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dottiro · 4 months ago

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Unreliable summary: If you’re a visual learner, Dottore is more than happy to give some help. // Dottore brought you to Snezhnaya so he can perform conscious brain surgery as an act of love. Warnings: Yandere, Medical malpractice, awake brain surgery, kidnapping without an actual kidnapping scene, Dottore cuts through the skull of a person (not you), being drugged, Dottore dissects a brain (affectionately), GN reader, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! Note: This is a rewrite of THIS fic from my old blog. This could've been longer, but I cut out the gore parts to make it less dark. // This fic is NOT set in the canon Teyvat; it is a mix of my modern AU + personal projection. My perception of him might not align with the OG. I wanted to write this scenario in my way/this is supposed to be a SERIES—if I post more of this AU the setup makes sense (trust).

You used to study in the illustrious Akademiya, hoping to pursue a life filled with studies regarding the human psyche.

You used to—until you got acquainted with Zandik and your life turned around for the worse.

Perhaps if you weren’t so busy pursuing knowledge, you would’ve seen that his help was never given without a debt to repay. The charming facade with which he lured you in is only one of the many masks he wears. Zandik, or as you now know—Il Dottore: the second of the eleven Fatui Harbingers, never intended for you to escape his grasp.

Not then,

Not now.

You try to remember where it went wrong.

Your head buzzes with a weird feeling when you open your eyes. You’re dazed, and your environment is unfamiliar to you. For some reason, your mind can’t think straight.

Outside the window, you watch snowflakes twirl down until they meet upon a pool of white that stretches beyond the horizon. Only a few pine trees interrupt the otherwise dull landscape.

You try to remember how you got here, only to find a gap in your memories.

The bed in which you woke up is unfamiliar too. At the foot end, you see your jacket. It has been folded neatly and is accompanied by your shoes which are tucked underneath the bed.

It had been visible enough to notice but placed purposefully to avoid anyone tripping.

Someone put it there on purpose.

After inspecting the pockets of your jacket, you find that your belongings have been taken.

Your eyes move further across the room until you catch a familiar sight. The notebook that had catalysed your current situation. Similar to your jacket and shoes, it has been placed in sight for a reason.

When you open the notebook on a random page, you can see new additions; or rather—changes.

Zandik’s handwriting covers your own, dominating your thoughts in writing as he does in voice.

You close your eyes as another wave of nausea hits.

At the start of a new school year in the Akademiya, you met Zandik in one of the off-campus libraries. He came crashing into your life like a bullet flying out of its barrel and straight into someone’s chest; aiming for his target and striking the bullseye without effort.

In this metaphor, you were his target and the arrow Zandik himself.

His actions have been destructive to many, but with you still alive at his side, you’re inclined to believe his intentions are physically harmless to you—which feels like a juxtaposition. Zandik’s weird infatuation with wanting to be accepted might be the sole reason for your current survival.

In your admiration for his ingenuity and endless knowledge, you became captivated and blind to everything that opposed the perfect ‘Zandik’ you had created in your mind. In this blind fever, you had made him feel as if he was. To be free from the title of ‘outcast’ had sparked something in him, and he would do everything to hold onto this new feeling of approval and pure endorsement.

For a while, life with him was profitable for both parties involved.

To have a friend like him is to feel like you are unstoppable. But, once he felt he was giving more than he could seize, he forcefully started claiming what he believed was rightfully his.

Ultimately, Zandik did not take your life—he reformed it.

All you had, is no more.

And he is to blame.

One day you are in a lecture at the Akademiya, and the next you wake up in an unfamiliar place. In any other situation, you would have recognised the surroundings earlier. However, with the fog in your mind, it takes a while to uncover your location; Snezhnaya.

Your hand rests against the window to steady yourself. Even with the thick glass separating you from the outside world, you feel the cold touching your palm. Snow continues to rain from above. A few solitary snowflakes land on the window. They melt and pool at the bottom, freezing the window shut and locking you in.

An agitated sigh escapes your lips as your mind continues to drift between awareness and stupor.

Through the hallway, a voice carries a conversation with only its echo in response. Mysteriously, the mutters come in and out of earshot—as if they were moving from room to room. The sound of footsteps follows. At first, they approach. Then, they leave.

Your fingers press into your scalp when you drag your fingers through your hair. When you place your hands into sight, you open and close them. For some reason, they seem distant, as if not your own.

Before you follow the sounds, you ensure that you’re grounded by steadying your breaths.

ㅤ

You leave your jacket and shoes at the end of the bed, leaving the room barefoot.

· · ────── Ω ────── · ·

The building that cages you resembles an old villa. Evident from the layers of dust, it has been unused for at least a decade. The majority—if not all of the furniture you see has been hidden by white fabrics.

To you, it’s easy to see. This home has been neglected. Whether the owner of the house wanted to forget its existence or not is up for speculation.

As you walk further into the hallway, you see a frame with an old Kamera picture of Zandik hung on the wall. Another white cloth hangs over it, but it must have gone loose since the left side reveals part of the picture.

You catch a glimpse of his younger, more humane, face.

For a moment, you wonder when and how he became a Harbinger. You wonder how this young man turned into this creature that brings destruction everywhere he goes.

Ultimately, you decide to ignore it, choosing to press forward instead of lingering in the past.

Then, over the noise of your thoughts, you hear an odd sound. Somewhere near you, an object is being rolled across the floor. It’s an unusual sound—something that throws you off. Yet, the noise isn’t rough.

The more you listen to it, the more you recognise it as wheels on a cart being pulled along. You decide to stand still for a moment, hoping the fog in your mind clears so you can pinpoint where the sounds come from.

Your hand brushes against the interior wall as you take another step forward.

A warm orange light invites you in at the end of the hallway. As you approach closer, so do the noises become louder.

You discern a deep voice, talking to what seems to be himself. The man sounds educated, arrogant—but also sophisticated, and carries himself with more pride than grace.

For a moment, you’re certain it’s not Zandik; who is more animated, dynamic—and compared to this voice, softer with tone, but then you walk into the room to be face-to-face with him.

“Good evening.” Dottore greets you. His voice is steady, never revealing any emotions to you.

If he hadn’t heard you walking up the room, he does a good job hiding it. His response to your arrival is instant; as if your entrance had been expected.

His attention on the previous task is disrupted, and now his sole focus lies on you. The silver glint of his mask shines in the evening glow as he tilts his head towards you.

Curiously, you take a set into the room.

A large wine-red carpet covers most of the wooden flooring of the space. In the centre of which, stands a large dinner table. Most of the lighting comes from the candles that have been lit, or the open windows that bring in the last of the golden hour.

On one end of the table sits a man in a wheelchair. When you see him you realise the sounds from earlier must’ve been him being pushed forward.

With a controlled smile, Dottore holds out one of his arms—gesturing to the room. “Do take a seat, guest.”

Your eyes follow his outstretched arm towards the only other chair in the room. Conveniently, it’s placed at the other end of the table, though, you doubt Dottore was occupying the seat before you.

Cautiously you approach. As you enter the room, your confused state worsens. In the atmosphere hangs a sweet scent that makes your mind dizzy and unable to focus.

A cold breeze comes through one of the open windows. The goosebumps on your arms only occur once you notice it. Have your senses been dulled?

Dottore smiles calmly.

“What did you do with me?” You try to ascertain the hazy feeling that suppresses your logical thoughts.

You’ve been drugged.

Dottore circles the man in the chair. You notice the return of the strange mask covering the upper part of his face. The sharp beak shape cuts through the air as he moves his head.

“For someone so passionate about other people’s physiological responses, you fail to acknowledge your own. You’re anticipating something that’s not going to happen. Anticipatory fear rarely benefits anyone.”

He moves his head away from you. You’re able to release the breath you’ve been holding.

In front of the man in the wheelchair is a medical tray. It’s empty, although various surgical equipment surrounds it. When you squint your eyes, you can recognise a scalpel among them.

You wonder if you could take it.

Dottore muses to himself, continuing to weave endless sentences that do not yet make sense. “Did you ever get to see the human brain? I find that preserved ones lack the sense of joy the living ones bring me. Unfortunately, something must be dead to be preserved… I find hardly any preserved being is worth more than a living one.”

Your eyes sneak up as you pass the tools and find Dottore inspecting you. A diplomatic smile is forced underneath his mask. You fail to obtain a weapon to defend yourself with.

As you approach the empty chair, Dottore walks up to the man in the wheelchair. By the time you sit down, he is playing with the scalpel you tried to take.

“It truly dulls the process. It lacks a sense of… efficiency. Why study a corpse when you can pick apart a living one?” A different light is cast upon him when he tilts his face down. In the shadow, his smile becomes sinister.

“What are you doing?”

Dottore holds the scalpel with his middle finger and thumb, letting his pointer finger rest upon the handle. He lifts it, admiring the glint that falls upon it. “You shouldn’t ask. I find that it spoils the surprise.”

Finally, your fight or flight instinct kicks in and you try to stand up.

Your legs bobble and your hand slams against the table trying to keep your balance. You fall back into the chair. The sweet scent has made you lightheaded with a tingling feeling in your limbs. It’s accompanied by a fast, irregular heartbeat—as well as the pounding in your ears.

A chuckle escapes Dottore’s lips. “Already standing up? A doctor would have recommended you to rest. If you’re tired, you may return to bed, although, you’d miss the grand performance.”

He mocks you with his sweetest voice. Your poor coordination and confusion must make you look like a newborn deer trying to stand up on its feet. Pitiful.

For the first time since entering the room, you take a closer look at the man in the wheelchair. The male appears average in height and weight. He has no noticeable features and seems only a few years older than you. He has been silent the entire time, only ever muttering to himself. otherwise looking around helplessly. His body is covered in sweat, drenching his pale blue shirt with wet stains.

A horizontal line paints his forehead.

“Segment 495, say hello to Y/n.”

Segment 495's smile is droopy as he parrots Dottore’s words.

Dottore places a hand on the shoulder of the man. “Did you know that the Akademiya has a grand collection of preservations in the name of science?”

He retreats his hands and puts them folded onto his back. After taking a sharp inhale, he circles the man; stopping when he stands behind him.

Dottore continues, “The Akademiya collects preservations received from donors. In most occurrences, the specimens are from average people, dulling the broad collection with nothing unique to study. Truthfully, it is unfortunate how such collection can collect nothing but dust.”

Your thoughts are uncontrolled. When you look over the set of tools, the scalpel is gone. Your stress increases due to the operation setting and the sweet scent in the air.

What will Dottore gain from this?

What’s today's lesson?

He inhales sharply through his nose, “A human can undergo a conscious brain surgery. You know how it works, I assume?”

You part your lips. Weakly, you shake your head.

“Excellent.”

Dottore reveals the knife from the hand on his back and he takes hold of the man in the wheelchair. With one arm, he snakes to the front and grabs his jaw. The other pushes the sharp edge of the scalpel along the line already there, easily sliding through and breaking the previously dried blood; reaching through the skull without complication.

Your sight blurs, and you helplessly watch the knife circle his head.

He’s going to exercise a conscious brain surgery.

With his precise and steady hand, Dottore can make a full circle before long. Then, he lays the scalpel down and grabs the hair on the man’s scalp, pulling until it parts, leaving the brain visible for you to witness.

You breathe out.

“Zandik—”

“You see, the brain itself feels no pain, Y/n, if that concerns you”

Dottore picks up his knife from the medical tray, pointing it towards the front of the brain.

“For example, Segment 495 won't miss this little piece here, which is part of the prefrontal lobe.”

“Wait.” You try to intervene, but you realise you have no leverage. “You don’t have to do this.”

Dottore makes a small cut, cutting through the meninges. Then, he grabs another tool, holding down the frontal lobe as the scalpel cuts through. “Sometimes, a subject can live without a part of their frontal lobe. However, there is a risk of losing one's expression of speech as well as a few means of movement and cognition.”

You watch the man’s expression fall when Dottore removes the part he had cut out. The mouth of the man falls open, and although he stays alive, something has undoubtedly died.

Dottore lays the removed part of the frontal lobe on the empty medical tray. Then, he goes back.

“Please, stop this.” You try to plead with him.

Using whatever strengths you have left, you try to stand up. Unfortunately, you hardly move out of your chair. Whatever drug lingers in the air, it is stronger than your adrenaline and will.

Again, Dottore’s precise hands cut into the brain. The man makes a strained sound and drool begins to fall out of his mouth.

Another piece is added to the medical tray, slowly forming a collection as Dottore empties the man’s head.

Under the influence of sedatives, you struggle to maintain your composure and senses—witnessing the horrifying spectacle that unfolds helplessly.

You black out before the man breathes his final breath.

ㅤ

Segment 495 started to lose organ functions a few days ago. It’d eventually lead him to die without ever completing the experiences Dottore put him under.

It is unfortunate but Dottore still grants the dying man one last reward.

On the medical tray, Segment 495’s brain lies fully exposed. Each cognitive function is separated for you to behold and admire. In death, the stranger became preserved in your memory.

· · ────── Ω ────── · ·

A gift.

From Dottore to you.

©dottiro. Do not copy, repost, translate, feed to AI, or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thank you for reading ♡

#₊⊹ ⌞finished appointments⌝#dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore #il dottore #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #tw: yandere #yandere genshin x reader #dottore yandere #fatui #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #harbinger x reader #genshin harbingers #fatui harbingers

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three-realms-archive · 4 months ago

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(This me rambling, feel free to ignore and lesson 16 spoilers! ^^; hi hello btw!)

I wanna see MC sometimes staying at Purgatory Hall and the Demon Lord's Castle more often as an escape to truly relax and maybe see the brothers try to overcome some of their struggles in their own, even if it's just a bit, if not for them, then for MC who has done so much, maybe even too much, for them, y'know?

Lesson 16 was quite the turning point, but not a lot of things changed. I wanna see before and afters with everyone. I wanna see angst where everyone is trying to be normal (maybe because MC is trying to be normal), but when the slightest thing goes wrong, they all flinch to shield MC or something. The smallest smell of vlood after chopping up food for dinner? Flashback to lesson 16. MC being too cold? Mammon flashes back. Belphie standing over MC (holding blankets or just so happen to be there for some reason)? Levi is holding his breath.

But at the same time, i want to see MC flinch from Lucifer. Before Belphie, Lucifer was going to hurt MC or worse, and he did it the most and has succeeded in hurting MC the most out of the brothers. I want to see MC hold their breath anytime he gets angry but is completely calm with Satan. I wanna see MC's shoulders tense while helping with paperwork alone with him but be completely fine with doing the same with Diavolo. I wanna see Mammon acting as like a bridge between the two.

Everyone is so creative on how they write lesson 16 but i don't see a lot of "after the lesson" ones. I always wondered, if their MC went through that (assuming if they made ir canon in their MC's story), what changed, if at all?

Phantom Pain

First oneshot of Scars, Wounds and Minor Inconveniences: a oneshot series featuring slice-of-life snapshots of the aftermath of Lesson 16. Naturally, features spoilers for OG Obey Me! up until that point. Each oneshot will have an associated headcannons post, which will be linked when it goes up!

(thank you to @kittylilyheart for inspiring what will now be a oneshot series dedicated to everyday life in the aftermath of lesson 16, because there's just so many characters in this series with so many things you can write for each. they gave so many interesting examples in their submitted idea; so I'll be including some and incorporating my own. If you have an idea for something related to Obey Me! or Obey Me! Nightbringer that you'd like me to put to writing, please read the rules pinned to this blog before submitting to the blog's inbox!)

It’s like pins and needles, starting at your neck and running down your back. Mammon sees you arch your back oddly as you go to knock on the door to the Demon Lord’s castle; and immediately knows.

“Hey, hey.” He says as he bumps his shoulder into yours, fingers touching your sleeve. Even though he’s seen this a bunch of times, he never really knows what to do. “Ya, uh. Ya got the needles-thing again?”

“Yeah. Ugh, why now?” You groan through gritted teeth, waiting for the feeling to subside. Both you and Mammon were used to this, episodes happening every now and then. Temporary bouts of phantom pain down your back and sides, where arms had hugged you and…

Dwelling wouldn’t help. And besides; they barely inconvenienced you. You sat down and pressed your back against a nearby wall.

“Don’t do that. What are ya doin’?”

“It feels better when I put my back against something hard and flat.” You state matter-of-factly, never breaking eye contact as you slowly slide down. He looks more confused. You grin. "As long as Beel hasn't got his fifth dinner on it, the kitchen table is nice, too."

“Weird humans…” Mammon mutters disapprovingly, but he sits beside you to wait it out. His head flops to one side, cheek resting on your head, as he makes the ever-so-cliché show of pretending to stretch his arm above his head, over yours… and, eventually, around your shoulders. You snort as his fingers fidget, figuring he just doesn’t know where to place them. They first settle on your chest, lingering over where your heart beats. Then, they scurry up to your collarbone and settle on your pulse point. He presses around a little, as if searching. Then, with a satisfied hum, he leans back against the wall, too.

“I think it’s going away, now. Mams. Hey, Mams.” You shake his arm a few minutes later. He blushes at your willing contact (as if he hadn’t been holding you close this whole time) and the cutesy nickname, but shuffles back to give you space to stand. Though not before checking your back first, touching the back of his hand to the skin between your shoulder blades, which your outfit exposes. Because you’d been leaning on a metal wall, your skin is cold.

He freezes. Your skin, cold. Your lips, not breathing. The slight red from where his hand had pressed against you has a slightly red flush. Red - red, just like it had been when -

He makes a show of dusting off your shoulders, one hand curling its fingers just enough to press a little more around your neck pulse point.

He hums again, satisfied. Then, the sheer amount of touching you that he’s done today hits him - and he turns his head to the side with a not-so-subtle cough.

“Y-Yeah, okay. Good. Let’s knock, then.” Mammon straightens and flashes you one of his signature grins. You notice it wobbles a little, but you attribute that to the adorably-dramatic cough he was forcing out of his throat just moments earlier. “If we get back late, Lucifer’ll think we’re slackin.”

“We can’t stay longer? Lord Diavolo said in his letter that I can work at the castle for as long as I like.” You pout. Secretly, your heartbeat gets a little faster; you swore you read the letter correctly. You look at Mammon hopefully, avoiding looking at the path behind you; which was starting to look awfully short. “I thought we were getting back after Lucifer goes out tonight.”

Mammon raises an eyebrow. “Ya wanna stay that long? It’s dangerous out. It’s safer with Lucifer around. ” He protests worriedly - but catches himself quickly. “W-Well. Not that I can’t protect ya… But everyone’s at home, too! The more people around, the better the protectin'!”

“Mammon -”

“Mammon is probably right, MC." Suddenly, you hear a voice behind you. "Though, I admit - I hadn't thought about that when I wrote the letter requesting your visit.”

The two of you jump. You and Mammon immediately find each others’ hands, and whip around to face the source of the voice. Mammon is already stepping forward, stretching his arm in front of you protectively... when he sees who it is.

“Lord… Geez, Lord Diavolo. Barbatos.” He nervously chuckles, stepping back. “We were literally just about to knock. Warn a guy next time, why don’t’cha?”

“No worries, Mammon. Sorry for startling you.” Diavolo offers apologetically. He nods in acknowledgement to you. “Hello there, MC. Lucifer may worry too much if he doesn’t see you before leaving the House, so it may be best for him to see you’re safe and sound, first.”

You look up slowly at the Crown Prince of the Devildom. The prince’s demon butler stands just behind his liege, almost blending into the shadows. They look so… tall. So towering. You don’t register the words that come out of your mouth.

“Oh, u-uh. Okay, then. I’ll help with some RAD event planning, then leave. early”

Mammon gives you a look, shuffling closer and bumping his shoulder into yours, again. “Oi, human, are you sure? I thought earlier you said -”

“I’ll do what Lord Diavolo, said. It’s probably for a reason.” You reply nonchalantly as Barbatos steps forward and unlocks the front door. You can see the hallway as it creaks open and it’s dark. It reminds you of a room you had woken up in when you were pulled from your home with no warning. It reminds you of winding stairs that had lead up to an attic, with a shadowy figure waiting behind a locked door. It was the home of two people who, try as you might, you could never, ever say no to.

Was it fear? You didn’t think so, you could talk to them pretty easily. Agree with them, easily.

Was it hatred? Not that either. You knew Mammon appreciates them for their part in saving you, so you guess you do, too.

You think of the phantom pain from earlier, then think that the darkness of the castle hallway looks a lot more inviting than dwelling on painful memories and difficult questions. So you let your feet follow Diavolo and Barbatos into the castle, laughing when Diavolo fondly tussles Mammon’s hair and enthusiastically piping up with ideas when Barbatos lists off the upcoming events to be held by the student council at RAD.

Mammon does hang back a little at first, though; wondering why you disapproved of his idea when he said it - but then agreed so readily when Diavolo did. But Diavolo did help you with the whole Belphie situation. And he was grateful Diavolo had you brought to the Devildom at all. So he follows you and thinks nothing of it.

And you follow Barbatos and Diavolo. Listening to their every word, like it was instinct. Like you didn’t really have a choice. Just like you didn't have when they had saved you.

Just like you had no choice when they had first brought you here.

(first chapter of the blog's very first series! this was pretty interesting and challenging to write as i really didn't want anything sad or angsty; just the same tone as my other slice-of-life stuff but with little pangs of hurt from the habits that the characters pick up after the belphie incident. i'd like to think that mc and the obm cast actually do recover pretty quickly from lesson 16, but not for the reason of forgiving each other easily, which i'll get to in later chapters. in this case, mc gets along well with dia and barb out of trust for them saving them, but also because they've always taken the reigns on their fate anyway.)

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me shall we date #obey me writing #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me angst #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me lesson 16 #lesson 16 #lesson 16 aftemath #lesson 16 angst

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skyeblue8 · 1 year ago

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Ɗᥙҽ 𝜏σ ᙏყ Ɲҽɯ⨍σᥙɳԃ Ƒιχα𝜏ισɳ... ♚

⋆⋆⃟⊱✪⃝⃞⃝⊰⋆⃟⋆ ⋆⋆⃟⊱✪⃝⃞⃝⊰ ⋆⃟⋆⋆⋆⃟⊱✪⃝⃞⃝⊰ ⋆⋆⃟⊱✪⃝⃞⃝⊰⋆⃟⋆

Specifically with the Gluttonous Sin of Beelzebub being my favorite Sin of the group (not necessarily in Helluva Boss, but just in general), I wanted to make a ranking list of my favorite Queen Bee redesigns and their creators for really no other reason than I just feel like it. Now, this is all personal opinions and should not be taken to heart by any means, it's just for fun:

#1. "Beelzebub & Bibi" by @gravcore

♡ In terms of an actual redesign of the original, I love how this artist made "Bibi" because, for one thing, they made sense of the originals hair by giving her a ponytail since way too many characters have a mohawk style (Loona included); two, I cannot explain just how much I adore the clothes they gave her. The top is actually insect based and gorgeous, and not some recolor version of Loona's outfit; and third, they made canon Bee her own character rather than a royal because nothing about the OG read "Ancient Sin" to anybody.

♡ Now, in terms of the actual Beelzebub, here, she's legitimately stunning. Rather than a redesign, I can tell this was the original long before the Queen Bee episode came out, and I love how it reads both "70's party girl" and "regal ruler" all in one. That, and the actual bug design aspect and the color scheme. Above all else, I love how they incorporated the lava stomach in her design, too.

#2. "Beelzebub" by @s3tok41b4

♡ This design can best be described as a literal re-imagine of the canon Beelzebub as it shares almost all her similarities with the actual bug aspect to it that it desperately needed. It's legitimately simplistic but still appealing to the eye, futher showing us that Viv was perfectly capable of making something so simple, but actively chose to make it more confusing than it had to be.

#3. "Beelzebub" by @ruinxl0ve

♡ Similar to the first two, this shares both a regal and party girl bug aesthetic with the added bonus of actually being beautifully emotive despite not even having a mouth. I feel this beautifully differentiates the design from the original while also making it recognizable and I feel that it kinda feeds into the original concept that Queen Bee could literally "feel the vibe", hinting to her being an empath in some manner.

#4. "The Three Bees" by @onehelluvatime

♡ Long story short, these are three individual versions of the Queen Bee and her new placing within the Hellaverse outside of the canon one. For more in-depth explanation of these interpretations, it's best to check the blog yourself. Truly, I love these designs not only because of the visual redesigns themselves, but also the well-crafted and creative explanations and backgrounds regarding these characters. I especially like the idea that the hellhounds within society are half-undead with skull-like appendages and facial aspects.

#5. "Spontaneous Beelzebub" by @redd-byrd

♡ I know it's essentially the same as the canon design, but with the small tweaks that were made to this one (the giant "Bee Butt", the added black lines, the actual bug-like wings, the blue-thin eyes), all of them give a more clear indication (at least to me) that this Bee is more higher up than her fellow hellhounds, meaning she looks a lot more like a hybrid thus making her more grand. It's nice how they added these small details for improvement while still essentially leaving the design like its original.

⋆⋆⃟⊱✪⃝⃞⃝⊰⋆⃟⋆ ⋆⋆⃟⊱✪⃝⃞⃝⊰ ⋆⃟⋆⋆⋆⃟⊱✪⃝⃞⃝⊰ ⋆⋆⃟⊱✪⃝⃞⃝⊰⋆⃟⋆

Anyway, thanks for listening to my Ted Talk. Have a nice day!

#helluva boss critical #vivziepop critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss #helluva boss critique #hazbin hotel critical #helluva critical #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critique #vivziepop criticism #personal opinion #pls dont hate me #pls dont be offended #credit to artist #credit to artists #helluva boss redesign #beelzebub #queen beelzebub #queen bee

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daryascurse · 1 year ago

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𓆩♡𓆪 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭ο𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝐄𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦

01: Sanji x Reader

“I just – can’t keep my hands off you,” he says, hot against your collarbone, and your hands creep further up his back to push at the thick blonde tufts. “Can’t you just,” you breathe, with the very last of your resolve, “wait until we get – to an inn? “Absolutely not,” Sanji says in a completely serious way. He probably is serious. You believe him.

⟡ reader: POV second person, AFAB, nongendered pronouns but reader wears a skirt ⟡ content: technically based on og sanji but also admittedly inspired by the live action, oraI (fem. receiving), fngering, dirty talk, wall sεx, semipublic, multiple os ⟡ wordcount: ~2.7k ⟡ ao3 link ⟡ playlist

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“Stop it,” you say through gritted teeth. But then you have to turn and practically slap Sanji’s hands away when you feel his touch alight again, and you take the opportunity to curl your lips up to a proper glower. “You do realize practically half the crew came into this pub?”

“Half the crew’s always around,” Sanji says as his hand creeps back up the material of your shirt.

You shake him free and turn back around so that he can’t see your smile.

“How does that make it any better?”

“Better than trying to sneak around the ship.”

But you made Sanji swear, before alighting into town, that there would be no funny business if he decided to wander and explore the streets with you. You’d had to make him promise, and you drum your fingers against the bar as you remember the last time he went into a local establishment with you. It had ended with at least two threats against Sanji’s life, a bottle of wine broken at the doorframe when you’d scampered into the night, and the loss of a favorite pair of panties.

You’re smiling for a reason, despite it all, which is why the smirk needs to be hidden.

“So we don’t need to spend the night on the ship,” you say, and pretend it’s due to the swell of the crowd that you have to push back against him briefly, feel the metal of his belt hit at your exposed back where your shirt falls in a rumple when a girl reaches her arm across you to wave down the bartender. “So we can get a room in town.”

“We can.” Sanji’s voice begins to hum in a lilt. “But why does it mean we have to wait so long for that?”

The clamor of the crowded pub sways around you. The boxing in is what led you to first feel his sneaking touch up your shirt, something a little more familiar than the natural flow of bodies against bodies at the bar.

“’M not ready to go yet,” you say, and force yourself around to face him. The humidity of the room is gently coaxing the light wave in his hair.

“But isn’t it getting busy?”

“I guess,” you say, unwilling to surrender.

He takes your hand and you stumble forward. Sanji pushes through the crowd. He’s heading for the doors at the back of the pub. You have to shout at him to be heard over the din, but try to keep your voice from yelping loud enough for the booth of familiar faces in the booth you’re passing now.

“What are you doing? I said – I don’t want to leave.”

Luckily, your crewmates don’t perk up at the sound of your voice.

There’s a croon from his throat, almost an aw, and the curves of his cheeks are high in a hidden grin.

“No, no, my love. We’re not leaving.”

And when Sanji heaves the door open, the shrill cool of the autumn night practically smacks you in the face. The door slams behind you, and the chattering and shrieking inside subdues. You blink a moment, adjusting to the shifting dimness, but the chill on your cheeks is replaced with the warmth of Sanji’s hands as his fingertips cup at your jaw.

“Oh, no,” you say with a delirious giddiness.

“What?”

“You said you’d behave in public. You promised.”

“This isn’t so public.”

He’s looking at you with a narrowed gaze, the twitch of a smile pressing creases at his lips, and you return it despite your best judgment.

“The bartenders have been coming in and out of this alley,” you say, and reach up to trace over the back of his fingers. They’re velvet, with the prick of hair at his knuckles dusting under your touch. “In and out, back to the bar.”

“Smoke break, same as us,” he says in that familiar wheedle. “That’s all we’re here for. Just a little fresh air.”

“Smoke break,” you repeat with a tone of suspicion. The smile still playing on your face so clearly betrays your true feelings, because Sanji’s lips come down to cover it in a kiss. Your back pushes against the rough brick of the alleyway, shoulders rolling to the stone as you lift your arms in an embrace around the broad expanse of him.

He keeps a tender cup on your jaw, but his other hand alights on your hip, palm fitting to the curve of your body and moving down to your leg. Sanji fists at the fabric of your skirt and sneaks it up, exposing your skin to the chill of the air as he urges your thigh up, hips opening to your waist.

“Oh,” you gasp as Sanji’s lips move down your jaw to butterfly across your neck. Your heart is pounding as your throat tightens in thrill at the sensation, and you stare up into the night and suck in the fresh air.

“I just – can’t keep my hands off you,” he says, hot against your collarbone, and your hands creep further up his back to push at the thick blonde tufts.

“Can’t you just,” you breathe, with the very last of your resolve, “wait until we get – to an inn?”

“Absolutely not,” Sanji says in a completely serious way.

He probably is serious. You believe him.

Sanji traces down over your blouse in ghosting touch. He adjusts his grip on your thigh, awakening your muscles to the strain the position keeps your leg in.

“Well – will you hush,” you say, and roll your eyes nervously to the door, where the swell of the pub still reverberates.

“You want me to keep my mouth shut?” he asks, humming, and then his lips turn in a grin, one last kiss at your throat, before leaning away. His hand has made its way down, sliding under the rumple of your skirt, and he’s made his discovery.

What you were going to answer with dies on your lips. You’re staring, dazzled, into his eyes like glass, eyes like the night sky above, as he pushes, strokes below the crease of your underpants. Your leg is tight, flush against him, and you find your hips opening wider, rolling forward, back scraping against the brick. The blood begins to pound in your ears.

“Keep it – busy another way,” is what you choke out, and Sanji sinks to his knees without another word. You almost slump back, palms bracing against the wall as your heart drums wild and your leg relaxes, still opening with room for his wineglass-frame shoulders to settle. Sanji pushes the fabric of your skirt, nudges your knee to lift your leg, exposing yourself to him.

And as you requested, Sanji busies his mouth. He begins to move across your skin in kisses meant to tantalize, barely skimming over the delicate expanse of your inner thigh. There’s a hand cupping the muscle of your ass, and then he squeezes his grip hard enough to make you squeal despite yourself and shift your hips again to help him nudge your panties down.

“San – ” and your tongue pushes between your teeth, interrupting yourself in the stutter of your own sound.

The kiss he lays right there is gentle. All you can push from your lungs are breathy moans, stifled as much as possible as his tongue presses upward. He splits your folds to taste you, the kisses still coming. And his tongue follows, brushing along and tasting every inch of you.

“Oh.”

Your eyes are wide, the stars swimming above you. You try to swallow and find your throat dry, so aware in that same moment of the heaving of your chest with each inhale, shaky exhale. Without thinking, your hands are at his head, combing, raking through the blonde as your spine curls forward, bringing yourself close to him.

“Oh- oh.”

Sanji stays buried beneath your thighs, his fingers spreading to dig into you. Your muscles tremble under his touch and he must feel the way you shake, he must. The gentleness is still there, the sweetness in each curve and kiss of his lips, groans slipping out that almost break into a whine at the end of his voice. He’s eating your pussy like a starving man, tongue swirling like licking every last bit of sweet batter off a spoon, and just as desperate to have it all. And then, as another long, delicious minute edges on, he squeezes against you again and then slips two fingers up inside you.

“Mmm.”

You tighten your fist without thought of the yanking on his hair, and clasp your other hand over your mouth, because that’s also when the door bangs open to your right. You flinch, jaw clenched and shaking, fingers tighten.

“Pour the kid another beer!” shouts the bartender with his arms visible to your right. You can’t even look down at Sanji, but you can see just where the illuminating light inside the pub streams out into the alleyway.

And the problem is, as a crate of empty wine bottles clatters to the ground, Sanji doesn’t stop moving. It’s as if this thrill serves only to turn him on more. He curls his fingers within you, thumb turning with his wrist. He presses right on your clit and rubs, and you can feel his face shift away, the air coming to your flushed skin, as he kisses your inner thigh again.

You press your hand into your face and bite your palm to suppress the groan coming from your diaphragm.

At that moment, just as sharply as the door opened, it slams shut with just the bottles behind.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, and reach forward, down, to clasp your hand down on Sanji again.

“And you told me,” Sanji says into your thigh, “to be quiet.”

You’d say something back, if the blood was in your brain and circulating thoughts, but his mouth is full again. His thumb has moved down, pushing at the plum fruit of you to keep you fat and open around him, his tongue tracing shapes across your clit. Everything’s shaking, his grip, your weakening muscles, your breaths.

“Fuck,” you say in a thick choke, and in an almost alarming start, the tightness under your belly all bursts without warning and you come over his fingers.

“Oh,” Sanji moans, repeating in a drunken whine, and his mouth is awakening you to every bit of sensitivity prickling and pushing under your skin. He’s getting all of you, he must be determined to keep tasting everything he can, licking up every bit of your orgasm as your hips buck and shake with no thought to the harsh brick wall behind you.

“Oh my – god – ” is what you can get out through numb lips. Sanji’s rising, the shadows and stars behind him shifting with his broad stance. His gaze on you is dark, shining with lust, his lips forcing the air out. You’re still feeling the orgasm, the thick swelling of your inner walls pushing out slick, but he’s moving with electric urgency as he unbuckles his pants.

He kisses you, sealing your mouths together. You can taste yourself as he was so desperately hungry for. Your back arches and you push your hips towards him again. Sanji wraps your leg up around him again, curving down into you to find a suitable position to bring his cock flush to you.

“Ah, ouch,” you whimper when his fingers brush against the tender flesh still wet with your arousal and his licks.

“You okay, my love?”

“Sore,” you say in a heavy breath, and tug at his blazer urgently.

“Is it o – ”

“Yes,” you hiss, cutting Sanji off in a low voice.

He kisses you quickly, swallowing the last of the sound with the remnants of your taste.

When Sanji guides himself into you, pushing in with a thrust, both of you mirror a soft, exhilarated sigh muffled by a fierce kiss. His cock stretches you with a sweet sensation that almost leaves you dizzy. Keeping his lips on you, your whines are trapped to die out in silence.

Near silence. There’s the anxious fervent sounds of body against body. There’s a hot, desperate hiss of pleasure that escapes you two regardless of the best efforts to hold them back. Sanjii’s thrusting faster and deeper into you, and your muscles clench desperately.

“Fuck,” you moan, and turn your head to whimper into the firm roll of bicep under his sleeve.

Sanji’s muscles are just as tense.

The salty sweet scent of sex rises around you in the alleyway. You let your hands roam freely, trying to get a grip on him, before rising in a cage around his shoulders again in tugs to pull him tighter. The flush push of his hips against yours leave you scraping back against the wall again and again, and his ragged breaths fill your ears.

There’s a sound like the door squealing open again, as the pub sounds break loud for a moment, but then it closes before you even have time to react. You gasp audibly in a delayed reaction. For a moment it sounds like a bottle pouring out, and you let your soft cry relax into a whimper into him again.

Sanji’s moving fast, quickly, the thrusts of his hips moving more desperately. He’s going quicker than normal in the urgent rabidness of the moment, and you buck your hips to fuck him back as best as you can. He’s now collapsed with his head dropped on your shoulder, mouth and heavy breaths right at your ear, and you dig your nails desperately in hunting scratches at the back of his suit jacket. You need to find a firmer hold, needing to bring him further and further into you as the coil inside you tightens for a second time.

But there’s some warning this time. You push your hands at him even harder.

“I’m – I’m – gonna…”

“Come,” Sanji breathes, “come for me, my love.”

The coil snaps and you can’t hold the cry back. Your cunt tightens, your muscles cold and blood hot as you come again. It must be this squeezing, the anxious flutter of your inner walls holding Sanji snug that makes him follow you. He fucks you through it, the oversensitivity making moans dribble from your mouth with the strings of drool beginning to fall from your lips.

“Oh – oh,” Sanji says, groaning just as pitifully.

As he slips out of you, you shudder.

That’s when Roronoa Zoro clears his throat, and when you gasp, Sanji’s hand clasps on your upper arm as he moves you behind him in a protective instinct. But it is that familiar sound, the familiar twinkle of gold earrings clanging into each other as he shakes his head.

“You like the show?” Sanji snarls. The breathlessness pinching his lungs makes the words lose some of the bite.

“Didn’t ask for one.”

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, smoothing your skirt and feeling the heat rise slowly to your cheeks.

“Looking for the bathroom,” Zoro says from his leaning stance against the wall.

“It’s not here,” Sanji says sourly.

“Yeah, figured that out too late.”

“Okay, okay,” you say hastily. The embarrassment of the moment is still burning. “Let’s just go back inside? Find everyone?”

“Don’t you dare bring this up to everyone,” Sanji says.

“Believe me,” Zoro says as he reaches for the door handle. “Already trying to forget it.”

He hauls it open, and disappears from your view as he steps inside. The shadow darkens across Sanji’s face, and you can’t see his expression for a moment. When the light readjusts, he’s grinning sheepishly.

You dip around him and elbow him. “I think it was just – not so long. I thought I heard the door.”

“Idiot,” Sanji says without fire, and rubs the back of his head.

“It’s okay. Let’s go meet up with everyone. Oh. Fuck.”

“It’s not okay?”

“No, no, not him,” you say, and elbow him again. “You didn’t just…drop my underpants onto the ground, did you?”

His neck drops. You look down. You stare at them together, silhouetted against the dirty cobblestone. “Well,” Sanji says after a pause. “Maybe next time we’ll actually bring them back.”

#daryafics #one piece x reader #one piece #sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x y/n

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