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neellscapsule · 3 days ago

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My Heart — Part Four

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. future conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker. you are a bit of a yandere later as well. make out with conner, a bit steamy.

word count | 6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13. conner looks 22 as well.

taglist | @cebrospudipudi @jjoppees @corvoqueen @nirvanaxx1942 @lilyalone @aixaingela @lettucel0ver @time-shardz @pix-stuff @galaxypurplerose @cupid73 @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @vanessa-boo @timebomb1101 @chemicalwindexbottle @chiizuluvr @ihavenomuse @mat5u0 @thismessyshe @lovebug-apple @myjumper @angwlart @esposadomd @nisarelle @mrmacwaffles @mazixxss @ememgl @naomi-xxi @bbmgirll @ash0-0ley @rowan-no-rizzz @hearts4mica @sillyheartmoonnyx @crumbs-and-covers @nininehaaa @ironsaladwitch

previous. next.

Cassandra has always spoken a language sharper than words.

It weaves in the crook of a wrist, in the subtle twist of a shoulder, in the precise slope of someone’s spine when they think no one is watching. Where others stumble over syllables, Cassandra reads the sentences of bodies with ease. Your discomfort? It screams at her. Louder than any broken sentence ever could.

You stand by the bar, your weight shifted onto one foot, arms crossed in a deceptively casual way that only someone like her could recognize for what it is: armor. You laugh in measured bursts, calculated, like the sound is another layer of silk draped across your ribs to hold you together. Your eyes? They dart, tracing the exits, the shadows, the spaces between your siblings like you’re searching for gaps in enemy lines.

You are a castle made of glass. Polished, glittering, beautiful. But one good stone, one poorly-aimed word, and you’ll crack.

She sees it. She always has.

Your weight shifts slightly, never fully planting your feet, like you’re poised to bolt the second the walls breathe too close to you. Like you’re still half feral. Like you never came back to stay.

And yet, she doesn’t move immediately. She watches instead — the way a panther observes a wounded sibling, patient, waiting for you to settle, to understand that the threat doesn’t lie here. Not tonight. Not with them.

Because you are theirs.

Even if you’ve forgotten how to speak that language.

Cassandra approaches quietly, her heels barely clicking against the marble, her mask a delicate thing that frames her sharp eyes without hiding them. You’ve never been good at reading people the way she does. You speak in music, in color, in the stretch of silk across muscle as you soar on aerial ribbons. She speaks in the curl of a lip, the tremor of a hand, the tension braided tight across your shoulders.

When she stops beside you, you don’t flinch. You never flinch for her.

You glance over, your expression smooth, carefully blank behind the pearlescent lace of your mask.

“Cass.”

Your voice is cool. Detached. But there’s warmth coiled underneath, the remnants of late nights spent side by side as teenagers, both of you tucked into the shadows of the Manor, too aware of your ghosts, too quiet to disturb them.

Cassandra studies you for a moment longer, reading the precise angle of your spine, the tight pull of your knuckles as your hand curls around your drink. Her own mouth tilts in the smallest, subtlest of smiles.

“You hate it here.” The words are low, soft, unassuming. Observational, not judgmental.

You huff a breath, the corner of your mouth twitching faintly. “I’ve always hated galas.”

Lie. You both know it.

You loved them once. You loved the attention, the glint of curiosity in strangers’ eyes, the performance of perfection. You loved the music, the cold crystal glass against your palm, the fleeting illusion that maybe, maybe tonight, your father would look at you the way he looked at Dick or Jason. That he’d see you.

But years carve new truths out of old bones.

You swirl the remnants of your drink, voice slipping into dry amusement. “I hate this gala.”

Cassandra tilts her head, raven-dark hair brushing her shoulder, eyes steady. “Because we’re here.”

It isn’t a question.

You don’t answer immediately. Your gaze drifts across the room — the swirling crowd of Gotham’s elite, your siblings clustered in their careful constellation. Dick standing close, just not enough to hear. Jason watching with guarded eyes, Tim already halfway buried in his phone, Stephanie laughing too loud, Duke leaning into every conversation, Damian glaring possessively from a corner like he owns the air around you. Bruce… distant, observing, a stone sentinel no mask can soften.

They are a pack. A unit.

And you? You’ve been orbiting too far for too long.

You shrug, the movement delicate, brittle. “I don’t belong here.”

“Wrong.” Cassandra’s voice is gentle, firm. A blade wrapped in velvet.

You meet her gaze properly then — your sister, your shadow, the girl who speaks better with her hands than her tongue, who reads the battlefield written across every tendon and muscle like scripture.

For a moment, the noise of the gala fades — the hum of music, the click of heels, the soft murmur of old money exchanging lies. It’s just you and her. Two daughters of a man too broken to love properly, two women who know the ache of silence and the sharp edges of being overlooked.

Cassandra reaches out, fingers brushing lightly along your wrist — a question disguised as touch.

You let her.

Her hand settles briefly against your forearm, steady, grounding. “You are uncomfortable.”

You exhale, a soft, rueful laugh. “That obvious?”

“Only to me.” Her mouth quirks faintly. “They don’t see yet. Too… distracted. Too loud.”

Your eyes flick back to the others, their orbit still spinning, conversations layered over possessive glances, overprotective edges buried in strained smiles. You recognize it now — the panic beneath their excitement. The desperation coiled beneath their bravado.

They want you back. They need you back.

And Cassandra can’t help but think maybe you don’t know yet. Maybe you don’t understand how needed you are. How tightly they are tethered to you. How much of their lungs you quietly occupy.

So she waits.

Because you will learn. Slowly. Gently. When they wrap around you tight enough, when they stop letting you escape between the cracks.

You can claw, you can bare your teeth, you can run.

But you are still theirs.

Cassandra’s fingers press lightly against your wrist, pulling your focus back to her.

“You’ll get used to it,” she says simply. “When you remember.”

You arch a brow. “Remember what?”

Her eyes soften, unwavering. “How much we love you.”

The words land with more weight than they should.

Love.

The concept coils around your ribs, unfamiliar, half-withered, like a foreign language you used to speak fluently before neglect turned your tongue to stone.

You scoff, half-bitter. “You all have a funny way of showing it.”

Cassandra shrugs, the movement small, unapologetic. “We’re not good at… showing.” Her gaze sharpens, reading every flicker of doubt in your posture. “But we feel.”

You hesitate, the words lodging like splinters in your throat. You want to believe her. You do. But years of silence, of invitations unanswered, of milestones ignored, of empty chairs and colder rooms — they weigh heavier than sentiment.

“We hurt you,” Cassandra says quietly, reading the protest in your stance before it leaves your lips. “But we didn’t stop loving you.”

You hate how easily she strips you bare, how precisely she deciphers the language you’ve tried to bury beneath silk and sharp words. Your walls — glass. Your armor — transparent.

You hate how much you missed her.

“Cass…” Your voice falters, softer now, the facade cracking at the edges.

She leans in slightly, her touch still featherlight on your wrist.

“You’ll get used to it,” she repeats gently. “When you see it.”

You glance back at your family — their glances lingering, their conversations fractured, each of them orbiting you even when they pretend not to.

Possessive. Broken. Desperate.

But love? Love might still linger beneath the wreckage.

Cassandra steps back, her hand slipping away, her posture loose but coiled, patient as ever.

“We’re not letting you disappear again,” she says simply.

You huff a breath, wry. “Is that a threat?”

Her eyes glint, the faintest smirk curling her lips.

“No. Promise.”

And the worst part? You almost believe her.

And it sends a shiver down your spine.

You glance at her, eyes half-lidded behind your mask, glass tapping against your bottom lip.

“I don’t like performing,” you say simply.

“You’re not performing.”

You scoff lightly. “Aren’t I? Look at me, Cass. Look at us. Look at this.”

You motion vaguely toward the room — the golden pillars, the chandeliers heavy with old money, the sharp black suits and sparkling gowns, the curated smiles and the clink of crystal.

“This is a stage,” you murmur, voice tasting like a distant ache. “It always has been.”

Cassandra tilts her head slightly, absorbing the cadence of your words, the small tremors in your throat when you swallow.

“But you love the stage.”

Your lips twitch faintly. “I loved my stage.”

She steps a little closer, a pulse of gravity pulling her to you like an orbit she can’t escape.

“This can be yours again,” she says, voice steady, smooth.

Your shoulders stiffen, but you don’t pull away. Your body betrays you though — your heartbeat hiccups, the shallow breath slipping a fraction too quickly.

“Why now, Cass?”

Cassandra shrugs lightly. “Maybe it’s because you came back.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“Maybe you had to.”

You look at her fully now, studying her calm posture, her hands resting loosely against the bar, her gaze unwavering. “Did they send you?” you ask, the bite in your tone dulled by exhaustion.

“No.”

You quirk a brow. “Not even Dick?”

“He knows I see things he doesn’t.”

You hum. “I’m not staying.”

“You will.”

You laugh, dry and low. “You’re sure of that?”

“Yes.”

Her certainty is a strange comfort and an irritation all at once. The music swells, the floor shifts, the lights catch on the curve of your mask.

You don’t run. Not this time.

And maybe — maybe — you’ll let yourself stay, if only for a little while longer.

The song changes. Slow, heavy. Something old and familiar that wraps around the ballroom like velvet, soft and suffocating all at once.

You’re still on the floor with Cass when you feel it. The shift. The ripple of eyes turning, attention coiling tighter, a new presence anchoring itself to your space.

You don’t need to look to know.

But you do.

Bruce stands at the edge of the dance floor, dark and polished in that way only he can be, mask settled over sharp, unreadable eyes, jaw clenched faintly beneath the shadow of his cowl.

He’s watching you.

Your heartbeat falters for half a second, years of muscle memory and buried instincts prickling under your skin. You see the faintest crack in his armor—the tightness at the corner of his mouth, the stiffness in his stance that tells you this isn’t Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist, standing before you.

It’s Batman.

And yet, tonight, under the golden haze of the chandelier, pressed into a suit and bowtie, that armor looks laughably thin.

Cassandra follows your gaze, her eyes sharp and knowing.

You feel her hand brush your wrist, a subtle pressure of comfort, but she doesn’t say anything when Bruce takes a slow step forward, cutting through the crowd with the quiet command of a man who has never been denied a thing in his life.

The orchestra’s strings hum, the floor parts, and your shoulders pull taut without your permission.

“May I?” His voice is low, almost too steady, a thread of tension buried beneath each word.

It’s not really a request.

There are eyes on you.

Of course there are.

The Gotham elite never miss a Wayne. Never miss a show. Never miss the subtle shifts in power or affection or loyalty written in these carefully curated performances.

It’s all a performance, isn’t it?

So you swallow the knot in your throat, force your expression flat, and nod.

“Of course, father.”

The title tastes foreign, jagged, but it rolls off your tongue with the grace you’ve spent years cultivating.

Cass slips away, melting into the crowd like smoke, her dark eyes lingering on you one last time before vanishing into the sea of black and gold.

Bruce’s hand hovers, waiting, and you place yours in it with reluctant precision.

His palm is warm. Familiar. Calloused from years of work that only you and a select few will ever know. The pressure firm but not crushing, guiding you to the center of the dance floor with the kind of confidence that has always belonged to him. He was never unsure in these spaces. Not in the boardroom, not in the battlefield, not in a waltz.

Except maybe now.

Maybe here, with you, there’s a tremble under the armor he forgot to shed.

The other hand settles lightly against your waist, and you suppress the instinct to tense again.

You’ve danced with him before. Countless times. Gotham galas, charity benefits, stiff family events when you were still young enough to believe you had his full attention.

But nothing ever felt like this.

The music pulls you into motion. You fall into step without thought, the years of training, of posture, of silent grace slipping over your bones like muscle memory refusing to die.

It’s almost funny. You’ve fought beside him more times than you can count. Shadow to his shadow. The Huntress at Batman’s side.

Your blades carving through alleyways, your fists silencing threats, blood escaping villain's noses, mouths, always respecting your father's code, your shared glances in the dark. The quiet, unshakable language of partners.

You remember the feeling of your boots scraping against wet gravel, the sweet sting of exhaustion in your muscles after nights chasing Gotham’s monsters, the brief flashes of pride you used to catch in his eyes when you landed a perfect strike, when you solved a puzzle before he could.

Those memories burn, bright and cruel.

Because no one here — no one but this family — knows the truth of who you were, of what you meant to this city in the shadows.

You have always been his sharpest blade. Always been the daughter who bled to be seen.

But here, in this room? Under the crushing weight of crystal chandeliers and champagne laughter?

This is where the cracks show.

It’s not your territory. Not really.

“I forgot how heavy your hand is.”

His grip eases immediately, his jaw clenching. “Sorry.”

You don’t offer comfort. You never learned how.

“You didn’t have to come,” Bruce says, his voice low, carrying only to you beneath the hum of strings.

You let out a quiet breath, eyes fixed over his shoulder. “You didn’t have to invite me. Well, Dick did. Suppose you don't have anything to do with that.”

His hand tenses fractionally at your waist, almost imperceptible, but you catch it.

You catch everything.

“I wanted you here.”

You arch a brow, letting your gaze drift back to him, sharp and cool behind your mask. “And now that I’m here, what? We pretend everything’s fine? You smile for the cameras, I play the good daughter, and we dance for the press?”

His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking at the corner of his cheek. “It’s not for the cameras.”

“No?” Your voice lowers, bitter amusement coiling under your ribs. “Then who’s it for?”

He hesitates. That alone is rare enough to sting. “I wanted to dance with my daughter,” he replies finally.

The words are quieter than you expect. Honest. Stripped of performance.

And you hate how much they twist something in your chest.

“You remember how to call me that?”

His gaze flickers briefly to the crowd, to the watchful vultures pretending to sip champagne while their ears sharpen like knives.

“Lower your voice,” he murmurs, guiding you into a smooth spin.

You want to look away, to sneer, to cut the conversation off at the knees, but the pressure of his hand guiding you into the next turn forces you to stay.

The crowd around you blurs. It always does, when it’s just the two of you.

The same way it used to blur when you stood shoulder to shoulder on Gotham’s rooftops, cape and cowl shrouding you both, the city sprawling beneath your boots, yours to protect, yours to conquer.

But those nights feel like a lifetime ago now. Like someone else’s memories.

Your throat tightens.

“Don’t do this,” you whisper, voice cracking despite your best efforts. “Don’t pretend.”

“I’m not.” His eyes soften, only a fraction, but it’s enough to rattle your defenses. “I’ve made mistakes.”

You scoff under your breath, bitter and brittle. “That’s one way to phrase it.”

“I should’ve been there.”

Your steps falter for a heartbeat, but he adjusts, guiding you seamlessly back into rhythm.

You hate how easy it still is. How perfectly you move together when words fail you both.

“I waited,” you murmur, the confession slipping free before you can stop it. “I waited, and you were always looking somewhere else.”

“I know.” His voice is tight. Heavy. Guilt coils between you like smoke. You feel the weight of it, old and sharp, pressing against your ribs.

“For them,” you continue, unable to stop now. “For the city. For your mission. For your sons.”

Bruce’s grip doesn’t waver, but the cracks show in his eyes, stormy blue flickering with regret.

You almost laugh.

“But never for me.”

The words settle like ash between you, bitter and final.

You expect him to deflect. To deny.

But he doesn’t.

“I failed you.”

It’s not loud. It’s not grand. But it’s the closest thing to an apology you’ve ever heard from him.

Your fingers curl faintly against his shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The music carries you through the dance like nothing’s wrong, like your skin isn’t itching to pull away, like your heart isn’t clawing at your chest, desperate and aching for something you lost years ago.

And yet…

Part of you—small, foolish, feral—still begs for him to look at you the way he did when you were a child.

When you were his. Before the missions. Before the masks. Before you became just another soldier in his endless war.

You swallow hard, blinking away the sting in your eyes.

You speak low, your voice coated in something sharp. “You only see me when I’m useful.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

His hand shifts slightly, tightening at your waist like he can anchor you there, keep you from slipping through his fingers again.

“You’ve always been important to me.”

Your lips twitch into something faintly cruel.

“‘Important’ isn’t the same as loved.”

His steps falter for half a second — a crack in the perfect choreography — but he catches it before the crowd can notice.

“You think I don’t love you?” His voice dips, lower now, rougher, threading frustration and something dangerously close to desperation.

“I know you don’t know how to.”

Your body stays cold, distant in his arms, your eyes catching the flicker of your brother's at the edge of the floor — Dick’s frozen stare, Jason’s clenched fists, Tim’s worried glances, Damian’s livid, possessive glare, Duke on full alert. Cassandra is the only one who just expects, knowing what could and possibly would come out of all that.

They can’t hear you. Not fully. But they feel the tremble in the air.

The weight in your throat thickens.

“You loved the Huntress,” you murmur, your fingers curling tighter in his. “You loved the soldier. You loved the weapon. But me? The daughter? You didn’t see her.”

“I did,” Bruce says, barely breathing.

“You weren't there.”

“I was—”

“Busy?” Your teeth flash, sharp and humorless. “I know. Saving Gotham. Carrying the weight of the world. I know.”

His silence cuts deep.

Your chest tightens as the music sways around you, your steps precise, your face carefully unreadable for the vultures still watching.

But inside, you ache.

You ache like you did as a child, waiting on cold marble steps for a father who never showed.

“You don’t get to show up now,” you whisper, your throat thickening. “You don’t get to pretend this is normal. You don’t get to waltz me around like you remember who I am.”

“I never forgot you.”

Your laugh is low and cold.

“I forgot me.”

His brow furrows, his grip firm but not suffocating.

“You’re still my child.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

The desperation flickers again, barely restrained under the mask.

“I missed too much,” he says, the words pulled from somewhere raw. “But I want to—”

“To what? Make up for it now?” You sneer softly, the bitterness clinging to your ribs. “You want to be my father again? You want to start over? You can’t.”

His chest rises and falls slowly.

“I want to know you.”

“You knew me.”

“I didn’t know enough.”

“You didn’t want to know.”

“I was afraid.”

That — that makes your breath catch.

You hadn’t expected that. You glance at him, really glance at him, your mask a faint shimmer against your skin. For the first time, he sees your shiny eyes, full of tragic tears.

“Of what?”

“Of what I’d see.” His voice is quiet, honest in a way that strips you bare. “Of the cracks. Of the things I couldn’t fix. I didn’t want to fail you.”

You shake your head, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. “You did anyway.”

His throat bobs with the weight of what he can’t swallow.

You don’t raise your voice. You don’t shatter the fragile picture they’re all watching, but you don’t soften either.

“You missed so many things,” you murmur, gaze slipping to the golden chandeliers. “You missed the shows. The exhibits. The nights I sat at the piano because I thought maybe this time you’d come in and just… just sit. Just watch me be something that wasn’t a weapon.”

“I should’ve been there.”

“But you weren’t.”

“I can be now.”

You close your eyes briefly, the music pulling you through the motions like it always has.

“You don’t know how to love people who don’t fight for you.”

“I love you.”

You breathe out, trembling, trying to keep the cracks from surfacing.

“You love the version of me you built in your head.”

“I want the real you.”

You look at him finally, fully, the aching part of you — the part still thirteen, still small, still desperate — begging to see that spark in his eyes again. That warmth. That father.

You search his gaze. You search it like you’re searching for a home you locked yourself out of.

“You don’t know me,” you whisper, your throat tight.

“Then let me try.”

The song fades.

The silence between you doesn’t.

But you don’t pull your hand from his.

Not yet.

Not until Clark Kent appears, accompanied by the one and only Wonder Woman.

You spot them weaving through the crowd like gravity itself parts the air around them. The gods walking among mortals, and everyone in this room knows it — though most pretend otherwise, lifting champagne flutes with tight smiles and practiced indifference. The only ones foolish enough to believe they belong in the same echelon.

But you? You’ve seen them without the glamor, without the press conference glow. You’ve seen them bone-tired after fights, bruised, battered, laughing softly under dim Watchtower lights, their capes draped over chairs like discarded armor. You’ve seen the cracks beneath the myth.

And they’ve seen you too.

Their eyes light up the moment they spot you, their smiles — honest, unfiltered things — cracking through the heavy air you’ve been drowning in all night.

You remember the warmth.

And you remember how you clung to it, how you were always orbiting their presence like a child desperate for gravity.

You straighten your shoulders as they approach, brushing your fingers along the edge of your mask like it could shield you from the sudden, raw tenderness that swells in your throat.

Diana is the first to reach you. Her hand finds yours without hesitation, fingers warm and strong, curling around yours like an anchor.

“You look breathtaking,” she says, her voice low and velvet-smooth, like the steady hum of storm clouds promising rain. “Though, I expected no less.”

A faint, genuine smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “Flattery from a literal goddess? Dangerous territory, Diana.”

Her eyes sparkle, amusement clear as water. “You’ve always been dangerous. Even at twelve, shadowing the Watchtower halls, wearing that Huntress suit far too big for you.”

Your cheeks flush lightly at the memory, and Diana’s thumb brushes the back of your hand, soothing, familiar.

“I thought it made me look taller,” you murmur.

“It made you look fearless,” she corrects, her gaze softening with something achingly maternal, threaded with pride. “You were always curious. Always watching. Always so sure of your place, even when the rest of us weren’t.”

Clark joins the circle then, his presence as gentle as it is commanding — all broad shoulders and boyish charm wrapped in the mild-mannered facade that never quite hides the steel beneath.

“You’ve grown,” he says warmly, eyes crinkling at the edges as they sweep over you. His voice is the same — low, steady, threaded with the kind of fatherly concern that makes something tight coil behind your ribs. “Not that I expected anything less. You were never exactly… subtle.”

You raise a brow. “Says the man who wore his underwear over his pants.”

Clark chuckles, the sound low and familiar. His hand settles briefly on your shoulder, grounding, gentle, the kind of touch you always wanted from your own father and never quite managed to receive.

“I see your sense of humor’s still sharp,” he says. His eyes soften as they linger on your face, quiet memory flickering there. “I remember when you were shorter than my belt.”

“I remember tripping you in the Watchtower training room.”

“Still have the bruises to prove it.”

The easy banter slices clean through the weight pressing against your chest, letting your lungs expand for the first time tonight.

It’s Diana, though, who reaches deeper — always has.

Her hand brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb grazing your cheek, her expression so openly fond you almost flinch.

“You used to cling to my lasso,” she teases gently. “Tug at it during debriefings. Sit beside me while I braided my hair and begged for stories.”

Your throat tightens. You remember that. Too vividly.

You remember curling at her side, wide-eyed, marveling at the myth spun from her lips — Amazonian battles, distant islands kissed by gods, the weight of justice worn like a crown.

She had made you feel seen. Small, yes, but capable. Curious. Full of fire.

You clear your throat lightly, swallowing the ache. “You never made me feel like a kid.”

Diana smiles, radiant and proud. “You never were.”

And it doesn't feel good hearing it.

Clark’s gaze lingers a little longer, soft, reflective, and then — a glint of amusement sharpens his expression.

“Conner’s around,” he says casually, but his tone carries the weight of knowing, the faintest nudge hidden beneath the words. “Have you seen him?”

Your brows lift, the reaction too quick to mask entirely. Your lips twitch in betrayal of your cool facade as the memory of the bar — the sparkling smirk, the teasing words, the shameless flirtation — slides uninvited through your mind.

You nod slowly, fingers wrapping around the stem of your forgotten glass.

“Briefly,” you say, careful, measured.

Clark’s smile deepens, equal parts teasing and gentle warning — the same look he used to shoot you when he caught you dangling too close to Conner’s orbit as teenagers.

“Good,” he says simply, but the implication curls around the space between you.

Diana chuckles under her breath, her sharp eyes not missing a thing.

“I see some habits are hard to break,” she muses, arching a brow at you.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Some people grow up,” you counter lightly. “Some people…”

Clark’s chuckle interrupts. “Conner still hasn’t figured out how to act his age.”

“He’s Kryptonian,” Diana adds. “Time never sits still for them.”

Your lips curve, the weight on your shoulders easing slightly under their warmth.

The conversation drifts, gentle, filled with quiet stories, brief updates, subtle glances that reassure and ground you. You listen, you smile, you let the nostalgia curl around your ribs like soft smoke.

But even as they speak, even as Clark’s familiar cadence fills the space, as Diana’s hand rests lightly at your arm, your father's voice turning serious once again, your gaze slips.

Across the room, past the glint of crystal chandeliers and silver-threaded gowns, you catch sight of him. Leaning casually against one of the marble pillars, drink in hand, eyes fixed unashamedly on you. His mouth quirks into that cocky, knowing grin that always made your pulse skip when you were younger — the same grin that’s sharper now, older, more dangerous in its charm.

Clark follows your gaze, hums softly, and doesn't say anything. But he smiles once you slip, orbiting towards Conner without a warning behind.

Conner stands there, smile curling lazy and confident at the corner of his mouth — but there’s something else, too. Something softer tucked behind the bold lines of his expression. Familiarity. Nervousness. The quiet sting of unspoken years.

“Could’ve sworn I saw you hiding,” he says, voice smooth as aged bourbon, that small Kansas lilt still lingering beneath the practiced ease. “But you? At a Wayne gala? Hiding? Doesn’t sound like the girl I used to know.”

Your brow arches automatically, muscle memory pulling the teasing into place. “Maybe you never knew me.”

“Unlikely,” Conner says, taking a slow step closer. His gaze sweeps over you, not leering — just… cataloguing. Memorizing. Like he’s re-learning old territory. “You were everywhere back then. Practically glued to my side.”

You roll your eyes lightly, but the ghost of a grin betrays you.

“You were lost,” you counter. “I’m a sucker for lost things.”

His smile deepens, warm and genuine, softening the edges of his sharp jawline.

“You were a sucker for projects,” he corrects, gesturing to the bar with his drink. “Wanna make me one again? Come grab a drink, Birdie.”

The nickname, stolen right from Dick’s vocabulary, makes something twist low in your stomach. From anyone else, it’d be obnoxious. From him? It rolls easy off his tongue. Teasing. Comfortable.

For a moment, you hesitate.

But it’s Conner. And with Conner, it’s always been different.

There’s a rhythm there. A flow. A space that never quite closed, even when distance, time, and your own stubbornness shoved everything else to the side.

You sigh dramatically, feigning reluctance.

“Fine,” you relent, brushing past him with enough proximity to let your shoulder graze his arm. “But only because I pity you.”

“Pity,” he echoes, falling into step beside you as you approach the bar. “Harsh.”

“True.”

The bartender barely blinks as you order — your drink, crisp and familiar, sliding across the marble with ease. Conner orders the same, his grin cocky but his eyes never straying far from yours.

“You clean up nice,” he says after a beat, his gaze drifting, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip. “Not that I didn’t know that already.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Bold of you to assume I need help.”

You snort softly, sipping your drink, the burn a welcome distraction as you tilt your head, studying him properly.

It’s unnerving, almost, how little he’s changed — and how much.

The broad shoulders, the sharp jawline, the easy charm that never fully disguised the insecurity curled behind his bravado — it’s all there. But there’s more weight now. More quiet steel in the way he carries himself. The recklessness tempered, if only slightly, by time.

“I thought Smallville boys were supposed to have manners.”

Conner grins, sharp and easy. “I was born in a lab. I missed the memo.”

You click your tongue, feigning disapproval.

And it’s too easy, slipping into the old rhythm, the way your shoulders settle, the way your tongue sharpens, how the years between you flicker and collapse like they were never there to begin with.

You remember the early days — how quickly you let him in, how you made it your mission to make him laugh, to teach him that he didn’t have to be a shadow of someone else.

You remember sitting too close on rooftops, fingers brushing when you passed him comms, pretending not to notice the flush that followed.

You remember wishing for something to happen. You remember how nothing ever did.

Until now.

Until you find yourself backed against the cool marble of the bathroom door, his breath warm and unsteady against your mouth, his hands splayed against the dip of your waist like he doesn’t quite know how to hold you but refuses to let you go.

It spiraled so quickly you barely remember leaving the bar.

One look, one lingering touch, one too-long stare that told you both exactly where this was heading.

Your fingers knot in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, daring him to press in like you’ve wanted him to since you were both kids playing dress-up in a world that always asked too much.

His mouth is rough against yours, all heat and unspoken years crashing together in the sharp clink of his belt against the counter, your breaths coming too fast, too close.

You bite his lip, hard enough to make him grunt against your mouth, and he laughs through it, a low, breathless sound that sends heat crawling up your throat.

“You kiss like you fight,” he mutters against your jaw, his hands sliding up your back, pressing you closer, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again.

You tilt your head back, breath ragged, the faintest smirk curling your lips despite the heat twisting under your skin. The mask not longer in your face, neither the one in his. Both of them thrown in the counter.

“And how exactly is that, Kent?”

His mouth finds your pulse, the scrape of his teeth making your knees threaten to buckle, the low rumble of his voice vibrating against your skin.

“Sharp,” he breathes. “Stubborn. Dangerous.”

Your laugh catches, breathless and sharp, your nails scraping lightly along the nape of his neck, threading into the short, slightly curled, dark strands of his hair.

Conner’s body hums against yours. His hands shift, one trailing up your spine until his palm corners around your shoulder blade, the other sliding lower, anchoring against your hip. His grip is neither timid nor assured — more like remarkable desperation distilled into two hands trying too hard not to let go.

“I should be offended.”

“You should be flattered.”

You don’t get a chance to retort — his mouth captures yours again, more certain now, like the floodgate’s been ripped off its hinges and he’s done pretending this isn’t happening.

The kiss is everything it shouldn’t be.

Messy. Unrestrained. All teeth and tangled promises never spoken aloud.

His hands skim your ribs, the warmth of his palms steady through the thin fabric of your dress, fingers spreading along your sides like he’s trying to memorize every inch, every curve, every soft line you’ve spent years perfecting beneath layers of distance and pride.

You fist your hand in the collar of his jacket, dragging him impossibly closer, your teeth catching his lower lip again — softer this time, deliberate — and the sound he makes is nothing short of sinful.

“Years,” he mumbles against your mouth, his forehead pressing to yours between rushed kisses. His voice is rough, strained, frustration bleeding through. “Do you have any idea how long—”

“Yeah,” you interrupt, breathing hard, your other hand sliding along his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “I do.”

You kiss him again before he can speak, shutting him up with the easy, reckless confidence that’s always defined your connection — all edges and unspoken history threatening to spill over.

His tongue traces yours, exploratory, familiar and new all at once, the kiss deepening with every second you let yourself sink into it until you’re dizzy from lack of air, from the heat coiling low in your belly, from the years of pretending this didn’t simmer beneath the surface.

The marble at your back is cold. His hands are not.

One slips to your lower back, the other tangling in your hair, and he pulls you to him with that careful, near-desperate possessiveness that makes your chest ache in places you thought you’d fortified long ago.

You break apart for air, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths tangled, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth — smudging lipstick, maybe, but you don’t care.

“God,” he breathes, grinning despite the mess of you both, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. “You’re… still impossible.”

Your lips quirk, your fingers lightly tapping his chest.

“And you’re still predictable.”

He chuckles, the sound soft, his thumb ghosting along your cheek.

“Wanna do something predictably stupid and kiss me again?”

You don’t answer.

You just yank him back down, mouth slanting over his with practiced ease, your teeth nipping playfully, your laugh muffled against his lips as he groans, his grip tightening just enough to remind you exactly how much he could crush you if he wanted — how much he doesn’t.

Because with you? It’s always been careful chaos. Messy, reckless, but never cruel. Never careless.

He kisses you like he’s spent years waiting to.

Like he’s making up for lost time with every scrape of teeth, every hurried press of lips, every breathless noise that slips between you.

It’s addictive — the weight of him pressing you to the wall, the warmth of his hand at your hip, the certainty in the way he moves now, all hesitation stripped away.

And for all your bravado, for all your practiced indifference, you let yourself sink into it — let yourself feel him, familiar and dangerous, the one person who ever made you forget the Huntress mask and the Wayne name and the fractured pieces that came with both.

Your fingers slide along the edge of his jaw, memorizing, grounding, your nails scraping lightly along his skin as you pull back just enough to breathe.

His eyes stay locked to yours, intense, blue, unwavering.

For a beat, neither of you speak.

Then, softer, quieter, his thumb brushes your cheek again.

“Missed you,” he says, the words slipping out like confession, raw and honest and untethered.

You swallow hard, throat tight, years pressing heavy against your chest.

Your hand curls into his shirt, fingers tightening slightly.

“Don’t make this complicated, Kent.”

His smile is small, but it never reaches his eyes.

“With you?” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the words a ghost of a promise. “It’s already complicated.”

You don’t kiss him again.

Not yet.

But your hand doesn’t move. And neither does he. And the space between you? Still dangerous.

You don't think you care.

#batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batsis #batfam x neglected reader #batsis reader #platonic yandere #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batboys #neglected reader #yandere batfam x neglected reader #my heart #conner kent x reader

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spangelmybeloved · 1 year ago

Text

seriously, if you're complaining about how much you hate [X character], please tag that stuff "anti [X character]" instead of "[X character]". Some of you don't know any better but I'm honestly convinced that some of y'all are doing it on purpose so that your flame bait gets put in front of the people who least want to see it. I'm not saying to not to whine about whatever character/ship you hate, just to tag it correctly so that the people who follow the tag cause that's their blorbo don't have to see it. Please and thank you.

#tumblr.hell #tagging #fandom stuff #just. tag. it. correctly. it's. not. hard.

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asce-of-hearts · 7 months ago

Note

Request time has come again!

May I please request a

Yan!Boa, Yan! Buggy, Yan! Shanks, and Yan Marco!

(separately please)

Who are hunting down their gn darling after said darling escaped from them.

Please and Thank you!🙏 (Sry for any spelling errors)

Hunt

contents: Yan!Boa, Yan!Buggy, Yan!Shanks and Yan!Marco hunting down their darling after they've escaped (gn!reader)

more Marco content here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: YANDERE

Boa Hancock

You can hear stone crumble and break under her strength, her heavy breathing as she searches for you. It was foolish from your part, really, to think you could actually hide from her inside the jungle mess of rocks and ruins that surround you. You try to steady your heartbeat, afraid the incessant pounding inside your chest will rat you out.

"Why are you doing this to me, my dear?" She asks, almost crying. "I love you so much, my love. So why are you doing this to me!?" She wails, her leg puncturing another rock, who crumbles to dust after a few seconds. "Come out! Come out in this instant!"

You can hear her snarling and crying, wailing time after time whenever she doesn't find you. But she can sense you, feel you, you're somewhere around here, she just has to find out where.

"I should've just turned you into rock when I had the chance! At least as a fucking statue you wouldn't be doing this to me!" She cries out, laughing humorlessly. "Maybe I'll do it once I find you, my dear."

A rock dangerously close to you crumbles to dust with a loud, sickening crack. You gasp, pressing your hands over your mouth to avoid screaming. You close your eyes, feeling how your heart stops for a second at this. And then there's quiet, only her soft sobbing in the background. You think you're safe, that she's about to give up.

Then you feel it, or rather not, you can't feel your legs. When you look at them, they're slowly turning into stone. You look behind you, trying to stand up, only to find her shadow looming over you.

"Found you, my dear."

Buggy the Star Clown

"I promise you, this isn't as a good idea as you think it is." He says in a chuckle, his footsteps echoing around the big top. "I know this place like the back of my hand, and even if I didn't, I'd have my crew searching for you. So... can you come out now?"

He already knows where you are, the floor is dirt and you weren't smart enough to cover your tracks correctly. He already knows the exact location, so he's frankly just exasperated. He had trusted you enough to not tie you up and leave you stranded, but then again, he shouldn't have.

"I'm going to throw a knife," he speaks again, his voice cracking a little, he's tweaking really, there's nothing he would love more than to pounce over you for a second. "I'm going to throw multiple knives, actually, and if one of them lands over where you're hiding, you're going to come out."

The sound of blades traveling through the air makes you flinch, covering your head as you curl up and duck next to the barrels you're hiding within. You can feel hot, salty tears running down your cheeks. But none of them landed where you are, so you're safe for now.

"Here I go again, ready?" He asks, almost condescending. "If you don't come out when I give you the chance. I will go looking for you, ___." That's a threat, but you just hope he doesn't find you, you pray for it. You hear the blades cutting through the air again, how they thud thud thud as they stick over other objects. Has he missed again? You only count two knives out of the three he usually throws. You try to search for the sound of the last knife.

The knife sticks right on the barrel behind you.

"Red Haired" Shanks

"Where are you going?" He asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as you freeze in place. You thought when the captain was sleeping was a good time to sneak away, apparently it wasn't.

"To... To get- uhm... some fresh air." You murmur, not facing him. Clutching the stuff on your little bag against your chest.

"And what are you carrying with you?" He cocks a brow, already rising from the bed.

"A... book. And a blanket." You lie through your teeth.

You can hear the creaking of the wood as he walks closer to you, how the ocean gently rocks the boat you're both inside.

"Not funny. Leave your stuff and come back to bed before I make you pass out." His hand is placed over your shoulder, a gentle squeeze to remind you just who is it that you're going to fight against. "You don't stand a chance, don't even think about it."

"Please."

"You have three seconds, ___" His voice is a low growl, and you don't know if he's giving you time to run or to come back to him. You're not taking any chances, you feel like a little rabbit in front of a much larger predator, your feet leap off the floor as you make a run for the door.

Your fingers grace the handle, and then, everything goes black.

Phoenix Marco

"You're burning me!" You squeal as he pins your wrists to the ground, tackling you. His eyes are wide, breathing heavily through his mouth.

"I know," He murmurs, detached, cold. But he doesn't stop, your nails dig into the soil, dirt creeping underneath as you try to crawl away. It's only when the stench of burnt hair reaches his nostrils that he pulls away. "I'll burn you again if you try to run."

Your mind goes blank, freezing in place as those blue flames surround you in an inescapable ring of fire. You only sigh, your forehead pressed to the ground as you sob.

"I've already lost so much, you know?" He says, gently tucking away your hair from the back of your neck, softly pressing a kiss there. "I can't keep letting you do this, ___. I try to be lenient, but you make it so difficult sometimes."

"Then let me leave."

"No. For the love of all things holy, what part of no don't you understand?" He asks, much more harshly. His glasses are all stained, he's barely able to see your shaking form through the grime that now covers them. He grits his teeth, trying to keep calm. "I'm not letting you leave, because something bad will happen to you, something bad always happens when I'm not there to help."

"I don't need your help!" You scream, your clothes are covered in dirt and grass. You cry, he flips you over, now facing him.

"But you will," He says with a gentle smile, his warm hands removing the tears from your face, only leaving a cloud of mist behind.

"And I'm not taking any chances, my dove."

hope you enjoyed this!!

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @bookandyarndragon @goldenglow149 @voidthewriting @420a1lday @coolnekochan9961

@chercheryblossomsweet @florcxo @mimihaitani @yukimutsu @lurexin

@hbk99450 @stranger00001 @kitzusune @3v37773 @hannas16

@shmyek @massivepenguinunknown @anieluvs @eroscastle @DelicatelyCraftedBambi

@yeonieesss @mizzhellsingsstuff @cherycheryblossomsweet

Like my works? Join the TAG LIST! (please write your @ correctly or else the tag won't work)

#asce of hearts #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #yandere boa hancock #boa hancock x reader #yandere buggy #buggy x reader #yandere shanks #shanks x reader #yandere marco #yandere boa hancock x reader #yandere buggy x reader #yandere shanks x reader #yandere marco x reader #phoenix marco x reader

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avdxl · 2 months ago

Text

Shanks X Reader X Beckman -18+- Smut

A/N: I tried posting this months ago to show i wasn't gone but it wouldn't show up in tags and then other stuff happens, but great news.. I'm still here. Sad news: I no longer have access to a laptop so the format might be weird from now on. This is technically a part II to the Red King's Prize but I feel like Shanks is too nice.

Warnings: ummm if I remember correctly. Dp, anal, being tied up. Let me know what I missed

Y/N lay on her back, sweat glistening on her naked body, panting heavily as she stared at the ceiling above her. Her wrists were bound tightly to the frame of the bed with rope, leaving her completely at the mercy of the man standing before her. Shanks, the legendary captain of the Red-Haired Pirates, loomed over her, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in her wanton display. His piercing gaze was the only thing keeping her anchored in reality, the rest of her senses consumed by the raging sea of lust that had become their daily ritual.

"You're a wild one, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very air of the cramped cabin. "It's been over a month, and you still can't get enough."

Her breath hitched as she felt the tip of his cock, thick and hot, press against her entrance. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, her body craving the familiar invasion that had become a strange comfort in this tumultuous world.

"Please," she managed to whimper, her voice hoarse from the endless hours of screaming and moaning that had become the soundtrack of her captivity. "I need it."

Shanks chuckled, his calloused hand caressing the side of her face gently. "And you shall have it, my dear," he said, leaning down to claim her lips in a bruising kiss that sent sparks of pleasure racing through her body.

He didn't waste any time, plunging into her with a ferocity that made her eyes roll back. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, punctuated by her cries of pleasure. His hand gripped her hips, lifting her off the bed with every thrust, driving himself deeper and deeper until she was sure she'd be split in two.

The door to the cabin swung open, revealing Beckman, Shanks' stoic first mate. He walked in with his usual air of authority, his eyes immediately drawn to the scene unfolding before him. Y/N felt a momentary pang of embarrassment, but it was quickly drowned out by the waves of pleasure that crashed over her. Beckman didn't even break stride, moving to the chart table in the corner of the room as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

"Captain," Beckman began, his voice businesslike despite the erotic symphony playing out just a few feet away. "We're making good time, but we're going to need to make a stop for supplies soon."

Shanks didn't break his rhythm, his eyes locked on Y/N's as he pounded into her. "Understood," he grunted, his voice strained. "Plot a course for the nearest port and prepare the crew."

Y/N's breasts bounced with every thrust, and she arched her back to give him better access. She could feel his cock stretching her, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, and she knew she wouldn't last much longer. Her eyes met Beckman's, and she was surprised to find a hint of heat in his gaze. He watched them with a detached interest, his hand casually adjusting his trousers.

Her breath grew ragged as she approached her climax, her pussy tightening around Shanks' cock. He noticed the change in her and grinned, his pace becoming more erratic as he chased his own release. Beckman cleared his throat, breaking the spell between them.

"I'll leave you to your... business," Beckman said, his eyes flicking down to their joined bodies before he turned away to the charts.

The cabin door closed behind him, leaving them in their private world once more. Shanks leaned down, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You like having an audience, don't you?" he whispered, his voice dark with lust.

Y/N shivered, her body responding to his words. "It makes me feel... used," she admitted, her voice a breathy whisper.

He chuckled, his strokes becoming harder and more deliberate. "Good," he said, his breath hot against her neck. "That's exactly what you are."

The pressure inside her built, coiling tighter and tighter until she could no longer contain it. She screamed his name as she came, her body spasming around him. Shanks followed her over the edge, his own orgasm tearing through him like a storm.

But even as her tremors subsided, she knew it wasn't over. He hadn't given her permission to cum yet. He hadn't even finished speaking. Her eyes widened with fear and excitement as she felt him pull out of her, her body already mourning the loss of his thickness.

"You forgot to ask, didn't you?" he said, his tone mockingly disappointed. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You're going to have to make it up to me."

Y/N swallowed hard, her body already responding to the challenge in his voice. She knew what was coming next, and she was both terrified and exhilarated by it. "What do you want?" she panted, her voice shaking slightly.

"I want you to cum for me," he said, his grip on her chin tightening. "Again and again, until I say you've had enough." His eyes were dark with desire, and she could see the glint of something primal in their depths. "Do you think you can handle that?"

Without waiting for an answer, he flipped her onto her stomach and pushed her legs apart, his cock sliding back into her slick warmth. He began to thrust again, harder and faster than before. She bit her lip to keep from screaming, her body already sensitive from their earlier exertions.

He reached around to play with her clit, his thumb flicking the swollen bud mercilessly. She felt herself climbing again, her walls tightening around his shaft. He groaned, his movements becoming more erratic as he felt her building towards another orgasm.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a harsh rasp in her ear. "Keep going."

Her orgasm washed over her, stealing her breath and leaving her trembling beneath him. But he didn't stop, his cock never losing its punishing rhythm. He continued to pump into her, pushing her past her limits until she thought she couldn't take anymore.

Y/N's body was a tapestry of sensation, every nerve ending alight with pleasure and pain. She could feel her pussy clenching around him, begging for release even as she was denied it. She knew she was going to have to cum again, and again, and again until he was satisfied.

The room spun around her as she reached for another peak, her body a playground for his whims. Each time she thought she couldn't possibly go on, she felt his hand tighten on her hip, urging her closer to the edge.

Her breasts flattened against the mattress with every thrust, and she felt him spread her cheeks, his thumb teasing her tight anus. The sudden sensation made her gasp, her eyes flying open to meet his in the mirror across the room. He watched her with an intensity that was almost terrifying, his own need for her clear in every line of his body.

"Do you want more?" he asked, his voice low and guttural.

She nodded, unable to form words. She was his to use, his to take, and she craved every inch of him.

Without warning, he pushed inside her, filling her in a way she hadn't thought possible. She screamed, the pain mixing with the pleasure until she couldn't tell the difference. He began to move, his strokes long and deep, filling her completely.

Her body responded to his invasion, her pussy clenching around his cock as he claimed her in this new, forbidden way. The feeling was intense, and she knew she was going to cum again.

"Ask for it," he ordered, his voice a harsh whisper in her ear. "Beg me to let you cum."

"Please," she choked out, her voice barely recognizable. "Please, let me cum."

He chuckled, his hand reaching around to pinch her clit again. "Not yet," he said, his voice a dark promise. "You're going to cum when I tell you to."

Her body was a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. She could feel the orgasm building, threatening to consume her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming sensations.

Finally, with one last brutal thrust, he released some of his haki, sending a jolt of energy through her body. It was a command she couldn't resist, and she erupted around him, her orgasm ripping through her with the force of a tempest. Her body convulsed, muscles tightening and releasing in an endless symphony of pleasure as she screamed his name over and over.

Shanks' grin grew wider as he watched the pleasure paint Y/N's features, her body responding so beautifully to his power. He felt his own climax approaching, and he knew she was going to feel every bit of it.

He pulled out of her, his cock slick with their combined juices. Without missing a beat, he turned her over and straddled her face, pushing himself back into her mouth. She eagerly took him, her tongue swirling around the head, tasting herself on him.

With his cock buried in her throat, he reached down to her soaking pussy, plunging his fingers inside. She moaned around him, the sensation making her eyes water. He began to pump his fingers in and out, his thumb working her clit in a merciless rhythm that had her hips bucking up off the bed.

He could feel her building again, her moans growing louder, her body trembling. He leaned down, his hand still working her, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're going to cum for me," he said, his voice a dark promise. "And you're going to swallow every drop."

Y/N nodded, her eyes glazed with desire. She was his to command, his to use until he was satisfied. And as she felt his cock pulse and swell in her mouth, she knew that she was going to be used until she couldn't take anymore.

Her body tensed as she felt another orgasm approaching, her pussy spasming around his fingers. He groaned, the vibrations sending shockwaves through his cock. He could feel the warmth of his seed rising, and he knew it was time.

With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the ship, he came, his semen filling her mouth. She swallowed greedily, her own orgasm crashing over her as he emptied himself into her. He collapsed onto the bed beside her, his body heavy with satisfaction.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by their ragged breathing. Then, with a wicked smile, he reached over and released her wrists, pulling her into his chest. "You never disappoint, my little treasure," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Y/N lay there, her body limp and sated, feeling more alive than she ever had before. The fear and anger she'd felt upon her capture had long since faded into the background, replaced by a need for this man that consumed her.

He rolled her onto her side, his cock still semi-hard against her thigh. "You know," he said, his voice lazy with contentment, "I think I might just keep you forever."

Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. Part of her was terrified of what that meant, but another part was thrilled by the prospect of being his, to be used and pleasured in ways she'd never imagined. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and desire. "I'm yours," she whispered, and she meant it with every fiber of her being.

Shanks chuckled, his hand running down her side to cup her breast. "Good," he said, his thumb circling her nipple. "Because I have a feeling we're going to have a very... interesting time together."

The next morning, Y/N awoke to the rocking of the ship and the gentle light filtering through the cabin's windows. She was sore, every inch of her body a testament to the night's activities. But as she felt Shanks' arm around her, his warmth seeping into her, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of belonging.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Y/N became more and more accustomed to her new life. The railing and fucking never ceased, but she grew to crave it, her body waking up each day hungry for his touch.

The other members of the crew knew better than to disturb them, their respect for their captain's privacy unwavering. That night, the moon cast a silver glow over the quiet deck, the only sound the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. Shanks had chosen the perfect setting for his latest conquest, his captain's chair a throne from which he could claim his prize.

Y/N, dressed in nothing but the barest of scraps that barely covered her, was led to the chair with a firm grip on her arm. The cool breeze kissed her skin, making her nipples peak as she was positioned over him. He sat with his legs spread, his cock standing tall and proud, gleaming in the moonlight. The sight of him made her wet with anticipation, her pussy clenching in need.

With a grin that promised both pleasure and pain, Shanks guided her onto his lap, the chair's wooden frame groaning beneath them. She gasped as he filled her, the sensation of being fucked in such an open space sending shivers down her spine. The salty air mingled with their scents, the smell of the sea and their passionate union.

He began to rock her hips, setting a pace that had her bouncing on his cock. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through her, her moans echoing across the deserted deck. She clung to the chair's armrests, her eyes never leaving his as she took him deeper and deeper, her body moving in a rhythm as old as the ocean itself.

The chair creaked in protest under the force of their passion, but Shanks was relentless. He loved watching her take him, her breasts jiggling with each bounce, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. He could feel her orgasm building, her muscles tightening around him like a fist.

With a snarl, he grabbed her, pushing her down harder and faster. The chair squeaked in time with their movements, a testament to their unbridled lust. She threw her head back, her long hair trailing in the breeze as she screamed out her release.

But he wasn't done with her yet. He flipped her over, bending her over the chair's armrest. She was wet and willing, her pussy begging for more. He slammed into her from behind, her ass cheeks rippling with each thrust. The sound of their flesh slapping together filled the night air, a symphony of desire that was music to his ears.

Y/N's moans grew more desperate, her body moving of its own accord as she met his every thrust. She could feel another orgasm building, her pussy clenching around his thickness. He reached around, his hand finding her clit, and began to rub it in time with his strokes.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body shaking as she came on his cock. But still, he didn't stop, his strokes growing more erratic as he approached his own climax. She felt him tense, his grip on her hips tightening, and then he was coming inside her, filling her with his warmth.

They collapsed into the chair, both panting heavily. The night air was cool on their sweat-drenched skin, a stark contrast to the heat that still pulsed between their legs. He kissed the back of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice low and possessive.

Y/N nodded, her body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. "Always," she whispered back, her voice filled with a need that went beyond mere lust.

They remained there, entwined in each other's arms, as the ship sliced through the dark waters, their passion a beacon in the vast emptiness of the ocean. The world outside of their little bubble didn't matter; all that existed was the two of them, the relentless throb of their hearts, and the sweet ache of desire that never truly abated. But as the days grew longer and the horizon unchanging, Y/N began to feel the first stirrings of a need to claim some semblance of power in their twisted dynamic.

The next time Shanks approached her with that hungry look in his eye, she didn't shrink back as she usually did. Instead, she met his gaze with a challenge of her own, a smoldering fire burning deep within her. He raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. "What's gotten into you?" he growled, his voice thick with arousal.

Y/N smirked, pushing herself off the bed to stand before him, her naked body swaying slightly with the movement of the ship. "I've decided," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "I want to be the one in control this time."

Shanks stepped back, his cock twitching with interest. He folded his arm across his broad chest, the muscles rippling. "Is that so?" he asked, the smirk on his face growing wider. "You think you can handle me?"

Y/N nodded, a determined glint in her eyes. She reached out, her hand wrapping around the base of his shaft. He was already hard for her, his desire clear as day. She began to stroke him, her hand moving with a confidence she hadn't had before. She watched his reaction closely, her heart racing as she felt his body respond to her touch.

With each stroke, she grew bolder, her hand moving faster, her grip tightening. He groaned, his eyes closing in pleasure. But she didn't stop there. She dropped to her knees, taking him into her mouth. She could feel his muscles tense, his breath catching as she took him deeper and deeper.

It was a heady feeling, knowing that she could make this powerful man tremble with just her mouth and hands. She used her tongue to tease him, swirling it around his head, flicking it against his slit. His hips jerked, his hands finding her hair as he tried to control the pace, but she resisted, setting her own rhythm.

As she felt him getting close, she pulled back, his cock glistening with her saliva. She looked up at him, her eyes never leaving his. "You want to cum?" she asked, her voice a taunt. "You're going to have to work for it."

Shanks' eyes narrowed, the challenge in her tone fueling his own desire. He didn't argue but, his own need to be in charge was still strong. But this time, it was tinged with something new - excitement.

Y/N pushed him back onto the bed, her body straddling his. She lowered herself onto his cock, feeling him fill her completely. It was a delicious sensation, one she hadn't experienced in this position before. She began to move, her hips rolling in a sensual dance that had him groaning beneath her.

He watched her, his eyes never leaving hers as she took control. It was intoxicating, seeing her like this - fierce, unbridled, and utterly irresistible. He could feel the power shifting between them, the lines of dominance blurring as she set the pace.

With every stroke, she could feel herself growing closer to the edge. But she didn't want to cum yet. She wanted to push him further, to see just how much he could take. So she reached down, her hand finding her clit, and began to rub it in time with her movements. The sensation was unbearable, her body begging for release.

Shanks' eyes darkened, his grip on the bedframe tightening as he watched her. He could see the determination in her eyes, the need to make him lose control. And as much as he enjoyed watching her take charge, he knew he couldn't let her have all the fun.

With a growl, he flipped her onto her back, his cock never leaving her body. She gasped in surprise, her eyes wide with excitement. He leaned over her, his teeth grazing her neck as he whispered, "You want to play games, love?" His voice was low and dangerous, a warning of the storm that was brewing within him.

Y/N nodded, her chest heaving with anticipation. "Yes," she breathed. "I want to make you crazy for me."

Shanks chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Oh, you already have," he said, his eyes glinting with lust. He began to move again, his thrusts deep and punishing. He could feel the power of his haki building, a force that he usually reserved for battle.

But tonight, it was all for her. He slammed into her, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing through the cabin. Each time he bottomed out, she felt an aftershock ripple through her, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had her nails digging into his back.

Her eyes rolled back, her moans lost to the pounding of their bodies. It was as if she was riding a wild beast, one that was determined to claim her completely. He was relentless, his cock hitting places inside her she didn't know existed.

And with every stroke, she could feel herself losing control. Her orgasm was approaching like a freight train, unstoppable and all-consuming. "Oh, gods," she screamed, her body arching off the bed.

But he wasn't done with her yet. He reached down, his thumb pressing hard against her clit. The sensation was too much, and she shattered around him, her body convulsing with pleasure. He continued to pound into her, using her climax to drive her even higher.

Y/N's eyes flew open as she felt a second orgasm building, more intense than the first. Her pussy clamped down on his cock, her walls fluttering with the beginnings of release. Shanks leaned back, his arm wrapped around her as he watched her come apart.

The sight of her, lost in ecstasy, was more than he could bear. With one final, brutal thrust, he came inside her, his seed filling her to the brim. Her body trembled with the force of it, her eyes locked on his as she felt the aftershocks of his own release.

For a moment, there was only silence, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. Then, with a roar that could be heard throughout the ship, he pulled out of her, his cock still pulsing with the last vestiges of his climax.

Y/N lay there, her body spent, her mind racing. She'd never felt so alive, so consumed by pleasure. And she knew, deep down, that she was falling for him, despite the circumstances of their union.

Shanks leaned down, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue claiming her as thoroughly as his cock had just moments before. "You're mine," he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. "Forever and always."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear and excitement. But as she looked into his eyes, she knew it was true. She was his, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

The nights grew longer, their sessions more intense. Shanks' obsession with her grew, his hunger for her insatiable. He took her in every way imaginable, pushing her body to new heights of pleasure and pain.

Yet she craved it, her own desires matching his in their intensity. She found herself initiating their encounters, eager to feel his dominance, his possession. And every time she did, she felt a little more of herself slipping away, replaced by this creature of passion that only he could satisfy.

One evening, as the sun set in a blaze of red and gold across the horizon, Shanks decided to take their games to a new level. He called for Beckman, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very air.

Beckman entered the cabin, his eyes immediately going to the bound and naked Y/N. She felt a thrill of fear mingled with excitement, her body responding to the unspoken threat in Shanks' tone. She could feel the captain's cock pressing against her, already hard at the thought of sharing her with his first mate.

Shanks positioned her against the headboard, her legs draped over his, her back arched and her pussy exposed to Beckman's hungry gaze. "Go ahead," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Take what's yours."

Beckman didn't need a second invitation. He dropped to his knees before her, his eyes locked on the glistening folds of her sex. He inhaled deeply, the scent of their combined arousal thick in the air. His tongue flicked out, tasting her, and she shuddered at the sensation.

Shanks wrapped his arm around her, his hand finding her breasts. He began to knead them roughly, his thumb flicking her nipples until they were hard and sensitive. She could feel his cock pulsing against her back, his breath hot on her neck as he whispered dark, dirty things in her ear.

Beckman's tongue delved into her, exploring every inch of her with a hunger that was almost terrifying. He licked and sucked, driving her closer and closer to the edge. Y/N moaned, her body a live wire of sensation as she felt herself building to another orgasm.

But before she could come, Shanks pulled her back, his teeth grazing her ear. "Not yet," he growled. "I want to feel you cum around my cock."

He grabbed her legs, folding them back until they were almost touching his ears. The stretch was exquisite, her pussy open and vulnerable to his gaze. Beckman took a moment to appreciate the view before diving back in, his tongue swirling around her clit as if it were a precious jewel.

Shanks leaned back, his cock still hard and demanding. He watched Beckman worship her, his eyes never leaving Y/N's face. "You like that, don't you?" he asked, his voice thick with lust. "You like having two cocks to play with?"

Y/N could only nod, her breath coming in pants. She'd never felt so exposed, so used, and yet she craved it. She craved them both, the two men who had come to define her existence on this ship.

With a wicked grin, Shanks reached down and inserted two fingers into her pussy, curling them up to hit her g-spot. She screamed, her body jerking as she felt the orgasm crest. Beckman didn't stop, his tongue lapping at her clit as if he could taste her pleasure.

Then, with a wicked twist of his hand, Shanks pulled her cheeks apart, revealing her tight, untouched hole. "Now, Beckman," he said, his voice a dark command. "Make her ready for me."

Beckman's eyes glinted with lust as he withdrew his mouth from her pussy. He took Shanks' hand and brought it to his own mouth, licking her juices off his fingers before moving to her anus. He spat onto his hand and then began to push his fingers into her tight channel, stretching her open.

Y/N's eyes went wide with shock and arousal as she felt Beckman's thick fingers push into her ass. The sensation was strange, foreign, and yet it made her pussy clench around Shanks' digits. She could feel the head of Shanks' cock nudging at her entrance, demanding entry.

With a groan, Beckman added a third finger, scissoring them to loosen her up. She felt herself stretching, her body desperately trying to accommodate the intrusion.

Shanks watched with hungry eyes, his cock twitching with anticipation. "You're going to take both of us," he said, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You're going to be our little fuck toy, aren't you?"

Y/N nodded, unable to form coherent words as Beckman's fingers worked their magic. The pleasure was building again, her body begging for more. And then, without warning, Beckman's mouth was back on her pussy, his tongue lashing at her clit as he continued to finger her ass.

The sensation was overwhelming, her body no longer her own as she was bombarded with waves of pleasure. She could feel Beckman's breath hot on her skin as he licked and sucked, his tongue flicking against her sensitive bud with expert precision.

Shanks leaned in, his teeth nipping at her neck as he whispered, "You're going to be our little slut, aren't you?" The words sent a thrill through her, and she knew she was going to come again, harder than ever before.

With one final, brutal thrust of his fingers, Beckman pushed her over the edge. Y/N screamed as she climaxed, her body shaking with the force of it. But she didn't get to bask in the afterglow for long.

Shanks lifted her hips, his cock now poised at her tight anus. The head nudged against her, the pressure building until she thought she'd break. Beckman's tongue flicked against her clit, never stopping, keeping her body on edge.

And then, with a single, powerful push, Shanks was inside her, his cock stretching her wide as he filled her completely. Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head, her screams lost in Beckman's mouth as she was claimed in the most intimate of ways.

Beckman didn't let up, his tongue and teeth playing with her clit as she was impaled on Shanks' cock. She could feel every inch of him, the burn of his invasion mixing with the sweet agony of Beckman's relentless teasing. It was too much, and yet she never wanted it to end.

Shanks began to move, his hips rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had her seeing stars. She could feel Beckman's breath on her clit, feel his fingers buried in her pussy as he worked her closer and closer to another peak.

The two men moved in concert, a dance of dominance and submission that she found herself eagerly participating in. Her body was their plaything, their canvas for pleasure, and she reveled in it.

As Shanks picked up speed, she could feel Beckman's fingers curling, his own need growing. He was close, she knew it, and the thought of making him come was almost too much to bear. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her ass tightening around Shanks' cock.

And then Beckman was withdrawing, his face a mask of pleasure as he stood and unbuckled his pants. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, and she watched as he stroked it, the precum glistening in the lamplight.

Shanks' movements grew more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants as he fucked her with everything he had. He was close, she could feel it, his cock swelling inside her.

With a roar, Beckman slammed his cock into her pussy, his thrusts matching Shanks' as they claimed her together. The sensation was indescribable, the fullness making her feel complete in a way she never had before.

Y/N's body was a writhing mess of pleasure, her cries of ecstasy echoing through the cabin. She could feel the orgasm building again, a monster that threatened to consume her whole. And as they pounded into her, as she felt their cocks rub together through the thin barrier of her walls, she knew she was going to shatter.

Shanks' grip on her hips tightened, his movements becoming more frenzied. He was close, so close, and she could feel his cock swelling even more inside her ass. And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he came, his seed filling her as Beckman's cock emptied into her pussy.

Their combined releases triggered her own, a supernova of pleasure that had her body convulsing uncontrollably. She came around Beckman's cock, her orgasm milking him for every drop.

But Beckman was like a dog in heat, his need for her unquenchable. He didn't stop, didn't even pause, his hips still moving in a frenzied rhythm as he pounded into her. The sound of their flesh slapping together was like a drumbeat, driving her closer and closer to the edge once more.

Shanks watched with a mix of satisfaction and hunger, his own cock still buried in her ass. He could feel Beckman's weight on top of her, the way his body trembled with each thrust. It was an erotic sight, one that made his own desire flare anew.

Y/N's eyes rolled back, her mouth open in a silent scream as Beckman continued to fuck her, his cock seemingly never-ending. She could feel herself tightening around him, her muscles trying to pull him deeper.

And then, with a final, desperate thrust, Beckman came, his seed mixing with Shanks' as it leaked down. His body went slack, his weight pressing her into the bed.

Shanks took the opportunity to withdraw, his cock slipping from her ass with an obscene wet sound. He watched as Beckman pulled out, his own cock still hard and demanding. He knew he wasn't done with her yet.

With a smirk, he handed her over to Beckman, her body a warm, trembling mess of pleasure. Beckman took her in his arms, his cock still throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He could see the hunger in Shanks' eyes, knew what was coming next.

Shanks stood up, his cock still coated in her juices. He reached for a cloth, wiping it clean as he contemplated his next move. His mind was racing with ideas, each one more depraved than the last.

Y/N lay there, panting, her eyes never leaving Shanks as he moved around the cabin. There was something in his gaze that had her pulse racing, a hint of a plan that had her insides quivering with anticipation.

He strode back to the bed, his eyes locked on hers. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice a dark promise. "Not until we're both satisfied."

Beckman chuckled, his grip on her tightening. "And I'm not done with you yet," he said, his voice a low growl.

Shanks climbed onto the bed, his cock still hard and slick from their previous encounter. He positioned himself above her, his eyes never leaving hers as he slid into her.

The feeling was exquisite, a mix of pain and pleasure that had her eyes rolling back. She could feel Beckman's cock at her pussy, his own need to claim her once more evident.

Without a word, Shanks reached down and pushed Beckman's cock into her, the two of them filling her completely. She was theirs, utterly and completely, and she reveled in the feeling of being taken by two powerful men.

Their rhythm was erratic, a dance of pleasure that had her body singing with need. She could feel their muscles tense, their breath hot on her skin as they worked towards their climaxes.

And then, as if on cue, they both began to move in unison, their thrusts driving into her in perfect harmony. She was the center of their world, a focal point of lust and desire that she never wanted to leave.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt herself stretched to accommodate both Shanks and Beckman. It was a feeling she'd never experienced before, one that bordered on pain but was drenched in a pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable. She could feel their cocks sliding against each other, their movements creating a delicious friction that sent shockwaves through her body.

Their grunts and moans filled the cabin, a cacophony of need and pleasure that had her pussy clenching around them. She could feel the muscles in her ass and pussy stretching to their limits, the burn of their entry melding with the slickness of Beckman's cum.

The men took turns pounding into her, their cocks sliding in and out with a wet, sucking sound that only served to drive her higher. She could feel her orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that was threatening to consume her.

But she didn't want it to end, not yet. She wanted to feel them both, to know she could take them both and still crave more. So she pushed back against them, her hips rising to meet each thrust, her body moving in a symphony of lust.

Their movements grew more frantic, their breathing more ragged. She could feel the tension in their bodies, the way their muscles coiled like springs ready to release. And as they drove into her, she could feel the beginnings of their climaxes.

Shanks' strokes grew deeper, his cock hitting that spot inside her that had her seeing stars. Beckman's grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he thrust into her pussy, filling her to the brim.

Their rhythm was like a storm, wild and uncontrollable, and she was the eye of the hurricane. Each movement sent her spiraling closer and closer to the edge, until she couldn't hold on any longer.

With a scream that echoed through the cabin, Y/N came, her body convulsing around their cocks. The sensation was so intense it was almost painful, a white-hot pleasure that seared through her veins.

Shanks and Beckman watched her, their eyes glazed with lust as they continued to fuck her through her orgasm. They were like animals, driven by instinct and need, and she was their willing prey.

As she came down from her high, she felt them both quicken their pace, their hips slapping against her ass in a punishing rhythm. They were close, she could feel it, their cocks pulsing inside her.

And then, with one final, brutal thrust, Beckman came, his cock spurting his hot seed deep into her pussy. The feeling of his release sent her over the edge again, her body shaking with the force of it.

Shanks wasn't far behind, his cock swelling inside her as he reached his own peak. He roared, his body jerking as he emptied himself into her, his seed mixing with Beckman's in a sticky mess of desire.

They collapsed onto her, their bodies heavy with satisfaction. For a moment, there was only silence, their ragged breathing the only sound in the room. Then, with a chuckle, Beckman leaned in and kissed her, his mouth tasting of salt and sweat.

Shanks leaned back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You're a natural, love," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin.

Y/N could only smile, her body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. She knew she'd never be the same after this, that she'd been irrevocably changed. But as she lay there, sandwiched between two of the most powerful men in the world, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of what was to come.

Their relationship grew more complex with each passing day, a tapestry of power and passion that was uniquely theirs. Y/N found herself craving the feel of their cocks inside her, the way they dominated her body and soul.

The crew of The Red Force had long ago accepted her as Shanks' personal plaything, but she knew that she was more than that. She was their queen, their goddess of lust, and she reveled in the power she held over them

#one piece x reader #female!reader #one piece smut #shanks smut #shanks x reader #benn beckman #benn beckman smut

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heldhram · 1 month ago

Text

How to run The Sims 3 with DXVK & Reshade (Direct3D 9.0c)

Today I am going to show you guys how to install Reshade and use Direct3D 9.0c (D3D9) instead of Vulkan as rendering API.

This tutorial is based on @nornities and @desiree-uk's awesome guide on "How to use DXVK with The Sims 3", with the goal of increasing compatibility between DXVK and Reshade. For users not interested in using Reshade, you may skip this tutorial.

If you followed nornities and desiree-uk's guide, it is strongly recommended that you start from scratch, meaning you should uninstall DXVK AND Reshade completely. Believe me when I say this: it will save you a lot of time, frustration, and make your life so much easier.

For the purpose of this tutorial, I am on patch 1.69.47 and running EA App on Windows 10, but it should work for version 1.67.2 on Steam and discs, too. This tutorial does not cover GShade.

Before we start

Backup your files, even the entire folder (Program Files\EA Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin) if you want to be extra safe; you will thank yourself later. If you do not wish to backup the entire folder, at least backup the following:

reshade-presets

reshade-shaders

Reshade.ini

Options.ini (Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3)

Keep them somewhere secure, for your peace of mind (and sanity).

Done? Great stuff, let us begin!

Step 1:

If you installed DXVK following nornite and desiree-uk's guide, go to the bin folder and delete the following files to fully uninstall DXVK, we are starting from scratch:

d3d9.dll

TS3.dxvk-cache

dxvk.conf

TS3_d3d9.log (or TS3W_d3d9.log)

Step 2:

If you already have Reshade on your PC, uninstall it using this: https://reshade.me/downloads/ReShade_Setup_X.X.X.exe (replace X.X.X with version number)

Step 3:

Perform a clean install of Reshade (I am using the latest version - 6.4.1 at the time of writing). Please note that you need a version no older than 4.5.0 or this method will not work. Choose DirectX9, click next.

Once the installation is complete, you should see a "d3d9.dll" file inside The Sims 3's bin folder (Program Files\EA Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin):

It may all seem familiar thus far. Indeed, this is how we installed Reshade in the past before using DXVK, but here comes the tricky part:

Step 4:

Create a new folder outside of The Sims 3's game folder (I created it on my C drive), name it "dxvk" or whatever else you like. Remember where you saved this folder, we will return to it later.

Step 5:

Now we need Reshade to load the next dll in order to chain Reshade with DXVK. Click on the search bar, and type in "View advanced system settings".

Click on "Environment Variables..."

Under "User variables", click "New..."

In the new pop-up window, find "Variable name:" and type in:

RESHADE_MODULE_PATH_OVERRIDE

for "Variable value:", paste in the directory that leads to the folder we created earlier. Once you are done, hit OK, and then hit OK again to save the changes made.

You can use Command Prompt to check if this new environment variable has been registered by entering:

echo %RESHADE_MODULE_PATH_OVERRIDE%

It should return you the folder's location. If not, make sure you have typed in the variable name correctly and confirm the folder's location.

Step 6:

Download DXVK (version 2.3.1) from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/releases/tag/v2.3.1 and unzip "dxvk-2.3.1.tar.gz" (I use 7-Zip, but winRAR works, too). Remember to choose x32, and move only "d3d9.dll" to the folder we made earlier.

Now we have two "d3d9.dll" files, one from Reshade (lives in the bin folder), and the other from DXVK (in this new folder, outside of The Sims 3 game folder).

Step 7:

Download "dxvk.conf" here: https://github.com/doitsujin/dxvk/blob/master/dxvk.conf delete everything inside, and enter the following:

d3d9.textureMemory = 1 d3d9.presentInterval = 1 d3d9.maxFrameRate = 60 dxvk.hud = devinfo

Ctrl + S to save the document.

The first 3 lines are taken from @nornities and @desiree-uk's guide.

The last line is only for debugging purposes. Due to the inconvenient location occupied by the HUD (top left corner of your screen), it should be removed once the installation is successful.

Step 8:

Drag "dxvk.conf" into the bin folder, where Reshade's "d3d9.dll", "TS3.exe", and "TS3W.exe" all live.

Step 9:

Now fire up the game and check if both are showing up:

Lastly, check for “TS3.dxvk-cache” in the bin folder:

If it is there, congratulations! You have successfully installed DXVK and Reshade utilising D3D9 as API! You can now go to "dxvk.conf" and remove its last line "dxvk.hud = devinfo" and have fun! :)

Hope this tutorial isn't too confusing, the last thing I want is to over-complicate things. If you still need some help, comment down below or send me a DM/ask, I'll try and troubleshoot with you to the best of my ability.

Credits:

@nornities and @desiree-uk for their fantastic guide.

@criisolate for promulgating the usage of DXVK in TS3 community.

reddit user folieadeuxmeharder for helping me troubleshoot and informing me of this workaround.

doitsujin for creating DXVK.

crosire for creating Reshade.

#sims 3 #sims 3 tutorial #tutorial #reshade #dxvk

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redbullgirly · 1 year ago

Text

Million Dollar Man [LS18 smau]

Lance Stroll x reader [social media au]

Masterlist

Summary: Lance's girlfriend isn't afraid to show how much her boyfriend loves and spoils her. Unfortunately, "fans" seem to think she's a gold digger. But who would Lance and Y/N bee if they just let it slide?

Warnings: A lot of hate towards the reader by online trolls and just toxic fans, at the end she and Lance shuts them up but if you're not in the right head-space to read this, then please don't.

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by lance_stroll, fernandoalo_oficial, astonmartin and 192,344 others

tagged: astonmartin and lance_stroll

yourusername life lately... how about you? 🍰💐

view all 3209 comments

user1 more like: life lately 💸💸💸

user2 LOL

lance_stroll life lately has been great ❤️

liked by the author

user3 Lance don't worry we're going to save you!!

user4 our guy is lyinggggg i can feel it

user5 Oh my god let them live a happy life you trolls🤦‍♀️

user6 how can you know it's happy when she clearly uses him for money?🤨

user5 And how can you know it's not? Besides I don't think she uses him for anything🤷‍♀️

user4 then your just as naive as him user5 lol

user7 she's so classy a love it!😻

user8 Can she even drive or she just wanted to take a photo in his car?

fernandoalo_oficial You are slaying Queen!😉

fernandoalo_oficial Did I do it correctly yourusername?

yourusername it's great nando, just please never use that emoji again and you'll be ready do graduate from my gen-z university!

fernandoalo_oficial Damn it I knew all you use these days is this one: 💀

yourusername 💀

user9 OKAY I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ANYONE SAYS ABOUT HER AND LANCE CAUSE I LOVE Y/N AND NANDO INTERACTIONS MORE THAN MY OWN LIFE!!

user10 i'm convinced she holds both aston drivers hostage in her basement and is forcing them to comment on her posts

user11 It's probably not even her own basement but Lance's😭

user12 nah she ain't even that pretty

user13 omg no way this post is the way I found out lance mf stroll has a girlfriend?🤠

user14 GIRL you have so much lore to catch up on

user15 Yeah welcome to the worst wag ever fandom xd

user13 wait I'm so confused... why do we hate her???

user14 bc she's basically a gold digger, like from the moment her and lance started dating she's been posting only about shopping and showing off herself and her bf's money

user12 plus she ugly af

user15 Yeah and there are rumors on twitter about her being really mean to everyone and that the whole paddock hates her and stuff...

user13 okay I get that but tbh we can't believe everything that's on f1 twitter

user14 idc she's a bitch even without the rumors

user15 I can tell Y/N is trying so hard to have the rich girly aesthetic... it's actually embarrassing😂

astonmartin Wow you have a great car right there😍

user16 more like her sugar daddy lance has it lol XD

user17 guys be fr if you had a rich boy you'd be spending his money too!!!

twitter

yourusername and lance_stroll posted on instagram stories

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by estabanocon, lance_stroll, astonmartinf1 and 206,948 others

tagged: astonmartinf1 and lance_stroll

yourusername thank you spa for having me! what a race, congrats to my favourite driver lance_stroll on p9 & his teammate fernandoalo_oficial on p5! great team work, hope to see you on another grand prix in the future astonmartinf1 💚🏆

view all 4022 comments

astonmartinf1 we hope to see you on another grand prix as well Y/N!🤩

liked by the author

user1 you don't have to lie admin, it's waste of money on her... better give the paddock pass to someone else

astonmartinf1 well, we definitely won't give it to you user1, so no need to worry about it 😙

user2 daaaamn, the admin is coming for y'all haters

user3 Of course she had to wear the racing suit... c'mon that's so embarrassing🙄

user4 actually it's pretty normal, I'm pretty sure Max's gf also wore his racing suit at some point

user3 Yeah but I at least like and respect Kelly... Y/N is a horrible gold digger

user4 well then I'm pretty sure it's your problem, not hers🤷‍♀️

user5 girl stop pretending you care about racing we all know you do it just for pr and cash xdd

user6 Honestly I'm not a Lance Stroll fan, but he deserves someone better than her...

lance_stroll Thank you to my favourite wag! 🥳❤️

yourusername love you baby!!!💞

user7 favourite wag😂 good joke😂😂

user8 am I the only one who finds their interaction cute??

user9 yeah you are user8... like just look at it, it's so forced... wouldn't be surprising if their whole relationship was fake

user10 You can hate on her all you want, but she's actually gorgeous in the third pic😻

user11 YUUUCCKK🤮🤮🤮

user12 you see I would be fine with this post if she didn't have to show off the aston martin car again!!!

user13 Hey did you notice she tagged Nando in the caption and he didn't reply to her? I call it ✨karma✨ lol

user14 maybe he escaped from her basement😭

user15 💚💚

user16 sorry but I can't help it. There's just something fishy about Y/N and I can't bring myself to like her at all

user17 Guys who is this girl and why does she get more hate in her comments than hailey bieber??💀

user18 I hate how she makes the whole Grand Prix about herself

user19 no but fr... like honey, idc about you and your favourite driveeer

user20 Tf?? She literally called LANCE her favourite driver how is that about her... you haters are so dumb🤦‍♀️

user21 I bet she read the comments on twitter about how she's bad gf for not going to any races and decided to fix her image by this XD

user19 lmfao didn't probably work the way she hoped

messages between Y/N and Lance

lance_stroll posted on instagram

liked by yourusername, sebastianvettel, f1 and 330,219 others

tagged: yourusername

lance_stroll As some of you now, I am not very active on social media. Today I'm making an exception for Y/N, my lovely girlfriend I've been dating for almost a year now. She is one of the greatest, most kind, caring and selfless people I know. I don't know where the idea of our relationship being unhappy, one-sided or even insincere came from, but I would like to make it very clear once and for all that these assumptions are as far from the truth as they can be.

In my life, I experienced a lot of hateful comments and reactions myself. It is not something I wish anyone should have to go through and it's disgusting. I love Y/N with all my heart and I hope that one day, she'll make me the happiest man alive and allows me to marry her, build a family together. No one will ever again speak about her in an inappropriate way, or they'll be blocked and possibly face legal actions taken agains them. I am very serious about this.

Y/N, I'm not afraid to call you the love of my life. I never want to see you cry because of some meaningless hater. Love you to the moon and back, sweetheart ❤️

view all 4823 comments

user1 It's just so heartbreaking how Lance himself had to go through so many waves of hate because of his dad and now he had to watch Y/N go through it too...😓

yourusername love you to the moon and back too lance!!!💖

lance_stroll Wouldn't have it any other way honey!😌

user2 you know it's serious when sebastianvettel shows up

astonmartinf1 once the it couple, always the it couple!💚 proud to say we were never a hater😘

user3 i still think it's fake

fernandoalo_oficial and I think you are fake🤪

user4 LMAO nando come and get the haters lets goooo

user5 That's how you shut them up xd

fernandoalo_oficial how do you children say it? I AM LANCEY/N DEFENDER

user4 yeah yeah nando exactly that or you can say your a lancey/n truther

liked by fernandoalo_oficial

user5 omg I can't believe I just had online conversation with THE Fernando Alonso😭

user4 GIRL ME TOO AND HE EVEN LIKED MY COMMENT😭😭

f1 What a beautiful couple you are!🙌 Hope to see you in the paddock after summer break!😏

user6 "they'll be blocked and possibly face legal actions taken agains them" daaammmnn man is standing on business here

user7 Tbh I never understood why y'all hated on her sm she's literally so beautiful and seems kind as well🤷‍♀️

lilymhe pretty giiiirl

lance_stroll I couldn't agree more!❤️

yourusername oh stop you two I'm blushing

user8 Can we take a moment to appreciate how beautifully the caption is written?🥹 Lance really has some poetic talent!

liked by yourusername

user9 aaah she's still a gold digger and he's too blind to see it😂

user10 Yeah she probably charmed him in bed or sm

user11 Ohh user9 and user10... I wonder how it feels to know Lance and probably some other drivers hate you🫢

chloestroll My brother and my future sister-in-law!🥰

liked by the author and yourusername

yourusername 🥰🥰

user12 im actually so happy to see y/n replying to some of the comments and just being active without so much hate on her now!!!

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by lance_stroll, kellypiquet, fernandoalo_oficial and 299,102 others

tagged: lance_stroll and dior

yourusername they say if he wanted to he would... I say he wants to so he does 🌹❤️

comments have been limited

lilymhe she ate you jealous people up with that caption

liked by lance_stroll and fernandoalo_oficial

lilymhe also alex_albon me when??

dior Wow!❤️‍🔥

lance_stroll That's what real men do instead of trolling others on the internet.

yourusername daaammn baby

lance_stroll What? I'm just stating facts 😌

kellypiquet shopping trip to Paris when?😍

yourusername anytime you want!!!💕

astonmartinf1 So lucky to (basically) have you on our team💚

fernandoalo_oficial I call that a slay admin

astonmartinf1 ...should I tell him slay is kinda out dated??

yourusername aaah let him have his moment

fernandoalo_oficial WHAT?! YOU TRAITORS I THOUGH I WAS GEN-Z APPROVED

yourusername 🫢

THE END

Author's note: I hope you liked my first ever social media au story! I'll be glad for every feedback, comment, like, reblog and everything! You can definitely send me asks and requests for another smau's and even 'normal' fanfictions. Have a great day!

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