throbbing.

Though every time you finally think, “this is it,” when he starts getting really into it, he pumps the breaks.

Any further advances on your part are met with a tight albeit patient smile, a quick kiss to the forehead, and the mildly hilarious image of Yoongi awkwardly waddling to the bathroom.

Leaving you riled up and alone - again.

Before long you’re going to start taking it personally. You can’t even get off on your own anymore.

Don’t remember the last time you actually had a satisfying orgasm instead of just going through the motions.

Your hands stopped working ages ago, and forget trying to use a dildo. All past attempts at self pleasure have ended pathetically, leaving you hollow and sad.

Honestly, it’s not worth the effort because at the end of the day, nothing compares to the touch of another person - to him.

To the tang of salt on your tongue, the glide of skin on skin, the deep pulses that go straight to your toes. And there’s no replicating that on your own.

You’re so pent up you can’t even look at him when he clenches his jaw or twirls a pen anymore lest you risk embarrassing yourself. Frankly, it’s getting a little ridiculous.

And there’s no escaping the dreams.

You’re convinced your imagination is a cruel, wild thing that loves torturing you.

Not a day goes by where you don’t wake up swollen and aching, desperate to be stuffed full of a cock you haven’t even seen let alone touched.

Of course, it’s as you resign yourself to never getting dicked down by one Min Yoongi - after flashing him your whole bare ass - the tides turn in your favor.

As he drops you off after your date, and you lean in to kiss him goodbye, he pivots and suddenly, you find yourself pinned face-first to the wall.

He’s surprisingly stronger than you give him credit for.

“Thought you were being funny, didn’t you?”

Calloused fingertips drag along the care skin of your thigh, tugging at the dangerously high hem of your dress. The silky material catches on Yoongi’s skin, the flighty touches a punch to the face as a pit yawns into existence deep in your belly.

You stare straight ahead, your teeth chewing on your bottom lip. “No,” you say.

While you can’t see his expression, the low growl of his voice is full of barely leashed hunger. You test the give in his grip, only to find yourself thoroughly caught.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you don’t,” Yoongi says.

An amused sound rumbles up from the back of his throat as he inches your dress up slowly. You wiggle, a quiet hiss escaping when the cool air dances over the slick clinging to your inner thighs. A flush of heat creeps into the apples of your cheeks.

“What did you think was going to happen, huh?” He tsks. Soft lips brush the shell of your ear. “What, exactly, were you hoping I’d do?”

You breathe, “Yoongi, I…”

With his chest a line of heat against your back, and the deep timbre of his voice low in your ear, it’s hard to form words. You swallow rough, mouth bone dry and stomach swooping.

This is all you’ve ever wanted, and now that you have it, you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Hm, you what, pretty girl?” A broad palm squeezes between your hip and the wall, cupping your mound and grinding down over the top of your slit. “Was this what you were hoping for?”

God, he’s such a fucking tease.

You whimper, and your eyes slam shut as your pussy throbs once, twice. The friction of your thighs sliding together is eased by how fucking wet you are.

This is really not fair.

Yoongi’s barely touched you, and you’re already desperate to have him wreck you until you’re so thoroughly fucked you can’t move.

Shit.

In response, you tilt your hips back, and widen your stance, “Yoongi, please.”

Behind you, Yoongi exhales as you spread yourself open for him with your hands, exposing your pussy - soaked and swollen.

“Mm.” He hums, running the pad of a thumb along the crease where your ass meets your hip, up to teasingly flick at your oversensitive clit. “Is that what you want?”

“Y-Yoongi!”

Arching into the touch, you bite down on a broken whine. Heat flares to life in your belly, burning brighter as molten desire sweeps through you like a current.

It settles low, deep in your bones until you ache.

“Look at my pretty girl,” Yoongi squeezes your waist, and crouches low, “So soft and needy. Have I been neglecting you, baby?”

A nose drags up the back of your thigh, the heat of his breath puffing across your cunt with a sharp exhale. You jump, and feel yourself clench.

Yoongi groans in response, using his thumbs to test the soft fat of your ass as he takes over holding you open.

Your hands settle back on the wall beside your head, and you wait with baited breath.

“Mm, can smell how ready you are.”

Moist lips trace the back of your leg, open-mouthed kisses dropped onto the sensitive skin. Goosebumps prickle along your body, a shiver shooting down your skin.

Yoongi chuckles, “You’re absolutely fucking soaked - and it’s all for me. Can’t wait to get my tongue in you.” He groans, low-throated and hungry, when your hips jerk in response, pussy fluttering. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yoongi, please,” you beg, eyes damp and limps trembling.

Your cheeks burn and sweat gathers behind your knees, your nerves alight with electricity. You’re so turned on it hurts, your walls empty and aching for anything he’ll give.

“Do something, anything. I can’t take it anymore.”

“All you had to do was ask, baby.”

The only warning you get is a husky murmur of your name before Yoongi dives in, his broad palms grabbing rough handfuls of your ass as he flattens his tongue against you with a firm stroke, tracing the length of your cunt.

The tip spreads your folds, thrusting into you shallowly to tease at the sensitive ring of muscles before flicking up to swirl over the hood of your clit.

A loud keen rips its way out of your throat, lightening crackling down your spine. Legs tense, your hands reach back to yank at his hair while your hips rut against his face, desperately chasing after that incredible shock of pleasure.

“S-Shit, please don’t stop.” You moan helplessly, thighs shaking. You don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to stand if it’s this good already. “Hhah, oh god… Fuuuuck, that’s it, baby. Right there, right there!”

Yoongi pauses, ignoring your breathless protests as he tightens his grip to hold you in place while you squirm and whine. His breathing quickens, deepens.

He sounds so goddamn pleased when he speaks, “Mm, that’s the first time I’ve heard you moan like that.”

“Y-Yeah?” you ask, tripping over the words as your abandoned cunt pulses in time with your thundering heartbeat. “You like hearing me, baby?”

“You know I do.” Yoongi sighs, brushing a sloppy, sticky kiss over your inner thigh. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

“Well, if you like it so much then maybe you should –”

You pitch forward, choking on your laugh as Yoongi bares down on you. Strong forearms lock around your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth.

Riled up, he sucks, licks in a frenzy.

And before long, his hands are the only thing holding you up as he devours you with greedy pulls of his lips and messy laps of his tongue.

“Shit, you taste so good,” Yoongi says, sucking your folds into his mouth before letting them go with a pop, “Wanna stay between these thighs for hours, make you my sloppy, slutty little mess. You’d like that, huh, baby?”

All you can do is whine, foggy headed and pleasure drunk.

“Yeah, you like it.”

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #yoongi #min yoongi x you #bts fanfic

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mimisplayground · 3 months

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you guys might not know this about me but I am a hard core trigun fan.

And I need Vash in such a primal way. 1998 Trigun Vash.

Warnings: Slightly Uncanny Vash (its not very uncanny since its during sex but,, still not human), NOT VERY HUMANOID VASH…, guys im a monsterfucker uncover sorry, cunnilingus, mating press, i tried to keep it pretty 1998 Vash-coded (it would be hard to make it 2023 coded bc i never watched that one) ENJOY THIS IS ALL SELF INDULGENT, fem reader (sry :< )

————

Meeting him in a bar and the flirting he’s lying on you is so horrible that it works. Next thing you know he’s got you under him on the bed of an inn around the corner. Kissing you hard while you ignore that his canine teeth are a tad too sharp, a few too many.

You ignore that when he goes down on you his tongue is reaching so much deeper inside of you than should be possible. When his mouth isn’t suckling your clit his thumb is pressing tight circles into you while you whine at the cold feeling of his rings. You feel him chuckle when your thighs tighten around his head.

“Sorry sorry sorry…” he mutters as he looks at you with puppy eyes while pulling away. You decidedly ignore that he has a heard glow and purr coming from him that isnt human. You grip onto him tightly and ignore that you can’t hear a heartbeat and get he feels overwhelmingly hot to the touch.

When he thrusts into you, you decide that you cannot ignore the inhuman texture. You just can’t verbalize it, too busy choking out moans and small sobs. Listening to the weird purring and clicking noises getting louder while the Humanoid Typhoon is thrusting into you. A scrunched look on his face and whimper coming through his groans from time to time. Tears falling onto your skin that are weird and cold, and slightly tingly.

He bends down after hooking your legs over his shoulders, pressing you tightly into a mating press and a tongue that takes up too much of your face licks the tears up. He’s panting above you, though it feels like all the sweat is coming from you.

And you outright squeal when you feel him cum inside of you. It feels weird, like a tingling inside of you thats too cold and too warm all at once. You gasp, and you feel the outlaw chuckle before his hand goes down to rub at your clit while he keeps thrusting.

Your legs kick out for a moment, and you hear a loud click and purr before one arm has grasped both legs, switching to swing them over one of his shoulders instead. You cum with a silent scream, arching off of the bed. It felt otherworldly, not something you think you could ever replicate again. Staring up with blurry eyes, trying to figure out if the mass of feathered wings you saw were a figment of your imagination. Nothing that you could hear except for the sound thats graduated to rumbling now; you couldn’t even hear your own breath.

“Round two?”

There is no way this man is human.

—————-

ineedhimineedhimineedhimineedhim

#requests open #send asks #fanfic #trigun smut #trigun fanfiction #trigun #vash smut #vash x reader #vash the stampede #trigun vash #trigun 1998 #uncanny vash #i need it #i need him #tw monsterfucking #very light tw #but still #vash the humanoid typhoon #smut fanfiction

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veryace-ficrecs · 4 months

Note

can I request some more zosan recs?

Absolutely you can!!

More Zosan Fic Recs

For my other Zosan lists, look here!

Zosan Fic Recs, Zosan Modern Au Fic Recs, Zosan Outsider POV Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

the blood of the covenant by glassedplanets - Rated E

In the North Blue, there is a roaming kingdom of no land, just a fleet of ships ruled by a king. The kingdom is nothing more than a mercenary force cloned and bred to be expendable and the king is a madman of a scientist. He had a daughter and he turned her into a monster. He had four more sons and three of them ended up becoming machines worse than the monster. And the last didn’t become anything at all until a pirate in a straw hat nearly ruined a restaurant.

A Study in Movement by camembri - Rated T

"Nami’s gaze pins him to the wall. Her brown eyes are narrowed, calculating. “What? You chicken or something? When Mihawk cuts you down – for real this time – are you gonna accept that it’s because you were too shy to ask for help? I refuse to believe that your dream is that superficial.” She’s baiting him, not even bothering to hide it. Still, Zoro’s hackles are raised. “I’m not shy.” “Then prove it. Go watch Sanji cook breakfast or something.”" Or: In the aftermath of Alabasta, Zoro finds himself to be the only person reasonably suspicious of the Strawhats' newest crew member. Should it all go to hell - as it is wont to do, with this particular crew - Zoro needs to train harder, get stronger. The problem lies in the fact that, despite his best efforts, he cannot replicate his ability to cut steel. Willing to go to extreme lengths to reach his goals, Zoro undertakes a new sort of training - the art of observation. Much to his despair, however, the cook seems to be the best candidate available. Zoro's never been one to back down from a challenge, but he wasn't expecting it to turn out like this.

To Brighter Futures by Cherry_Sundae - Rated T

“Well, it’s not Nami, obviously,” Sanji reasons out loud. “You two are like siblings. And as lovely as Robin-chan is, she cannot possibly be your type.” Zoro had phrased it in a way hinting at unrequited love, which means Hiyori’s out too – that woman was practically throwing herself at him every time they were in the same room. “Oh, what was that pink-haired darling’s name? Perona, no? She–” “Cook,” Zoro deadpans, eye narrowed. “If you want to guess sometime this century, you need to stop listing women.” ——— In which Sanji gets captured by pirate hunters, Zoro is in the right place at the right time, and one thing leads to another. You know how it is.

Craving For Your Fragrance To Cover Me by abydos - Rated G

Zoro notices Sanjis new perfume and fights with a realisation.

Desperados by bosephboestar - Rated T

Cowboy au. Need I say more?

Wreck my plans by goldenkiwee - Rated G

He noticed how Luffy immediately tensed up as well, as they watched a blonde, long-haired Marine cruelly step on fallen rice balls. Anger flaring, Sanji was ready to march over to the table. If there was one thing Sanji hated, it was wasting food. However, he watched instead with bated breath as the green-haired bounty hunter scooped the smashed rice ball up with his fingers and ate it. An alternate look at how different things would have been, if Sanji had met Luffy first.

The Printer Guy by LuckyNo3 - Rated G

Zoro knows how to do one thing and only one thing in the office, working the printer.

#veryace asks #roronoa zoro #sanji fic recs #black leg sanji #one piece zosan #zosan fanfic #zosan #op zosan #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3 #one piece

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wishfulfilled · 2 years

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「tomie vaunt」

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Do you really think you’ll stumble on another girl as beautiful as I?”

“But compared to my beauty you’re not even on the scale.”

“Surely those blessed with beauty such as mine have a responsibility to record it before it slips away forever.”

“You think this silly thing captures even a tenth of my beauty?”

“This is just the start of how pretty i can get.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

my beauty is beyond human comprehension, even though people desperately want to capture it thru music, paintings and sculptures. when people see me they want to decide their entire life to try to encapsulate my allure, gracefulness and magnetic aura. to no avail, i cannot be copied, even the greatest artists wouldn’t be able to even come close to replicating my enchanting, dreamy and surreal visage.

i love myself so much i could look in the mirror for hours on end. absolutely no one and nothing can compare to me. i am prettier then all of the stars in the sky combined, even more beautiful then the most perfect scenery god has bestowed upon earth. it’s like i come from another planet, another universe. no, surely someone as perfect as me must be a gift from god straight from heaven.

i value myself highly and never underestimate myself because i know how powerful i am. i know that i am intelligent, strong and perfect in every possible way. i am very respected and my presence is intimidating, hypnotising and absolutely unforgettable. my aura is intoxicating, addicting and i am not afraid of being myself and i know that everyday i keep evolving and improving mentally, spiritually and emotionally. my personality is extremely charming and people are naturally attracted to me. i only need my own validation.

once people see me they are unable to forget me, people trip over their feet to try and compliment me. when they finally approach me they are so in awe of how even more perfect i am when up close that they suddenly are at a loss of words. people constantly shower me with gifts, write poems about their undeniable love for me and yet it seems like they believe that they will never be able to express their undying love no matter what they do.

when someone looks at me it feels all though all their problems and worries suddenly washed away and they cannot think about anything else then me and how to make me happy. when i give someone even the slightest bit of attention they get filled with bliss, gratefulness. but it’s expected i mean i am completely irresistible and my beauty is undefinable.

no one and nothing can ever compare to me. it simply isn’t possible to surpass my level of knowledge, allure and everything comes so easy for me, it’s like everything is rigged in my favour and i truly don’t have to put in any effort, everything falls into place for me while i just exist being my perfect self. i am healthy, protected and i only have positive experiences. i know myself and i am secure with who i really am, i always get opportunities that lead me to fulfilling my dreams.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

#law of assumption #neville goddard #wishfulfilled #loa #self concept #affirmations #motivation #vaunting #vaunt #tomie kawakami #tomie #junji ito tomie

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screamingcrows · 2 months

Text

Start Carvin' Darlin' - Dottore x f!reader

Note: I've never suffered this much anguish just to make a single bad pun. I do want to write their first encounter buuut we'll see if it ever happens. Bear with me, I know it makes little sense. By all that is important- please heed the tags.

~7k words

Tags: dead dove do not eat, nsfw, dark content, fem!reader, cannibalism adjacent thoughts, manipulation, coercion, noncon, drugging, medical malpractice, power imbalance, age gap, somnophilia, sexualised dissection, fingering, needles, blood, gore, dacryphilia?, drowning, no aftercare, thoughts of death, thoughts of murder, brief choking, no pleasure for reader, Il Dottore centric MINORS DNI - I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

There were few things, and even fewer people, Dottore would consider faithful companions. The world had made clear that nothing could be trusted and any gesture of kindness was bound to come at a price. The rest were blind to their perils. After all, so long as it was woven tight enough, even a tapestry of lies would be beautiful.

Hunger was different in that regard. Its claws had always nestled deep within his flesh, ripping through muscle and sinew to carve out a space for itself. He'd known every flavor it had to offer, from light tingles creeping down his spine to the dagger that had been lodged and twisted between his ribs, unbearable when he'd dragged himself through the scorching dunes that refused to be a home.

His eyes flickered to the scalpel held loosely in his gloved hand, the light reflected in the metal devoid of warmth. There was no real reason to wear them, the broken husk atop his table served no threat, and contamination from himself was a wholly irrelevant concern to the present analysis.

Force of habit was what he reasoned, the motion of putting them on coming almost as naturally as shushing the commotion in his, their, mind. There had been quite enough of that lately, only worsened by his own souring mood. Cutting the link off for the day would be best for them all.

That torment and the hunger accompanying it was but a faint memory now. Much more vivid were the tendrils that had coiled around his gut so long ago and punctured the fragile organ, leaving holes that would never be filled no matter the knowledge he devoured.

Every form of craving was a base need that Dottore had long since catalogued and archived in the back of his mind, giving him control whenever they surfaced. Desires were a potent tool when wielded right, something to use and then push away, a drive he'd discovered far more difficult to replicate mechanically.

What good was fear of decay to something that had never truly been alive?

It wasn't before you entered his life that Dottore understood what it meant to be truly starved. Four weeks. That was how long you'd been gone, a speck of dust compared to his solitary existence. It would likely be another two before you returned. Living as a famished man had been all too easy before the taste of sunsettia lingered on his tongue in the dead of night, the sweet fragrance in the air cloying despite every window letting in the frigid Snezhnayan air.

Ichor poured forth from the incision, rich in color as it stained everything in its path. Light reflected across the surface of the syrupy liquid, creating millions of constellations one second and replacing them the next. How would it feel on his tongue? Look running down your throat? It enveloped his fingers in a welcoming embrace, spilling over the edges as it made way for curious probing.

Crimson eyes refocused under the mask, shattered remnants of crystalline mimicry laying separated from the sharp casing. Rarely did a delusion crack. Even in death, the poor thing still clutched it with fervor. Each delusion was a testament to progress, every shard a strict reminder to never grow complacent. In time, he'd examine the shards for impurities, but for now, the cold flesh bearing the consequences was his priority.

Selfishness ingrained after hatred burning too brightly, his recklessness had long since settled into carefully calculated moves. Still, the temptation of your flesh had been too much. By no means were he a weak man, yet the promise of warmth in the otherwise cold halls had caught him unaware.

It's lungs were expanding almost desperately to accommodate the growing pressure of death upon the air. That was another faithful companion, silent and ever watchful, no doubt waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. The ashen skin was beautiful and had he known no better, it would've seemed obvious to write off the limbs as carved from stone. But there was no reasonable way to make that assumption, not with how the remaining muscle still moved under his touch. How it stretched when tugged. As tenderly as a lover, the sharp metal severed a piece to call it's own.

It hung from his palm, no longer part of anything that could have held importance, the tempting pink that was so familiar tainted by a vulgar discoloration, no doubt caused by the elemental energies it had been forced to absorb.

It bordered on obsession with how his thoughts would always circle back to you. He'd seen that color in the bruises he left on your body, in the plums you so enjoyed, pearly whites ripping through the skin and piercing the soft flesh underneath. You were always messy, with juices running down your chin while you perched so prettily on the cold metal tables of his workshop, nodding along to anything that left his lips. His eyes focused on a single drop running down his arm, deceptively anonymous in origin if seen in isolation, it might be a believable substitute for licking sweet nectar from your lips. He wondered if you were still as sweet as your favorite fruit. If it would sate the longing that gnawed at his insides the same as your presence did.

"Lord Harbinger? I- please excuse my intrusion, I'd been led to believe you weren't otherwise occupied."

You'd come to him as a wide eyed recruit, having had the misfortune of being made a cog in their machine. Such had become the fate of most, ironic that all they would see accomplished in their lifetime was trading who held the reins of their suffering. His wooden doors had creaked on their hinges as you tried to be discreet, trembling and clumsy with the salute, clearly still trying to come to terms with this new fate. You were everything he'd despised; weak, helpless, naïve, and so willing to throw yourself at whatever would have you and keep you safe. It fed something selfish.

"I am always busy. Quit wasting my time and state your purpose."

"I'm supposed to report for a health examination before they finalize the recruitment…"

Under normal circumstances, he'd have punished a disturbance like that, especially when paired with such ignorance. A medical exam. That was what you inquired about, and while he knew it to be true that every acquired asset must be examined, it was laughable that you'd fallen victim to some superiors directing you to his space.

Dottore had been in a good mood, finding himself willing to entertain the misunderstanding, if nothing else, it had provided a good distraction from the failures that had haunted him. Not even an hour after you'd left had he requested your transfer to his command, deeming you suitable for a few impending projects.

There was nothing sentimental left in him, all that had been forsaken, turned to dust when he broke himself into pieces. That was the truth as he willed it.

Another chunk of red left the body on his table, nimble fingers peeling back a layer of epithelia to trace the vessels that permeated it. They too had been contaminated, their walls glittering preciously in the sharp light. Steady hands held a syringe filled with water, letting it perfuse the artery before he gingerly collected it. A sample of blood for purification would be necessary as well. A pity the body had been left long enough that tracking the spread of energy would be useless through the crimson liquid, tissue damage would be the most reliant evidence.

Nothing remained of his past self, the parts that still clung to a desire for belonging, not satisfied by only the unity of ambition. It had been your eyes that revived it, looking upon him as if he held the sun in his palm and brought forth the dawn. As if he held all the secrets that would bring salvation.

Undoubtedly, you were one of the healthiest subjects to find themselves on his tables. And that was the justification he'd used that first time his hands had roamed the expanse of your skin, checking for any deformities and writing down scribbles on a sheet of parchment. It was both to placate your nervous mind, betrayed by the wobble in your lips and fidgeting hands, and to record your initial state, in case an opportunity to bring you back regularly and monitor any changes presented itself.

His fingers pushed inside, pliant flesh parting around his digits and swallowing them whole. It was a mesmerizing sight, his free hand twitching briefly before mindlessly wandering to unclasp his mask, as if the removal of it somehow made the wetness now coating his fingers glisten all the more. A shuddering breath passed his lips, forced out by the growing pressure in his chest as he remained unable to pry away his eyes. How utterly beautiful a sight it was. Unable to hold back, his fingers spread out to better stretch the opening, viscous liquid slowly oozing out as he engaged his other hand.

"a-ah I don't think that-"

"Good, keep it that way, there's no need for you to think. The more you squirm around, the longer this will take. Although, from the sounds you're making, it almost seems as though you are enjoying yourself?"

"No I'm.. Hurts.."

"Relax for me then."

Dottore had wondered since that day whether you were truly that clueless, or if you'd excuse yourself with the anxiety he'd seen choke your thoughts so often since. While he could grant you the benefit of doubt concerning the implications of his title, surely you'd know that a Harbinger had far more important obligations?

Entertaining whims had a habit of bringing more trouble than the brief euphoria indulgence could ever warrant. That had been his first mistake pertaining to you.

A flick of his wrist and the liver was easily removed, threads of adipose tissue clinging to the engorged mass as if unity would somehow save it. How tragically still it all was, the clockwork driving it forward had long since ceased operating, leaving only obsolete parts in the wake. The liver had been discolored, electro particles having seeped into the matter, it was made even more noticeable by the crisp white fabric it came to lay on. One of the segments could prepare biopsies from it, check if the energies had disrupted or otherwise changed the structures.

They already had an understanding of elemental overloading in organic matter, but it was a rare chance to observe internal damages caused by high loads over a short time rather than the prolonged use cases of their regular agents. Dottore had come to understand that no matter his insistence and want for knowledge, the soldiers wouldn't carry their dead with them, and he hardly had time to waste collecting material himself, no version of him did. Not with how close they were to their objective.

You had understood his desires and promised to try. The distaste had been palpable in the slight twitch of your eyes and wrinkled nose. It was the desire to try that fed his hunger. The silent promise of wanting not to understand, for how could you ever, but believing when he said the benefits were worth the hassle.

That he was worth the hassle.

Ah, how lovely you were. Keening moans and gasps of his name feeding into his budding obsession. The sounds had been enough to distract him from the churning feeling in his gut, barely able to handle how warm your insides had been, how tightly you squeezed his fingers. The feeling reminded him of reaching into a bed of roses, thorns puncturing his being and forcing his breath heavier.

It had been nothing but slow, languid movements, meant to explore and not fulfil, the sweet pleas that left your lips were simply a tacked on bonus. Dottore could only hope that you were left aching and wanting far more than him and that you hadn't seen how his cock had strained against the front of his pants, throbbing in tandem with your mewls. It was unbefitting.

"Two doors down the hall, on your right. You should fix your attire, it wouldn't do for a recruit to look as disheveled as that on their first day."

"I will, Lord Harbinger, and thank you… Did you fill out a form or something I should bring?"

"Consider this a preliminary inspection, the actual one will be done by a physician two doors down the hall."

How unfortunate that those The Mayor promised a better future were also the ones who would never see it come to fruition. They gave their lives, some more willingly than others, for a reward they could never reap. It had already caused a disease to run through Snezhnaya's people, unrest and distrust filling the veins of their nation instead of the wealth and prosperity they'd been assured would come. Dottore had found it most useful in handling you, a little taste of false certainty accompanied by the promise of power to protect yourself. Your gaze had rested upon him with nothing but devotion.

Another chunk left the body on his table, almost tossed aside without the faintest hint of grandeur, the heart was of no use to them This was far from his preferred medium, more durable constructions would always be at the forefront of his interest, yet there was still appreciation behind his mask at the delicacy. It had stopped the moment a flash of electro singed the nerves. He briefly wondered how its now blighted lifeblood would feel atop his tongue, would it prickle? Burn the roof of his mouth?

How he longed to taste yours again, feeling the tension in his jaw at the memory of biting a little too hard, that's what he'd called it anyway, an accident. In truth, he would not hesitate to drain your blood in seconds, the thought of your reliance on something apart from him made a feeling better left unidentified carve a path through his lungs, leaving the structures to collapse without air.

Every time his hands had touched you, tears had been rolling down your cheeks. How long before you learned that compliance was the logical path, that he wanted to gag every time his hands were forced to harm you?

Threats of missions far above your qualifications kept you in line for the most part, pliant enough that the restraints kept for livelier subjects rarely saw use.

Despite his best efforts to keep everything under wraps, Tartaglia had grinned brightly, not a care in the world when he'd approached, having the gall to simply barge in, to inquire about what promising new people he'd taken on. 'It had barely been a week' was what he argued, commenting how surely you must be something special to rouse The Doctor's interest so. Any reaction to his taunts would simply play into the ginger's hands, a game he was always surprised the young man knew how to play.

Something wet slid down his wrist, immediately drawing his attention back as he pulled his hands from the bloody mess. His lips curved downward, observing exactly where the edge of his glove had been pushed down, leaving the marred skin beneath vulnerable. With a huff, Dottore stepped away and discarded the gloves, letting cool water rinse away the icky feeling now writhing under his skin.

"Come now, Doc, why won't you let me have a friendly spar with you newest acquisition? It's so rare for you to take a special interest in anyone, surely you can understand why I'm curious?"

"That is exactly why. She shows promise, and I cannot have you breaking her prematurely."

"That's a promise then! When the time is right!"

"Get out, Tartaglia."

"I heard she's been coming in for regular 'inspections', you have to admit, that sounds a little unsavory. Does she actually think you're a real physician? Oh I know, tell her you studied medi-sin."

"That was an order. Out, now."

The water in Snezhnaya had an edge to it, as if pieces of glass were contained within. It left one feeling raw and aching despite no physical proof persisting. If it did, his hands would've been torn open days ago. There had been too many small mishaps lately, too many times he'd needed to cleanse himself after his mind had wandered. Despite how clearly the words echoed in his mind, no part of him would admit to their truth.

You'd done this to him. You'd instilled in him a weakness, a beast that wouldn't let him rest when you were gone.

A soft knock followed by the click of a lock behind him cleared his head in a flash, clean gloves swiftly tugged into place with newfound anticipation bubbling under his ribs. None of his segments knocked. No one else had a key. His body remained still, awaiting an announcement from the intruder, willing patience to persist even if the idea of feeling your skin under his uncovered palm was clawing at his muscles to move them.

"Doctor, I don't feel so good," weak and pitiful was the voice that reached his ears, it should've made him recoil.

Instead, Dottore found himself struggling to keep his movements languid, the image of a predator barely conserved in the slow turn of his head. He had no doubt you'd be scared if you could see how his eyes lingered upon your silhouette.

"You're making a bad habit of returning in a state of disrepair, there is only so much I can do to keep you patched together. Disrobe while I clear a table."

It would be a shame to discard the rest of the opened body already, there were still so many secrets to be pried from its cold grasp. Perhaps he could get you to-

No.

You would adamantly refuse, already he could sense the unease rolling off of you in waves at the putrid stench of death. Instead, the remains were wrapped tightly and brought to an adjacent room, the air misty from the cryo applicator installed inside, ensuring it could rest unaffected by decay while he tended the living.

A chuckle passed his lips upon seeing the way you were eyeing the metal surface as if it'd dissolve skin and bone. The sound alone was enough to stir your body, movements stiff as you sat on the edge. Such obedience was an admirable trait, one that would make the investment well worth it when he would one day enhance your form. He would. That's what he had to tell himself, even if the thought of peeling back your skin and rewiring everything inside was tied so intimately with an odd sense of loss.

"Finally…" his words had no real bite, only mild impatience.

Still, you hid yourself from his gaze, shoulders slumped and arms wrapped around your chest. As if he hadn't seen it all already. Dottore let himself take a moment to simply rake his eyes down the shapes constituting your body, careful to let none of the flames eating away at his insides show. Would you be able to discern it in his eyes should he discard the mask? Light fingers traced down the mock beak, briefly contemplating if he should let you try, it would be nothing but torture no matter what.

Being able to put a monstrous form to everything you'd heard about him, everything he'd done to you, it coiled in the pit of his stomach and upheaved anything on its way. He would never admit to being afraid, but the thought of being regarded with repulsion by you sent a shiver down his spine.

The injuries you'd sustained were minor, shallow and located at safe distances from anything vital. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to play a little, the table had already been cleared and he might as well take the break. Lips set in a scowl, his hands found your shoulders and pushed you back, already relishing in how perfectly the curvature fit against him, how little resistance there was in the movement. Made for him. That's what he would make of you. Scarlet lines had been drawn along your skin, urging his fingers to trail along the wetness.

"Do explain what, precisely, led to you looking like this," he kept his voice frigid for now, knowing how much more responsive the thought of having upset him made you.

"We were on our way back from taking care of-"

"I'm aware of your assignment, do not forget who signs off on your outings, give me the specifics."

A curious finger brushed over your hardened nipple, hearing the words catching in your throat.

"Treasure hoarders. I failed to block a strike and-" your body tensed as it wrung out the words.

"You failed to block a strike from such vermin?" He tutted, hand squeezing a little tighter around the soft flesh of your chest, seeing it spill out between his fingers, "That hardly warrants returning all cut and bruised, clearly, you lack the perseverance I thought I'd observed in you. Soon enough, you'll be nothing but nutrients for the wayside flora, is that what you'd like?"

Dottore wanted to laugh at your pitiful expression, a kicked puppy laying at his feet and wordlessly pleading for forgiveness, unknowing that it had already been granted. It was deliberate that you were never sent away far or for long, but there was no reason for you to know. Fear fostered obedience and your obedience was always pleasant, speeding up the process of cleaning the wounds you'd sustained with minimal squirming.

That didn't mean one hand wasn't constantly splayed over your sternum, pressing down to keep your body pinned. Already, a faint buzz was crawling along his bloodstream, months of conditioning catching up in the most frustrating manner as the front of his pants tightened. He had to swallow hard, forcing his fingers to relax before he left bruises. How would it look, he mused, if his nails could dig into your flesh? At the mere thought of those red crescent, a wave of heat washed over his body, accompanied by images of what other marks he could leave upon the canvas of your body.

Could he replicate and improve how pliant your thighs were under his grasp, would new vocal cords make sweeter sounds, added nerve endings would no doubt make for interesting results, if your muscles were synthetic the force they could exert would be greater meaning-

Not yet.

Dottore willed his focus to return, threading a needle as his disinterested voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.

"Do I need to strap you down?"

There was no need to look, knowing you were already oh so bravely shaking your head. An amused smile graced his lips upon seeing your teeth sink into the dirty uniform. Such foresight deserved praise, a small nod of his head accompanied by a finger rubbing along your collarbone in an almost soothing motion.

Having done it countless times before, the needle went effortlessly through your skin, thread pulling the flesh tightly together whenever he tugged. A hand kept returning to your no doubt soft locks of hair, carding through it and pushing back the urge to give a tug. The few tears that had fallen were swiftly brushed away by his fingers, the taste almost cloying upon his tongue.

Dottore sighed softly, tapping your side to get your attention back to the present, seeing your glassy eyes and the small shivers that ran down your body. He could already smell your arousal in the air, the scent growing in strength every time your hips shifted.

"That's it for now," his hand skimmed along your bare stomach, ending atop your sternum and keeping you down, "however, some of the lacerations appear to be in early stages of infection."

How he'd missed the little hitch of your breath, the stutter of your heart underneath his hand. Unceremoniously, Dottore put more weight into the hand, feeling your pulse echo throughout his own body and letting every beat slowly fill the gaping pit beneath his ribs with hollow promises.

There was no infection, of course, but he needed something to placate you before an injection. And the sedative would be invaluable. After weeks of being famished, there was no guarantee your comfort would be at the front of his mind, and it was so much more pleasant when you didn't struggle. Last time had bitterly taught him as much.

"But you can make me okay, right?" There was a sweet tremble to your voice, always so scared of death.

"The mere question is an insult to my abilities," he practically purred, excitement bubbling as his chosen objective for the day moved closer, "it'll just be a little prick and then you're safe. Now, sit up for me."

He'd already turned around, hands aching to return as he rummaged through a few drawers, eventually pulling out both a vial and syringe. Your body came into view reflected in the clear liquid, barely having sat up and already exploring the stitches.

All it for your eyes to lock on the syringe was two taps to the glass, unease so plainly written across your face while he pressed the plunger to clear excess air trapped inside.

His hand encircled your arm, tugging upwards and tutting at the grime that clung to you. With the syringe between his teeth, he wiped the area down, satisfaction flooding his system when goosebumps spread. It had been so long since he'd had you properly.

"There. Now, you need to stay here a little so I can ensure that there are no immediate adverse effects. The blanket is in the usual spot."

It would have been far more practical for you to put the uniform back on, but Dottore trusted that you'd follow his directions regardless and without fuss. When he caught the rattling of metal buckles, he wanted to laugh at your naivety, were you truly not accustomed enough by now to know what he wanted?

"I said; the blanket is in its usual spot," the icy sneer left his lips without a second thought, and oh how beautiful your widening eyes were.

"Well, I know, but it was just-" your voice was already a pitch higher, the irrational fear further irking him.

"Should I consider this insubordination?"

Already, Dottore had crossed the distance and wrapped a large hand around your jaw. It was no secret what happened to cross subordinates. He was well aware that your little slip hardly warranted this reaction, but it was difficult to hold back when the urge to sink his nails into your skin screamed and begged, fighting to drown out every other thought.

"N-no, please…"

It would be all too easy to squeeze a little tighter, hear the crack of your mandible as it would threaten to give out. His fingers stretched to move further up, pressing against the condylar processes, feeling around the joint as images of you with your jaw agape crashed over him.

Dottore knew how little force it took to break. And how a replacement could be crafted and implanted in less than a day, stronger and sturdier than what occupied the space now.

"Remember your place, and be thankful I don't leave you to wilt," the words were spat out with more disdain than anticipated, his fingers giving a last wanton squeeze before releasing your jaw.

With a small scoff, Dottore returned to one of the workbenches that lined the walls, feigning disinterest as his hands automatically began tinkering with the closest contraption, barely willing to divide enough attention to ensure it wasn't something that required further protective equipment for handling. Of course you'd know there were proper medics within the ranks, the most accessible ones located a few rooms away, but they couldn't offer what he did, and the reassurance that you always came back for him to lick your wounds with his barbed tongue, it was enough to pacify any frustrations with your brief moments of hesitation.

Five minutes of pretending to be distracted and Dottore found himself a little impatient.

Ten minutes and it had built to irritation, glassware scraping along the surfaces as he pushed it around, mindlessly 'reorganizing'.

By fifteen something would have been thrown were he a lesser being.

Sweet relief came at the quiet sound of your voice shattering the thick air, the words slurred as if you couldn't quite make out the correct shapes with your lips.

"Am I s'posed to feel tired?"

A small chuckle wormed it's way from his lungs, nonchalance fully restored now that he could turn to gaze upon your slumped body, fingers tightly clutching the fuzzy blanket that enveloped you in a flimsy haven.

"You've just returned after weeks in the field, having sustained injuries and all," Dottore spoke calmly, betraying none of his greed as he gestured to the trace remnants of blood on the table, "it is no wonder that exhaustion would begin to take hold now that you are safe."

The question was plainly written in your eyes, making Dottore incline his head in silent motion to continue, preemptively stepping closer to catch what would no doubt be a whisper.

"Should I go back to the barracks?"

"Would you prefer to go?"

You wouldn't be given the opportunity to go, of course not, but there was no need to be forceful when he could already see how valiantly you fought to keep your eyes open, how your body seemed drawn downwards. It couldn't be more than a few minutes now.

Irritation briefly sparked in Dottore's chest at the little shake of your head, it would've been far more fulfilling to hear you say it.

No attempt was made to make your way through the laboratory to reach the modest cot that stood tucked away in a corner, crates of supplies and projects on hold usually hiding it from view. How ethereal you looked, head lolled to the side and the blanket slowly slipping from your shoulders as a false slumber curled its gnarled limbs around you.

Whatever conclusions you mind would reach were of little consequence, the sedative would take care of that, countless tests indicating that it always left the recipient's memory riddled with inconsistencies, making it easy to dismiss any unpleasantries as imagined.

Dreams.

The risks associated with using the modified Akasha were still too great, even if the possibility of directly rewriting the barrier between truth and fantasy was a tempting one. This way would be more satisfying in the end, having had to put in a little work and flex muscles that had been allowed to atrophy since his days in The Akademiya.

Dottore showed extra care when he hoisted up your unconscious form, grip unyielding as he closed his eyes to revel in the weight against him. In a past that mattered little, others had sworn the ego he carried around was inflated enough to see him ascend in any way but the desired, perhaps this would've been enough of a tether to their reality. For this alone would he allow himself to be held down.

Perhaps things could have been different had that lone island in the sky not decided for his fate to be nothing but misery. Thus logic dictated that you too would be lost. A soft tremor reminded his fingers to relax, gently stroking over the crescents they'd left.

Your breath warmed him far more than it had any right to, coaxing forth memories of a soft summer breeze, rose petals velvety between his fingers as they were plucked from their stem and plummeted to their inevitable demise. And an inviting sound, bubbly and sweet that had, for just a night, filled his veins with the toxin your presence had reignited.

Having you clean would be preferable. The emergency shower would hardly be sufficient, not with how the filth seemed to have embedded itself in your skin. With you unconscious, there was no reason to school his expression, the notion only serving to exacerbate the scowl his face set in.

A soak would be easiest.

There was nothing pompous about the washroom attached to his quarters, and a pang of regret had the idea of bringing you to The Regrator's briefly surfacing. The sentiment didn't linger, an unwillingness to be indebted quickly reigning in the myriad of thoughts cluttering his mind in much the same way towels and clothes were currently strewn around the room.

It made a pretty picture, your body curled up against the side of the tub, a few rays of pale light slithering through the lone window to caress your face. A feeling that had never quite been within his grasp lingered in the rays of light, coaxing something painfully unfamiliar to tug at his shriveled heart.

Just a little longer before the tingling in his fingertips would be sated.

Quick work was made of disrobing himself, a watchful eye making sure your head remained above water. Dottore let a weary sigh hang in the otherwise empty silence, hating the hesitation that riddled his movements as his clothes fell to the floor. There was no reason to be reserved about the results of a life lived, the chances of you regaining consciousness would remain negligible for a while.

Finally settling with your weight in his lap was undoubtedly the closest to rapture Dottore had found himself. Arms securely around your midsection, your back flush against his heaving chest, had every uncertainty draining into the water.

Dutifully, one hand tore itself from your form to reach for a clean cloth, struggling for a moment before muscle memory took over, fingertips gracing the fabric without the need to tear his eyes from your parted lips. It was nothing short of tranquil, letting the cloth scrub away the remnants of your excursion with meticulous care.

Dottore saw how your skin turned red from the continued friction and consciously ignored it, some small voice wanting to rub it off completely and leave you a blank canvas.

He looked instead at his reflection in the water, vermillion stare drawn to its counterpart, noting briefly how it wasn't nearly as comfortable as being under your gaze.

At least his subconscious mind had the decency to have left the few areas he'd stitched together alone, not that they mattered in any practical sense, but you'd be distraught if they were gone when you woke. With time, would you be as broken as him?

Only once you'd been scrubbed clean were thoughts of his own desires acknowledged, cock throbbing against your back as soon as attention was diverted to the feeling. A small hiss mingled with the steam from the water, Dottore easily repositioning you to let his length slide between your thighs.

Already, satisfaction rumbled in his chest, vision engulfed by white for a moment upon repeating the soft motion of his hips. Your thighs easily gave way when tugged apart, body every bit as pliant as previously. Having made peace with his impatience long before, his lips were immediately descended upon the crook of your neck, stifling the groans that spilled forth as he aligned himself.

The water provided additional friction, a slight burn dancing against his sensitive tip upon breaching your tight entrance. Soap met his tongue, disgustingly sterile as it danced along his taste buds, only spurring him on to mouth at you with renewed vigor, desperate to taste the sweetness he knew lay buried underneath.

His hips snapped up as the familiar taste invaded his senses, eyes rolling back at the pleasure of being buried to the hilt. Had his faith been intact, a prayer to the archons for your silence would have tumbled from his lips. Warm droplets carved out paths alongside old scars, gathering at his chin before being caught in the soft locks of your hair. Dottore felt his skin crawl as traces of a pained howl bubbled in his throat, body trembling in time with every squeeze of your insides.

If time would remain forever frozen as the land just outside the walls perhaps everything would be more bearable then. Would it banish both the threat of separation and the burden of remaining what he'd made of himself in spite of reality?

Another sound crawled from his lungs, foreign and intrusive when it met his ears, wanton in a way that caused nothing but dissonance. Dottore curled his body around you, panting heavily against the nape of your neck as he sought out some form of relief, his muscles straining with the increased pace.

Stagnating would be of no use, pleasure was fleeting, worthless without contrast.

Dottore felt euphoria flood his system, spine tingling mercilessly as his sharp teeth tore into the pliant flesh beneath. It was a thoughtless action, driven only by the need to claim and consume, satisfying the desperate desire to be whole. Water sloshed against the edges with every rut of his hips, driving himself deeper into the warmth you so selflessly provided.

How much time had passed felt secondary, the only thing truly worth attention being the rapid tightening in his abdomen, pleasure steadily building with every movement. Seeking more, Dottore found his hands had moved down to grasp the curve of your hip, easily hoisting you up to twist your body around.

With a ferocity that should by all means have been concerning, his lips sought a home against yours, relishing in how they had already parted for him. A hand in your hair was all that was needed to stabilize your head enough that he could delude himself into thinking you awake.

That the little puffs of air that passed into his waiting jaws were instead keens and broken moans spilling forth. His tongue pushed into the waiting heat, wanting if he could to explore deeper, have your throat squeeze around his tongue as your body did his cock. Before he could hesitate, the curve of your nape rested in his calloused palm, the appendage twitching with budding excitement.

A light press was all his mind would allow, knowing all too well how little it would take to snap such a precious thing. As intoxicating as holding the fate of another in his hands were, this was wrong, without reason.

It was the way your thighs quivered around his hips that brought order to all those thoughts, tugging your head away for a breath of fresh air to stifle his burning lungs. Only a single breath afforded, diving back in for more as all else lost meaning. He needed more, needed to hear you beg him, needed your hands to tug at his hair, needed-

Water splashed over the edges as he pushed forward, hands grasping for the back of your knees to push them against your chest. His chest heaved at the sight underneath him, growling like a wounded animal as he reaped what he'd cultivated, one hand keeping a leg pinned while the other covered your nose and mouth.

He was so close.

Close enough that every clench of your slick heat choked his thoughts. Close enough that he threw back his head, willing the image of your eyes briefly opening from his mind, focusing instead on the water soothing his burning skin as he gave a last few thrusts, cursing as the thread snapped and released washed over him.

It would've been no surprise if the tub had cracked from the force, even less if you had cracked, his body still shaking from the force of his release, milky white leaking out into the water and dispersing. Your body was swiftly pulled above the surface as Dottore sat back, once more cradling your head to his chest, trying to ignore the emptiness that wanted to force itself along the clarity that came in the wake of euphoria.

He laid your no doubt exhausted frame onto the cot, hastily tossing the grey blanket over your form. The harsh light of the laboratory did little to hide the marks that littered your body, blooming purple along your thighs, fierce red at your shoulders, already tempting him to reach out and touch again. It was a matter of creating distance, unwilling to let attachment fester and consume more, already now the gnawing had returned, weaker than before but far from sated.

By all means, he should've swung the door shut with more force, knowing at the back of his mind that the lock never clicked. It did nothing to stop his body from collapsing onto his unmade bed, pushing at the covers before crawling further up. He didn't find himself opposed to having you drape yourself against his body, rest in his arms.

Would you seek him out by yourself once the sedative wore off?

Would that finally stave off his hunger?

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imgeekgirlfan · 13 days

Text

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : VI]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content waring : 18+ smut/nsfw, manipulation, fingering, p in v, virgnity loss, unprotected sex, creampie (Just asking for a friend: Do the Bene Gesserit need a condom?🤔)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: On your twentieth birthday, after spending nearly three years with Qimir, you finally decide to reveal your secret to him. And from that moment, your relationship with him will never be the same again.

Status: work in progress (This is a long fanfic that will be about 10+ chapters.)

A/N : As mentioned, This fan fiction mixes elements from two universes, so some details might not match canon perfectly. I’ve made adjustments but will try to keep key canon elements intact. I hope you read this for enjoyment, not to nitpick details.

ps. Writing smut in English is rather demanding for me. I hope you can forgive any mistakes in this EP. I’ve done my best 😭

➡ Intro // EP : I // EP : II // EP : III // EP : IV // EP : V // EP : VII

[Episodes 6] Four things cannot be hidden—love, smoke, a pillar of fire and a man striding across the open bled.

On your twentieth birthday, after spending three years with Qimir, you finally decide to reveal your secret to him.

There is no point in hiding it any longer, especially after he has already seen something he shouldn’t have on that ship. Besides, you no longer wish to conceal it. That near-death experience has changed your perspective—not just on your own feelings but also on the visions that have surfaced from deep within your subconscious. Through the fog of time, you sense profound changes—both in the future paths and in the bond between you and him.

A bond you never wanted to form. Feelings you wish to deny. But no matter how hard you try, in the end, you can’t escape it.

Sometimes, fate has a strange way of twisting things—you can’t help but think that when you recall your first meeting. You hated Qimir with all the intensity of your feelings. You couldn’t stand him. There were moments you even plotted his death, planning to flee far away. But who would have thought that three years later, you’d find yourself lying in his arms on a small bed in a rundown hotel near the Starports on Olega, far removed from the bloody events on Tatooine.

You are uncertain if it can even be called love. But one thing is certain: Qimir's presence changes your life forever. He changes you. You change him. And you have no idea if it is for better or worse.

Resting your head on Qimir's chest, you let his large hand caress your back. It's strange how safe you feel with him, despite having witnessed him kill so many people.

But it's not just you who feels this way. Qimir doesn't seem to fear you either. His words are blunt and direct when he finally asks about what he's seen. "I saw what you did—you control people with just your words," Qimir says. "What exactly are you? A member of some witch's coven?"

He turns on his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, holding you close as if to comfort you from the terrifying events that have unfolded earlier. Yet at the same time, it is clear he intends to keep you there, preventing you from leaving until you answer his question honestly.

You know Qimir’s intent, but do not push back. You remain silent for a moment before replying.

"It is an ancient technique passed down by my people," you confess, feeling as though you are revealing a terrible sin to some forgotten god. "We use our voice to command others, bending their will to our desires." You pause before adding, "And no, I am not part of any witch’s coven. My mother said those covens are nothing but lowly imitators, trying to replicate what we truly are."

"Your people? What do you mean?" Qimir frowns, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. A wave of unease washes over you as you realize that the moment of truth is finally upon you.

“I am Bene Gesserit.”

Bene Gesserit—those words, foreign to most in this age, are known only to a select few who have studied ancient history.

According to old records, before the rise of the Jedi Order, the Bene Gesserit was a powerful religious order that held great power throughout the galaxy, known as the Sisterhood. They only accepted women deemed worthy into their ranks.

It is said that the Bene Gesserit were the true originators of the Force, passing down their teachings through generations. The Bene Gesserit sisters possessed mysterious powers and physical capabilities far beyond the reach of ordinary people. They could neutralize poisons within their own bodies, control others with the power of the voice, and train their minds and bodies to heights that defied natural limits. Some could even glimpse into the future with an eerie sense of prophecy, though only fragments of what was to come—except for the Reverend Mothers who led the order. They alone held the power to peer through the memories of their ancestors, journeying through the past, present, and distant future.

And it was this obsession with the visions they received that drove their beliefs. The Bene Gesserit were convinced that the universe was heading toward destruction, haunted by the prospect of a terrible future. Their only solution was to guide human evolution to its pinnacle through meticulous breeding programs that spanned generations. They strengthened their power by sending their sisters to marry and breed with the ruling houses of various planets, integrating themselves into the political and religious structures, and influencing every layer of society, from the lowest to the highest ranks—all for one ultimate goal: the creation of the Kwisatz Haderach, a superior human who transcended all others.

Yet ironically, it was the Kwisatz Haderach himself who brought about the very doom of the universe, which the Bene Gesserit had feared and attempted to avoid all along.

The Bene Gesserit succeeded in creating the Kwisatz Haderach as intended, but they utterly failed to control him. Paul Atreides, the only son of Duke Leto Atreides and Lady Jessica of the Atreides, a Bene Gesserit sister, became a religious icon before he reached twenty. He was revered as the Lisan al Gaib—Voice from the Outer World—and was worshiped as a godhead. He led the Fremen, the ancient people of Arrakis, in a jihad that spread across the galaxy. Tens of millions perished in the holy war, and hundreds of millions more during the tyrannical rule of the Kwisatz Haderach’s own son.

Eventually, the Kwisatz Haderach's dynasty was annihilated by the vengeful masses, and the universe slowly began to heal, giving rise to numerous new sects, including the Jedi Order.

The Bene Gesserit were said to have vanished during this time, and rumors of their demise were widespread. Some claimed that the Kwisatz Haderach, driven by his hatred for the Sisterhood, had eradicated them entirely, while others believed they were blamed for the jihad and were hunted down by the vengeful populace.

Regardless of the cause, the true reason for the destruction of the Bene Gesserit was their overwhelming power and the mysterious goals they pursued. It was decided that the Bene Gesserit witches should no longer exist in the universe, as no one wanted to risk the emergence of a second Kwisatz Haderach.

For thousands of years, you have been the last Bene Gesserit. Although your skills and powers are far weaker than those of your ancestors due to a lack of proper training, you still surpass both Jedi and Sith. Your power is the source of the Force they wield—an ancient power that none can fully replicate unless they are also Bene Gesserit.

“I am not only a Bene Gesserit; I am also a Fremen,” you reveal, deciding to share another layer of your secret with him. You point to your deep blue eyes, the eyes of Ibad, the distinct mark of your ancient race, now long extinct along with the Bene Gesserit. “My Fremen name is Hara[1], a name known only to my mother."

You are surprised at yourself for disclosing your Fremen name to him. For the Fremen, a tribal name carries deep meaning and significance, given only to those who can be trusted completely.

However, you feel a sense of relief after finally speaking, though it's not complete. There are still secrets you haven’t shared with him, but revealing this much is already more than enough. You trust Qimir, but you are unsure how much of this truth he can truly accept. Deep down, you are terrified he might see you as a monster, shun you, or worse, decide to eliminate you like others might. Your very existence might be too dangerous to allow you to survive.

But Qimir says nothing. He appears deep in thought, his expression unreadable. You can’t discern his feelings, and the silence grows unbearable. Finally, you ask, 'Do you fear me now that you know who I am?'"

As the words leave your mouth, you bite your lip unconsciously while waiting for his reply, worry gnawing at you. How strange it is to be afraid of his rejection more than your own death."

"Fear?" Qimir tilts his head, puzzled by your question for a moment. Seeing your distressed expression, he quickly grasps your concern. "I have no reason to fear you," he says, stepping closer to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "I do not fear you," he emphasizes, sealing his words with a firm kiss on your lips.

You let Qimir kiss you a little longer. When he finally gives you a chance to catch your breath, you ask, 'Even though I am dangerous?' Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with uncertainty.

Everything feels too perfect and too smooth, and instead of providing reassurance, it only makes you feel more uneasy.

Qimir smiles widely, almost as if he wants to laugh but is holding it back. "Oh, in that case, it’s me you should fear more." He teases, his tone playful, as he resumes kissing you. Not on your lips, but now on your ear, nibbling playfully, while one of his hands moves up to your breast, caressing and teasing your nipple through the fabric with his thumb.

Your eyes widen as you realize what is about to happen. You grab Qimir’s arm, quickly halting his mischievous actions before things can go any further. “Qimir,” you call out his name, your heart pounding, your voice faltering with each shaky breath.

Qimir stops immediately, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. You see the clear reflection of desire in his dark eyes. “Don’t want to?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of pleading, though the playful smirk at the corner of his mouth suggests something more sly, as if he knows every thought in your mind without reading it, knowing that you won’t refuse.

His knowing demeanor makes you feel annoyed, but there is little you can do. In a situation like this, you are at a disadvantage in nearly every way.

“Well, I…” You try to speak but hesitate for a moment, your cheeks burning hot as if set aflame. You don’t know how to explain it to him without making yourself feel even more embarrassed. “I don’t know how... I’ve never... you understand, right?”

That isn’t entirely true. Even though you have never been intimate with anyone, you aren’t that naive. As a Bene Gesserit, you can see the past through ancestral memories, which sometimes bring you glimpses of things you shouldn’t see, intruding into your dreams. But dreams and reality are entirely different. You feel out of place, unsure of what to do, like someone who has read extensively but fails when it comes to practical application.

Qimir lets out a clear laugh, his sly smile shifting to one of genuine amusement, making you blush even more. Before you can protest, he seizes the moment and silences you with a kiss.

This time, though, it feels different.

Never before has a kiss between you two felt so deep and intense. His lips and tongue are sharp and distinct as they invade, filled with a potent desire that permeates every touch, burning with unwavering purpose, as if he wants to touch the very core of your being, reaching the true self you have never revealed to anyone.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His mouth lingers on your lips, and his hands gently cradle your cheeks. “Relax, don’t be afraid,” Qimir whispers, his lips trailing to your neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your skin, then moving down to your chest. “I told you before, you don’t need to hide yourself when you’re with me.” His voice is soft, almost dreamlike, but every touch is real.

You follow his lead, as if under a spell, letting him undress you without resistance. His large hands roam over every part of your soft skin, planting kisses along the curves of your body, from your shoulders down to your hips, and finally to the inside of your thighs. His dark eyes examine your naked form without looking away, not missing a single detail, taking in every perfection and flaw—nothing hidden, nothing concealed.

“I want you to feel every emotion within you—anger, fear, and desire…” The word ‘desire’ from Qimir’s lips was as sweet as honey. “Embrace who you truly are, what you can be, and what you can do when you’re with me—only with me.”

You flinch as his fingertips brush against your delicate folds before sliding inside you. You can feel every knuckle as he slowly works his way deeper, one finger becoming two, gently stretching you as he allows you to grow accustomed to the sensation. He then begins to move them slowly, his thumb rubbing your bud, massaging every sensitive spot inside and out, sending shivers of unfamiliar pleasure through your body.

Waves of strange, stinging bliss ripple across your skin, making you restless as you writhe in the throes of sharp delight. But his other hand presses firmly on your lower abdomen, forcing you to stay still.

“Be a good girl,” Qimir admonishes, a grin tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying watching you struggle helplessly beneath him.

You moan, burying your face in the pillow, your entire body trembling with the intensity of your climax, making you feel like you are floating in a sea of stars. After catching your breath for a moment, you look up to see Qimir hastily removing his own clothes. His skin is pale, his body sculpted with lean, defined muscles, as beautiful as a statue in a temple. But what sets him apart are the scars, some small, some large, like cracks in marble. Yet these imperfections only make him more striking, unique, and beautiful.

Qimir turns to look at you, fully aware that you have been watching him the entire time. His face softens in the dim light, but his eyes remain dark. You sense the intense longing within them—a desire he’s harbored for a long time. You wonder why you never noticed the fragile restraint in him until now. He seems on the verge of snapping, as if he’s been wound too tight, ready to unravel at any moment.

Qimir wastes no time, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close until there’s no space left between you and him. His hardness presses firmly against the crevice of your thighs, the heat spreading through your body as his cock gradually sinks into your swollen slit, filling you completely.

A low moan escapes his lips, soft and barely audible. Qimir pauses briefly, giving you a chance to catch your breath and adjust. As he takes a moment to relish the closeness, he revels in the warmth of your tight, slick, silky walls that embrace his length perfectly.

"It might hurt at first, but it’ll get better soon. Just bear with it," he murmurs, his hand gently stroking your hair. He plants a warm kiss on your cheek, trying to comfort you as your face contorts with pain. It feels like he’s about to tear you apart as he pushes in fully. You lock eyes with him in shock as a flood of emotions washes over you—strange, frightening, painful, and thrilling all at once.

Your lips part, letting out a silent moan as Qimir begins to move, thrusting in to the hilt until you can feel every inch of him deep within you. He brushes away a stray lock of black hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His lips press a kiss to your sweat-dampened temple as his hips thrust forward, quickening the pace. Your soft inner walls tighten, clenching around him as his tip repeatedly hits your sweet spot.

By now, the pain has subsided, replaced by waves of pleasure building inside you, ready to explode.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you grip Qimir's shoulders as if your life depends on his mercy. Your hips rise to meet his movements, every fiber of your being striving to get closer to him, nearly melding into one.

The rhythm changes slightly, slowing down and becoming less steady but more forceful. You pant heavily, feeling the climax approaching, each movement bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Just a few more thrusts, and you both reach the peak together. He spills into you, his release filling you up and spilling over. The hot, wet feeling of his cum makes your body shiver and feel dizzy, still unaccustomed to these new sensations.

The room gradually returns to calm. When Qimir pulls away, your body suddenly feels light and empty, like weightless cotton. You drift in the calm afterglow, enveloped in his embrace as he nuzzles you, kisses your cheeks and forehead, and caresses your hair tenderly, just as lovers do."

But there are no words of 'love' from his lips. The last thing you hear from Qimir before slipping into sleep is, 'You’re no longer alone. You belong to me.”

Instead of feeling reassured by these words, a strange unease flickers through your mind, as if you've just stepped onto a path of grave mistake.

[1] In Fremen culture (as depicted in the film Dune), Fremen names are special names that differ from regular ones, only shared with outsiders when there’s deep trust and acceptance. For example, Chani tells Paul her Fremen name, 'Sihaya,' as a sign of accepting him as a lover. That’s why the reader needs a Fremen name—it’s culturally important (and I certainly WILL NOT USE Y/N as a Fremen name, absolutely no way!). I’ve hinted at this name since EP : I (if you pay attention, you’ll notice it), and it ties into the story, so I hope you're okay with the name I picked.

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somedayillbepeterpan · 3 months

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I have thought about Colin Bridgerton every single day since June 13. I love him so much, he plagues my mind. If you have been here for a while, you know that I've been lauding how Luke Newton has played Colin brilliantly and I will continue to pile on that praise because I cannot resist this pookie bear.

So, here's my favourite S3 smiles of my favourite sweet, soft boi. He progressively shows his toothy smile less and less from the latter part of S1 and S2 and beginning of S3 so I adore it when I see this smile. I just love love love when I see Luke Newton's toothy smile. He doesn't do it often when you carefully look at all the press tour photos and interviews.

I'm working on S1 and S2 smiles, too. Stay tuned!

S3E6 - Romancing Mr. Bridgerton He just made one of his dad jokes to Pen and made her smile. Nothing spells in love like this sweet, shy smile

S3E6 - Romancing Mr. Bridgerton Possibly the biggest smile I've seen on him when Pen tells him that she's always loved him. Gaaah, I can drown in this smile forever. It's this smile that makes the angst in the latter part so hard to watch. This pookie bear, in pain??? It was definitely hard to go through seeing the pain and confusion in his face.

S3E6 - Romancing Mr. Bridgerton His smile every time he twirls his two apples wife (I'm sorry for cutting Pen's face). That is the look of a fulfilled man.

S3E7 - Joining of hands I saw an interview (not sure which one) where Luke elaborates on the emotions he played Colin in throughout the wedding. He said that he just let him be swept up in the joy of the moment and that is why we get this beautiful wedding smile. Look at those eyes! We knew the conflict they were in but this is one of the hard evidences that he would never, ever give up Pen.

S3E8 - Into the light (sorry for the grainy gif. this was zoomed in at max capacity) Every single dance they've had (even the wedding one), Colin would display his truest emotions. It's why they have 5 dances throughout the season as compared to Saphne and Kanthony's 2 each (if I'm remembering correctly). This last dance, where he finally settles in his emotions saw him the happiest as evidence on the next gif.

S3E8 - Into the light Look at this pookie's face! It's the first smile where he closes his eyes fully-- embracing the joy he's feeling. This and the next gif's smiles are my absolute favourites. I can stare at this smiling face all day.

BONUS

S3E5 - Tik Tok To the sweetest sex scene I've seen in my life, I will never get over you. Because you give me this man's absolutely smitten face. And those fiery eyes??? Are you kidding me? I can make essays about the mirror scene. That intimacy is not easily replicated and I'll always compare this scene to every other intimacy scene I see on screen from now on.

(Stunning work from Luke and Nic)

I cap this post off with this RMB quote:

“I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles.” - Colin Bridgerton to Penelope Bridgerton Excerpt From Romancing Mr. Bridgerton Julia Quinn | This material may be protected by copyright.

#i love him so much #colin's smiles #i smile for every one of his smile #my sweet soft boi #you plague my mind #colin bridgerton #polin #bridgerton #luke newton #i'll continually praise Luke Newton's work

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your-gay-grandma · 1 year

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Butch/Femme history and culture introduction (written by a femme lesbian, deeply in love with being so)

💖Ideal for people immersing themselves in lesbian culture for the first time

🤍This post will contain brief summarising information about butch/femme culture and history as well as an introductory resource list for continuing your learning journey.

🧡It is by no means exhaustive and is intended as a very basic and simplified introduction that people can and should easily build on. Please try to keep this intention in mind before telling me i have neglected something!

⚠️ Disclaimer - this post is admittedly very centred on butch/femme history of the US and western culture in the 1900s. If there is a different culture or time that you’d be interested to learn more about, I would be overjoyed to research it so please let me know! Lesbianism has existed everywhere in every time and the cultural variation of this is beautiful and SO important. I do not want to neglect that but cannot fit it all in this brief introduction post.

“Whether reclaiming femininity from the male gaze or rejecting feminine gender norms by embracing butch, the subculture is intrinsically radical: it empowers lesbians to renounce patriarchal standards of beauty.” - Megan Christopher

What is butch/femme?

butch/femme is a lesbian subculture with a deep and rich history and culture. It goes far beyond masculine and feminine aesthetics and informs lesbian identity and dynamics. Butch/femme culture is a crucial part of LGBTQ+ history and culture as a whole.

It has existed for a very long time but it is very important to know that not all lesbians are butch/femme. In fact, most lesbians will not identify with either label and that is completely okay! You will see some lesbians describe themselves as butch4butch or femme4femme.

Traditionally, there is nothing in between butch/femme and to suggest otherwise negates the rich significance of the identities. Some people suggest it is a spectrum with “futch” in the middle. This is however not the case and the significance of this will become clear as we delve further into the importance of butch/femme identities to queer culture and history. Crucially too, straight women cannot be butch/femme

Aren’t butch/femme just replicating traditional heterosexual gender roles?

Absolutely not! In fact, they outwardly challenge them.

Gender and sex are constructs. A lot of lesbians find that butch/femme are gender identities in of themselves (myself included)

Instead, butch/femme are identities that encapsulate a particular “performance” of gender. The attributes of these may seem “masculine” or “feminine” but this is only because of the strict gender binary our society ascribes to gender performance.

Judith Butler, in their book Gender Trouble, notes that a lot of lesbians in general have a complex relationship to gender. This is because our binary perception of womanhood is constructed on the basis that “male” is default and “female” is the only sexed other. Because lesbianism is the only identity that totally de-centres men, a lot of lesbians (regardless of being butch, femme or neither) will not feel like they are conventionally “women”.

A lot of the time, butch/femme roles were and still are a source of safety and solace

Butch

Butch refers to masculinity in any number of ways

Butches typically and historically face high levels of discrimination and harassment for their gender non conformity.

A very important butch text is Stone Butch Blues, written by Leslie Feinberg

In the book, Feinberg discusses the importance of working-class identities to butchness.

Some butches are transmasculine. This doesn’t make them less of a lesbian, as long as they have ties to butchness and lesbianism.

Stone butches are lesbians who do not like to be touched (or “receive”) during sex

Femme

Femmes are lesbians who present more “femininely”.

Femmes do not necessarily conform to society’s perception of womanhood. Many will have complex relationships to gender identity or will present as hyper-feminine.

Hyper-femininity is an exaggerated performance of womanhood where aspects of dress, character and/or mannerisms of femininity may be heightened.

This is why a lot of the time lesbians can still “clock” (or recognise) femmes as being gay. Straight women tend to feel put off by the level of femininity common with hyper-feminine femmes.

History

In western culture, butch/femme culture existed underground or secret up until the mid 20th century. We can assume however that butch/femme dynamics have existed for a long time.

In the early 1900s, butch/femme dynamics were confined to underground gay bars.

In this case, femmes were often considered in a position of privilege as they were “straight passing” and could only be recognisably lesbian when accompanied by a butch.

Femmes will often assert sexuality through their femininity.

In the 1940s, butch/femme dynamics were extremely important and a thriving part of lesbian culture.

Women were allowed to enter bars without men.

In the US, butches would have to dress femininely in order to hold employment and avoid harassment and assault based on their preferred gender non-conformity.

Butches dressed in a way that was accepted by society, while still presenting as more masculine than the norm. Alix Genter writes that "butches wore long, pleated skirts with their man-tailored shirts, sometimes with a vest or coat on top"

In the 1950s, many butches refused to live these double lives. Their full-time masculine presentation made it difficult for them to work so they were often employed in factories or as taxi drivers. (hence the importance of working-class solidarity with butches)

Increased lesbian visibility and a strong anti-gay political stance at the time of McCarthyism led to increased attacks on queer women and resulted in a particularly defiant gay bar culture.

Butches are therefore extremely important in our fight for LGBTQ+ rights. It was butches and trans women who were known for fighting back for our rights and visibility.

In the 1970s, particular sentiments of lesbian separatist feminism declared masculinity and butchness was harmful to women. This led to the popularisation of more androgynous fashion amongst lesbians including boots, jeans and flannels. This movement weakened butch identifiers and is known for alienating lesbians of colour and working class lesbians.

Lesbian separatism is essentially the idea that lesbians should exist separate to men and heterosexual women. That is why some theorists believed performances of masculinity were harmful (while others did not believe this and it is obviously not true)

Introductory reading list (online articles that are short and accessible)

how butch/femme subcultures allow gay women to thrive by Megan Christopher for VICE: https://www.vice.com/en/article/wjwzqx/how-butch-femme-subcultures-allow-gay-women-to-thrive

A good introduction to the radical history and importance of butch/femme identities.

The Lesbians That Founded The Gay Village And The Mafia Alliance They Made For Protection by Diana Robertson: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/the-lesbians-that-founded-the-gay-village-and-the-mafia_b_5941d7a1e4b0d99b4c921126

Really helpful history!

No Matter What’s Gendertrending, the Butch is Here To Stay by Jack Halberstam

https://web.archive.org/web/20180907141513/https://www.afterellen.com/tv/443117-no-matter-whats-gendertrending-the-butch-is-here-to-stay

I don’t like the suggestion of the title but the article itself has good information. Jack Halberstam is an important queer theorist. I also recommend his writings on queer failure. This article has some generally good direction about butchness, especially in modern media. “Butch is always a misnomer; masculine but not male, female but not feminine, the term serves as a placeholder for the unassimilable, for that which remains indefinable or unspeakable within the many identifications that we make and that we claim.”

Key books for a deeper understanding (and their pros and cons)

The Persistent Desire: A Femme–Butch Reader by Joan Nestle

Gender Trouble by Judith Butler (one of my favourite books of all time. Really difficult to get through but very worthwhile and completely changed the way I understand sex and gender)

Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg (an incredibly important lesbian text. Can be very difficult to get through, especially emotionally. Please make sure to check triggers before reading)

Dagger: On Butch Women by Lily Burana

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