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yandere-daydreams · 29 days

Text

file #4: the body mod fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!wriothesley x reader (genshin).

length: 3.1k.

warnings: non/con touching + groping, nonconsensual piecing, dubiously consensual tattoos, permanent body modification, intimidation, needles, obsessive behavior, and unbalanced power dynamics.

“Just one?”

The question had been hushed, meek, directed more towards your lap than the man sitting across from you. The warden – Wriothesley, you chided yourself, biting the inside of your cheek and attempting to remember what he’d asked you to call him, Wriothesley – broke into a wry smile, but nodded, leaning back in his armchair. “Just one,” he reassured. “And you’ll taken care of until your release date.”

You didn’t respond, but he must’ve seen the way you paled at the suggestion. “Having second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just—” You grit your teeth. Your eyes flitted up momentarily, but fell back to your legs just as quickly. “I… I’ve never really liked needles, I guess.”

You could see his eyes light up, his grin broadening as he tried to stifle his laughter. You scowled, but couldn’t blame him. He was used to dealing with hardened criminals, the scum of Teyvat, thieves and spies and murderers, and here you were – on the verge of fainting because he asked you to get a tattoo. “I promise, you don’t have anything to worry about.” At least he was trying to sound comforting, even if it was clearly a half-hearted effort. “I’ll make sure you’re in good hands.”

And he had, in a way.

You just wished he would’ve mentioned that those hands would be his own.

Calloused fingertips dug into your bicep as a scarred palm pressed into your skin, keeping one of your arms loosely secured against the mattress of the cot while the other was pinned between the bedframe and his chest (the placement unintentional, or so you hoped). You’d been shaking when he brought out that terrible machine – a vial of dark ink trapped inside of a cage of copper and steel; a single, silver needle protruding out of one end and a leather grip wrapped around the other – but it’d only taken an hour for fear to fade into boredom, another for boredom to drag on into a rotting, discolored sort of exhaustion. For as much as you’d been dreading it, there was more pressure than pain. It was repetitive, if anything – a monotonous pierce, stab, pierce, stab that you could only try your best not to focus on. You could already feel an ache settling below the skin of your shoulder, already knew that you wouldn’t be able to lift your arm for days, but you tried not to—

His needle stabbed into the thin skin over your shoulder blade, and you couldn’t stop yourself – letting out a low hiss as you flinched into the cot’s thin mattress. You expected Wriothesley to laugh, to drag a damp cloth over the affected area and mutter something like ‘bear with me’ or ‘my bad, love, my bad’ like he had a dozen times before, but instead, there was a muffled click as he switched off his awful machine, a dull clatter as he dropped it onto a bedside table already crowded with bottles of disinfectant and the nurse’s bizarre tools. “We’ll stop here. It’ll take another session, but I think you’ve been through enough for one day. For a virgin, especially.”

You were only half-listening; the phantom of his machine still buzzing in your ears. “Are you sure?” You asked, trying to hide how desperate you were not to spend another night in the empty infirmary with a man you barely knew. “It’s not that bad, I can go for another—”

“I’m sure. Sit up, I’ll let you have a look.”

You pursed your lips, but didn’t protest. You could see how Wriothesley had gotten into such an authoritative position. The way he spoke, his constant undertone of stern stability – it was hard to so much as imagine talking back to him, let alone breaking one of the rules that’d been meticulously and painstakingly drilled into you when you’d arrived at the Fortress of Meropide a little under a week ago. Still, you’d been terrified – too scared to so much as speak to another prisoner for the first two days. You weren’t dangerous. You couldn’t hold your own in a fight, or protect yourself if someone else, someone stronger decided they had a problem with you. You could barely even call yourself a criminal, but apparently, the Iudex hadn’t agreed. You’d been on your way to the fortress before he could finish reading out your sentence, and now, you were trapped in the darkest, deepest place in all of Fontaine, alone and so, so painfully vulnerable. If it hadn’t been for Wriothesley, you probably would’ve requested to forgo your imprisonment entirely and be sent straight to the gallows.

A hand on your shoulder, a softened lull to his voice. “You can sit up, can’t you? I’ll have to call Sigewinne, if you’re in that much pain.”

“Right, I— uh, sorry,” You stammered as you shook your head and pushed yourself up, careful to keep the thick, overly starched cot sheet pressed to your chest. The infirmary was empty, the door locked and sealed, and while Wriothesley hadn’t seemed to think much of ordering you to take off your shirt and lay face-down, you couldn’t bring yourself to brush off the stark, damp chill that came with any amount of exposure in the fortress so easily. You guessed that, after enough time, you’d get used to it. You guessed that, when you did, the thought of not being so cold so constantly wouldn’t make you feel so sick. “I… I think I’m still getting used to this,” you went on, with a strained smile. “Still a little out of it, I guess.”

“That’s alright, love. We all take a few months to find a way to cope.” When you glanced over your shoulder, there was already a mirror in his hand – a compact, small enough to fit in his palm. You had to crane your neck to see it, but Wriothesley knew how to strike the right angle, and soon enough, the sprawling, spiraling pattern stretching from the lower curve of your shoulder blade to the ball of your shoulder came into view. It took you a moment to make out the pattern, but relief accompanied the delayed realization. Lumidouce bells, all blossoming and linked together by a single vine. He’d finished the linework, and there was a smattering of color in the bottom corner – only, oh, he’d gotten the shade wrong. Rather than deep violet, he’d used a light blue, more similar to ice than the water nearly everything in Fontaine stole its palette from. Judging by his expression, though, all beaming pride and low-brewing mirth, he hadn’t caught the mistake. “What do you think? Don’t keep me in suspense, now.”

“It’s… nice,” you said, the sentiment sincere despite your hesitance. And then, laughing, “I was—Well, it feels a little silly now, but I was terrified you’d leave me with, I don’t know, a sea monster or a giant wolf or something.”

“Maybe next time. Not a wolf, though - you don’t strike me as that vicious.” You bit your tongue, forcing yourself not to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time and opting to focus on the soreness starting to knot in your shoulder, instead. You swung your legs over the side of the cot, moving towards where you’d left your shirt draped over an unopened crate, but Wriothesley caught your wrist, tugging you gently back onto the thin mattress. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his playfulness suddenly more irritating than it had been, a few second ago. “I don’t think we’re finished, yet.”

Not for the first time, your smile wavered. “I… I thought we only agreed to one, sir.”

“Of course.” He squeezed your wrist teasingly. “One of each.”

Something heavy and spiked dropped into the pit of your stomach. This time, you couldn’t help the way your expression dropped. “Sir, that’s really not what I—”

“It’ll be worse the longer you put it off.” You weren’t dangerous. You weren’t a criminal. You weren’t strong, but Wriothesley was. Before you could so much as push yourself to your feet, his arm was around your waist and he was perched on the edge of the cot, one leg tucked underneath him to make more room for your body, soon pulled between his thighs. The back of your shoulder screamed where it pressed into his chest, but you managed to swallow the little, pitiful sound threatening to bubble past your lips and clung to your sheet – suddenly so much thinner than it’d seemed, seconds prior. If Wriothesley noticed your apparent panic, the distress of his prisoners was an inconvenience he was willing to endure. Only half-consciously, you tried to shove yourself away from him, but his muscle-bound arm was snaked around your waist before you could gain any distance, keeping you flush against his broad chest. He was so much bigger than you’d realized, when he was on the other side of that desk, when he was engraving something intrusive and permanent into the very fabric of your being. This had been a bad idea. Trusting anyone here had been a bad idea. You should never have—

Your elbow slammed into his diaphragm, and Wriothesley let out a slow grunt, his fingers burrowing into the plush of your side. “Easy now, love,” he half-muttered, half-breathed, bowing his head to speak into the side of your throat. “We had a deal, remember? Can you tell me what it was?”

“You—you said I wouldn’t get hurt if—” You forced yourself to stop, to swallow, to breathe. “But, I only agreed to get one tattoo, and you—”

“I said I’d take care of you. Get you a nice, cushy job with the fortress administrator, keep you out of any over-crowded bunks, make sure the other prisoners don’t cause you any trouble – that kind of thing. I’m really not supposed to play favorites, so even doing that much is going to take more than a little discretion on my part.”

“But, you offered to—”

“I said I’d take care of you, and I’m going to.” You could see him fishing something off of the bedside table with his free hand, but you forced yourself not to look, not to make the ever-growing pit in your stomach feel that much more hollow. “You’ve heard a few stories about what it’s like in the underworld, right? I try to keep all of you nice n’ safe, but a few are bound to fall through the cracks. Rehabilitation can only do so much and—well, I’m sure you know all about how bloodthirsty desperation can make someone.” There was a pause, an ebbing lull to the tenderness in his voice. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, sweetheart. Are you going to help me get a little practice in, while I do that?”

Practice. If he wanted practice, you were sure there were another hundred prisoners who’d willingly lay down and let him carve a hole through whatever he wanted to. Still, you did your best to calm yourself down, to stop thrashing, to shut your eyes and try to ignore the large, pulsing thing you could feel pressing into your ass. You didn’t nod, didn’t give him permission, but when his fist balled around the infirmary sheet and tugged it away from you, the only resistance you managed to scrape up was a slight frown and a wary glance in his direction. “You’re already in for a rough night,” he explained, as if that was any excuse. “Might as well get the hardest one out of the way first, right?”

You refused to let yourself linger on the implication that this wasn’t going to be the last, too.

You clenched your eyes shut as his large hand pawed at the right side of your chest, kneading into the softened flesh with an almost delicate sort of care. “It’s easier after a little stimulation,” he murmured, as if that meant he had to spend so long circling your nipple with a calloused thumb, occasionally swiping over the sensitive bud in a way that made your thighs twitch and your face burn. When your nipple was stiff and pebbled, he pulled away, but it was a momentary reprieve – torn away from you with a splash of freezing disinfectant. It dripped down your chest and filled the stagnant air with a thick, chemical haze as Wriothesley caught your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching tightly. You felt the long, curved tip of his piercing needle against your skin, and braced yourself for the pain. Wriothesley wasn’t kind enough not to drag it out, though. “Wanna count me down?”

You shook your head, pushing yourself that much closer to his chest, desperate for any kind of stability. You’d hoped that Wriothesley would take your clear obstinance as a sign not to drag it out any longer, but he seemed to savor it – the agony of the wait, the way the dread seemed to multiply tenfold every time you forced yourself to suck in a ragged inhale. Seconds seemed to pass like frozen honey, only just beginning to drip. You’d started to think he wouldn’t do it, that he’d just laugh and admit this was all part of some bizarre, invasive hazing ritual when Wriothesley let out an airy chuckle and plunged his needle into you.

Oh, archons.

You really thought the tattoo would’ve been worse.

It was faster, at least; a bright shock of pain followed immediately by a steady, throbbing sort of ache that seemed to drown out every other sensation and fill your mind with a buzzing, numbing static. You didn’t realize your eyes had shot open on reflex until tears blurred your vision, until you glanced down just in time to watch as he dragged the needle through and replaced it with a small, silver stud – a barbell, as wrong as it felt to think of yourself having something so vulgar attached to you. You were crying unabashedly by the time he finished, pain and humiliation dripping down your cheeks in hot, wet streams, but Wriothesley’s shallow pool of sympathy must’ve run dry. “Ah, don’t make that face, sweetheart – we’re only halfway done.” You felt him panting into the crook of your neck as his hand found the other side of your chest. The last threads of his veil of composure frayed and broke apart as he groped unabashedly at your chest, toying with your nipple as your sobs echoed off of the clinic walls. You felt something thick and hot and wet crash against your collarbone and drip down the curve of your chest, and forced yourself to believe it was only disinfectant. That there was nothing it could’ve been except disinfectant.

Wriothesley’s hips rocked against your ass, the rigid outline of his cock pressing into you, incinerating any lingering delusions you might’ve had of helpful prison wardens exchanging one favor for another. Five fingers bit into the plush of your chest as he brought his needle to your unmutilated nipple, his hand surprisingly steady despite the airy, drawling moans he was pouring into your throat. “P-please don’t,” you managed, fighting to speak above the pathetic cries and choking fear doing their best to strangle out your voice. “Please, I can’t—I don’t want to—”

But, Wriothesley wasn’t listening. It wasn’t a spark, this time, but a red-hot knife, stabbed deep into your chest and twisted as far as it could go. You heard Wriothesley let out a rough groan, felt something warm and damp against your ass, and then, you were gone.

You startled awake hours later; bolting upright as you heaved in jolting, uneven inhales. Immediately, pain knocked you out of your panicked daze – sharp and piercing, imbedded into the back of your shoulder and either side of your chest, strong enough to remind you to measure out your breathing and calm down before you blindly threw yourself back into a seething pit of violent criminals. It took you a second to realize that you weren’t on an undersized infirmary cot, anymore, and another to piece together where he’d taken you – a bedroom nearly triple the size of your bunk. The warden’s chambers, you figured, as you scanned over the limited decoration and piles of dust-coated paperwork stacked onto every possible surface. Wriothesley’s room.

Wriothesley’s bed, at that. A cold chill ran down your spine as you realized that he’d taken the time to strip you out of your ill-fitting coveralls and redress you in a shirt sizes too big to be one of yours – the bleached, threadbare material a stark contrast to the satin sheets draped over your legs. You started to push them away and move towards the edge of the mattress, but froze as a door on the far side of the room creaked open – Wriothesley slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him. He moved away from it quickly, but as it closed, you could’ve sworn you heard the muffled, deafening click of a lock sliding into place and cutting you off from the rest of the world – or, the rest of the underworld, rather. As if there was anyone out there who would bother to save you, even if they could try.

“There’s my sleeping beauty.” He grinned as he lowered himself on the side of the bed, positioning himself closer to you than he absolutely had to. He reached out, moving to cup your face, but quickly let his hand fall back to his side when you flinched away. His smile dimmed, but didn’t fall away. “Get a chance to see the improvements, yet?”

After a second of hesitation, you shook your head, and he nodded to your chest - the gesture more of an order than a suggestion. Reluctantly, you pinched your collar between two fingers and peeled away from your skin. Through the narrow sliver, you could see his handiwork: a pair of twin rings hanging from either nipple, connected by a thin, lax, silver chain – so light, you could barely feel it brushing your diaphragm as the air caught in your chest.

You dropped the collar before you could give in to the nausea beginning to coil in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t bear to look at Wriothesley, so you kept your eyes on the sheets, kneading at the fabric half-consciously as you struggled to find your voice. “That wasn’t what we agreed to,” you muttered, mostly under your breath. “Can I go back to my bunk, now?”

His smile took on an almost apologetic note. You tried again. “Am I... Am I going to be able to leave?”

This time, when he reached out, flinching away wasn’t enough to stop him – his hand catching your chin and drawing you that much closer to him. You tried to lurch away, but it was too late, his lips were already crashing into yours, his tongue already slipping past your teeth and raking over your own. While your eyes widened in shock, his went half-lidded, closing just a second too late. Abruptly, it occurred to you that you’d never really noticed the color of his eyes – a pale, faded blue. The color of the half-formed flowers currently stretching across your back.

Wriothesley’s hand slipped to the nape of your neck. You let your eyes fall shut, and did your best not to think at all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

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ohrudi · 30 days

Text

Fix: Sims need less Space

TL;DR

with this mod, your sims need half of the space for all interactions, which vastly improves routing in small spaces

each package file requires a different expansion pack. The requred expansion is part of the filename.

Installation: just put all the files in your packages-folder, the usual way, merging is no problem

Conflicts: highly unlikely, see below for detail

compatible with all my other mods

compatible with Interaction on sloped terrain enabler by nikel23

also here's my other BIG routing fix for pets

Download

ModTheSims | Simblr | SimFileShare

Hey Simmers, Rudi has a big mod-achievement for you today: it's time for my tenth and biggest mod yet

Just recently I play tested my new awesome house, that's cramped up with clutter and plants all the way up to the roof, just to realize, that my Sims are walking in the garden to interact with each other, cause many of the spaces are too tight. But no more! With this mod, those issues will forever be a sorrow of the past.

Explanation - how the mod works This mod reduces the space that sims need for doing things, similar to my other mods. It does this by overwriting the jig size for each sim interaction. A jig is an invisible object that’s auto placed on the ground, while e.g. two sims are talking to each other. Other sims will walk around the other sims talking, cause the jig (placed under the sims talking) obstructs the routing-way for other sims. By default all jigs are quite big, in most cases even way bigger than they need to be. But if you reduce the jig size by a mod, than those interactions are possible even in tiny over-cluttered rooms.

Now these mods do the same for all sim interactions.

How to install

Installation: just put all the files in your packages-folder, the usual way, nothing special required, you can merge them as well

each file requires a different expansion pack

the required expansion pack is part of the filename

if you don't have the expansion pack, it's just doing nothing, but it won't cause any other problems

Recommended Mods, that further improve routing

Pets need less Space by OhRudi

Guitar needs less Space for playing by OhRudi

Bass needs less Space for playing by OhRudi

Interaction on sloped terrain enabler by nikel23

NRaas GoHere by Twallan

Route Fix v9 by Twoftmama (Login required)

List of all altered Interactions

Interactions altered for Basegame

HelpWithHomework

HomeworkSolo

Insect

performer

playInSand

RabbitHoleDoor

SimSittingOnFloor

Sleeping

SocialBabyToddler

SocialOnePerson

SocialTwoPerson_0_35Unit

SocialTwoPerson_1_25Unit

SocialTwoPerson_1_68Unit

SocialTwoPerson_1Unit

SocialTwoPerson_3Unit

SocialTwoPerson_3UnitFight

SocialTwoPerson

TeachToWalk

ThrowingGamePaired

throwPotionAt

Toy

ToyToddler

WorkOut

Interactions altered for World Adventures Expansion

Spar

Interactions altered for Ambitions Expansion

MeteorImpact

MinerExclusion

Interactions altered for Late Night Expansion

barBrawl

cameraVideoMedium

CelebPhotoSocialTwoPerson

socialClubDance

SocialTwoPersonElboWest

soloClubDance

Interactions altered for Generations Expansion

daycareProblems_1pt25_r2_c0

elderCaneIdle

flamingBag

pillowFightA2a

pillowFightA2cC2a

pillowFightC2c

tellTale

watchingStars

Interactions altered for Showtime Expansion

CrowdMonsterSittingPlace

CrowdMonsterStandingPlace

kitFrontStage_Sing

kitPerformer_solicit

KitPerformerForTips

KitPerformer

LevitateMagicianSoloForTips

LevitateMagicianSolo

MeditateSolo

ShowFloorBenchPlacement

singAGramFxPack_perform

singer_playForTips

Interactions altered for Supernatural Expansion

castSpell

castSpellDuel

playFetchWerewolf

playTagWerewolfFairy

practiceSpell

Interactions altered for Seasons Expansion

alienConsumeMeteor

ballFightLarge

ballFightSmall

cloudRay

poolLounger

rake

simFreezing

skatingPondSpinCouple

skatingPondSpinSingle

skatingSpinCouple

skatingSpinSingle

Slowdance

Sparkler

umbrellaUpgrade

vehicleUFO_invasion

vehicleUFO

Interactions altered for University Expansion

computerLaptop_floor

flyingDisc

graffitiArt

groupScience

improvedProtesting

kickyBag_dual

kickyBag_solo

Interactions altered for Island Paradise Expansion

adultSandcastle

BoatBackUpLarge

BoatBackUpSmall

houseboatPortal

kraken

lifeguardFakeInjury

lifeguardFakeInjuryRouting

lifeguardRescueWater

lifeguardRescueWaterRouting

mermDehydrate

playingInOcean

SeaLife

sharkAttack

sharkAttackSurface

simPlaceInWater

sweep

UnderwaterSocial

Interactions altered for Into The Future Expansion

computerHologram

dewFightLarge

dewFightSmall

harpLaser

jetpackFlyAround

jetpackLandFail

jetpackTakeOff

MeteorImpactEP11

moonBounce

performComedyShow

Technical Details

this mod edits the all jigs from all expansion packs and base game

Conflicts: only if you have a mod installed who's editing exactly this resource as well, but I assume that's highly unlikely

use delphys dashboard to check for conflicts

I dearly hope your pets enjoy their new freedom. :luff:

Additional Credits: A BIG THANK YOU to my lovely Beta-Testers: @maysmile3213516, @SimC, @murfee, @echoweaver, @CardinalSims, @Sazandora123, @vaddish, @nahyutarightsactivist and @Shadez S3PE S3OC @you-will-never-find-me-anymore for letting me use her Bonehilda for my awesome profile picture

AND to this awesome and still alive community of simmers

Happy Simming <3

made by @OhRudi

#ts3 #ts3cc #ts3 mod #ts3 cc #mod #the sims 3 #sims 3 #the sims 3 mod #sims 3 mod #sims 3 cc #the sims 3 cc #cc #custom content

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yxami · 11 months

Note

Not a request !! Just wanted to share

But ughhh- Imagine how cute it would be if reader is finally dating Yandere!Streamer. 😣😩

Like the viewers are DYING to know who this mystery girl behind the camera is. Occasionally, she makes her little cameos–a hand giving him his energy drink, a figure seen walking past in the background, a voice that’s obviously not from him– Seriously, who could this be???

The viewers concluded that it just might be his mom or sister.

But oh boy were they wrong.

He was streaming like usual and- Oh look! Here comes the mystery girl! What’s that? He turned towards her direction, causing half of his face to go off camera? What’s he doin-

Was that the familiar sound of a kiss?!?

He comes back to look at his screen only to see the chat being spammed with question marks.

Dunno, just a little brainrot. 💁‍♀️

So cuteee, if he were ever to pop up with hickeys from reader they’d probably freak out questioning whether he actually did have a girlfriend or not.

He prefers to keep reader private for her safety and mainly for the fact that he’s a greedy little bitch and wants you to only be his spectacle, not for his viewers that donate him their entire life savings.

Even if his readers were begging and whining for you to be shown he’d simply ignore the comments and make random shit to talk about.

Yandere streamer would likely still be as creepy as he was before, he’d act like your fan rather the other way around. He’d observe every face you made during the window’s of time the two of you had with his long lives, putting you into positions where he could admire your entire body.

Even if you were to cherish him as the idol and favorite streamer you used to see him as, he’d be double if not triple the amount of a fan for you. He’d give you money whenever you wanted, make you a mod in his streams if you wanted, and let you have full range on his server for his fans.

But only work as a normal person in his streams! “Never reveal yourself as my girlfriend, I don’t want people harassing you!” He’d always say.

He’d spoil you with beautiful clothes, including cute little dresses he would like to see you in, admiring your every move and the floor you walk on. He’d find ways to serve you when he wasn’t streaming.

For example, he’d learn how to cook from videos he saw and try to impress you with dinner after you come home from working, even learning how to massage sore places to relax you.

He’d basically treat you like his hardworking wife rather than a girlfriend.

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witheredoffherwitch · 1 day

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Y'ALL CAN EXCUSE RACISM?

Let's get one thing straight: I have no part in this chaotic mess (infact, I have blocked all the accounts mentioned below), but it's grinding my gears how it's devolving into another petty fanfic drama: case 607. I know this drama is getting the attention for certain individuals who are demonstrating mean girl behaviour and gossiping about other writers behind their backs. However, I am solely focused on addressing the racist and discriminatory remarks made by these individuals in the leaked text messages.

For those not in the loop, there's been a huge drama in the fanfic community involving leaked text messages from a group chat of four prominent members. In these messages, two users - Fae and Bel - have admitted to sending hate anons and talking smack about other writers behind their backs. Two other members left the group after it was revealed that B tried to make amends with someone who these two, Em and Ange, don't particularly care for. As a move to clear their names, Em exposed all the texts, trying to prove that Fae and Bel are the real villains here.

But wait, there's more! In these same chats, Bel not only mocked fellow non-English speakers but also bragged about sending rat emojis to an 18-year-old Pakistani writer who was already receiving racist anons. While everyone is focused on getting back at these two women for being shady af, it's mind-boggling how Em and Ange are suddenly jumping on the anti-racism train.

These two ladies stayed in the same chat as a fellow Pakistani writer was driven away because of racism, knowing full well that one of their own was contributing to it, and said NOTHING! Zero discouragement, no condemnation - they only hopped off when things got personal.

So here it is… I've had it with all of you hypocrites. You praise and encourage these women at every turn, feeding their egos like they're the second coming of Beyonce. But let's not forget who's always stirring up drama in this fandom - hint: it's these same people with a sense of entitlement the size of a planet. The issue is groupthink and y'all have all jumped on the bandwagon. You're worse than HBO's marketing department because just like their shitty teams, everyone involved here SUCKS ASS. You don't have to pick a side because they are all petty, mean losers. Bel and Fae are facing the consequences of their actions, which they rightfully deserve.

However, Em's exposé on Bel's racism seems more like an opportunistic move and it's disappointing that so many of you are supporting it. It's a predictable cycle now; there will be a half-hearted apology, an announcement of a hiatus, and then tons of people will flock to their inboxes to shower them with praise and excuses. It's ridiculous! I know there are many who feel the same way as me but are afraid to speak up because they don't want to upset the "village elders" and risk losing their connections and engagements. It's a joke atp!

Instead of taking responsibility for their own wrongdoings, they will come up with a list of 10 different cyber crimes by others to divert attention from their own nonsense. These very same women have confessed to creating multiple fake accounts, secretly stalking servers without mods noticing, and constantly harassing individuals through anon messages.

Yet, we are supposed to consider them as examples of moral integrity and ethical behavior? 😒

#fandom racism #fandom critical #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd #asoiaf #anti hotd #anti hotd fandom #fandom drama #racism #daemon targaryen #hotd fandom #fandom bs

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sleepingdeath-light · 29 days

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lucifer morningstar smut hcs ; 18+

requested by ; mod / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; lucifer morningstar

outline ; “smut headcanons for lucifer”

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, versatile switch!lucifer, inappropriate use of shape shifting mentioned, vocal!lucifer, oral sex (reader receiving), daddy kink, sadomasochist!lucifer, marking kink, praise kink, body worship, one mention of bondage, lingerie kink

note ; i could write so much more for this prompt but i decided to cut it short for the sake of keeping this post at a semi-reasonable length haha ^^

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

lucifer morningstar is, first and foremost, quite possibly the most versatile switch known to man (or demon) kind — after all, he’s had literal millennia to experiment, switch things up, and explore his boundaries, sexuality, and kinks with his ex partner so it only stands to reason that he’d be very comfortable with himself and his abilities in the bedroom by the time the two of you meet — so whether you’re more on the dominant or submissive side, or if you prefer to top or bottom in the bedroom, lucifer is more than happy to accommodate you if only you let him know your preferences and boundaries beforehand

somewhat related to the above point, but it’s well known that the king of hell is a shape shifter and, as such, he’s more than capable of switching things up, so to speak, if you want to be a bit more ‘out there’ and experimental when you have sex — of course he’s confident enough with the cock he already has and knows exactly how to use it to have you writhing and sobbing for more, but if you fancy something else for a change (be that something minor like just asking him to change sex or a more significant anatomy change like requesting tentacles) all you need to do is ask and he’s more than happy to do that for you

whether he’s dominating you or submitting to you, it’s a given that you’ll get to see two very different sides to him depending on his mood: his kinder and softer side (which corresponds to a softer style of dominance,or him being an obedient / ‘good’ submissive for youc and him getting off on your pleasure more than his own), and his more prideful and selfish ride (which results in him being a rougher and more degrading dominant, or a more bratty and demanding submissive)

no matter which role he’s adopting in the bedroom, lucifer is extremely vocal (like to the point that unless you use something to gag him, or are having sex far away from anyone else, you’re pretty much guaranteed to have anyone nearby be made immediately aware of what you’re doing) — as a dominant this usually just translates to him praising you and cussing (‘fuck… you feel so good…’ / ‘god you’re so beautiful/handsome…’ / ‘just like that…’ / etc.) and as a submissive this typically means he’s whining, moaning, groaning, or begging for you to do something or another in only half-intelligible pleas (‘please please please pl-ah-please…’ / ‘oh god…’ / etc.) — and on top of being so talkative, he’s also very loud which adds to the likelihood of the two of you getting caught in the act

one of the things that makes lucifer’s pride come out in full force is just how good he as at giving oral — he brags about it openly around you, spends ages downright begging you to let him go down on you and let him show you just how good it can feel (how he was able to steal both of adam’s wives away from him in no time at all), and when you finally agree you’ll find that he’s not just bragging for the sake of it and is genuinely really fucking good at getting you off like that

though he’d never admit to this out loud, lucifer has a very strong inclination towards being called ‘daddy’ and other such authoritative pet names in the bedroom — of course daddy is his favourite without a shadow of a doubt (and it’s very clear with how he responds after you say it), but you’ll also find him to be particularly fond of you calling him things like ‘my king’ and ‘my angel’ depending on his mood

and, likewise, when he’s in a more submissive mood (and especially when he’s really deep in sub space) there’s a very solid chance of his guard dropping and him calling you either ‘mommy’ or ‘daddy’ depending on whether you’ve leaned towards masculine or feminine terms of address in the bedroom with him in the past — if you’re uncomfortable with that then a quick, and mortifying for him, discussion will have him doing his best to hold his tongue moving forwards, but if you’re fond of that dynamic then some positive reinforcement certainly won’t go unappreciated

the most sexually sensitive parts of lucifer’s body are as follows: his horns (wrap your hands around them and stroke them from base to tip and you’ll see his eyes roll to the back of his head // or // grab them when he’s ravishing you with his mouth and use them to guide his mouth along your sex and you’ll hear him practically fucking growl as his claws dig into the meat of your thighs), his wings (whenever you help him preen and neaten his wings this poor man will be clamping one hand over his mouth to try and stop himself from moaning and scaring you off as you continue to oh so gently card your fingers through his feathers // or // whenever he’s fucking you, or you’re fucking him, and he’s close to climax you’ll see all six of his pretty wings pop up out of his back, and if you reach up to stroke them he’ll let out a groan so deep that it shakes you to your very core), his tail (his sensitivity here is only really relevant if you’re in a sadistic mood when dominating him — yank on it harshly when you’re fucking into him from behind and you’ll see his whole body straighten out and then collapse forward as he lets out a sound somewhere between a high pitched yelp and a breathy moan), and his neck (bite his pulse and suck deep obvious marks onto the pale expanse of his throat when his cock is buried inside of you and feel his breath hitch and his grip on your thighs tighten // or // when you’re dominating him and he’s being a brat, wrap your hand around his throat and tighten it for just a few moments, just enough to feel him swallow thickly and see his eyes widen as a deep moan spills from his lips despite his earlier protests, before loosening your grip and continuing with whatever you were doing)

he has plenty of sadistic and masochistic kinks that he’d love to indulge in with you, if ever you allow, but no matter which role he’s in lucifer is constantly mindful of your boundaries and never taking things too far for your mortal body and mind to handle — this worry is also why he’s the absolute best at aftercare

somewhat related to the above, but lucifer also loves being marked up by you and marking you up — whether that means lipstick marks, hickeys, scratch marks, or anything else along those lines, he’s more than happy to indulge you or, on the other end, he’s also more than eager to show off any marks you leave behind on him (it’s nice to be desired and claimed again after so long…)

he has an extremely prominent praise kink and loves to praise you and be praised by you — hell, when you’re making love it almost feels as if he’s worshipping you in body and soul as he kisses, fondles, massages, and compliments his way up and down your body — but be careful because if you spend too much time praising him and are too earnest in your reverence for him and his body, especially when he’s in sub space, then poor lucifer may just burst into (happy) tears of overwhelmment at all of your positive attention and affirmations

lucifer isn’t opposed to bondage, not on when he’s on the receiving end and not certainly not when he’s the one who gets to tie you up — though he definitely prefers more elaborate and decorative styles of bondage and usually leans towards using softer and more comfortable materials to restrain you

he loves it when you dress up for him (especially if you happen to wear lingerie in his colours — bonus points if it’s in a style that’s much more frilly and ‘fancy’), but he’s also not opposed to getting all dressed up for you once you’re both at a point where he’s comfortable showing you that side of himself — he has a very extensive lingerie collection from before the two of you met and he’s more than happy to show it all off to you so long as you’re ready to offer him plenty of praise and attention in return

#sleepingdeath #minors dni #minors will be blocked #ageless blogs dni #ageless blogs will be blocked #gender neutral reader #smut #smut hcs #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer smut

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bloodcasket · 10 months

Note

Hiii!! I hope you're doing well!!

If you're feeling up to it, I was just wondering if you'd consider writing something short and sweet about Vergil and reader where the reader sees him with his hair down for the first time and absolutely adores his hair? I saw a mod recently where Vergil's got his hair down, almost like Dante's and it just looks so soft and fluffy!!

CAFUNÉ ⋆ ﾟ☾

PAIRINGS: Vergil Sparda x GN!Reader

WARNINGS: Not exactly proof-read (lightly scanned). Overall fluff. :) Simple talk about Vergil's personal troubles, and his emotions.

DESCRIPTION: Wherein the reader finally sees Vergil with his hair down.

A/N: Thank you for your request love. Hope you're doing well too.🖤🖤

There's something cool and restrained about Vergil whenever you're around him.

A sway of your body near his, and suddenly, he is distancing himself. The flesh of your finger tickles against his, he brushes you off. A flickering of your lashes in his presence, he casts his eyes away, avoiding the tenderness in your gaze.

He never shows you disdain, just uncertainty, maybe, fear. Insecurity. Hesitance.

It's not until he finds you that you're certain. His once pale, porcelain skin, silky and smooth, now battered and pores brandishing purple and blue. Cuts and welts that have now tainted his complexion.

He stands at the center of the doorway, tall and broad, clothes matted with mud and slick with blood. The smell of copper and grime desecrates his body. He takes thoughtful breaths of air, smooth and calculated.

This feels like the first time he's ever looked upon you, asked for guidance with just a flickering plea in his blue eyes. The first time he does not shy away.

Maybe, he's not disgusted. He's just afraid, unsure of what he wants.

"Vergil?" you call out for him, voice wavering, your palm shaking as you still grasp the doorknob. "Come inside". You speak softly, worried.

Thoughts flood your head as he doesn't utter even a single word. Just a gentle hum-you took it as thanks-and a gentle push inside through the door. The buckles on his boots rattling as he takes cautious steps inside.

He's been here before. Inside the comfort of your home, yet he acts cautious, awkward.

He is your lover. But even he, a powerful demon, has yet to learn everything that love can offer. What a home can feel like.

You don't attempt to ask what happened, nor place your hands all over him in hopes it will reassure him. You know it won't, and if anything, it would only irritate him, inflict pain on his pride.

"Vergil..." he doesn't look at you as you speak, head still tilted to the floor, his plush lips parted as he breathes, strands of white hair crusted and slick against his temple, crimson dying his scalp.

Only a shutter in his lengthy fingers as he grips his Yamato by his side, he's listening intently to your words, taking them in. Appraising your sweet tone within himself. Grateful to finally have someone.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hm?".

Just like any other moment with the tall, brooding half-demon, the walk to the bathroom is quiet. You lead him toward the tub, your gaze quickly switching to focus on him. Only soft care is present in the way you look at him, your face asking for permission just with a notion of your silken smile.

"I'm going to get your wounds taken care of, and your clothes clean, is that alright with you?" you ask, catching a glimpse of the way his pupils dilate just at the sight of you standing before him.

"Yes..." the tone he speaks is low and grave, his voice hoarse and almost wounded, as if he had been too choked up to speak anything else.

You're content with his compliance, he wants to be comfortable around you, to let you take care of him.

You bend to fix a tub of warm water for him, filling it with crystalline liquid, your fingers pruning at the tips as you swash aromas around in the tub, filling it with rosemary soap and watching lavender salts melt away beyond the suds. The pooling water is now becoming opaque, mountains of bubbles building.

As you turn, you catch the timorous expression he wears as he peers at himself through the mirrors reflection, white eyebrows furrowed, a line building in-between them. Insecure. Unsure. Doubting. Mouth twitching with condemnation.

"Come", you say with sodden palms open, and he obeys, allowing you to strip him of the pungent clothes he wears, your smile of tenderness never dissipating as you toss the dirty assortment into the hamper and guide his tall form into the steaming water.

He sinks into the floral water, a groan hitched in the back of his throat as his back eases with the scorching heat beating into his muscles.

"Feels better already, doesn't it?" your voice is airy, reassuring. He doesn't respond, you didn't expect him to.

You topple amounts of shampoo between your delicate fingertips, bringing it to the roots of his hair and lathering the product along his snowy scalp.

You scrub until the red and black become foamy, you scrub until Vergil purrs in delight.

It's with this, that you realize, he is nothing short of ethereal. Your first time he is so vulnerable enough to present himself to you.

With the water rinsing away the foam, his hair is like a glistening pearl, his natural glossy white untainted, cleansed from your devotion.

Unlike his brother, Vergil preferred to keep himself refined and tidy. It was rare when you saw Vergil showing skin, or speaking too hysterically. Or letting his hair fall loose the way it did now. Cascading over his white eyelashes, his lips relaxed and his expression tranquil. Pleased with you. Jubilant with your very existence.

"You are beautiful..." you speak with a grin, your nails curving into his hair, curious fingertips feeling the soft and silky thickness. You didn't lie. It was no hoax. This, was true. He was an art piece.

Long, once slicked back strands now stick against his face, straight and shiny along the structure of his cheekbones.

"This is my first time seeing your hair like this" a gentle whisper of admiration is heard from your lips. "Would it be selfish of me to wish to see it more often?".

Your demon lover grunts in response, blue eyes opening to stare you down. "Don't get your hopes up", his voice is lax, smooth and nonchalant, his large palm reaches up to press lightly into your wrist, dragging your palm until it rests on his cheek. "It is not guaranteed to happen". Your thumb rubs caresses of worship there, soft eyes filled to the brim with adoration, soaking in this image.

"Thank you", he speaks afterwards, nuzzling into your touch. This time, he will allow it.

"Thank you", he repeats, over and over, until every wound and laceration is treated. "Thank you", until every bruise is kissed.

It's not later on into the night that he joins you for rest, he had insisted on a moment of peace, a moment of privacy. You had no problem obliging.

When you wake the next morning with a tickling sensation crossing your temples, you open your once sealed eyes, corners crusted with sleep. Eyes now adjusting to the light, you take in your sleeping lover before you. His arms are wrapped comfortably around you, ensuring that you are pressed against the broadness of his chest.

Hair is still free, soft and puffy, cascading wonderfully down the structure of his glowing face. Strands caught between the plushness of his pink lips. He hadn't slicked it back yet.

Nights pass, and it remains. Long hair is kept as a special gift for you, neverending.

#vergil sparda x reader #dmc x reader #vergil x you #vergil x reader #vergil fluff #devil may cry x reader

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artsavi · 11 months

Photo

god. uh. myhouse.wad, huh? I have, frankly, way too many thoughts about this entire mod. Please bear with me as I try to ramble my way through them, I ended up going off under the read more.

I’m going to be honest, this game felt like an extended, emotional fetch quest for me until this point. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that all the items had emotional and memorial impact, but...this one got to me. This moment hit me like a fucking truck.

For those of you who don’t play Dungeon and Dragons, sessions get long. On average they can run anywhere between 4-6 hours, but I myself have played longer, with the longest taking the cake at almost a half day, or roughly 11 hours. A lot can happen in a session, and most of it is just...joking around. The phrase “roll for intercourse” is a reference to an age-old running gag of players trying to seduce an NPC for whatever reason. It’s funny. It happens so often it’s a meme.

But finding it here...it really hit me. This isn’t just a reference to a well-known meme. Tom and Steve sat down and played D&D together, spending multiple hours in a day to play sessions, likely with other players but always with each other. And this phrase? It stuck out, it’s a moment that stuck with Steve for one reason or another, and my only guess is to say it’s because it‘d become an inside joke. And...you can’t help but wonder what it was. If Steve had been DMing, or if he’d been the one trying to seduce the NPC much to Tom’s chagrin, or...what.

And that at the core is the devastating part of myhouse.wad. The more I sit and think about it, the more I think about it, the more I realize this map is chock full of inside jokes, and we as players will never understand them. Because it’s not meant for us. These are things we’ll never have context for because one of the people involved is gone now. And the more I think about it, the more the realization hit that this entire map is not a game and really, truly is a memorial.

Do you remember when we played with Legos together? Do you remember when we played video games? Drinking milkshakes in the basement, sharing a pop? Our inside jokes? Roll for intercourse. Pumpkin Rick. Shrek chasing after you. Do you remember when we got married? I do. The house does. The house loves you. I love you. I miss you.

This map reads like a conversation, someone reaching out to someone else. You can’t help but wonder who is reaching out to who, though.

You know, I was talking to some friends on Discord about this map, and one of them brought up something interesting that I agree with. myhouse.wad draws clear inspiration from House of Leaves, but there’s a distinct difference between them. They both have heavy themes of grief and closure, but where House of Leaves is mysterious because of the layers and layers of unreliable narrators, myhouse.wad is mysterious because of you’re only ever hearing one side of the conversation. House of Leaves makes me feel like I’m intruding on something that no human should ever know. myhouse.wad makes me feel like I’m hearing part of a conversation through a wall.

Either way, there is one thing that both works share: This is not for you. It never was.

You know, I kind of wonder what their D&D campaign was about, if this moment was enough to stick out as an inside joke. I wonder what their sessions were like. I hope they had fun.

#myhouse #myhouse.wad #myhouse.pk3 #house of leaves #hol #doom #doom ii #doom 2 #fanart #artsavi #digital art

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

Note

AITA for asking my partner not to interrupt me while I'm streaming?

Asking on here because she has Reddit and I don't want to upset her further while I ask for an outside consensus.

I stream video game content as a profession. Playthroughs, mods, tutorials, reviews, ect. I found streaming to be more profitable than pre-filmed video content. I'd say on average I can "work" for 10 - 30 hours a week.

She works on an alternating schedule where she does a week of full time hours then a week of part time hours. All in all, we work pretty reasonable hours between us, I feel, and we are agreeably not lacking in spending time together.

We routinely go on dates, we more often than not have dinner together, and I typically don't stream for more than 2-4 hours consecutively, so its not as if I'm locked up in my office for the majority of the time.

However over the last few months my partner has developed the habit of simply walking in whenever I'm streaming and starting up random conversations with me, playing her own games loudly in the background, constantly interrupting me to read out chat comments or ask questions about the game, ect.

Sometimes it isn't so bad, but generally its pretty disruptive. I wouldn't mind if it was just occasionally or if she just popped in now and then, but its grown to the point where its almost every single stream and I've noticed I've lost a handful of frequent viewers over it.

It came to an unpleasant confrontation over the weekend, when I was streaming a highly requested tutorial walkthrough for a recently released game and she decided to come in, try to sit on my lap and start a conversation about a client's dogs she met today.

I was trying to figure out a polite way to ask her to give me another 40 minutes so I could finish the quest line and shut it down for the day when two people in the chat began to make jokes about how she never leaves me alone and said it 'gave cam check vibes.'

I pretended not to notice, but she did, and clearly it hurt her feelings and she mumbled about having some things to do and left. I felt awful that her feelings were hurt so I closed the stream early and went to find her.

She was pretty upset about the comments and tried to get me to validate that she wasn't disruptive or unwelcome. I assured her that I don't mind the occasional visit or if she wants to play her own games in the background on mute/low volume/with earphones in, but that I have actually been meaning to ask her to give me a little more curtesy when I'm streaming because its hard to have dynamic engagement when I can't actually talk to anyone because she's talking non-stop or her own game volume is distorting the sound.

I tried to say it as gently as possible but it was clear that the more we discussed it, the more upsetting it was for her. She called time on the conversation by abruptly saying she'll just 'never so much as walk past the door' when I'm streaming, and that she didn't want to talk about it anymore.

She was only working a half-day today and I was streaming between mid-day and the early afternoon. When I said goodbye to her this morning she made sure to somewhat sarcastically assure me that she wouldn't dare interrupt my stream today, and she hoped it went well.

She refused to discuss it further when she came home, or over dinner, and since dinner she's shut herself in the conservatory and has been on the phone to a friend.

I'd like to discuss it further because I'm discontent with her being upset about it, but I'm also not particularly agreeable with me being in the wrong here. Streaming is my job. We pay equal expenses, so its not as if this is just a silly little fake job or hobby for me while she foots the bills. I rely on viewers to get paid, and when quite a few of them leave because I've had to stop playing for 20 minutes to listen to her chat, it could negatively impact my ability to bring home a reasonable contribution.

Ordinarily we can resolve any conflicts or disagreements quickly and fairly. We've never been the sort of couple to spend days being passive aggressive or refusing to talk.

With her being so resolute in being upset and not communicating, I'm at a loss for if I'm actually in the wrong or not for asking her to be more mindful of interrupting me and causing disruptions while I'm working.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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aziraphales-library · 17 days

Note

Hello! Thank you all for the amazing work here, this has been such a great spot to come back to as I’ve gotten into this fandom recently :)

I’m wondering if you could please recommend any fics that explore the idea that they’ve kissed before the one we see?

Thanks so much in advance <3

Hi! We have a #first kiss tag, here are some alternative first kiss fics to add, a few of which are specifically related to series two...

That's not what I asked by black_earth (G)

Aziraphale had to will himself to relax the grip on his glass. Crowley found his words and shot them out: “If I were to kiss you right now, would you let me?” _______________________________ It's 1958 and Crowley finds his courage.

Awakening by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

After Crowley rescues Aziraphale (and his books) from the church, Aziraphale experiences a brand new feeling. Later, after the magic show, Crowley has a similar realization.

What Does It Matter by Multifandom_queer (T)

An alternative to how the "naked man" scene could have ended. Funny misunderstandings reveal many feelings. Teen rating for talks of sex but no actual sex

In Other Words (Baby, Kiss Me) by asparkofgoodness (M)

“You’ll stab your eye if you keep on like that.” “I’ll be- oops!” He rubbed at a stray mark with his ring finger, then continued. “I am very out of practice, I’m afraid. Ouch!” “Just,” Crowley huffed as he plucked the pencil from his hand, “let me. C’mere.” Aziraphale did as he was told, turning away from the mirror and watching with widening eyes as Crowley stepped in close. Oh, my. The mirrors’ bulbs bathed half of his angled features in soft light. Always, Crowley was always gorgeous, but something about this suit — the wide plane of the shoulders, perhaps, or the way the vertical stripes led one’s eyes down the length of his body — and the cut of the hat across his brow… Aziraphale could hardly manage a coherent thought. The buzz of the audience reminded him: show. Soon. Right. ----- Crowley pops into the dressing room before Aziraphale's magic show to wish him luck.

Like Real People Do by bobbirose (T)

While scheming of ways to get the lesbians across the way to fall in love via perfect kiss, Crowley and Aziraphale decide maybe their lack of experience in that area is probably to their detriment, actually.

Heaven isn't built to house a love like you and I by ItsScottiesStark (T)

They did it. They stopped Armageddon. They survived. This was it, the first time they were actually free to finally figure out what their side entailed. Aziraphale is a being of love. Always has been. And now, all the love he has for Crowley is free to flow from the edge of his fingertips to the demon's, in a gesture that could only mean one thing; I'm with you. I'm here. As much as his hands itch to reach out for the love of his existence, his words seem to fail him, time and time again. He knows Crowley deserves more than gentle hand holding and forehead kisses in the dark. He aches to scream his love from the top of his lungs, for the whole world to hear. And the demon knows it. And he waits. Because he'll wait forever for Aziraphale. Because he knows they are meant to be one. We take a peak into Aziraphale and Crowley's "peaceful, fragile existence" they slowly carve out for themselves after Armage-not. We get to see Aziraphale slowly but surely reach out for the demon time and time again, bringing them closer than ever. Until Jim happens. And it all goes to shit.

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #first kiss #kissing #mod d

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standfucker · 4 months

Text

Finding Out You’re Stronger Than Them - Logia Edition (Crocodile)

"Cold Blooded"

Characters: Crocodile

Reader: GN

Word Count: 3.2k

CW: smoking, mildly suggestive, reader has body mods

Summary: “Come on, Sir. If you’re so upset about the money, I could give it back. I don’t really need it,” you roll your eyes on the ‘really,’ “but I don’t intend on walking away empty-handed. You understand. Us cold-blooded types get what we want, right?”

-Thanks to @quinloki for beta'ing as my usual beta, @zoros-sheath, got sick. (Love you both, glad you're on the mend, Mama.)

Ao3 Link

Wealth was not Sir Crocodile’s ultimate goal, his burgeoning ambitions far grander than mere riches. But the vast quantity of treasure that had been stolen from him was not something he could ignore. Civil wars needed funding, and with over half of his hoard disappeared overnight–a feat that should be physically impossible–he couldn’t make the payment on the firearms he had shipped out.

He sends a pair of Officer Agents to take care of it, neither of whom report back. In the radio silence, he sends another, stronger duo this time. They also seem to vanish. Fed up, he finally sends his best, Mr. 1 and Miss Doublefinger.

Instead of hearing back from them, Crocodile finds the six bodies of his strongest Officer Agents dumped unceremoniously outside of his smoking room, beaten to shit and unconscious, but alive.

You're waiting for him inside, an unassuming masked figure picking through his humidors like you own the place.

"You picked a beautiful country to play with,” you say without looking up, inspecting an expensive cigar. “I just love the landscape of Alabasta...reminds me of home."

For a minute, he just stares, mentally running through the list of people he knows in the underworld who can both pull off a heist like that and beat his best assassins bloody. Your lavish jewelry suggests affluence, his eye especially drawn to the gold bracelet on your wrist. There’s a huge ruby mounted onto the band that’s jogging his memory in a bad way. You keep talking in the meantime.

"Sorry to invade on your private time. I understand the necessity of a good smoke break, but you wouldn’t grace me with your presence, so I had to take matters into my own hands."

You tuck the cigar behind your ear, take off your mask, and turn to face him. There are some differences from your bounty poster: You’ve changed your hair, and there’s now a gnarled scar stretching diagonally over your face, narrowly missing your eye. But the snakebite piercings are the same, as are the small, transdermal spikes implanted above your eyes, painted gold to represent your namesake.

“You’re the Thief King, Sidewinder,” Crocodile says slowly. Even with the facial scar, you’re beautiful, skin reflecting the moonlight coming through the window.

You smile at his recognition. “In the flesh.”

“It’s rare for you to leave the New World.”

“Seems you've heard a bit about me.” You look surprised at that.

“You’re a Devil Fruit user, but since you prefer to use Haki, little is known about your ability," Crocodile says, and your eyes widen. "Beyond stealing, your motives are a mystery, as you don’t engage in power struggles, nor do you rule any territory. The lack of land means no one knows where you keep your spoils.”

Of course he's heard of you. He knows the shock is an act, too. Sure enough, your expression relaxes into a casual smile. Crocodile bites down harder on his cigar. You’re notorious for targeting powerful people and getting away with it, but he'll be damned if you make a fool of him.

Crocodile takes off his jacket and tosses it onto a lounge chair. Cracking his neck, he starts to approach you. "Here are your options, thief," he says. "You can return what you've stolen willingly. Or, I can peel the nails from your fingers and rip the teeth from your skull, one by one, until you tell me where it is."

“How frightening.” You tilt your head, hands in your pockets as he gets closer. “Whatever will I do?”

He fires his hook at you, left arm becoming sand and extending. You calmly step around it, dodging by a fraction. He withdraws his hook and fires again; you step to the other side. Keeping his arm extended, he sweeps it out to the side to catch you. You duck, bending far back in an impressive show of flexibility, hands never leaving your pockets. He swings the column of sand at your feet, you hop over it. With every dodge, you move closer to him.

“I’m flattered you recognized me despite the differences from my bounty poster,” you say, pausing in your approach. “You, on the other hand, look almost exactly the same as yours. Except…” You look him up and down, seeming impressed. “I must say, Sir, the poster doesn’t do you justice.”

Rage simmers beneath Crocodile’s cool demeanor. He hates how genuine you sound–it feels more like mockery than true admiration to him. Moving faster, he forms a blade of sand with his right hand and hurls it at you.

“Desert Spada!”

You easily match his speed, side-stepping so the blade cuts through the bookshelf behind you instead. It collapses, sending a heap of wood and fine hardbacks to the floor.

“Careful now,” you chide, shining eyes focused on him.

Undeterred, he strikes again, and again, and again. Each time, you dodge effortlessly, moving with a light, fluid grace. It’s almost as if you’re dancing with him–he can see how you earned your nickname. Furniture crumbles behind you as it’s sliced and smashed to pieces. The more he attacks, the more you avoid, the angrier he gets.

Amidst the chaos, Crocodile suddenly realizes you’ve had yet to break eye contact with him, your own eyes slightly narrowed, assessing. There’s a faint smile on your face.

You're playing with him.

That only pisses him off further. He won’t become another one of your victims–Crocodile races through plans in his head as he unleashes another Desert Spada, keeping you moving as he thinks. He won’t let this end with anything but his own gain. He’ll trap you and torture you until he finds out both where his money is, and where the rest of your hoard is stashed.

You’ll regret having ever made a target out of him.

Crocodile fires off both arms at you, hook aiming for your lower half to force you to jump, while his right arm forms a blanket of sand at the ground. When you inevitably land on it, he’ll be able to grab your leg and hold you still.

As he predicts, you jump over his hook and land on the sand–but somehow, for some reason, your feet do not sink in. It’s as if there’s something solid under your feet, letting you stay at the surface. At first, he’s not certain of how you’re doing it. Crocodile withdraws the sand blanket back toward him, aiming to make you trip, but you don’t so much as lose balance, simply walking forward over the sand like there are hidden stepping stones within it.

Crocodile rapidly withdraws his hook, going to catch your neck. You duck again, even doing a little twirl as you do, as if to hammer home the fact that he can’t destabilize you.

Both Crocodile’s arms revert to their usual shapes, and he stares you down. You’re only a few feet from him now. Whatever you did to avoid slipping, it must be your Devil Fruit.

“You’re making an awful mess,” you say.

“Why did you really come to Alabasta?” Crocodile questions. “It’s a long voyage from the New World–there’s plenty of game for you there.”

“I came to see you.” Again, your words carry nothing but sincerity, and you won’t stop looking into his eyes. Your own are sparkling with mischief.

“You robbed me.”

“That was just to get your attention.”

“Careful what you wish for, thief–” Crocodile fires off a sudden attack now that you’re close. You bend back, not fully dodging it, your shirt getting sliced wide open, “–because you’ve got…it...” His words slow as he sees beneath your shirt: you’re wearing lace underneath your clothes, as well as a leather harness. He frowns, trying to figure out what it all means.

“I’m liking the energy, but will you settle down a sec? You’re destroying your lovely smoking room.”

“You attacked my officers.”

“Your lackeys are lacking.” You grin to yourself at your wordplay. “Aside from that blade guy. Mr. 1, I think it was? He was more fun than the others. Couldn’t go the distance, but entertained me for a few minutes. He wasn’t your strongest goon, was he?”

Crocodile’s face twists up in rage, giving away the answer.

“He was? Goodness… Don’t you wish you had someone stronger?” You grin. “Maybe we could help each other.”

“I don’t need your help,” he spits.

“Whatever you say,” you chirp. Then your eyes darken. “My turn now.”

You disappear. A split second later, you’ve grabbed his arm and hurled him straight through his door as if he weighed nothing. He bounces once, then catches himself, skidding backwards as he looks up, but you’re already behind him, grabbing and throwing him right back into the room.

Crocodile lets his form break up into sand, re-forming a distance away to give him a moment to spot you. His head whips left and right; you instead come from above, a brutal axe kick to his head that throws him onto his hands and knees. Pain thuds through his skull, and he clenches his teeth. Every time you make contact, there’s a moment he can’t transform. It’s that damned Haki of yours–he needs to become sand in the time you’re away from him. He dissipates once more, moving in a random direction away. You aren’t deterred at all–Observation Haki, too, it must be– as you’re right in front of him when he re-forms.

“Boo!” you hold your hands up like claws, making Crocodile flinch, and you smile, showing pointed canines. “Come on, Sir. I know you can do better than this.”

He can’t even bring his arms up to block before you punch him, black-fisted, directly in the solar plexus. He gasps, nearly dropping his cigar, body locking up for a moment before his knees buckle and hit the ground. There’s a faint smell of smoke that he realizes is coming from burned spots in the floor–from your feet?

Just what was your Devil Fruit power? If he didn’t figure it out, he might actually lose.

Suddenly you’re sitting on his shoulders, legs draped over his chest. Before he can move, you grab him by the root of the hair and yank his head back so you’ve forced him to look into your eyes. You have the cigar you stole in your mouth. Holding his head still, you lean forward and touch the tip of your cigar to his, lighting yours with an inhale. Then you exhale in his face.

Enraged, Crocodile grabs you by the neck and slams you into the floor. You grunt. He lifts and slams you again, then lifts you one more time, arm extending fast to harshly slam you into the wall. He follows swiftly, tightening his grip. He can’t kill you yet, not yet.

“I gotta say, Sir,” you say, a little strained, still smiling, “you seem to know exactly what I’m into.”

Crocodile brings his hook to your pretty face. Maybe he’ll give you another scar. Your eyes drop down to the sharp tip of his hook, then back up to his. You open your mouth, letting the cigar fall out. Then, slowly, keeping full eye contact, you lick along the hook.

Oh. You have a body mod there, too–a split tongue, each side curving around the hook and sliding up, their tips scraping the point of it. Caught off guard, Crocodile can only stare, feeling his blood surge and his pulse quicken. You smile knowingly.

“Everyone wants to know what it feels like.”

Another one of your tricks. He won’t fall for it, not when he literally has you in his clutches. Your Haki may be powerful, but you’ve made a mistake letting him make contact with you like this. He’ll simply dehydrate you, drawing out just enough moisture for you to cling to life, and will only grant you water when you tell him what he wants to know.

Crocodile focuses.

Nothing happens.

His brow furrows, gritting his teeth, and he focuses again. You stay utterly whole and perfect.

“Why isn’t it working?” you say. “Why won’t I shrivel up? Is that what you’re thinking? Maybe I just can’t stay dry when you play rough with me like this.”

“Once I have my funds back,” Crocodile hisses, “I’m going to kill you so slowly you’ll beg me for death.”

“Come on, Sir. If you’re so upset about the money, I could give it back. I don’t really need it,” you roll your eyes on the ‘really,’ “but I don’t intend on walking away empty-handed. You understand. Us cold-blooded types get what we want, right?”

“What is it you want, Thief?”

“I want you to think of more constructive ways to vent your frustrations.”

Crocodile’s about to stab your face when his hand starts burning where it’s made contact with your neck. Iron-hot, he can’t hold on and drops you. Thinking quickly, he follows it up by bringing a blade of sand down on you while you’re beneath him.

It all happens in a moment: You catch the sand blade. A searing, scorching heat runs through his arm. The sand instantly becomes glass.

Your fingers dig into the glass and shatter it one-handed, your predatory gaze reflected in the thousand falling pieces all around him.

He’s stunned. At that moment, you grab him by the shirt collar and pull him down to your level, close to your face.

“You know, baby crocodiles, before they grow into apex predators, are prey for pretty much everything,” you smile. “Birds, fish, wild pigs… Snakes…”

You throw him onto the ground, the rubble digging into his back, and straddle his chest.

“You may be a threat in Paradise,” you continue, “but you’d get eaten alive in the New World. That’s why you left, isn’t it? Couldn’t hold your own among monsters like Whitebeard.”

Whitebeard. Crocodile grimaces at the mention, still feeling the sting of that loss. You shake your head.

“Now now, don’t feel bad,” you say. “He got me too.” You point to your scar. “Crusty geezer almost took my damn eye out, but not before I robbed him. He’s gotten slow.”

Suddenly, he remembers where he’s seen your bracelet, recognizing it as one of Whitebeard’s rings, one he had gotten decked by in the past. You stole the ring right off Whitebeard’s finger. He stares at you, starting to become aware of the difference between the two of you.

“You can’t beat me in strength,” you say simply, “what will you do?”

You’re right–he can’t beat you in strength. But he didn’t become the Desert King by being the strongest one. No, it’s never been about brute force. Crocodile takes in your shining eyes, your harness and lace, the sultry words you’ve been dropping, connecting the dots.

Grabbing you by the harness, Crocodile pulls you down to him for a kiss, crashing his lips into yours. As he suspected, you immediately reciprocate, parting your lips and licking into his mouth. Your split tongue is a potent distraction, as is your little moan, riling him up more than he expects. Behind you, his unsheathed, poison hook is poised to sink into your neck. You smile against his lips.

A second later, you’ve snapped the hook off its base and stabbed it into his shoulder.

“Heh… Did you think I’d fall for that?” you purr, licking your lips.

“What do you really want?” Crocodile growls.

“You’re far too smart not to have picked up on that by now. Or do you need me to spell it out for you?” You pull the hook out of his shoulder and toss it over yours, licking the blood from your finger. “You want motives? I pick strong targets because I'm bored. Everything I do, I do to entertain myself. But stealing doesn’t meet every need... I’m certain a man of your status is not wanting for company. But I’ve found that monsters like us tend to only feel sated when we’re with other monsters. Catch my drift?”

“So you’re thrill-seeking,” Crocodile says slowly.

“Please. ‘Thrill’ implies my life is in danger. It is what I’m offering you, though,” you smile. “Not that you need to worry, Sir. I won’t hurt you…unless you ask me nicely.”

“You rob me, beat up my men, and you expect me to sleep with you?” he says, incredulous.

“Not for free. I have an offer to make.”

He’s insulted you’d consider him no better than a whore, and spits out his next words.

“I don’t negotiate with thieves.”

“Let’s cut the illusion of rank. Becoming king of this land won’t erase your pirate background. You’re every bit the conniving cheat that I am.” You laugh. “I’ll return your treasure regardless. Chump change like that is meaningless to me. After passing a certain point of wealth, you start dealing in favors instead. So here’s my offer to you: Entertain me for the night. Do a good job, and I’ll join your little syndicate for a while. My power at your whim to use. I’ll let you order me around…” you trail a finger down his chest, “and I’ll behave until the end of our contract, at which point, you’re free to try and kill me again.”

A demonstration, Crocodile realizes as you get off of him. That’s what this all was: a demonstration of power, all so you could get what you wanted.

“If you only wanted to sleep with me,” he says, getting to his feet, “you could have just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you chuckle. “Really, though. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have fought me. This wasn’t going to go anywhere until you understood the gulf that spans between us. Now, you know that when you shove me against a wall, it’s because I let you.”

You dust yourself off and stick your hands back in your pockets like nothing had happened, idly kicking a piece of rubble. Meanwhile, the gears are turning in Crocodile’s head. You defeated Mr. 1 in mere minutes, allegedly. You tossed his own self around like it was nothing, and made him look like a second-rate pirate, much less a king. You have both types of Haki and an unknown Devil Fruit… All in all, an invaluable asset to be under his control. He regards you coolly. You’re waiting patiently for his response.

“So what’ll it be?” you say, sensing he’s made a decision. “I get to have a little fun, you get your most powerful minion yet. We both win.”

“How long would you intend to work for me?” Crocodile asks.

“Depends on your performance,” you shrug. “Let’s start with a few months, and after that, well. If you make it worth sticking around…” your eyes half-lid, letting the implication hang. “Sound like a good deal to you?” You hold out your hand in offering. When Crocodile takes it, you give that predatory smile. “I look forward to working for you, Sir.”

“From now on, you’ll call me Mr. Zero,” he replies, then pauses. “...You can call me Sir in private.”

You grin. “Sorry about your smoking room. Really.”

“Nevermind that. I’ll have someone clean it up. More importantly,” Crocodile says, “what's your Devil Fruit? I’m ordering you to tell me.”

“I can amplify the force of friction,” you respond obediently. “I'm an abrasion human.”

“...You certainly are,” Crocodile says. “It suits you.”

“I think you’ll find, tonight, that it suits you too.” You smile, tugging on your harness lightly. “So, when do we start?”

Crocodile pins you to the wall.

You let him.

#one piece imagines #crocodile x reader #x reader #one piece x reader #zen writes

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