#anyways pile of wips who?

[katanasspirits]

"Oh my god i have so many wips and i havent posted finished art in a hot minute cause im working on so many personal projects-"

Supprise fanart for twitch streamer the PartyDemoness

#partydemoness #fanart #the design braincell was activated during one of her streams and i went 'oh i know what im gonna do!' #and proceeded to not do what i was thinking of doing to draw this and a pic of her simba holding one of her friends xiskkskrlflf #OH #I should post that one next #Ive been so consumed by the dopamime this fanart gave me bc min said she loved it that i forgot i did that too xiskkwlrlfl #anyways pile of wips who? #im doin faerisami next #after that...? #uuh. #idk #min and sami are like. my 2 main favorite go-to streamers #but there are some others who are my go-tos for like. parallel play #i watch them draw while i draw basically #perpetual inspiration fuel hack #oh should i use her fanart tag on this? #i domt even know if she has a tumblr. i should check that xikskelflf #oh well #might as well #MinPix

[landwriter]

2!

Hounds of Love by The Futureheads. Oh! What a gem!! I first loved this song when I was a wee bab and rediscovered it this past summer. It, along with all my top songs, was on a summer driving playlist which is why it is so insanely high haha. There's a sort of lovely pastoral wildness to this and I think that suits our lads so well.

An outdoorsy AU with competence kink out the wazoo, where Dream is a bird specialist at a wildlife rehabilitative centre, who becomes a minor TikTok celebrity (much to his enormous apathy) when the centre starts doing interpretive meet-birds events and the internet falls in love with this dour hottie who only smiles when he's talking about birds (Matthew, naturally, runs the account). Hob is a hunter - bow, mostly - who is regrettably very on TikTok, very on all social media - he hates the term but he is unquestionably an 'influencer'. He just likes sharing his knowledge and passion, alright? And the gear sponsorships are nice.

He sees Dream, and sees, mostly, a really great collab opportunity, so he messages him, and Dream (who is Matthew, and just shouted HOB FUCKING GADLING? IN MY DMs? at his phone when he got the message, immediately sets up a meeting at the centre. Then he breaks the news to Dream, specifically when Dream is holding Jessamy, so he can't be murdered.)

Dream, of course, expects Hob to be some like, swaggering font of red-blooded machismo talking points, and suspects Hob is only popular because he looks like an advertisement in Outdoor Living. (Matthew showed him pictures.) He disregards Matthew, who says Hob is actually super cool, because Matthew has terrible taste and would be the first to admit it. But his interest is piqued when Lucienne also knows who Hob is. It turns out Hob is deeply involved in nature and wildlife conservancy. Gives talks at schools. Gets involved with land protection initiatives. Teaches orienteering to youth. But everyone seems to expect him to hate Hob, which he would find faintly insulting except that he also expects himself to hate Hob. He doesn't. Not that much. Even when he shows up in a plaid shirt that is made of 'technical' fabric, because he's smart and excited to talk to Dream about birds, has an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of falconry, and most importantly, Jessamy takes to him immediately.

They run into each other again at a renaissance fair, another thing Dream hates but has been strong-armed into doing, and so they are both dressed in very silly clothes when it happens: the first time Hob watches Dream demonstrate falconry, the first time Dream watches Hob use a longbow made from a yew tree he fell himself, the first time they go from a wary sort of respect for one another to a wanting.

Dream, who has a recurring fantasy about running away from it all, listens to Hob tell tracking stories and thinks, If I went into the woods, you would find me. But he doesn't want to run from Hob - except sometimes, when he sees Hob chew on his lip consideringly before giving a thoughtful answer about the guiding industry, or when Hob grins wildly at the crowd after his archery demonstration, and most of all, when Hob phones him out of the blue one day - he doesn't text, he phones - sounding a little breathless with excitement, and asks Dream if he wants to come with him for a week in the mountains, on "probably a wild goose chase" and promises "all sorts of birds if nothing else." (Hob had meant to only share the news with Dream. Fuck, he thinks. I am so fucked.)

He says yes, for the birds, of course, and tells Matthew the next time he's at the centre.

"So what's the wild goose chase?" asks Matthew.

Dream plumbs his memory of the phone call and says, "Hob told me he received a bighorn sheep tag." Matthew gapes at him.

"Holy shit," says Matthew. "He's in love with you."

"He is certainly not."

"Uh, no, respectfully boss, he 'certainly' is. Lucienne!" he shouts, "Hob invited Dream to come out on his Dall sheep tag. What the fuck, right?"

Lucienne comes in and raises her eyebrows. "Oh dear," she says. She's smiling.

"What," says Dream. "It's a sheep. I don't understand."

Lucienne and Matthew exchange a glance.

"Him. I cannot believe Hob chose him," says Matthew.

"Love works in mysterious ways," says Lucienne.

"I am right here," says Dream.

Matthew turns to him, "Have fun in Alberta," he says.

this would ft. nights of wild stars, rugged terrain, type ii fun, sexual tension around a campfire, homoerotic form checks, tent sharing, dream glassing beautiful birds with hob's $3000 binoculars while hob stares at him in abject adoration, dream watching hob strip off his clothes and jump into an alpine lake, and refusing to join him out of pretended prudishness when it's really because he's suddenly so hard it hurts, camp coffee, confessions about themselves instead of confessions about their feelings for each other, sore muscles for a VARIETY of reasons, and lots of allegories about wildness and taming and running away from things, and SO MUCH COMPETENCE KINK, friends. so much. i would probably write it like - act one them leading their separate lives, their desires and aches etc., act two - meetcute and circling one another, act three - The Trip. this one has a very happy ending i can tell

#the sandman #dreamling #'this one won't be more than a few paragraphs' i say #stopping myself NOW ha ha #another AU I Would Write for suuuure #luring you in with the promise brokeback mountain style pastoral yearning #then leaping onto my soapbox and waxing poetic abt our relationship with meat and nature and nonhuman life #about hunting trips and multiday outdoor trips in general as a way of enriching relationships with others #about connecting in profound ways that feel only accessible in a place where humans are exceptions and not the rule #where our endemically lonely society and all the guardedness is stripped away before the beauty and the ache of the suck #wild spaces making room for wild emotions #for humanity #in a way cities and towns do not #ANYWAYS #shout out to the person reading this who understands the significance of a bighorn sheep tag as a feelings confession lol #(hucks this post onto my teetering want-to-make-this-a-WIP pile) #spotify wrapped prompt #my writing

[lindalofbroome]

source: @incorrectdeltoraquotes ‘s post

we need uncle steven and uncle doom content

#(also never too much barda and lindal content) #/// #postlyn #postlyn art #emily rodda #roddaverse #deltora quest #barda of del #lindal of broome #steven of the plains #doom of del #// #im usually too self conscious to tag people loll but #idk i got this post from the blog so #ive also had this in my wip pile for aaaaaaaages asdfSDF #and i also realise that i think i havent posted their brood?? #i may or may not do that in future idk #anyway only mentioning it because like theyre here and i guess it's like i have a whole vision of who they are #but theyre just blobby babies here hahahah #anyway chucking this in the queue #it comes out when it comes out

[void-botanist]

Thade Adventures: Parkour

OCs: Thade Orech-Pabat, Caladea Ores-Pabat, and Pirianus Orech-Pabat

Words: 500

Content warnings: heights, getting kinda made fun of in front of your crush

Taglist: @vacantgodling

“Do you think it’s possible to parkour all the way down to the ground floor from here?” Thade said, leaning against the railing at the edge of the open space that cut all the way down to said ground floor.

“Maybe,” Caladea said, barely looking up from her phone.

He grinned.  “You think I should try?”

She looked up for real.  “No, you can’t parkour.”

“I can totally parkour,” he said, pushing himself up on his arms so that his hips rested against the top of the railing.  He brought one sandaled foot up between his hands—he wasn’t going to go further than crouching on the rail, because he couldn’t parkour, but his foot slipped out from under him and his arms betrayed him and he found himself bent double over the railing, clinging to the slats, his feet barely skimming the carpet.  The fourth floor suddenly looked very high up.  

“Okay, I take it back,” he said.  “Can you help me?”  If he’d been with anyone but Caladea, they probably would have left him there to think about his actions for a while, but she came over right away to haul him back up by his pants waistband.  Which would have worked if he hadn’t chosen this moment to be wearing sweatpants.  Instead of helping, she just pulled down his pants, and he suspected also his boxer briefs.

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” she said like it was an accident, but she was also giggling.  

“Callie, you better not be filming this.”

“I’m not.”  Giggle giggle.  She must be, because she certainly wasn’t helping him.  He kicked his legs a little bit and felt a cold rush of fear as he shifted forward on the rail.  Well, this was fine.  He could just work his way back up the slats with his hands, and he would eventually slide back onto the floor.  It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be faster.  He’d hardly started when he felt familiar rough-edged hands on his hips and he was ungraciously pulled back upright.  As his blood stopped pooling in his head, he beheld Pirianus standing there, frowning as always.  That is, until Caladea showed him something on her phone, and he cracked a tiny blue-edged smile.

“Thanks,” Thade said with zero gratitude, pulling up his stupid sweatpants.  Before he could escape these two chucklefucks, though, Caladea turned her phone on him, and he was met with a photo of himself stranded over the rail, his panicked face looking through the slats, and his hairy asscrack surrounded by ironic hearts and sparkles.  Across the top was the word PARKOUR flanked with party poppers and flames.

“Great, thank you,” he said with a fake smile.  It should have been funny.  He should have been laughing—he could take a joke at his expense any day of the week—but instead he felt his cheeks burning.  “I’ll get that put on my calling cards.”  

He didn’t look at her or Pirianus as he walked away.

#it WAS an accident however. this did not stop her from taking the opportunity #this one actually made me feel kinda bad for him. because yeah normally he would laugh it off and be fine #in fact if Caladea had managed to get him back up onto the floor he would have been howling about that picture #“no put a clown emoji on my face. yes I promise not to fake parkour again” (this is a lie but it will be less dangerous next time) #that's really what she intended. Caladea is not a mean-spirited person #and shouldn't he have been able to see Pirianus's little smile and be fine anyway? but he knows Pirianus doesn't actually like him #and this otherwise hilarious situation is pouring piles of salt in that wound #so anyway I think Thade has spent most of the last thirteen years pining after someone who will not let him in in the slightest #so he laughs it off and is “fine” with it but this is going to be an absolute powder keg when Kiatcarmen dies #(on that note do you think their theme song is Total Eclipse of the Heart) #Marcus's polycule: tearful heartfelt reunion #Minaya's polycule: trying to hold it together through the funeral and coronation #Kiatcarmen's polycule: just two guys. fighting in the hallway. their husband and wife are ignoring them #(Marcus's polycule is betting on whether they're going to wrestle each other in the hallway tbh) #c: Thade #c: Caladea #c: Pirianus #wip: iecunem #rose writ #thade adventures #rose brambles

[alfalfatauri]

one day I though I really don’t like the way some [redacted] fic writers incl me write about Daniel like he’ll fix all the problems and be this super admirable dude. Like nah he’s a rich Australian like all the others he’s also an idiot.

So obviously I had to write 1k words about Max and Daniel being kind of shit. But in like.. a romantic way

#wow she’s writing again!! #who would have thought this day would come??? not my pile of wips that’s for sure #anyway. lol maybe 3 people will read this

[argonianfeather]

i wanna download mod companions for Moonlight but the problem is she is. mildly upsetting to be around for uh. good aligned/decent people (a majority of the followers i wanna download)

#it doesn't matter if ur tamriels dragon savior or extremely polite otherwhise. most people don't like the horrors™ #btw guess whos finally biting the bullet and downloading AE after unsuccessfully troubleshooting SE downgrade/mods for several hours! #lol *rips my own fucking face off and chucks it over a fence* AAEEUGHH #anyways. im also working on sheo!avreths design but seasonal depression and & monthly bullshit™ is beating my shit in. #also i got other wips piling up 2 so. yeuah

[myname-isnia]

“I don’t have a favourite OC what are you talking about??”

Meanwhile…

Number of Suiren pieces in procreate gallery – 24

Number of Midori pieces in procreate gallery - 9

#MIDORI BABY I LOVE YOU I PROMISE #I JUST DON’T HAVE IDEAS ON WHAT TO DRAW YOU DOING TOO OFTEN #to be clear I counted only pieces where each of them were on their own #so like. green opal stuff etc. didn’t count #so I do draw her plenty still #but not more than Suiren #I feel like a bad mom for some reason #like Midori already has a mom who paid more attention to Suiren she doesn’t need another one #(no offence Ming-Hua) #anyway I finally organised my procreate gallery into stacks and will hopefully no longer get as lost in piles of unfinished WIPs

[fiveht]

Proof of life (Adore pt 3)

Hello my sweet angel babies ♥️

I'm not going to be able to adequately express my gratitude for the steady stream of love (and concern, sorry) I've been receiving over the past couple of months. I'm so sorry I've been AWOL, it will definitely happen again. Because see, for me, I usually have to make a choice between social and creative fandom participation. My battery is small, and takes a long time to charge.

Thank you to everyone who's left comments and asks and DMs since I've been gone. I don't think I can respond to all of it, but rest assured those messages ping my cold, dead heart every time I see them.

So I'm gonna go out on a limb here. I did this same thing months and months ago, when I was working on Head Over Feet, and let me be clear: posting even a single word of a WIP goes against my every instinct and principle as an author. I am someone who likes to finish an entire story before I post any of it, and on top of that, I am NOT a fast writer, so the expectations that I'm setting up here might not be advisable. But I did it before and managed to finish the thing, and I want to give you guys something in exchange for being so unbelievably awesome, so here I am again.

This will probably be the only time I mention this story in public until it's finished and posted, and inquiries about my progress are unlikely to help with the writing process, I'm just saying. I reserve the right to change every last word of this before the final draft, and I also reserve the right to fall off the face of the planet and simply never finish it, as much as I will strive to prevent that from happening. Please be patient with me.

Anyway, here is my paltry offering to say thanks for the love: the (VERY rough) first ~1300 words of the third instalment of The Adventures of Soft Daddy and Danger Twink.

Sirius secures his handheld shower head to its holder at the edge of his clawfoot tub, and steps out carefully onto the bathmat. He shivers in the cool air outside the shower curtain; it's about twenty degrees below zero outside, so even if he could afford to run his ancient radiator at full blast, it probably wouldn't help much.

He dries himself off and checks his reflection in the mirror, turning his face this way and that as he tugs his hair out of the bun he'd piled it into to keep it dry during his shower. There's no need for makeup tonight, not when he's not even planning to put on clothes.

It's incrementally warmer when he steps out into the main room of his apartment. He gathers an array of splayed text books and notes from his bed and dumps them carelessly onto the couch, then closes his new laptop and places it delicately on the coffee table. It's the most expensive thing he owns, save for the Gucci backpack currently sitting in his wardrobe with a three-inch berth around it like his shoes and other bags might somehow contaminate it. It's weird owning rich-people stuff when you are still, objectively, broke as fuck.

He perches on the edge of his bed and sets his phone to charge, because his battery doesn't even last a day anymore, and he's going to need it this evening. He tucks it in next to his pillow and picks up his new toy.

The plug isn't much larger than the one he already has. A little longer, which is appealing, but no wider, so it shouldn't be a challenge to get it in comfortably. He disconnects it from its charger and hefts it in his hand, feeling the added weight from the electronics inside.

He picks up his phone, and hesitates when he sees the notification waiting for him.

Rieka: let's go out tomorrow

Rieka: the fact that we haven't been drunk since the term started is criminal

Rieka: we've had two chem labs and zero drinks

Sirius purses his lips, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. There's a fine line here, and he hasn't quite found it yet.

Me: got plans

Me: raincheck?

So complete avoidance is the best strategy, right?

Rieka: booooo 👎

He sighs, but at least she's not asking for an explanation. He opens a different conversation then, pushing all thoughts of Rieka Lupin into a tidy, sealed compartment, not to be opened during certain activities with a certain relative of hers.

Me: i'm ready

Me: are you in your office?

Daddy: Yup, I've got a few minutes

Daddy: Want me to call?

Instead of answering, Sirius hits the call button himself.

"Hey baby," Remus answers. His voice is already smooth and honey-sweet, and just from that, Sirius knows he's planning to lay it on thick tonight.

"Hi daddy," Sirius says with a smile. "Should I put it in now?"

There's a low chuckle over the line. "Are we feeling eager?"

"Always," Sirius says, laying back on his bed.

"Use the good lube I got you, it's gonna be in there a while."

He switches the call to speaker, and snags the bottle from his nightstand. "I threw out the old stuff, you've got me ruined for cheap lube."

"Only the best for that ass," Remus says, and Sirius can hear his smirk.

He gives the plug a liberal coating, running his fingers along its shape, his dick twitching just at the feel of the silky-smooth silicone, at the anticipation of what's about to happen. He spreads his legs wide, drawing one knee up to give himself easier access.

"Take it slow," Remus says, succinctly heading off Sirius' impulse to just shove the thing inside himself in one go. "Rub the tip against yourself, so you're nice and wet."

Sirius shuts his eyes as he obeys, sliding the slick end of the toy over his entrance. "Okay."

"Are you going to be a good boy for daddy tonight?"

"Uh-huh," Sirius says, teasing the very tip of the plug in and out of his hole.

"Tell me how."

"I'm not gonna touch."

"You're not gonna touch, and you're not gonna come."

"Yeah," Sirius says. His cock is starting to harden as his body tries to draw the plug inside. "Can I put it in, daddy?"

"Slow," Remus reminds him, "Slide it in nice and slow for me, baby."

Sirius catches his lip between his teeth and tries to push the plug in slowly, the way he knows Remus would do if he was here. 

The shower has left him relaxed and more than ready, and it's hard not to take advantage, just press the toy in to its limit because he can. But he's working on his patience -- under Remus' careful tutelage -- so he shuts his eyes and tries to savour it, the tease of the plug's rubber tip at his entrance, the slow stretch as he eases it past the slight resistance before he sighs, and his body eagerly accepts the intrusion.

"Mmmm," Sirius sighs as he settles the base of the plug flush against his entrance, shifting his hips and feeling the constant, dull pressure against his prostate.

"How's it feel?" 

"Good," Sirius says, splaying his legs out and just enjoying the pleasant fullness. It's been almost a week since Remus last fucked him, and that's just way too long. Christmas really spoiled him. He tugs the blankets up around him, because it's going to take some time before his body temperature is high enough to fight against the chill in his apartment.

"Have you tried out the settings at all?" Remus asks him, and Sirius picks up the phone, switching off speaker and holding it to his ear.

"No," he says, grinding his ass down against the bed to test the plug's reach inside him. "I thought you'd rather do the honours."

Remus hums, and Sirius hears the phone shifting in his grip. "I'm gonna turn it on, okay? Lowest setting."

"O--" Sirius stutters as the plug buzzes to life inside him, nestled snug against his prostate and sending little zings of pleasure down his legs. "Fuck that feels good. That's the lowest setting?"

"It is," Remus confirms. "Want to run through them all, see how high it goes? Or would you rather be surprised?"

"Mmmm, surprise me."

"Surprise it is," Remus says, and Sirius hears shuffling papers in the background as he prepares for his night class. Psychology 1001, Thursdays, 7-9:30PM. Two and a half hours of a lecture that Remus swears he's given so many times he could recite it in his sleep, so why not give himself something fun to focus on while he goes through the motions? 

Being privy to all of this brilliant, upstanding man's secret perversions is a privilege Sirius does not take lightly.

"You can turn it off from the app if you need to," Remus is saying, "Or you can call me and I'll switch it off. My phone's on vibrate, so I'll see it right away."

Sirius smiles to himself. "Got it," he says, though this is a rehashing of the rules that Remus had laid out when he'd brought the plug over last weekend. He'd called it a "late Christmas gift", as if he hadn't already given Sirius several thousand dollars worth of presents on Christmas morning.

There's more rustling over the line, the squeak of a chair. 

"Tell me again how you're going to be good tonight."

"I'm not gonna touch myself, and I'm not gonna come." The toy is still buzzing away inside him, making everything a little fuzzy at the edges. 

"Tell me why."

"'Cause daddy's in charge, even when he's not here."

"Good boy."

Sirius squirms with pleasure, his cock smearing a little drop of fluid on his belly as the toy hums insistently at his prostate.

"I have to head out," Remus says. "How do you feel?"

"Good," Sirius says, his abs tensing as he shifts his legs and the angle of the toy changes. "Excited."

"Me too," Remus says softly. "I'll talk to you soon, beautiful. Send me some pictures." With a low beep, the call disconnects.

#and i disappear into the night once again #turned off anon asks for the time being #sorry i love you guys i'm just awkward

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Life in the City 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: Heloooooo.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As promised, you’re shown to your new office by the end of the day. You put your meagre box of belongings on the desk and unpack a piece at a time. Isn’t an exhaustive task so you take your time. 

You put your watermelon post-its by the base of the monitor’s pedestal and your cell phone screen lights up. It’s been buried in your bag for much of the day but you took it out to reconnect to your work accounts. Melanie’s name fills the top of the screen. You still haven’t responded to her since the weekend. 

You swipe up your phone and cross the office. You answer as you shut the door, eking out a tiny hello as you turn back and bite your thumb. You pace aimlessly as your stomach knots. You don‘t think you’re mad at her, just embarrassed about how it all turned out. She knows how many times your excitement was burnt to disappointment, you hoped she wouldn’t have added to your pile ashes. 

“Hey, girl, you busy? I’ve been calling you all week.” 

It’s Tuesday, you think to yourself. 

“I’m sorry, I just have a lot going on at work--” 

“That’s great,” she interrupts, “did you see my texts? I really am sorry about the other night. You know, I was stressed. Clark was out of town for his job and I hadn’t seen him all week. Really, I didn’t forget about you, I just thought we were meeting Saturday, not Friday.” 

Your mouth slants as you weigh her excuse. You don’t know if you believe her but it could be true. How long have you been friends? Doesn’t she deserve the benefit of the doubt?

“Everyone gets busy,” you say with a brittle laugh, “I totally get it. Next time I’ll be clearer, that’s all. Make sure there’s no misunderstanding.” 

“Of course,” her voice is trills and is overly affected, “I just wanted to check in since Clark said you were so upset.” 

“He did?” You frown as you stop by the desk and take your stapler out of the box. 

“Uh, yeah, he did. So, in the future, if your upset, you can just let me know, hon,” her tone drips like syrup, “we’re friends, aren’t we? I mean, it’s a big city and we gotta stick together.” 

“Erm, sure, I’m sorry, I didn’t think... I wasn’t upset. I didn’t say anything, you know, I was just tired.” 

“Whatever, hon, it’s behind us now, isn’t it? You forgive me?” She pauses, waiting. 

“Y-yeah?” You answer. 

“Aw, that’s so wonderful,” she chimes, “anyway, you sound busy. You must be working so I’ll let you go. Ciao.” 

She hangs up and you hold the phone to your ear for a moment after the line dies. That was weird. Like she wasn’t really talking to you, but more putting on a show for someone. Strange. 

You drop your arm and a knock comes at the door. You wince and put your phone screen down. You face the door and fold your hands. 

“Uh, who is it?” You call out. 

The door opens and a throat clears, “just me,” Thor says as he enters, “wanted to be sure you got some of the leftovers.” 

He has a container in his hands. You try to blow off the tension and force a smile. You drop your arms straight and drag a finger up and down the seam of your pants. 

“Thanks, that’s too sweet,” you chirp. 

“Ah, I made sure to get you some cinnamon cookies,” he nears and offers the container. 

“Oh, my, I shouldn’t,” you accept the box. 

“You shouldn’t?” He wonders, “you’re not on some diet, are you? You hardly need one.”  

You laugh nervously, “oh, no,” you back up and spin to put the container on the desk. You go back and reach into the box, “I just... I have a rotten sweet tooth, you know? Sugar keeps me up.” 

“Mmm, well, you should indulge. Enjoy. Nothing wrong with allowing yourself the small things,” he goads, “so,” he claps his hands, the sound making you jump, “your office. How do you like it?” 

He looks around theatrically as he pivots. You take out your small blue mug with the teddy bear on it and follow his gaze, “it’s nice. Big.” 

“Yes, I suppose you don’t take up much space,” he remarks, “if you need any supplies, you can just let me know.” 

“Oh, um, I shouldn’t. I... I could just contact finance--” 

“Come to me,” he insists, “accounting takes too long.” 

“Okay,” you agree. 

“Are you excited?” He asks as he turns to you. 

“Sure,” you answer. 

“Mm,” he hums, “you’re sweet, but I don’t want you to stress. If there’s anything overwhelming me, don’t be afraid to let me know.” 

“I know, thank you, Mr. Odinson.” 

“Thor,” he corrects you with a wink, “you don’t know want to know Mr. Odinson.” He grins and you look at him blankly, “my father. He’s an old grump.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you put the cup down and rub your palms together, “it’s been a long day.” 

“It has indeed,” he checks his watch, “you’re almost done... I should let you finish.” He flicks his finger towards your desk, “tomorrow, the heavy lifting begins.” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. 

“Don’t forget your treats,” he points to the container, “you’ve earned it.” 

“Right, thanks again,” your smile trembles as fatigue nips at the corner of your eyes. 

“See you tomorrow morning,” he avows before he spins and goes to the door. 

You return your attention to the box as you sense him hovering at the threshold. You think he’s looking at you but you’re too nervous to check. Finally, the door closes and you exhale and close your eyes. You can’t believe how much today has taken out of you and the days to come promise much of the same. 

🏙️

You yawn as you come out of your building, eyelids heavy and itchy as you rub them with your knuckles. You hitch up your bag as you turn down the sidewalk and cross to the stop on the other side of the street. You barely slept through the anxiety and anticipation. The unknown stresses you out more than anything and you really have no idea what you’re walking into. 

You let your head lean back as you give another silent roar of fatigue. You roll your shoulders and urge yourself to wake up. You got to get with it. You can’t show up at the office half-asleep. 

The whir of an engine approaches and you look towards the direction of the bus route. Its too quiet to be a bus. Instead, there’s a vaguely familiar car that slows instead of passing. You squint and cross your arms defensively. You have to keep reminding yourself this is the city. 

The window rolls down as you bounce on your feet awkwardly, “hey,” your name rises in the deep timbre. 

You bend and find Clark smiling at you. Of course! That’s why you recognised his car. 

“Heyyyy,” you say, “what are you doing... here?” 

“Working on a story, actually. Was in the area and... what timing, huh?” He pushes his shoulder up as he keeps one hand on the steering wheel, “you on your way to work?” 

“Yup,” you answer brightly, swallowing another yawn, “bus should be here soon.” 

“The bus? Get in, I’ll give you a ride.” 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to... that’s too far.” 

“Where do you work?” 

“Tempest,” you answer. 

“Tempest? That’s right by the paper. I’ll take you, no problem.” 

“Really?” Your brows arch dramatically, “that’s so nice of you.” 

“Of course,” he pats the passenger seat and the door unlocks with a loud click.

“I owe you one." You open the door and get in, tempted to melt into the seat. It’s so much better than the stiff ones on the bus. Ugh, your head is tenuous at best. It could start pounding at any minute. 

“How are you?” Clark asks as you buckle in. 

“Alright,” you repress yet another yawn, “how are you? How’s Melly?” 

“Melly?” He chuckles, “she’s fine, I think. I'm... fine too.” 

“Oh...” you twiddle your fingers in your lap as he slowly leans on the gas and pulls away from the curb, “just fine?” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve just been... talking a lot. You know, relationship stuff,” he drives with one hand, combing his other through his hair. 

“Ah, right,” you nod, “hopefully it’s okay.” 

“Huh,” he scoffs and puts his other hand on the wheel, “you’re a good friend.” 

“I... guess,” you shrug. “I... I just think Melanie really likes you.” 

“Oh, I know she does,” he laughs, “doesn’t keep her from being... how she is. I like her too but we both know she can be very demanding.” 

“She can be,” you agree, “but I think that’s just her personality. Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.” 

“Why would you want that?” he asks. 

“Er...” 

“I just mean, you’re you. Everyone’s different right and you’re just so sweet,” he says, “this world has enough Melanies.” 

“Maybe,” you turn your head and cover your mouth as you yawn at the window. 

“I’m dying for a coffee,” Clark says, his tone shifting smoothly with the topic, “how about you? Green tea?” 

You look at him. He remembers your order? You rub your cheek and drop your hand to your lap. 

“I’m okay, but thank you--” 

“Really, it’s no big deal,” he flips the blinker on, “I need an espresso so, how about it? Iced, hot?” 

You bite the inside of your lip. You really could use a boost. You don’t often get the chance. Your bus ride is too long to factor in a cafe run. 

“Could I get a matcha latte, iced? I have some change,” you open your bag and shove your hand inside. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves you off. 

“Really, you’re giving me a ride. The least I can do--” 

“The least you can do is let me buy your drink,” he insists, “because I kinda have a big favour to ask you.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah, uh, it’s for Melanie. You must know her birthday is coming up.” 

“Yeah, I know--” 

“I really wanna work through things with her and I figured if I threw her a party, maybe it’s better than all this talking,” he joins the queue for the drive thru, “and you’ve known Melanie a lot longer than me so you’re like an expert. Do you think you could help me out?” 

“A birthday party? Well, I... could try. Mel’s always been the one into parties and planning and all that.” 

“I’m not good at it either but you know what she likes. I could use help at least with colours or whatever,” he suggest, “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to. I’m not going to blackmail you with a car ride and a latte.” 

You laugh rockily, “well, I could try. It wouldn’t be so bad and I should do something special. We’re both finally living in the same city. Maybe this would help with us too.” 

“Us? You and... Mel?” 

You give him a look then look through the windshield. You fidget as he rolls up to the speaker and orders. You wait until he’s done. 

“Things were awkward the other day when I crashed your date night,” you say, “I’m sure you caught on.” 

“Yeah, yeah, she wasn’t very gracious,” his tone lowers sharply. 

“It’s okay. She didn’t mean anything. I’m not upset--” 

“Did she apologise?” He asks abruptly. 

“Uh, yeah, of course, but she doesn’t have to--” 

“I think you deserve the apology,” he interrupts again. “You know, you don’t deserve to be walked all over like that. Hell, if I had friend like you, I think I’d treat you a lot better.” 

“I’m not upset,” you assure him, his mood making you uneasy. It’s flattering he would be so upset on your behalf but you’d rather just put it all behind you, “she said sorry, it’s all good.” You wiggle your foot as you think, “alright, I can help with the party.” 

“Ah, yes, you’re a life saver,” he pulls up to the window and pays. He gets the drinks and hands you the matcha before he slips his in the cup holder, “great, I’ll get your number and we can throw around ideas when you have a chance.” 

“Oh, yeah, sure, I could...” the cup soaks your hands in condensation, chilling you, “I’ll do my best. I have a new assignment at work so I’ll be a bit tied up.” 

“No problem, whenever you can. Hope you don’t mind if I send you a couple of pictures I saw,” he says, “tryna come up with a vision, you know?” 

“That’s cool,” you pause to sip the matcha, nearly sighing at the refreshing flow that coats your stomach, “thank you so much for the tea.” 

“Any time,” he says as he pulls out into the street, “anything you need at all.” 

#clark kent #thor #dark clark kent #dark thor #dark!clark kent #dark!thor #clark kent x reader #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #life in the city #au #multifandom #dcu #dc #marvel #mcu #avengers #superman

[theragethatisdesire]

"l’amore è cieco" - eren x reader - 18+!!!

back to the ti penso universe!!! finally!! did you guys miss it? i know i did; i am utterly obsessed with these two. i've had this sitting in my unfinished wip pile for way too long not to share.

our lovebirds have gotten the wedding all wrapped up with, so we're a solid four years past them reuniting in italy....and surprise! they're expecting!!!!! i could literally scream just writing that; the grip dad!eren has on me will never let up, i fear......anyways, this one's a little rough because i've picked it apart a thousand times and i'm just tired of editing, so you guys enjoy!!! sorry if it's not quite up to par :/

pairing: eren x reader

wc: 4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, reader is pregnant, use of names (baby, mama, pretty, beautiful, etc), swearing, vaginal sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, lactation kink, creampie, crying, tooth-rotting fluff

title means "love is blind" in italian, per tradition w this verse <3

-

Right on schedule with your new daily, depressing routine, you stand in front of the mirror running your hands over your body, examining the recent changes. On second thought, scrutinizing might be a better word.

You’re grateful your job has allowed you to work from home for your entire pregnancy, editing articles from the journalists who can actually travel while snuggled up on your couch, but the downside of it is that you’ve had far too much time to mull on all of the ways your body has stretched and warped to accommodate the growing little girl in your stomach. You thought pregnancy was supposed to be beautiful, and sometimes it is, but more often than not, you just feel like a swollen, hormonal mess.

You “popped”, as all the mommy podcasts say, about two weeks ago, and thin stretch marks have begun to appear on your stomach. Eren calls them your “tiger stripes”, having been in full-blown cringe dad mode since the day you took the test. Bizarre cravings control you at all hours of the day, evidenced by the little black crumbs you’re picking out of your sports bra, left behind by your fourteen-Oreo breakfast today. You gaze longingly at the jewelry box on your bathroom counter; you haven’t been able to wear your wedding band in weeks, the tan line already beginning to fade from your finger. Before you can get a hold of yourself, the hormones have you in their grip, and hot, frustrated tears are spilling down your cheeks.

“Babe, have you seen that tie with the red–” Eren materializes in the doorway with absolutely no warning, as he’s prone to do, but cuts himself off at the sight of you, “baby, no, again?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you say, reluctantly allowing him to take you in his arms.

“Like what?” Eren’s voice is sweet, but hesitant. He’s been living under the constant threat of getting his head bitten off for mundane reasons because of you. It makes you feel worse, makes you shove him away and glare at him accusingly.

“Like I’m always fucking crying.” You are always crying, but you wish he would at least muster up some semblance of surprise at finding you in tears yet again. You turn away from him, wiping your face in the mirror. “Shouldn’t you be packing? Your flight leaves in like, three hours.”

“I’ll cancel,” Eren coos, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, picking your belly up in his hands.

It’s some hack he got off Tik Tok, supposed to take the weight off of your back for a precious moment, and as much as you don’t necessarily want to be touched right now, it actually helps. You’ve been alternating between thinking Eren’s overenthusiastic parenting research is adorable and mind-numbingly annoying, but for the moment, your back has stopped aching for the first time all morning, and you sigh, leaning into him.

“You can’t cancel,” you murmur, momentarily soothed, “‘s a big client. Where is it again? France?”

“I just got back from France, Miss Pregnancy Brain,” Eren chuckles, quieting immediately upon catching your lethal gaze in the mirror. “It’s just over in LA, and honestly, I could have Hitch go if you need me.”

“No, I can take care of myself, it’s just like…” a fresh wave of tears spills down your cheeks, “fuck, I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

Eren nods into your shoulder, letting you sniffle. It’s not a new trait, your outright refusal to ask for help, but it’s been exacerbated by your pregnancy, especially considering exactly how much help you actually need now.

You’ve taken custody of all of his sweatpants, not yet able to bring yourself to buy maternity clothes. You’d walked in sobbing and humiliated the other day because you’d peed yourself on the long elevator ride up to your apartment in front of the neighbors. You can’t sleep on your stomach anymore; Eren has to prop himself up just right beside you and sandwich you between himself and a wall of pillows to stop you from turning. You know it hurts him seeing you miserable, and you try to suck it up and enjoy the positives of pregnancy as much as you can, but you can’t muster up that strength every day.

“Hush,” Eren pulls your wet face to his chest, letting you stain the Number 1 Dad! t-shirt he had bought himself. “I’m not going.”

“Eren–”

“I’m not,” he says firmly, rubbing small circles into the bottom of your spine, “you need me here, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You grumble complacently, nuzzling into him. You do need him, as much as you want to think you can tough it out on your own. Eren’s bought book after book, not just for the baby, but for you. Most nights you find him reading titles like You’ve Made the Baby…Now What? or How to Survive Pregnancy: A Guide for Men with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a habit that, despite your efforts, you cannot nag him out of. It’s cute, honestly, how over-the-top he’s gotten with baby prep, especially when you’re often too exhausted to wrap your mind around reading a parenting guide.

“I feel ugly,” you admit quietly, sticky and snotty against his shirt. “I feel disgusting.”

“What?” Eren’s reaction is one of genuine confusion. He pushes you away from him so he can search your face, waiting patiently for you to elaborate.

“I’m gaining an obscene amount of weight, my ankles are the size of my knees, I can’t wear a single one of my rings, what am I supposed to feel like?”

Eren frowns. “Those things are supposed to happen. I read last night–”

“I don’t care!” Your voice cracks under the weight of your frustration, and you press your fingers into your eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to regain control of your temper. “I don’t care that it’s supposed to happen. It still sucks.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Eren sounds earnest, but you scoff at him anyway.

“We’re married. You’re supposed to say that.”

“I don’t have to.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “If you want your head to stay on your shoulders you do.”

Eren laughs at that, tugging you over to stand between his legs as he sits on the bed. “So, you’re serious? You genuinely don’t think you look good pregnant?”

“No,” you rub at your nose, “I don’t.”

Eren looks up at you, cupping your face gently. “I disagree.”

“Do you really?”

“I think you look better than ever.”

“That’s an insult to non-pregnant me,” you roll your eyes, moving to step away, but Eren holds you tight between his legs.

“It’s not,” he insists, “there’s just some things your pregnant body has that you didn’t necessarily have before. Some things that I like.”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Cankles?”

Eren chuckles breathily, shaking his head. “I adore your cankles, but they weren't exactly the first thing that came to mind. Take these, for one thing.”

Eren presses his nose into your sports bra, hands moving up underneath to palm at your swollen tits. You let out a breathy laugh as he explores, already feeling a low heat beginning to simmer in your core. That’s one perk of entering your second trimester; your hormones might turn on a dime, but your sex drive has skyrocketed.

Eren shoves your bra up to free your tits, groaning appreciatively as he takes a nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking. You watch as he feels his way around with his mouth, humming contentedly under your breath, when suddenly, his eyes fly open and he shoots away from you.

“What?”

Eren shushes you, bringing a hand to the breast that had been in his mouth and squeezing lightly. White liquid beads on your nipple, and you cover your face in shame.

“When did that start?”

“A few days ago,” you admit, trying to push his hands off of you, cheeks burning. Eren swats you away, leaning back into your nipple, sucking harder. You can feel a small stream of milk leaving you, relieving some of the pressure in your tits; a moan rumbles deep in Eren’s chest, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Eren releases your nipple with a loud pop and looks up at you panting, eyes blown wide.

“Is it weird that that’s kinda hot?”

“Probably.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you hum, threading your hands through his hair and urging him back to your chest, “feels good.”

That’s all Eren needs to hear, diving back into your chest with renewed vigor. As he continues, you realize it doesn’t just feel good, it actually feels incredible. You’ve always had sensitive breasts, but with the pregnancy, sensation has increased tenfold; you can feel your panties getting wetter as the weight of your full breast decreases. When Eren’s gotten all he can from your left nipple, he moves to your right, replacing his mouth on the now-abandoned nipple with his hand to twist gently at the wet skin.

The combined sensation makes your knees buckle; Eren saves you smoothly by wrapping an arm around your lower back, yanking you to him to straddle his leg. It’s the perfect angle for you to roll your hips against his thigh slowly, feeling the much-needed friction of his sweatpants against your cunt.

“Eren…” you breathe out, voice nothing more than a wisp of air.

“I know baby,” Eren speaks directly into your flesh, not willing to back away for even a moment, “feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Feels so good,” you whimper, clutching him to you with fistfuls of his hair.

“Told you this new body’s not so bad, hm?” Eren closes his teeth down on your nipple lightly; you almost keel over from the shockwave it sends through you.

You nod, rubbing yourself against his thigh faster. It’s awkward and cumbersome with your belly in the way, but it’s enough for now, enough to light your nerves on fire in that way that only Eren’s ever been able to.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” Eren mutters, grabbing onto your hips to help you get your rhythm right, “you’re so perfect, and you don’t even see it.”

Your fingers dig into his arms as you moan. “But my stomach–”

“But nothing,” Eren kisses you, mumbling into your mouth, “love your stomach, love your tits, love all of it. You think it doesn’t make me so fucking hard, watching you walk around with that big belly and knowing what it came from? I did that. We did that, didn’t we baby?”

“Mhm,” you bite into his shoulder, the friction on your clit through your sweatpants is getting to your head, making you dizzy. “Eren, Eren–”

“Sh sh sh,” Eren shushes you, moving so that he can look you in the eyes, “what do you need? Tell me.”

“I don’t– I don’t know, I just…” you can’t find the words, so in need of him that you can’t even decide what sounds best. His mouth? His fingers? All of it?

“Okay, okay,” Eren says quietly, standing you both up only to lay you against the pillows, “I’ve gotcha.”

He nudges his sweatpants down your legs, bringing your panties with them, spreads your legs so he can see the most intimate part of you. Eren brings his hand to your clit, rubbing tentatively, but you’re so desperate for him that it’s enough to make your back arch, a long, throaty moan ripping out of you. He lays beside you, gently playing with your clit and watching in awe at the reaction you give him, already a blubbering mess after only a few minutes.

“So sensitive, aren’t you mama?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, a fresh wave of arousal flooding you at the name, “s-so sensitive. Need to cum, I need, n-need–”

“I’ll make you cum,” Eren promises, sinking a finger into you, “I’ll make you cum, baby.”

“Fuck, Eren, it’s– I can’t–”

“Feel good?”

“So fucking good,” you’re basically sobbing at this point, fingers clenched into the muscles of his bicep, clinging to him and humping his hand. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sex over the first trimester (“What if I hit the baby’s head?” Eren had asked nervously whenever you approached him) or the rawness of the sensation against your over-sensitive body, but you’ve never been so close to your orgasm so quickly.

You don’t hold out long; Eren’s skilled with even just one finger, and before long, you’re crying out his name, gushing all over his hand. Eren presses his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss despite having utterly destroyed you less than thirty seconds ago.

“Ready for me?”

“Sit,” you pant, pointing to the massive stack of pillows against your headboard. Eren raises his eyebrows in surprise, but does as he’s told, only pausing to pull his clothes off. The loss of the stupid dad t-shirt is a relief as much as feeling his bare chest under your hands. Due to your hormones, you’ve thrown Eren out of the house several times, and you’ve demanded to be alone enough to where his only solution is to go to the gym downstairs and work out until you’ve calmed down. It shows: his chest has grown broader and stronger, and the veins on his arms are nearly popping through the skin. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” Eren offers a shit-eating grin, flexing his bicep ever so subtly. “You should see yourself.”

“You seriously think I look good like this?” You’re straddling his hips now, rubbing your clit on his bare cock. It’s a lewd sight, his cock drooling on his abs, glistening with your cum; your cunt clenches around nothing, more than ready to be filled.

“Mhm, you look so fucking good like that,” Eren grunts, hands finding your hips again and lifting you up to sink you down on his cock, both of you letting out loud, satisfied groans, “but you look much better like this.”

You grind your hips against his, not possessing the energy to bounce your now-heavier body, but it makes you see stars. Eren rarely lets you ride him, much preferring to bend you over or pin you to the bed himself, but with your bump, you now have an excuse to hop on top of him whenever you like. It’s been close to a decade of fucking him, but the full stretch of him never fails to shock you, the way he pushes into you until you’re positive he’s in your stomach. With Eren sitting up, his cock stays firmly nestled against your g-spot, pushing little bits of squirt out of you with each movement of your hips.

“Eren–” you whimper, holding your breasts as you rock into him.

“Shit- you’re so tight like this,” Eren says through his clenched jaw, throwing his head back against the headboard, “why don’t you ride me more often?”

“You don’t let me,” you say with a watery giggle.

“Stupid,” Eren gasps, “‘m so fucking stupid.”

You’re too fucked out to voice your agreement, opting for sliding a hand down your body to flick at your clit. You can’t quite reach it around your bump, though, a discontented noise leaving your lips. Eren opens his eyes, takes notice of the way you’re hunching your back, and swats your hand away.

“I got it, I got it,” he pants, tucking his hand underneath your swollen belly to rub your clit just the way he knows you like it.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you choke out, throwing your head back.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” you hiss, “‘s perfect.”

“Take what you need, mama,” Eren’s watching you intently, a glimmer of admiration in his eye, “take what you need.”

You’re moaning pitifully, loud and wanton as Eren’s cock moves inside of you. Your cunt tightens around him desperately as the bubble building in your stomach threatens to explode.

“Think you get wetter like this, all swollen with my baby,” Eren muses, leaning forward to latch his mouth around one of your nipples where more milk has already started to pool. His words have a visceral reaction on you; you cry, tears welling in your eyes as you spiral towards your release. 

“I think–I think I’m gonna– oh fuck, don’t stop,” you croon, rocking your hips as fast as you can manage. Eren mumbles around your nipple, something about how beautiful you look, and you come undone around him, grinding your hips hard against his and cradling him to your chest. He might have a point- there’s damn near a puddle of your arousal at the base of where you’re connected, slicking up the skin on his hips and the inside of your thighs.

“Better?” Eren pulls you in for a kiss; you can feel him grinning through it.

“Maybe a little,” you admit, laughing light and watery against his mouth.

“Mmm,” Eren hums, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you only to drop you down again and turn your laughter to a quiet whimper, “not good enough. Need you to be much better.”

“Fuck me, then,” you nip at his bottom lip, earn yourself a deep groan.

“Can you— can you hold yourself up like this?” Eren scooches both of you down, albeit, a little awkwardly, so that he can lay flat on the bed. He moves you up until you’ve only got him halfway inside of you, cocking a questioning eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, I–I think so.”

“And you’re sure I’m not going to hurt–”

“Jesus Christ– no Eren, it’s fine, just– fuck,” he cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips up into yours, grinning menacingly when your eyes roll back.

“Like that?”

“Just like that,” you moan, annoyance wiped from you with one clean stroke. Eren takes that for the green light that it is and starts pistoning his hips up into you, swearing under his breath. Even though he’d instructed you to hold yourself up, he makes good use of his new muscles, suspending you at the perfect height to feel every inch of him as he fucks up into you like his life depends on it.

“You look so fucking gorgeous like this,” Eren growls, “all swollen with my fuckin’ baby. Gonna keep you like this, give you as many as you want.”

“Eren–” you choke out, suffocating on the way he’s fucking you, his words, him. For the first time in months, you feel amazing, holding your chest and groaning long and loud as Eren thrusts up into you.

“Baby, I’m- fuck, not gonna–” Eren cuts himself off with something that sounds suspiciously close to a whimper, throwing his head back.

“Cum in me,” you pant, nodding urgently at him, “want it so bad.”

“Oh fuck,” Eren groans, hips moving impossibly faster. His fingers are digging into your hips near to the point of pain, and that little frown he makes when he’s about to cum is crumpling his face. You do want it, badly.

“Please Eren, I need it,” you gasp, legs trembling on either side of his hips.

“Fucking love you, love you so much,” Eren slurs, hips stuttering. With a long, throaty moan, he slams you down one final time, cumming deep inside of you. You grind against him as he does, moaning along with him at the familiar warmth in your belly. Exhausted, you momentarily forget about your bump and try to collapse facefirst on him- that’s enough to snap Eren out of his post-orgasm haze.

“Whoa, whoa,” Eren shoves you back upright, lifting you under your shoulders and laying you on your back, “careful.”

You wince. “Shit, sorry. Sometimes I forget. It’s still sort of new.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, eyes locked lovingly on your baby bump, “love it, though.”

“Really?”

Eren cocks a disbelieving eyebrow at you. “If that didn’t convince you, I don’t know what will.”

You giggle at that; he’s always been good at this, cheering you up and diffusing your worries like it’s second nature. After ten years, it probably is at this point.

“I don’t mean to be so down on myself, really,” you sigh, tracing a finger over where his hand’s splayed on your stomach, “it’s just…so much harder than I thought it would be.”

Eren nods thoughtfully. “That’s reasonable. But you’re so good at it.”

“I haven’t even– what?” The insecurities that you’ve been successfully masking under good natured teasing and occasional annoyance come slipping from between your lips. You’ve thought it for weeks; how Eren’s so into all the baby stuff, so enthusiastic about learning everything he can, while all you’ve managed is trying not to gag when he cooks eggs in the morning and picking out some onesies. “What about all of your books and your podcasts and crap? You’re the one doing everything.”

“That’s all I can do,” Eren scoffs, “you’re doing all the hard stuff, like carrying the baby around and puking every morning and crying all the time–”

“Hey!”

“I’m serious,” Eren shushes you, “you’re putting in all the legwork. I mean, you’re literally growing our baby. You’re a fucking rockstar mom already. If anyone’s not doing enough here, it’s me.”

That’s one thing about Eren that will never get easier; his deep, unwavering admiration for you, no matter what you’re doing. Sure, it’s endearing when Eren spins you around in his arms for something as simple as finally getting that croissant recipe to come out well, but when he’s praising you for something that’s actually difficult? It’s sweet enough to give you a cavity, warm your heart, and turn your cheeks pink all at once, even after all this time.

“Well, if you’d like to take a shift carrying her around, be my guest. She’s a chunky little thing already,” you roll your eyes, tucking your face into Eren’s ribs to mask the flush rising to your face.

“I’d do it for you if I could,” Eren sighs in faux-thoughtfulness, “but I wouldn’t look half as hot.”

You giggle furiously when he lands a slap to your ass, swatting at his chest. “God, it still doesn’t feel real, does it? A little girl that’s half you, half me.”

“It does and it doesn’t,” Eren shrugs, bringing a hand back to your stomach, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been thinking about it since Italy.”

You gape at him. “That long?”

“You know I’m always ahead of you on this stuff,” Eren teases, squeezing your cheeks together, “knew I wanted you first, knew I wanted you back first, knew we should get married…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes at his bragging, “it’s just, like…are we ready? To do this?”

“This?” Eren cocks his head.

“The whole…‘parents’ thing.”

“Putting aside the fact that you're way too late to be having those kinds of thoughts,” Eren says, rubbing your lower back, “of course we’re ready. There’s no perfect parents, but I believe in us– believe in you. Gonna be the best mama any baby’s ever had, I know you will.”

“I don’t even…oh, Eren.” You’re tearing up again–damn hormones. Eren wipes at your tears, planting a big kiss on your forehead.

“I mean it. You’re going to be great, already are,” he says, smiling down at you. He holds you just like that for a few moments, letting you nuzzle into his chest, until his little grin grows wicked. “Although…the only thing I can say I am worried about is which one of us is going to accidentally teach her her first swear word. Should we bet on it?"

Even through your tears, you cock an eyebrow at him. “You and I both know that’s going to be Jean. Especially after what you taught Clara the last time we babysat.”

Eren barks out a laugh. “Hey, hearing her call Jean ‘Daddy Jackass’ was funny, and you know it!”

“Thanks for reminding me,” you smirk, “now I know what I’m teaching our little girl first.”

“No way!”

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fanfic #eren jaeger fanfiction #ti penso universe #ti penso uni

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @primtheamazing, @beatrice-otter, @qwertynerd97, and LadyLeocadia, who all picked the same WIP; Kara gets to Earth on time and the Kents get a two-for-one special on free kids.

Ma and Pa take her and Kal to a quaint little brick building and lead them inside. It's full of things Kara can't identify, but also racks and racks of clothes and dishware and furniture. She's briefly bewildered by the place, unsure if it's just a very unusual tailor shop or . . . what, exactly. Then she realizes–Smoll-Veel is a Laborer settlement, so this is probably just a clothing shop. She's never been to one before–the House of El always uses tailors–but Laborers must wear through their clothes much faster and need replacements for those clothes much faster, so of course they wouldn't always have time to wait for a tailor, when they just need to get back to work. And Laborers' work clothes must be much plainer than most tailors would be interested in making anyway, really. No demonstration of skill or fashion or anything similar. Nothing to really interest a real Artisan.

Ma guides Kara through the oddly-arranged racks of clothing and starts taking different items off them, and Pa disappears somewhere else when Kara is distracted by a particularly soft and pretty dress that Ma holds up to her. It worries her for a moment, for no good reason. Like he's just vanished from the universe and won't ever come back; like he's just dust and ash and dead and gone–

Kara forces herself not to think about it and smiles at Ma, who smiles back. Kal burbles and tries to stick his whole fist in his mouth, and Ma laughs fondly at the sight. Kara wants to cry. Instead she presses a kiss to his hair and holds him just a tiny, tiny bit tighter. He giggles and smacks her in the face with his spit-sticky hand.

She needs to take care of him. Needs to protect him. Needs to keep him safe.

He's the only thing she has left to keep safe.

The only thing she has left at all, except for their smashed-up ships and the clothes she came here wearing and the blanket he's all wrapped up in.

Kara tries not to think too much, and smiles at another pretty dress as Ma holds it up too. Ma picks out a few more things–a skirt or two, a pair of pants made of the same sturdy blue material as the jacket Kara's wearing, some strange tops with very short sleeves–and it's all soft and unstructured and very peculiar-looking, to be honest, but it seems to please Ma to pick them out with her and also beggars really can't be choosers.

And Kara does think the dresses are pretty.

Pa comes back with his arms full of–toys, maybe? They look like toys. Kara blinks in confusion. Why is he . . .

Pa holds up one of the toys, a soft little thing that looks a bit like a dog and is even white and floppy-eared like Krypto was, and offers it to Kal. His little face lights up in unabashed delight as he reaches for it, and Kara nearly cries.

Kal squishes the toy in a hug and then starts chewing on one of those floppy ears. Kara nearly cries again.

Ma and Pa really are just that kind, she thinks. Feeding them and giving her clothes is already so much, but they didn't need to offer Kal a toy. That's . . .

They didn't need to do that.

Or any of this.

Ma makes an approving sound; Pa looks pleased. Kal coos happily at his toy.

Kara keeps not crying, but it's getting harder and harder to manage.

She can't possibly repay them for this. They must know that. How could she? She's not from this planet; she doesn't speak its language or know anything about it. She can try to be another "Kent" for them, maybe, but that's all she could possibly do: basic Laborer work, not even anything specialized. Certainly nothing with any real experience necessary to it.

And even if she did, it'd be more so she could take care of Kal than to repay them anyway, so . . .

She doesn't understand why they're being so kind.

Ma takes the pile of clothes and leads the way to a little row of curtained doors off to the side of the shop. Kara isn't sure, for a moment, but thinks–are they fitting rooms, maybe? Though there aren't any tailors in them, when she peeks into the one Ma is hanging up all those clothes in. She can only assume she's just supposed to try them on and see if they fit. Which seems like a time-consuming process, really, but is admittedly much less time-consuming than a tailor making a full wardrobe's worth of custom pieces from scratch.

Kara takes Kal into the fitting room with her and tries on the clothes while he plays with his new toy, and she can mostly breathe as long as she keeps an eye on him. She probably should've left him outside with Ma and Pa instead of having him sit on the floor in here while she goes through all the clothes one by one, but with the curtain drawn she wouldn't have been able to see him and then . . .

She exhales. Tries on another skirt. It's pretty. Soft and shapeless, but with interesting pleats in it and a bright blue and yellow pattern.

She thinks her mother would've liked it, and then tries not to think.

She's been trying not to think a lot, at this point.

Kal is so little. So small and defenseless and she's not even come of age, technically, she's only–

Well, no, Kara realizes. She must be sixteen by now. After the sleep-stasis in the ship on the way here . . .

She swallows. Reaches for another skirt to try on. It's pink.

She's sixteen, and her parents are dead.

She's sixteen and her parents have been dead.

And so are Kal’s, and she's the only thing he has in the universe.

Kal giggles. Baps her leg with his soft toy and makes a playful growling sound.

Kara buries her face in the skirt and sobs in silence, all hitched breaths and messy, painful tears.

She wants her mom.

#kara zor el #clark kent #ma and pa kent #superfamily #primtheamazing #beatrice-otter #qwertynerd97 #ladyleocadia #rinfic #long post #wip: kara gets to earth on time

[gabessquishytum]

Hob mistaken for a prostitute by Dream.

Hob is just sitting in this hotel bar getting a drink when this blazingly hot man walks up to him and starts talking.

Hob's leaving tomorrow and had been in dumb meetings all day selling his tech company for more money than he thought existed for an idea he came up with his late wife; He and Robyn will be set for life (2 or 3 lives). Hob just wanted a drink to decompress (and quietly freak out). Somehow, this hot guy, who didn't share his name, talked Hob up to his room and blew his back out/they blew each others' backs out (Hob honestly stopped tracking when they front'ed against the room door to a fast 1st one each).

When Hob wakes up the next morning to a pile of cash and a note on hotel stationary saying 'thanks and hope this covers it + tip', he's gobsmacked. 1. It was a lot of money - at least he's a good whore; and 2. Hob didn't think they connected for a long term thing or anything, but he certainly didn't think his stranger thought he was on the job!

Well, life is weird and full, and this will be a great story for his friends at the pub -- Joanna is going to give him so much sh*t. Hob certainly doesn't expect to see his stranger again, now.

This is my new favourite thing. I’m actually so tempted to throw this in my wip pile because omg. I LOVE sex worker Hob, but not-actually-a-sex-worker Hob is so fucking funny and weirdly hot.

Anyway, it keeps Hob from moping as he starts his new life with Robyn. Whenever he’s sad he has a little chuckle about that night. He’ll mutter “chin up, you’re a good whore remember?” whenever he’s having a crisis. He’s moved to this smallish village with a school for Robyn and a nice little pub where Hob has taken on a few shifts that he doesn’t need but hey, they were short staffed. He’s made a small circle of friends and Robyn’s grandparents are just down the road. It’s a very comfortable life.

And then one night he’s hanging out with his friends at the pub, and someone new comes in. Hob doesn’t get a glimpse until Joanna waves the stranger over and introduces him as an old uni mate.

It’s the guy. The hot guy who paid him £4000 cash for sex. Holy shit.

Their eyes meet and Hob feels his face turn bright red. The stranger introduces himself as Morpheus and sits down awkwardly next to Hob, while the rest of the group dissolves back into chatter. Which would be fine, except — Morpheus starts whisper-asking polite questions about Hob’s job. Do his friends know? Should Morpheus be discreet about their encounter? Is Hob being safe? Hob nearly dies there at the table. How’s he supposed to tell the guy that he’s a millionaire, not a rent boy?!

The worst part is, Morpheus is so fucking hot. Hob wants him all over again. And because he’s a fucking idiot, he lets Morpheus take him back to the little B&B he’s staying at nearby. Once again Hob is fucked into sweet oblivion in several different rooms, and when he’s too sore to go any more he takes over and finally fucks Morpheus on the actual bed. Morpheus gives him permission to stay the night and Hob thinks that he really, REALLY needs to come clean but. They both fall asleep.

In the morning over coffee in the kitchen, Morpheus says “I am afraid I only have £500 in cash. Do you have a PayPal account?” Just as Joanna pops in through the back door (it’s her girlfriend’s b&b, she has a key).

“Oh my GOD, Hob.” She says. “This is why EVERYONE assumes that you’re a whore!”

…and from there onwards, chaos reigns.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw sex work

[baskeigh-ball]

Mutant Manhunt Masterpost

Someone asked about making a masterlist for this AU, and I was eager to make one anyway just to get everything in one place. Now that I have a decent chunk of art and info to put here, I figured this was a good time to do it so here we go

Where to start reading? My recommendation

Fanfic status (subject to change)

Comic status

Official Designs: Donnie | Leo | Mikey | Full lineup (+ Raph)

Comics (in chronological order; some of these are in other sections but oh well)

Mrs Cuddles, Master of Childhood Trauma

Draxum Spills the Beans

Manhunt Mishaps

Father-Son Bonding Time

Reunions and Introductions: April | Splinter: silly and not so silly | Mud Dogs | Cassandra Jones

Q&A + Ideas (text posts + stand-alone art)

Patient Zero (aka first post, raph concept art + basic premise)

How Raph was separated post-mutation (kinda vague)

When does the "Lou Jitsu is Splinter" reveal happen?

How Raph meets his brothers

Does Raph know Franken-Foot or Mrs Cuddles?

Raph has fans all over the Hidden City

Hidden City publicity stunts

Raph's Caretakers (he's had quite a few)

Mona Lisa When? <_<

Doodle Dump (featuring mystery crane yokai)

Tidbits

Tidbits: Electric Boogaloo

Raph's Phobias: Rabbits | Cats | Mrs Cuddles

Who Named the Mad Dogs?

How did Raphael get named Raphael?

Eldest Brother Sleeper Agent

Mad Dog trio dynamics

Leo and Donnie's sibling rivalry

Scars: Donnie's shell | (more to be added)

Raph's favorite animals

How tall is that snapper tho

Movie Events, Mutant Manhunt Style

Bug Busters: Who caught Leo? | What next?

MUD DOGS MUD DOGS MUD D

First post (random doodles that illustrate their dynamic w/ Raph)

When they gonna reunite?

Their "opinion" on Splinter

Raph's nicknames

Family Photo

Sleep Pile! (+ bonus Mad Dogs pile)

Pre-Canon Leonard

Raph's Drip: a Compilation (why is there so much)

How the hell does his outfit work (cursed info, be warned)

Local Nexus Champion bullies naked and homeless turtles, more at ten (bonus teddy bear appearance)

Mikey goes into an infodump about japanese art techniques, Leo is in shambles

Luo Jitsu merch

Mud Dogs drip

Bellboy Raph! Customer Service King!!

Now Everyone Gets Drip

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey

April, Sunita, and Cassandra

Splinter and Draxum (WIP, they're giving me so much trouble istg)

#mutant manhunt au #rottmnt #rottmnt au #i swear if i missed anything #this took. so long.

[sleepiexx]

Right Under Her Nose

Valeria Garza x fem!Reader + Platonic!John “Soap” Mactavish x fem!Reader

Note: This has been a wip for mooonths dude

Summary: Valeria had expected that her girlfriend just wanted space, albeit not so fond of the idea that she couldn’t respond to a simple text, she’d grant her wish and leave her alone. Oh how wrong she turned out to be.

Warnings: Lots of talk about blood, death, and some gore, kind of graphic but not super detailed, Valeria and Reader fight, and the first half is Valeria-less

Word Count: 3859

The only sound resounding in the near empty room was the dripping of blood, a sick echo of the liquid dripping onto concrete. (Y/N) was so out of it that she had originally assumed there was a leak in the ceiling, but she was wrong. She only realized it was the sound of her own blood when she saw the pool of the red liquid under her rippling in tune with the dripping noise.

She knew she was hurt, of course— how could she forget the rigorous hours of torture she had been subject to? But she didn’t know that a person could bleed this much and survive, it reflected in her physical state heavily. Everything hurt, even thinking.

How did she even end up here?

She led a normal life. She lived off of tips and the wage she earned by waiting tables at a cushy place downtown. After long nights and rush hours, she would return home to her apartment and plants. Along the way, she met a woman who she loved with her entire heart and was lucky enough to call her girlfriend. (Y/N) (L/N) lived as normal as life could get and yet somehow, someway, one of those life choices led to her capture and torture by members of the cartel.

“I don’t know anything!” She’d sobbed for hours as they dismantled her physical and psychological being without relent. Drawn out beatings, cuts, slashes, all blended together in her mind as one heaping pile of pain.

One name stuck out. The one that they had asked her about her connection to over and over again: El Sin Nombre.

She had no clue who El Sin Nombre was. She guessed they were some rival to the men who had been torturing her, but she knew nothing more than that and she certainly didn’t know how she fit into the equation.

She didn’t run with any cartels, or do drugs— hard ones anyway, she couldn’t imagine her marijuana use had anything to do with this. She knew for a fact that her plug didn’t dabble in selling or consuming harder drugs either, so it couldn’t have been him. Besides, who gets tortured for enjoying a blunt every once in a while? She was innocent, why couldn’t they see that?

The door pounded, wood splintering and cracking from the pressure. That wasn’t good. The cartel had been angry throughout her interrogation, that much had been clear with the way they had treated her, yet now they were unable to even keep their cool. What happened? Was she no longer “useful” to them? Had they decided she was better off dead? What made it so urgent that they couldn’t use the key and had to knock the door down?

The door finally caved under the pressure. The big group of men that (Y/N) had been expecting turned out to be just one man. One man with a gun.

Panic shot through her veins, a newfound energy along with it. She thrashed around in her chair, desperate to get away from him, yet the restraints didn’t budge.

He stomped towards her, a blank face as he held the gun in a position that suggested he was ready to lift and shoot at the drop of a hat.

She would do anything to survive, grasping at straws for a chance at life, “Hey- hey, wait wait wait- I thought- you need me, you need the information I have.” She didn’t have any information, she knew that, and it seemed so did he.

“Your information is not important.” He huffed, a deep glare etched into his eyes, “Something’s come up, I have to tie up the loose ends.”

His gun raised, aiming straight for her forehead. Tears fell from her eyes, with nothing to lose now she had no qualms crying to her heart’s content. All shame she felt dissipated as she sobbed and begged— begged for her life.

“Please- Please, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did please, please don’t kill me.”

Her throat felt raw as her sobs bordered on screams. She saw his finger wrap around the trigger and she closed her eyes as she heard a loud bang, waiting to feel the pain and then nothing at all.

But it never came.

She felt a spray of hot liquid splashing on her face, which she suspected was her own blood, but confusion consumed her as she still felt very much alive.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. The man who nearly killed her was on the ground, resting in a puddle of his own blood.

“What the fuck?” She whispered, eyes wide. She looked up, met with the sight of a man. He wore a uniform, army, and he had stubble and a Mohawk. He looked like any average soldier and yet after hours of unrelenting torture, you could never be too cautious.

She struggled against her restraints once more but it only proved to be a harder task now that her adrenaline levels were fading and exhaustion was taking over.

“Hey, Hey!” He called out to her, trying to calm her down, “it’s okay, love, it’s over. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

She calmed at the thought, staring at him with hopeful eyes. “Please.” She begged. At this point, she didn’t even know what she was begging for.

He stepped forward carefully, “I’m Soap, I’m going to try and untie your restraints. Is tha’ okay?”

She didn’t like how he treated her like a scared animal but she appreciated him narrating everything he was doing. It made things predictable, less scary that way. She nodded.

Despite getting the go ahead, he continued at a slow pace, in fear of startling her or triggering something. With the state of her blood-stained body, he could only imagine the horrors she had went through in however long she had been there.

She felt nervous as he had to stand behind her to untie her wrists. Out of her line of vision, he was unpredictable. But as a seasoned soldier, he knew that, knew exactly how she was feeling, and he would do anything in his power to alleviate some of the pain.

“The ropes aren’t budging, I’m going to use a knife to cut them off, so I need you to stay real still, okay?”

She nodded.

He sawed the ropes until they fell off with a wet plop onto the soaked floor. She pulled her hands forward, shoulders aching from having been kept in that position for so long. She stared down at the red lines that followed her wrists where the ropes had been. She had struggled so much that she rubbed her wrists raw and bloody.

He walked around to the front of the chair, where he squatted down and did the same to the restraints on her ankles.

Completely unrestrained, she got slightly overzealous and attempted to stand. Her legs were weak, though, having only stood few times in the past however long when the cartel felt gracious enough to let her go to the bathroom. She nearly instantly collapsed and likely would have fallen right on top of the dead man had the soldier not been there to catch her.

“Hey, easy, easy. Don’ think you should be walkin’ on your own just yet.” He looked down at her, trying to help her stand on her own but it was proving impossible in her state, “alright, I’m going to pick you up.”

One of his hands snaked down from where they were on her sides to the pit of her knees, picking her up in a bridal carry. She groaned at the movement, open wounds aching and sending shooting pains throughout her body.

“Steamin’ Jesus, what did they do to you?” He wondered aloud, concerned at the whines and pained moans leaving her mouth.

She didn’t respond, too emotionally and physically exhausted to have a deep conversation. As he carried her throughout the compound, her eyes began to shut, almost succumbing to darkness. Soap instantly took notice.

“Hey, you can’t go dying on me now, love. Gotta stay awake. Talk to me.” He hoped she would start rambling so he could gauge the state she was in without having to take his focus off of the compound in front of him, but she just blinked at him. It was a hard task to ask of a girl who had just been through hell. But Soap was witty, and he had no problem finding another way for her to talk, “What’s your name, hen?”

“(Y/N),” it came out like a whisper, but before this she hadn’t talked to him at all so it was progress.

“(Y/N)? I like it. What’s your favorite color, (Y/N)?”

“Blue,” she murmured.

He smiled, “nice color, I like green.”

“Green? Is your full name Irish Spring?” Her voice was weak, and wavering, so it was hard to get across a tone to match the joke she had made.

He shook his head, not understanding that she was joking, “I’m Scottish actually.”

“Irish Spring, like the green soap.”

He looked down at her and smirked, “I did not think you were capable of makin’ quips like that.”

She looked away, feeling some of the effects of the blood loss hitting her. Loopy-ness being the main one, she found herself unable to control her words, “What kind of name is Soap anyway?”

“It’s not a name.” He said, kicking down a door that stood in their way. Quickly checking if the coast was clear before finishing his statement, “It’s a callsign. My real name is John.”

“John,” she mumbled, “that doesn’t really suit you.”

“You can call me Johnny if ya like-“

Just as Soap thought he was making progress, keeping the hostage’s thoughts on other things, he was met with the sound of more cartel.

“Fuck.” He muttered, mind racing through all of his options.

(Y/N) could tell they were coming, her eyes were wide and her heart rate picked up. Fear consumed her once more. Especially as the soldier set her down on the ground.

“I’m going to deal with this, you stay right here.” He explained, not giving her room to speak as he b lined it out of the door, towards the gaggle of cartel members.

All she heard were gunshots, gunshots and screaming. She made an attempt at self soothing by rocking back and forth but it didn’t help that she was wounded to shit, making her movements jagged and painful.

What if Johnny died out there? What if her only hope at escape from this awful place was shot and killed defending her?

She didn’t know if there were more soldiers, or if it was just him, all she knew was that she needed him, desperately.

God, how she wanted to peek so bad, especially when the room went silent. But she knew she couldn’t disobey the soldier. Not when it was his judgement that had gotten them this far.

Like an answered prayer, he appeared right in the doorway.

“Hey, hen.” He smiled at her, trying to cheer her up, but it faltered when he saw just how harshly she had reverted to the nervous state he had found her in.

He walked up towards her, picking her up once more. “I’ve gotcha,” he coo’d, hoping to calm her down slightly. He knew he had to get her out of there, fast, so he sped up his pace.

It went like that for a while, until they finally made it to the evac point.

Soap could see the confusion portrayed by each of his team members as he carried the wounded woman towards them. She was covered in blood and limp, to the team she looked like a corpse, yet Soap could see her eyes staring at any and everything, they still had life behind them.

The masked man spoke first, “what’s this?” His critical eyes analyzing her.

Soap could tell that his teammate’s imposing presence scared the girl, so he nodded him off to the side, “This, Ghost, is (Y/N), the cartel was holding her hostage.”

Shortly after, he turned to (Y/N), not wanting to talk about her with them right in front of her, “this is my team, Ghost, Gaz, and Captain Price.”

The man he had referred to as Captain Price stood at attention as their evac helicopter came inbound. “Plenty of time for introductions on the chopper, Soap.”

He nodded and hopped in the second the aircraft landed. In the short time it took to load everyone in, he called out to the crew who had already been in the chopper, “can I get a medic?” He yelled, gesturing towards the blood coated woman.

Thankfully, of the small crew they’d taken with them, a medic was amongst their ranks. They took to the girl, packing her bigger wounds with gauze as she groaned in pain.

“Oh, fuck!” She called out, face twisting into a grimace.

“What did the cartel want from you?” Price prodded.

Soap went to get onto him for questioning her as she writhed in pain, but Gaz beat him to it, “Jesus, Captain, the poor thing’s gettin’ treated for extensive wounds and now is when you want to question her?”

The men stared at each other, but (Y/N) relented. “I- I don’t know. They kept bringing up some guy in a rival cartel but I don’t- I don’t know anything about it.”

A loud whine left her lips as a particularly deep gash was treated. She couldn’t stop the tear that fell down her cheek from the pain.

Soap frowned, trying to stay positive, “we’re gonna get you home, alright hen?”

And she nodded, reluctant but hopeful.

The rest of the ride was a blur, at some point she passed out, she only woke up days later in a bright hospital room. To her surprise, the Scottish soldier was by her side.

“Johnny?” She mumbled, voice raw and cracking from a lack of use.

His head shot up, staring at the girl who had been asleep for nearly four days. “(Y/N), hey! How are you feeling?”

She groaned, body sore, “like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

He chuckled slightly, “yeah, you look it too. But the doc says you’ll be back to your old self in no time, whatever that is.”

“So nothing too serious?” She asked.

His lips flattened, not liking the way her words discredited what she went through. “You took quite the beating, hen. Nothing deadly or physically altering, but you broke a few ribs, got a couple of deep gashes, and you suffered so much blood loss they had to drug you up until you were fixed.”

She sighed, taking in his words, “fuck, man.”

“But the doctor only let up on the drugs now because everything’s sorted, as long as you follow the doctors orders and get one last physical, you’re good to go home until the next checkup.”

Her expression didn’t change at the good news, “I- I don’t even know where I am. Or how to get home.”

Soap grabbed her hand, “Don’t worry about that, I’ll get you where you need to be.”

She gulped anxiously, but nodded nonetheless.

By the end of the day, Johnny fulfilled his promise. She was discharged from the hospital and he himself drove her back home. He even went as far as to walk her into her house and give her his number, should she ever need him.

She stared at the ground, never good at goodbye’s but still wanting to say her thanks, “Thank you, for everything.”

He pulled her into a hug, “No need to thank me, hen, you get some rest.” And just like that he was out the door.

Unbeknownst to the two, their goodbye had been watched.

Mere minutes after Soaps departure, frantic knocking sounded at (Y/N)’s door. Recent trauma still fresh on her mind, she panicked. A million possibilities flashed through her head, all ending with the cartel knocking down her door and taking her away once more.

That idea was shattered as (Y/N) heard her girlfriend yelling behind the door, “I know you’re home, (Y/N)!”

She hesitantly stepped towards the door, unlocking and cracking it open before Valeria pushed her way into the apartment with anger written all over her face.

Valeria slammed the front door shut, fuming words spewing out of her mouth before (Y/N) could even form a sentence, “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you like crazy for two weeks and you’ve just been gone. No voicemail, no text, not even a note.”

“Val I-“

“How could you just disappear like that? I care about you (Y/N), it really fucking hurts when you can’t seem to tell me you’re going somewhere.”

(Y/N) knew she was pissed. Valeria never talked about her emotions, ever, and here she was baring her wounds to (Y/N). Sure she was regularly angry, but (Y/N) knew her better. She knew that this was worse than any superficial fight they had ever had.

“Valeria-“

“And who was that man you were with, huh? Are you doing something behind my back?”

To (Y/N), this meant cheating, but to Valeria who had met Soap before, she had feared a full betrayal. She only fell short in her words as tears fell from her girlfriend’s eyes.

“No! No, I wouldn’t do that!” (Y/N) sobbed, “I was kidnapped, I barely made it out alive. He saved me!”

“Kidnapped?” Valeria whispered to herself, but (Y/N) heard it.

“I know, I know it sounds crazy- fuck, I feel crazy,” (Y/N) cut herself off, breathing out the last part, “but yeah, I was taken by the cartel because- because they thought I had ties to their rivals but I don’t, Valeria, I swear I don’t.”

Valeria’s face shifted to an expression (Y/N) couldn’t read. Some mix of pity, sadness, and almost… guilt?

She placed her hands on either of (Y/N)’s shoulders, “(Y/N), baby, do you remember who they were asking you about specifically?”

(Y/N) sniffled, “I don’t know, it was something like El Sin Hombre— no, Nombre? I don’t know, one of those. Why?”

Valeria’s face darkened. Her eyebrows knit together and the guilty look deepened. Her glare burnt a hole into the floor.

“You do have a connection to El Sin Nombre.” She muttered.

There was a beat of silence before (Y/N) spoke.

“What?” (Y/N) asked, confusion evident, only making her more distraught.

Valeria’s eyes slowly lifted to meet her girlfriend‘s, “(Y/N), I am El Sin Nombre.”

“No.” (Y/N) mumbled, ever so slightly raising her voice, “No, you can’t be.”

She tried to squirm away from Valeria, but the grip on her shoulders was too tight. Eventually she gave up trying to get away and allowed herself to collapse into her lover’s hold, sobbing into the crook of her neck.

“Please, no.” She cried, “it hurt, Valeria, it hurt. Please god no.”

Valeria pet her hair, tears quietly streaming down her face. The sound of her lover’s pain rang out like rusted church bells, raw screaming echoing off the living room walls.

Knowing that all this was her fault— that all of (Y/N)’s pain was caused by her— it hurt more than any bullet or shrapnel that Valeria had ever felt buried beneath her skin.

“They hurt me so bad. Please, Valeria.” And, god, (Y/N) had no clue what she was begging for but all she could do in this moment was plead— for respite, for love, for an end to her pain. She was reduced to this residual ache, physically, mentally, everything hurt. She hadn’t prayed in years and yet now she found herself yearning for divine intervention.

She choked on her words, yet Valeria heard her loud and clear.

The statement made Valeria shake not only in sorrow, but in a cacophony of despair and rage.

“I’ll kill them.” Valeria’s voice carried a malevolent undertone, laced with venom and spite.

(Y/N) stilled, her eyes trailing to slightly meet Valeria’s despite the way the rest of her face was hidden behind Valeria’s shirt, “What?”

Valeria pulled her from her chest, cupping her hands around (Y/N)‘s cheeks. It was in this moment that she finally saw how bruised and swollen (Y/N)’s face was, the full extent at which those men had hurt her. A rage bubbled beneath Valeria’s skin. “I will kill each and every one of them, (Y/N).”

And it wasn’t perfect. Everything still hurt. (Y/N) still felt like she was splayed out on the floor with her guts ripped open. And yet, it was enough. The promise of healing— of fixing things, however violently things needed to be fixed. And so they sat like that, Valeria holding her lover as she sobbed, for the rest of the night, and many nights after that, as long as it took to heal.

Months later, Soap was working late at the base, filling out paperwork from a recent mission. It was likely he was the only one working this late in this part of the building. That’s why it surprised him to hear a voice from behind him.

“Working hard, soldier?”

He knew the voice, but he thought he had imagined it. He was shocked as he turned around and confirmed his suspicions. She was leaning on the desk behind him, arms crossed.

“Valeria,” he looked the woman up and down, scanning her for weapons, “Why are you here?”

She sat up from the table, uncrossing her arms, “I came to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what? I got you arrested.”

She raised an eyebrow, staring into his soul, “I know that. I’m talking about something different.”

His brows furrowed, “go on.”

“A few months ago you saved a woman who was being tortured for information.”

“(Y/N),” he confirmed.

She nodded, “(Y/N) is my girlfriend.”

His jaw nearly dropped at the statement. “She told me she didn’t have any connection to the cartel,” he frowned, slight betrayal ebbing at him.

Valeria shook her head, guilt coming back as she remembered (Y/N) sobbing the same thing to her, “She didn’t know, I hadn’t told her.”

That made him feel better, but he was still confused, “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

Valeria’s tough attitude seemed to falter, “I just- Thank you. Thank you for saving her. I didn’t even know she was taken, I fear for what would have happened had she been there any longer.”

He nodded, “She’s a good person, never hurt her.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And with that, Valeria walked right out of the military base— presumably the way she came in. Soap knew he should follow her, should track her down and capture her so she could be arrested. But when he thought back to (Y/N), he knew he could never do that to the poor girl. So he let her go.

#call of duty fanfic #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria x reader #valeria garza #valeria cod #valeria garza cod #call of duty valeria #valeria x fem!reader #call of duty x reader #platonic! soap x reader #platonic!141 x reader

[captainjunglegym]

WIP Wednesday - 10/04/2024

Hello! So i'm balls deep in og 911 atm. I've already seen seasons 1 - 4 but I'm rewatching so I can power through and be all caught up to season 7 soon.

Anyways I have been tagged by @onthewaytosomewhere @getmehighonmagic @firenati0n and @wordsofhoneydew thanks my buddies <3

I have a new silly wip I'm working on. I do have other things that are cooking but you've heard it all before so have this:

Alex works at a hotel to put himself through law school. After spending so much time at the hotel he's become somewhat of a serial wedding crasher. One day he crashes the wedding of an odd but adorable couple, George and James. Unfortunately, George's twin, Henry, catches him in the act but seems rather amused by it all.

The couple seem a bit mismatched. One man, wearing a dark green velvet tuxedo jacket that looks as expensive as it does soft, is older and red-headed. He’s sexy in the way that Alex can tell beneath his tux he’s got a strong muscled body. He’s looking at his young new husband with something akin to utter adoration. The other groom is a lot younger. Possibly in his mid-twenties as opposed to the other’s possible fifties. He’s probably the most beautiful man Alex has ever seen in his life. He’s got dark brown hair that contrasts against his porcelain skin, and the poutiest pink lips. He looks like a living doll. Alex watches them sway with one another on the dance floor as he piles more food onto his plate. They're completely enraptured by each other. Is he jealous? Maybe. He doesn’t really want to marry an old man though, even if this particular old man is quite fuckable. “Hello,” a smooth voice says next to him. Alex doesn’t look away, not really wanting to invite conversation with eye contact. Not while he's technically stealing. “Hey.” “I’ve not seen you before,” the man continues. He’s got the same crisp English accent as many of the other guests. “Are you here for George or James?” Alex winces internally but feigns nonchalance as he continues to shovel various foods onto his increasingly full plate. He hates this question and has no idea which is George and which is James and what the correct answer will be. “Uhhhh George. Yeah George, me and him go way back, you know? We’re practically brothers.” The man huffs out a laugh and Alex chances a look at him. He double-takes. The man next to him is just as gorgeous as the younger groom. Mainly because he’s identical to him, save for the blonde hair. “I’m Henry,” the man says, amused. “I’m George’s twin and the best man.” Oh fuck.

No pressure tags under cut + also open tag as always

@bigassbowlingballhead @anincompletelist @nocoastposts @sunnysideprince @eusuntgratie @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @sparklepocalypse @happiness-of-the-pursuit @magicandarchery @cactusdragon517 and anyone else who wants a go

#writing tags

[cha-melodius]

Thanks for the tags @indestructibleheart, @kiwiana-writes, and @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, and also thank you to everyone who tagged me in Sunday games and the last line thing, which I'm not going to try to dig up here. I'm sure you're wondering what I'm working on now that False Dichotomy is posting; sadly (for those who tagged me lol), I haven't been writing RWRB lately not exactly anyway. My plan is to bang out some fandom fest prompts, my delinquent MTH fic, then ??? (probably start working on my big bang fic tbh).

ANYWAY. This is what's up next.

They’ve had easier jobs, that’s for damned sure. Protecting an entire train of stagecoaches was always going to be a strain on his crew, especially through this territory. They’re good, but they’re not that good. Mobius should have insisted that the client cough up the money to bring on another couple of folks, but they’d been reluctant and Mobius hadn’t wanted to risk the job going to someone else. And really, against most bandits, they’d probably have been fine. They weren’t up against most bandits, though. Mobius flips a blood-streaked silver dollar at the barkeep and collects a bottle of whiskey and four glasses in return without a single word exchanged. His crew is damn-near legendary in these parts; people vacate ‘their’ table when they enter the saloon, tip their hats when they pass on the road, and generally treat them with the kind of wary respect they’ve worked hard to cultivate. Mobius’ crew may be nominally ‘good’ guys, but a hard world makes hard people, especially ones who are hired to protect what passes for civilization out west.

A pile of no pressure tags @rmd-writes, @cricketnationrise, @indomitable-love, @dumbpeachjuice, @myheartalivewrites, @leaves-of-laurelin, @anchoredarchangel, @nicijones, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @justabigoldnerd, @firenati0n, @14carrotghoul, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @ships-to-sail, @sherryvalli, @inexplicablymine, @iboatedhere, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @orchidscript, @three-drink-amy, @ninzied, @mirilyawrites, @dewdropreader, @dreamycloud, @ikeepwatchinghelicopters

And some art wip tags too, perhaps? @wolfpup026, @natendo-art, @bighandsforabigheart, @seanchaidh7

#wip wednesday #lokius #my wips #cheers to the very small number of people who know exactly what i've been writing before this lmao