#because surly if they can do it now they could have done it then??

[thisisntreaver]

That quest in fable 2 where sparrow has to go save their child from the same cave where they saw a man simply die of heartbreak because they didn't get to his son before he was turned into a hobbe must fuck with them so bad

#fable #fable 2 #like last time they were in this cave searching for a child they failed #and this time its THEIR child which makes it exponentially worse imagine how fucking scared they are #and your spouse is honestly so calm which I assume is because they believe sparrow capable of saving their kid np #but this must be a nightmare for sparrow like when they get out their child in hand all that guilt from before is back #because surly if they can do it now they could have done it then?? #doesn't matter that they have a decades experience over that original situation #they should have been better earlier #Idk I'm rambling I just think this has a lot of potential-

[zepskies]

Talk to Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Ben had a vivid nightmare last night. You know how he is about his “man feelings.” But you try to get him to open up anyway, before you both lose your tempers.

AN: This was requested by my lovely friend @deans-spinster-witch. It's set in the Break Me Down-verse and is a sequel to the SB imagine below:

See this imagine for context: Ben loses you.

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Imagine: You confront Ben about his fears.

“What the fuck is wrong with this cocksucking coffee maker?” Ben snarked.

He bumped the top of it with his hand, so hard you thought he was going to break it.

Your brows furrowed as you shot him a look. It was too early for all that.

“Nothing?” you said. “Worked just fine for me.”

He sported an even grumpier face as the coffee finally poured into his mug.

Something’s wrong, you thought.

Ben was usually quiet in the morning. Relaxed and slow until he’d had his coffee and started his routine, with his newspaper at his favorite lounge chair, then breakfast in the kitchen with you.

You were making pancakes on a griddle, but you were also watching your boyfriend. He wasn’t just quiet. He was downright grouchy and taciturn.

What crawled up his ass? you thought. Though you had your suspicions...

“Breakfast is done,” you called to him.

He eventually joined you, sitting down at the breakfast bar. You served him a mildly enormous stack, and just two pancakes for yourself. In most respects, Ben was still a bottomless pit.

However, after eating the first couple of pancakes in silence, he pushed away from his plate and leaned back in his seat. You held your coffee mug between both hands and eyed him.

“You okay, baby?” you asked, repeating the very words you’d asked him last night.

He glanced at you through surly brows. “Yeah. You can stop asking me that.”

Right, you thought. He’d been twitching in his sleep, muttering, making sounds that had worried you enough to wake him with a gentle hand on his dewy arm. His response had worried you too—that haze of disoriented shock, followed by relief when he recognized your face.

You’d comforted him the best you could after his nightmare, but he hadn’t wanted to talk about it. You knew he wouldn’t now, either. That didn’t stop you from trying.

You set down your mug and soothed a hand up his arm, until your fingers disappeared under his shirt sleeve.

“What’s got you all sunshine and rainbows then, Mr. Grouch?” you lightly teased. “I even made you pancakes. Still waiting on my thank you.”

Ben didn’t want to answer, though he briefly glanced at you. He slurped at his coffee.

You sighed. A tick of annoyance at your brow.

“Okay," you said. "Well, since we had breakfast here, I figured we could go out for lunch later when we get to the city. There’s this amazing deli I could take you to—”

“We’re not going,” Ben said.

You blinked in surprise. Your hand fell away from his shoulder. “What?”

“I’ve got things to do,” he said. And without looking at you, he grabbed his half-full plate and got up to bring it over by the sink. He speared a few pancakes back onto the plate you’d served them up in before dumping his plate into the sink.

At least he was learning something about living with you. Now, if he really wanted to impress you, he'd wash that damn dish.

But for now, you wanted answers more than you wanted clean plates. You slowly got up out of your chair and went to him. You tried your best not to be accusatory when you asked your next questions.

“What do you mean? What do you have to do?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer you. Or maybe, he didn’t have a good answer, because he was fucking lying.

You laid a hand on his arm. “Ben. I need you to talk to me right now, because this is our first day off together in weeks. You know this was supposed to be our day. So you’d better have a damn good reason.”

He frowned angrily down at you. “We’re not going because I fucking said so. That’s all you need to know.”

You glared back at him, standing your ground.

You raised a brow. “That’s not good enough with me, and you know it. But if that’s how you’re going to be about it, I’ll call Annie and make it a girls’ day.”

You turned on your heel to walk away, but an iron hand grabbed your wrist. Holding back a wince, you frowned at Ben over your shoulder. His face was tight with irritation.

“You’re not going any-damn-where,” he snapped.

“You better let me go, right now,” your temper snapped right back.

This man was protective, but he had never been this bad. Not even after you got out of the hospital after Vought Tower collapsed. Granted, you’d been fully healed. He’d never outright tried to forbid you from leaving the house though.  

“What the hell is your problem?” you said.

He didn’t want to let you go, but after a beat, he released you. His frown deepened when you had to rub the ache out of your wrist.

He hadn’t meant to grip you that hard. Part of him relented…but then it firmed back up, when he remembered last night. The images were still filtering through his mind on a loop.

The alley, the blood slipping through his fingers, your pale, cold cheek, and lifeless eyes staring up at him.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” he said gruffly.

You tilted your head at him. Your face was tight and angry now, but you still followed him into the living room. You sat down together on the couch, and with crossed arms, you waited for him to speak.

His elbow rested on his knee while his hand swept over his mouth and beard. Then his gaze slid over to yours.

“You need to take Compound V,” he said.

To say that shocked you was an understatement. Your eyes widened, and your body went rigid.

“Excuse me?” you said lowly.

“There’s no way around it,” he said. Grit was laced in his voice, but you didn’t care.

“I’ve made myself very clear—”

“And you also said we’d revisit this little chat, so here we are,” Ben retorted. “You need to live in fucking reality. I can’t be with you 24/7. I don’t trust those CIA fucks to wipe their own ass, let alone keep an eye on you. Especially when I’m in the field.”

You just managed to lasso in your temper when you finally realized where this was coming from. You inhaled a couple of calming breaths. Your fingers tapped your knees. You sat up straighter before you turned to him more fully.

Your hand reached out to cover his on his thigh.

“Ben,” you started. Soft and even. “What did you dream last night?”

His face tightened further, his lips pressed into a line. It took him a moment, but eventually he answered.

“Nothing. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

“We both know that it does,” you chided.

When he just maintained his stoic façade, you slid closer to him on the couch. You curled a hand around his bicep and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

You looked up at him.

He didn’t want to break.

You just waited until the green of his eyes met yours.

“Hey. It’s just me,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

His brows knit together, slightly. His jaw clenched and twitched under his skin.

“I lost you,” he said.

Admitting to that was like admitting that his uniform was a lie; that he had no fear. That he was invulnerable. That he was a god in human form.

But you had become the last human part of him. To lose that would be to lose everything again, worse than 1984.

Somehow, you’d become his reason…for most things. He didn’t think you realized it, nor would he allow himself to tell you.

His eyes closed when you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You let your fingers sift through his hair, brushing it back and away from his forehead.

“Do you know why I want to stay normal?” you asked. "Albeit fragile and breakable."

He didn’t answer, but his eyes silently asked for one.

“Because I want to stay myself,” you said. “Power corrupts, and there’s a big chance I wouldn’t be the woman you loved anymore if I injected that shit into my veins.”

Ben frowned. He hadn’t considered that…but he still felt it was a price worth paying.

You moved off the couch and into his lap. He welcomed you with an arm curling around your waist and another moving up your thigh.

Your arms twined around his neck, and you kissed him properly, nice and slow. He tasted like coffee and maple syrup. His hair was soft between your curling fingers.

You parted from him after a while, just to press another comforting kiss to his temple.

“I know what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry,” you whispered against his skin. “But we’ll figure something else out.”

“How?” he scoffed, his brows furrowing again. “In a few decades—”

“I thought you didn’t mind a few wrinkles,” you teased.

A smirk flickered across his lips. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

“I know,” you nodded. “But we have time. I promise, we’ll figure this out.”

Ben didn’t totally believe you. There was going to come a time where you were going to have to make a choice: between him and your principles.

It wasn’t fair, but that was the reality. Life wasn’t fucking fair.

Until then, maybe he could make one concession.

“If you want…” he said. You leaned back enough to see his face.

He met your gaze. “We can go to dinner later. In the city.”

A slow smile spread across your face.

“But we’re getting a private room,” he warned, squeezing your hips. “And we’re driving there and back. That’s it.”

Your smile warmed further, and kissed the corner of his mouth. You were sure you could convince him to go a Broadway show afterwards, if you plied him in a few key ways...

“I like the idea of a private room,” you said.

His fingers crept up your pajama pants, drifting down between your thighs. His thumb started to stroke warmth through your panties. It had you smiling, sighing, subtly pressing into his hand.

His smirk deepened.

“You do, don’t you?” he said.

You let out a breathy laugh at the change in him. It didn’t take much to get him worked up. So you hugged him close and spoke into his ear all the things you had planned for him tonight.

Before, and after dinner.

AN: Lol I love writing this lovable asshole. 💚 Especially in the BMD-verse.

I have more Dean imagines coming soon! Including a requested sequel to "You are Dean's one exception," in which Sam "crosses the line"... 🫣

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

@this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67

#Talk to Me #reader request #soldier boy #Imagine Ben losing you sequel #You confront Ben about his fears #hurt/comfort #Soldier Boy imagine #BMD verse #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #Break Me Down verse #zepskies answers

[i-put-the-hot-in-psychotic]

Target Acquired Part 2 (NSFW)

Pairings: Keegan. P. Russ x Soldier! Reader

Enemies to Lovers Trope MDNI, NSFW

Summary: In a mission trying to find some important intel with Task Force 141, you are pulled into a dimly lit room, the heavy door slamming shut behind you. Sharp words exchanged, trying to assert dominance over the other, yet an unspoken connection that neither wants to admit, turns into something more intimate.

Disclaimer: MDNI!, NSFW, 18+ This story will contain curse words, war themes, and NSFW sexual themes. I know Keegan and the new game do not have anything to do with each other but for the plot and sexiness sake, no hate and enjoy reading! This is purely fictional!

Word Count: 3,888

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, sexual themes, curse words, sexual acts, blowjobs, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, female orgasm, male orgasm, slight m dom.

Part 1

Keeping your rifle close, you slowly make your way through the dark corridors of this middle of nowhere base. Laswell had said they had some intel on Makarov and needed to infiltrate this base, slowly, quietly, and surly enough Task Force 141 was the perfect fit to go.

Pacing slowly through the corridor, illuminated by only blue light, you had to keep an eye out on both sides, from your left, the windows to the inner base, to your right doors leading to IT rooms, security cameras, and most likely would contain enemies.

A sigh leaves your lips, you can’t let Laswell down, the Task Force.

It had been months since you had heard or seen Keegan. In all honestly what happened in that abandoned warehouse still finds a way to creep in your mind, especially in moments you don’t want to. Looking to your left to check if the coast is clear, a hand grabs your mouth applying pressure and pulling you in a nearby room.

You freeze when you feel a big hand over your mouth, not daring to make a sound. You keep absolutely still, not moving a muscle as your heart starts to race. Even though having years of training the initial shock and the increase of heart rate still settles deep down in your stomach. This is going to be fun you think besides yourself. How could you have not heard them creep behind you. You start evaluating what they might ask or worse getting ready for the Russian torture you were about to endure.

No.

Keeping calm and letting your anger stay contained, you elbow your aggressor with the butt of your rifle, turning on him and aiming. Upon looking at your aggressor, seeing him groaning in pain face in his hand he winces “Fuck Y/N”.

You straighten yourself upon hearing your voice you look at his ice-coloured eyes.

"Keegan?"

 No.

What is he doing here? How did he find you? For a moment, he stares at you in shock. He was.... surprised to say the least.

"What the hell are you doing here? This is Task 141’s deal not yours?"

His face remains unmoving but there is a hint of amusement in his eyes. He leans against the wall opposite you, placing his arms behind him. "I came because I wanted to see you." He said in a quiet voice.

"Right" you reply rolling your eyes. "You have seen me now, now let me go back to work before you get us both killed"

He raises an eyebrow. "Price asked me to come." he answers your question. "Why are you so cold?..." he whispers.

If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already. Something else is at play here. Having enough of his bullshit you make you way out of this tech room you’re in.

"Can I ask you one more question before you go?"

You turn towards him, "What is it with you and your questions?"

"I just want to know one thing..."

There's a strange intensity in his eyes as he stares at you, almost like you are the most fascinating person he's ever seen.

"Do you still think we are enemies?"

With that you remain complete quiet, completely frozen. At this point in time, were we?

Your body wants to respond so desperately. Reason creeps through your skin. He hadn’t killed you, hadn’t hurt you last time nor now, as you would have thought. If he wanted to take advantage of you last time he easily would have. Biologically, he's completely stronger than you.

But enemies.

Your mind flashed to the dreams you had about him, how hot he made you feel. How his shoulders felt underneath your nails. How his mask scratched your cheeks. A shaky breath releases past your lips, still yet to respond.

He watches, seemingly transfixed by your response. He watches you as your mind lingers on those thoughts you tried to suppress.

He could tell what you were thinking...

Finally, he speaks again. There's a strange tenderness in his voice, as if he's afraid to ask what he's about to ask but he needs to know the answer.

"Have you been thinking about me?"

"No" acting childish. "Have you?" You ask wanting to know if he genuinely had.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise. He's not used to people not being honest with him. Especially not people like you.

"Yes. A lot." He replies. "And I've been thinking how much I want to see you again."

Beat...

His gaze is steady and intense, like he knows you can see the honesty in his eyes. You weren't expecting that answer. He had been thinking about you. Wait. What if this was all part of a plan. To get into your head. All the compliments. What if-. He shakes his head slightly like he somehow knows what’s going through your mind.

"I'm not lying."

The intensity in his eyes only grows, but he's trying to conceal it. He's not trying to be intimidating. He wants you to see his vulnerability.

"Is this some sort of sick joke" you reply now getting hurt, angry. Was he playing you?

He takes a small step toward you, his eyes filling with genuine emotion.

"It's not a joke, it's not a trick or game. I'm as serious as I've ever been."

His lips curl into a slight smile. "I can't stop thinking about you." His voice is laced with honesty and genuine feeling. He seems like he can't believe he is saying these words, but he can't stop.

"Why here? Now? During an OP?” you state voice rising letting frustration eat away at your skin. He got closer to you, intruding on your personal space. “Make me believe you" you say close to him, face serious. You felt like he was lying. "Next time you see me it better not be some kind of sick job or a bullet because I won’t hesitate to pull my trigger"

For a moment, he's taken aback by the boldness of your request. But he's not shocked. He steps forward again, this time closing the distance completely between you two. He stares you down, a small grin spreading across his lips.

"I promise you... when I next see you, you won't be holding a gun. Or anything else for that matter." He speaks as if you are a part of his very soul, as if you already know exactly what he means.

You look at his eyes. Captivating. You had only seen his face through the briefing never in real life. Curiosity killing you wanting to know what he looks like. Want to lift his mask up feel his skin. Sensing your eyes trying to take every detail, he can tell right away that you're curious about what he looks like beneath his mask.

He's not used to this kind of attention, especially not from someone like you. Normally, you're so bold and confident, yet here you are, studying every aspect of him as if you're drawn to him.

He's not used to this kind of vulnerability coming from someone like you.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Mm" you respond with a whisper.

"What if you saw me again but without the mask?" He asks.

His eyes are fixed on yours and you sense the intensity of his gaze even from behind the mask. Its as if he's studying you, trying to see inside of you, hoping you'll let him.

Hesitating to lift your hand towards his face. You were so close. You touch your fingers against his cheek feeling the warmth radiating from the mask. Holding his full cheek in your palm you slowly glide your finger where his lips rest underneath the mask. Eyes getting heavy, breathing non-existent. His eyes bore into yours watching you study him.

His breath catches as your touch meets his skin. He doesn't pull away or try to stop you, on the contrary, it feels like he's allowing you to study every aspect of him.

There is a calmness in his eyes that you've never seen before. He is vulnerable at this moment, exposing his entire being to you.

A small smile spreads across his lips as your finger traces his mouth.

He doesn't blink as he looks into your eyes. He is waiting for you to make the next move.

Your hand fingers his mask underneath his shirt pulling it up slowly. He doesn’t move to stop you, but instead he takes in small inhale of air as you pull the mask up. Finally, edge of the mask in your hand. You stop and think.

Beat...

You pull the mask up until it reaches his nose finally seeing his lips. Plump lips with a sharp jaw. Clean shaven and a few scars adorn his face. In a trance you touch his skin and both of you let out a breath you both have been holding but he doesn't move, even though you can see his entire body tremble. He is breathing hard, and he is enjoying this. He closes his eyes, and he lets out another deep inhale as you touch his skin. You trace your finger down his Adams apple and finally graze your thumb on his bottom lip.

As he had his eyes closed, your hand wrapped around his throat applying just the right pressure, making him release a staggered deep groan. Fuck, your eyes flutter slightly. That sounded...hot.

"Oh god... "

Your touch is electrifying, causing him to tremble all over his body. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he can barely catch his breath. The slight pressure around his throat feels good somehow. He opens his eyes and looks back at you. The moment his eyes meet yours, the entire tension is doubled.

His hand wrap around your waist wanting to pull you closer, dick straining against his pants. He wants to ravage you, but he loves the small teasing you’re providing him. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. Your body is pressed up against his, and he can feel your heart racing.

He can't help but stare into your eyes, enjoying the moment, enjoying the way you make him feel. His hands move up your sides gradually, moving ever closer to the waist of your uniformed pants.

As his fingers fondle the waist or your cargos, your thumb traces his bottom lip as he opens his mouth and grabs your thumb in between his teeth, slowly closing his lips around it and sucking on it. His lips are soft and warm, and you can't help but let out a small groan of pleasure. His hands are exploring your body, getting ever closer to the bottom of your jeans.

"Fuck Keegan" you whisper.

He pauses for a moment, his breath catching in his throat.

He looks into your eyes, his own now filled with such desire and need.

"Say my name again..." he whispers.

You moan his name "Keegan" small heavy breaths leaving your lips. His own meeting your neck. His body tenses slightly at the sound of your voice.

He is overwhelmed with desire, and you can feel it in every part of his frame. Every move he makes now is calculated, as if he's going slowly on purpose to not lose the feeling.

"Again..." his voice is barely audible, and you can feel his body trembling.

"Keegan" you straight up moan now. Getting lost in his voice, in your desires.

His desires.

"Again..." he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. Your body quivers and he press’ up against you even closer, feeling every inch of your body against his.

Warmth was spreading all throughout your body, as he pushed you even closer towards him, chest plates hitting, making you feel his thickness rub against your thigh. Fuck he was hard. You rubbed your thigh against him as he leaned against a cabinet that was just behind you, on the left side of the room. The heat between your bodies is so intense, it's almost unbearable. The feeling of it is driving you both wild.

His hands travel even higher, inching up your thighs. His touch is incredibly soft and tender at first then becoming more forceful. He's enjoying the teasing, letting the intensity build up slowly and not even trying to hide the fact that he is getting turned on.

Getting the courage your hand travels towards his bulge and you wrap your hand around it. He hisses at the feeling of your small hand. Grabbing your wrist, you stop shocked at what might have been an overstep. Holding your wrist he unbuttons his black cargo pants, unzipping them, eyes intensely on your face, eyes heavy lidded wanting to see how you might react. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

He freed himself from his restraint, adjusting himself now to being free. Your mouth instantly watered at the sight of how big he was. He stroked himself before placing your hand, that was still bound by his wrist, around him wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft. He released a staggered breath as you begun to stroke him. His eyes closed head dropping towards his chest.

Upon stroking your thumb felt his wetness on his tip, which you took as a sign to spread it around his head, lip between your teeth. Moaning under your ministrations you couldn’t help but look at him.

Still with his helmet on, eyes closed, panting, dick in your hand stroking him and shamelessly mask atop his face not concealing his identity well, at least the lower part of his face, as the deep soft groans leave his lips.

"That’s it baby" he whispers. "Just like that" he encourages, making you want to please him more. You couldn’t take it anymore. Eyes now full of lust, mouth thick to the brim with salvia you made you way down on your knees and kissed his head. He opened his eyes at the soft feeling of your lips against his cock.

He couldn’t believe it; his mind was playing tricks on him. He saw you kissing his cock making your way down to his base than licking your way up to this shaft. “Fuck” he whispered. If you kept teasing him like that he was about to -

"Ah" he groans eyes tightly closing upon feeling your wet, warm mouth sucking him off. "Jesus Y/N". Eyes closed you take him in deeper in your mouth wanting to feel him at the back of your throat, but he was so thick it was seeming to be difficult.

Your mouth parts, pussy clenching into nothing, clit screaming for just the right of amount of pressure. Slick now dripping down your thighs.

You continue wetting his cock with your tongue, going up and down, his hand now wrapped in your hair bun, although with how tight he’s holding it, it won’t remain a bun much longer. He angles his hips to go in deeper, but you hold him in your fist as you start to feel consumed by him, air refusing to enter your lungs.

"Take it baby. That's it. Good girl." he pushes his hips toward your face. You felt him hit your gag reflex holding your head with his hands until finally pulling away, a line of spit still hanging from your lips to his cock, eyes watery.

He pulls you up standing on your feet and quickly goes to unbutton your pants. Pushing them of your legs you hesitate, as you were both still on a mission. He reassures you that no one is going to enter, and if so, those who do see would leave as they would see what you were doing. They would think that a guard on duty just got lucky.

Turning sides, now you’re the one leaning against the metal cabinet. His lips meet the underside of your ear. "Y/N" he moans as he slightly nips your skin. "Can I touch you?" He asks hand resting on your hip, tracing your navel wanting to go down, and feel how wet you have gotten and gather it on his fingers. "Please" you whisper. "Please Keegan. I need you"

Your pleading drove him crazy, pushing himself towards you. Bare cock rubbing against your stomach. As he couldn’t tease himself enough, he asked "Where do you need me?" lips just inches away from your lips. You hesitate. Is he really going to make you tell him.

"Y/N" he whispers using his other hand to lift your face, meeting your heavy-lidded watery eyes. He looks serious. "I asked you a question. Where do you need me?".

He rubs your folds not wanting to waste anymore time away from you. He slowly pushes his finger inside you, wet and ready for him your pussy takes his finger with ease. You both moan at the intrusion. Keeping his finger there, he breathes hard against you, feeling your warmth wrapping around him.

“Fuck!” you exclaim, feeling like you’re going crazy. Never in your years have you ever felt like this. Felt warm like this or gotten wet like this. It was driving you insane.

"I need you in me. I need to feel you stretch me. I need to feel how thick you are inside of me" you confess. Upon your confession he pushes himself harder against you, your ass hitting deeper against the cabinet his fingers finally pushing on the bundle of nerves between your legs earning a moan from your lips. He feels how wet you are and nearly looses himself, his cock twitching.

Finally, his lips meet yours in a soft kiss, both mouths slightly agape, his eyebrows furrowed at your heat as he starts to move his fingers back out, then pushing them back in. He increases his pace, fingers now dripping wet and inserts another.

His fingers are thick, long, and strong not compared to your small ones, filling you up in all the right places. You grab his arm feeling the bulging muscle of his biceps. "Keegan" you moan. "You like that Y/N?" he asks as his pace continues to increase. "You like my fingers stretching you out, fingering you huh?"

"Yes" you exclaim "Good girl" he kisses you. "Getting ready to take me inside you."

You nod at that wanting to take his cock. He lifts you up on the cabinet and aligns himself to your entrance. Fuck he was thick, the sight alone with his head stroking your pussy nearly made you cum right than and there. "Ready princess?" he asks, and he moves you closer to him if that was even possible. "Yes" you say as you wrap your hands around his neck.

The initial push was electrifying. He was thick and it made you feel like you were on fire. Hot moans coming from you meet his ear, not until he grabs your face in his hand and kisses you again. He continues to push into you as his lips are against yours breathing deeply. The stretch was nothing compared to his fingers. You couldn’t help but call out to him.

"Shh, its ok" he replies. "You’re doing so good for me. You’re taking it so well." He says as he finally pushes all the way into you. You felt like you couldn’t move. He begun to pull out and push back in. Looking at you he saw his world. He wanted to savor the moment deep in his memory. How your eyebrows creased, how your lips were parted how he wanted to make you feel like this. Him. Only him.

His thrusts continued, wet sounds all over the room driving the both of you wild. "Keegan" you call to him. "Yes" he replies worried that he might have hurt you. "I’m close" you reveal to him. It was music to his ears. His thrusts continued with depth and rhythm edging you. "Cum for me. Cum for me princess. Let me feel you. That’s it" he continued to whisper for you.

A static sound was heard from the left side of your chest plate startling the both of you. It hit a second time.

"Y/N" now you hear your own name not your call sign.

" Bravo 8, you ok. Over?" You want to stop body going rigid. Fuck, it was Simon. Keegan continues to push into you. "Keegan wait".

"Bravo 8, Are you with us? Over" you hear again less patient from the radio com. Fuck it’s been a while since you replied or radioed your team. Keegan looks at you with a smirk, "Don’t worry it hasn’t even been 15 minuets. They worry for you too much".

At that Keegan thrust deep into you making your head roll back, making you forget your worries. "You’re going to make me cum, princess" he whispers in your ear. His thrusts increase in motion build up wanting finally to release.

Its Price. "Are you ok? Over."

You’re a whimpering mess around Keegan as he continues to thrust into you. He pulls slightly back, finger against his lips showing you to stay quiet. Confused your brows furrow, until you see the devilish look cast over his eyes as he grabs the button of your radio com, and he pushes into you, deep, feeling his cock hit your cervix keeping you in place. He smirks as he waits for you to reply to your captain.

You bite your lip trying to regain some composure for your voice not to give away of your activities.

This was your captain, your team. "All good Captain. Over" you say as Keegan smirks and releases the button sending your message.

Fuck that was hot. You couldn’t hold on much longer and you clench around Keegan. You moaned as he whispers in your ear "You want me to fill you up?"

Your radio com responds "Fuck, where are you?" The captain states leaving the honorifics behind.

"Fuck" this can’t be happening, not now. Not when you’re so close to cumming. Keegan's statement makes you go feral, imaging his thick cum painting your walls, dripping out of you. Keegan presses the com button,

"You’re way over than ok." He pushes deeper. "You will meet them at the south wing nearing the backdoor of the grounds”.  You repeat breathless what he says to you.

"West Wing" you reply breathlessly.

"You’re going to cum for me huh, going to get filled up with my cum in the west wing" he taunts in your ear.

"I’m coming for you. Over" Keegan laughs at your captain’s message.

"Captains’ join’ in on the fun huh." he smirks, before feeling you clench against him. "Fuck Y/N." His thrust continues, panting heavily as he grabs your hips and presses your com. "Tell him you’re doing just fine." He whispers in your ear as he fucks deeper into you, jealousy laced through his teeth.

"Cause at the moment, you are about to come around my cock" Keegan taunts as he gives one last big push, cock pulsating in you. You feel his hot warm cum hit deep inside you and he releases his load into you. You can’t help but moan with pleasure as you clench around him, your own orgasm hitting you, releasing. His hips still deep in you his heavy breathing meets yours.

"Meet you there" is heard over the comms.

"You sure you’re ok?" captains voice asks again

"Never better" you reply breathlessly.

#call of duty #cod #fanfiction #smut fanfiction #keegan p russ #keegan x reader #cod keegan #cod x reader #captain john price #ghost cod #keegan russ x reader #mask #smutty #smut #smutty smut smut #smutty fanfiction #smutty thoughts #keegan x you #john price #soapghost #ghost x you #call of duty ghosts #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #lust #desire #passion #x reader #ipthip

[ddejavvu]

ok but imagine aaron having a certain dream about the reader😏and just straight up unable to make eye contact with them the next day at work and is just avoiding them to not “be tempted”, and the reader is just really confused as to what’s happening. But someone on the team eventually figures it out and tells them…. could be 18+ ur wish!!

let ur amazing mind run continue pls and I love ur writing so much ok bye now <333

i want hotch to wet dream about me and then be flustered at work. thank you for letting me think about that.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

"Just set them on my desk."

That's it. That's it, no 'thank you,' no 'Y/L/N,' not even a glance thrown your way by your typically surly Unit Chief. Sure, he had a reputation for being grumpy, but not neglectful. This seemed like more, like you'd upset him.

"Right," You speak tentatively, almost hearing the crunch of eggshells as you step towards his desk. You linger but he pays you no mind, so you give up, placing the files on his desk and hurrying out.

Anxiety burns at your chest, your heart hammering away at the thought of what you might have done.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer catches your elbow as you rush for your desk, yanking you gently into the kitchen instead of being out in the bullpen with everyone else. It gets you away from prying eyes, something you're grateful for as you're sure your expression gives away your inner turmoil.

"I'm fine," You say it like a self-affirmation, "Really, I think- I think I'm overreacting."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Spencer, ever-concerned, pushes. You glance not-so-subtly at Hotch's office, swallowing the minimal saliva that's pooled around your tongue.

"I think," You start, hesitant to say the words out loud in case you're blowing things out of proportion, "I think that Hotch is mad at me."

Spencer laughs.

He laughs.

You frown indignantly, "Hey, what was that for?"

"Sorry!" He seems to recover from his momentary giggle fit, "I just- I don't think so."

"Really? And why not?" You're angry now, feeling ridiculed and belittled by Spencer of all people, "Because he wouldn't even look at me, and he made absolutely no conversation the entire time I was there. He didn't say a single word that wasn't absolutely necessary, and he sounded pissed."

Spencer's brow furrows, and you feel validation at the idea that he's finally believing you. You aren't sure why Hotch is mad at you, but you're glad someone is on your side.

"That's weird," Spencer puzzles, "I can go and talk to him, if you want?"

"No! No," You shake your head vehemently, "I'm sure whatever he's mad at me for will just get worse if I send you in there to snoop."

"I won't snoop!" Spencer insists, "I might not be the smoothest person here but I'll make sure he doesn't know you sent me, at least."

"I dunno," You bring your thumbnail to your lips, your teeth grating at it, "I don't think it's a good idea."

"So you're just gonna sit and be anxious all day?" Reid gestures to the clock, bearing the time 9:35, "I don't even think you'll make it to lunch."

"Maybe you're right," You groan, taking your nail out from between your teeth and running an exasperated hand over your face, "Promise you won't tell him I sent you?"

"Promise." Spencer leaves you with a brisk pat on the arm, "Just make yourself some coffee and wait for me at your desk."

Spencer strides up to Hotch's office, his long legs carrying him far and leaving him outside the door in no time. He knocks twice, then enters at Hotch's cue.

"Reid," Hotch looks up attentively from his paperwork, "Is there something you need?"

"Yeah," Reid gestures to the chair in front of Hotch's desk, "Can I sit?"

"Of course."

Spencer folds himself into the chair easily, his leg bouncing nervously, "Is there something wrong?"

"Wrong?" Hotch's brow quirks up, "What do you mean?"

"I- I just mean," Reid stammers, "You've seemed.. distant, lately. Like you're trying to avoid us."

"I don't recall ever acting that way towards you," Hotch's brows furrow now, drifting down towards his eyes.

"Not towards me," Spencer's toeing the line now, desperately trying to remain casual, "Just.. others of us."

Hotch studies him for a moment, discerning. Then, "Did Y/N send you?"

Y/N. Your first name, not your last. Spencer balks.

'No! No," He chuckles casually, "What- why would Y/L/N send me?"

"Misunderstanding," Hotch dismisses, leaning forwards so that his lower half is completely out of sight, only his chest up visible behind his desk, "Y/L/N doesn't need to worry."

"You should tell them that." Reid finally breaks, guilt seeping into his chest at breaking his promise, "They're really anxious."

"I-" Hotch starts, his eyes drifting out of the window towards your figure hunched over your desk. He groans, covering his face with his large hand,"Reid, I'll handle this."

"Please do." Reid stands, trying to look firm and tough as he stands before his boss, "Because.. well, because they don't deserve this."

"I know." Hotch scoots forward, hastily keeping his lap concealed from the young doctor's view, "I said I'll handle this."

"I just wanted to make sure!" Reid persists, frowning as Hotch hunches slightly in an effort to keep himself more covered, "I just- Hotch.. why are you hiding your lap?"

Reid expects there to be something incriminating there. Maybe a file he isn't supposed to see, a snack he's not supposed to be eating during work hours, perhaps even a risque text. But what incriminates him isn't his body, but his eyes, hardening and barely concealing panic behind their firm insistence.

"Reid," Hotch speaks through gritted teeth, "Go."

It makes sense now. The avoidance, the guilty glances to your worried form, the tight body language. Hotch likes you. He doesn't just like you, He's attracted to you. He's.. he's aroused by you.

"Oh my god," Spencer doesn't mean to give away his discovery, but he can't help himself, "Hotch.. oh my god."

"Spencer," Hotch warns, "Do not-"

"Oh my god!" Spencer feels like he's won. Everyone always knows workplace gossip before him, despite how observant he is he tends to lack in knowledge pertaining to matters of the heart. But this, this guarantees him a lifetime membership to Penelope Garcia's Fantastic Gossip Circle, which holds meetings once a week only for hand-picked members.

"I mean it." Hotch would stand if he could, make himself more domineering, "If you say a word about this.."

"I won't." To anyone outside the office, Reid is rather proud of himself for containing his amusement, keeping a straight face, "You- uh, you have fun with that, Hotch."

His boss fires back a disparaging Reid! before he shuts the door behind him on his way out, but it doesn't lessen the bounce in the doctor's step.

He plops down into his chair, ignoring the loud creak that comes from the plastic hinge when he does. You glance subtly up at him, aware that Hotch can see you both from his office, and not wanting to give yourself away.

"Anything?" Your voice is meek and meager, still panicked from your assumptions.

"You're fine," Reid smirks, the expression looking somewhat foreign on the man in front of you, "He's definitely not mad at you, Y/N."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

[pedroslass]

never have i ever..

authors note: i have figured out the ways of how to work this app. yay! enjoy my loves.

pedro pascal x female reader

warnings: bad language, makin people uncomfy.

summary: during an interview, the interviewer begins to ask some questions which make you uncomfortable. only for your boyfriend to step up for you.

-

“hello everyone i am y/n l/n” looking over at your boyfriend you waited for his introduction, however he just continued looking at you. you raised your eyebrows with a small laugh. “oh! hey i’m josé pedro balmaceda pascal” looking back at the camera you continued “and today we are gonna be taking part in the ‘never have i ever’ interview with W magazine!”

“i’m kinda scared, i have not come prepared” pedro says to the crew, leaning back in his chair laughing, you looked over to him playing with the signs “they can’t be too bad surly..” you said looking towards the interviewer biting the corner of your lip.

“right! first question, never have i ever stolen something from set?” you and pedro giggled looking at one another, knowing each others answers. the both of you revealed ‘i have’ “i remember mine was a necklace i worse in one of my scenes and it was custom made so i obviously couldn’t get it from anywhere else so, i took it” you explained with a proud smile. pedro smiled “that necklace is pretty to be honest, understandable”

“next question, never have i ever sexted?” the question kinda took you back. you thought it was a little inappropriate to ask a publicly known couple that. you looked over at your boyfriend, you could tell he feels the same way you do. just to avoid all the comments that may end up being made toward the both you, you said ‘i have never’ pedro did the same, even tho you were fully aware you have definitely.

the room carried a very awkward silence.

“okay okay, never have i ever done anything sexual in public?” you looked at pedro, his eyebrows furrowed. looking deeply into the fellas eyes. “can you ask something other then inappropriate shit. i don’t really appreciate it” looking back at the interviewer, he seemed to panic looking down at his little book.

the guy didn’t have any other normal questions, just ones about things that were kept between you and pedro.

“if that’s all you have, me and y/n are leaving. i think it’s a little disrespectful that the only questions you have are ones about our personal life, especially ones like that. asking such questions around my lady like that isn’t exactly right” you smiled, you loved when pedro protected you like this. he knew you were off, he knew you felt uncomfortable. you always do when anyone ever asked about your own business, not because you are embarrassed. hell, you love every sentimental moment you spend with him. but when people ask, you despise it.

the interviewer was stunned, looking at both you and pedro. “they were just questions, i think your overreacting sir” pedro leaned forward. “overreacting? sir there is no such thing as overreacting when you care about your girls feelings. i respect she feels uncomfortable, you should too as a gentleman. now if you would excuse me, we are leaving”

god your so proud of your man, you find it so charming when he sticks up for you. he’s a real gentleman. you bloody love him.

he stood up abruptly, holding your hand you walked out of the room. “what a dick..” he said quiet enough for you too hear, a laugh escaped your mouth. “thank you, i’m glad you said that. it was horrible.” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“of course mi amour, i could tell you were a bit iffy. now how would you feel if we went to target and i allow us to go in for how ever long you heart desires” you stopped dead in your tracks. “you should never give time this much freedom.” you said with a straight face.

“oh trust me i’m very aware baby, oh and after we can go to you favourite desert shop and we can get whatever we want. i’m paying”

“oh sweet jesus, i love you. you are definitely gettin me tonight” he smirked

“i love you too baby”

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagines #cute #joel miller #interview #pedro pascal interview

[aurevell]

WIP Whenever

Thanks for the tag, @rosieposiepuddingnpie! I just wrote a little more yesterday for my Steter marriage pact fic:

~

“It’s not just me, right?” Stiles mutters skeptically. He keeps his voice low, assuming no one will hear him in the cacophony of voices. After exchanging polite pleasantries, he has worked his way back to Erica, who sits on a tree stump at the edge of the clearing. She, at least, can always be trusted to feel reasonably surly about the intrusion of anyone new in their territory, so he’s sure of commiseration. “No. You’re right,” Erica mutters back. Her hands are tucked into her jacket, blonde hair coiled inside the turned-up collar. “Never seen another werewolf seem so weirdly into Peter.” At the other end of the clearing, a tall woman in a floral dress sits in the chair beside Peter’s, simpering at him over her beer. Peter’s actually been paying her some modicum of attention, though you wouldn’t know without the hint of a lazy smirk. He’s not looking in her direction, just reclined in his own chair, eyes half-lidded—he’s barely moved all afternoon, like his only goal in life is to absorb what he can of the sparse autumn sun. (Sometimes, Stiles thinks he resembles nothing so much as a cat.) “I guess they don’t know all the shit he’s done,” Erica muses. “All of us still see the caution tape. 'Do Not Cross.' The Daughertys just see him as some hot dude.” Stiles grunts. Because yeah, strip away all the antagonism and general assholery, and that's what you have: a really hot dude. A hot dude who looks like he could make you see god if he got you into his bed. Erica snorts. “He is objectively attractive,” she admits, though she sounds almost offended about it. “God, I’ve never witnessed anyone being actively into him. It’s kind of unbelievable, when you think about it. Like falling in love with a snake.” “Hey. It’s not that unbelievable.” She fixes him with a stare. “He gaslit Lydia into thinking she was going crazy so she’d bring him back to life.” Well, it's hard to argue with that. Even if it was a pretty desperate situation. “Fair enough.” The woman’s hand comes to rest on Peter’s arm. She lowers her voice to speak. Peter still hasn’t moved, just listening to her babble on, but he’s smirking in full now. Here and there, he says something back, almost out of the corner of his mouth.  Stiles would cut off his own arm to know what they’re talking about. 

No-pressure tags for @mirrorthoughts @kordyceps @meggie-stardust @yogi-bogey-box @raisesomehale and anyone else who wants to! No idea who's writing right now.

Also @nogitzune and @beaconfeels just in case you have more to share after yesterday :)

#steter #wip #what is mutual pining without a green-eyed monster now and then

[siremasterlawrence]

Christmas Night Fight

This is a Christmas Boxing Match For A Very Special World Title for once in every twelve years a major box goes toe to toe with major other fighters going through the roof in hell like defeat.

I place my bet at the door on Jack L Monroe before sitting in my seat as the light pops on over the shadows of the boxing ring the spit light is giant. A fist pump into the air as a crowd goes wild in the boxer, steady with punches in the air.

Jack Mickelson the titan is a legend in the field, but he does not know that I am both the one betting against him and my almost ensuring my victory over this floor and his constant need for that overbearing and toxic desires, needs and wants above all else.

I can see that smug look cross his face in a cheesy stretch his fist in the other and starts jumping up like an idiot, howling, screaming, and shouting as crowd goes wild and the odd cheering only motivates me more and I could not tell if he was mocking me or not but I was about to win.

The announcer steps onto the ring with an awful condescending smile, foul stench and crooked teeth. The left hand picks up the mic as he squares off with the crowd who are losing all of the their minds, and great anticipation for their great hero, to win yeah, another victory, and prove his might.

He starts to hop on both feet coming at me with such intensity as I take a hop back my fist forms throwing a punch which he evade to hit me up and I avoid that as well but I go for it one curl punching hard fist hitting him in the chest.

The spot I hit on his chest glows hard as he hold on to it backing up he falls to his knees much to my delight I gleefully jump kicking him on both of his sensitive nipples areas as he cries the technique travels causing a electrical current down his spine.

He falls face forward when the alarms goes off ringing loudly in a resounding style the crowd is in a loss booing me as they throw cans at me I laugh shouting out loud to freeze which they do without being aware

of anything.

Tom struggles to rise to his feet barely able to stand up I punch him in his face the spit goes flying in to a air the man is done for as I watch it take effect he stops on his knees he is a mere puppet now. I unzip my pants exposing my cock as I stroll towards him and force his mouth on to it.

“There he is your number three seed in this World Championship.” He shouts lifting my hand in the air.

“Who wants to see the next match?” He is shouting.

“Let me hear you guys scream for it.”

“Wwwwoooohhhhooooo…let the games roll”

“Everyone! Please welcome Mathew James Howl”

“Gentleman! 1…2…3”

“FREEZE”

“What the fuck?”

“Why can’t I move?”

“Because I am the master of the ring “

“I rule the roost”

“Nnnnnoooo”

“I’ll have to educate you then”

“On what?”

“The proper behavior ”

“Unfortunately! I don’t obey anyone least of all.”

“One punch and you will fall into my submission “

“Never gonna happen…you….uuuugggghh…fffuuccckkk…yes Master Lawrence.”

“ I don’t know what you’re up to, but I do understand it’s something wicked because you two are up to something very evil and let me have a bad attitude problem, but I surly will not tolerate anyone getting in my way or causing more undue damage to my title.”

”Oh! is that what you were thinking? You have no idea what I am capable of doing you overgrown ape if you mind your own business. Getting angry, I see you throw a punch and failing because you are no good McGregor just another tough guy with pussy heart.”

“ What did you just say to me? I am to break to break you open, spit your ass open, fuck you raw, make you come and worship my skinny tone black ass.” I state to him as he races at me his speed up with every step I take but I launch my hand in the air throwing a one punch as I send him flying into the rings gate.

Meet all of my bodyguards.

The end

#tom hardy #henry cavill #boxing #sports #hypnosis #mind control #reprogramming #hypno slave #hypno submission #mind control slaves #reality change #alternate timeline #championship #Sportsdom

[triplesilverstar]

Morning workouts

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina sex, sweaty, post work out, oral, doggy style.

Word count: Roughly 1.7K words

A/N: Part 18 of the series. AN early morning workout for you and Vash that escalated into something more intimate. This came from a yoga idea lol

Your forearms are starting to burn, sweat dripping down your face and coming to a point before falling from your nose to the floor below you. Trying to keep your breathing steady in through your nose and out through your mouth. Vash is panting alongside you. Both of you for very different reasons. You’ve been in a headstand now for almost half an hour, arms forming a triangle with your head as the point, while Vash has been doing one arm push ups. One arm push ups with his feet pointed to the ceiling. Without his shirt on. 

“You know” you start trying to keep your voice even and body still while speaking “you are” another long inhale before exhaling “very distracting right now.” Because the truth is from here you can see the fine little rivers of sweat running down his skin and damn. It’s making your focus on keeping your core tight difficult, because a part of you wants to push him to the floor and taste his skin. 

Instead of answering you, Vash just flicks his eyes towards you not stopping his movements as he extends his arm again, a small smirk on his lips. Eyes smiling, telling you he knows beyond a doubt how much he affects you. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was making some of his movements with deliberate slowness. You close your eyes instead of looking at him. Taking a deeper breath slowly lowering your body back down to the ground, or trying to before you fumble and land on your side with a squeak of discomfort. 

Rolling over you press your fingers into your lower back, that was not a fun landing. “You ok Mayfly?” Having righted himself and unlike you not falling on his side, fingers running over your back and pressing against the skin “looks like it’s all alright.” 

“Yea, if anything I feel more like an idiot than in pain” you glance at his face, concern painted there “finish your workout Sunshine. I think I’m done for the day.” 

“I can’t do that.” Keeping his hand on your back he helps you sit up, a hiss of pain passing your lips. “I was a little worried about that” your back feels like it’s on fire, but the pain will just suck for a few hours while it heals. Sending him a look with your eyes narrowed, annoyed by how cheerful he is. “I have an idea if you’re up for it?” 

Snorting you do give him your full attention “what’s the idea” for some reason you aren’t sure how great his idea will be, but his fingers against your skin are very distracting. And the sheen still on his skin from his workout. 

“Stretching your back out” you could slap him for how stupid it sounds, and your face must reflect that based on the fall of his smile. Why are you so surly when your pride hurts? You reach out for one of his hands, running your fingers over his. 

“Alright Sunshine, it’s not like it’ll do anymore damage. What do you want me to do?” With that his smile is back in place, and he’s helping you to get on your hands and knees. Knees spread out in line with your hips and hands beneath your shoulders. 

“Slide your hands forward” doing as he asks and feeling strange like your body is in the oddest position. “Trust me Mayfly” you feel his hand slide down the center of your back and once at your shoulder blades putting pressure, the other hand keeping your hips in place resulting in your chest flush against the floor and ass essentially up in the air. “Now stay there” a part of you shivers a little at his words but you have to admit your lower back is already feeling better at the stretch. You hum, the burn in your muscles is just enough to feel it but not be painful. “Just like that” his voice has gone husky, and before you can question it you hear him taking a deep breath.

“What are you doing Sunshine?” voice curious trying to turn your head, body jerking forward when you feel him grab your hips, hooking his fingers into your pants, dragging them and your underwear down causing you to yelp from the temperature difference. Trying to pull your hips away from his grip, one hand pressing against the space above your tailbone. 

“Stay like this Mayfly” is his answer, both hands on your hips once more, a hint of a command to his voice. You feel a breath against your lower lips and then a long drag of his tongue against your slit. You moan wanting to move but feel his fingers freezing you in place. “Keep your hips steady. I want a taste.” 

“Vash, baby, I'm sweaty and gross.” You hear the whine in your voice, trying to pull away but his grip is a little too intense. Sure you might have wanted to lick the sweat from his skin, and wanting to suck him off is always at the back of your mind these days. Him going down on your though? You're still getting used to the idea of someone wanting to eat you out. 

“Don’t care” his lips are close enough to you that the movement from his words leaves you shivering and twitching before his tongue is licking at your wetness. A moan slips from your throat, his tongue delving around your folds. Not able to see anything except the floor, hearing his harsh breathing and the sounds he’s making against your slick folds. You know he hasn’t done a proper cooldown yet, explaining his chopped breathing. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself as you close your eyes when he switches to running the tip along your outer labia tracing patterns you can’t follow. It leaves you swallowing hard and feeling the inner muscles of your core clenching. Gasping when the wet muscles suddenly plunges into you. 

“Vash, please!”  He ignores your plea, the wet muscle wiggling inside you forcing the sensitive nerves to fire, torn between wanting to fall apart from his ministrations and being mortified at the fact you’re covered in sweat down there. He’s humming against your skin while he works, and you feel his tongue twist as if to scoop some of your wetness. A loud moan ringing in your ears as you feel him pull away from your sensitive folds. 

“That’s a good girl. So tasty. So wet.” You’re burning up at his words, body still in your stretched out position while his voice is deep. A brief press of his lips to your clit before he’s sucking on it, nose against your opening. The fire in your belly is starting to feel like an inferno against your misgivings, humming while he sucks at your clit pushing you over the edge. While the pleasure dances along your skin, body relaxing you feel him licking at you like a parched man that just found an oasis. Having had his fill and pulling away with a wet pop, one hand leaving your hip you think that’s the end of it. 

“That wasn’t how I was expecting this workout to finish.” The sound of rustling fabric reaching your ears again before you feel the head of his dick pressing against your folds and smearing the remains from your first orgasm around his hot flesh. 

“I wasn’t finished yet.” There’s an edge to his voice that’s making you twitch against him but he hasn’t pressed into you yet “want me to make us both feel good Mayfly?” Trying to answer him you press your hips back against his, to have his dick actually enter you. “I’ll take that as a yes.” A quick adjustment and he slams into you, balls deep making you both moan, the grip on your hips relaxing, one hand sliding along your skin to grip your waist the other giving your ass a quick slap before gripping your waist. Then he starts.

The first few thrusts are slow and measured, like he’s testing the water and once he’s content with the amount of wetness and how easily he’s glidings into you he picks up the pace slamming into you with enough force that you feel like you might go through the floor. “Vash” your panting trying to match his pace but his hands are keeping you partially immobile while he plows into you, grunting and groaning all the while about how tight you are. How good you feel wrapped around him. The angle of your hips means he’s thrusting deep every time, his dick causing you to make noises you didn’t know you were capable of as he keeps brushing your cervix. Clenching harder and harder around him, feeling how hard he is inside you, every pulse and twitch pulling another reaction from your body. “So deep” it’s all you can manage before you’re seeing stars, the roll of his hips having made you orgasm for a second time.

“Such a good girl Mayfly. Like you were made for me” his grip is getting tighter on your waist, bruises forming that in a few hours will be gone again. The only thing you regret about your accelerated healing, his marks on your skin are always gone by the next day. “Fuck” he’s hissing now, hips struttering as he bucks into your pilant body and you can tell he’s close. “I wanna come in you. With you.” One of his hands are at your clit, rough fingers pressing hard against you rubbing harshly and pulling you over that edge again, hovering between pleasure and pain at how quickly it followed your last one. Vash stilling, and you feel him empty himself as far inside you as he can go, slumping over your form and whispering your name and how much he loves you. 

The two of you stay like that for a while, feeling him begin to soften inside your body, senses still humming. “How does your back feel now?” Words mumbled against the skin of your shoulders where he placed his head while you both came down from your respective highs. To be honest with everything else he’s done, you kind of forgot about it, laughing as you tell him so. Laughing along with you, he starts to lean back before wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you up with him so your back is to his chest. “Let’s get cleaned up for the day” you agree laughing all the while, even if your hips and waist are hurting more than your back was now. 

Back to Masterlist for the series

#vash the stampede x reader smut #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #vash smut #trigun stampede #trigun #twink writes #Bullets Bandits Ghosts & Typhoons #tristamp #trigun smut #trigun stampede smut

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

hey so u just shared this post:

"When the characters in the fanfiction you’re reading are both hopelessly in love with eachother but they think the other doesn’t like them back and they are just communicating horribly and getting interupted at al the wrong times and you just freaking"

aaaand I wanted to know if you have any recommendations or know any sterek fics like that?

Yeah! I love oblivious!bbs.

Erasing Him by scarlettletterr

(1/1 I 2,058 I Mature)

When Derek was 15, he thought he met his soulmate. But then, she burned his family. When Stiles was 8, he met his soulmate. But he wanted nothing to do with him.

--------

Soulmate AU where even if you get your soulmark removed, it shows up under UV light.

a study on cat's behavior by peachicicle

(2/2 I 3,408 I Explicit)

“Hey Derek,” He snapped out of his trance, “Do you like cats?”

“What?” It seemed like Stiles kept catching him by surprise most of the time these days.

“Do you like cats?” Stiles said while slowly raising his hand up to the bookshelf, picked one out and inched the book out of its place, then dropped it on the floor.

Derek gawked at him, mouth dropped in silence.

Stiles kept staring at him and dropped another book, and another, and another, getting closer to the much rarer book section of the bookshelf.

-----

Stiles goes out of his way to tell Derek that he like him.

as the skyline splits in two by dumpac

(1/1 I 6,142 I Teen)

The whole school, Stiles included, is just waiting for Scott and Derek Hale to act on their unresolved sexual tension, because of course the sweetest omega and the most handsome alpha of Beacon Hills would get together. And Stiles swears he wants to support his best friend the best he can. So what if he has a crush as big as Jupiter on Derek Hale?

Navigating This Space Between Us by Omni

(1/1 I 9,641 I Explicit)

Derek gets forced to watch some sci-fi show about a surly, secret prince and the sarcastic young spaceship captain hired to aid him on his quest. Strangely enough, he finds himself hooked on it. So much so that he's even drawn into the fandom. There he meets a popular fanfic author with an oddly endearing attitude, and he gets rather smitten. Maybe this mystery guy could actually help get him to stop pining for Stiles...

The One with the Stolen Hat by nerdfightingwhovian

(14/? I 50,964 I Explicit)

In high school, Stiles stole Derek's hat and everyone who hears the story of Stiles stealing Derek's favorite (and only) hat begins to ship it. Luckily, Stiles never found out about the ridiculous number of people who ship it. Except, one day he does and he confronts Derek about it.

That is where the story begins, the cat is out of the bag and Stiles, the curious person he is, wants to know how it started. So now, Derek has to tell him.

Except, what starts out as Derek and Stiles laughing over ridiculous stories about stolen hats and glittery campaign cards becomes something more.

Season of the Witch by gryffindor17

(22/22 I 95,013 I Explicit)

“I just want to feel whole again.” Stiles said weakly, turning his head to look searchingly to Derek. “I’ve got all this…guilt…this pain…and it feels like it’s a part of who I am now. This…constant ache. I just wish there was a way to get rid of it.”

Stiles watched as something flickered to life in Derek’s eyes, and suddenly he was off like a rocket.

*

After the Nogitsune's been killed, Stiles still finds himself haunted by what it had done with his body. Try as they might, The Pack can't seem to console their friend... That is until Stiles mentions something that jogs Derek's memory and he takes off to find a friend from the past who he thinks can salvage Stiles's mind. After all, she'd done it for him.

And if she happens to become a part of the pack while she's at it, well, no one's really complaining.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #pining #oblivious!stiles #oblivious!derek

[broken-clover]

Sometimes I'm normal and sometimes I think about how Ky has never really gotten to live a normal life and the one time he tried to it was ripped away from him by the conclave and maybe that's why him and Dizzy bonded so quickly because they were both denied basic life experiences due to circumstances beyond their control

Ky is such an intriguing character to me. Because there are stretches of time wherein I'll not forget him per se but he tends to slip a bit into the background for me, aND THEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPENS AND THEN I BECOME THE MOST UNCHILL ABOUT KY KISKE BECAUSE I'M SO MAD ABOUT HOW SHITTY HIS LIFE IS.

KY JOINED THE MILITARY AT AGE TEN. HE JOINED THE MILITARY AT TEN YEARS OLD. THEY MADE HIM INTO A WEAPONS PRODIGY AT FIFTEEN AND MADE HIM AN INSPIRATIONAL FIGURE EVEN BEFORE HE WAS DONE WITH PUBERTY. KLIFF WILLINGLY AND INTENTIONALLY RETIRED AND PUT A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD BOY IN CHARGE OF THE MILITARY TO WIN A WAR NOBODY HAD SUCCEEDED IN DOING OVER A HUNDRED YEARS. I DON'T CARE IF HE WAS A PRODIGY HE WAS A CHILD, OF COURSE HE DID AS HE WAS TOLD WHAT OTHER CHOICE DID HE HAVE AND KLIFF WAS THE CLOSEST THING TO A FATHER THAT HE'D HAD SINCE HIS PARENTS FUCKING DIED AND KLIFF JUST UP AND LEFT KY WITH ALL THE WORLD'S BURDENS AS A FUCKING TEENAGER AND EXPECTED HIM TO BE OKAY.

OF COURSE HE'S STUBBORN AND COMBATIVE IN THE EARLIER GAMES THATS LITERALLY ALL HE'S BEEN TAUGHT HOW TO DO OF COURSE HE CAN'T RETIRE AFTER THE WAR OR FIND SOMETHING QUIET HOW CAN A MAN BUILT TO BE A SOLDIER JUSTIFY HIMSELF WHEN THERE'S NO BATTLE TO BE FOUGHT AND OF COURSE THE VERY SECOND HE MAY BE ABLE TO THINK THAT HE COULD LIVE QUIETLY AND MAKE SOMETHING LOVELY THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH POLITICS OR WAR AND HE GETS A GUN POINTED TO HIS FAMILY'S HEAD AND FORCED TO HAVE THE WORLD PUT UPON HIS BACK AGAIN WHEN JUST FOR A MOMENT HE THOUGHT HE COULD FINALLY HAVE SOMETHING ELSE. HE DOESN'T EVEN CHASTISE HIS OWN SON OR TRY TO JUSTIFY HIMSELF BECAUSE HE KNOWS FULL WELL NOW THAT NOBODY GIVES A SHIT ABOUT HIS OPINION OR WHAT HE THINKS UNLESS IT'S HOW TO WIN A WAR AND NOW THE WORLD IS CONSTANTLY WATCHING HIM AND SCRUTINIZING BUT NOBODY IS PAYING ATTENTION BECAUSE HE'S SIMULTANEOUSLY THE WORLD'S BRILLIANT STRATEGIST KING AND ALSO A SURLY CHILD WHOSE OPINIONS THEY CAN IGNORE WHENEVER IT SUITS THEIR MOOD BECAUSE TWO DECADES HAVE PASSED AND HE'S STILL NOTHING MORE THAN A PUPPET TO BE TOSSED AROUND AND SUMMARILY DISCARDED AS SOON AS HE ISN'T USEFUL ANYMORE.

KY KISKE IS 30 YEARS OLD. BARELY. HE'S BEEN CHEWED UP AND SPIT OUT PRACTICALLY NONSTOP FOR TWO DECADES AND THE FACT THAT HE HASN'T BECOME A GENOCIDAL VILLAIN ON ITS OWN HAS TO QUALIFY FOR SOME KIND OF SAINTHOOD BUT HE STILL FUNDAMENTALLY BELIEVES IN OTHER PEOPLE AND THEIR NEAR-ENDLESS CAPACITY FOR GOOD DESPITE BEING SOMEONE WHO IS FULLY AWARE OF AND HAS WITNESSED SOME OF THE MOST HIDEOUS ASPECTS OF HUMAN NATURE FIRSTHAND.

We could debate their relationship from every angle until the cows come home but I can't help but feel that for Ky there was some blessed relief in meeting someone who never expected the world from him and never say him as the war hero child prodigy, just an ordinary man.

#augh I'm mad now and I'm giving myself a headache #giving Ky an absurdly long hot bath and as much tea as he can possibly stand #ask #guilty gear #ky kiske

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Hiii can I get a 47. “Trust me.” from the Angst/fluff Prompt List with Aiden/Lambert? Ty! 💖

You most certainly can!!

47 - "Trust me" Lambert isn't used to being anyone's favourite and is, in true emotionally constipated Wolf style, super mature about it.

Lambert was never anyone’s favourite. Geralt was once again The Golden Boy thanks to his bard’s songs; Geralt himself had his sorceress who only had to click her fingers for him to come running and Lambert knew that Vesemir favoured Eskel, however much the old man tried to hide it. It was fine, honestly. If anything his life both before and after he was claimed by the Witchers had proven that being the centre of anyone’s attention only led to trouble and pain.

And then Aiden had happened. Aiden, who would give Lambert his full attention when he was speaking, no matter whether he was ranting about something inconsequential or telling a particularly funny anecdote. Aiden, who had surprised him with a bag of candied nuts and a casual “You said once that they were your favourites.” Just because ( fuck, even his brothers would forget that small fact and he’d grown up with them). Aiden, who would see to Lambert’s swords and armour if Lambert was ever too exhausted or too injured to do it himself (although to be fair, he’d returned the favour a few times with that one).

Aiden, who had thrown him for a loop by being the first person in his entire adult life who wanted to know about him. Not his ‘famous’ brother, not Lambert The Witcher, just... Lambert.

He found himself unexpectedly sympathising with Geralt about his bard as he waited for the other shoe to drop - no wonder Geralt was constantly trying to chase him away! How long before Aiden got bored, before he decided Lambert wasn’t actually worth knowing?

And so, he’d done what Vesemir had tried to encourage him to do since he was wet behind the ears – he’d taken a leaf out of his older brothers book.

At first Aiden was gracious enough to not push Lambert on his sudden, constant surliness, just reassuring him that he was there if Lambert ever decided to talk about whatever was bothering him. The Cat had been more persistent than Lambert had given him credit for (causing him to once again sympathise with Geralt about stubborn traveling companions), however, after weeks of this Aiden’s reassurance had finally turned to annoyance, which Lambert had latched onto like a leech and had resulted in a shouting match in the middle of the woods with language that would have gotten them thrown out of any respectable Inn. After several insults towards each others mothers and respective Schools, things finally came to a head.

“Just fuck off, Aiden!” Lambert yelled, jabbing a finger towards the surrounding trees.

“Oh believe me, I’ll be glad to see the back of you at this point but first you’re going to tell me what I did to piss you off!”

“Fucking nothing!”

“Then why are you-“ Aiden gave a frustrated, bordering on dangerous snarl before tackling Lambert to the ground and having him pinned and immobile before Lambert even knew what was happening (fucking underhanded Cat training), “I’m not going to keep going in God’s damned circles about this and I’m tired of you acting like someone’s pissed in your porridge. Talk to me, damnit.” Aiden growled, visibly forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths from where he was perched on top of Lambert.

“Just fuck off, Aiden.” Lambert repeated with far less bite, “You’re going to leave anyway so may as well do it now.”

Aiden blinked, “What – what ? Why would I leave?”

“Because people only ever want my brothers.”

“Lambert-“

“It’s fine.” Lambert bit out, “I’m used to it.”

“Lambert,” Aiden shifted slightly to allow Lambert to sit up if he chose to, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I couldn’t give two shits about your brothers. Frankly, I think Geralt could stand to be knocked down a peg or two. I much prefer you.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.”

Aiden made it sound so simple...

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m not in the habit of traveling for weeks at a time with people I hate, Lambert. I want to be with you, I like being with you.”

Aiden stood, offering Lambert a hand, “Trust me.”

Lambert took hold and allowed Aiden to pull him up.

#the witcher #witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #laiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

[mermaidsirennikita]

I'm not sure if you've already done recs for this before, but do you have any historical recs for older heroine/younger hero like in The Countess by Sophie Jordan (I read it based off your review and enjoyed it!) thanks :D

I can definitely offer some recs (and I'm glad you liked The Countess)!

Try:

The Return of The Duke by Lorraine Heath. The heroine is about 5 years older than the hero here--with the twist that she's his dead father's former mistress. (The hero is very mad and seeking her out because his father was executed for treason and stripped of his title, and he thinks she knows what really happened.) TW for discussions of past serious health issues that led to infertility.

Wake Me Most Wickedly by Felicia Grossman just came out! I think the hero is around 24/25 and the heroine is 30ish. He's a dandy from a wealthy family, she's a petty criminal, and she saves him from a mugging to kick it off. It's a Snow White retelling, great if you want a surly heroine and sunshiney hero.

The Dueling Duchess by Minerva Spencer. This heroine is a sharpshooter in a circus, and she's a few years older than the hero. They had a casual relationship, it ended angrily, and now he wants to like, declare his feelings and get her back. TW for Reign of Terror related trauma.

In Which Winnie Halifax is Utterly Ruined by Alexandra Vasti. I forget exactly how much older Winnie is than Spencer, but she's a few years ahead of him. He finds out she basically made up this husband with his name, but because there's actual documentation they're technically actually married, which is a problem for him.

Joss and The Countess by S.M. LaViolette. Alicia is 39 and Joss is 27; she's twice-widowed and looking for a good time, he's basically her bodyguard as she swans about town... until she realizes that HE could be that good time (he's a former sex worker and immediately knows what she's about lol). TW for discussions of past abuse, SA and otherwise, and stuff that happens off the page.

Melissa and The Vicar by S.M. LaViolette. Melissa is a madame who goes to a small seaside town for her health (she's very stressed and has what's implied to be a stomach ulcer). The hero is the big, virginal town vicar who's like... 25 to her 30ish, I think? TW for discussions of SA and past abuse in general as Melissa was sold into the trade at a very young age.

Waiting for a Scot Like You by Eva Leigh. The hero is a widow in her late forties who's going to attend this scandalous "party". Her bodyguard on her journey is a mid-thirties Scottish ex-soldier.

Thief of Shadows by Elizabeth Hoyt. Maybe my all-time favorite historical; Winter is a 26-year-old virgin/orphanage... master? He takes care like 30 orphans lol by day, and he fights crime in a mask by night (mostly saving kids). Isabel is a 32-year-old jaded widow. TW for discussions of past miscarriages and infertility.

Suddenly You by Lisa Kleypas has a heroine turning 30 and a hero who's a few years younger than her, but much more inexperienced (she basically pays for a sex worker to rid her of her virginity on her birthday, and the guy who shows up is actually a publisher trying to talk to her because she's a successful author... but he goes with it). TW for miscarriage.

#romance novel blogging #romance novels #book recs

[ddejavvu]

since ur taking reid rq.. could u do another grumpy x sunshine w reid !! whoever is grumpy or sunshine is up to you <33 :)

The first hand that landed on your own sent you into a downward spiral of panic. Your chest tightened, your breathing hitched, and your skin felt like it was burning.

The second hand that landed on your own, on the other side, tugged you protectively into a sweater-clad chest, the other man's hand falling away from yours.

"Keep your hands to yourself," Spencer spat, his voice from above you sounding more venomous than you'd ever heard it before, "This is a place of business, and they're clearly not interested."

"You have no seniority here," The officer who'd been making advances on you sneered at Spencer, glancing up and down at the young doctor's outfit, "Do you even have a badge?"

"I don't need seniority to knock your teeth out." Spencer tracked the man's eyes, watching as they raked down your frame next, and stepping in front of you, now ominously closer to the offending officer, "And I can easily report you for harassment."

The officer seemed to suddenly realize how much taller Spencer was than him, fear flashing in his eyes before he schooled his expression back to neutral. He rolled his eyes, feigning disinterest when really, the reason he was walking away was because he was convinced that Spencer would have curb stomped him.

You stood awkwardly behind Spencer, shame heating your cheeks. You were absolutely mortified that Spencer had needed to step in and save you, even though you were insanely grateful for his help. You reined yourself in, trying to feign the bubbly personality that you usually carried yourself with, knowing that your coworkers, especially Spencer, would notice if you weren't as happy as you usually were. You were sure your smile didn't reach your eyes, but maybe it'd work, if he didn't pay too much attention to you.

Spencer watched the man walk away, waiting until he was out of the room before turning to you. His face, usually blank or slightly surly, now oozed concern, his eyes darting around your face to track your expression.

There went your plan.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," You chuckled sheepishly, the sound familiar to him, but the tone foreign and forced, "Thank you Spencer, I'm sorry, uh- well, I'm sorry you had to do that."

"It wasn't your fault," Spencer frowned, setting a hand on your arm once more, "You told him you didn't want anything from him. He just wouldn't stop."

"Can.. Can we go somewhere else? Like, just- another room or something?" You shifted nervously under Spencer's scrutiny, trying to exude less panic than you knew you were exposing. You knew Spencer had never seen you anxious like this, and you hated knowing that your persona had been compromised.

"Of course," Spencer ushered you towards the door, holding it open for you and letting his hand slip to the small of your back.

You hurried back to the central office of the precinct, reveling in the presence of your other coworkers. Spencer guided you to an empty seat, bracing his palms on the back of your chair and leaning over you, his forearms framing your head.

"You sure you're okay?" Spencer murmured, trying to attract as little attention as possible to you. But his concern was just as obvious as it was unusual, and there were several raised eyebrows in your direction.

"I'm fine, I promise." You smiled gratefully at him, this one a little closer to being genuine, "Thank you again."

He studied your expression for only a second longer than he should have, nodding stiffly afterwards. He took his own seat, and even though you'd just reassured him, you felt his eyes flit to you seconds after he'd sat down.

"What was that about?" Emily leaned in to whisper to you, throwing a cautious glance back at Spencer from her seat.

"He helped me back there," You gestured to the room you'd just come from, "That douchey officer tried touching me."

Her eyes shot open in concern and she did the same thing Spencer had done, frantically looking you over, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," You nodded, throwing a quick glance over to Spencer and looking away just as speedily when he met your eyes, "'Just embarrassed, I guess. That he had to help me. I'm usually a little more put-together than this."

"He'd never make fun of you," Emily rolled her eyes, "Especially not for something like that."

"He doesn't make fun of people," You mused, "He just silently judges everyone, and you have no idea what he's thinking, but it's definitely rude. I don't want that to be me."

"Trust me," She scoffed incredulously, "It'll never be you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

[lemony-snickers]

Hi, I'm new to Tumblr so please tell me if I did this wrong, but would it be possible to request a kakashi x fem reader fic (both over 18 of course) ?

I truly don't know if you're comfortable with this but something like: They have feelings for one another but did not really act upon it. but for some reason there is this tension while on a mission and the reader just kisses him to shut him up or some reason and he's like "I want more?!?" it could be smut, I honestly don't know. oh and I hope I did not make you uncomfortable, that is the least I would want to happen. Thank you so much for reading this mess

Love love love your writing sooo much:)

hey there anon!  welcome to tumblr!

eventhoughit’sbeenawhilesinceyousentthisinsoyouaren’treallytthatnewanymoredasdf;sadf

this is a fine way to send in a request and def did not make me uncomfortable in any way!  i hope you enjoy this little one-shot.  it’s not full smut, more just suggestive; hope that’s all right.

Title:  Just a Kiss (AO3 Link Here) Summary:  If Kakashi had just shut up when you asked him to, none of this would have happened.  But now your fingers are in his hair and his arms are around your waist and you don’t think you could stop even if you had to.  Not even if the Hokage himself appeared beside you. Word Count:  1,521 Warnings:  fem!reader, rated M for suggestive content .

Kakashi hates these types of missions.  It’s always so boring, just sitting and waiting.  You know he hates them because he has not stopped talking about it since you arrived at your destination two days ago.

“This is so boring,” he says for what feels like the five hundredth time.  “Why are we even here?”

You grit your teeth, hands fisting in the fabric of your yukata.  “Because it’s our job, Hatake.  Now kindly be quiet so I can actually do mine.”

The truth is, you are inclined to agree with your partner.  You’re no more interested in surveillance than he is.  The fact that you’ve been paired with such an infuriatingly vocal shinobi--who would have thought the surly Copy Ninja was so outspoken when provided the right opportunity?-- only adds to your frustration.

Because watching gang leaders purchase drugs and weaponry and forbidden scrolls is not at all a good time.  It’s tedious and time consuming, scribbling down every item that changes hands, especially when you’re trying to be surreptitious about it in a crowded club while maintaining a different transformation jutsu every twelve hours.

But having Kakashi grumble constantly in your ear only makes it worse; only makes the endless days feel longer.  This does not stop him, however, from continuing to complain and annoy you for the next half-week, constantly groaning about his back, insisting his knees can’t withstand the prolonged sitting anymore.

“Then go for a walk,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.  “Can’t leave you.  What if something interesting finally happens?”

Your snort.  Such a thing is very unlikely.  The Hokage has sent you to observe and report, nothing more.  Anything short of a gang war breaking out or a coup of the feudal lord’s private residence the next village over will not be means for intervention.

At night, the two of you share a futon, turning to face away from one another as best you can.  Your accommodations are better suited for rats than humans, in all honesty.  The food the inn provides is hardly edible and you can’t wait to take a tepidly warm shower again once you’re finally back in Konoha, tired of the frigid baths you have here.

Two weeks of this and you’re about at your limit, especially when Kakashi will not stop lamenting your accommodations in addition to the assignment itself.  He tells you that his last long-term, non-combat mission was as private security for a Daimyo, who let him sleep on the plush mattress of his guest house and had his personal chef prepare meals for him each evening.

He wonders aloud--and loudly--what you could have done to offend Hiruzen Sarutobi so badly as to land yourself (and therefore, by extension, him) in this shithole.  You yourself begin to wonder how you ever found Kakashi Hatake attractive, how it was at all possible that when you received this assigment you were actually excited he would be your partner.

You are obviously an even worse judge of character than Kakashi is a sound sleeper.

You’ve taken plenty of partner missions before, shared plenty of bunks and futons and beds, but you’ve never met anyone who tosses and turns so thoroughly, always rising before the sun to finally give you a few mintues of undisturbed sleep.

It is the only time Kakashi seems to understand the benefit of silence.

The fact that he kicks himself out from beneath the sheet every morning to sit quietly on the opposite end of the room and read while you enjoy an hour or two of undisturbed slumber is the only reason you haven’t yet smothered him with his pillow.  You offer to make him a sleeping tonic, but he waves the idea away.

“What?  And be too groggy for our daily inspections?” he teases.  For a moment you forget you’re irritated with him, but Kakashi reminds you only a fraction of a second later.�� “Then who will track the number of times the waiter picks his nose?  Surely that’s above your pay grade.”

You grit your teeth, reminding yourself he has not slept well and is probably cranky as a result.

But you are not sleeping as well as you’d like either and Kakashi makes no such concessions on your behalf.

And one night, after a much longer day than most of the others during which you catalogued hundreds of individual pieces of weaponry and at least four crates of scrolls you’d had to recover in the dead of night to pry open and look at the actual contents, you return from your freezing bath to find Kakashi reading.

“Took you long enough,” he says.

You stuff your irritation down as you go about the rest of your nightly routine, but Kakashi never stops talking.

He complains about the splinter in his finger from the crates, that he can still taste the mushy rice you both ate for dinner.  Even as you crawl onto the futon, exhausted and in desperate need of sleep, his sonorous voice drones on and on and on.

Finally, something within you snaps and you sit up, Kakashi’s eyebrows rising minutely when he finds you staring at him.

“Do you.  Ever.  Shut up.”  Though it is ostensibly a question, you don’t lift your voice at the end of the sentence, leaving no room for confusion as to where you stand on the subject.

Kakashi grins.  And whereas you should be delighted to see his face bare so often these days, your nostrils flare in irritation as he snaps his book closed.

“I’m just doing my job,” he says, feigning innocence.

“Is your job to annoy the shit out of me?” you ask.  “Because if so, well done.”

Kakashi’s grin broadens and he leans forward, “I belive my job is to observe and report,” he counters.  “And so I’m reporting to you what I’ve observed.”

“Well don’t.”

You aren’t sure how Kakashi finds any more space to take up between you because suddenly you realize how very close he is.  But rather than exciting, you find his proximity infuriating.

“I believe I am the ranking shinobi on this mission,” he says flatly, “so if I think it behooves the mission to talk through our daily routine or to scrutinize the minutiae of it as part of our evening debrief, I don’t think there’s much you can do.”

He drones on and with every syllable, your chest feels tighter, your head throbs as the beginning tendrils of a migraine snake their way up your neck into your jaw.  And Kakashi just keeps talking about everything and nothing.

“Will you please just shut up?”

Kakashi pauses only long enough for his single visible eye to glint in challenge.  “Make me,” he whispers, that infuriating smirk still painted over his stupidly handsome face.

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before his mouth is moving again, meaningless words spilling out into the air between you and you do the one thing you think will probably catch him off guard enough to grant you a brief, silent respite.

You lean forward, clamp his handsome face between your hands, and mash your lips against his in the worst, most brutal kiss of your entire life.  Your teeth clang against his and there’s the distinct taste of blood on you lip from the force of your attack.

But you don’t care because when you pull away a few long moments later, Kakashi Hatake finally seems at a loss for words.

Your victory is disturbingly brief, however, because just as you're feeling like you've won, a feral-looking smile carves its way across Kakashi's face.  “Took you long enough.”

You don’t have time to answer before he pulls you back in, grasping you roughly around the waist to drag your body over his as he finally lies down.  His book is trapped uncomfortably between your bodies, but you hardly care.

Because now that he isn’t talking, you can focus on all the reasons you were originally excited to have him here with you.  Kakashi moans against your mouth and you grip his hair, giving yourself over totally to each cascading sensation; the gentle buzzing in your head and the sound of Kakashi’s panting replacing the incessant drone of his complaints.

Yes, you think as you roll onto your back, grinning up and meeting Kakashi’s hungry gaze.  This is a much better use of your time than listening to the Copy Ninja rant about accommodations or arthritic joints.

He seems to agree because the next moment, his book is tossed across the room and all his irration appears forgotten, replaced by something much more pleasant.  The sounds he makes that evening are better than any you've yet heard.

And if you’re a little late to your duties the next day, it’s not like anyone will notice anyway.  Kakashi’s right; this mission is boring as hell and honestly a waste of time.

At least now you have something more to look forward to than just a cold bath at the end of the night, though you’re sure you’ll be needing one of those, too.

#lemony scribbles #kakashi hatake #kakashi x you #kakashi x reader #fem!reader #tw suggestive #this is a queued post

[astronicht]

whumptober day 4: shock

F1 rpf | max/daniel | Baroque painters AU | 3.5k

From an AU that is the co-creation of @/garage-gremlin

One February in a year that was something like, but perhaps not exactly, 1632, the canals froze in Amsterdam and for the first time the painter Daniele da Ficarra saw a man fall through ice.

It was the winter of what Daniel did not yet know for sure and Max did not know at all would be Daniel’s last year under Horner’s patronage in Amsterdam. In the big cold workrooms which Max and Daniel shared with a small army of assistants and apprentices, Daniel had already laid down on canvas a blank reddish underpainting with his little guiding pinpricks. On that canvas were the bones of a picture that Daniel would complete in the bloom of the coming summer, and then spend years trying to forget.

It was not even that the painting would have Max’s face in it, because Daniel was in fact a professional and had only joked about that. The actual model would be Giuseppe, sent to Daniel from family to keep him out of trouble, which wasn’t working anyway. Max didn’t know Giuseppe, and as of February they had not been introduced. To Max, who only cared to notice studio people and maybe the occasional higher patron if Horner asked very pointedly, Daniel imagined Giuseppe was no one, just a boy Max had seen walking out of their studio rooms once, listening to Daniel and Christian speak with the blank face of a fifteen-year-old who didn’t know or care to learn Dutch or French or English. Daniel had wanted to shake him; with envy or with anxiety or something else.

Max and Daniel had not even been in the studio today; first had come a long meal hosted by one of Horner’s own patrons, to which Horner always required that they come along to look young and surly and promising — Max — or at least pleasant and very famous. After, they’d escaped to one of the loud waterfront pubs Max loved, which had been Daniel’s haunt first but after two and a half years in the city was now solidly shared by Max.

It was very late, certainly late enough that they were lucky that Amsterdam was not a curfew city. Max was talking about something, maybe about the other pub where all the prostitutes had pet spider monkeys brought back by local sailors, maybe about the price of lead white now that the English looked like they were at war again.

“I have to order so much of it, Daniel, to finish this.” He had been given a horde of apprentices and a large canvas and was very nearly done with one of the popular marine cornucopias, where a market table by the seaside would be painted overflowing with larger than life fish, lobsters, sharks and rays. “I hate it. Every day, I paint stinky dead fish.”

“What about the seal?” Daniel prompted, because Max had been enjoying this complaint for months. It was now a comforting bit of familiarity. Daniel wrapped his short cloak around his shoulders, fixed his hat, and sighed at a beer stain on one leg of his loose trousers, right above where they tucked into the boots. “You said she was alive, doing okay.”

“He is a boy seal,” Max corrected. “Yes he is alive, in the painting. The seal I think escapes and goes home.”

“There ya go,” Daniel said, patting his pockets. “Hey, did I have the snuff box?”

“I think it’s in the studio.”

“Huh,” Daniel said. “Well, that’s expensive if not.”

“We can go check,” Max said. “We are of course walking right past.”

They could walk right past the studio when normally they had to go down a ways to the bridge because of the frozen canals, which the city had gone a little mad for. Everyone used the frozen canals as extra market space and extra streets. Even Max loved it, and he had not grown up in Amsterdam; had in fact grown up somewhere else that wasn’t talked about much, because like Daniel’s roots, the Catholicism inherent in Max’s Dutch dialect was a delicate topic. But Max went ice skating with his friends and told Daniel all about it in the studio the next day, his hands sketching the shape of the blades which were strapped over the boot.

Daniel, personally, Sicilian boy that he was, could not stop thinking about how easily the ice became normal. How instead of jogging down to the canal bank and looking around for a passing boat to hail he could just wander along on his own power, the water beneath him a strange new dimension. It made him feel a little like a god in this city that did, sometimes, love him more than anyone else.

“Daniel,” Max nagged. They were spilling out of De Karpershoek into the murky winter night. Snow spat from somewhere, or maybe just blew off the eaves of the houses around them. Towards the harbor, the sea and the sky were one dark space, a wall, an endless corridor to the world that spread out from the Dutch Republic on nervous green water. “Do you want to check for the snuff box?”

“Oh, nah,” Daniel said. His pattens slipped a little on the cobbles. What a fucking place. “I’ll look tomorrow. I think it’s there.”

Daniel followed Max’s determined, slightly drunken progress down the street and squinted into the wind, trying to picture the workroom as he had left it. The snuff box was ivory and nicely carved; the mermaids had made Max laugh. But when he pictured the studio he got caught thinking about the new painting instead. On the canvas of red ochre underpainting and the little pinpricks that meant nothing to anyone but Daniel, Daniel could for a moment picture it all: Giuseppe in the borrowed pair of theater prop eagle wings, the artfully jumbled pile of borrowed and rented things, and the corner of a bed.

He could use, he thought, the bed owned by the divorced woman who Horner and his wife Geraldine had quietly settled in a snug house next to the studio. She would not mind too much; she knew what painters were like.

It would be wild, someday, to look back on how casually he had once thought of this painting, of that bed.

In the studio, Max was already looking for long minutes at the preparatory cartoons Daniel sketched in charcoal on paper. They were beginning to come together with Giuseppe’s face, Giueseppe’s long boyish body which was not Max’s body, but maybe could have been. Daniel wasn’t thinking about it. He knew no one was going to keep Max quietly painting fish forever. He needed to do this now, however was the best, whatever burned the brightest. If that meant— well. Fine. Fine, he had done worse for less, hadn’t he?

The black wind whipped down the street. His mouth stung with ice; it was probably getting in his short beard. “Hurry up,” Max said, switching to Dutch to swear, “It’s fucking cold, shit.”

So they walked home from De Karpershoek, lingering sawdust and chewing tobacco on their boots, and so thoughtlessly crossed the canal ice. And why worry? Winter had been long and hard and made Daniel so homesick he couldn’t even talk about anywhere else in the world, and the ice market stalls were still set up and quiet along the banks.

The sky was thick and so low that the clouds showed the faintest glow from the docksides, where torches burned all night long. Away from the docks it was only gray and gloomy. Max was holding their lantern, and it swung wildly from his hand as they skidded a little drunkenly down the steps to the frozen canal. They stepped onto the ice and the layer of snow atop it crinkled and crunched under their boots. They were speaking about— something, again. Work, probably. Daniel was tired and honestly just wanted the silence of his own rooms, but did not want to leave Max to get it. He hated himself a little for that.

They were nearly to the far bank when Daniel thought that Max had drunkenly rolled an ankle.

It was like this: when Daniel was little he had wanted to follow his sister everywhere. One morning around the feast day of St Thomas she was down at a pond in the heat of summer, catching the small Sicilian wall lizards on the rocks in her cupped hands. Daniel had felt left out. He watched her wade through the shallows to get to the best sunning rocks, ten and tall with her skirt and petticoats and her apron tied up around her hips. Finally he had bitten his lip and stood on a rock and jumped into the pond where it was deep. Michelle told the story the same way every time: she barely remembered it, except that she was not even scared, just furious that Daniel might die. So she reached in and grabbed him by his hair, which was not even very long for a child’s back then, because he had recently been very ill and the doctor had cut it all off to keep it out of the way. And somehow she had hauled him by the hair out of that hot pond, and the same sad death as so many small brothers had suffered, before and since.

Max going down in the water is not as sudden as Daniel would have expected, not like his own little body hitting water and sinking like a small smooth stone. It was like hiking through an unknown marsh, when suddenly what seemed to be soil gave way beneath the toe of a boot and one plunged a leg disconcertingly deep into the water below floating grass. For one moment, almost, Max had simply tripped, one leg through the ice and the other knee slamming down in a way that must have hurt. Max said, “Fuck!” loud and crisp and drunk, as petulantly angry as Michelle had been when Daniel sunk down in the green water. But no one’s sister was here to help, no one’s sister at all, only Daniel— and then Max was there one second, gone the next.

And Daniel was on his knees, hand plunged into the water up to his armpit, his fist empty except for a handful of Max’s hair— as if Michelle had taught him. He hauled up and sideways in one numb motion, like a dream where the night is blurred and brown and the lamp has extinguished itself on its side on the ice and a man can do impossible things like lift a weight as easily as a body falls. Yes: it was as quick and easy as falling, pulling Max out of the ice.

With Max on the surface the night was still gray-brown, the dark lantern was rolling away. Daniel looked down at Max, who flailed against Daniel’s hold, one foot still dipped in the dark water. On hands and knees in some animal instinct Daniel pulled him away by the ruff of his soaked doublet, his hands slipping. Max choked; he had somehow breathed water, Daniel realized. He was not flailing but trying to breathe.

For a minute Daniel hated the cold, hated this place, hated the loud bright pub that he had first shown Max two years ago, with all the fury of real terror.

Max convulsed with something that involved lungs but was not a breath, wet and awful. Daniel was not even breathing fast until he was, suddenly, the moment over and his heart slamming against his gullet, under his tongue, belated and unhelpful reinforcing troops arriving too late for what his hands had just done, somehow, and powerless against Max writhing on the ice now. Max convulsed and curled on his side, and spat up water. He coughed, choked, then breathed too fast, too fast, until Daniel realized Max had started trying to laugh.

“Shh,” Daniel said, “shh.” He made his fish unclench from Max’s doublet, the same fist that had closed hard around what had felt like nothing at all in the numb cold water. Like empty air, but had been Max’s fine hair.

Max grinned or grimaced — impossible to see — and in the gloom his eye teeth and his dog teeth gleamed, and so did his pale face, his water-slick gray doublet, his shirt spilling out from the front of the doublet like guts.

“Oh, that— is— very funny,” he rasped, and then curled on his side like he’d been flung there. He started to shake violently and this time it was not laughter but a shiver, Max’s mouth maybe open against the ice in the gloom. He kept coughing and trying to breathe at the same time.

Daniel’s knees and his right palm were bruised, he thought, maybe bleeding. He couldn’t see in the dark to tell. His skin under his clothes felt like it must look like a ripe purple plum, torn open.

“Come on,” Daniel said sharply. His voice was something alien: a man’s voice, harsh with fear. He tried to soften it, even though he wasn’t sure he should. “Max. Maxje.” Max had gone quiet, just horrible quick shallow breaths as wet as consumption. Daniel swallowed and tried to remember that the worst had been over before his mind was even present. “C’mon, Max,” he pleaded. Tried to laugh like Max; it sounded like shit. “At least two Hapsburgs will murder me if you go swimming right now.”

“And Mama,” Max slurred on only a sip of a breath. He was still speaking their one shared dialect of northern Italian. Daniel could barely manage that some days, his mind always trying to sink back into the comfort of Sicilian. But of course Max always spoke as he meant to.

“Oh, your mother would, uh, murder me too?” Daniel asked, patting him over like a child, looking for where it hurt. Max’s hat was lost, to the water or simply an arm’s length away in the darkness Daniel did not know. “That’s harsh, Maxje.” His hands were cupping Max’s freezing face. Daniel’s left hand ached like he had tried to pull it apart at the joints; his entire left arm ached. For nearly thirty years he had forced himself quite easily to be right-handed, but Max’s hair had been wrapped in his left fist.

“Jesus, you nearly died,” Daniel said.

“Why are you speaking Sicilian,” Max slurred through his clenched jaw, his too-fast breathing. “I did not nearly die.” Daniel’s throat felt hot.

Daniel was on his hands and knees, Max wet and curled on his side like a newborn thing that must be watched to survive the night. That same instinct in Daniel had him crawl off the ice, dragging Max by the ruff of his collar again while Max wheezed and shook and occasionally laughed and slurred, “This is so funny Daniel. Who falls through ice?”

Not you, Daniel thought.

The nearest warm house was one Daniel did not think about much. He concentrated on getting both of them up the steps, when Max seemed to be having some trouble controlling his arms, his legs.

No one answered when Daniel pounded on the door. “I have— of course— a key,” Max wheezed against Daniel’s shoulder.

Daniel had to use the key ring while Max directed, because Max’s hands were too stiff from the cold.

“Shit, no one is— here,” Max muttered when they got in. Beyond the hallway, coals were banked in a grate, but they were so cool that it was only the dark of the house that made their glow visible. “They are I think at the opera. And Greta has tonight off.”

“Fuck,” Daniel said, arms aching. The hallway was tiled in marble. One of Max’s paintings was on the wall, a still life done very cleverly as a nocturnal scene. “Shit, what do you— I’m not from here, Max, what do you even—”

“Too funny. I am going to lay down,” Max said distinctly.

“No, no, nope, you’re getting, uh,” Daniel slung one of Max’s arms over his shoulder and towed him into the foyer of the house. “A hot bath, or something. Really hot. I’ll build up the fire and like— bang on the neighbor’s door. Is the well down the street? What the fuck is with this city.”

Max was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Daniel, Daniel, it is of course like horses I think. You must warm me up slowly. Slowly.”

Max liked horses. Max, oddly, often knew what to do with small animals when he came across them. So Daniel thought of his own father, after a foaling if the weather was cool and the foal wasn’t doing well, wrapping it against himself inside his shirt and jacket.

Max said, “Go in there,” so Daniel opened a door to a bedroom lined with tapestries to keep in the warmth, a big bed with hangings for the same. Another tidy set of coals glowed in the grate — “Greta leaves the kindling behind there. No, there.” — which Daniel fumbled through building up into a big fire. Max sat down on the floor in his wet things while Daniel did this and Daniel had to get him up and think of nothing, think of pinpricks on fresh red ochre, the base of a painting that was nothing yet. He stripped down to his linens and stripped Max down all the way, leaving Max’s sodden clothes in a pile by the fire like a soaked cat that had crept in to find the warmth.

And there in the bed that was not his, which he also did not think about, he pulled Max to him even though he did not do that, because Max was muttering and blue-lipped and shaking. Max’s hair was still wet, his legs were still wet, and he could not seem to stop shaking where he was lying face-down on top of Daniel, his teeth chattering disconcertingly right next to Daniel’s ear.

“You’re gonna bite my ear off,” Daniel said. Max laughed, for real this time, then coughed a lot.

“Shh,” Daniel said again, mistakenly, because no one was crying.

After another minute, Max slurred, “Do you want— to fuck?”

Daniel felt sick. “Not right now, I don’t think.” Max laughed again like Daniel was making a joke. Max, he thought, had not been making a joke. Daniel ran his hands up and down Max’s back until it felt like he would rub his bitten-down nails raw and bloody again.

*

Daniel woke blearily to a sound in the hall. Every muscle went rigid. There was of course a reason Max had a key to this house; there was a reason the coals had been left warm in the grates. He felt splayed open, caught, and felt himself start to think, start to panic.

“Mama, in here,” Max croaked from his thin ruined throat before Daniel could do anything but lay there under him. God, under him, holding him. Max’s hair was still plastered wet against his forehead. His body still felt cool. But his wheezing breaths were easier now, Daniel thought, through his own pounding heartbeat, the rising buzz of panic.

Daniel watched like a sinner as the door crept open, the tapestry over it pulling easily to one side. A dark head peered in. She was wearing an evening gown — a black robe, bodice, and petticoat, and a black open-necked chemise with a sweeping soft lace collar spraying gently from her neck in the Flemish style, not the Dutch. Her gray satin sleeves were tied with rose-coloured ribbons. Over this finery, however, she wore a brocade jacket that Max must have given her.

“I have explained to Mama,” Max slurred. He was still speaking in Romagnol Italian, for Daniel. “She is just checking in again, since she thinks I got a chill.” Max coughed, and added like an afterthought, “He’s not here. He has gone to Haarlem tonight, don’t worry.” He did not bother to specify who he meant.

Daniel and Max’s mother’s gazes met, unavoidably. Someone had built up the fire in the grate; someone had laid down three more wool blankets on top of them. Daniel couldn’t look away from her, and she did not seem inclined to look away from him. Her eyes were very steady, and very brown.

Just as silently as she had come, she pursed her lips and closed the door.

*

Daniel left Max in that house for the morning, but it was nearly pointless: he was back in the studio by the afternoon, looking wan and still cold, somehow.

“It would have been very bad for my career,” Max croaked as they waited for the apprentices to finish grinding pigment, and laughed a bark of a laugh, unconcerned and too loud in the marble walls of the studio.

Daniel hunched his shoulders and packed another coal in the little portable heater on the floor, then another, then another, until its burning belly seemed ready to burst, and Max came up to his shoulder and said, softly, “Stop that, Daniel, I will be cold anyway,” and shivered like he was demonstrating, or laughing again.

—

Sorry if I forgot when the English Civil War was, I was busy googling the cold shock response. Max was like “i am a delicate horse pls do not give me a vascular catastrophe by dunking me (vasoconstricted and experiencing warring cardio impulses) in hot water.” and he was right. Anyway, Daniel/Daniele? short answer yes he is Daniele but he's surrounded by ppl who call him Daniel.

#my fic #whumptober 2023 #maxiel #f1 rpf #whumptober ‘23 #painter AU

[sidonisms]

@gioandvanni replied to your post “I made myself a BotW/TotK Sheik because I miss him”:

I love your Shiek! Is there any lore accompanied with him? :o

Thank you so much!!

There is!! I wanted to include it with the post but ended up opting out!! I apologize if this is a little messy!!

My AU Sheik is quiet, blunt, and a tad surly. Despite being somewhat rude (though it's unintentional) he's considered very reliable by the other members of the village. Before Link appeared, he was the one who handled the problems in the Journal of Various Worries.

He's an excellent ninja, thanks to the training he received from Impa. Even with her only being able to teach him through verbal instructions, he excelled. Through learning the abilities of a Sheikah warrior, he's become somewhat disillusioned with their role and the fact that've "lost their teeth."

How he would function in game below the cut!!

BotW -

Unless Link has defeated at least one Divine Beast, Sheik won't speak to him and will only respond with "...." when being interacted with. He's almost always playing his harp near the goddess statue.

Opinions on him are split between the adults and children. The adults sigh that his skills have made him cold and arrogant while the children say he's a softie.

Cado will comment that if he lost the attitude, he could be the next guard for Lady Impa but his bluntness would offend any guest she would have.

Cottla on the other hand says that he's always playing with her and Koko and calls him big brother Sheik. Cottla thinks that if the adults tried to listen to him instead of speaking for him they'd get along better.

Once Link does defeat a Divine Beast, Sheik will finally begin to talk to him, apologizing for being rude and ignoring him. With the world in jeopardy from the Calamity again, Sheik is fed up with the village's seclusion and pacifism and wants to help fight but doesn't want to leave the village vulnerable without him.

He's glad there's at least one warrior in Hyrule that's capable of fighting back the Calamity and he confides in Link that if he could, he would like to serve as Princess Zelda's bodyguard when she's freed

During BotW he's a young man with a lot he feels he has to prove

TotK -

In TotK, Sheik has come into his own a lot more. Rather than listlessly playing his harp, he patrols Kakariko Village. He's almost always on edge, keeping an eye out for Yiga members. He's vocally against the Zonai survey team being in the village because of his worry that the Yiga could be hiding among them.

Despite this, he's serving as Paya's eyes and ears, acting as a spy/bodyguard to the village chief, something that he did for Impa after the defeat of Calamity Ganon. Though he still wishes he was serving Zelda, she was the one who gave him the role of protecting her dear friend and her heir, some he didn't complain.

He has a side quest with Link when he tells Link that he spotted a Yiga camp up in the mountains and wants to go with Link to destroy it. After doing so, Sheik tells Link he's finally had enough. The world is growing more and more dangerous and he refuses to wait to be saved again.

Following this, a scene with Sheik talking to Paya begins. He apologizes to her but says he needs to leave the village. Abandoning his duty and leaving just Dorian to protect Paya shames him but he can't sit by anymore when the world is on the road to ruin. He kneels to Paya, requesting permission to leave his post and start taking the fight to their enemies. Paya agrees on the condition that when he's done, he comes home safely.

After the event, he'll be at Lookout Landing, patrolling the walls. When Link speaks to him he seems much happier and comments that the world feels so much bigger now. He makes Link promise that when the battle really kicks off, he'll tell him so they can fight together.

#gioandvanni #sheik