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vigilskeep · 5 months

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can you talk about misinterpretations of wynne and zevran's dynamic??? i'm chewing on your analysis

i think it’s a very basic case of people simply taking what is said at face value, in a way that comes up a lot with your classic zevran misinterpretations and uhhh oversimplifications. zevran and wynne’s banters are full of his classic exaggerated flirtations. all of their banters hinge on this joke and they’re very funny. but i’m always mildly stunned when i see people taking that as... zevran actually literally just being horny AGSHSKKSKS

i don’t think people give zevran enough credit for how clever he is at dancing around the other companions. nobody ever really gets one up on him. i can think of one specific instance in banter where i do think something gets under his skin, which i think oghren of all people manages essentially by accident the one time he’s actually not really trying

anyway: wynne opens their first banter with “you must know that murder is wrong, i assume.” it’s very wynne; she makes a judgement and announces it as fact. zevran is slightly stunned by this and also how funny it is: “i’m sorry... are you speaking to me?” with this incredible disbelieving pause because, like, he’s the party assassin. but he’s also playing for time quickly on how to react to this out of nowhere. wynne then explains the simple narrative she’s constructed that joining the party is due to a crisis of conscience on zevran’s part about being an assassin. and zevran immediately jumps into exaggerated agreement, and once he gets a better idea, the first of his flirtations with her, until she gives up in exasperation. it’s an evasion tactic zevran is very, very good at and has been doing to you, the player, since his first appearance on screen. he wants to play on the characters he performs when they’re useful shields, whether it’s the victim or the flirt or what have you. but also always with that ironic air that he’s clearly doing a bit; there’s the charm of letting you in on a private joke, but also he needs everything to be a faintly ridiculous game to him, so he doesn’t have to be affected

zevran keeps this joke up for the full extent of his banters with wynne through the whole game, because he finds it wildly entertaining, of course, and because he has no interest in ever inviting the conversation she wants. he so badly doesn’t want to deal with her asking this that he decides to run this bit into the GROUND, and starts doing it pre-emptively to ward her off even after she stops trying to instigate the conversation. bc wynne may be a good way off the mark, and, ironically for someone wanting zevran to take this seriously, not able to imagine that his life and feelings may be more complex than assumed (absolutely classic spirit behaviour once again), but she is needling at his reasons for leaving the crows, which is the last thing wants to be honest with anyone about

making the assumption that zevran is flirting with wynne out of genuine interest is, to me, the same mistake as thinking zevran when you first meet the warden is flirting out of genuine interest. this is how he knows to stay alive. if he let his guard down, he’d be dead; if he wasn’t charming, he’d be dead; and if he ever stopped to dwell instead of being the “eternal optimist”, always instinctually grasping at one more chance to live another day, he’d be very, very dead. he’s not going to casually discuss vulnerabilities for someone else’s peace of mind and he definitely doesn’t have the kind of insecurity to need to explain himself to people who don’t know him or what they’re talking about. so, rogue evasion abilities activate! it’s time for him to dodge! which is what he spends the entire series of banters doing. but also he’s just still finding it funny throughout. she just gives him so much ammunition. it’s like taking candy from a baby. zevran loves an old and terrible joke repeated for several months solid, they age like wine to him

i also think wynne’s comments are a light jab at how zevran does get read by players. he’s not ashamed of being an assassin. there’s this great line in one of his dialogues with the warden that asks why he shouldn’t continue to do what he’s good at when so few have come by his skills “honestly”, as he believes he has. there’s a tendency to characterise him and characters like him as, ah, the guilt-ridden victim in need of a pure-hearted saviour to show him the light, etc etc, but that’s never been who he is. there’s no ending where he suddenly quits being an assassin lmao

#zevran arainai #wynne #hope this makes sense aha i just remembered i got this ask and had to scribble smth before i forget again #wynnes banters are so elite ive said this before but everyone else gets levelled up a notch with her #anyway its just the usual point about zevran: sex is the distraction. the character who is about sex is literally alistair

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mikanotes · 2 months

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goodbyes are sour

connor x gn!reader — 2.1k words

genre: angst sorta! mutual pining in denial

warnings: mentions of guns and killing, kabedon for the sake of science, connor unreliable narrator LOL u have feelings android man… maybe ooc idk. (wrote this w the idea of connor being deviant since the beginning bcs Yeah!)

synopsis: You meet Connor again. Turns out things are much more complicated when you aren’t working together.

author’s note: hi dbh fic?! i Love connor nd i’ve been writing this for a while (crazy since it’s rly short) but i don’t like it much… anyways whoevers alive in the dbh fandom have this!

“Detective.”

There’s just something about the way Connor speaks. The cadence, the pitch, the enunciation of each word. It’s painfully evident that he isn’t human. Everything about him is so machine-like that even his perfect, human-like exterior could not fool anyone. However it is something you got used to. Hearing the android speak your name and call you ‘Detective’ back a while ago felt somewhat unsettling. Now it’s so easy to recognize that it almost makes you feel at ease.

“Do you seriously think I’m an android? I don’t wanna deal with those fucking machines, either. I’d be glad if you put a bullet through them rather than me.”

Turns out hearing him fake being a human is ten times more terrifying than his android speech patterns could ever hope to be.

This was not part of the plan.

You were sent with a unit to patrol around the streets for any android who still hadn’t been brought back or destroyed. You weren’t a fan of this whole assignment, but felt better than the rookies who were sent out to shoot humanoid robots as their first field mission probably did.

It would be fine, is what you told yourself, because you didn’t feel anything towards Cyberlife’s creations enough to be completely uncomfortable with the idea of their blue blood on your hands, though it wasn’t ideal. You could manage. Until the first person you came across happened to be the one android you genuinely cared about.

“I don’t think he’s one of them…” one of your fellow officers murmurs next to you. You suddenly become very aware of the gun he, too, is holding and pointing towards the target. Fuck. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough.

At least this idiot’s performance seems to be fooling them.

You wait one second, then sigh on the second, and finally lower your gun on the third. “You shouldn’t be here.” you say casually, prompting your colleagues to relax and the atmosphere to lighten a little. Your heart is in your throat, however. “We’ve got orders to round up every android we see around here. You should go home. This isn’t exactly safe.”

“I know, I know.” he sighs, rolling his eyes a little, “I was gonna leave anyways, thanks.”

Your coworkers mumble to themselves about how disagreeable this guy’s attitude is and it’s enough for them to miss the wink the latter sends your way as he leaves. You almost regret not shooting a bullet through his head.

Still, you sigh in relief, setting your gun back at your side and running a hand over your face. You don’t think you can continue patrolling in peace. There’s one too many questions in your mind and the key to answering them is escaping from your grasp.

You take the phone in your pocket and pretend to get a call, moving it to your ear and looking at the members of your team. “I’ll join up with you later.” you say, gesturing towards your phone. They nod and walk away, and you do the same, feeling more relieved than ever that these people see you as a leader of sorts. They won’t question you on anything. You hurry towards the direction your so-called partner left to the moment they’re out of sight.

A rooftop door, stairs, and more stairs. You’re jogging down like you’re chasing a criminal on the run. You’re down to the fifth floor out of eight when someone grabs your arm and pulls you out a door.

“Wha—” you try to yell, but a cold hand settle over your mouth. Your body relaxes but your expression tenses. Connor. “Let me go,” you mumble incoherently, surprisingly succeeding in getting him to let you step away.

You sigh and shake your head, turning around abruptly. His ‘human costume’ (which really just was a grey suit jacket thrown over what should’ve been his Cyberlife uniform, glasses, and a cap to hide his LED) is already gone, replaced by his usual attire, just missing his jacket.

“What the hell was that about?” you ask, annoyed, pointing towards the staircase (back there, on the roof) and the android simply shrugs. “Connor.”

“I was undercover, Detective. I thought someone as smart as you would recognize that much.” he says, his tone back to normal. You’d feel relieved if he wasn’t being so irritating. “Was I wrong?”

Your face drops. “No. I figured as much. But what for?” you sigh, crossing your arms.

“Same mission as always.”

“Who are you chasing? Did you find the place?”

“I have no reason to tell you.”

It only clicks then that while you know about Connor continuing his mission after being laid off the case, you’re not part of it anymore. He had to be sent back to Cyberlife, and you should’ve been forgetting about him entirely. You’re still DPD, and you have orders to shoot Androids on sight— Which you clearly aren’t following. He’s right. He has no reason to tell you.

Still.

You grab his arm when he threatens to walk away. You’re not sure what you want to say, but you’re not done talking. He lets you. “Connor.”

“Detective.” he says. You straighten your back and sigh, not breaking eye contact. He tilts his head to the side and his LED flashes yellow for an instant. “You’re angry.”

Of course you’re angry. He’s infuriating. There’s something about how logical and dead-set on following every single rule he is that makes Connor the most annoying individual you’ve ever talked to. Everything he does has to be for his mission. Every single thing.

“Do threats work with you?” you ask blankly, “If you don’t tell me where it is, I’ll get Cyberlife to bring you back, and all that?”

When he takes a step closer to you again, forcing your back to press against the wall, and his LED does not even threaten to change hues, you’re taken aback. Just a bit. It’s the same kind of frustrated attitude you would’ve expected from a human after saying what you just did. But not Connor.

He doesn’t seem frustrated, though. And you know he can look annoyed. He just doesn’t. So he must not be. And you want to find what it is he’s doing exactly, stepping closer to you without even saying a word, but your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting at the distance between you two. You know he does everything for his work. Does he think you have new information on deviants? Does he really believe you would call Cyberlife on him? Is he using his stupid interrogation module on you? Whatever it is makes you even more annoyed.

The silence feels heavy. It makes things worse. It gives your brain time to process how this is making you feel and it’s no good at all. “What?” you break the silence, tone somewhat irritated.

“I’m trying to understand the reason why you’re so angry at me.” he explains simply, like it makes sense. His eyes narrow a bit and the LED at the side of his head flickers yellow for a moment. “And no, Detective. Threats don’t work on me. Not when I can tell you’re lying so easily.” he adds, quieter.

“Shut up.” you scoff.

“I dont think I will.”

“Connor.”

“— However,” he interrupts, “I can step away from you at any moment if you tell me to.”

“No.”

“No?”

What— No?! You register the word after saying it and sigh, face contorting into a somewhat pained expression. You panicked and said it, your mind processing his offer as him leaving you again— With no information and nothing to ease your stupid worries. Now it just sounds odd.

Is that embarrassment?

“You didn’t finish what you were trying to do, did you? You haven’t told me why I’m angry yet. Since you apparently care so much.” you say, tone sounding much softer than before. Your apparent discomposure took away all the bitterness from your voice. Interesting.

Truth be told, Connor knows why you’re angry. He’s not letting you in on the details of what he’s doing despite the time you spent working as partners a very short while ago. He’s spent enough time with people, and you especially, to know that after forming some kind of bond with a work partner, it would be frustrating not to receive information about their mission the way you used to from them—

Especially considering he was still chasing after something you both knew about. Jericho. But he cannot tell you about that. Not… Right now.

What he really was trying to do was evaluate how much of a threat you really could be to his investigation. He didn’t sense any hostility before and he doesn’t now, and you could’ve shot him but you didn’t. But it’s not enough. He needs more time— More evidence that it’s fine. That’s why he pulled you here in the first place. That’s why he pressured you to talk.

He needs to make sure killing you isn’t necessary.

“Because I posed a threat to the stability of your current mission earlier. You wouldn’t have been able to shoot me had I been discovered, and your reaction to your colleagues shooting me would’ve jeopardized your job itself.” he answers.

This reasoning would make sense.

“That’s not it.” you sigh.

Your heartbeat is slowing down. No good. Connor leans his arm on the wall next to you and moves closer. Your heartbeat picks up in speed. It’s almost alarming. He can tell all the details about your physical condition and deduce what you’re thinking or feeling based off of them, sure. But he’s no human. The way he views and comprehends emotions is registered in his system in a much more clear and logic-based way than it is in humans’ brains.

So maybe he won’t ever know why your heart beats so heavily against your ribcage. So he just has to pressure the right places and demand answers. He unfortunately can’t allow you to relax. He won’t get anything out of you if you’re calm. You’re much too turbulent for that.

Or maybe he’ll just have to ask. In a normal way.

“Detective, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” you scoff, eyes widening. Wrong question.

You seem like you want to be angry but something is holding you back from displaying just how much he gets on your nerves. You sigh deeply and look at him, “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting so weird. More than usual. Why’d you pull me here if you didn’t want to tell me anything? And I’m worried. What if you really did get shot? Wasn’t Cyberlife supposed to deactivate you? They wouldn’t have brought in another Connor this time. You’re off the case, you— You would’ve died!”

“Maybe.”

There’s circles under your eyes. There always are, but they’re more defined now than they were the last time he saw you. Now that you’re actually being honest, your whole voice and mannerisms betray any of your usual annoyed and dismissive facade. He didn’t think you cared this much, though he understands that some humans are quick to empathize. To a fault.

Now it’s clear he doesn’t need to eliminate you at all. Part of him seems to have grown fond of your company. He couldn’t risk that getting in the way of his better judgment.

“I only pulled you here so you wouldn’t pointlessly chase down the streets searching for me, since I made sure no one would follow.” he says, stepping back and giving you more space, “You’re a police officer. It doesn’t matter what you say you’ll keep to yourself or not. I can’t compromise. This is too important.”

You’re hurt, it’s visible. He’s saying he can’t risk trusting you. He figures that must not feel nice.

The sound of the radio attached to your side breaks this prolonged silence with the promise of separation. You take it, eyes not leaving Connor’s, and listen to your colleague speak. You tell them you’ll be right there. You’re not one to be late. He knows you’ll really leave this time— Too far away for him to hope to talk to you again, if anything goes awry.

You turn the radio off and put it back where it was. “Hope you succeed, then.” you say, bitter, and push yourself up to start walking away.

“Take care of yourself, Detective.” Connor says. Asks. The words come out before he can really think. Something about your voice and this whole atmosphere made him… Feel uneasy. Like he needed to say something. If this is how your partnership ends, he doesn’t believe it should be on such a sour note. He cares doesn’t dislike you at all, so why should it?

You stagger a little, seemingly stopping in your tracks, but moving again no more than a second later. “You too, Connor.”

Somehow, goodbyes had never seemed so sad.

#connor x reader #connor dbh x reader #detroit become human x reader #dbh x reader #connor detroit become human x reader #x reader

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gravyhoney · 22 days

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Guys hhhhhhgffh is it crazy to anyone else that Jordana’s motivation is revenge on someone who has made it very clear that she doesn’t know her?

Like, listen. In season one when she and Sora fought, her first line was ‘You’ll never escape the vengeance of your lifelong nemesis’ that’s crazy right? It’s been years, Sora disappeared, Jordana has gotten what she wanted, she’s working in the advanced systems lab. And yet she’s still SO caught up on getting her revenge on someone they don’t even know is ALIVE.

Continued below, but also contains spoilers for season 2

In season 2, everytime they’re faced with each other, Jordana is talking about how they’re each others worst enemy, and how much she detests Sora, and even when they’re not fighting she’s still telling OTHER PEOPLE how much she hates Sora.

Idk if I’m making sense, but it feels like ravenge on Sora is her only motivation, like I don’t even think she WANTS to release the forbidden five, seeing how she acts around Ras and how hesitant she was to do the magic stuff, even the line ‘I’m a scientist!’

I think her only goal from the beginning was to prove she was better than Sora, or enact her revenge or whatever, but she’s in far too deep now and she THINKS she wants whatever Ras’ ultimate goal is. Idk if this makes sense tell me if I sound fucking crazy, but like. Idk I’m so hopeful for a Jordana redemption, bc like. Yeah she did that shit, but she’s a teenage girl and she grew up with her work being constantly compared to someone who ‘betrayed’ Imperium, who then barely gives her the time of day bc SHE DOESNT KNOW HER! That would make anyone crazy.

Idk. I don’t think Jordana wants to destroy the world, I think she just needs someone to validate her feelings, and also a glass of ice water and she’ll be normal.

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #dragons rising #ninjago sora #ninjago jordana #ninjago spoilers #dragons rising spoilers #mason talks #mason posts

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lunas-side-anime-blog · 4 months

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AOT Icks (Eren, Armin and Mikasa)

one thing about me: i am a hater

Eren

def has mommy issues and no woman could ever compare to her like good luck to any of his girlfriends lmao

^^ that being said, as a roommate he’s a nightmare like you can tell his mom cleaned up after him all the time because it doesn’t even occur to him to do so now

toxic gym bro who says shit like “we all have the same 24 hours”

def has the the 3 in 1 bottle in his shower, I just know it

prob calls women “females”

the cringiest instagram captions like I know he will post sum: “I think my closet bi-polar, it keeps throwing fits💯” like dude, get a grip

attempts thirst traps, he has a ripped body so it kinda works but the content is so transparent you can’t help but roll your eyes

go out to a bar with him or something and he’s the type to try to make everything a fight

like if someone bumps into you, he's quickly in their face like "what's good bro😡” and you know its not actually about you so much as eren tryna beat someone up

i think he’ll use spit as lube thinking he’s so bad boy and lewd when it’s actually just so bad for your PH like ewwww (if u have a vag ofc)

i feel like his hair would get so greasy, mikasa and armin have had to force him down with shampoo in hand before

so gross but you came here for icks and I don’t believe Eren believes in holding back his farts for anyone

it can be the most intense and serious event like a funeral and he’ll rip a loud one and be like “what? it’s not good to hold it in??”

Armin

nail biter who will chew on them till the bone and you hear that loud ass “crONCh"

says he hates drama but that’s just something he says to not seem petty bc at the first sight of a fight best believe he’s sitting there, watching it all go down, wine glass in hand like "🍷🤨👂"

lil shit will even add lil comments to keep the beef alive, like i can see him loudly asking “okay but jean didn't you say her outfit made her look fat though?”

if you're in a debate with him, he’s the type to say something like “you're so uneducated about the subject, I’m actually pretty well versed in it” and your like "okay so what's all ur research then?" and he'll just quickly change the subject bc he didn’t actually have sources to cite lmao

is one of those bfs who would make fun of you for liking trashy tv but guess who eats that shit up everytime? armin.

he does that dad thing where he walks around in the living room and acts uninterested with what’s happening on the screen but he’s actually so invested and would be fuming if you dared watched an episode without him

i think he’d also be the type to try to be friends with his ex even if they obviously still have feelings for him, but if you dared even talk to yours he’d get all huffy and puffy like “go be with him then🙄”

got obsessed with skincare after watching your routine but u kinda created a monster bc now he’s critiquing your products and techniques? “Babe you should really consider a gel moisturizer, it’s better for your pores'' and you're like, “boy you used neutrogena when I met you???”

is that bf who will shower at your place and use up all your expensive washes and scrubs

not the best gift giver tbh, I think he’s a firm believer that all gifts should be practical so even if it’s a romantic anniversary date and he slides over a lil present, it’s probably just gonna be socks or something, srry

Mikasa

applies her chapstick like a man (iykyk)

“he know where home is” bitch, I hate to say it

i think she’s a girl’s girl until her man cheats on her, then she’d be the type to fight the girl and not really address her man…which is just… 😣

as a friend I think she’s sadly the type to unintentionally embarrass you bc she doesn’t get some social cues.

like you can miss a hang and ppl ask where you are and she’d just say matter of factly “oh they’re fine, they just have diarrhea rn!” and she won’t understand why you’d be mad?

outfit repeater to the max, she has like three tops that she likes and all pics of her are with her wearing one of those three tops

a lil delulu and prob genuinely believes all the tiktok pick a card vids on her feed

likes her coffee black and somehow thinks she’s better than everyone for that???

as a gf she checks your snap score and location regularly and has no shame in it 🙂

fights in her sleep like you will just be sleeping next to her all soundly and next thing you know you get punched in the face? she refuses to apologize in the morning bc she “has a right to defend myself in a nightmare” or whatever

when shes mad at someone she’ll post like ultra specific lyrics or captions and it’s so obviously targeted at one person everyone else is like "girl go to bed, don’t even post the quote…"

#aot headcannons #eren x reader #eren headcanons #armin headcanons #armin x reader #mikasa headcanons #mikasa x reader #modern aot #modern attack on titan #modern mikasa #modern eren #modern armin

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inlovewithquestionablecharacters · 7 months

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I am in love with recent luffy smut omg that was amazing. Is it possible if I can request a usopp smut, please. I’ll leave the topic in your hands, bc I trust u✨

Usopp X Reader: Shoot your shot

I don't have Usopp's mannerisms down as much as Luffy's so i hope i did him justice. Enjoy! ❤️

Warning: smut, fingering, penetration (p in v), nipple sucking, kissing, dirty talk, soft sex, fluff, making out.

Word Count: 2,5 K

"Bet you won't do it."

Usopp's head snaps up from his drink, his eyes moving to glance at Zoro.

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on man, you've been staring all night."

A small blush creeped into Usopp's cheeks at the sword masters words. Was it really that obvious? Usopp's eyes made their way back to you watching as you danced with Nami. You were smiling wide as you swayed to the music. The sight made Usopp's heart skip a beat. The sharpshooter had always had a small crush on you but he never acted on his feelings, far too scared to do something and risk your friendship. Despite his lack of action it was pretty clear he had a thing for you. Anyone who paid the smallest bit of attention could see it. You were the only one who didn’t seem to notice it.

Not that it was your fault. You weren’t used to guys beating around the bush. When someone was interested in you they made it quite clear. It annoyed you a bit but it also made things easier. You weren’t exactly great with feelings, especially not romantic ones. You’d never really felt desire for anyone, far too preoccupied with staying alive to care about something like love. Yet since you joined the strawhats you found yourself being drawn to Usopp. You liked listening to his fantastical tales, even if they weren’t true it made you feel a sense of adventure. It was why you’d joined the crew in the first place. You’d gotten sick of waiting tables as the baratie and decided to tag along with Sanji. You hadn't planned on sticking around for long but the longer you stayed with the crew the less you saw yourself leaving.

Your eyes scan the crowd around you, searching for your friends. Luffy is sitting at a table scarfing down the third plate of the evening, Sanji is off to the side of the bar flirting with some blonde he'd met, Zoro was leaning over the counter talking to the bartender, Usopp stood beside Zoro. You smiled at the boy, gesturing with your hand for him to join you. Usopp raised his glass towards you, silently telling you he couldn't join you because of the drink in his hand. Zoro noticed the exchange, reaching over and grabbing Usopp's drink from his hand before gulping it down.

"What the hell Zoro!"

"Stop making excuses and go over there.”

You watched Zoro shove Usopp in your direction. The sharpshooter stumbled forward, not having been prepared for the sudden movement. You let out a laugh, turning to tell Nami about it. Except that she was nowhere to be found. Oh well she can handle herself. Usopp shuffled his way through the crowd making his way to you. Once he was close enough you grabbed his hand and tugged him over.

"Hey."

“Hi, quite the trip you’ve had.”

“Did you see the monster I had to fight on my way over?”

You shook your head slightly giggling at the boy's exaggerations.

“You're very brave Usopp. Thanks for coming to save me.”

“You’re welcome princess.”

Your body warmed at the nickname. How could something so small get such a reaction out of you? Usopp seemed to notice the shift in the atmosphere, his hands going to rest on your arms.

“You okay?”

“Yeah i’m fine i just-”

Music started to blare, making you stop in your tracks. Your eyes widened at the familiar sound.

“Oh my god! I love this song! Dance with me Usopp.”

“Oh I'm not really the danci-woah!”

Before he could give you some lame excuse you dragged him into the center of the dance floor, a bright smile on your face. You started moving to the rhythm of the music, closing your eyes as you did. Usopp observed you in awe. The way your body swayed to the beat, face completely blissed out, made his body twitch. You looked like an angel. You snapped your eyes open feeling the weight of Usopp's gaze on you.

“This is a dance floor that means you have to, you know, dance!”

“I’m not a good dancer.”

“So what? No ones looking anyway.”

That was true. Everyone around you was far too into their own thing to care about you and Usopp but it didn’t really calm him. You were watching and that was enough to make him nervous.

“Here I'll help you out.”

You took his hands into your own, placing them on your hips. Usopp's fingers twitched around your waist, his arms stiff as he waited for your next move.

“Jes Usopp, loosen up! I won’t bite.”

Usopp gave you a sideways smile, his body relaxing a bit at your words.

“There you go. Much better.”

You started moving side to side slowly, allowing Usopp to get used to the motion before quickening your movements. He seemed to catch on pretty quickly, his body following the flow of the music in a matter of seconds.

“See you’re a natural!”

“Nah, I just have a good teacher.”

You smiled, biting the corner of your lip. Usopp's eyes dropped to your mouth for a brief second before moving to stare at the place where his hands rested on your body. You followed his gaze, staring at the muscles on his arms. The small amount of liquor in your system was making you bolder than normal. You inched yourself closer to Usopp, your hands resting on his chest. He raised his head to look at you, his lips parting slightly. The song changed suddenly, switching to a more sensual rhythm. You’d have to remember to leave the DJ a tip when you left. You turned your body around so that your back was pressed up against Usopp's chest.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just go with it.”

Your hips moved with the music, slow and steady, causing you to grind against the sharpshooter. You heard Usopp take a deep breath in, the grip on your waist tightening. He called out your name, making you turn your head to look at him.

“What is it?”

You knew exactly what you were doing. You'd wanted this for a while now but had never found a good time. I mean what better place to seduce someone than at a bar? Usopp lowered his mouth to your ear, his hot breath fanning over your bare skin.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.”

“Lead the way Captain Usopp.”

As soon as you arrived on the ship Usopp's hands were on you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you as close as possible before capturing your mouth in his. You’d expected Usopp to be sweet and gentle when it came to stuff like this but there was a hunger in him you hadn't seen before. It’s safe to say you enjoyed it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, using his body as leverage to lift your body up. Usopp understood what you wanted, his strong arms moving to cup your thighs so that you could wrap your legs around his waist. You groaned at the feeling of his hard on against your clothed cunt.

“Usopp…”

“Yeah princess, what do you want?”

“Too much clothing. Take it off.”

Usopp walked over to a nearby table placing you on top of it before moving back to remove his clothes. He started off with his shirt unbuttoning it to reveal the taut muscles underneath. You practically drooled at the sight. You’d become used to seeing the other boys on the crew shirtless but you often forget that beneath his clothes Usopp hid a great physic. You placed your hands between your thighs leaning forward on the table to get a better look. The position of your arms caused your breasts to be squashed together, the low cut top you were wearing doing nothing to hide them. Ussops stopped moving at the sight, the hand that had been working on his shirt stopping in mid air. You frowned at him for a moment before realizing what he was staring at. A small smirk made its way onto your face, body leaning even farther forward.

“Like what you see?”

Usopp moved forward with his hands outstretched.

“Can i?”

He looked up at you shyly.

“What do you want, baby?”

“Can I touch them?”

“Of course you can, darling.”

That was all he needed. Usopp's large hands found their way to your breasts, cupping them gently. He gave them a squeeze making you moan out. The sound of your moans drove Usopp crazy. He repeated his actions, his dick aching against his pants as you whimpered his name. He pulled down your top in one harsh tug, lowering his head so that he could suck on your nipples. You placed your hands behind you, allowing Usopp easier access to your breasts. He pushed your body backwards forcing you to lay down on the table. Your legs widened instinctively, allowing the sharpshooter to slot himself between them with ease. He grinded against you as he sucked your nipples, his hands massaging your stomach gently.

“So pretty for me.”

“For you huh?”

“I uh- i mean not for me… i don’t own you or anything i just meant-”

“Usopp.”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and make me feel good.”

“Yeah okay.”

Usopp's hands moved down to your clothed cunt tugging your shorts down before throwing them over his shoulder. You started to laugh but it quickly turned into a moan when Usopp began playing with your folds. You grind your hips against his fingers reveling in the feeling of his hands on you.

“That's it-uh- good boy.”

Ussop groaned at your praise, his free hand going to tug at his crotch. You noticed his movements moving to lean on your shoulders.

“I thought I told you to take those off.”

Usopp looked down at you and then at his pants.

“How are you expecting to fuck me with your pants on.”

You grinned as you said the words, enjoying the pant you got out of the boy.

“Can you help me?”

“Of course baby.”

You moved to sit up, your hands finding Usopp's belt and beginning to relieve him of his bottoms. Usopp kept fingering you as you worked on his clothes, his face dropping to your neck so he could leave a trail of kisses down your shoulder blade. Once you managed to unbutton Usopp's pants you reached into his boxers and cupped his dick in your hand.

“Ah princess…”

“Feel good?”

“Yeah-fuck-so good.”

“Wait until you’re inside me.”

Your words seemed to make everything real. Usopp had dreamt about this moment so many times. He’d woken up in the morning, his boxers stiff with his cum and his body itching for the feeling of you. And now here he was: your hands wrapped around his dick as he got you off with his fingers. Your walls clenched around Usopp's fingers signaling to him that you were close. If that wasn’t enough your random babbling made it very clear.

“Baby… I'm close.”

“Cum for me princess. Coat me with it.”

“You talk about it lik-ugh ah-like its a…uh…gift.”

“Because it is. Anything you give me is a gift.”

The moment Usopp's words entered your ears you started cumming. Your body went limp falling onto Usopps as you soaked his finger in your juices. He held you close, helping you through your high. Once you’d recovered your motor functions you moved to tug on Ussops chin, placing a kiss on his lips before laying back down on the table.

“Your turn, pretty boy.”

You widen your legs allowing Usopp to have a clear view of you pussy. It was puffy from your last orgasm. You motioned with your index finger for Usopp to come closer and like the good boy he was he did as you asked. You watched him free his cock from its confines, gasping at the sight of it. It wasn’t an abnormal size but it was thick. Your walls fluttered at the idea of being filled again. Usopp's hands were gentle against you as he moved your legs off the table and onto his shoulders. You smiled gently at him causing him to give you his signature smirk.

“Should I put something on?”

“No it’s okay I'm on birth control. Fill me up all you like.”

You expected Usopp to ram into you. You’d been teasing him all night after all. But he didn’t. instead he sunk into you slowly, savoring the feeling of you around him.

“Shit Usopp….”

“Fuck you’re warm.”

Usopp leaned forward, tugging your body off the table so that he could wrap his arms around you. He moved slowly, softly fucking into you. It was tender and loving. His lips found your face and he placed a kiss on your nose. You weren’t used to this. Most of your hookups had been just that. Hookups. Just meaningless sex. But this was different. This was real. You began to tear up, your eyes glossing over. The second Usopp noticed he stopped moving.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

He began pulling out of you but you called out his name before he could.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just not used to being treated like this. This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

Usopp cursed at your words. What kind of idiots had you been hooking up with before. What fools would get the opportunity to be with you like this and not treat you the way you deserved. He promised himself he would show you what it felt like to be loved. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, removing the sweaty hair from your forehead.

“I’m gonna go a little faster okay?”

“Okay.”

“Tell me if you want to stop.

“Usopp you don’t have to-”

“Promise me.”

You stared into his eyes, the eyes of a boy who’d been through so much pain and still found a way to be kind. A boy you were now releasing meant much more to you than you had expected.

“I promise.”

You spent the rest of the night pressed against Usopp's body, his hands working to bring you to places you’d never been before. When you woke up the next morning you found your body cuddled into Usopp's, his arms holding you close like he was scared of you drifting away in your sleep. You turned your body around nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

“Morning princes.”

“Morning Usopp.”

“Wanna get up?”

“No, let's just stay here a little longer.” “Whatever you want.”

If it was up to you you’d stay in Usopp's arms forever. Lucky for you he shared the sentiment.

#one piece fandom #one piece #one piece zoro #one piece smut #one piece usopp #god usopp #usopp x reader #usopp x you #usopp #opla smut #opla #opla fanfiction #smut fanfiction #smut #one piece live action #op live action #strawhat pirates

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sednonamoris · 1 year

Text

call off the dogs (and come home to me)

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: You've quietly yearned after Captain John Price for a long time now, and known him even longer. With each stolen glance and interrupted moment the tension between you grows, but everything comes to a head when a mission gone wrong forces you to confront feelings that have gone unspoken for the better part of a decade.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, strong language, alcohol mention, drunk hookup, a little bit of torture + murder, fingering, porn with plot (smut should read gender neutral but let me know if any changes will make it more inclusive!!), mild angst, mutual pining with a happy ending

Word count: 3,940

A/N: My first foray into smut inspired by the incredibly talented @yeyinde!! Expect more Hound/Price content in the future bc I’m obsessed lol

“Hound,” a familiar voice startles you from the mountain of paperwork on your desk, “what are you still doing here?”

You raise a challenging brow at your captain. “Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”

This exchange has become familiar in the months you’ve spent grounded. Anyone else would take a bullet to the knee as a chance to slow down - switch careers entirely if they were smart - but you’re stubborn. A dog with a bone. Two surgeries and months of rehab that still aren’t finished, frankly you’re lucky to be walking. Luckier still that they let you stay on with the 141; There was a minute there that Laswell threatened you with an honourable discharge. A timely intervention with the physical therapist got you out of it, the only stipulation being that you remain firmly planted behind a desk until the doctors clear you. Having spent the better part of a lifetime hands-on in the field, it’s been hard not to overextend to prove your worth off of it.

So after-hours paperwork it is. At least the company is good.

“Touché,” Price huffs a laugh through his whiskers. “Fancy a cuppa? Sounds like we’ll both be here a while yet.”

“Have I told you lately you’re my favourite? Two sugars and--”

“--a splash of cream,” he finishes for you. The twinkle in his eye warms you right through, and you smile after him a little bit like an idiot.

It’s been like this ever since the domestic terrorism scare your team was called in on in Belfast what feels like a lifetime ago. He was only a lieutenant then, and you a sergeant. You were assigned to civilian extraction, but took off when you saw one of the primary suspects make a dash for it through side streets. Price saw you go for him and followed, the two of you giving chase on foot for three blocks before you managed to dive-tackle him in a back alley. It was a major success to take him alive, but your captain at the time wanted blood for the abandoned civilians. Price stood up for you in front of the entire regiment.

Took after ‘im like a bloody hellhound! he’d said. That deserves a medal, not disciplinary action.

Just over ten years later you’re still called Hound, and he’s still the subject of your silly, unattainable daydreams. Captain John Price is a name that means something, but to you he will always be the sergeant with fire in his eyes who stood up for you when no one else would. When he asked if you were interested in joining the 141 at its inception you didn’t even hesitate. You’d follow him anywhere.

“One tea, two sugars, splash of cream,” Price announces when he returns from the kitchenette with two steaming mugs to distract you from your thoughts. Yours is placed ceremoniously on an ARW coaster you ‘borrowed’ from your last commanding officer. “Now I believe you owe me something…?”

You grin and pull out your secret stash. The false bottom of the drawer is probably meant for sensitive intel, but you’ve found it’s perfect for biscuits. Three are placed in his outstretched hand, and three next to your mug.

“You’re lucky I’ve got a man on the inside who sends me these,” you scold as he scoffs one down almost immediately.

“Yeah, tell your granddad I said ‘thanks’.”

“I can’t. He’d disown me if he knew I was feeding a Brit.”

That earns you a laugh - a true belly laugh - and you can’t help but feel entirely smug about it.

“Fuckin’ Paddies.”

“Ah, go fuck yourself.”

A companionable silence blankets the room after that, broken only by the sound of shuffled papers and laptop keys. Soft lamplight illuminates your reports so unlike the harsh fluorescents everywhere else on base. You’ve done your best to make the regulation desk homey; bright sticky notes and colored pens and a picture of you and the lads after a successful mission. Occasional hums and huffs and heavy sighs from your captain’s desk across the room breathe life into the space as well. You like to think your incoherent, foul-mouthed muttering does the same for him.

The clock reads 0100 hours when you look up again. The caffeine from the tea wore off over an hour ago and you can feel yourself starting to fade. A quick peek over at Price reveals much the same.

You open your mouth to ask if he’s ready to tuck in when he looks up and steals the breath from your lungs. His short hair is mussed where he’s been running his hands through it, that hint of premature grey turned silver at his temples in the low light. Tired eyes crinkle fondly behind the lenses of reading glasses you haven’t stopped teasing him over but can’t get enough of. It’s achingly domestic. A glimpse into a future you’ll never have - not with anyone, and certainly not with him.

“What are you thinking about over there?” he asks softly.

“Nothing,” you flash a tired and unconvincing smile. “I’m knackered. Shall I close up shop or will you, Cap?”

“I’ve got it, you get some shut-eye.”

Your eyes linger just a bit too long as you bid him goodnight, knowing very well you won’t sleep a wink.

This pub is definitely one of the shittier ones, but its location is convenient enough to pretend that the wallpaper isn’t peeling and the live band of part-time musicians and full-time retirees is any good. The handful of covers they play are indistinguishable from originals sprinkled in, all with that same, washed-out sound of empty bottles and stale dreams.

The group of hooligans crowded up at the bar sit in stark contrast of the otherwise dour patrons. Even Ghost, who’s taken the corner seat and keeps a lazy watch over the room, is loose enough to be making those terrible jokes of his. Soap and Gaz lean over one another with goofy grins and half-empty glasses before them. Price, true to form, has taken the end seat to nurse a ‘proper pint’ alongside a lit cigar the bartender can’t dispute after lighting up what looks like at least his tenth cigarette of the night behind the bar.

“If it isn’t the Bionic Hound!” Gaz calls when he spots you across the poorly-lit room, waving you over with a grin.

You shake your head, wondering why you agreed to come out tonight. But the second Gaz had started with the puppy-dog eyes there was no denying him. Drinks before leave are a 141 tradition, he’d insisted.

So here you are.

“You’re lucky it’s a metal knee and not laser eyes or you’d be in yesterday’s papers,” you wag a finger at him as you take your seat amongst them all.

Ghost snorts a laugh at the empty threat.

“Oh, come off it, Hound,” Soap says. “You love us too much.”

Price chuckles. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

You glare and wrinkle your nose at the comment, but he just smiles back at you with that damned twinkle in his eye. Prick. Then he wordlessly slides over your usual and you have to be grateful on top of it all. Double prick. One swift gulp and half of it is gone; you’re too sober for this.

The lads cackle over another awful joke - Soap’s, this time. Price holds his temples.

The drinks go down easy after that.

“Any exciting plans for your leave, Cap?” you ask. It’s almost closing time now. This place is never full, anyway, but there’s enough alcohol in your system that you almost buy into the pretense of hearing him better as you edge further and further into his space.

You’re not sure what you want him to say, exactly. Maybe if he reveals that there’s a cute little family or some stunning girlfriend waiting back home you’ll finally be able to move past the strangled feeling in your throat every time you look at him.

“Hardly,” he says around the cigar. The soft glow of it lights his face, makes him look like some sharp-eyed noir detective shrouded in smoke and mystery. “Might get a bit of fishing in, head into Liverpool and catch a game or two. What about you?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “I make a terrible civilian. After I visit my grandfather and annoy him half to death I’m not sure what I’ll do. Maybe finally get some use out of those Egyptian cotton sheets I spent a bleedin’ fortune on.”

“Are they nice?” he laughs, leans closer.

You hum an affirmative, dizzy at the little space between you. He smells like tobacco and wood, whiskey and gunpowder.

“Too nice.” You should stop talking now. “End up on the floor half the time, anyway.”

He doesn’t need to know that.

“Sleeping alone, then?”

His breath fans your face. Yours gets quicker, and you swear you’re more drunk off this shared air than any liquor you’ve had tonight.

“Sometimes.” You wet your lips. “Usually.”

Your lashes leave tender butterfly kisses on your cheekbones as you meet his blue-eyed stare that’s gone impossibly dark, dipping down to see where your lips have parted - breathless, waiting. Wanting. His hand reaches out--

“Last call!” the bartender’s shout snaps everything back to reality.

You jump away from one another as though you’ve been burned. It feels a lot like you have.

Price clears his throat, mutters something about getting back. His voice is rougher than usual. Raw. You look everywhere but him as he proceeds to round up the rest of the lads before you all stumble back to base.

Your head pounds the whole way back to Ireland the next morning, marching drums in your mind and sandpaper beneath your eyelids. The flight has never felt lonelier.

The man you bring home has blue eyes and brown hair. He’s not tall enough, certainly not broad enough, but he happened to be in the right place at the right time as you drank your sorrows away in some tiny pub up the road from your flat, and you happen to be desperate enough not to care.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you back him against your bed.

When you kiss him it’s relentless and controlling. Mean. You suck a dark bruise on his neck and climb in his lap before he can think to return the favor.

“Fuck, sweetness,” he groans at the sweet feeling of friction between your bodies. The accent is wrong. So is the endearment.

You clamp a hand over his mouth. “Shut up and fuck me.”

It’s a quick and sloppy affair, chasing a half-drunk high like a pair of horny teenagers. When all is said and done, you stare up at the ceiling on too-soft sheets and tell him he can go. He leans over to catch your eye briefly, maybe checking to see if you’re serious. You are. There’s hurt written across his expression - a bit of shock, too - but all you can think about is how his eyes are the wrong shade of blue.

The second the doctors clear you for active duty you all but sprint to Price’s desk, demanding he get you back in the field as soon as possible. He smiles up at you in that sharp way that always makes your heart stutter and promises he’s got something small in the works - perfect to shake the rust off.

Of course he’d think of an unsanctioned, off-the-books capture of a Russian mobster as small. You’re the only two who make the trip; your Russian is miles better than anyone else’s, and more bodies will only attract attention.

It’s easy to forget how beautiful Moscow is. You don’t come here often, but the sprawling cityscape and romantic spires speak to your soul, set something singing inside you. You try to hold on to that feeling as you and Price make your way into the chipped paint and piss-stained sector of the city. These winding side streets and twisted back alleys are far more fitting for your line of work.

Your mark, one Mikhail Yanovich, is a low-level enforcer for a high-interest gang that has connections to Makarov. Allegedly. That’s why you’re planning this friendly little chat. Not so much catch-and-release as catch-and-stage-a-believable-accident; if he really is involved, you can’t afford for Makarov to know you’re onto him.

It feels strange to walk around in civvies with only a thin kevlar vest underneath to protect you. Thank goodness for the cold that makes layering less conspicuous. You look every inch the lost, frozen tourist. Price does too. You don’t think the miserable face he’s pulling beneath the beanie is acting, cheeks and nose flushed raw as they are.

“Bloody cold out,” he mutters.

“The fuck did you expect, tropical holidays?”

He glowers, and you shake your head to hide a smile.

Thankfully, kidnapping Yanovich is quick work; two bickering tourists hardly seem like the type who will stick you with a needle on your way to work and drag your unconscious body to a stashed van, driving through bad, then worse neighborhoods to reach a secure location to interrogate you.

He wakes tied to a chair in the basement of an abandoned parking garage you and Price have taken up a temporary residence in. The captain circles him like a vulture, taking in all the details a broad frame and blockish features have to offer. You sit perched on the edge of a shitty folding table set just in the shadows. Patient. Waiting. There’s a case of freshly sharpened knives beside you - the Hound’s fangs, as Ghost likes to call them. So often the glinting threat of harsh light on metal is all it takes to break a man.

“What can you tell us about Makarov?” Price opens.

“Go fuck yourself.”

The blow lands harsh on Yanovich’s cheekbone. Instantly a bruise begins to form, splotchy and plum on pale skin.

“I asked you a bloody question. I promise you’d rather answer me than Hound over there,” Price looms over him, growls in his ear. “Makarov. Tell me everything you know.”

There’s a stubborn set to his jaw when he says, “I know nothing.”

If he really knew nothing he either would have laughed in your face or led with open ignorance. The way he clings to resistance can only mean there’s something to resist telling. As to how much he knows? There’s another echoing crack as Price backhands him.

You’ll soon find out.

“Hound,” your name on your captain’s tongue is as much a command as an invitation.

You lean forward, step into the light. Twirl one of your knives expertly between scarred fingers. Watch it flash in the whites of his eyes.

“I’ll ask you again: Where is Makarov?” Price demands.

“I. Don’t. Know.”

You step between Yanovich’s legs, lean over him and gently trace your blade over his groin with a smile sharper than the knife. He lets out a harsh breath.

“I said I don’t know. Boss tells me nothing - I’m just a guard.”

The knife presses, insistent. Not quite hard enough to draw blood yet. A bead of sweat rolls down Yanovich’s forehead. He’s pressed himself as far back into the chair as his bonds will allow.

“Fine! He comes to club once a month. Speaks to the boss.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know-- I swear!” his accent is thick with unfamiliar syllables and fear.

“When’s he due next?”

“You just missed him. He always comes last day of month.”

“Location?”

“Changes every time,” he says, licks his lips. “I told you all I know - call off your fucking dog!”

You dig your knife in for good measure just to watch the hate and fear in his eyes before backing off at Price’s nod.

Turning to step away and table your knife, you don’t miss the way Yanovich mutters darkly after you, “My zdes strelaem vie brodyachikh sobak, suki. Esli ya uviju tebya snova, the mertview.”

Then a gunshot fires.

You pull your weapon out of its holster and whip around to cover Price, only to find the smoking gun in his hand and Yanovich’s head splattered on the wall behind him. Captain John Price stands over the body, eyes blazing, chest heaving, gun still aimed. Blood and brain matter speckles his face and clothes.

“What the fuck was that?” you demand. “He could have told us more! And what about the cover-up? Blowing his brains six ways to fucking Sunday isn’t exactly a bleedin’ accident!”

You expect some kind of remorse when he turns to face you, but there’s only a grim, deadly acceptance. “He said--"

“I heard what he said, I can speak bloody Russian!” you stalk towards him and jab a finger into his chest. “We were gonna kill the cunt anyway. You should have waited.”

Price snarls, lip curling to bare his teeth. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you.”

Suddenly you’re hyperaware of how close the two of you are standing. “How did he look at me?”

“He wanted to kill you the slowest way he knew how,” he says, like he’s confessing a sin, “and I’d shoot his fucking face a thousand times over to make sure he never looks at you again.”

And just like that anything you were going to say dies in your throat, comes out a pathetic whimper. He grabs a fistful of your shirt and hauls you the rest of the short distance to him.

“Tell me you wouldn’t do the same,” he demands. “Tell me to stop.”

His hand burns on your chest, an iron-hot brand of possession.

“John,” you breathe, because you don’t know what else to say. The look in his eyes is magnetic, drawing you in further still with pupils blown wide with want. “Don’t stop.”

He kisses you rough, teeth and tongue and a certain kind of desperation brought on by the still-warm corpse lying just a few feet away. When you break for air he wastes no time kissing down your neck, every inch of exposed skin branded by his lips and the rough scrape of his beard. Yanovich’s blood smears down the column of your throat.

“Fuck, John,” you say, “just like that.”

“Sound so fucking perfect when you say my name,” he growls and bites down on your pulse point, leaving you gasping.

It’s enough to distract you from his true purpose, large hands cupping beneath your ass and scooping you up into his arms. You hold on tight as three purposeful strides take you across the room to the table. One sweep of his arm has everything tumbling off it before he sets you down to stare up at him with wide eyes and a kiss-swollen mouth.

When he captures your lips again it’s searing, molten heat rushing through your veins. It pools in your stomach, that too-hot wanting, and it suddenly hits you how much you do want this. Him. Each kiss tastes like so many years of silent longing, of standing too close and staring too long and wanting too much. All suddenly real and within reach.

You let your hands snake up his shirt, explore the broad plane of his chest and the wiry hair that curls over it. Your fingers run over scars like braille that tell stories of violence and valor. Some of these stories you helped write. There, beneath his ribs, where you had to stitch him up in the field to keep his guts from spilling into the streets of Vienna. The lump where his collarbone never healed right after taking the brunt of a nasty blow meant for you. He shivers under your touch. Then his large, calloused hands cover yours and stop them in their tracks.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, “because I don’t think I can wait any longer than I already have to feel you.” His voice is even lower and rougher than usual, accent thick with arousal. “Do you want that?”

You nod, afraid to speak and break the spell.

“Come on, soldier, use your words.”

“Yes, Captain. Please.”

His grip on your hips tightens and he lets out a growl. “That’s my perfect soldier.”

It’s all the warning you get before he tucks his fingers under the waistband of your trousers and underwear and tugs them down to your thighs, leaving you exposed before him.

“Fuck, just look at you,” he says under his breath, almost like you aren’t meant to hear.

You squirm under the scrutiny. A hot flush creeps up your neck as he stares, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He looks at you like you’re some kind of revelation, like he’s been denied salvation all his life only to find it at the apex of your thighs.

One, two, then three fingers stretch you open for him quick and dirty. It’s too much too fast but you want it so bad, and the pleasure far outweighs any pain. When he finally unzips his trousers to free his already hard, leaking cock you think you drool a little bit. You knew he’d be big, the way he carries himself, but seeing it is something else. Your insides flutter at the thought of the tight fit. He lines up to your entrance with that same military precision you’ve always admired before pushing in slowly, slowly, slower still. When he bottoms out he does it with a deep groan, your fingernails raking down his back as you keen at the sensation. This small mercy, just a few moments to adjust with his forehead pressed to yours, is all you’re granted before he sets a brutal pace. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes off cracked concrete. With each thrust he hits someplace deep inside you no one else has managed to find.

Heat coils in your belly, closer and closer to fever pitch with each expert snap of his hips.

“John,” you pant, “m’gonna… gonna cum. Feels so good.”

He says your name like a prayer. “Cum for me, then. Want to see you make a mess of yourself on my cock.”

Like a tidal wave breaking against a dam you cum fast and hard at his words with a broken sob. He fucks you through the high, brushing a tear from the corner of your eye with a rough thumb.

“There you are, so good for me,” he says. “Gonna cum all over your pretty little self, make you mine.”

“I’m yours, John,” you gasp, “all yours.”

His thrusts turn sloppy chasing his own high, and it doesn’t take long before he pulls out and makes good on his words, covering your stomach in spend as he grinds out your name. Bent over your body, he presses a chaste kiss to the juncture of your neck before pulling back to admire his handiwork. In the afterglow you lay spread out on the table with a sheen of sweat, smeared with his cum and another man’s blood. The way his eyes darken rubbing it into your skin, and the way you shiver at the sensation, you think that you both might like it a little too much.

“Laswell’s gonna kill us for this,” he murmurs.

You hum your agreement. “So where shall we hide the body?”

His eyes shine down on you with adoration and crinkle with wicked humor. “I’m sure we’ll think of something, but let’s be quick about it. The sooner we get home the better.”

“Yes,” you hear yourself agreeing, “home.”

For you, it will always be at his side.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #fran writes #this fic came over me like a possession i have nothing to say for myself #cod x reader #cod mwii x reader

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azulsluver · 1 month

Note

FINALLY ANOTHER YANDERE TF2 BLOG

I’ve checked your blog out and I’m finding out you just recently added tf2 🤭 since requests are open can I get something about the post you did of Scout falling for the teams enemy. Can you write a reaction about realizing they have the hots for them? Spy and Scout pretty please with a cherry on top and thank you 🙏🏻

This one got a lil kick to it

Note that I personally have red and blue tf2 characters have different personalities (bc I made my lil tweaks for blue team as my ocs :3)

tw. yandere, gore (?), description of violence, stalking, implied psychological torture, mind break.

Scout is just that guy. So when you’re face planted into soil or concrete you have already given up on fighting back. It’s harder and less gruesome this time, there isn’t a chance to exchange snarky insults when a bat is smashed into your gut.

You don’t wanna point fingers but you’re so sure the Scout is targeting you. Not even going after your Medic, it’s always straight towards you. There were plenty of times you wanted to confront him about it but that just makes you look silly to pout about.

So when you did have the balls to corner and yell at him to piss off, his winning smile would be the last thing you’d see before being blasted with his scattergun.

You’re beyond furious for not being taken seriously, this feels way more personal than fighting over land, it’s as if you offended him in some way.

Scout definitely takes is personally. Like who even are you? All high and mighty on the enemies team with your cute little weapons. It pisses him off so bad he doesn’t even know why. There’s a deep hated settlement for the Blue team, your other teammates don’t catch his eyes like you did, you want his attention so bad dontcha?

When it’s another day of going out to work you almost wanna stay back. But your team needs you as much as you needed them. So you suck it up and pray that Scout would get tired of you one day. You think of what could go wrong, or how it could get even worse. To the point where you’re forced against the wall with his metal bat strangling your neck, the cold steel crushing your windpipe as Scout eyes you up.

“I felt as this could’ve been way more easier on your part, ya know, take ya out some’r real nice. But you wanna be difficult, huh?”

“I mean, I know you got the hots for me, all the babes do.”

His grip lacks in pressure as he geeks to himself, prideful. Taking large amounts of breaths, your hand finds its weapon and clumsily hit him over the head.

It knocks him off you, you’re wheezing and lightheaded as you stumble on top of him. Your fist repeatedly bashing into his face, all the pent up anger slowly releasing as you come to a stop. Holding onto his dog tag with one hand and the other in his hair.

You can say you fantasized the day Scout would fumble into your hands, where you can put the little shit in his place and show him just exactly why you were hired to be here.

The blood dripping down his nose and mouth was not flattering, but god did it feel good. Scout can only suck in his breaths through busted teeth and nose, hazy eyes staring up at you so adoringly.

Putting an end to it, leaving him back in respawn, Scout shudders as he falls backwards on his ass. His heart racing of feeling alive, dead before, but it felt amazing by your hands. The way you looked at him like he was some scum, angering you might be his new favorite hobby.

However, he had to show you what happens when stunts like those get out of hand, don’t you know only he can do that to you?

Spy didn’t think to find himself in love. Not exactly love, loving someone doesn’t make you repeatedly stab their back more than usual. Lingering, waiting, for you to be alone so he can pounce. It’s ungentlemanly of him, but he doesn’t wanna stop so soon.

Just the smell of cigarettes has you on edge, you know it’s your Spy, damned look-a-like. It leaves you paranoid, like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Anyone can be him. Is your Scout a little too nonchalant? Or did you feel unease at your Engineer not answering you in the dead of night, but it’s Engineer, the poor guy needs sleep. But so do you. You can’t feel comfortable in your own base. Always looking over your shoulder, that Demo has been too touchy with you.

It leaves things complicated, one, Spy isn’t so sure on how to reciprocate his feelings with you. It’s unprofessional to date coworkers, one on the other team to be exact. He won’t deny the terror on your face amuses him, it felt nice to know he left a permanent presence that has you petrified. It’s selfish of him to want and indulge, so he carefully, makes himself known in your life. Understand he’s here to stay.

Some psychological damage is being done, you’ve seen plenty of fucked up shit, but being human can only get you so far. It’s gotten to the point you begged your Medic to give you some sorts of medication to sleep better. A place where Spy wouldn’t be able to get you even if he had your physical body back in reality.

You need sleep. He’s making you lose it. You’re losing it and the bags under your eyes are proof.

War leaves something for everyone, a part of you is within those battle grounds. By his hands, laying dead in his arms as your body disintegrates into nothing. You’ll be back at spawn. Dreading to step foot out back to chaos. Because you can see him waiting for you.

Spy needs you without a doubt, you have shown that you aren’t capable of caring for yourself. A mercenary is strong and stable, you were once, yet he’s stripped away a valuable part of you.

#yandere tf2 #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 spy x reader #not my proudest ramble ima be real #feel like I can explore their tactics and behaviors better 😒

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year

Note

Hi love

I stumbled upon ur blog and ahh love ur writting i wad thinking maybe if ur requests are open that u could write a lil smth IF UR FREE OFCI

was thinking scaramouche x reader argument (angst to fluff :the ansgt shouldnt be brutal bc i dont hsndle it well)

Or if ur not comfy writting that u could doo

Scaramouche x reader scara accidentally confesses to reader??

Dont overwork urself and remember to eat <3

✿ 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 ✿

characters: scaramouche x nb!reader

warnings: just a cute fluffy fic<3333, a bit of a namecalling and cursing but then again it’s scara we’re talking abt, yearning, scara don’t knowing what to do with feelings, i say traveler so you can think of it as either sibling you want, it’s more from scara’s and 3rd pov

notes: hi hi hi! absolutely loving the fact i’m getting requests ehe~ i thought of going with the argument one but i’m afraid it might get a bit too dark bc i absolutely love angst😔 i’m sorry luv. but i hope you don’t mind this one cuz i literally started working on it right as i got it lmaoooo. also the song mentioned is “rises the moon” highly recommend

“wait, hold, pause. you’re telling me that you keep staring at [name] is because you love them??? as in??? love love?????? as in romantically??? “holy shit i’m feeling emotions” way??? as in-“

“godDAMMIT TRAVELER YES! I LIKE THEM OKAY!” this was definitely not how scaramouche wanted his secret infatuation with you to slip out. so if you’re wondering just what in the name of all the dead or alive gods’ is happening then let’s rewind a little bit.

—

you were always with the traveler and their stupid little pixie. constantly supporting them, helping people, traveling around teyvat, making friends and some enemies and accidentally stealing the the heart of a certain bowl-cut head.

he first met you during his plan in mondstadt to ambush the traveler. just as he was about to strike them, your claymore was thrown in front of him, blocking his path and the astrologist managed to escape with the traveler and the chatty girl. immediately sending electro strikes to your presumed location only to find a scorched jacket instead.

the second was during the delusion factory incident. when the balladeer charged at the weakened and drugged traveler, you appeared once again, protecting your companions and clashing against the harbinger. even after the traveler passed out and the drugs was starting to make you see hallucinations, you still fought earnestly. and that was the first impressive thing about you. the second being, you, a lowly mortal being able to fight toe to toe against a hundreds of years old merciless harbinger like him. and the third was how incredibly loyal you were. while he shot electro made weapons at you, the balladeer had briefly wondered if you were his friend, would you have protected him just like how you were protecting the traveler and their pixie.

the third time, he was no longer a harbinger but a god. the everlasting lord of arcane wisdom. since he has ascended to godhood, he would have followers and he had proudly asked you if you would become one. but you were headstrong and still disgustingly loyal to yourself and to your friend, the traveler. the everlasting lord has never felt more jealous of someone since his disposal as a failure.

after the battle ended and the dust cleared, his gnosis was taken away.

how dare they! how dare those weak, disgusting pests! how could the world be so cruel! why does it keep taking away things that are rightfully his! it wasn’t fair!

as he fell from the destroyed mechanical robot, the broken puppet felt himself being caught and cradled in someone’s arms. he was too tired to even care but he hoped it was you.

the fourth time was when he met you as the wanderer. not the manipulative, blood thirsty harbinger but simply as scaramouche, the wanderer. the boy who regained his heart. at first you kept your guards up. anyone who isn’t stupid would. yet slowly your little group began to feel more and more like a group of friends just traveling around the world together. paimon, traveler alongside yourself taught scaramouche about the humane side of things, while he would help with battle tactics, training and sometimes keeping guard during the night. it was oddly… sweet.

during your travels together, the purple eyed eccentric learned more about you. you liked slow dancing under the stars sometimes, you didn’t like the hot sun of the afternoon, loves to make silly, meaningless little things such as flower crowns and wood carvings. hates how your friends or companions would injure themselves during a fight. it was all so very strange but so, endearing.

one night, the traveler couldn’t fall asleep due to nightmares plaguing their mind and you hummed a gentle song to them. something about closing their eyes, going to sleep and the moon will surely rise again. he wondered if you would sing to him if he were to cry in his sleep or grew restless due to nightmares.

the wanderer would watch as you chide the traveler and paimon for walking into danger like idiots as you clean their wounds with the gentlest touch. he thought of how you would treat him if he was injured.

scaramouche saw how the traveler and their companion would joyously yell your name and throw themselves at you shouting “catch!” as you three would reunite with a hug after doing some commissions separately.

he wanted to be the one to be hugged by you instead. he wanted to push the traveler and their loud pixie away and throw himself into your arms. how warm you would feel, how you would remind him of a warm summer night filled with laughter and story telling, how he wanted to close his eyes and drown himself in your everything. your smile, gentle humming in the night, silly little antics, weird 3am thoughts, your kiss until every sense and thought of him is just filled by you and only you. only you and no one or nothing else.

scaramouche soon understood what this longing feeling was. it was called “love”. but how can a puppet ever learn to love? aren’t puppets just a hollow being made only to follow their orders and entertain? would he be no longer a discarded puppet if he were to feel emotions? would scaramouche be seen as human if he fall in love with you?

and he concluded that he was no puppet. he was no hollow husk of a being for he had a heart. he was no being made to entertain for he had cut his strings. he was no puppet for he had emotions. he was scaramouche. and scaramouche fell in love with you.

ever since he realized his feelings and his desires, he would always stare at you. his mind filled with daydreams of how it would feel like to kiss you. his body feeling a little colder without you to gently hold him. his heart feeling twisted whenever he sees you smiling at someone that wasn’t him. his hand feeling empty because you weren’t linking yours with his.

dammit all. he was hopelessly, foolishly in love. and that is where it leads to the current situation. the traveler noticed how the wanderer would always stare at you whenever you didn’t notice and they decided to confront him of it. turns out it was the complete opposite of what they were thinking. sadly it seems like the victim in questioning shouted a bit too loud because now you were standing beside them in your sleepwear, wide awake and clearing your throat.

you woke up because these three idiots wouldn’t stop chattering in the middle of the night and your light sleeper self had woken up. just as you were rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and grumbling curses under your breath you heard scaramouche’s not so secret confession. now don’t get me wrong, you had feelings for the purple eyed male but due to all four of you traveling together, you didn’t want to make things awkward. well, seems like that just got thrown out the window.

“ahem” three different reaction happened all at once. scaramouche looked like he wanted to bury himself right then and there, paimon gasped dramatically and the traveler gave scaramouche a knowing smirk. that little shit.

“traveler, paimon could you two please excuse us for a while?”

“sure. but don’t get too heated you two” oh that little pesky traveler. you’ll get them back for this. after waiting a while for them to disappear out of sight, you faced the tomato faced scaramouche. he didn’t know what to think, say or what kind of an excuse to come up with to save his life. so he tipped his head down, hoping you won’t see his red face but that hope was squashed when he felt you hand on his cheeks. tilting his head to look at you, he saw a smile on your face.

with the moon shining on you and him and the soft glow of crystalflies floating around, you looked even more ethereal. if true beauty were to be sculpted, it would be you. so incredibly flawed, humane but so incredibly otherworldly.

cupping his cheeks in both of your hands and tilting his face, you lowly whispered if it would be okay to kiss him. all he could do was nod like a meek, shy boy. and when you finally, finally kissed him after his months of longing it felt like all of the crystalflies around were now floating around in his stomach. his mind getting filled by the thoughts of only you and him in this moment and his heart racing miles a minute. when you pulled away, he chased after your lips like a depraved man. throwing his arms around your neck and pulling you back towards him, it felt like everything was right.

he is scaramouche. and he fell in love with you.

—

bonus:

“awww, two lovers connected by fate. PAIMON WANTS TO BE INVITED TO THE WED - bonk”

#nobu.writes #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin x reader #scaramouche x you #no beta we die like rex lapis #x gn reader

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eggyboyoart · 1 year

Text

Domestic Bliss

CW: Todoroki’s terrible cooking (I don’t care if he can cook in canon, this is MY WORLD and I’ll do whatever I want with him-), theres a lot of slang and meme talk, nose injury ig?? Todoroki wearing an apron and being domestic and cute :D, mentions of vomit, trying really heard not to gag or throw up, tears, being in mental/physical anguish bc of bad cooking.

WORD COUNT: approx. 1800 words, second person

Summary: You’re already having a shitty morning, what else could go wrong? ...Todoroki’s cooking, that’s what.

Good morning.

Well, considering that you fell face first out of bed, good morning is probably inaccurate.

Your stomach rumbles as you stumble out of your dorm room, your eyes bleary, mind still fuzzy with sleep. and nose aching painfully from its sudden meeting with the floor.

You curse to yourself as you make your way to the dorm's kitchen, hoping that a warm breakfast (hopefully made by Bakugou) will make your morning somewhat better.

Your hand comes up to rub your throbbing nose as you shuffle into the dining space, seeing your beloved classmates. They all greet you with various degrees of enthusiasm and sleepiness.

You feel your mood brighten slightly as you see Mina peak her head around the corner of the kitchen and look at you.

You feel your mood suddenly drop when you see how awkward and sort of filled with dread? she looks.

You stop in your tracks as your pink haired friend pulls her head back behind the wall of the kitchen and whisper something incoherent. Oh God, what is she doing? You're not in the mood for silly goofy shenanigans right now.

Your eyes narrow in suspicion when she comes back out and walks toward you, slinging her arm around your shoulders and stretches out her words with a sleezy tone.

"Heeyy, my awesome, epic slay bestie. How are youu? Have a good morning so far?" Mina averts her eyes suspiciously as you stare her down for her strange behaviour. You sigh as you pout and rub your nose.

"Shit. It was shit, Mina. I fell off the bed and smacked my nose into the ground. God, I'm surprised it’s not bleeding” Mina cringes for a moment, looking very sorry for you as she leans in closer to whisper to you.

"Well, your morning is about to get a whole lot worse" She grimaces before explaining further.

"A special someone who is near and dear to your heart is cooking you breakfast," Your eyes widen for a moment and your heart flutters, quickly looking around to see if anyone is listening in before whispering out the name.

"Todoroki? is cooking me breakfast?" You look at Mina in disbelief as your thoughts run wild and your heart beats heavily in your chest. Todoroki? The love of your life and your future husband? (He doesn’t know it yet, but he is). He’s making you breakfast?

“That- That’s great! OMG, he’s solidifying his role as my house husband. Why would that make my morning worse?” You smile brightly, with a mood lifted so high, your nose doesn’t even hurt anymore. Mina looks at you for a moment, an unreadable look on her face. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before whispering.

“…the food that he’s making, it-… it looks alive. Its like, burnt but also raw at the same time?” Mina looks at you with an unpleasant look on her face. You let out a nervous chuckle and ask cautiously, your eyes narrowing and smile fading slightly.

“Oh. come on. Surely It can’t be that bad, right?” You let out a small chuckle again as you keep looking at her. The smile fades off your face as her face does not change from its dread-filled cringe. Mina’s eyes flicker to the kitchen behind you both. She slowly turns her gaze back to you. She bites her lip and shakes her head gently. Your face drops into a deadpan stare and you point your finger at her weakly.

“Say sike right now. Say sike, right. Now” Mina shakes her head more firmly as you vehemently deny the truth.

“He can’t cook for shit- “

“You’re lying- “

“I’m sorry, babe. No bi-coloured house husband for you- “

“SAY SIKE- “

“[Name], you’re awake.” Both your and Mina’s heads whip around to face the new voice. Todoroki stands there in a navy-blue apron with a dirty, batter-covered whisk in hand. The apron is covered in flour and what you assume is eggs? (at least, you hope) and his hair is slicked back with one of Mina’s ‘self-care’ headbands. You feel the air briefly leave your lungs as you take in how domestic he looks, with his cute little apron and messy, pulled back hair, his heterochromatic eyes looking at you so eagerly-

You also feel the air actually leave your lungs when Mina jabs her elbow into your ribs. You keel over and clutch the abused spot on your torso as Mina greets Todoroki.

“Heyy, ‘roki. I got [Name], just like you wanted. Though, class starts soon. We might not have time for breakfast.” Mina chuckles nervously as you give a weak nod in agreement. If Mina is trying to save you from this fate, then its most likely for good reason.

“oh” Todoroki looks down for a moment before speaking softly, “...I was really looking forward to seeing you try it…”.

…

Fuck good reason and fuck Mina.

“I’ll try it!” You chirp out, much to the delight of Todoroki and the absolute, unfathomable horror of Mina. Todoroki looks at you with eager eyes.

“Really? You’ll try it?” Todoroki takes a half step forward, looking at you with gentle enthusiasm. (as enthusiastic as Todoroki can get). You nod fearlessly, pointedly avoiding Mina’s petrified stare into the side of your head.

“Yeah, I bumped my nose, so I’ll have to go see recovery girl- I’ll be late anyway so I’ll try it, yeah” Todoroki nods in response and takes a few steps back and begins to turn away, back to presumably get the food you will be consuming.

“Take a seat at the table, I’ll bring it out to you”. You let out a ‘mhm’ in agreement and unashamedly avoid Mina’s gaze as you plop down into an empty seat at the dining table. Mina stares a hole into your head as you stare into the table, sweating at the intensity of her glare.

Todoroki comes back quickly and places a plate down in front of you and for a second, you feel nothing. Your expression is blank as you observe what is there.

…oh.

…Mina was right

It…

It looks… alive??

There are no words to describe the amalgamation on the plate before you. You gape, slack jawed and eyes wide at this… thing?? as Todoroki presents it and places it on the table in front of you.

You observe it, terrified, for a moment (why is it purple?), trying to figure out the best way to approach such a beast (WHY IS IT MOVING??).

From your peripherals, you see Mina staring at it too with her face turning more and more horrified as the seconds tick past.

You slowly turn your head to look at Todoroki, eyes wide as you take in his expression.

He looks so… excited.

Well, as excited as his usually stoic and blank expression can look.

He looks so, so eager for you to try this.

For you to like it.

…

…for you to like him.

…

Damn it…

You take a deep breath in, then suddenly, faster than anyone in the room can follow with their eyes, you scoop some of the ooze onto your fork and shove it into your mouth.

…

…oh

…

Oh.

Oh No.

Oh God.

You have never been more grateful to be in the hero course because it takes every ounce of strength in your entire body to not immediately throw up.

How is it wet AND dry at the same time??

Its vile.

You don’t even have a chance to even try and chew before it completely dissolves into liquid in your mouth. There are dry lumps of something? In it.

Its rancid.

Your eyes start watering as you take in the taste.

There are no words to describe it other than,

disgusting.

Pure, foul, putrid-

You turn your watery gaze to Todoroki, and he looks back. His eyes are wide with anticipation, and you hear his breath hitch quietly.

You take a deep inhale in (bad choice, you smell it now),

…

You force your face to go completely blank as you weakly lift a hand up.

A weak thumbs up.

…

His smile is almost enough for you to forget the taste of death.

The smallest, proud little grin splits across Todoroki’s face as he lets out a relieved sigh. He looks beautiful. His expression goes blank again as he coughs into his hand and speaks, a small, barely noticeable blush on his cheeks. Oh, that blush-

“I’m glad that you like it” He looks at you, with the same small smile and you almost feel like it was worth it. You nod stiffly, feeling as if the second you open your mouth, you will begin to projectile vomit. Your mouth twists into a painful grimace smile as you nod.

Todoroki keeps looking at you for a moment before one of Todoroki’s friends- Midoriya or Iida, you assume, you can’t hear well over the ringing in your ears from the sheer force of trying not to gag-

Todoroki turns his gaze back to you as you attempt to swallow (unsuccessfully). He looks at you with those gentle, beautiful eyes and asks softly.

“I’ll see you for afternoon classes, right? Maybe we can sit next to each other?” You nod stiffly again, unable to do anything but sit there, lest you begin to violently throw up.

He turns away and leaves with his group of friends.

Your throat burns and your eyes follow Todoroki as he begins the walk to the school campus, friends in tow. Your eyes water as you just sit there, Mina standing over you with a horrified expression.

You think back to the smile Todoroki gave you. A delicate, kind thing for you and you alone.

Even though your nose still hurts like a bitch, and your taste buds are dying as we speak, your mood lightens ever so slightly and you don’t regret a thing.

Despite how the morning started (with a face full of wooden floor) and how its just now ended (a mouthful of burnt, yet still undercooked 'breakfast' and tears forming in your eyes), your lips still twitch into a smile against your agonised, pained will.

Mina comfortingly pats you on the shoulder as a single, pain-filled tear runs down your cheek.

God damn, the things you do for love.

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stuckinapril · 5 months

Note

how do i deal with social anxiety?

disclaimer that social anxiety is a spectrum, it comes in very different forms, and there’s no one size fits all for how to deal with it. this is just the perspective of a 21 year old girl who’s trying to get by as much as anyone else. it’s perfectly fine if my way doesn’t align with yours; the goal is to ultimately find ways that do align.

with that said!! it helped a lot to realize that most people genuinely don’t care. this is the spotlight effect—you think that everyone’s laser-focused on what you’re doing, when in reality no one’s keeping this elaborate tally of when you embarrass yourself, of when you fail at something, of how you carry yourself in general. life is hard and busy for most people, and even if they do find amusement in something you did, it’s the equivalent of looking at a funny tiktok and scrolling past it ten seconds later. just like you, most people are tangled in their own little cobweb of problems.

this is not to say that people who do obsess over other people don’t exist. they absolutely do. but their opinion should be virtually worthless to you, bc no well-rounded, emotionally intelligent person is going to be spending their free time voyeuristically hating on somebody else’s every move. if they do have that kind of time, they’re probably miserable people without much going for them, and misery loves company. the best way to respond to them is just to starve them of the attention they’re trying to evoke from you.

i really wish someone would’ve told me this in high school, bc for me high school was the peak of that kind of behavior. teenagers have not been alive for that long, so i think the concept that other people have emotions that are just as complex, just as valid, just as deserving of compassion as theirs are is pretty hard for most of them to grasp. and hell, some of them even age into adults who never outgrow the “my feelings inherently have more value than yours” “everyone else is an npc” “my impulses must be validated first and foremost” mentality. it’s like yes, you should prioritize yourself at the end of the day, but sometimes there’s more nuance to it than that & that shouldn’t just be disregarded in favor of instantaneous comfort.

also very important to note!! please don’t be hard on yourself on days where you backslide. the halcyon standard of never being afflicted w anxiety does not exist. i try to bounce back from things pretty quickly, but even i have days where i feel like shit, days where i’m anxious about what other people think, days where i’m not courageous enough to do something, days where i cry in the shower etc etc. the calmest person you know has had them. they also just tend to be the kind of person who doesn’t disclose them, so you get this larger than life aura from them that makes you think you’re defective in comparison. i promise that is not the case. you are human and it’s okay not to be perfect. the key is to hold yourself accountable and to try to do better next time.

whether you’re dealing with teenagers who’re yet to mature, adults who refuse to mature, or just anyone who’s being hostile towards you without a sane cause to be, just know it has everything to do w them and nothing to do w you. it may seem like it does, but it really doesn’t. behavior like this is without fail a manifestation of other people’s insecurities, as opposed to an actual statement about your worth as a person. as long as you’re rooted in who you are, it will never matter how other people perceive you.

#i rly hope this helps anon 🧸💕 i love u so #ask

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enid-rhees · 10 months

Note

hihi! could you write a rosita x reader and the reader is a really anxious person so if she ever gets into arguments with people she usually just lets them “win” and rosita defends them. but one day she gets into a argument with spencer about the way rick is running things and what not (reader being ricks #1 supporter bc YES??) and when rosita goes to defend the reader and stand up for her after spencer says something insulting, the reader actually stands up for herself and tells spencer off basically. and rosita the whole time is just smirking and proud of her girlfriend for saying something and not letting him talk shit LMFAO

and then when rosita and reader are alone shes just telling her how proud she is of reader bc she’s just the best <33

i hope this makes sense and has enough details and all that. if you don’t feel comfortable writing this then no worries!! :)) thank you so much!

hi anon !! tysm for requesting!! hope you enjoy <3 and YES we fucking love Rick in this house.

warnings: slight misogyny

A/N: hope you all enjoy! if you’d like to request, read pinned!

upon arriving in Alexandria, there were rules you had to follow. with being on the road for so long, some of your group had trouble getting used to them.

some of these rules had made you feel a bit odd, but you kept it to yourself. you didn’t want to cause trouble with anyone, especially Deanna and her sons. you knew you wouldn’t be able to stand up for yourself against them.

you had just gone out on a run with Rick and Glenn, along with Spencer and Aiden. it was the first time ever doing it with people neither of you fully trusted, and it of course didn’t end very well.

Spencer pushed you out of the way to get in Rick’s face. you stumbled back, but you were immediately grabbed onto by Rosita. “what the hell were you thinking out there?!” Spencer yelled.

Rick squinted his eyes, his head tilting to the side a bit. “what the hell was i thinking? i was doing what we always do. get what we need and get out.” Rick said back.

“what you did back there is not how we do things around here.” Spencer argued. “i don’t care what you did out there before coming here, but we don’t do that here.”

“why the fuck does it matter?” you blurted out. “we got what you needed. that’s all that fucking matters. get over yourself. Rick was doing his job, like you should have been doing.”

Spencer turned to you and scoffed, eyeing you up and down. “i don’t even know why you came with. a woman like you isn’t suitable for shit like this.”

your eyebrows raised as you stared back at him. “excuse me?” Rosita said to him. “a woman like-“ you put a hand on her shoulder, making her stop talking.

“a woman like me, huh?” you asked, a laugh escaping your throat. “let me tell you something, Spencer. i’ve seen shit that you can’t even fathom imagining. i know what the fuck i’m doing out there and always have. just because i’m a little quiet doesn’t mean i won’t fucking tear you apart if i have to. i’m sorry that you and your weak ass brother aren’t like us. truly. so how about you shut the fuck up about the way we do things so we can keep your sorry asses alive.”

your chest rose and fell quickly as you both stared at each other. you had no idea where all of that came from, and you were quite shocked by yourself. your intense glare didn’t falter, and he eventually walked away from you.

you turned to Rosita, who had a smirk on her face. a breathy laugh left your lips, “lets go home.” Rosita said, taking your hand and pulling you with her.

once the two of you made it into your bedroom, you slipped off your blood-stained shirt, throwing it into the corner of the room. you dug through the dresser, pulling out one of Rosita’s clean shirts.

after you put on a new pair of shorts, you felt Rosita wrap her arms around you from behind. she laid her head on your shoulder, “that was fucking incredible of you, by the way.” she told you.

you smiled, “thank you, Ro. i don’t even know where it came from. he just… pissed me off.” you said.

“i’m so proud of you, Y/N. seriously.” Rosita pressed a kiss to your neck, lingering her lips there for a moment. you turned around in her arms so you could now face her.

those words repeated in your head. Rosita knew best that you struggled with confrontation, or any conflict in general. it definitely wasn’t your strong suit, and it always ended with Rosita defending you. and you loved it, but sometimes you just felt helpless because of it.

“thank you,” you said quietly. your lips connected, Rosita held your waist tightly, keeping you pressed up against her. “i love you. so much.” she whispered against your lips. “so, so proud of you.”

you smiled against her, “i love you too.”

#rosita espinosa #rosita espinosa x fem!reader #rosita x reader #twd rosita #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #twd #twd x reader

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