#prompt response

[ky-landfill]

may we please get more tim and jason 🙏🙏🙏

“Jason—“

[thebiggerbear]

"What do you see in him?" "Everything you don't." - Soldier Boy Prompt Response

Summary: Hughie and everyone don't understand what you see in Soldier Boy but they also haven't seen what you've seen: Ben.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Supe!Reader

A/N: This is part of the Soldier Boy/Beau Arlen/Dean Winchester/CJ Braxton/Alec McDowell/Jason Teague/Tom Hanniger/Russell Shaw/Boaz Priestly/Jake Gray/Jensen Ackles RPF prompt response project I've been working on the last month (previewed here). This idea immediately popped into my head for it.

All unbeta'd.

Warnings: language; implied past sexual assault (not SB); mentions of implied drug use; mentions of violence; mentions of death

Word Count: 2199

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel; @hobby27; @impala67rollingthroughtown

Soldier Boy Taglist: @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @just-levyy; @solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444; @faephoria; @believeinthefireflies95

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24; @bts24; @deans-spinster-witch; @rebel-paladin; @nancymcl

Beau Arlen | Dean Winchester | CJ Braxton | Jake Gray | Jason Teague | Boaz Priestly | Russell Shaw | Tom Hanniger | Jensen Ackles RPF | Alec McDowell

Once MM stormed out of the room, followed by a glaring Butcher, Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie descended on you. Frenchie stayed in the corner, beyond shocked — so shocked he forgot to puff away at his still burning cigarette.

“Seriously?” Annie spat angrily.

Hughie looked more disappointed than pissed off at you, and that somehow bothered you more than Annie’s fury ever could have. “Y/N, you’ve got to explain this one to me. I don’t…” He took a deep breath and began again. “The guy’s a fossil. A racist, homicidal, perverted piece of shit fossil.” Hughie placed his hands on his hips. “What do you even see in the guy?”

Kimiko furiously signed a repeat of the question.

You knew Hughie was right. Soldier Boy had done a lot of fucked up shit — shit that wasn’t forgivable in any way, shape, or form. But you also knew Ben, the man underneath all of that asinine machismo and false bravado. You’d seen glimpses of him here and there when no one else had, when Ben himself hadn’t even known you had. It also didn’t hurt that you’d seen memories of his childhood play in his mind or saw flashes of his strained relationship with his father — the man he could never live up to or gain his approval, no matter how hard he tried. There was a lot swimming underneath the surface of that green suit, under that indestructible skin, that had gotten corrupted and then shaped by easy fame, a greedy corporation, and more drugs than any person should have coursing through their system on a daily basis, even a Supe. All of it was certainly no excuse for the things he’d done, but you knew there was more to him than who he’d been, who he was now even — you’d literally seen it.

So you looked your oldest friend in the eye and spoke as honestly as you could. “Everything you don’t,” you told him quietly before walking out of the room in the opposite direction MM and Butcher had gone in. You came to a stop outside the door when you saw Ben standing there, his green eyes watching you sharply. 

He had obviously heard every word and while it wasn’t exactly something you wanted him to find out, you refused to act embarrassed or caught out. So you stuck your chin up a little higher, daring him to say something he would end up regretting should he piss you off.

“You saw a lot more than you let on when they had you do a read on me after pulling me out of the tube.” Not a question but a statement, one that didn’t contain any traces of surprise.

He was right; you had seen plenty — some things you’d rather forget. But you had meant what you said to Hughie just before, to Butcher and the team before that. There was more to him than the green suit, than the America’s Son bullshit facade, and even the horrible things he had done in his time. There was something there worth trying to extricate, to let see the light of day that hadn’t in a very long time. 

You didn’t respond to what he’d said; you had no need to. You only watched him as he watched you.

Ben took a few wary steps forward until he was right in front of you. He carefully reached out a hand to your cheek, laying his fingers along your skin when he saw that you didn’t immediately pull away from him. 

“So,” he started, his voice a little more gravelly than usual as he spoke quietly to you, only for your ears and his. He tenderly ran his thumb near the corner of your mouth. “I matter to you, huh?”

When you thought he was indeed making fun of you as he thought he might, echoing your words back to you, you noticed a small smile forming on his face as his eyes roamed over yours. You had seen plenty of smiles from the man since you’d first seen him a couple of months ago or so — mostly smug smirks or leering grins, usually aimed at everyone but you — but you had never seen this one before. It caught you off guard so much, you were captivated. “You know you do,” you murmured. 

He stared at you for a moment, glancing between you and your mouth, and then slowly leaned in. When his lips gently connected to yours, you felt an immediate electric shock travel through your system. So much so that you started seeing images playing behind your eyelids that weren’t your own. 

…Him listening to you and Hughie bicker in the next room about which Billy Joel song was the best (We Didn’t Start the Fire for you and Pressure for him) and how he smiled to himself when you told Hughie in a playful tone to suck it when the little whiny bitch tried to show you what the critics helmed the better song. 

…Ben getting angry when some piece of shit Supe had the balls to put his hand on your ass at Herogasm — a hand he immediately crushed.

…Him surreptitiously studying each interaction between you and Butcher, noting the hostility but begrudging respect between you, wondering if there was a story there and if there was, how he planned to convince you that he was the better man for you compared to the backstabbing Brit.

…Him rushing to protect you with his shield when one of Homelander’s team of misfits you didn’t see coming nearly killed you with a massive blow. You felt the rage coursing through his veins when he noticed a small trickle of blood coming from a wound near your scalp as you glanced up at him gratefully. Most of the Supes you had engaged had died that day and now you knew exactly why.

…Ben watching you out of the corner of his eye when you stood at the window, arms crossed and ominously silent, after MM had mentioned The Deep while planning on how to take out Homelander. He waited until everyone had cleared out, even Hughie who had squeezed your shoulder as he passed you by, and Ben carefully approached you from behind, torn between wanting to pull you back into his large frame to cage you protectively in his arms or to ask what was the matter. He had ended up going with the latter and you simply said “Kevin’s not a good person” and walked away, your shoulders a little more sunken down than he’d ever seen them. You felt his resolve from that moment and now knew why he had gone after The Deep with such a laser focus before even bothering with Homelander. 

…You reassuring him when he suddenly woke from a sound sleep, gasping and wide-eyed, as his chest began glowing — a result of him not self-medicating nearly as much as he used to. He had wanted you to feel safe around him so he’d cut back on the Bennies, the reefer, the booze, and even the women. He would never admit it out loud but he cared deeply about what you thought. Unbeknownst to you at the time, when you had first seen inside his head, he had gotten a glimpse inside of yours, too. And what he had seen…he wanted to be a man worthy of you. Or at least try his best. You were everything he hadn’t even known he wanted until that moment. So he had made a valiant effort to kick the drug and alcohol habit to the side but it didn’t come without consequences for him. Ben had dreamt he was back in Russia, stuck in a box as they poked and prodded at him, laughing and telling him he would never be free and he would never see anyone again. When he heard your voice telling him he was safe, he grasped for you and you let him, even though he felt you tense up at his greedy touch. “Sorry,” he gruffed out and immediately released you, worried he had either hurt you without meaning to or had made you uncomfortable in his bid to make sure you were real. “It’s okay,” you whispered, picking up his hand and placing it in between both of yours. “I’m right here. You’re safe.” When he felt your thumb tenderly swiping over his knuckles in reassuring strokes, he rasped out, “Did you see?” Instead of answering, you reached up to lay a hand against his cheek. “You’re home now and you’re never going back.” Your words were a fiery promise enforced by the steely resolve in your eyes. “I won’t let you.” He gently held his hand over yours and the glow in his chest receded; he believed you.

…Him watching you as you slept on the opposite end of the couch. You mumbled and sighed a lot in your sleep and it fascinated him. Earlier, when you had found the show he wanted, he had asked you to sit and watch with him, just in case he didn’t understand any of the references. You had obliged and promptly drifted off two episodes in. To Ben, it was a huge ego boost; you felt safe and comfortable enough around him that you could fall asleep near him. As he watched you, hearing your sounds, he really wanted to know what you were dreaming about, especially when your brows knit together and you let out a terrified whimper. He had picked you up without waking you and held you close to him. “You’re okay, doll,” he promised in a soothing murmur to your hairline. “I’ve got you and nothing is going to happen. I won’t let it.” He heard you inhale deeply and then release a contented sigh a moment later. You relaxed in his arms, curling into him, and he stayed like that the entire night: holding you as he watched episode after episode of Friends, something he had only picked because he thought you might like it enough to agree when he planned to ask you to stay. As much as he enjoyed the sound of your voice when you patiently explained things to him, the night turned out even better than he dared to hope, especially when you subconsciously buried your face into his neck and stayed cocooned there. Only when he heard you beginning to stir back into consciousness hours later did he gently place you back in the spot you fell asleep in, pretending not to notice when you fully woke up, opening one sleepy eye to find him in front of you. He shrugged off your apology and glanced over to find you softly smiling at him, causing a strange twinge to happen inside his chest, something reminiscent of when the nuclear reactor inside of him went off but far less dangerous…and much more pleasant.

The images faded as he slowly pulled back a few inches, his green gaze staring deeply into yours. “Was that okay?”

You slowly nodded, still beyond shocked not only at what you had seen or how gentle the kiss had been, but also the sensations it had caused to sweep through you — things you were pretty sure you’d never feel in your lifetime. Hints of desire and a lightness whispered throughout your body as another stronger emotion gained a foothold and blanketed your entire being. Whereas it might have frightened you before, it didn’t now. You knew you were safe, protected, and after this kiss, you now also knew you were cherished to a certain extent.  

Almost as if he knew what you were thinking, fleeting relief gave way to a small smile on his face and he tenderly placed his thumb on your chin. “Good. Because you matter to me, too.”  

You couldn’t help but smile in return, seeing his eyes light up, and you gently framed his face in your hands. You stood on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his again, eager to see more as he willingly put his guard down to let you completely in. You also wanted to experience that rush of sensations again with him and this time when he wrapped his arms around you to carefully hold you against him, you buried your fingers into his hair and only deepened the kiss. It wasn’t Soldier Boy who was kissing you back and whose thumb tenderly brushed against your jawline; it was Ben — the very Ben you’d seen hidden underneath all of the layers of toxic masculinity, simmering rage, and the Supe tamping down the man with years of drug use, womanizing, and an overinflated ego. And from the images and thoughts swimming in your mind that didn’t belong to you, your Ben by all accounts. Something that sadly Hughie and the rest would never understand or even be willing to try. But as Ben soundly kissed you, when he broke away to let you catch your breath and placed his forehead against yours, tenderly rubbing strands of your hair that had come loose between his fingertips, you found that part didn’t really bother you all that much.

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[littlejuicebox]

Hi! I'm not sure if you take requests so if you don't, please ignore this and I hope you had a wonderful Christmas.

I just read your Astarion X Tav fanfic where Astarion proposes. It is said that the ring he got glows whenever Astarion thinks of Tav. I was just wondering if you could write a slice of life about the ring glowing at the most random times. Maybe during a stealth mission where Tav has to stay hidden or when he is smiling in his sleep and the ring glows. I just thought it would be cute and fun to write about. You can get creative with it.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, whether you end up doing this request or not. I hope you had an amazing Christmas and I hope you will have an amazing New Year's!

Hi Anon! I don’t think this is quite what you were asking for but… this is what came out! 🤷‍♀️ The smut gods blessed me and I cannot deny their gifts. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Smut below the cut.

If you haven’t read my other work and would like context, Anon is referencing a two part mini story I wrote. Click here for part 1, and click here for part 2.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only please, smut, masturbation, sex pollen, swearing/cursing, game spoilers

Word Count: 1.5K

-----

“I think we’re just… a bit out of practice, darling. It has been nearly a year since we were down here last, you know.” Astarion whispers, crouched next to you behind a Funguswood tree. He’s wiping bits of dirt, twigs, and mushroom pollen off himself with a handkerchief.

“Admit it, Astarion. You just weren’t fast enough.” You respond with a small, teasing poke of your tongue as you rearrange your weaponry and count your arrows.

The pale elf finishes wiping off the debris, and you return your attentions to the mission. You’d been contracted to scout out the vampire stronghold in the Underdark and report your findings back to Wyll and the Flaming Fists. Rumor was that the vampire hoard had wreaked absolute havoc on the Underdark; the city feared the creatures would soon return to the surface if they could not find sustenance here.

“Would you have preferred I let that wild Rothé ram you into those mushrooms in my stead?!” Astarion hisses in return while rubbing his hand over his arm, which now felt unbelievably tingly and was starting to radiate significant warmth, “Hells, what mushrooms were those, anyway?!”

You stifle a chuckle, knowing your fiancé is already past his limits of patience. You two need to get to the scouting point, set up camp, and hunker down for a few days… all while avoiding detection from the vampires or any other nefarious creatures in the Underdark. Best to do it without an ornery Astarion by your side.

“I don’t know what mushrooms those were. I’ve never seen them before.” You admit with a small shrug, “Come on my love, not much further now and then we can get you properly cleaned up.”

Astarion follows behind you in silence, apart from the occasional cursing and swiping at his skin. Gods, the heat had spread up his entire arm now. The scratching seemed to make it worse, but by the hells, he couldn’t stop no matter how much he wanted to. The two of you finally got to the cragged rock that led to a small cave where you would make camp, and he never felt more relieved in his life. He couldn’t wait to clean himself properly and be done with this burning sensation.

You glance at him briefly and then begin climbing the rock. Astarion remains below to keep you covered in case anything decides to attack while you’re left defenseless. He looks up to watch your progress and cannot help but to notice the overwhelmingly attractive curve of your bottom. It was always attractive, of course, but something about it in this moment was entirely… irresistible. Had you been working out recently in preparation for the wedding?

You’re halfway through climbing the rock when your engagement ring bursts into a spray of light. It often glows significantly at the surface, but in the blackness of the Underdark, you’re practically a beacon. Your stomach drops. Gods, how had you forgotten to take it off?

“Astarion!” You hiss in a panicked whisper, “Cut it out! Every being in all of the Underdark will know our position.”

Astarion had realized the issue as soon as the light had flared, of course. He was trying desperately to avoid thinking of you and all the delicious things he wanted to do when you two made camp, but gods he couldn’t control it. What in the hells was wrong with him? He wanted to stop, to ensure your safety, but your plump, perfect ass was practically calling his name, begging for his attention, and he wanted nothing more than to bend you over and—

He shakes his head, trying to rattle the lewd fantasies from his psyche, “I’m trying, my love! I don’t know what’s come over me I just—“

Hags. Hideous shoes. Ghouls. Manual labor. Gale.

The pale elf tries to think of all the most grotesque, unsexy things he can and push you entirely from his mind. You continue to climb, hoping to quickly reach the top and take off your ring as soon as possible. The ring is still glowing like a single star in the blackest night.

Ogres. The smell of Araj’s blood. Rats. Gale.

Gods, it was useless.

Finally, you reach the top. You rip the ring off your finger and shove it in your pack as soon as your limbs land on the surface of the cave. Astarion quickly scales the rock behind you, and when he reaches the top, you’re positively glaring at him.

“Darling, I’m sorry! I really tried. It’s just— gods damn these mushrooms!” The vampire is ripping off his shirt and scratching at his skin as the two of you walk into the little cave. Before long he’s down to his knickers and cursing as he rubs desperately at his flesh.

You’re trying to ignore your fiancé and quickly pitch the tent so you can handle whatever the hells is going on with him. A sideways glance to your pack reveals that the ring is still glowing quite intensely… perhaps more than it ever has before. Was that even possible? At any rate, you can’t get closer to the stronghold with it glowing like that.

“Astarion, I don’t know what—“ You spin around, and you’re surprised to see the elf fully nude on his blanket, doing perhaps the most provocative thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Astarion is beaded in sweat by now, and his hands are wandering over himself, chasing the burning tingle as it travels through his body. Gods, the feeling was becoming absolutely unbearable. He kept seeing visions of you and him in the throes of passion in his mind.

He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Did he want to stop? He couldn’t decide. All he knew was the intense tingling and burning coursing through his veins and the wonderful fantasies filling his brain. He needed release from this torture; his limbs were on fire and the sensation was spreading to his groin.

The elf knows by the throbbing pulse in his cock that his erection is at full capacity, and he feels the dribbles of precum slowly sliding from the head, down the shaft. Astarion is, admittedly embarrassed knowing you are mere feet away and witnessing such an erratic show, but he grabs his own cock regardless— gods, it felt like being possessed. He needed release and he needed it now.

As his fingers wrap around his shaft, a burst of relief travels through his body. The tingling ceases for a moment. But then, it flares again and he’s consumed by the burning feeling and vulgar thoughts of the two of you once more. He pumps his hand a few times, bucking into the sensation, and once again the torturous tingle halts.

What in the hells?

Astarion is now rolling his hips towards his own hand, groaning in pure ecstasy at the relief from the burn as well as the delicious sensation of his hands stroking his uncharacteristically sensitive member. His eyes are clasped closed, and his other hand is still wandering over his torso, chasing that burning itch.

Through panting, shaking breaths he murmurs, “Darling, is it— oh gods, is possible that those— fuck — mushrooms contained sex pollen? I’ve never— mmh, fuck.”

You’d been so enraptured by the vision of your lover touching himself in such an uninhibited display of lust that you almost didn’t hear what Astarion asked. The slickness of your arousal was starting to become apparent as you instinctively squeezed your thighs together.

“I’m… I’m not sure, my love. I’ve read of such things but I’ve never come across it… until, perhaps, now I suppose.”

Astarion isn’t really listening. Instead, he’s bucking wildly into his own hand, chasing his own release. He falls apart in front of you, with his limbs tensed and mouth agape in pure, unadulterated pleasure, clasping tightly onto his own length. The gasping, strangled moan of relief that escapes him as he reaches his climax and shoots sticky streams of hot white seed onto his abdomen ignites a fire in your groin. He’s shuddering with the rippling aftershocks of his orgasm and you feel yourself dripping with arousal as you rub your thighs together once more. This display was entirely feral.

For a few moments the vampire is breathing contentedly, eyes still shut. He’s still holding his cock, which continues to twitch insistently despite its significant spend. Your lover brings his unoccupied hand to his hair and rakes it through his disheveled, sweaty curls.

You flick your gaze to your pack and notice that it’s no longer emitting that ethereal glow. But then Astarion groans in dismay and you see light flare from your bag again. When your attention returns back to your fiancé, he’s already grasping wantonly at a second rapidly growing erection.

“Darling, I can smell you,” He hisses desperately, now slathering his own milky juices around the swollen, reddened tip of his thick cock. The veins in his arm and on his shaft are pulsing as he begins to stroke himself again, “Don’t be coy just— come over here and help me with this. Please.”

And by the gods, he asked so nicely, how could you say no?

[justlookfrightened]

Picking sides

Based on a prompt from @shygryf: 1.Both Jack and bitty prefer the left side of the bed.

Bitty leaned forward to get a closer look at his face while he worked the dental floss between his teeth.

Nope, no need for a shave before bed. He’d shaved yesterday, and he wasn’t even showing the first signs of the fine, almost invisible stubble that signaled the beginnings of facial hair on him. Maybe tomorrow?

But for tonight, he just had to finish his teeth, wash and moisturize his face, and tuck himself into bed.

Into Jack’s bed.

Into Jack’s big, soft, king-sized bed.

Bitty and Jack were going to share a bed tonight. A bed made for two people, not like Bitty’s tiny twin in Madison that they had crammed themselves into in the pre-dawn hours when Jack was visiting and Bitty’s parents were still asleep.

Bitty peered around the open bathroom door at the bed. Made for two, maybe, but Bitty was pretty sure it could accommodate four of him.

Bitty dropped his used floss in the wastebasket and washed his face, determinedly not thinking about what would happen when Jack finished cleaning the kitchen and came to join him in that bed.

Better to think about how considerate Jack was — Jack, who had seen Bitty yawn as he carried his plate to the kitchen, and said, “You’re exhausted. I’ve got the dishes. Why don’t you get ready for bed?” and pretended not to see Bitty’s blush at the idea of getting ready to go to bed with Jack.

It wasn’t like Bitty was a blushing virgin. Well, not a virgin, anyway. Bitty snickered at the thought and got a mouthful of cleanser. He and Jack … well, they’d done plenty for Bitty to decide that the word “virgin” no longer applied to him in his childhood bedroom in Madison, in the bed of the truck while the fireworks exploded in the sky, even on Jack’s sofa this afternoon.

They hadn’t even made it to the bedroom after Jack picked Bitty up at the airport in Boston to spend the last week before he had to be back on campus with Jack.

Bitty rinsed his face, smiling at his own blush as he remembered what they’d got up to. He felt his dick twitch with interest as well, even though his stomach was fluttering with nerves about the … the adultness of it all.

Every time Bitty and Jack had been together — in a, well, sexual way — before, he’d felt like a teenager, sneaking around behind his parents’ backs, even tumbling onto the couch, pushing clothes aside in a hurry to get their hands and their mouths where they wanted them like there would never be enough time.

When they were done, Jack had pulled Bitty onto his chest as they lay there, and Bitty had almost dozed off, before Jack said, “We can shower at the same time, if you want, and then go to the market.”

And Bitty hadn’t known whether Jack meant “at the same time in two different bathrooms” or “at the same time together,” until Jack said, “The shower in the master bath is big enough for both of us,” and Bitty had noticed that Jack’s cheeks were pink too, and then he had felt much less self-conscious.

So they had showered, in a way that felt more intimate than sexual, then dressed and shopped for food and for the things that Bitty insisted Jack needed for a fully-stocked kitchen, then they had cooked and eaten together, and by that time Bitty had been wiped out. He really had not slept well the night before.

He finished with the moisturizer, made sure his toiletries were arranged neatly on the vanity, and went into the bedroom. Jack already knew he usually slept in a T-shirt and his boxer briefs; Jack had known that since they lived in the Haus together. Jack wouldn’t expect anything different now, would he? 

But if Jack wanted to — There was no reason Bitty had to wear anything at all to bed here. No parents or Hausmates who might knock and open the door. Bitty wished for a moment that Jack had gotten ready for bed first, or at the same time at least, so Bitty could follow his example.

Bitty gave himself a mental shake. Jack wouldn’t mind however he slept, and how he slept tonight didn’t mean that’s how it would be every night going forward. He would go to bed the way he usually did.

WIth that thought, he rummaged in the duffle that they’d brought up from Jack’s car, found Senor Bun and his phone charger, and plugged his phone in. Then he slid beneath the fluffy duvet — really, it felt like a warm cloud over him, tucked Senor Bun in the crook of his arm, and tried to relax.

It couldn’t have been much later when Bitty opened his eyes to Jack standing next to the bed, shirtless, in his underwear (the way Jack usually slept), looking a little … confused? Put out?

“Jack?” Bitty asked. “Is something wrong?”

“What?” Jack startled a tiny bit. “No, of course not. Go back to sleep.”

“You look like something’s wrong.” 

Bitty pushed himself up on his elbow. 

“Is it something I did?” 

Maybe he wasn’t neat enough in the bathroom? The room had been pristine when he and Jack has entered it to shower earlier.

“No,” Jack said. “It’s … nothing, really.”

“It seems like it’s something,” Bitty said, now becoming alarmed.

“No,” Jack said. “Nothing important. It’s just …”

He trailed off.

“It’s just?” Bitty prompted, sitting up now.

Jack ran a hand through his hair and sighed. 

“This sounds stupid, but that’s the side of the bed I always sleep on,” Jack said. “And you looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“But you also didn’t want to climb in the other side?” Bitty said.

Jack started to walk to the other side of the bed.

“I know,” Jack said. “It’s —”

“Don’t say it’s stupid,” Bitty said. “This is your home and you should be comfortable.”

He rolled across the mattress.

“But I want you to be comfortable too,” Jack said. “And that’s obviously the side you’re comfortable on.”

Now they had both switched from the left to the right side of the bed, Bitty still sitting on the mattress, Jack standing at the side.

“Jack, sweet pea,” Bitty said, noting the way Jack’s shoulders softened a bit at the endearment. “I ain’t ever had a bed with sides before. I think I can get used to it.”

That started a chuckle from Jack, who said, “I think all beds have two sides, bud.”

“You know what I mean,” Bitty said. “But I guess, at home, the right side of my bed is against the wall, so the nightstand and all my stuff is on the left. So it just felt natural. But you have nightstands on both sides.”

Bitty leaned over to look at the wall behind the nightstand on the right.

“And outlets,” he said. “Can you just hand me my phone and the charger?”

“You really don’t mind?” Jack asked.

“Of course not,” Bitty said. “Maybe I’ll turn into someone who only likes the right side.”

Instead of walking around the bed, Jack crawled over Bitty.

“I doubt it,” he humphed. “I’m just … set in my ways, I guess?”

“Whatever,” Bitty said. “I really don’t mind.”

He took his phone and charger and plugged them in, and Jack settled himself under the covers and turned off the lamp. 

“Goodnight, Bits,” Jack said.

“G’night,” Bitty said, curling up around Senor Bun in the dark.

He was still awake, barely, when the mattress shifted, and he felt Jack curl up behind him, throwing an arm over Bitty’s waist.

“This okay?” Jack asked.

In response, Bitty scooted back so that he was pressed against Jack’s front.

Then he giggled.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Now we’re both on the right side of the bed,” Bitty said.

[yasmindifference]

IMMEDIATELY asking for jason’s pov of the fake dating fic for the prompt meme. literally first and only thing that popped in my mind. i don’t have a specific scene in mind, any you want would be amazing

oh and i forgot to say happy belated birthday!! you don’t have to reply to this separately lmao

Thank you very much! I've always kind of wanted to write Jason's POV of the hickey scene in chapter two, so I hope you enjoy ♡♡

It probably made Jason a bad person, but how could he resist the opportunity when it was right there?

“You might not’ve noticed, but I’m a possessive kinda guy,” he said in extreme understatement. “When I own something—or someone—I make damn sure everyone knows. You need more than this if you’re gonna be mine.”

It was a lie. A shameless, shameless lie.

Was Jason the kinda guy who marked up his partners as much and as often as they’d allow? Yes.

Was there a single solitary person in Crime Alley who was gonna look at Red Hood’s boyfriend long enough to even realize he had hickies, let alone count them? Absolutely fucking not.

So it was a lie, and Jason knew it. Knew that Tim would be lucky to get eye contact as long as he was undercover, because nobody would want to be the moron caught staring at Red Hood’s boyfriend. Jason had never dated anyone as his crime lord persona before, so they wouldn’t know what kinda punishment he’d lay down for staring…but he was sure they could imagine, and it would keep all of their gazes firmly averted.

But the excuse was right there—right there like the hickies he’d left before, scattered across Tim’s neck and just begging to be joined by some friends—and who was Jason to ignore it?

Tim hadn’t answered. Jason felt like that was a good sign; better hesitation than an immediate ‘no.’

“So?” he asked. He couldn’t resist the urge to apply a little pressure to the mark below his thumb, treasuring the way Tim’s pulse jumped in response. “More, yes or no?”

Tim’s pulse evened out immediately, and not in a natural way. No, that was Tim applying Batman’s lessons in controlling his heartbeat. That was Tim needing to control his heartbeat, because Jason was absolutely getting to him.

“Sure,” Tim said casually. “Knock yourself out.”

“Great,” Jason said, matching Tim’s casual tone. Not easy, when the jealous, possessive thing in his chest was nearly purring in satisfaction. He’d had so much fun marking Tim up the first time and couldn’t wait to do it again.

…But half the fun was flustering Tim, and Jason was pretty sure Tim had a strength kink. (It would explain his baffling and infuriating affair with the super clone, for one, and also Jason was like seventy-five percent sure Tim had checked him out the last time he took advantage of the Batcave’s weights.)

So he took the excuse of their height difference to lift Tim right off his feet and put him on the kitchen island. Without asking. With no visible effort. (No effort required, it’d be so fucking easy to just pin Tim to the wall and hold him there while Jason fucked him—)

Tim was blushing. Fuck yes.

He also wasn’t asking why Jason had done that, which was an even better sign, Jason thought. Still, for the sake of appearances—

“You’re too short,” he offered in explanation. Tim didn’t so much as roll his eyes; another good sign.

He wanted to keep teasing Tim, see if he could get that faint blush darker and more obvious, but the other half of the plan called. They had a date to go on.

So he stepped up between Tim’s splayed legs and gripped his hips, yanked him to the edge of the island, and went to town.

Tim’s skin was soft beneath his lips. His shirt rubbed distractingly against Jason’s chest. And the quiet, hitching breaths he kept taking were driving Jason out of his goddamned mind.

He was obviously trying so hard to stay cool, to play it unaffected like he wasn’t bothered all by Jason’s attention, and he was failing. Calm, cold, unflappable Tim was being really fucking flapped by Jason giving him a few hickies.

It was hot as fuck—and, more importantly, it gave Jason hope. Hope that this plan might actually work after all. That he might walk away from this not only with his traitors dealt with, but with Tim finally being his as a bonus.

And if not…well, at least he’d have this memory: Tim’s stifled moans, the taste of his sweat, and his visible struggle not to arch up into Jason’s touch.

It wasn’t everything Jason wanted, but it was a damn good start.

[mirohtron]

Hero dropped down to their knees, keeping their gaze locked onto the villain’s, refusing to let go.

Their eyes were wide, and begging as they spoke. “Help me.”

Villain’s lip twitched into a smirk. “Say it again.”

The hero shivered, their voice breaking.

“Help me.”

“One more time.”

prompt by @avvail :>

—

Shame burned acridly in the hero's throat. They were stained with blood and dirt and soot. Gravel was embedded in their cuts. Their body was bruised and beaten and aching.

It frustrated the hero to no end, that before they’d come to the villain’s doorstep, the villain had probably thought that the hero was dead, and instead of seeming relieved that they were alive they were forcing them to beg. 

Still.

"Help me." They willed the villain not to hear it.

The villain's smirk burst into a cruel grin. Their gloved hand snaked out and landed on their throat, squeezing, like they were going to choke the hero. They glanced at the small sliver of skin that the glove exposed at their wrist, the thin, raised line following the green of their vein. 

The villain was out of their suit, since the hero hadn’t been expected. They doubted the villain was relieved that their biggest problem had shown up to their doorstep completely fine and only a little roughed up.

The villain's thumb grazed the bump of their voice box, pressing down just slightly.

It took everything in the hero not to move. The muscles in their arms flexed. Their fists stayed clutched at their sides.

Slowly, the villain stroked the dips along the line of the hero's collarbone, then went up their throat. The hero bared it for them, because they knew the villain would like it.

A dimple appeared on the villain's cheek. Their eyes crinkled. They looked wolfish. "So good," they said, then curled their hand around to take them by the back of their neck. "So tame. Oh, I could just eat you up."

The hero's breath hitched and they knew the villain caught it. They chuckled. Humiliation bubbled inside them.

"This concerns you, too," said the hero, and right after they said it the villain's hand squeezed harder. They dropped the grin, shushed them gently, as though they were looking to soothe.

"I know, doll." The grin came on again, delighted. Similar to the look a thief got, looking at a vulnerable person walking down a deserted street. Eager to take. Twitching to take, to grab at any open seam.

The news was on every single channel there was, the hero was sure. They estimated ninety per cent of the city's heroes had been pronounced dead in the last ten hours

The villain continued. "I know. It must seem completely out of character, doll, but I did expect your little superhero to turn rogue eventually. I kept tabs. Noted every little tick."

The hero's breath hitched again, a harsher sound this time, wanting to rage. They kept themselves from asking—why didn't you let me know? But they shouldn't have expected any magnanimity from the villain. As for expecting the attack...

It still hadn't entirely registered in their head, they didn't think. They didn't believe the superhero was straight up evil. But they definitely weren't in their right mind, either. They were off the rocks. Wrong.

Today had started off like any other day. Everyone had gathered in the common room, chattering. The superhero had walked in, looked around once, and just... razed the whole place down.

"They're being controlled." It was the best explanation that the hero could give.

"Or maybe they've just realised the good side isn't all that good. Maybe they'll come for you next."

The hero's spine straightened. "Maybe they'll come for you first. You didn't see them firsthand. They went on a rampage." They'd torn the head off an innocent worker in the building, haloed by the fire, and stared straight at the hero. Feral. Rabid. Angry? Mad? Looking to take something the world had taken from them? The hero no longer knew. It all turned into one moment and the next.

A gloved hand made its way to their soot-stained hair. The villain peeled strands of sweaty hair away from the hero's forehead with their other hand.

With no answer from the villain, the hero grew twitchy. They rubbed the pads of their fingers raw. Dug crescent moons into their palm.

"You're smart," the hero tried eventually, reaching for something that would give in the villain. "Clever, strong."

"Dubious, greedy. Oh, and don't forget evil."

"Help me stop them." The hero's bare hand cupped the villain's own, gloved, tangled in their hair. They leaned forward. "If not to help me then for your safety."

“So sweet.”

“You know a rogue, indestructible hero will doom the city. You must’ve seen the news? The wrecked blocks?” The hero’s fingers slipped down to the scar on their wrist, fingertips slipping beneath their sleeve. The villain’s eyes flashed dangerously, but they pressed on. “I know what they’ve done to you—”

The villain's grip tightened on the hero's hair, forcing them to bare their throat. Their smile went mirthless and dangerous. The hero left their hands, kept them hanging harmlessly beside their head. "Quiet."

"I'm just saying."

The villain's voice dipped low, down to a delicate whisper, far away from that wolfish grin. "I know, doll, you're just saying. But you don't know me that way, do you?" Their free hand went to roam the hero's side. Their wrist flicked, and the cool edge of one of the villain's many knives pressed to their side. The hero's fists turned white-knuckled. "Do you?"

"No."

"Good." The knife disappeared. The villain pushed the hero's head away. "I miss when you were helpless. Tell me that again. Tell me what you need from me."

The hero steeled their jaw. They wiped dirt and soot from their cheek and didn't look at the villain.

"Tell me," the villain repeated. "Ask for it."

"Help me."

"Nicely."

"Please help me."

"Good." The villain grinned again. It wasn’t the same. "You'll do a job for me before I help you."

The hero went to protest. The villain's hand snaked out again, pressing a thumb to their lips, the side of their index finger cradling their chin. The scar on their wrist flashed in the low light. "I know, doll. I know. Smart, clever, strong. But evil."

The villain drank up every emotion that flitted past the hero. The hesitation. The consideration. The reluctance. The capitulation.

"I'll do it, and then you'll help. To stop superhero."

The villain tilted their head. "Of course, doll," they said. "Anything if you ask nicely."

[satancopilotsmytardis]

20-Fake it until you make it?

But instead of it being faking that you are orgasm, be faking that you’re not having one? 👀 Take that as you will LMAO.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Shigadabi

Content: Porn Star AU, Daddy kink, CNC/Rape roleplay, face-fucking/rough oral sex, cum eating, humiliation, degradation, spanking, hole spanking, forced feminization, multiple orgasms, anal fingering, anal sex, rough sex, facial

If you'd like to read on AO3 you can right here!

Dabi has been a porn star for six years. Ever since he turned eighteen and his father wanted him to go off to school somewhere and stop bringing any further disgrace on the Todoroki name after how much bad press they caught in the wake of the Sekoto Peak incident. Dabi, of course, immediately started to look for the worst thing he could do that wasn't illegal and he had signed himself up to lose his virginity on camera for Japan's premiere queer porn site. 'Dabi' was technically his stage name, but he wasn't hiding anything else plus his burns are so distinctive, and after years of the Todoroki's being in the public eye, he was damn certain that everyone would know exactly who he was. He went to his first shoot, didn't get off, got paid, and waited. It only took a week for the scandal to break and his father was livid, but when he'd threatened to kick him out of the family home, Shoto and Natsuo had shot back that they would be the first ones to head over to the tabloids and tell them he was homophobic, and so his father just had to silently seethe that he had, over the past six years, secured himself as the best switch on the site. He was making more than enough to move out, but he didn't give his father the satisfaction of finding out that he does have an apartment that he stays at every night he's not home. 

He's a hot commodity because he's got a pierced dick, a fire quirk perfect for temperature and wax play, and he's 'exotic-looking' for people who want more of a bad boy type. And he's been doing this for six years, and hasn't ever once actually cum on camera. He's not sure if it's because of his burns and fucked up nerves, or because he's too focused on this being a job, or what. But in professional circles, he's made a name for himself because of that too. The plus side is he can stay hard for ages and get his scene partners off as many times as they want him to. He also doesn't have any issues with cock rings, plugs, or chastity cages on him in a scene, and he's gotten absolutely masterful at faking his orgasms. There are already methods employed to make ejaculation look more excessive for the cameras, and he's fine with using those methods on camera. Because the thing is, as soon as he gets off-camera, even if he decides to actually fuck one of his previous scene partners in his free time, he doesn't have an issue orgasming then. He used some of his significant pay to try to see a few different therapists about that, but none of them had a real explanation for it, and given he was constantly getting tested and ensuring his sexual health was perfect with his doctors, and didn't show any other performance issues, he just shrugged it off. He doesn't get off on camera, but he's a perfect performer otherwise, and the directors that will work with him have absolutely made their money back a hundred fold, so they aren't complaining either. 

Giran does look like he's going to burst a blood vessel in his forehead as he finds out that Muscular's STI test is out of date and they'll have to reschedule the shoot until tomorrow while he goes and gets tested today. That's really no skin off his nose. He doesn't like doing scenes with Muscular, the guy is just gross in a way that has him just waiting for something to come out about how he's treated his fans, or an ex, or someone else. But Dabi gets paid big, no pun intended, for doing shoots that show off how much of a size queen he can be and Muscular has a quirk that can literally make his dick get bigger while it's inside of him, so they've been paired together for a few shoots. He's just glad that he found this out before he got all into makeup because if he's suddenly got the afternoon free, he's gonna hop over to Natsuo's university and take his little bro out for lunch and to make a nice public scene of the porn star Todoroki corrupting the med student who might actually make something of himself. 

They wrap it up for the day and he heads out. His brother is more than happy to go have a bite between classes and his father is furious to see the pictures of him in his sheer shirt and leather pants, wearing a cockring on a necklace, plastered across the front page of every gossip site by that evening. 

///

"What the fuck do you mean he's got--" Giran's face goes red and Dabi thinks that he's in serious danger of bursting two veins today. "That's why he was trying to dodge it yesterday? Fuck that. Take him off our actor list. If he starts a fuss, remind him that his failure to show up with a valid test yesterday means that he was in breach of contract and he's lucky I'm not suing his ass." Giran hangs up and does something Dabi hasn't ever seen him do on set, he pulls out his cigs and lights up. "Pack it in. We don't have a second star." 

Fuck. He was really looking forward to the paycheck for this one. He'll get paid for the couple of hours he sat around the past two days, but he's not gonna get anywhere near the payout that this shoot was supposed to get him. "You know I'm down for a solo scene." Dabi offers. It's such a waste to have rented the space for this, to have everything set up, and not even use it. "We can switch the script to the 'villains' having dosed me with an aphrodisiac quirk and I can use one of the oversized toys?" 

"I appreciate that, Dabi, but the contract was for a two person shoot." 

"Magne?" He offers. They don't normally film together, and he doesn't know if she'll want to take on this role as someone who's supposed to be 'assaulting' him, but she's got a big dick and they have worked together before. Though they have more fun drinking and clubbing together than they do working together. 

"She's booked up for the next two days. Called her last night when shit seemed suspect with Muscular." 

"Shit." 

"Shit." Giran agrees. 

"Um," They both look up when Iguchi speaks, blushing so hotly that Dabi can see it through his scales. 

"Oh? Dude, are you packing something bigger than your boom mic?" He teases lightly. Iguchi has worked sound on every job he's ever taken with Giran and that's been at least fifty over the past couple of years, he's pretty sure joking about what's in his pants isn't going to get him in trouble in this context. 

"Er, not me, um, but I have a friend?" 

"An actor?" 

"Not exactly? He's the owner of La Vénus. He's a professional Dom." 

"Shigaraki." Giran says, which is a name Dabi doesn't recognize, but LV is something he does. A very high-end sex club that he has always steered clear of to avoid any possibility of stalking or harassment, or possible contamination. "We can't wait for an amateur to get tested and teach him the ropes." 

"He's... not a total amateur? He puts on private parties and hires crews so he and his guests can make their own movies if they want to. He makes sure that everyone, including himself, has a current, clean test before they're let in." He scratches the back of his neck, as if that will hide the blush that has creeped there too. "...He had a party last night, so the test is as current as it can be, unless he found someone else after we'd packed up all our equipment." 

"That's something, but we are looking for someone well-endowed. If we just wanted anyone--" 

"He's ten inches soft." 

"Call him." 

///

Iguchi is on the phone for about fifteen minutes before he comes back and assures the group that Shigaraki is on the way. In the hopes that this works, Giran goes to get a fresh contract written up and printed and Dabi starts to get into makeup. He was particularly excited about this shoot because he's supposed to be playing himself. Or more specifically, he's supposed to be the kidnapped kid of a hero who's about to get 'assaulted' so that the kidnappers can leave him broken to be found later. He likes a CNC scene anyway, and one where he was getting fucked by a monster of a cock was definitely appealing to him, even if he wouldn't be getting off to it until he got to watch back the footage on his own. But that means his makeup gets to be a little rougher, and a mascara and eyeliner gets put on that is sure to run when he cries. He had actually used some of the early money to get his tear ducts repaired fully so that he wasn't bleeding on set and freaking people out, and his eyes are way more sensitive now. His siblings tease him for being a crybaby, but the money shot of his big blue eyes all shiny with tears and cum dripping down his face has won him three awards over the years, so he's fine with that. 

They're an hour behind their shoot schedule when Shigaraki shows up. Dabi immediately gets out of his chair so that he can see what this guy looks like and he's a little startled to find a man about his height with long stark white hair. His hair hasn't been that color in eight years. He hasn't seen his mother in ten. But he shakes that disjointed melancholy and tries to take in the rest of him. He's wearing a long-sleeved gray sweater and tight black pants that Dabi is really doubting could hide the monster cock they've been promised, and black leather gloves with the middle finger and index finger cut out of the cloth. The long, wavy white hair falls across his face that's a little longer, a little more oval than Dabi's own, with a birthmark to one side of his mouth, a scar splitting his lips on the opposite side, and another going over one of his ruby-red eyes. And there's... a weird scaly-looking cracked-skin texture all over his mouth and around his eyes that immediately sends Dabi's warning bells ringing. Being clean of STIs isn't the only thing he needs to be worried about, and a rash or other skin condition means this is absolutely not happening. 

Giran converges on him and Shigaraki shakes his hand. "Nice to see you again, Tomura." 

"You as well. I didn't expect it to be like this, I will say." 

"Well we're desperate and according to Iguchi you can fill the role?" 

"I can try." 

They all move over to one of the side areas set up around the rest of the room so that they can discuss the scene, and over the course of the next hour, Dabi finds out that La Vénus has been used as a filming set a few times before, which is how Shigaraki met Giran and Iguchi, and why he's familiar with the general setup even if he's never been an actor on set before. Dabi also learns that the shattered texture is an effect of his apparently, extremely dangerous quirk, that the weird gloves mitigate. They go through the whole contract, what they're looking for in the shots. The plan was only to have two days of filming, one for the bulk of the shots and then a second to do extra material or reshoots if they needed it. Now they only have this location for the rest of the day, and that means they've got to get this done in that amount of time unless Giran can stretch their budget. So after Shigaraki has been fully briefed on how they want things to get set up, what positions, how hard he can go, he gets a glance at the script, but there really isn't much there. The roles were written for him and Muscular, and they've worked together enough that Dabi had more than expected to know what he was in for, but he and Shigaraki do get acquainted as he learns what Dabi's pain threshold is. 

They just move off to the side and he bends over, ass up, and lets Shigaraki bring his hand across the backs of his thighs, over his scars so that the camera won't pick up that he's been roughed up before they get rolling. The other man seems vaguely amused, but he's professional enough, clearly used to this kind of thing in his own professional experiences. 

"What level are you wanting to stay around?" 

"I've got another shoot in a few days, so I'd like to keep it at a five, but you can go up to a seven when the scene calls for it." 

"I can do that." And he levels a blow against the backs of his thighs that makes Dabi's skin tingle and sting from the impact, but it's a good thuddy hit instead of stingy and he considers. 

"Three." 

Shigaraki gives him a few more hits until they're reliably at a five, and one seven so that he knows exactly how high his cap is for this scene. Then they start to get him into makeup and Dabi sits to chat him up for a bit, trying to figure out how to work with him, the same way he normally does when it's his first time filming with someone new. 

"Anything I should stay away from while we're going?" 

"Hmm, not really, I'm fine with everything in the script. What about you?" 

"I like it when my hair gets pulled, and when you're going in for the face fucking thing, go as hard as you can. If a staple doesn't pop out, then it's not hard enough." He wishes he could smoke, but he settles for fiddling with one of the staples on the back of his hand instead. "And I know what the scene is about, but if you can avoid name-dropping Endeavor, I'd appreciate it." 

"I can do that." 

"Good, ‘cause if you don't and I go soft, then that's on you, newbie." 

"What about the--" 

"That's fine. I have never once called that bastard that. It's not gonna take me out of the scene." And then he hesitates but mutters, "And you have a nondisclosure agreement that you had to sign before filming with me, did you read the whole thing?" 

Shigaraki doesn't blink. "I did," pretty sure he did it while he and Giran were going over what to change on set to do this whole thing in one continuous shot. "Every one of your orgasms is faked? That's surprising." 

"You watch my videos?" He deflects, batting his eyelashes.

"More often than I should, is that a problem?" 

"No, I worked with a nineteen year old last month who told me I was his sexual awakening." 

"So how does that work?" 

"You're gonna fuck me through the scenes until you finish, we can take breaks between scenes if you need them, and when we've gotten through the material, at the very end, I'll essentially be cock warming you while our makeup artists fake the final shot with some tubes and some clever angles. Depending on how much you cum, they might also squirt me here and there with a little more of the fake stuff to make it pop on camera." 

"Alright." 

"You're very chill about all of this." 

"I run a sex club, this isn't anything new, though more sterilized than what I usually get up to." Jin comes over to get his measurements for their meager on-set wardrobe and Shigaraki lets him without blinking. "Have you ever been to La Vénus?" 

"Not yet, but maybe someday. What's your security like?" 

"We have a private entrance and exit for high profile guests, and we can assign someone to act as a bodyguard for you if you're worried about harassment. We've also hosted a few meet-and-greets for other actors if that's something you'd be interested in." 

"Really?" Dabi perks up a little at that. Meet-and-greets and cons are great ways of getting some extra cash and keeping his fans happy, but there's only two Adult Entertainment conventions in Japan a year and he hasn't taken off enough internationally to get invited to any other ones. "Sounds like fun." 

"I'll give you my card when you have pockets." He teases lightly, and yeah, the robe he's wearing over his black boxer briefs doesn't exactly have any storage. 

They chit-chat for another half an hour and Dabi is pleased to note when Shigaraki does get changed into the tight leather pants and the body harness that they have to fit him, he's way more cut under the sweater and definitely has a bulge in his pants that he's looking forward to getting very up-close and personal with. With everything set, Dabi loses the robe and gets on set. The bare mattress on the ground looks absolutely disgusting, and it is actually kind of gross because the fake blood and dirt that got rubbed into it to make it dirty is kind of stiff and scratchy in areas, Dabi tilts his head up to get the last little bits of make-up applied, a bit of fake blood around his hairline and dripping down his forehead like he's been knocked out, then the quirk dampening cuffs are locked in place, and the black bag goes over his head. And Dabi forgets about the cameras. 

///

Even footsteps move across the concrete floor towards him and Dabi tenses, reaching for his quirk, and when that doesn't work, he curls in a little tighter on himself, trying to protect himself as the cold air bites against his skin. He doesn't know what this is, where he is, and his voice trembles slightly when he tries to growl, 

"People are going to look for me." 

It's a man's voice that hums out softly as the footsteps stop in front of him, "Oh I'm sure they will. I'm just not sure that they'll find you." His hair is grabbed through the bag and his head is forced up roughly. The pain spikes out sharply enough across his scalp, and Dabi cries out as he does it, and that only makes the man give a low, cruel laugh. "Your heroes are coming to find you. But not before I make sure they see that you're nothing more than a filthy whore who isn't worth saving." He pulls the bag off of his head and Dabi squints, the light here is still pretty dim and diffused, but it's still more than he could see through the dark fabric. "And maybe, if you're a good enough one, you'll still be breathing by the time they get here." 

He whimpers as he looks up at his captor, at how he's already only half-dressed, his cock already stirring as he catches him by the chin to pull his head up. The other man forces him to meet his eyes as his thumb runs across the line of staples in his chin, going up to his lower lip and pulling on it slightly. Just enough to make it part and Dabi squeezes his eyes shut as he trembles. "Don't, please." His voice is small and terrified and his captor is unmoved. "Please, I--I have money, I can make this all go away, no one needs to know--" 

The other man laughs and it's even crueler than the one before. "Never heard a whore beg not to be fucked, but I think you're going to change your tune." The grip on his face goes harder and Dabi cries out as he's forced closer, practically falling into his legs with his limbs bound. "Because if you don't put on a good show for me," he hooks a finger under the edge of one of the staples in his cheek and Dabi gasps as pain starts to tingle out from the punctures. "Then I may get bored and find a different way to pass my time." He pulls a bit harder and Dabi cries out, 

"Stop! Don't, please! I--I'll be good, sir!" He tries desperately. He pulls a little harder and Dabi tries anything else. He knows what sadists like him like. Knows they want to have him be beneath them, "Master," harder still, the staple is barely in place and he has so many. If he tears them all out-- "Daddy!" 

The pressure lessens and the other man looks at him, his eyes shining with his mirth. "He's not going to save you from me." 

Dabi can't move enough to rear back from the implication, and he feels sick to his stomach as he tries to pivot from the violence this man so clearly wants an excuse to use against him. But he makes himself speak anyway, leaning into his touch instead of trying to move away the way he so desperately wants to. "Please, Daddy, I'll be good." He tries to flutter his lashes. "Let me make you feel good, Daddy." 

The grip loosens a bit and he tries to swallow his nerves as he leans forward until he can run his tongue along the leather of his pants, over the half-hard cock beneath like this is all he wants, and not just a desperate attempt to survive. He licks and sucks at the fabric as he tries to settle the roiling in his gut enough to be able to do this without vomiting. His hands, even cuffed together, can move up his thighs as he brings his mouth to his zipper and catches it between his teeth, pulling it down inch by inch, as he looks up at his captor. He smells the familiar musk of arousal even as the other man catches his chin hard again, making his staples bite deeper into his skin and bringing tears to the corners of his eyes. 

"You're going to be a good boy for Daddy, or I'm going to pull out your teeth and then we're going to try this again." 

Dabi whimpers, any fleeting thought of trying to hurt him a million miles from his mind now. "I'll be good, Daddy." He promises again. 

"Prove it, whore." 

He trembles slightly as he undoes his belt and button too, opening his pants completely and... reaching inside to wrap his fingers around him. He's still only half hard as he pulls him free, and he's already huge. Big enough to make his jaw ache, for certain. His cock is thick as well as long, the head flushing, and veins winding beneath the velvet skin of him. It's a big cock, a pretty one too, and if he were anywhere else, if this was any other time, it would make his mouth water. But right now he just feels a little sicker as his own cock starts to stir a bit. He looks up at the white-haired man through his lashes as he presses his lips to his head in a fluttery little kiss, then he really starts to work his mouth the ways he knows feel good. He licks his lips, and presses more kisses around his head and along his shaft as he grows harder and Dabi gets him wetter. He'll need him wet if he wants to get him all the way into his throat without too much discomfort. 

His skin tastes clean, and that hot smell of arousal rolls through him like a thunderstorm. One of his favorite things to do in a shoot is give head, and against the haze of fear still trying to settle over his mind, he finds himself slipping into that space. The place where it feels so good to have the weight of a cock on his tongue and stretching open his lips. And oh, does his cock stretch him now. He's so big that Dabi has to pull off a few times, licking his palms and working his hand along his length as he breathes deep and relaxes his jaw a little more. He needs to do more than that, but the next time he opens his mouth, a hard grip is catching him by his hair and yanking him forward. Dabi's jaw is forced wide, the seam through his lower lip tearing and sending another sharp point of pain through him. And his cock is at the back of his mouth so quickly that he's gagging, even though he can normally fight that reflex. 

The man above him laughs, and the sound is so cruel that Dabi squeezes his eyes shut against it. "You can't even manage this? Those movies must really fake a lot." He says it like he knows all of the times he's failed to get off during a scene and it fills him with a dizzying humiliation. Humiliation that pulses straight through his veins to his cock, that he knows must be hardening visibly in his thin boxer briefs. He rests his cuffed hands against his thighs and does his best to swallow around the massive intrusion in his mouth, running his tongue along a vein he feels pressing against him in the hope of distracting him. "That's better. Show me what a good fuck you can be from this hole and maybe I'll be nicer when I get to the other one, princess." 

Dabi can't help the tears that finally spill over his cheeks as his captor grips his hair harder to hold him in place before he brings his hips back and snaps them forward with enough force that the head of his cock pushes past the tight ring of his throat and into his esophagus without letting him warm up the muscles for the intrusion. It's a sharp agony that steals his breath away, and he doesn't get even a second of reprieve because he's doing it again. He fucks hard into his throat two more times before Dabi manages to follow the brutal rhythm and actually start to swallow around him. 

It hurts, and he hates it, and he's certain that he's bleeding from his lip, positive that if he isn't a little more gentle, then his staples will pull. He's not a whore. He's not a girl. But he's achingly hard as he barely manages to breathe. As he's turned into nothing but a hole for this monster to fuck. Drool spills down his chin and stings the split seam, but he doesn't have a chance to swallow. He must look like a mess, blood, and spit, and tears mingling on his face as he's used, as the world ceases to exist beyond the hard fucking his mouth is being used for. And every time he thinks that he can't take any more, that he can't possibly be this big, he fucks him a little harder, a little deeper, and his throat is a little fuller than it ever has been before without someone using a quirk to fill him. 

And the sounds of it as it happens. God, the sounds are even more filthy, even more humiliating. Every hard thrust has his balls slapping his sloppy chin, and that crack of skin against skin as he makes the most pathetic gulping and gurgles as he's ruined, is enough that Dabi doesn't think he'll ever be able to shed the shame that comes over him. And he's hard. That keeps coming to him, reminding him with every rough movement that makes him shift where he's kneeling. His body doesn't care that this is wrong, that this is humiliating, that he's disgusted by what's happening to him. His filthy whorish body loves having such a big cock in his mouth. It makes pleasure tingle under his skin as the man's breaths grow rougher, as he growls and groans as his fingers knot hard enough into his hair that his scalp aches. 

"That's it, fuck, that's much better. Really can be such a good slut when you're given the right motivation, can't you?" He pushes in harder, but slows down a little. It still hurts, but now he's lingering deep in his throat, and Dabi grows frantic, swallowing around him convulsively in the hopes of getting him out so that he can take a breath. "That's it, baby. Mm, just like that. Fuck, you're so hungry for it, aren't you, princess?" 

He doesn't pull back until Dabi's vision is going black around the edges, and even then he keeps his mouth stretched wide as Dabi tries his best to suck in the air he's starving for while his head leaks all over his tongue. His pre is bitter and salty and the taste of him shouldn't make his undergarments get wetter too as he leaks as well. The man pulls all the way out, his head smearing his saliva and beads of pre over his lips as he loosens his grip on his hair and strokes through it instead, forcing him to look up at him again. "You want it so badly, don't you, baby girl?" 

Dabi squeezes his eyes shut, fresh tears slipping over his cheeks as he sobs weakly. But then the fingers tighten in his hair again and he opens them again, sucking in a breath to plead, "I want it." His voice is scratchy and weak from how raw his throat is from the abuse. "Please, Daddy, I want it. Your cock is so big, it feels so good fucking my slutty throat. I wanna taste your cum, Daddy, please--" He knows all the things he's supposed to say, they come out of him automatically, and he's grateful they do because his mind feels like it’s a million miles away. He can't tell if he's floating or not, but it doesn't matter if he can just be good for Daddy. 

"That's a good girl." A little flicker of pleasure goes through him again at the praise and he opens his mouth wide, relaxing as much as he can. "Such a pretty little whore, so eager to be used even after all that fuss." And Daddy sounds amused as he feeds his cock back into his mouth. He lets him suck and lick at him for a few seconds before he's tightening his grip in his hair. That's all the warning he's given before he's fucking back into his throat, but Dabi puts that warning to good use this time. He's ready to swallow around him now, ready for the roughness that comes and gets more frantic as he tastes more and more pre. 

It only takes another few minutes before Daddy is pulling out of his mouth as his balls draw tight and his cum pulses out of him in thick spurts. The first lands across his lips and his open mouth, filling his mouth with the heat and taste of him, but the next splatters his cheek, his chin, and soon his face is dripping with it as he remembers what other people, partners, directors, performers have wanted from him. He opens wide so the other can see his cum on his tongue and then he swallows it, licking his lips and catching all of it there too. He doesn't like how that part is tinged copper with his blood, but it doesn't matter. Daddy is looking at him with hot red eyes, and he's not hurting him. He thinks that means he's being good. 

"Thank you, Daddy." He slurs. 

"You're welcome, princess. Do you like having Daddy's cum in your mouth?" 

He barely manages to nod weakly. The grip on his hair goes tighter again and he pushes his head down. It pulls his neck sharply, and nearly makes him lose his balance and topple face-first into the concrete. He yelps. 

"Then you'll enjoy cleaning that up, won't you, baby girl?" 

His face burns as he finds that he is looking at a small puddle of the white liquid that had dripped off of his face onto the ground. It's disgusting and Dabi's entire mind twists in revulsion, but his treacherous body doesn't care. His cock is so hard that he's soaking his underwear. He sobs a little harder, but manages a tiny nod. 

"Well then?" 

Dabi leans down and starts to lick up the little puddle and Daddy laughs at him before he starts to move. He doesn't dare look up to find out where he's going, instead forcing himself to lick at the floor, the rough texture of concrete against his tongue as he eats the pooled cum. 

It's not until he feels the thin mattress beneath his knees dip that he realizes exactly where he's moved to and what he's certain is coming next. His suspicions are confirmed when leather clad fingers catch the fabric of his boxer briefs and he tugs them down, exposing him. Dabi starts to lift his head, he wants to beg for the other to stop-- but the air around the room cracks sharply as a preemptive slap comes down over his ass hard enough he cries out instead of speaking. 

The handprint is still stinging on his ass as Daddy takes a hold of that cheek as he spreads him open. "Look at that pretty pink pussy, baby girl. Can't even tell how many filthy cocks you've already had inside of you." 

He flinches, "I-it's not-- I'm not a girl!" The protest gets him another hard slap, but this one comes down between his cheeks, directly against his hole, and Dabi squeals as the pain shoots through him and makes him sob harder. 

"You are whatever I say you are, whore." His voice is a growl laced with menace and Dabi cries harder as he starts to shake so much, sure he's going to be hit again or torn open on his cock. 

"I-I'm s-sorry, Daddy," he sobs. 

"You will be if you keep misbehaving. Clean up that mess." 

He doesn't hesitate this time, licking at the drying cum on the floor like he's starving for it. He's crying hard enough that he must not hear it when the other man tears open a packet of lube. But his fingers are definitely wet with it and so cool when they touch his stinging hole again. Dabi whimpers, the chill of his fingers feeling good against him in spite of himself. He shouldn't like that, it shouldn't feel good when he knows what is coming next, just the way he shouldn't still be so hard from having his throat fucked, but he is. It's a miracle Daddy hasn't noticed yet and even after he's finished cleaning up his cum, Dabi keeps his head down, his teeth biting into his lower lip and making the split worse because those fingers circle and tease his hole. They make him so wet that there's lube rolling down his taint and dripping along his balls like-- like he's got a gushing cunt before he even starts to press the first long finger inside of him. 

Dabi sobs instead of moaning, and he thinks that's the best he can hope for. He doesn't know how long he's going to be able to hold out on that because Daddy starts to move his fingers inside of him, around him, stretching him open and making the nerves inside tingle and start to whine with pleasure as he prepares him for his cock. He whimpers, his thighs starting to shake as he's fucked open. His breaths hitch as Daddy murmurs, 

"That's it, princess, fuck you're so hot here. All that fire under your skin and yet here you are, helpless and desperate for any scrap of mercy I give you." 

He can't find his words before the other crooks his fingers and finds his prostate, and despite everything, he's still so turned on that just the barest touch there has a loud, wanton moan tearing out of his throat. The fingers inside of him stop abruptly and Dabi's whole body goes tight with terror. 

The next second the man's other hand is knotting into his hair again and Dabi is being yanked back, pulled further on the mattress, his torso twisted onto his side, and his pelvis at an angle too, one leg pushed up so that hungry red eyes can see his hole and his flushed, leaking cock. 

"Naughty little slut," the words are purred with the other man's pleasure. "Look at that, your pretty clit is just as desperate to be fucked as your throat and your pussy." Dabi shakes his head weakly, his insides boiling with his shame at his body being talked about like that, but he doesn't dare to protest verbally. He can't say anything at all when Daddy fucks his fingers back into him roughly, adding a third and stretching him wide. 

Moans spill out from his ruined lips as Dabi clutches onto the dirty mattress with his bound hands. He cries harder because he's right. It all feels so good in a way sex hasn't felt for a long, long time. Better than any partner he's been with outside of work, better than his shoot partners for it. It feels good to be degraded and violated by this awful, cruel, handsome man with a cock he's dreamt about having all his life, and Dabi doesn't know how to handle it at all. He just knows he's so sharply overwhelmed that he's terrified that even the cuffs won't keep his quirk at bay and he'll set the bed on fire if Daddy keeps fucking his fingers against his prostate. 

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" 

"So desperate for something else in your pretty cunt, princess? Alright, just ask nicely." His fingers pull out of his hole, but it's the other hand that catches his chin and makes him look out towards something else in the room. Dabi can't see far, his eyes blurred with tears and too much light from that direction making the other end of the room seem like a haze. "Tell the heroes how badly you want Daddy's cock in your pussy and you'll get it, baby girl." 

He shakes his head again weakly. No, he's not a girl, he's not-- Daddy spanks his hole again and Dabi screams from the pain. "No, no, stop, Daddy, don't--" His protests earn him another hit right there and Dabi sobs as he gushes pre against his stomach. 

"Your cunt is getting so puffy, princess." He hums. "Going to hurt even more if I spank you until this skin is the same color as your scars before I fuck you." And he gives him another slap. 

Dabi shatters. "Daddy, please! Please, Daddy, please fuck my pussy! Please, I need your cock, Daddy," he sobs. "It felt so good with your fingers inside. Please, I need my cunt full of your cum! M-my clit is so hard, Daddy, please, please, please!" 

Daddy groans and pulls him up by his hair again so he can lick the filthy words and the traces of his own cum out of Dabi's mouth as he hooks one of Dabi's legs over his shoulder. He barely has time to surrender to the tongue invading his mouth with a whine before Daddy's cock is rubbing against his puffy, aching pussy. He's cool from the lube and that contrast soothes some of the sting while still making the press of his head as he starts to sink in, feel even more intense than it ever has before. Dabi is sobbing again, this time from how good he feels, as he kisses Daddy back messily. His cock feels even bigger stretching open his pussy and he's moaning and whimpering, his whole body shaking, from his pleasure as he sinks inside. 

Daddy pants against his lips, "That's it, baby girl, let me hear how much you like having your pussy raped." 

It's a sharp reminder that he shouldn't like it. That he should be scared, that he shouldn't want more. But he does. He wants it as Daddy bottoms out inside of him. He barely gets a chance to catch his breath, to adjust, before Daddy is pulling almost all the way out and then snapping his hips forward again with the same brutality as he fucked his throat with. He moans and screams, his head thrown back as he's fucked, every movement putting such an enormous pleasure beneath his skin he thinks he may burst around it. 

His throat is raw by the time he's gasping, "Daddy! Daddy! Please!" 

"'Please' what, princess?" Doesn't stop moving so hard into his body even as he speaks. "Good whores ask for what they want. And you want to be Daddy's good whore, don't you?" 

He wants it almost as sharply as he wants, "Touch my clit, please, Daddy! Close, please, need you--" 

"Oh, my sweet little girl," Dabi mewls because the condescending words are only making him need it more. He's so close. "No." 

Dabi whines, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. 

"Because good girls can cum just from having Daddy's cock in their tight little pussies." And he's bound and determined to prove that, because the grip against his body tightens as Daddy angles his hips up a little more, pulls back nearly entirely out of is hole, and thrusts back in hard, making sure that the entire length of is cock moves over his prostate as he fucks him so heard Dabi's insides feel like they're being stirred up. 

He barely hangs on for two thrusts at that new, perfect angle before he's screaming, "Daddy!", as his balls tighten and his clit kicks hard as his orgasm swells through his skin. He paints his release up his chest, splattering his own chin, and tightens even more around Daddy's cock as every cell in his body hums with pleasure. 

"Fuck, you're so pretty when you cum, baby. Did such a good job--" Daddy keeps moving inside of him as Dabi writhes as his pleasure goes sharper and sharper on each subsequent thrust until it trips over the edge into pain and Dabi is whining again. Thankfully, it doesn't take much longer after that for Daddy to drive his cock in deep one more time before Dabi is drenched with his cum all over again. 

He is beyond dazed when he realizes that Daddy's pulled out, but there's still something inside of him. Moving around in the mess that is beginning to leak out of his swollen cunt. 

"Open your mouth, princess." 

Dabi follows the command immediately and the fingers pull out of his pussy and move to his mouth instead, dripping with more of Daddy's cum. He doesn't have to be asked, he latches onto the soiled leather as soon as they touch his lips, sucking on his fingers and licking them clean as Daddy smiles at him softly and strokes his hair. 

"You did such a good job, little girl. Such a good girl for Daddy. Showed the entire world how ruined you already are." His head is too full of cotton candy fluff for him to make sense of what he's being told. "Seems like such a waste to kill you now." Daddy's voice lingers for a second and he hums. "I'm sure I can find use for such an obedient whore, so I think I'm going to keep you, princess. Doesn't that sound nice? Don't you want to stay with Daddy?" 

Dabi nods weakly with his fingers still in his mouth. Daddy takes them out and he barely slurs, "Yes, Daddy." 

"Good girl. Let's get going before the heroes come and find your best performance yet, sweetheart." Daddy picks him up and Dabi curls up against his chest, too exhausted to know anything past how good it feels to be held after something so intense. 

///

Dabi is fucking boneless when he sort of starts to come out of it enough to realize that someone's wiping the cum from his face, and has wrapped him in his robe. He blinks as he realizes he's just sort of staring at the cables running across the floor to the lights. The cloth touches the edge of a sore staple and he whimpers softly, that little bit of pain making him wince. 

"Sorry," the touch lightens immediately and Dabi looks up to find the voice. Shigaraki tries to be even more gentle as he finishes up. "Here, Giran said you like to have this after you're finished?" He reaches over for the smoothie that he'd brought for the shoot. He hits the button to flip out the straw and brings it to Dabi's lips and he manages to stay coherent enough to take a few sips. The sharp sugary sweetness and coldness of the drink against his tongue has him moaning hazily, taking the cup and trying to get more into his parched throat. "Not too fast, baby." Shigaraki murmurs, stroking his hair softly. Dabi forces himself to slow down. 

It still takes about half of the smoothie for him to fully register that other people are moving around. Lighting people, sound people, people breaking down the set because they must have gotten the shots they needed. Shigaraki is still sitting with him, one hand rubbing along his back, and the other tapping at some game on his phone. 

"Holy fuck," He croaks. 

Before Shigaraki can get a word in, Giran is right in front of him, looking ecstatic. "'Holy fuck'!" He agrees, possibly on the verge of vibrating. "You came! On camera! And the chemistry, you two played off each other perfectly." 

Dabi is still a little too hazy to fully match his excitement. But yeah, yeah that was perfect. He can't remember the last time he was able to slip into the headspace of a scene on camera and not have little bubbles of work break through. But even though Shigaraki had mostly stuck to using Muscular's dialogue, he hadn't felt like cringing out of his skin, and the things he's added-- "I think I'm going to keep you, princess. Doesn't that sound nice? Don't you want to stay with Daddy?"-- he hadn't squirmed to try and get to a better angle for the cameras, hadn't given a thought to if his makeup was running the way it was supposed to or not. He had just been in the scene like this was for fun and not for work and he'd cum on camera. 

"Did we get the shots?" He's pretty sure they must have, or Giran would definitely look more stressed out than happy. 

"We got everything, kid. And you," He rounds on Shigaraki who's hand falls away from Dabi's back. "You should let me get you an agent. Once this debut airs, you're going to be in high demand." 

Shigaraki looks amused, "I don't think I'll have time to do this professionally, but I'm glad that my performance was satisfactory." 

"'Satisfactory'," Giran sounds disbelieving as he shakes his head. "Fucking Christ, you have no idea." He really doesn't. It's a good thing that he's already got a sex club, and Dabi wonders how many more people will be looking to contract him as their dom once this goes live. "Dabi, you good?" 

He gives a weak thumbs up. "Ibuprofen?" 

"I'll check with Mai." He goes away and Shigaraki gives him his full attention. 

"Was anything too much?" 

"You made me cum on camera, I literally don't think that you could have done any better, Shigaraki." 

That gets the other man giving him a small, bemused smile. "You put on quite a show as well. I may be biased, but I think that might have been your best performance." 

He's absolutely biased, but he's also right, and Dabi hasn't even seen the tape yet. "Best one I've ever put on in public, definitely." He hints very lightly as he takes another sip of his smoothie. Oh, he absolutely needs a real shower when he gets home and then he's gonna order a million things to eat before he soaks in the tub until it all arrives. Is that aftercare as good as when he has someone else seeing to his needs after an intense scene? No, but he knows how to make due after all this time. 

Shigaraki reaches into his jacket pocket and Dabi realizes that he's dressed already. "I have to get back to V to start getting things set up for tonight," He explains. But he takes out a card and a pen and scrawls something across the back. "If you decide that you want to put on a meet-and-greet or another live event, you can reach me at the number on the front." He hands over the matte charcoal gray card embossed with red foil that has his name, number and email on the front. Dabi flips it over to the back and finds that he's written another number on the back in red ink.

"And this one?"

"My personal line, if you ever want to have a more private party or dinner sometime?"

Dabi hums. He gets asked out a lot, he gets propositioned a thousand times more often than that. He knows how to play it cool. Shigaraki doesn't need to know that he's committing the digits to memory. "I'll keep that in mind," he says lazily. "Thanks for your work today, Shigaraki." 

"You can use my first name, Dabi." 

"Tomura," he corrects, and pretends he doesn't like how that tastes on his tongue. It earns him one of those slow, approving smiles that makes Dabi want to get right back on his knees for him even though his lips are so sore already. 

"I hope I hear from you soon." And that's all he leaves him with. Dabi watches him head out, stopping to exchange a few words with a blushing Iguchi and a slightly manic Giran before he's leaving the set. Mai brings him the pain meds he'd asked for and he finishes his smoothie before he gets dressed and he arranges his ride. 

If he puts Tomura's personal number into his phone while he waits, then that's not anyone else's business but his own. 

[shivunin]

"I know that wicked shape to your smile." - Where Is Your Rider // for Maria :3

Thank you, Mary! <3

Here is some post-Arishok recovery and some very messy feelings:

(Fenris/Hawke | 1,257 Words | CW: Injury/recovery)

To Languish in Repose

“See, your face wasn’t quite as I remembered, but I know that wicked shape to your smile.” —The Oh Hellos, “Where is your Rider”

When Hawke woke near dawn, Fenris was not overly concerned.

The first few times Hawke had woken from her magically-assisted slumber, there’d mostly been the basic necessities to contend with: discerning if she could stand, helping her get clean, fetching her clothing or water or food. 

Every other time, Fenris had stood silently on the periphery, pouring a glass of water and handing it off to Merrill to administer or opening the cabinet for Varric to retrieve a nightgown for their friend. He’d found little to say, even if most of the others had joked or told stories until Maria—until Hawke fell asleep again. The woman herself had said only a handful of words since her near-death at the Arishok’s hands. It was to be expected; Fenris was certain that she had, for a moment, actually been dead. 

And just before she had, she’d said—

Nevermind. It mattered little what she’d said. 

Fenris was not concerned when she woke that morning, nearly three full days since she’d taken her wound. He need not worry what to say to her when she was unlikely to speak, after all. It wouldn’t be a concern that the only other person in the room was Aveline, still half in her guardsman armor and snoring loudly on the settee they’d dragged over to the fireplace. 

When she stirred, he did not move from the wall, but watched and waited. Perhaps Hawke would ask for water or another pillow and then fall asleep again. She’d done as much a dozen times since he’d carried her here through the burning city. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve—any idea of the time,” she said instead, words disjointed where she stopped to catch her breath. 

Fenris, hand already half-reaching for the pitcher on her desk, looked at her. 

“It is nearly morning,” he said, and cast a glance in Aveline’s direction. The other woman did not stir. 

“Oh,” Hawke said. She shifted on the bed, buoyed by a small fortune of pillows, and grimaced. 

“Need something?” he asked. 

“Meredith is awfully—” she began at the same time and sighed. 

“No,” she took a slow breath, grimacing again. 

Fenris had half a thought to retrieve Anders from wherever he’d tucked himself away downstairs. If she was in pain—but she went on again before he could make the decision.

“She’s awfully late,” Hawke finished. 

Fenris frowned at her for a moment, trying to puzzle the words into something that made sense.

“What do you mean?” he said finally, at a loss. His hand had found the handle of the pitcher and he grasped it now, more for something to hold onto than for any actual assistance it might provide. 

“I thought she’d—” Hawke drew in a slow breath, “have me locked in the Circle by now. If I didn’t—die, that is. I thought I…thought I would be...”

For a moment, he could see the outcome of such a thing so clearly that the idea of it filled his bones with ice. He had not even considered—if Meredith had come for Hawke after she’d been wounded, they would have been hard-pressed to fight off the Templars. All of them had been forced to battle their way through the city in the wake of the attack. They had not been at their best. The Templars, comparatively untouched, would have easily cut their way through the lot of them and Hawke—

“No,” Fenris said. “No. She did not come.”

“Well, I did suppose—not,” she said. 

Someone—Merrill, he thought—had braided her hair into a crown. It had more or less stayed in place for the last few days, but a few curls had crept loose overnight. They clung to her forehead with sweat now—it occurred to him that this conversation must be a strain after days of recovery. She should not be speaking like this; not now.

“I would be elsewhere—if she had,” she closed her eyes for a moment. 

The room filled with the sound of her breathing, labored as it was, and Fenris turned away to pour the cup of water she hadn’t asked for. 

“Wouldn’t want you fools,” she sighed, “to get hurt on—my account.”

Fenris snorted. 

“I like you too much,” she went on, “to see you knocked about for me—when I can’t even hit back.”

When you were dying, you said—Fenris thought, and watched the water swirl wildly in the cup before slowly coming to a dizzy halt.

“Drink this,” he said when the water had drawn away from the mouth of the cup, and crossed to her bed to hold it out to her. Hawke didn’t take it. She stared at it instead, as if she didn’t recognize what it was. Her hand half-lifted from the sheets but fell again almost at once. 

“Would that I could,” she said, and the pained half-laugh she managed was cut off by another grimace. 

The next few moments were taken up by Fenris attempting to help her drink without looking too long at her—sallow and exhausted and still breathing too hard. When she drew away, her mouth brushed against the second knuckle of his forefinger and his chest gave a sick lurch. He could not do this, could not be here, but what choice had he? It was nothing; it was nothing.

I did love you, she’d said three days ago, thoughtful—as if she was remembering something she’d forgotten from an earlier conversation. Said it and then stopped breathing, half-smiling at the ceiling as if trying to remember the name of an acquaintance she’d forgotten. I did love you, she’d said, and Fenris was certain she’d died for a moment with the words still clinging to her lips. 

He doubted she would ever remember saying so, but he—how could he forget it? He could more easily wrench his own heart through his chest. It felt as if he already had. 

Fenris waited until she was done and he’d drawn away again to speak again.

“She will not take you now,” he said, and cleared the gravel from his throat. “You’ve been named Champion of Kirkwall. Or—you will be.”

“I—what?” 

Hawke didn’t go on. Fenris turned to look at her, somewhat alarmed, and found that her mouth had fallen open in shock. 

“Yes,” he said. “The letter arrived while you slept.”

“Oh!” she said, and went on. “Ohoho—oh, that must really gall her. That must—”

She paused for a moment, closing her eyes tightly, and went on when her breathing had steadied again. 

“Champion,” she said. “Of Kirkwall.”

“So the letter said,” Fenris told her. 

“Oh,” she said, and the laugh she was repressing curled the corners of her mouth. “Just wait until—Carver hears. Oh, he’s—going to be so annoyed.” 

Fenris might have said something then, but Maria smiled and he entirely forgot whatever he’d been thinking. She smiled like she had before her mother had been taken, before the months of blankness had taken her in turn, smiled like he hadn’t seen since before they’d—

“I think,” she said after a moment, that same pained laugh hiding between her words, “I am going to sleep more. But oh—what a relief!” 

Fenris had little to say to that. He nodded instead and tucked himself against the wall again in his silent vigil. She fell asleep almost at once, wrinkles of pain smoothing out again, but the curve of her smile stayed with him long after the sun rose.

[jacksgreysays]

Prompt: The Jashin cult incident did not result in the Gardens universe, but rather caused some wibbly wobbly time space stuff to happen, resulting in the hammerspaces of various AU Shikakos to merge/converge. A young Shikako now has access to the hammerspace of Shinobi War veteran Shikako. Her teammates are baffled by her seemingly bottomless supply of water scrolls and explosive seals.

So, here’s the thing: I’m not actually doing an ask box event at the moment. But I’m also not going to say no to a cool prompt, with the understanding that once you send something to me they are up to my (wild) interpretation on how/if to fill them. All that being said, letmebeawalrus, I do think this prompt is super cool. I also, immediately, went sideways with it for several reasons which I will list under this tiny ficlet:

~

This is not the first time she has used the Space.

When she was younger, she would reach into the Space and pull sweets seemingly out of thin air for herself and her brother and her friends. Whenever she misplaced a pen, there seemed to be an endless amount available to her with a twist of her hand. For cloud watching sessions turned stargazing, she could provide blankets to make those times last longer.

This is also not the first time she has put something into the Space.

Motivated she may be, she was still Nara through and through, and carrying things was so much easier when she could stash it away without bothering with pockets or pouches. Food maintained its temperature, flowers never wilted, everything forever fresh in there. She’s the undisputed best at hiding things.

This is not even the first time she has felt compelled to put specific things into the Space.

It’s funny how much the Academy teachers twitch as they see her make explosion tags during classes but can’t figure out where they go—not knowing that she’s making them for the Space, for other versions of herself who don’t have as much free time as she does. She asks Mum if she can borrow the camera, promises to be careful, takes pictures of her family, her friends, the deer herds, clouds, and other serene things. Mum has also gotten used to making twice as much gyoza, bemusedly but indulgently watching her daughter stash away four for every one she eats, and even writes out a recipe card even though they always make them together.

But this is the first time that the Space has needed something so much more… challenging. Shikako knows, without any words, that she is the youngest with access to the Space: she has the kindest, least stressful lifestyle which means she has more opportunities to contribute to the Space than the others. And as the youngest she also knows she is the earliest in the timeline, which means that she may be the only one who can get this for the Space, for the other versions of herself that needs this.

So she will do it. She will. It just sucks that it involves talking to strangers and asking them for a bizarre favor for which she can’t explain. The first step is not too bad, theoretically, it’s just talking to Sasuke: they’re not friends, necessarily, but ever since she knocked him out during taijutsu class, he seems to respect her more.

That will probably go down the drain after this.

“I need to meet your cousin Shisui.”

~

So, letmebeawalrus, my brain actually wanted to do a twist on your prompt. Although perhaps it’s just the B-sides of your prompt rather than a twist. Of course it is still very impressive that young!Shikako has access to endless water scrolls and explosive seals and other things which she should have access to (perhaps at one point she pulls out the Sword of the Thunder God, just says whoops, and then tucks it away into the Space) but I kind of wanted to look at it from a “what does young!Shikako bring to the Space.” Because she does have the most free time—and I think it’s been established that she figured out explosive tags in the Academy—so SHE could be the source of the endless explosive tags for all the other Shikakos who don’t have the time (and you can’t tell me Shikako isn’t constantly multi-tasking during the more academic lecture-based classes.) But then I also thought about how, young!Shikako has in addition to free time, access to people that the older Shikakos wouldn’t. For feels, I wanted to throw in the camera and the qyoza (because there are some Garden Shikako who have been stranded from a Konoha that resembles home, they may have found a Konoha, but not one that has her family and friends in it, alive and unharmed) but then in a strategic way I also realized young!Shikako may be the only one with access to a living Uchiha clan. The Space compelling her to put stuff in is largely benign—and I think because of spacetime wibbly wobbliness, it’s not as if she has a counter to get the thing, just that she has to eventually get the thing (as far as other dimension Shikakos are concerned, they don’t perceive how long it takes between needing a thing and pulling it out from the Space—it’s basically a crowd-sourced version of the Jacket of Useful Things except that crowd is herself from multiple dimensions.) I only ever witnessed this in fanfiction form, but I know there’s a fantasy book (series?) of… not Practical Magic, but sort of adjacent in that the protagonist kind of has an urge to collect things with the vibe that at some point someone will need this thing and that they will be able to give it to them and it is considered magic I think? I also couldn’t find the fanfiction that I encountered it in, so I can’t even link that. But that’s the vibe. I THINK, there is a version of Shikako that needs something from a living Shisui—or, perhaps, if we want to get more complicated there is a version of Shikako that needs something from a living Uchiha clan in a decade, so in order to make sure that will be available, the Space is compelling young!Shikako to intervene such that there will be a living Uchiha clan in a decade? But I don’t think the Space can reach that far--and so young!Shikako who is the only one pre-Uchiha Massacre is the only one who can get it. What that thing might be, I have no idea. Anyway, letmebeawalrus, hope you enjoyed.

[drawing-prompt-s]

Unrelated to anything going on: your blog is a lovely place, and your ability to give all those thoughtful compliments to each fulfilled prompt you reblog is inspirational.

Thank you!!

I genuinely love seeing all the responses and actually sharing them!! So it's always so enjoyable to make those responses. I remember when I was starting out and saw a sweet comment on my art or my writing it made me so happy. I understand the whole "create for yourself" idea, but at the same time, it can get so disheartening to never get interaction on them, so I want people to know that I see them and that I am so proud of them!

-- Prompt Prophet

[ky-landfill]

Could you draw a baby Damian with Jason ( or anyone else you fancy really) pretty please!! Xx

[thebiggerbear]

"You're safe now, I'm here." - Soldier Boy Prompt Response

Summary: Soldier Boy has been on a ton of dangerous missions in his time, fought a lot of battles, but never did he imagine he would be undertaking the one you had just tasked him with. Shit.

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru. A sort of sequel to the prompt response for "Sleep. I'll keep you safe." Been working on this since January 3rd. I had way too much fun with this one.

Happy Mother's Day to all of the mothers out there, all of the fur baby mamas, and all those who celebrate!

@deans-spinster-witch this is what popped into my head when you said "dangerous mission" lol. Once it was in there, I couldn't get it out. I hope it's decent and that you like it.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: Soldier Boy being himself; some misogyny; some homophobic language; some antiquated thinking (SB); angst; a lot of mentions of shit (yes, literal shit); language (I guess?); some smut; mention of breeding kink; a bit of a lactation kink (I know they did the Coke and milk thing in the show but you can't tell me he wouldn't have at least been on the verge of this kink if the opportunity arose)

Word Count: 11k+

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

SB Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @just-levyy

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

SDV Leah version ✨ Russell Shaw version 1 & 2 ✨

Ben let out an aggravated sigh for what felt like the fortieth time and turned back to the table, his nose wrinkled. He glanced down and saw his daughter’s wide eyes watching him as she kicked her little legs, slobbering all over the fingers of one hand she had in her mouth. He made a face and shook his head, remembering when he told her “You’re lucky you’re cute, kid”, when she’d done the same thing about an hour before. He didn’t know what was so tasty about those fingers especially when there were other tastier options available. 

Speaking of which, you just had to pick the fucking perfect time to do your pumping shit so he would be stuck doing this shit, in the literal sense of the word. Ben thought he’d been on dangerous missions before but nothing ever made him want to retreat in the other direction more than the one he was about to embark on. The smell wafted up to him once more as the baby kicked her legs again.

“Christ, this kid fucking stinks.”

“Language!”

He rolled his eyes and glanced back over his shoulder, though he couldn’t see you. “It’s not like she understands what the fuck I’m saying!”

“Ben! We talked about this!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, turning back to his little girl. “No cursing around the baby,” he mocked you in a high voice, smirking when a small smile formed on her face.

Another wave hit him and he held a hand up to his nose. “Are you almost done in there?” He complained.

“No! I still have a little more to go.” He knew that; he could hear the machine still making its weird noises almost as if it was next to his ear. He hated and loved that thing. Hated it because it was so damn loud to his ears and it ruined a perfectly sexy image in his head when he first saw you doing it. Loved it because it was helping your body do one of the natural things it was designed to do and it also allowed him to get some one on one time with you out of the house for the occasional few hours if you could get Elena or Queen Lesbo to babysit. As a matter of fact, as harsh as the sounds were and how unsexy it was, it got him downright hard sometimes when he thought of either scenario because both brought it all back to sex for him. Either he was daydreaming about fucking another baby into you while watching you or he was thinking about how he was going to be fucking you later that evening when the two of you were alone. This time, though, it was going to be neither. 

You were getting ready to go out to have lunch with Elena, have some girl time or some shit. Whatever the fuck that meant. It certainly wasn’t what he’d been thinking the first time you mentioned it, which to him was a complete fucking wasted opportunity. He wasn’t into Elena at all or The One-Eyed Bitch Queen but he was definitely into seeing you get off. Just as long as it wasn’t another guy, he was good with it. But instead, his hopes had been dashed when your expression of disgust transformed into you pinching the bridge of your nose and explaining what girl time for you actually meant. His annoyance grew (and his nerves skyrocketed though he would never tell you that) when you mentioned he would be the one babysitting this time. He wasn’t happy but neither were you and when it came down to it, you were the victor of that argument.  

And now he had this shit on top of it, pun very much fucking intended. Needless to say, Ben was beyond done at this point.    

“Just change the diaper already,” you urged, your tone strained with the last threads of patience. “The longer she stays in her own mess, the more likely she is to get a rash and possible infection. Then she will be in pain and she’ll have to see the doctor. We don’t want that to happen. I’ve told you this time and time again and I’ve shown you how to do it. No more excuses, Ben. Just change it.”

Ben could feel his ire rising. “So you want me to do what you should be doing? I’m not the goddamn woman here!” He regretted it as soon as he said it. He heard you turn the machine off and he knew he was in for it now.

“What did you just say?” He heard you ask menacingly from the other room. Oh fuck. He knew he had about ten seconds to turn this around or the rest of the day and night were going to be shit. Worse than the actual shit he was smelling. He’d be lucky if he’d be able to sit next to you at the table later at dinner, never mind touch you again for the next few days.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, pulling a new diaper from the open package next to him and glancing down at the squirming baby in front of him. He was relieved when he heard the machine start up again and leaned over the table to lay down the law to his daughter. “Alright, look, kid, we gotta make some sort of deal here. You can’t be shitting up a storm and stinking up the place while your mother is out. Piss I can deal with. Puke, bad but doable. Shit…no fucking way.” He began to unbutton her onesie, screwing up his face in disgust as the smell slapped him in the face. “So if you really care about your old man and you want him to be happy, you’ll stop shitting all over the goddamn place. Got it?”

The baby gurgled back at him and he saw more drool coming out of her little mouth. 

Ben shook his head, giving her a sharp look. The least she could do was not look so happy about him having to do this for her. He gently pulled her legs out of the onesie as you’d shown him how to do (he ripped one too many the first week she was home) and he frowned when he saw a damp brown stain, the smell becoming even worse. He lifted her legs and as he’d suspected, the shit was fucking everywhere, having catapulted past the edge of the diaper and down her back. He briefly shut his eyes and looked away, groaning loudly, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He attempted to take a breath that didn’t smell like he was wading around in the worst shit someone ever took. Like he was that little bastard Termite and he’d shot too far off the mark. 

“Now what?” You yelled back.

“She shit everywhere! It’s all up and down her back.” He looked back down at his daughter. “Really?” Another gurgle. “Christ.”

“Yeah, because she’s been sitting in a full diaper for the last thirty minutes while you’ve been non-stop complaining about it, that’s why! Just get her cleaned up and into a new diaper, some new clothes, and then put her in her bouncy chair so you can clean the table. Or if you’re feeling adventurous, give her a bath. A bath is probably better.”

“Why don’t you come in here and fucking handle it then? I’ve told you, my sense of smell is about ten times what yours is!”

You huffed out an aggravated breath. “Because you have to learn how to take care of her, Ben! You’re her father for God’s sake. You should be able to handle one damn diaper change without being a child about it! What if I wasn’t here anymore? You’d be the one doing it all then.”

He straightened up at that, glaring back in your direction. “What do you mean if you weren’t here? Where the fuck would you go?”

“Language, Ben! Jesus!”

His jaw clenched and he turned back to grab a fresh wipe or five. He bunched them up in his hand and lifted the baby’s legs and began to wipe. There was so much shit, the wipes were filled instantly and it got onto his hand. “Fucking hell!” His daughter’s smile faded and she began to look as if she were about to cry. 

“What now?” You snapped. 

“It’s all over my goddamn hand, that’s what!” He bellowed.

“Well, wipe it off, get her cleaned up, then wash your hands.” There was no compassion in your tone, only irritation.

Ben should have shut the fuck up right then and there, and just done what you’d tasked him with. But, he was fucking done and livid at your obvious lack of sympathy. “This isn’t my fucking job! It’s yours! You should be doing this! Real men don’t change their kid’s shitty diaper! Women do!” 

The machine shut off again but this time, Ben didn’t give a fuck. He’d had it. He knew you’d be pissed at what he’d just said but too fucking bad. It was true, whether you liked it or not. No matter what today’s society had to say or not. Women were the caregivers, the nurturers or whatever the fuck he’d heard on that bald-headed doctor’s show the other day, the givers of life or some shit. Real men did their job in making the kid, being the father, and putting food on the table for his family while also providing a roof over their heads. That’s how it always worked and that’s how it should still be today. He’d done his job: he’d protected you, knocked you up with his kid, and stuck around to be its father, even after finding out it wasn’t going to be the son he’d initially hoped for. And here you were, trying to get him to fucking play Mr. Mom so you could go out for a few hours and get some girl time that wasn’t even going to reap any benefits for him after you’d left the kid with him all afternoon? No fucking way. His jaw tightened as he heard you approaching quickly. He didn’t care how pissed you were; he wasn’t backing down. 

But just then, the baby began to cry, having been scared by him yelling angrily (and probably because she was wet and uncomfortable and had been for some time now). He glanced down at her, his jaw unclenching and his features softening slightly. Fuck no. Ben could withstand a lot of shit (minus actual shit), and not a lot affected him, but his daughter’s cries? And because of him? That was his kryptonite. “No, no, no. Don’t cry, Princess. Daddy’s sorry he yelled, okay? He didn’t mean to scare you,” he quietly soothed. He went to pick her up to hold her, forgetting that she had shit all over her, and he only realized it when it dripped all down the front of his shirt and his hands and arms were covered with it as he balanced her against his chest. “Ahhh shit!” The baby began to cry louder.

You appeared, the top of your dress fixed and buttoned, a furious expression on your face. You held out your hands. “You’re safe now, I’m here,” you spat. “Give her to me.” 

Ben glared down at you. He had been spoiling for a fight a moment ago but after the baby started to cry, some of the fury went out of him, and apparently right into you it looked like. “Listen, don’t get all pissy because—”

“I said,” you snapped. “Give her to me.”

Ben shot you a look but did as you said. He watched as you got shit all over you but you didn’t even flinch. Instead, you snatched the fresh diaper from the table and unfolded it to place behind your daughter’s poop chute before grabbing the canister of fresh wipes and a towel. You didn’t even look at him as you passed by him to head into the bathroom. Fuck, he was definitely in trouble.

He grimaced down at his messy shirt and removed it, balling it up and throwing it into the baby’s laundry basket. He made his way to the open door of the bathroom, stepping in to wash his hands and forearms at the sink as he watched you in the mirror, sitting on the edge of the tub and filling it with water, the baby’s own tub inside it. You were cooing at your daughter who wasn’t crying anymore but letting out little whines that threatened to extend back into a crying jag if need be. The baby was unhappy and from the looks of it, so were you.

He dried his hands as you began to use the fresh wipes to clean your daughter. “There we go, Ellie,” you murmured. “We’re going to get you all nice and clean, okay?”

Hearing your soft-toned reassurances to the baby, Ben figured now might be as good a time as any to try to start melting away some of your anger with him. He cleared his throat. “If you want, you don’t have to use that thing. I can get in the tub with her. I have to clean up anyway.” He gestured to his bare chest but you didn’t even look up.

“I think you’ve done quite enough today, thank you,” you answered, your tone full of ice. Yeah, he was in fucking trouble. Fuck.

“Don’t be like that. I’ve told you, my sense of smell is ten times more powerful than yours. I tried and it just didn’t work out.” He crossed his arms, his jaw tight. Why would you be fucking pissed at him? He tried his best. He got shit all over for him as a result for Christ’s sake. And he only spoke the truth.

“And what the fuck do you think this is? Chocolate? Paint?” You gestured to the shitty fresh wipes sitting in the diaper and to your ruined dress. That wasn’t what stopped him short; you never cursed in front of your daughter. 

You continued to carefully clean the baby in your lap. “I told you when I found out I was pregnant that I would do it myself. You could take off and go do whatever you wanted to do after you held up your end of the deal. You could go get high, get drunk, fuck a ton of women, play at being a superhero — whatever. But no, you said you wanted to stay. Insisted on it, actually. I told you then.” You threw another freshwipe into the diaper and grabbed a clean one. “If you stay, if you really want this, then you need to be all in. Do you remember that?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I am all in.”

“You call this all in?” You gestured towards the messy baby who had her hands in her mouth, watching her mother, tears still dotting her eyes. 

Ben started to feel uncomfortable, something almost like shame itching at his skin, and he didn’t care for it. He dropped his gaze to the ground. “So I didn’t change one shitty diaper. You don’t need to make a big fucking deal over it.”

“Ben,” you seethed. “Look at me.”

He reluctantly glanced up at you, still annoyed. 

“She’s your daughter and she can’t do these things for herself right now. Sometimes it’s going to be messy and sometimes it’s going to smell so bad you gag. And yeah, sometimes it’s going to make you uncomfortable, but you push through all of that because you’re her father and you love her no matter what. Because you want to take care of her, to make sure she is healthy and happy every single day. She’s our responsibility for the rest of our lives. It’s no longer about you, me, or anyone else. It’s about her. Just her. That’s it.”

He unclenched his jaw, hearing the seriousness of what you were saying, the truth he didn’t want to think about underlying your very words. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his daughter, he did, but why were you so insistent on giving him the dirty work? You knew how he felt about doing this type of shit. Not to mention, it felt like you were trying to shame him for not wanting to change one fucking diaper, like you were implying that he wasn’t a good father if he didn’t waltz into the nursery, smiling and eager to do it. He was a good father and a damn good provider. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t even have this place to call home. He was the one who sacrificed and played nice with the old bitch and Butcher. Hell, If it wasn’t for him, neither of you would even be here right now! 

Ben hated himself when he had that thought. What the fuck was wrong with him? But since he didn’t want to look at that too closely, instead he turned it back on you. 

“I don’t need you lecturing me on how to be a father. I am a good father, goddammit! Hell, I’m a better father than my old man ever was. I provide for her and you every single day. I gave up everything to protect you, be with you, and be there to take care of my kid. Which is a lot fucking more than some of the other dames I’ve knocked up over the years can say. I put my life on the line for you both! And this is the thanks I get? Because I didn’t change one shitty fucking diaper?” He scoffed. “You are one ungrateful bitch.”

Your eyes widened slightly and Ben regretted his words the moment they flew out of his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say those things, not to you.

Your eyes dropped to your daughter in your lap who was staring back up at you. You nodded and after a moment, you scowled up at him. “Well, since we’re such a burden and keeping you from your great life…don’t let the door hit you on your misogynistic and spoiled ass on the way out.” He could see your eyes shimmering but he could also see the absolute fury and ice daggers you were shooting him with, too. He knew then just how badly he had fucked up. 

“Y/N, I—”

“I mean it. Get your shit and leave. I’ll do this alone just like I planned to all along anyway. There you go, you’re free. No more nagging from this ungrateful bitch, no more having to act like you give a shit about either of us, no more being weighed down. You’re free to go and get fucked up and drink all you want, Soldier Boy. Go knock up some more dames and then leave them to raise those kids all on their own, too. You know, like a real man does.” If your glare could kill alone, Ben would be six feet under right now, the one thing that could end him that the Ivans never found out about. 

You placed your daughter in her little tub and stormed over to him, shoving him out the door. You couldn’t really move him but he was so caught off guard at your outburst, your words, that he moved where you pushed him. “And best of all, no more shitty fucking diapers!” You slammed the bathroom door in his face and locked the door, knowing it wouldn’t keep him out if he wanted in, but the message was clear. You were done and you were willing to go it alone; you didn’t need him and you had enough of his bullshit. He’d not only heard it in your voice, your words, but he’d also seen it in your eyes. That hurt way more than he ever thought it would.

He stood there staring at the door, stunned. His daughter began to cry and he heard you soothe her with “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetness. Mommy’s here. We’re going to get you all cleaned up and feeling better in no time. Don’t you worry, Ellie.” You began to coo to her as you bathed her and before long, she was making happy noises again. You’d even made her laugh once.

Ben stood there, not feeling right about what just happened or that his family was on the other side of the door. He could break it down if he wanted to, you both knew that, but he wouldn’t. Nor would he break the lock to get in. He knew he had let his irritation get the best of him and he’d said some things that he couldn’t take back, no matter how he might try to apologize now. Why the fuck had he said those things, anyway? 

He loved the life you had now (minus the shitty diapers obviously) and the family you’d started to build. Hell, he loved you, something he hadn’t ever really felt before for a woman other than his mother. He thought he’d felt it once with Crimson Countess but he’d been wrong. What he thought he felt for her paled in comparison to what he actually felt for you. Not just for having his kid but also for loving him and not the suit. Yes, you’d gone to him for protection and yes, he’d done his best to take advantage of that fact, but something genuine formed between the two of you. Before long, he wasn’t just protecting you to hold up his end of the deal, he was also protecting you because he couldn’t bear to lose you. He was over a century old and he had never come across someone like you before, someone who actually saw worth in him as something more than a quick lay or a celebrity or a supe. Someone who worried for him when he left your sight or took on one of your would-be assailants. Someone who actually wanted to build a life with him — with him, not Soldier Boy. 

So why the fuck had he said those things? He knew why. You had made him feel ashamed that he hadn’t gotten the job done, that he hadn’t completed the one mission you’d given him and you hadn’t even left the house yet. You’d had to come in and rescue him, do the task instead, and you hadn’t balked or even thought twice about it.

You were softly singing to Ellie and he could hear a couple of breaks in your voice, betraying how upset you really were though you were trying to hide it for your daughter’s sake. 

Ben hung his head in shame when he heard you get choked up and stop for a moment, sniffling, before you started back up again. He threw on a fresh shirt and got to work cleaning the shit from the changing pad and this time, he didn’t complain.

Ben watched as you carried the baby into the room, still not looking at him. You saw that the table was clean and moved over to place your daughter on it, grabbing the clean onesie he’d set aside and began to dress her. “You’re still here?” You bit out though he could detect a hint of genuine surprise there, too. 

“Still here,” he murmured, hoping you would hear how sorry he was without him having to say it.

You finished buttoning up the onesie and popped the pacifier into Ellie’s mouth that he’d left out for you. “Think you can manage to watch her while I take a ten minute shower?”

“Since when do you take ten minute showers?” He’d meant it as a teasing question, to try to lighten the mood a little, but you turned a glare onto him, beginning to unbutton the top of your dress. 

“Forget it. I’ll put her in her bouncy seat and bring her in with me. You can go.” You went to pick up the baby when he held his hands out.

“I can watch her. Go take your shower.”

He could see the clear distrust in your eyes but you handed him your daughter nonetheless but not before you kissed her head. “Mommy will be right back, Ellie,” you whispered, stroking her back. You glanced up at him, unsure, but then turned to make your way to the bathroom, continuing to undo the fastenings on your dress. He let out a huge sigh when he heard the door snick closed and the shower start up.

“Daddy’s in big trouble, Princess,” he murmured to Ellie. She gazed up at him, going to town on her pacifier, her brows drawing together slightly from the effort. He smiled and dropped a kiss down on her little forehead. “That’s one thing you have in common with your old man. We love the nipples.” He chuckled under his breath, imagining just how hard you would roll your eyes and swat at his shoulder if you heard that. But instead, he heard a much more heartbreaking sound from you. You were crying…in the shower. Fuck. 

At that moment, he heard a car slowing down and pulling into the driveway. One glance out the window confirmed it was Elena. In the midst of all this, he’d forgotten you had plans for the day. Just then, he got an idea and hurried towards the front door. He had just reached it by the time Elena was about to push the doorbell. He whipped it open, making her jump in surprise. After she saw it was Ben with the baby in tow, she recovered quickly. “Oh, hey Ben. Is Y/N ready yet? Hi, Ellie.” She gave a tiny wave to your daughter, smiling.

“Uh, not yet. She’s in the shower. Hey, can you watch Ellie for a few? I’ve got something I need to do and I can’t take her with me.”

Elena seemed uncertain for a moment, studying him as if she were wondering what he was about to do, but then relented with a shrug. “Sure.” He opened the door wider for her to come in and once she had put her coat and purse on a chair, he handed Ellie over to her. 

“Thanks. Be right back, Princess.” He stroked the back of the baby’s head with his fingers before hurrying out of the room, intent on doing whatever he had to in order to make things right.

Ben quietly slipped into the bathroom, undressed, and snuck into the shower behind you. You had stopped crying after the doorbell sounded so you most likely knew Elena was here and waiting. You were rubbing suds-covered hands all over the front of your body. 

While you cleaned your front, Ben’s eyes roamed over your back. He was already predictably hard, just seeing you naked. You had the perfect ass and even though you still had some baby weight that you were trying to lose, in his eyes, you were fucking gorgeous. You had mournfully admitted a couple of weeks ago that your stomach was soft and you were embarrassed by the visible stretch marks and your wider hips, not to mention the few pounds sticking around. Your breasts were bigger (something he didn’t see as a problem), the areolas darker than ever before, and you were feeling a bit insecure about your new shape. He loved the new you, which he made sure to tell you over and over as he fucked you that night. You were the mother of his kid, you’d given birth to her, nourished her from your body, and you could give him even more. It endlessly fascinated him that his seed had taken root in you and a healthy child grew from it, one that was half you and half him. He’d literally fucked a baby into you and every time he saw you like this, he wanted to do it again (though you’d told him your body needed at least a year or two to recuperate before you could even entertain the idea of another pregnancy). You looked so fucking gorgeous carrying his kid and now, you were even more beautiful if that was possible. It was pure beauty that he saw when you breastfed his daughter, when you smiled down at her, talked to her, and rocked her to sleep. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t want you, on your back (or your hands and knees, he wasn’t picky), taking load after load from him until he knocked you up once more. 

So he had been dumbfounded and almost incredulous when you nervously admitted all of this to him, implying that maybe he didn’t find you attractive anymore and maybe he’d prefer a flat-stomached, tighter, younger, free-to-bang-all-day woman instead. That or some old lady. He’d fucked that notion right out of your head.

But now as he stepped toward you, not only was he incredibly turned on by you and how beautiful he still thought you were, but he also realized right then, just like he had many times before this moment, you were the only one he wanted. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your wet shoulder.

You let out a small gasp in surprise. “Where’s Ellie?”

“Elena’s got her.” 

“Well, I’m not doing anything with you in this shower so you might as well get out,” you snapped and attempted to wriggle out of his embrace. When you couldn’t, you huffed out an aggravated breath and went back to rubbing soap over your skin. 

He nosed your wet hair out of the way to get closer to your ear. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never should’ve said that shit.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you muttered, gliding soap down your arms. 

“I love you,” he murmured to the skin of your neck before dropping a kiss. “I love my little princess.” Another kiss. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you want to be somewhere else.”

“No, I don’t,” he assured. “I told you when I knocked you up. You two are it for me.”

You slowed down your movements and he took the opportunity to hug you a little tighter, burying his nose underneath your jaw. “I mean it, doll. This is right where I want to be.” He slowly ground his erection into the small of your back to also illustrate his point. He meant every fucking word; with you, around you, in you — there was no other place he’d rather be. 

You attempted to turn around in his arms and he loosened his grip so you could. He nearly let out a soft groan at the feel of your soap-slicked skin sliding against his dick. You stared up into his eyes and the smirk that formed on his face was beyond dirty, thinking you two were about to get to the fun part, your argument a thing of the past when you cupped his bearded cheeks in your suds-covered hands. 

“Ben,” you whispered. “I need to know that if something happens to me…that you’ve got this with Ellie.”

Ben’s grin morphed into a frown and his brows furrowed. “What the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean if something happens to you?”

Your eyes began to glisten and his heart dropped inside his chest. What the fuck hadn’t you told him?

“Did some cocksucker threaten you?” He growled menacingly, the rage he worked so hard to tamp down for yours and Ellie’s sakes was attempting to breach the surface at the thought of someone even thinking about hurting you. Mallory had said you’d be safe here; had the old bitch lied?

You shook your head and that only helped to quell the fire burning deep within slightly. A light appeared on your face and you glanced down as it got brighter, eyes wide in fear. “Your chest is glowing. Ben, stop! You need to calm down.” 

He took deep breaths as he’d learned to do, telling himself that you were here in his arms, right now, and you were safe. You were not in any danger. Hearing the sounds of his daughter a few rooms away helped him to get this fucking thing inside of him under control. He hated it, hated what the Reds had done to him, but it was now forever a part of him. He would do whatever it took to keep you both safe, even from this goddamn weapon inside his chest.

When you met his eyes again, there was no more light, no more glow lighting up your face from below. You lifted yourself up on your toes and brushed your lips against his. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

Ben nodded and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you up against him. He nuzzled you, feeling much calmer than he had a few moments before, but he still saw the same worry in your gaze that he’d seen before his inner nuke started to fire up. “Talk to me,” he implored.

You pressed your lips together and briefly looked away and he knew you didn’t really want to say what you were about to. It made him incredibly nervous. While you two had argued before and you’d told him to go when he was being an ass…what if what you meant was that you wanted out of this? Fear immediately took hold of him — fear of losing you, fear of losing Ellie, and all because he’d been a stupid fuck who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. You both were the two best things that had ever happened to him since being injected with Compound V. He didn’t want to go back to before. He only wanted now and the two of you. Hell, he wanted to keep creating a family with you, the family he’d always desired but never had. What had seemed within his grasp just hours ago now seemed to be getting further and further away. 

That thought had him speaking — no, downright begging. Soldier Boy begging…only for you. “Look, I know I’ve been a dick and I said some really fucked up shit earlier but I didn’t—”

You gently placed your fingers against his lips, effectively stopping him. You stared up at him sadly and that fear kicked into high gear. Fuck, he was losing you. And all because he hadn’t been able to keep his goddamn mouth shut or change one fucking dirty diaper. He’d fucking failed and now he was going to lose you and that dream he wanted to realize with you all in one swoop. All because he really was America’s Asshole.

But when you finally spoke, you said the last thing he expected. “I spent months running from Vought’s death squads before I found you. Even with you protecting me, even after I got pregnant, I was still in danger because they wanted me dead.” Your voice broke on the last word, betraying the tears that were imminent, along with the shimmering in your eyes getting worse.

His brows drew together in concern but he gently grasped your chin, making sure that you not only continued looking at him but that you heard every word he was about to say. “But you’re safe now,” he murmured. “Vought’s gone, Edgar and Homelander are dead…I would never let anything happen to you.”

Tears began to roll down your cheeks. “I know, but I keep thinking what if something goes wrong? What if one of the supes out there finds us? What if they get wind that I’m still alive? What if the surviving board members decide that I’m still a liability?”

He shook his head, moving his thumb up to stroke your cheek reassuringly. “No one survived. I made sure of it.” He placed his forehead down onto yours. “I promised I’d keep you safe, you both safe, and I did.” Ben tenderly rubbed his nose along yours. “Still do.” 

He was slightly relieved that you weren’t thinking of leaving him but also unhappy that you had still been worrying about this all of this time and he hadn’t had a clue. He was going to do whatever it took to reassure you, to remind you that you were safe and that you no longer needed to worry about any of those pricks that you’d had to run from before. He still remembered the nightmares you’d had, the jumps and startles in the middle of the night at the slightest sound. Eventually, it prompted him to hold you when you went to bed, promising to keep you safe so you could get some sleep while he kept watch. You would finally relax in his arms and close your eyes, content to listen to his strong heartbeat underneath your ear, knowing you were indeed protected.   

Sure, you’d kept your end of the deal and let him fuck you once you’d gotten some rest from running nonstop, but instead of getting bored like he usually did after hitting the same pussy a couple of different times, he’d actually started to like you. So he’d kept you close while he turned the hunt around to make Onehander, Edgar, and all of those assholes the prey instead. When he found out you were carrying his kid, he decided he’d do whatever it took to make you both safe and even ended up teaming up with the Brit and his team again, though he still didn’t trust them. Hell, he’d even made a deal with them to settle in this area and get you this house when you’d told him you wanted a home for your child to grow safely up in, to put down roots. He’d put up with your nearby neighbors, with having to see the One-Eyed-WonderBitch again, and shifting from the Supe life to suburban life (which was not an easy transition for him by any means). He did it all for you…for you and Ellie and the family you had chosen to have with him.

So to see now that after everything, you still didn’t feel completely safe, well…that bothered him. What kind of man had he been for you to keep feeling scared that Vought might come back at any moment to haunt you? He’d never given you details of the day that he’d annihilated them all for you because he knew you didn’t want them, but maybe he should have. If he had, maybe that would’ve helped to allay your fears of any possible reprisals.   

“I know you do,” you broke into his thoughts. “But…what if something else happens? What if I get sick or get hit by a car or I have an accident and fall or I have a medical emergency that could be fatal or—”

“Hey,” he interrupted your rambling. “You’re spiraling.” Something you’d done quite a bit when you first met. His heart sunk at the thought; this had gotten to that point and he hadn’t had one goddamn clue. He’d been so wrapped up in you and Ellie and the life you were building that he hadn’t even seen it. Maybe his father had been right; he was a fuck up. An assertion by the old man that you’d unknowingly been dismantling every single day with how much you loved and believed in Ben, but now…now he felt as if he didn’t deserve you. He watched more tears spill down your cheeks and he knew he definitely didn’t; here was the proof.

“I know,” you sobbed. “I’m sorry. I just…” You took in a ragged breath and looked into his eyes, your bottom lip starting to wobble. “I need to know that if something happens to me, that you’ll take care of Ellie the way she needs to be taken care of. If I’m gone, she’s going to need you and I need to know that she’ll be okay.”

He tried his best not to be insulted, not to show it for your sake so he wouldn’t upset you anymore than you already were, but it stung his ego a bit. “Of course, she would be okay. I’ve kept her safe this long, haven’t I?”

“I’m not just talking about safety, Ben. I’m talking about you actually taking care of her. Not just providing for her, but actually being there for her whenever she needs you. Like the diaper change I asked you to do today. Is it disgusting? Sure. No one likes dealing with it, smelling shit, getting it all over you…but she’s your daughter and she needed you to take care of it for her. What if I had gone for breakfast with Elena instead? Would she have sat in her own crap until I came back home because you feel as a man that it’s beneath you to change your own daughter’s diaper?” More tears appeared. “What if something had happened to me while I was out? Would you just push Ellie onto Elena and Maggie to take care of her so you could go back to your old life? All so you wouldn’t have to do any of the messy or hard stuff? Would you abandon her just like that?”

“Of course not,” he snapped, his consideration for you now forgotten in the face of what you’d said. “How the fuck could you even think I would do something like that? Haven’t I been here through everything like I fucking said I would be?”

“Yes, but I’ve been doing everything!” The words burst out of you. “At first, you didn’t want to feed her, burp her, bathe her — any of it! And I did it all! Why? Because that was supposed to be the woman’s job you’d said!”

Ben could feel his temper flaring at you bringing that up. You were also intimating that he didn’t do anything for your daughter. Were you blind to all of the effort he had put in to help you raise Ellie since that fight you’d had a couple of weeks after she’d been born? Didn’t you realize that most mornings you woke up well rested was because he’d gotten up with the baby in the middle of the night so you wouldn’t have to? And you were still holding that shit over his head? What the fuck was wrong with you? “That was the way it was back then,” he growled out. “I told you that! And I’ve been doing all of that shit you just mentioned since then! So I didn’t change one shitty diaper today! I said I was sorry! When are you going to fucking let it go?”

Instead of responding, you exploded into more sobs and shame churned in his gut. He really fucking hated seeing either of his girls cry. It made him want to beat the ever loving shit out of some son of a bitch. Even if he happened to be said son of a bitch sometimes. 

“Christ,” he muttered. “C’mere.” He pulled you to him and you held onto him tightly, crying into his neck. His hand slid down your back in a tender caress and he pressed his lips to your hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to you.

He kept you in his arms, hoisted you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist, and let you get it all out. He even shut the water off, knowing the temperature had vastly cooled in the amount of time he’d been in there with you so far. He vaguely recalled his plan from earlier to join you, apologize for what he’d said during your argument, and begin making up with you. That obviously had gone to shit; there would be no making up happening now, that was for sure. And if anything would get his dick to go soft with you naked against him, it was the sound of you crying. 

Once your sobs quieted down and turned into ragged inhales and a few sniffles here and there, he moved your hair out of the way so he could see you. “Better?”

You nodded, sniffling as you looked up at him. “Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s get you out of this tub then and get you dried off.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and went to open the shower curtain.

“Ben?”

He froze and turned to look at you. 

You lifted your head, letting out another sniffle. “I’m sorry, too.” Before he could say anything, you continued. “I know you’ve been trying and you’ve been doing everything I asked you to with Ellie. I just…I freaked out about the diaper thing.” You wiped at your face. “Because it just brought back that worry, that fear I have of what would happen to her if I wasn’t here.” Your voice wobbled slightly but you forged ahead anyway. “You know, I wasn’t scared like this when I was being hunted down. I mean, I was, but not like this. Back then, I only had myself to worry about. And then when I got pregnant, sure, I was a little more scared but I also knew you’d keep us safe.” You took another ragged breath in. “But ever since she’s been born, I have been absolutely terrified. That something might happen to her, to me…to her if something does happen to me. I’m so fucking scared, Ben.” Your voice broke then, prompting fresh tears to roll down your cheeks.

Ben had been insulted before, almost as if you hadn’t believed in him or his ability to keep either of you safe, but now as he listened to your heartfelt explanation, he realized it wasn’t really about any of that. It didn’t really have anything to do with him, except that you wanted him to be ready to care for your daughter if something ever happened to you. That unpleasant tug inside his gut happened once more when you finally confessed just how scared you were. He thought back over the last few months since Ellie had been born. Your push for him to be more involved; your fighting with him over his antiquated mindset as you’d called it over his ideas of what fatherhood entailed; your rushing him during your sexual escapades the few times he’d managed to get you away from the house while Elena watched the baby no matter how much it pissed him off that he couldn’t take his time with you like he wanted; your insistence that he watch Ellie while you go to lunch with your friend; your anger today at his refusal to deal with the shitty diaper situation — all of it suddenly clicked into place for him and made sense. Fuck, he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any worse. He had completely failed you on all fronts. He had been the blind one; he’d never seen what was going on with you when it was right in front of him this whole time. Christ on a cross.

He gripped your chin gently. “Look at me.” You reluctantly met his gaze, yours glistening with fresh tears, and he could see the fear there plain as day. Fuck, how had he missed it all of this time? But instead of focusing on that, he sought to reassure you. “You and Ellie are safe. Nothing is going to happen. I would never let anyone hurt you. Either of you. I love you both too fucking much.” He grazed the pad of his thumb over your cheek to catch a stray tear that had escaped at his words. “And if it’s something that’s going to make you feel better, then let’s sit down and make a plan in case anything were to happen to you. Or even if I bit it. I want both of my girls to be taken care of, even if I can’t be here to do it myself.” You gave him a tearful smile. “So, let’s do that and kick this fear in its fucking ass. Sound good, doll?”

You nodded and leaned in, kissing him and making him smile. He’d been able to make you feel better after all and he felt damn proud of himself for being able to do so. “I love you,” you whispered.

He fucking loved hearing those three words from you every single time you said them; he knew you fucking meant it. And so did he. “I love you, too, baby.” When you beamed at him, another tugging sensation happened in his chest but this time, it was a far more pleasant one. He pecked your lips and opened the curtain. “Alright, let’s get you out of here.”

Before he could take a step out of the tub, you reached up and yanked the curtain closed, making his brows furrow. Your smile suddenly transformed into a devilish smirk. Immediately, he could feel his dick hardening again. He knew what that smirk meant. “We didn’t make up yet,” you murmured, starting to rub your body against his. “And we always make up after we fight.” 

Ben felt the stiff peaks of your nipples gliding across his skin and his mouth practically watered at the thought of sucking on them while he rammed into you repeatedly. Fuck, he loved your tits. There had been a time after Ellie was born where you’d pushed his head away anytime he tried to get his mouth on them while he was fucking you, complaining that they were too sensitive due to all of the feedings. But recently, he’d been able to start that up again without causing you discomfort and once, he had even gotten a tiny amount of milk squirted into his mouth by accident. It had been surprising for him, embarrassing for you, but it had turned out to be a major turn on. He found he didn’t mind the taste and the idea of him drinking you down, you shooting something into his mouth for once and him needing to be the one to swallow, that made him hornier than he’d ever been in his life. He’d fucked a lot of women in his time, sometimes high, sometimes sober; he’d done things that made most people blush to hear about or uncomfortable to imagine, some things which you flat out refused to do. He’d founded Herogasm and had marathon fucks that were legendary. He’d hosted orgies where he would be the only one left standing, having never tired out and still raring to go when everyone else was down for the count. And yet, when you’d unintentionally squirted the smallest bit of milk into his mouth, his dick had gotten so hard, he was shocked it hadn’t exploded right there. Well…it did, but not the way he’d originally been thinking. He’d greedily swallowed you down and kept sucking, even through the first load of cum he’d shot into you in reaction to that fucking hot as hell moment. From that point on, while he knew your breastmilk was Ellie’s main food source and he loved that, his daughter had to learn to fucking share. 

That was another reason why he had such a love/hate relationship with the breast pump machine you had. When he would watch the milk fill the bottle, he didn’t know whether to cry, jerk off, fuck you, or just watch. Sometimes he even wished you’d get rid of the contraption and just let him help you; it could be a rewarding experience for you both while you made sure Ellie had plenty to eat. 

Your smirk grew, almost as if you knew where his thoughts had gone, and you ghosted your lips over his. “Ben,” you called to him in a teasing singsong voice. “I said, we always make up after fighting.”

He could feel something wet moving against his abdomen as you attempted to roll your hips, knowing it had nothing to do with your recent shower, and he ground out, “Yeah, we fucking do” before he slammed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss that was all tongue and teeth. He turned around and carefully pushed you up against the tiled wall, making sure not to break it or you. It wasn’t long before he was inside you, his hips pushing into you at a steady pace, his mouth suckling at you and your fingers in his hair, tugging roughly, as you muffled your moans with your other hand. Neither of you had forgotten that Elena was within earshot; Ben just didn’t give a fuck. He snatched your hand away from your mouth, gruffed out a command of “Let me fucking hear you”, and he didn’t give two shits who heard the fucking hot soundtrack of your making up. Instead, as you cried out your pleasure for the world to hear, he went back to your incredible rack, focusing on filling up on you while he worked towards filling you up. The thought of any fear or resentment from your earlier argument was long gone as you both chased your highs at lightning speed. The only words said between you were dirty or full of love. And even when you both had been forced to take a mostly cold shower afterwards to clean up once you both had caught your breath, only smiles, tender touches, and kisses had been exchanged along with a few laughs, both of you completely sated. Well, you were; Ben would never get enough of you and he planned to try to fuck you again later after the baby had fallen asleep.

But as for right now, seeing the bright smile on your face as he carefully wrapped a towel around you, the weight visibly lighter on your shoulders since you confessed your fears to him, he was determined to do whatever it took to not only make you feel safe but also to keep you feeling this way and being this happy. 

When you’d laughed at something he’d said, darted forward to kiss him, and wrapped your arms around his neck, his embrace tightened around you and he kissed the juncture in between your neck and shoulder, making you that silent promise. Whatever it took to make you feel safe again, he���d do it.

Elena glanced up to see you and Ben stepping into the living room, both dressed and looking refreshed. You had been missing in action for at least an hour and forty-five minutes. Elena already had an idea what you two had been doing considering everything she’d heard. Maggie had even heard when she called to check in and see when Elena would be returning home, beyond disgusted at the sounds Soldier Boy was making as he railed you in the shower. She’d told Elena to call her when she was done babysitting so the archaic asshole could get laid and promptly hung up. But even if Elena hadn’t heard what you’d been up to, she would have immediately known after seeing you both. Ben’s hair was still damp and yours was freshly blown out. Both of you were touching, unable to keep your hands off of each other and sporting matching grins, looking like practical newlyweds. Ben’s hand moved to the small of your back and both of you suddenly smiled wide upon seeing your daughter.

“Thank you for watching her and for waiting.” Your cheeks turned a shade of pink but you held out your arms. Elena was only too happy to hand you your baby back. “There she is,” you cooed, pressing a loud kiss to Ellie’s cheek. “Were you a good girl for your Aunt Elena?”

“She was a very good girl,” Elena confirmed, watching as Ben strode over and stopped next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, his eyes centered on both of his girls with an affectionate smile to match. Sometimes Maggie still had trouble believing it, that Soldier Boy had been domesticated as she put it, but Elena never doubted how important you and Ellie were to him. She could see it every time he looked at you, at your little girl, and she actually thought it was beyond sweet. She had even said as much to which Maggie had rolled her eyes, muttered “Whatever, I’m going to vomit”, and walked away from the door while Elena waited to greet the three of you after she had extended a dinner invitation to your family one night. As expected Ben and Maggie didn’t get along too well, especially given their history, but the former seemed to be okay with Elena and she was okay with him because she knew how much he meant to you. And Maggie didn’t seem to mind you all that much, either. So you all somehow made the nearby neighbor thing work; for yours, Elena’s, and Ellie’s sakes if for nothing else. 

“She did get a little fussy, though, so I fed her one of the bottles you had in the fridge.”

You nodded and pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead, briefly glancing at the clock on the mantle. “It’s about that time. Thank you so much for doing that. I’m sorry that we missed lunch.” You blushed once more when Ben let out a quiet chuckle.

“No problem,” Elena dismissed with a smile and a wave of her hand. “I’m glad everything seems to be okay. Ben looked a little worried when I got here.”

You glanced up at him, your brows arching in surprise. Ben shrugged, seeming unbothered at this observation.

“We can maybe shoot for next week if you’re game,” Elena offered. 

You went to answer when Ben cut you off. “Actually, why don’t you guys still go and grab a late lunch or something? Elena’s already here and you both are dressed to the nines.”

Your eyes widened when you looked over at your husband, worry lining your expression for a moment. “No, that’s—it’s too late. By the time we’d get home, it would probably be dinner time.” You let out a nervous sounding laugh. “Besides, Ellie’s going to need to feed before then and I—”

“You pumped earlier, right? I can feed her.”

You seemed unsure, biting your lip. “I did, but I’m not sure—”

Ben released you and held out his hands, smiling reassuringly at you. “It’s settled. You go. Ellie and I have got this. Don’t we, Princess?” The baby had her fingers in her mouth, drooling everywhere. Elena saw Ben shake his head, seeming amused.

You glanced down at your daughter, the happiness from before replaced by uncertainty. Elena knew you struggled to leave Ellie the first few times she’d babysat for you both to have some time to yourselves. It wasn’t surprising; you were a new mother after all. But this time, you seemed even more reluctant than usual. 

“Hey,” Ben softly called to you, prompting you to meet his gaze. “Remember what we talked about. We’re going to be fine. I’ve got her.”

It was moments like this that convinced Elena of your importance to him. If Maggie ever witnessed them, she was sure her girlfriend would reluctantly agree. Never had Elena ever heard him speak that gently to anyone, even his own daughter. Not when she and Maggie were in earshot anyway. 

Ben gave you a meaningful look and after glancing down at Ellie one more time, you eventually handed your daughter over to her father. “There’s my girl.” He leaned down to kiss the baby’s forehead. 

You watched, anxiety still apparent in your expression.“Ben, are you su—”

He immediately darted forward to kiss you, cutting you off. Elena had the grace to look away and give you two a moment.

“We’ll be fine,” she heard Ben murmur to you. “I’ve got this. I promise, baby. Go have your girl time and then come home. We’ll be here when you get back.”

“You’re absolutely sure?” You checked one last time.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Language,” you chided.

Elena glanced over and found Ben smirking down at you, leaning closer. “You didn’t seem to mind my language earlier.” As expected, your cheeks reddened and he barked out a laugh, kissing one of them. “Alright, go have fun and we’ll see you later.” Then he leaned in to whisper something to you that couldn’t be heard and your jaw dropped, gently swatting at his hip since he was holding Ellie in both arms. He laughed and moved away, his gaze a little darker than before as it stayed fixed on you.

You kissed Ellie’s head and stroked her cheek, smiling. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart. Be good for your daddy, okay? I love you.” Ellie gurgled and you smiled wider, leaning up to kiss Ben goodbye who immediately deepened it.

Elena was on the verge of looking away again when you pulled back, panting, and glared up at the smirking man in front of you. “You know, for someone who’s trying to get me to leave, you’re doing a miserable job.”

“Just giving you a little preview for later.” The stare between you two was so intense that it felt as if any unfortunate bystanders would suddenly burst into flames just from being too close. This time, Elena was the one nearly blushing. She would have never believed you two had just been having sex if she hadn’t heard it for herself. You both looked hungry and not for any late lunch. 

You leaned in, as if to kiss him again, when you reached up and planted a kiss on his brow instead, smirking as you backed away. “Until then, Benjamin,” you snarked, turning to leave. “Love you.” You let out a yelp a moment later when Ben swatted your ass with a free hand as you passed. 

You shot another glare at him and he simply smirked. “Love you, too, doll.” 

Elena gently pulled you towards the door, thinking if she didn’t get you out of the house soon, you definitely weren’t going to leave at all. Or more like Soldier Boy wasn’t going to let you leave. Not with the way his eyes were unashamedly glued to your ass.

You waved one last time in your family’s direction. “Bye, Ellie. See you soon, babygirl.”

Ben picked up Ellie’s little hand and simulated a wave, making you smile. 

Once Elena had you in the car and backed out of your driveway, she could see the earlier uncertainty returning. “So, what’s going on? First, Ben looked worried and now you. Something I should know about?”

You bit your lip and seemed to be mulling over whether to tell her or not. Elena gave you a moment to yourself to decide. Eventually you turned to look at her and sighed. “Okay.” You then proceeded to fill Elena in on everything you’d been feeling since your daughter had been born, everything you’d just told Ben.

Ben watched as you and Elena got into the car and left. He knew you would be worried but he was determined not to give you any reason to be. He meant it when he told you he had this. He wanted you to know that he could look after Ellie the way she needed looking after, which is why he insisted that you still go out to eat with Elena. He was going to make damn sure he passed this test and he was keeping his promise to you, that he would make you feel safe again. And if that meant he had to play Mr. Mom and change a few shitty diapers while you were gone, then so be it. 

Once the car disappeared, he let out a sigh and turned to look down at his daughter. She was staring up at him with those beautiful eyes that reminded him so often of his mother’s, though absent of any of the heartbreak she had endured in her life with his father. That was why when you asked about possible names for your daughter after you’d given birth, he’d mentioned Eleanor to bestow upon her. You’d loved it, especially after Ben had explained the significance of the name to you, and so your daughter was named after her grandmother, though you both had ended up calling her Ellie for short most of the time. 

He gave his little girl a smile. “We’ve got the place to ourselves, kiddo. We can do whatever we want. What does my princess want to do, hmm?”

Ellie gurgled and he nodded as if he understood.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Let your old man show you his movies so you can see when he was a star. Good thinking, babygirl.” He chuckled when she gurgled again and turned to head into the living room. 

Just then, he heard the sounds he had been hoping like hell that he wouldn’t hear until you were back. Ellie began to grunt, a few short farts sounded, and an almost undetectable thud was heard as shit landed in her diaper. Sure enough, a moment later, the smell wafted up and smacked him in the face. The smell was beyond terrible, something you had told him previously couldn’t be the case since it was known that the poop of breastfed babies didn’t smell as bad as other poop. He’d looked at you then with disbelief; how the hell did you not smell it when you were wiping the kid’s ass? Then again, thanks to his super-powered nose, you wouldn’t detect what he would. Like right now. It was fucking awful, like sour milk mixed with shit. Christ.

“Ugh.” He extended his arms and held Ellie out, away from him. He should’ve known this would fucking happen. It was just his luck. “You know, kid, for such a small thing, you sure shit a lot.” Ellie continued to make happy noises as if she hadn’t just taken a massive shit that was rapidly stinking up the room. Ben pulled her closer, his face screwed up in disgust as the smell got closer, too. “You are way too happy for someone who just shit their pants for the second time today.” 

He glanced around, almost as if you would somehow come flying around the corner to help, or Queen Lesbo might show up out of the blue or something. Nope, this was all on him. He remembered your words from earlier, how he needed to know how to care for Ellie which included shitty diaper changes, and he let out a huge defeated sigh. “Fuck.”

Ben cradled Ellie in the crook of his arm, relieved there were no damp spots on her back this time, and turned to make his way to her nursery. “You know something, kid, if the day should ever come that I’m in diapers, you better fucking change ‘em without any complaints. I don’t want to hear a damn word out of you then, got it?”

Ellie made more happy noises and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” A small smile slipped onto his face and he lifted her up to his shoulder, kissing her cheek. “You’re lucky Daddy loves you, Princess.”

Almost as if she’d understood his words, she gave him a wide toothless smile, drooling onto his shirt. Instead of being disgusted, he chuckled and continued his trek. She’d unknowingly just given him a perfect excuse to change when you got home and entice you to get another shower in later. Thinking along that same line, feeling proud that this was now something he could do for you and for his daughter, something that would help you to feel better overall…well, he found now that he didn’t mind the idea of any shitty diaper changes all that much.

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[tcwmatchmakingau]

As Sweet As Sugar

Pairing: Wolffe x F!Reader (no physical descriptions)

Rating: SFW 

Summary: Wolffe’s date is running late, and he finds himself wondering if he made a mistake.

A.N: This is my first Wolffe fic and I don’t know what I’m doing, so I figured I’d keep Part 1 short and sweet. I know typical Wolffe fanon sees him as more of a hard dom (I mean, I get it and I’m here for it…) but I wanted to take a softer approach with this fic.

Shout out to the reader who requested “Anything with Commander Wolffe where he is just a sweet kind flirty date?” 

Word Count: 687 (I’m shocked I was able to write something shorter than 2.5k words lmao)

Warnings: None, just fluff and first date awkwardness.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wolffe was beginning to regret this decision. 

Dating… matchmaking? He didn’t have time for any of this. There was still much work to be done— endless stacks of reports to review and approve before he could finalize his men’s reassignments and discharge orders. It turned out that even winning the war could not put an end to all the paperwork.

He drummed his fingers on the table and scanned the busy roof-top cafe, looking any sign of his date. The glass-domed dining room was lush with exotic greenery, which provided a surprising amount of privacy to its patrons while giving the space a vibrant tropical feel, despite the cafe’s location high in Coruscant’s skyline. 

“So what are you looking for, Commander Wolffe?” the matchmaker, Sander Loris, had asked him when they met in the the RTL offices. 

Wolffe didn’t have an answer for Sander then, and he still wasn’t sure now. 

He had visited RTL Matchmaking in an apparent moment of weakness, after meeting his brothers for drinks. Cody and Rex were both enamored and gushing about their new partners, and even kriffing Fox couldn’t stop smiling and messaging his partner the whole night. Wolffe had left that night, wondering what if.

And so here he was, several weeks later, sitting in possibly the nicest space he’d ever set foot in, waiting for a mystery date who was running late. He shifted in his seat, tugging awkwardly at his new civilian clothes. It still felt weird to wear civvies, but Cody had insisted that Wolffe wear something appropriately casual to make the right impression, instead of his officer’s uniform like Wolffe had planned. 

Not that it mattered, because she still wasn’t here. 

He glanced around the room again before looking out the window. The busy afternoon skylane traffic was nearly obscured by the decorative vegetation lining the windows, and he absently wondered where all those people were going and how they spent all their free civilian time.

“Commander Wolffe?” A light voice at his side snapped his attention back into the room. 

All lingering reservations Wolffe held about this date evaporated quickly when he saw you standing near the table, smiling hopefully at him as you awaited his response. Your smile ran him through instantly, just as your voice had cut through the soft murmur of the cafe. 

Wolffe shot up from his seat a bit too suddenly and stood straight and at attention, as if summoned by his General. “Ma’am,” he said stiffly and just barely managed to stop himself from saluting you. Instead, he held out his hand to you in a casual greeting.

You smiled and chuckled as you took his hand and insisted he call you by your first name. 

Wolffe repeated your name, and it did not escape his notice how warm and soft your hand was, and how neatly it fit into his. 

“Please, call me Wolffe,” he added with what he hoped was a charming smile as he released your hand, but his voice still felt stiff in his own ears.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wolffe. And I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. This is really not how I wanted to start things, but an unfortunate emergency at work delayed me,” you winced apologetically as you sat across from him. “Even when I’m done with work, it never seems to be done with me.”

You laughed nervously and he couldn’t help but smile at the endearing sound. “Ah, yes. I’m all to familiar with that feeling.” 

You visibly relaxed at his words and flashed a smile even more brilliant than the last. “Well, even so, I’m glad you didn’t bail on me.”

“Oh it takes more than that to scare me off,” Wolffe replied quickly, holding your gaze as a crooked smile curved the corner of his mouth.

You looked away first, with a bashful little smile, and diverted your focus to the menu. 

Oh, that one…that was his favorite smile so far. He made it his goal for the evening to get you to give him as many of those as could get…

[linksthoughtbrambles]

You want a prompt? I'll give you a prompt!

"She stared at the sea, as blue as his eyes." Zelink, of course.

Thank you so much for this ask jdetan! This concept kept growing the more I worked on it, so this is chapter 1 of a longfic of... an as yet unknown total length. But I have thoughts 😄. A lot of them lol.

The Horizon Cannot Come To Me

Zelink, BotW, Pre-Calamity, Deserted Island AU, rated T for now (likely to be E at some point), 1st chapter ~4700 words. Also on ao3 here.

Chapter 1: A Nestled Wreckage or Two

She stared at the sea, as blue as his eyes.

His incredibly infuriating eyes.

“What?!” Zelda gasped, scrambling up from the sand, bleary and searching for their boat with wild snaps of her head. She saw him slip from one knee to his rear, his eyes on her instead of the beach. What did he think he was doing?!

“The boat!” she cried. “Where is it?”

His entirely inadequate “uh” arrived as she recognized the color of a shattered wooden plank nestled in wet sand, now-gentle waves frothing against its grain.

Her head turned from it as though dragged by the slow tide toward Link.

He appeared most undignified, bootless with his drenched clothing covered in sand and that look on his face, wide-eyed and grimacing, his hands splayed behind him with fingers buried to his third knuckles.

“I,” he said.

She waited.

He swallowed.

She glowered at him.

“Ohhhh,” he said with a strange little laugh, running a hand through his wet hair, depositing extra sand there with a wince.

“Do I take it we no longer have a boat?”

Link nodded and kept nodding, his hand having returned to his hair, and with a start, Zelda realized something else was missing.

“Where is the Sword that Seals the Darkness?” she asked, with a strange, dim sense of surprise at how small her voice sounded.

He peeked at her between the arm he’d rested on one knee and the hand still tangled in his hair as though steadying himself with it. “I dropped it.”

“How could you drop it?! It was sheathed!”

“I took it out. It was weighing us down.” He held a palm out as though to ward off whatever he saw in her gaze. “I had to.”

The Sword that Seals the Darkness.

Lost.

Like them.

“Merciful Goddess,” she whispered.

--

To his credit, Link had a lean-to built for her within the hour.

Zelda used the time to change into the spare shirt and trousers he apparently kept in his korok pouch. There was a small but very convenient freshwater pool with a gentle waterfall, and while she had reservations about drinking it without boiling it, she gladly rinsed the grain of salt from her skin.

She then began to check the flora and fauna around them against the slate’s compendium. They wouldn’t starve, at least—palm fruit and bananas appeared abundant, and as one paraglider cloth fluttered in the breeze behind her, Link deposited two large, round fruit unfamiliar to her on the other paraglider cloth she sat on. She frowned as he walked away, compelled, for some reason, to snap a picture of him with sand still stuck to his back. He’d discarded only his socks.

She indulged her compulsion. She then sniffed and pointed the Slate at the melons, which apparently were “cantaloupes.”

--

“Hylia’s sake,” Zelda fumed as she attempted yet again to force the Slate to emit an intermittent, high-amplitude electromagnetic pulse. “It’s not as though they won’t be looking for us,” she muttered (despite her uncertainty as to Link’s whereabouts, or whether he truly listened when she thought out loud), “but they shall most certainly begin on Eventide, and we are most definitely not there.” Her gaze rose to the horizon, utterly flat and entirely blue, which it shouldn’t have been in any direction on any island she’d ever seen from the shores of Hyrule. She shook her head, confounded. It was as though the gods themselves had sent that storm to hurtle them as far from home as possible.

Purah knew Zelda, and therefore would know to search for some sort of signal from the Slate.

How long it would take her to find the right one was the second question.

The first, of course, was whether Zelda could produce one before the Calamity came.

A clack and a spark drew her eyes to the firepit Link had dug. Zelda grimaced, as did he, at the humid wood and bark which had thus far refused to light. She imagined if Link had fire arrows in that magical pouch of his, he would use them only as a last resort.

--

Link’s footsteps approached her.

“You should sleep, Princess,” he said.

She squinted up toward where he must have been, her eyes adjusted to the screen, with only its meager light to illuminate him.

“I have yet to resolve the communication problem,” she said.

“It’ll keep til tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll think better on a night’s rest.”

She blinked as though it would speed her night vision’s arrival. “The longer I take, the longer til we are found.”

“You need to take care of yourself,” he said with a strange laugh. “If you get sick, I—”

There was a pause, and Zelda’s face pinched. She hugged the slate to her chest, attempting to see beyond it.

“—I don’t know what I’m doing,” Link said, “with that. I won’t be able to take over for you.”

It was more than he’d ever spoken to her in a day.

He crouched before her, his fingers steadying him just in front of the paraglider-mat, his face now strangely hollowed by the graze of Slate-light on his cheekbones.  “Please, Princess,” he said, holding a hand out to take the Slate from her.

She stared at it, rankling, somehow, at how reasonable a request it was.

She placed it in his hand and turned off the screen.

She curled up on the mat to the sound of him rummaging around, her forearm beneath her head.  Sleep arrived swiftly.

--

She awakened with a cloth rolled beneath her head and several more tucked around her body. She craned her neck to see korok and Rito designs alongside a rather childish-looking egg with pink spots adorning her, criss-crossing a bit in her bleary vision.

“Why do you have a myriad of paraglider cloths?” she asked.

A squelching arrived as though in answer, and she turned to see Link with his mouth expanded unreasonably wide around a kabob of roasted orange melon.

He stared wide-eyed at her, his face too occupied for speech.

Then he reached for another stick suspended over the meager fire, waved it in the air a few times, and held it out to her.

She sat up, stretched her neck, and accepted his offering with a plaintive squeal from her stomach.

The fruit was extremely wet. She did her best to conceal its sticky tracks on her chin.

Link was terrible at it.

--

While she pursued her critical task with dedication beneath the palms and the small shelter, and Link kept her dutifully fed and watered, she found herself increasingly distracted by his other pursuits.

He circled the immediate area at a brisk jog. She assumed him to be scouting (again), quietly approved, and paid it little mind.

He pulled a small shovel from his korok pouch and attempted to sidle away from her while shielding it from her with his body, disappearing into the treeline. Zelda sighed and tried not to think about what he was doing with it.

She later caught sight of him emerging from behind a huge rock far to her right and nearer to the ocean, side-walking on his toes, half-crouched, with his hands in the air.

She shook her head and returned her eyes to the screen.

When his feet invaded the upper right corner of her vision despite her attempt to concentrate, she looked up to find his head waggling as well. The slate lowered to rest in her lap as he made a sudden leap forward, then sprinted toward the sea. He stopped a few moments later, searching the area around his feet.

Zelda returned to her S.O.S. efforts when he began scratching the back of his head, and this time became quite absorbed. She lost track of Link entirely for at least a few hours.

When he reappeared, it was in the other corner of her eye, hauling a wide, dark, flat rock from somewhere in the trees far to her left down the beach. He dragged it further and further from the trees’ shadow, eventually letting it rest near to where they’d come ashore, almost directly between Zelda and the ocean. Link rose with his fists on his hips and a nod, and when he turned to walk back toward the treeline, he appeared quite pleased with himself. He also appeared to be sweating arrowheads. He’d draped his champion’s tunic on a nearby branch, but he was still heavily clothed.

“Sir Link!” Zelda shouted.

He squinted at her, the Sun beating on his face.

Zelda winced. He’d be quite burnt, wouldn’t he? “Your attire is inappropriate!”

His expression didn’t seem to change, but he broke into a jog. This seemed counterproductive if the objective were to cool himself down. Zelda opened her mouth to say so, then shut it. Surely, he knew this and was simply in a hurry to escape the sunlight. She returned to her work.

When he arrived, a flash of blue caught her eye once more: he’d taken his tunic from the branch. As it made its way over his head and onto his torso over his sweat-soaked shirt, Zelda’s eye twitched.

“Link?” she asked.

“Princess?” he said, panting a bit.

“What are you doing?”

His hands spread open at hip-height. Zelda had rather the impression of a shrug, though he hadn’t actually shrugged. “You cannot possibly be cooler like that,” she said.

His face mimed an “oh.”

“What did you believe I meant?” Zelda asked.

Link gestured at his front. “Well- I wasn’t in uniform.”

Her mouth went a little slack. It took her a moment to shake her disbelief free. “Did you- truly believe I value your formality over your health?”

His eyes shifted side to side and his face paled a bit, as though he thought himself in trouble.

“Sir Link,” she said. “You are overdressed and losing a significant percentage of your body’s water to sweat. I appreciate your extraordinary ability to rip palm nuts open with your bare hands—” (she truly did, he’d frightened her with the first one yesterday, it had cracked so mightily)— “and therefore keep yourself supplied with fresh water, but there is no need to exacerbate the problem. Those trousers are thick and heavy, aren’t they?” She blinked as he continued to stare at her, and a sudden suspicion struck. “They’re still the same ones? From the ocean?”

His throat bobbed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You gave me your spare clothes,” she said—not that she hadn’t realized that—it’s not as though he’d handed her women’s clothing—"and kept yours on. Didn’t you? You didn’t change last night? Or bathe?”

The spooked look on his face was enough confirmation. She could only imagine the chafing.

“Sir Link, I order you to cease- whatever it is you were doing and take care of your clothing situation at once.”

“But-“

“The last thing either of us needs is for you to develop some-“ she waved a hand at him- “manner of- skin infection.”

He winced.

She sighed. Something about his expression almost made her want to smile, but that was certainly, absolutely not allowed. This was Sir-Knight-Who-Seals-The-Darkness, the bane of her every waking step, the shadow haunting each glance over her shoulder, the statue standing mute at her door in the night.

His usual stony silence seemed a far cry from the paralysis currently affecting him.

She sighed again, her face and voice softening. “Bathe, please. You’ll be glad you did.”

--

She shook her head when he emerged sometime later, his wet, presumably rinsed shirts and pants over one arm, and opened her mouth to say something about his extremely sunburned face—and failed to do so.

It hadn’t occurred to her how he’d look in nothing but trunks.

She should’ve known what kind they’d be, considering the spare undergarment he’d handed her. It was tighter on her, with her curvy shape, but it still clung to him—and he was all chiseled lines in muscle, everywhere (at least, everywhere she could currently see).

She turned her attention back to the Slate and flatly refused to look up when he returned to inspect the state of the (now nonexistent) fire.

--

She managed to keep her head down for a long time once Link walked off.

Then her sedentary status began to get the better of her.  She shifted her position to relieve the discomfort. She did so again—and again. She sat with one knee bent up and her elbow on that—then sat up on her knees, but that didn’t last long—then with both legs bent like all those prim court ladies riding sidesaddle. Eventually, she tried laying on her stomach with the slate before her face, and that was alright except for her bladder, which was becoming more and more difficult to ignore—and even more so in that position.

She rolled onto her back.

She managed to hold the Slate above her head for a while before that, too, became uncomfortable and she lowered it to her chest with a sigh.

There was nothing for it.

She rose, brushing the sand that had blown its way onto her mat from her (Link’s) clothing.

She quite liked the shirt. It was tight around her chest, but comfortable and soft owing to the close knit. She supposed she’d be too warm in it were she hauling rocks like Link in the sun, though.

She scanned the beach, then the trees behind her, for a sign of him, and saw none.

Zelda strode to the branch she’d hung her own things on and strapped her belts around her waist, then secured the slate at her hip. She’d not leave the Slate unattended, no matter how deserted the place seemed.

--

She emerged from the thick growth of low ferns she’d found feeling relieved but restless. Her muscles did not at all wish to return to her seat beneath the lean-to so quickly, so as she’d seen no sign of danger on the beach as of yet, she made her way what must have been northward, thinking to walk with her feet in the cool, wet sand at the ocean’s edge.

She jumped a solid foot into the air at the sound of “PRINCESS?!?!” being screamed at the top of Link’s lungs.

“Here, I’m HERE!” she shouted, her heart pattering like a rabbit’s hind legs and her right ankle in sudden pain from rolling on a rock. She hissed, her arms flying out for support, and caught herself on a thick, branch-like palm-stem. She already heard Link crashing toward her through the foliage, and she tested her foot, breaking into a sudden sweat of desperation not to appear as though she couldn’t take care of herself for twenty minutes without him.

She refused to be injured. Absolutely not—not in front of him.

Link burst from the ferns to her left, a rather spiny stick in one hand with the floppy remains of a ferny growth on one side and a wild look in his eye.

Zelda schooled her face practical despite his near-naked state and her ankle’s throbbing. “Sir Link—there is no need for panic. I am fine.”

He scanned the area, nodding and lowering his mostly non-threatening vegetation. He relaxed his arm and…stared at her.

She stared back.

He looked left, then right. Then back at her.

She raised her chin. “Something amiss, Sir Link?”

He waved his stick a few inches, still pointed toward the ground. Zelda once again had the impression of a shrug.

“You needn’t remain,” she said, still gripping the stem and assuring her foot flat on the ground despite its complaining.

His eyes drifted first to her hand, then to her feet. His head pulled slowly back, and though his expression didn’t change much, she suspected he suspected. “I should accompany you, Princess,” he said. “The area seems safe, but it’s better not to take the chance.”

She blinked rapidly, her chin rising even further. “It truly isn’t necessary. Have I ever been harmed on those occasions when I’ve- ah…”

“Slipped away?” he offered, one eyebrow twitching the barest fraction.

“…Indeed,” she said, his words considerably less inflammatory than the ‘escaped’ which had crossed her mind.

“…Not yet,” he said, voice flat as usual on the rare occasions he’d used it in Hyrule, but something grim lay buried in its lowered pitch.

Zelda gritted her teeth and doubled down. “And why should you expect this to be the first time?”

“I expect every time to be the first time, Princess.”

She paused at that, taken aback. “I- see. Then why have you allowed me to remain at the shelter unattended?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye out. But I can’t do that if I don’t know where you are.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “I do not wish to be-“ she threw her free hand high in the air- “surveiled without cessation.”

His look became a cross between understanding and regret. “I- know, Princess. But I’m your appointed knight. I have-“

“A duty, yes, I am aware.” She glanced over his shoulder out of habit, expecting that glint of blue. It was missing.

He shook his head. “To you,” he said. “Not the sword.”

Her lips parted.

She hadn’t thought him so observant of her. Watchful, yes. Insightful, no. He had, after all, believed she wanted him fully dressed despite the risk of heat stroke.

She made the mistake of shuffling her feet.  Pain shot up her right leg and she jolted with a wince she attempted to pass off as a grimace at his words.

His shoulders slumped a little as he eyed her foot.

Zelda tripled down—she released the stem, both feet flat on the ground. It hurt—a good deal—but she’d had far worse sprains and a sense that this, while painful, would be fine.

She turned toward the ocean to walk it out.

She went step by step, far slower than her usual gait—he would know that, but her leg was usable, it wasn’t broken, and she wasn’t a child. She attempted to appear calm and as though she were simply inspecting their surroundings.

He stepped to her side—the injured one—his glorified twig in his outer hand and the other, she was certain, ready to grab her should she stumble—which, of course, she would not.

--

She walked down to the waves as planned and followed the edge of the wet sand, to and then past their little camp, all the way to where she’d seen Link drag the rock out of the trees, pain in every slow step, sorely tempted to seat herself and allow the water to soothe her foot. She didn’t.

Link accompanied her the entire way in silence.

The difficult part arrived when she turned to walk up the sloping sand toward the lean-to. It put extra pressure on that ankle, either to bend further back, to support the ball of her foot alone, or to turn sideways. She found herself stopping between each short step.

“Princess-“

“I am fine,” she said, flushing, as though those words hadn’t given the already-foolish game entirely away. She stood still a little longer, though she suspected the longer she did, the worse the following step would feel.

She heard Link shuffling beside her, and then a strange sliding sound. A furtive glance showed something bizarrely long emerging from the pouch belted to his hip. A moment later, he was holding a shining, silver spear exactly like those carried by the Zora guarding Dorephan’s throne room. He held it out to her.

“You seem like you’re getting a little tired, Princess,” he said. “I don’t have a walking stick, but this might help.”

Her hand curled around the shaft tentatively. It was cool and surprisingly light, with the tip well above her head. She leaned on it and took a step—it was more manageable.

“Thank you,” she said, and made her slow way to the lean-to.

She managed to collapse onto the paraglider-mat with some dignity and no sounds of surprised pain. She laid her bad leg straight out, then the other, and leaned back on her hands, rolling her eyes at herself behind her lids.

Link was rummaging again.

He pulled a knife from his pouch and began scraping the meat from half of a palm nut he’d cracked earlier. She watched him dully as he deposited the edible portion into the unscraped half, thinking she ought to get back to her work.  He then produced a blob of white chuchu jelly and placed it, the cleaned palm-nut shell, and his not-so-threatening stick on the mat beside her.

“If you’re hot,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and his hair blowing in the perfectly pleasant cool evening breeze, “you can try the chuchu jelly. It stays cool a long time.” He then rose and disappeared into the treeline.

Zelda stared at the items beside her, sheepish. It took her several minutes to get over her embarrassment enough to burst the jelly into the makeshift bowl.

It felt blissfully cold on her ankle. She set the rest aside in reserve and propped her legs up on the rolled-cloth pillow from the previous night.

She returned to her work on the slate, picking for a while at the palm meat Link had mildly cooked, once again, over a meager fire.

About an hour later, he suddenly held a hand-sized meat pie between her face and the Slate. She goggled at him.

“You need a good source of protein, Princess,” he said.

The pie was very warm.

She stared at the fire, then all around her for a sign he had somehow constructed an oven.

And a rolling station.

And butchered a wild animal.

“Where did this come from?” she finally asked.

He pointed to his pouch.

“What?! How-“ she knew how, but- “how long has it been in there?”

He cocked his head, considering it. “About two months?”

“Two months?!” She thrust it at him. “Sir Link- that is- well beyond spoilage-“

He took it from her and took a hearty bite.

She fought a visceral revulsion sending bile up her throat.

He smiled a little and swallowed—then held it out to her.

The pie was not only warm—it was steaming inside. The filling appeared perfectly fresh—perhaps a wild boar or even beef filling with peas, carrots, and some manner of starchy root. It smelled not only edible, but wonderful.

“…How?” she asked.

“Magic,” he answered. “No idea how it works, but everything that goes in comes out exactly the same. No aging—no spoiling.” He huffed a small laugh. “No getting cold before you’re ready to eat it.”

He reached a hand in—and produced a second pie, nearly identical, which he held out to her.

She took it in a strange state of grateful shock and nibbled a corner. The pastry was excellent—flaky and deliciously browned. A larger bite very nearly produced a hum of delicious enjoyment, though she tamped it, feeling it would be somehow rude.

“Thank you, Sir Link. It’s- delicious. And fortunate, considering our situation. May I ask- ah…”

“How much I have?”

“Yes.”

He appeared to be fighting a smirk. “Way more than I should.”

He must have noticed her eyeing the spent sticks from roasting the melon. “It’s not infinite,” he said. “Better to go easy on it—once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

She ate her (quite satisfying) meal slowly as she worked, making it stretch. She endeavored only to listen to Link’s activity. He was busy with something at that flat, dark rock of his, but as long as he wasn’t turning it into a sacrificial altar, she wasn’t going to worry about it.

--

Zelda jolted awake, her arm flung haphazardly past her head, the Slate just beyond the reach of her fingertips, and paraglider cloth once again tucked around her. She could recall neither laying on her side to work nor intending to fall asleep.

The reason for her wakefulness protested with a throb.

She suppressed a groan as she sat up, gripping her injured leg’s calf to assist it. Her foot had been hanging uncomfortably, stretching the tendons in her ankle as it dangled past her other shin. Once righted, she reached first for the Slate—it read 2:37 am.

She used the screen’s light to search for the chuchu jelly. A dip of her index finger told her it was, indeed, still cool. She attended to her ankle (now visibly swollen) with a generous amount of the natural salve.

The moon must have risen recently, for the sea was lit in dim streaks rising and falling with the sound of waves. With a start, she realized Link was still sitting cross-legged before the firepit. She couldn’t tell if his eyes were open.

“Sir Link?” she whispered.

“Mm?” he hummed.

“Have you yet slept?”

He shook his head, his hair visible as a messy outline against the backdrop of the calm sea. “I can go a long time without sleep, Princess.”

She knew the truth of that. She’d been confused the first few times he’d taken a night shift at her door despite his daytime dogging of her footsteps. She half-supposed he slept standing up with his eyes open.

Seeing him sit there with his forearms balanced, wrists hanging over his knees, she rather thought that supposition to be at least partially supported.

“I… suspect I shall be unable to sleep for a while,” she said. “If your concern is to keep an eye out, as you’ve said, I have two eyes myself and am happy to use them. Two ears, even. Please, rest.”

“I am resting.”

“Sleep,” she clarified.

He took a swift breath—then another. “…Princess-“

“You have a duty,” she said. “I, too, have a duty as your sovereign. You are one of my people. Your welfare is therefore my concern. Please…take sleep while I am awake.”

“You’ve only gotten a few hours.”

“And you have had none. I insist,” she said.

He remained still and silent as the crests of waves grew from nearly-black to soft-blue-grey in the growing moonlight. She rather thought he might disobey her entirely, but at length he lay on his own mat, his elbow bent beneath his head.

She presumed he slept.

She allowed the Slate’s light to go out—she hadn’t the concentration to fiddle with its complex inner language—and found a less painful way to sit with her good ankle beneath her bad one. She listened to the sounds of the night, wondering that she wasn’t afraid of some creature stepping from the trees to menace her here.

They weren’t in Hyrule.

She had little idea what to expect, truly, and they didn’t yet know the size of the island—yet she felt unaccountably safe. She would not allow herself to sleep despite her impression. If she did so without waking Link up, he might never sleep another night, and she wasn’t willing to put him through that, regardless of his proficiency at standing, stone in a hall of stone, night after night.

Her face softened in the dark, as the waves seemed to in the fall of silver on their brief emergence ashore.

Surely, such attention from him personally was unnecessary, but she’d only ever spoken to him of it in the context of her own exasperation. What was his context? Did he believe her to be in extreme danger in her own castle? She’d rather thought-

She…

She scrubbed her face with her hands, trying to piece together a coherent thought from the wreckage of her feelings.

It didn’t work. Perhaps she was too tired.

The night’s gentle sounds made a gradual incursion against the noisy jumble in her head. She knew the Slate far better than she knew her knight, and she had yet to figure it out, either.

She settled for watching the sea, eyes as wide as she could make them, to catch whatever glimpse of light she could on the horizon. Inspiration would strike, Goddess willing.

~~~~~

[nerdybluephoenix]

Aliens meet a cat. Cat does not like them at all

I'm gonna answer this prompt with my usual ocs, because it gives me an excuse to redraw some old artwork I made in 2020

New version:

I might finish this drawing another time. Old artwork at the bottom of the post.

///

Captain Evek stepped into the room. Inside, two of her crew members were hunched around an open cage. The human, Constance, was cooing at whatever was inside. Evek could hear a horrible hissing noise inside followed by a low growl.

“I’m sorry - this is the animal you’ve been comparing me to?” Tix, the other crew member, did not look pleased. “It looks nothing like me.”

“What did you drag on my ship this time?” Both crew members looked up at the captain.

“Evek!” Constance happily waved her over. “Look what I found! It’s a cat!” Evek stayed rooted where she stood. She wasn’t going to step closer to some creature making clear warning noises like that.

“...remind me what a cat is?” Evek said. She thought over Tix’s words and her face scrunched up in amusement. “Oh, is it the Earth creature you say looks like Tix?”

“It does not look like-”

“It looks exactly like you!”

Now Evek was curious enough to step closer. If at least cautiously. She got down on her knees to get a better angle at whatever was inside. It was hard to make out with the poor lighting, but it seemed to be a ball of fluff.

“I can’t see it very well,” Evek admitted. “Why is this thing on my ship?”

“I found her. On the ship,” Constance said. “I think she snuck on after our last stop. I can’t believe humans are losing their pets in space already.”

“Are cats dangerous?” Evek said. On the firm “no” from Constance, Evek made up her mind to step over and gently tilt the cage so the cat slid out.

“Wait! You really shouldn’t do that!” Constance said. 

It was too late. Upon being slid out of the cage, the animal popped to life like a firecracker. It flailed about the room, bounced off on walls, and knocked several items over. Tix fled underneath a table and let out a low growl that was much like the cat’s warning sounds. This only spurred the small thing more and it continued to wreak havoc until it finally clamored up a wall and onto a bookshelf. Constance cursed.

“Sorry, I just wanted a better look,” Evek said. She stood to look around the torn apart room then up at the creature on the shelf. From Evek’s height, the cat sat perfectly eye level. She stepped closer. It hissed. “Tix, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Constance is right. It looks a lot like you.”

“It does not,” Tix said from under the table.

“How do we get in back in the cage?” Evek said.

“Carrier,” Constance corrected. “And I have no idea.” She picked up the carrier and brought it closer to the shelf. The cat slunk away until she sat herself between a corner.

“She’s trapped now. Why don’t I just…?” Evek stepped forward and snatched the cat up in two hands. Much like before, the cat burst into panic. Captain Evek held the animal out as it bit and clawed at any skin it could reach. Okay, ow! “I thought you said it wasn’t dangerous?”

“As in, won’t kill you,” Constance said. “You should put her down.” She tried, but trying to place the cat back onto the shelf ended with more flailing and biting. Evek was stuck in an awkward position where if she wasn’t careful, she could drop the cat.

Maybe from exhaustion, the cat suddenly froze in Evek’s hands. It seemed to be glaring at Evek. Judgment practically seeped out of it. She could feel it’s little heartbeat running rapidly in its chest.

“Aww!” Constance cooed. She brought he carrier over and quickly scooped up the animal and closed the door. “She likes you!”

“That doesn’t even begin to be true,” Evek said. She rubbed at her hands, now covered in bite marks and scratches. “I’d like to get that animal dropped off at our next stop. Maybe we’ll find a human who wants it.”

“N’aww, but I kinda want her,” Constance said. She placed the carrier on the table. The cat was curled up in the back again.

“You already have Tix,” Evek said.

Tix came out from under the table to jump on top of it instead. His ears were back and his tail flicked in clear annoyance.

“I am not a cat!”

/// Old Art Under the Cut ///

[satancopilotsmytardis]

100 please. I absolutely adore when shig makes dabi grind on his leg

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: E

Contents: Thigh riding, puppy play, BDSM, dirty talk, cumming in pants

There is nothing that his lover likes more than humiliating him. So it's probably a really, really good thing that Dabi likes to be humiliated just as much. But the fact that his lover has decided that for the past two weeks he would only touch him if he proved he was taking breaks throughout the day to eat, wasn't pushing himself too far during his training, drinking a sufficient amount of water, and going to bed at a reasonable time, means that Dabi hasn't gotten off in two weeks.

He's less than thrilled about that, of course, and when he thinks he might literally set himself on fire from the tension that is coiled up inside of him, he finally gives in and goes to make himself lunch. It's nothing fancy, nothing time consuming. He just used some microwavable sushi rice to make a simple onigiri triangle, got himself a green tea protein shake, and a washed out and finally filled up the water bottle that Shigaraki got him that connects to an app on Duster's phone to show how much water Dabi is actually drinking each day. He takes his cobbled together meal and barges right into Shig's office to eat while he's listening in remotely to some Detnerat meeting. Dabi locks the door behind him and plops down on the couch in front of his desk and very deliberately eats his lunch, listening in as well. It's not that interesting, but Shigaraki likes to know exactly what's going on. He finishes his foot, takes a big deliberate swig of his water bottle and then crosses the room, turning his lover's chair from his desk.

Duster's eyes are all amusement and he doesn't protest once as Dabi lowers himself into his lap, shrugging off his coat as he does. "I took a lunch break, I actually ate, and I drank water. Touch me."

"You also, apparently, forgot about your manners since you've been misbehaving, precious."

"Please touch me." He corrects as he straddles Shig's lap and grinds into him, his cock already stirring from his desperation.

"I'm still in the middle of working, but if you're so desperate to be rewarded, then I think you can get what you need just like this." Duster's hands tighten around Dabi's hips, shifting him easily in his lap until Dabi is straddling one of his thick thighs, his cock pressed tantalizingly into the solidness of that muscle. He's already feeling the temptation to start moving when his lover leans in a little closer and asks in a murmur, "Are you desperate enough for it that you'll take this, puppy?"

Humiliation goes through him, burning hot along his veins and making the skin across his cheeks sting and... his cock harden more. Pressed like this, Tomura feels it as the words go through him and make him hotter, and he lets out a soft chuckle before pressing a kiss to his temple. 

"Go on then, puppy." 

For about half a second Dabi considers if he has enough pride or stubbornness to just get out of Duster's lap and go pout elsewhere. But both he and his lover know by now that he really doesn't have an ounce of dignity when it comes to Tomura and his libido. So instead he hides his face against Shigaraki's neck and ruts his hips forward. Puts more of that delicious pressure against his cock that hasn't been touched in two weeks and makes him moan softly. He starts to shift and roll his hips, looking for the right rhythm and angle to make his pleasure do more than just sit heavy on the edge of his nerves. He wants this to be good. He wants it to be blinding after so long without any stimulation at all. 

It would be better without his pants, but when he reaches for his belt, Shig catches his wrist without even looking away from his computer. Which kind of does make it better, because that means his lover wants him to make a mess of himself. A fresh humiliation in just the right way that has him moaning again as he grinds harder against his thigh. Moaning loudly enough, he supposes, that Duster thinks it's distracting. Because as he starts to move a little harder, a little faster, finding just the right angle to have the harder seam of his pants rubbing between his ladder, Tomura presses three fingers to his lips. Dabi opens his mouth eagerly, licking at his lover's skin voraciously. 

It's been two weeks since he's had Shigaraki's skin between his teeth and he has been missing that as much as his own pleasure at this point. The weight of his deadly fingers pressing down on his tongue to force his jaw to flex open around them has fresh sounds of pleasure spilling out past his lips as he grinds harder, faster, starting to feel the first drops of his pre smearing against his underwear. He catches Duster's wrist with one of his hands, the other catching the back of his chair so that he can have something solid to hold onto and help him move, and he starts fucking his throat open with his hand, fucking himself much rougher in his lap. Getting so hot, so desperate for more, that he feels a drop of saliva slip past his stretched lips and down his chin, and he finally has Tomura's attention on him again. 

Hot red eyes and a cruelly amused smile. "You really are nothing but a needy, drooling mutt, aren't you?" Which has him getting hotter, grinding faster to chase more of those mean, filthy words. "I should have you like this again, naked, of course, since good puppies don't wear clothes." His other hand goes to Dabi's ass and squeezes him through the leather which makes him moan again, fucking himself roughly against his lover's thigh. "But you would be so cute in a tail, seeing it wagging as you get so desperate, making all those little noises." The fingers in his mouth pet over his tongue and along his teeth before pulling out from his lips and letting Dabi's moans and whimpers spill, unmuffled into the office, the meeting still droning on in the background. "Maybe I'll have to get my little pup a muzzle if he's always so loud and distracting." 

"S-Sir," he whimpers, the words are pushing him so much closer to the edge. 

"Ah-ah, that's not how a good dog speaks." He rocks his thigh up into him on his next thrust and Dabi sees stars. He's getting so close and he has to ask for permission before he cums. If he doesn't, he'll be in a world of trouble. "Pretty pups bark when they need something from their masters." 

His humiliation surges so sharply he's afraid he's going to go over the edge before he barely manages to suck in a breath, and he's shaking hard when his voice cracks on a soft, "Arf?" Dabi wants to die when Tomura laughs at him and he finds himself squeezing his thighs tight around the one he's straddling to try and stave off his orgasm that is right there. 

"What a good boy. You can cum now, puppy." 

The tangle of relief, embarrassment, and pleasure that goes through him as he grinds down hard one more time as he cums makes his mind completely whiteout. He's not sure if it's the play or just because he's been denied for the past two weeks, but his orgasm pulses through his body so headily that Tomura has to wrap his hands around his hips and coax his head against his shoulder so that he doesn't slip off of the chair as he goes completely boneless as he moans and whimpers through the aftershocks of his pleasure. He's beyond floating when his lover starts to stroke his hair and rub little circles against the small of his back. 

"Such a good boy. Was that enough for my pretty pup, or does he want to keep playing?" 

Dabi is pretty sure he was supposed to go to a training session for the rest of the afternoon, but he can't do anything but blush as he turns his head to nose along Tomura's jaw. His voice trembles slightly as he lets out a soft bark before he licks his master's skin. 

"Look at that, my puppy is finally so eager to be trained. Come on, puppy, let's get you cleaned up and see if you've earned another treat." 

His lover disconnects from the meeting and Dabi hopes Tomura actually did get him a tail. He wants to show how excited he is to have all of his lover's attention again. Fuck, he’s probably gonna make him crawl around on his knees for him. Anything to make him so embarrassed that the unscarred portions of his face are hot with his blush and the rest of him is burning with arousal. Anything that keeps Dabi humiliated under his master.

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