#i hope you enjoy!!

[hopeinthebox]

bts + make up a guy

[rennenaway]

@wijaki22 here you go!! I hope I understood the request right soo here’s some jealous Rogue!!

[onejellyfishplease]

Chapter 39: Our First Fall Togther has been posted!

[pocket-watcher]

You're little writing snippets are so great!! I'm scrolling your blog now FERAL omfg

If it's alright, and you're okay with it, would you be willing to write a short snippet about a girl resisting being ensnared and hypnotically seduced by a magic creature, maybe a beautiful fey or vampire?? But then falling into their eyes and ultimately under their spell??

No worries if not, I will devour anything and everything!!

Aaaaa hello!! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing! I’m sure I can whip something up for ya!

Rule #1, don’t step in a fae circle.

Shit.

It hadn’t been her fault. She simply slipped and fell. She knew the stories, and had always been so careful, and yet here she was cursing under her breath as she tried to leg it out of the woods.

Yeah. She barely made it 5 steps before something invisible snaked around her waist and pulled her right back into the broken ring of mushrooms.

“Oh, aren’t you something?” The ethereal voice rang out. She shut her eyes tight.

Nope. Not real. If she can’t see it then it’s not real.

“Oh, but I am real. I assure you.”

What the hell?! Could this thing read minds?!

“Yell all you want, human. It won’t get you out of this predicament any faster than having a polite conversation with me.” They hummed.

She squeezed her eyes tightly, turning her whole body as far away from them as she could. She fought to keep her mind blank and empty.

“Ah. A smart one.” She felt a slender finger lift her chin. Her scrunched face relaxed into the touch, but she didn’t dare to let her eyes open.

Blank and empty.

“Who are you?” She asked as strongly as she could.

“I’ll give you my name if you give me yours.” She felt them tuck her hair behind her ear.

“I would never.”

“Then I am no one.” The voice teleported around her. Impossibly. Echoing in her mind as she focused on the words in an attempt to keep her mind empty and blank, as not to give away her name.

“And,” their voice continued in soothing tones, “you are the one who knows better than to give her name and yet stood between the mushrooms in my forest…”

Despite her eyes being closed she felt their gaze travel down her body. They were studying her. Sizing her up.

“I fell.”

She stood her round.”

“No, my dear. Trust me. You haven’t fallen yet.”

Shivers went up her spine.

“What do you want with me?”

“That’s not the right question, but I’ll answer it.” The voice circled her. Coiling around her. She turned to follow it with her ears, eyes so tempted to open. Begging her mind to open them. Empty and blank. Don’t think about it don’t think about it.

They laughed at her thoughts.

“I want to take you away from here. I want to make you my toy. I want you to tell me your name. I want to steal you away from this world and take you to another.”

She felt their lips inches from hers. Her mind was empty.

“And blank.”

They had tricked her. Used her intelligence against her. She had stilled her own thoughts. She had focused on their words. She had fallen so easily under their spell.

Her body tingled. Her eyes willed to open.

“Open them.”

Brown eyes met dazzling silver. They were so clearly not of this world. She couldn’t help but stare. The world tipped around the two from her twirling to follow their voice.

“Tell me, what is your name?”

She couldn’t think. Couldn’t resist.

As soon as her name left her tongue it disappeared into the afternoon breeze. It echoed through the wood, but only for a moment. The two left together, and her name and memory scattered to time as if she had never existed in this world to begin with.

[jjkeremika]

AoT Fic / Oneshot Master List

~~welcome to jjkeremika~~

hi! i’m mako. welcome to my obsession. i write fics/headcanons/oneshots/imagines/drabbles/whatevertheyarecalled/ihonestlydontknow; mostly smutty/nsfw heheh.

currently i write about: eren x mikasa; AoT x reader; eren x reader; reiner x reader; levi x reader; armin x reader; but im open to others (mostly fem!reader, some gender neutral)

please click the underlined for the link to the work (tumblr; ao3); master list updated periodically; all fics created on this master list are written by jjkeremika (me); all of my works are connected under the tag jjkeremika; interactions with and/or thoughts on works are appreciated <3

assume smut/nsfw/mdni themes unless noted otherwise with *

hope you enjoy!

p.s… (per requests….worth asking, also worth noting i prefer and try to stick to character personalities and reasonable headcanons; if i can’t picture them saying/doing it i might not explore it…. fluffy/smutty accepted… not a “dead dove dne” friendly space…)

Eremika:

fucking in a sauna (It is hot (with you; love you))

mikasa gets sick (Stay pt1, pt2)*

Moments (Express Divine Devotion)*

mikasa sneaks out (Moonlight)

eren has a vision (Just like i dreamt it)

eren eats mikasa out (Tasty)

eren and mikasa secretly meet (secret)

eren calls jean while fucking mikasa (Big Time)

eren overhears mikasa (loud in my life and in my dreams)

mikasa tutors eren (my tutor pt1; pt2)

eren’s mikasa’s professor (drop my class so i can pick you up pt1; pt2)

another eren professor pt1 (thanks for coming professor pt1)*; pt2 (to be posted soon)

eren’s scout commander, mikasa’s a new recruit pt1 (think i need someone older)*; pt2 (posted soon)

mikasa shows eren how she had sex with jean (just show me)

eren’s a spy/assassin and mikasa’s his target’s daughter (to my poison: my god you’re intoxicating)*

like an actual eremika fanfic (when lightning strikes the heart (pts 00-02)) (* thus far)

roadtrip (pt1; pt2)

mikasa’s mother is sick (lavender)*

eren’s a baker

Formula One au (Ferrari driver! Eren; Ferrari Mechanic! Mikasa)

AoT x reader:

Rough intimacy (Eren, Mikasa, Hange, Levi, Reiner, Jean)

Soft intimacy (Connie, Erwin, Bertoldt, Armin, Zeke)

Favorite places (Eren, Armin, Jean, Reiner, Erwin, Levi, Bertoldt, Connie, Zeke)

Date nights (Here to Forever; Eren, Armin, Jean, Reiner, Erwin, Zeke, Porco, Historia)

Hit on you in class (Eren, Jean, Reiner, Armin, Porco, Levi, Connie, Erwin) *

Another rough intimacy (Reiner, Jean, Eren, Erwin, Levi)

Favorite positions (Eren, Reiner, Levi, Porco, Erwin)

crushes on you (Reiner, Eren, Levi, Porco, Jean)*

walk in on you touching yourself (Eren, Jean, Armin, Levi, Erwin, Colt)

fluffy moments (Eren, Reiner, Levi, Erwin)*

confess love for you (Eren, Reiner, Porco, Zeke, Armin, Bertoldt, Levi, Erwin)(mostly * except eren)

vices (eren, levi, reiner, armin, zeke, jean)

pervy pussy eaters (eren, levi, reiner, armin)

asking you on a valentines date*

what they don’t know (eren, erwin, levi, connie)

excited and exhausted (erwin, sasha, armin, hange, levi)

Eren x reader:

Games

dangerous missions*

ha(u)nted soldier*

Betting Games (pt2)

Reiner x reader:

Shower together

Levi x reader:

peanut butter kisses

goofy (pt1; pt2; pt3; pt4)

Armin x reader:

campgrounds and fairs (tbp)

love gambler (tbp)

[stardust-falling]

The Winds May Change

requested by @corvus-attano on ko-fi

Fandom: SVSSS Pairing: Yue Qingyuan & Shen Jiu Summary: Newly-named head disciple Shang Qinghua realizes that the story has gone off-course when he notices that Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu are a lot more friendly with one another than they should be. Words: 1.4k

Shang Qinghua, formerly known as the Great Master Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, was facing a dilemma: the protagonist hadn’t even arrived yet, and things had already gone off-course from his original work!

It was hard to pinpoint where exactly the change had happened, and now he was swearing at himself up and down for not paying enough attention to certain individuals during his time on Cang Qiong Mountain’s periphery as a lowly outer disciple of An Ding Peak— he should have noticed that a defining relationship of one exceedingly important character had turned out to be completely opposite from the way it was supposed to be.

The character in question was none other than that endlessly unfortunate scum villain, Shen Qingqiu. Now, Shen Qingqiu had only a few key relationships in the original work. Most important, of course, was his bitter cruelty toward the protagonist, and second after that was his far more complicated relationship with Yue Qingyuan. There were a few others, such as his rivalry with Liu Qingge, but these were by far the most important.

It just so happened that now, the relationship he had with the future sect leader was all wrong!

In the original work, Shen Qingqiu was supposed to avoid Yue Qingyuan whenever possible, lashing out at him with verbal barbs when avoidance wasn’t an option. Even at Shen Qingqiu’s most courteous, the sect leader would only get a cold shoulder. Now, though, the magnets that should have repulsed one another had somehow been turned around— instead of chatter about how strangely distant Shen Qingqiu was from one who was said to be his friend, the gossip revolved around how irritating it was to see him constantly clinging to Yue Qingyuan’s side.

And that was literal. Shang Qinghua alone could recall several times where he’d seen Shen Qingqiu snatch Yue Qingyuan by the wrist and tug him along somewhere, and any time they were in the same place the two positioned themselves so closely to one another that they were practically touching. At this rate, they just ought to hold hands everywhere they went, rather than trying to uphold any slight semblance of cool professionalism.

The first time Shang Qinghua had heard the rumors of their strange relationship, he was positive he had misheard. After he became head disciple and encountered the two of them together more often, though, he realized that, shockingly enough, those rumors were spot-on.

Watching Shen Qingqiu lean over to whisper conspiratorially into Yue Qingyuan’s ear, followed by a pleased smile blooming across the future sect leader’s face, was enough to make Shang Qinghua’s head spin.

What was going on here?

These two were supposed to have nothing more than a painful past piled high with misunderstandings after misunderstandings, beyond any hope of reconciliation. Now, they were being friendly with each other— not just courteous, but friendly friendly. One might even say intimate.

Shang Qinghua interrogated the system about this, but no matter how he tried, he never received an answer— the closest he got was [ Occasionally, there may be variables in the story beyond this system’s control. Good luck! ]

There was still no clue as to why or how these variables existed, and unfortunately, Shang Qinghua didn’t have much of a way to find out. It wasn’t like he could just ask— even though this Shen Qingqiu was friendly with Yue Qingyuan, his manner with the rest of his martial siblings was roughly the same as it was in the original. No matter how many sweet nothings he might whisper into his shixiong’s ear, there was no way that Shang Qinghua would get anything more than a distasteful curl of his lip.

How miserable it all was— if Shen Qingqiu’s character was already going to change, couldn’t he have become just ever so slightly easier to get along with?

Shang Qinghua wasn’t the only one who had problems with Shen Qingqiu’s behavior, of course. Even though this one might be a little better-tempered overall than the one in Proud Immortal Demon Way, he was still almost universally disliked. He still was Shen Qingqiu, after all, still the scum villain even if he’d managed to repair one particular relationship. That brought Shang Qinghua a little bit of relief— at least he shouldn’t have to worry about the story veering off too far from his original designs, so he would still have some idea what to expect.

Still, he was greatly curious about the change, so he always paid special attention to the gossip and complaints regarding that problematic shixiong.

“Who does that Shen Qingqiu think he is?” Qi Qingqi huffed, scuffing at the ground with the toe of her shoe as she sat next to the campfire Shang Qinghua had just finished lighting. “Just because he’s close with Yue-shixiong, that doesn’t give him the right to treat the rest of us like the dirt on his shoes.”

The two of them, along with Liu Qingge, were out on one of those tedious joint missions. It was Shang Qinghua’s first time going out with either of them— he had only ever met them at the twelve peaks’ annual tournament before, and briefly while doing odd jobs here and there. He had to admit, he couldn’t help but wonder about this pair’s opinions of the new-and-(perhaps)-improved Shen Qingqiu. In the original, Liu Qingge had been the one the scum villain hated most of all, while Qi Qingqi’s relationship with him hadn’t been too bad, all things considered.

Now, it seemed she tolerated him less than before. Of course, in this version it probably seemed that Shen Qingqiu had taken advantage of his past connection with Yue Qingyuan to parachute into the position of his future second-in-command. Qi Qingqi didn’t really think kindly of that sort of person.

“He has a little talent, but his personality makes me want to hit him,” Liu Qingge replied.

Oh? How interesting… this was far more generous than Liu Qingge ought to be at this time. Shang Qinghua listened in more closely as he worked to set up their tent.

“It’s not as though he is the best cultivator among us,” Qi Qingqi grumbled, “It’s all because he’s friends with Yue-shixiong that he can get away with his attitude… and he knows it.”

“Mn,” Liu Qingge replied, setting some fish he’d caught to roast over the fire. “You can’t say it’s all favoritism. Shen-shixiong is good with his sword and his cultivation is decent, especially for someone who only started practicing at fifteen. Maybe you should fight with him, then you’d get to hit him properly.”

Shang Qinghua was so stunned by this that he missed the tent pole and smashed his hammer into his finger. He yelped, dropping the hammer and cradling his injured hand against his chest. The other two glanced briefly in his direction before ignoring him once again.

Had Shang Qinghua heard that right?

Fifteen?

No… he distinctly remembered writing that Shen Qingqiu had joined the sect at sixteen.

Unless…

Ah!

How had that happened? Shang Qinghua was sure he hadn’t interfered in any of that!

Not to mention, what was with Liu Qingge’s attitude? Even calling Shen Qingqiu “shixiong” when he wasn’t around— did they really not hate one another to death this time?

“Shen-shixiong was fifteen when he joined the sect?” Shang Qinghua asked, hiding his nosiness behind idle curiosity.

“Oh right, Shang-shixiong was still an outer disciple then— Yue-shixiong showed up one day with him and recommended him to Qing Jing Peak. Yan-shibo hadn’t chosen her successor yet, and Shen Qingqiu ended up with the title less than two years later,” Qi Qingqi explained.

“And… Liu-shidi, what do you think of him?”

“He nearly beat me in a fight once,” Liu Qingge replied.

That alone was enough to cause Shang Qinghua’s jaw to nearly drop to the floor— he could barely restrain himself. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go! No wonder Shen Qingqiu didn’t seem quite as miserable as Shang Qinghua had first envisioned him. His greatest rival, who thought almost nothing of him, now spoke of him with about as much respect as Liu Qingge ever showed. Not to mention, if Shen Qingqiu actually stood a chance of beating Liu Qingge, then that meant that his cultivation was much better than it was in the original as well!

Someone had changed the timeline. If Shen Qingqiu had come in at fifteen, that meant that the whole year he spent as Wu Yanzi’s disciple had been skipped over. If he was close with Yue Qingyuan… had something changed there? Had Qi-ge actually managed to come back in time? Had Shen Jiu been rescued before he had the chance to kill his old master?

If that was the case, then the accusations brought against him wouldn’t stand in this timeline. Fuck— an entire plotline with one of Bing-ge’s wives might have been messed up, not just the revenge plot!

But… didn’t that mean that Shen Qingqiu may not meet the same fate as he had in the novel?

Shang Qinghua bit his lower lip, hardly daring to hope. All this time, the system had made it perfectly clear that he couldn’t go too far outside the bounds of the story— but it seemed like the story was being changed with or without his meddling. He’d never thought he had a chance to make it out of this alive… but if even Shen Qingqiu’s fate could be changed, then who could say that Shang Qinghua’s would have to stay the same?

[buddiedaydreamer911]

Hiiii 💕💕💕

Buddie + sleepy cuddles

-❤️🪐

saturn, thank you so much for all the prompts you’ve sent! i couldn’t continue the other night but now i have time finally to write something so i was very glad to find more prompts here today! you’re the best! i hope you like this one as well!

~~~~

Chimney was going to scream.

During their 24 hour shit, Chimney decided at hour thirteen to go off to the bunk room for some rest. The shift so far hasn’t been bad. Yes, there was constant calls but the calls were pretty mild.

Cat stuck in the tree, small kitchen fire at a restaurant, wellness checks for elderly neighbors who hadn’t been seen in a few days.

But the calls kept coming in and Chimney was tired. It didn’t help to have a toddler at home, who decided waking up in the middle of the night to escape her bedroom to create total chaos.

So, he was the first to settle down for a nap. He probably got a nice hour in the bunk room to himself before Hen and Eddie made their ways in, both also crawling into their bunks and closing their eyes. Bobby followed in not to long after.

Chimney didn’t mind having those three in the bunk room with him. They all knew and respected the unspoken rule in the bunk room to be quiet and allow others to sleep.

It was Buck ventured into the room closer to hour fifteen, when Chimney started to grow mad. Because as much as he loves his co-worker, the man who is practically a little brother to him; it annoyed Chimney so much on how the man simply could not just lay down and fall asleep.

Where Hen, Eddie, and Bobby remained all asleep as Buck huffed and puffed, tossing and turning in his bunk; Chimney remained laid out on his back, glaring at the ceiling as the noises Buck was making was keeping him awake.

If the alarm bell rang before Chimney got any sleep, the urge to strangle his girlfriend’s little brother was strong for the older man.

Hearing Buck throw his body around into a different position once more had Chimney brining both hands up to cover his face to stop himself from actually screaming.

Hearing more shifting that sounded distant from where Buck was had Chimney removing his hands from his face and opening his eyes. A quick swoop across the dark room had him noticing that Eddie has lifted his head over his shoulder, from where he laid facing the wall.

“Buck.” Eddie whispered, hoping Buck would hear it from the space between them. With no response, Chimney watched Eddie look around the room before his eyes went back to Buck. “Buck!” He spoke louder, yet quiet enough not to wake anyone.

Both Eddie and Chimney watched Buck snore himself awake, sitting up on his elbows as he blinks his eyes open. “Wha- huh?”

Eddie looked around the room again before nodded his head towards the wall next to him. “C’mere.”

That’s when Chimney realized that Eddie assumed he was asleep, because he just knew that was something Eddie wouldn’t typically say when anyone else was conscious enough to hear.

Chimney watched as Buck threw his covers off himself, smacking his lips together as he sluggishly slipped his feet across the floor as he passed the few beds that separated him from Eddie.

Eddie raised his own covers, unmoving from where he laid out on his side as Buck shuffled over to him. Chimney could make out in the dark that Buck’s eyes were closed by the time he placed his left knee on Eddie’s bunk, and swung his other leg around his best friend- leaving his left leg thrown over Eddie’s hip as he settled down.

Chimney could only watch in both shock, and amusement as Eddie adjusted the blanket over his already asleep best friend, then settled back down himself.

Some more rustling noises were heard as Eddie wrapped his arms around Buck, nuzzling his face into Buck’s curls and placing a kiss where his mouth was before falling back asleep.

Chimney found himself with his head raised up, staring at how easily the man who was just tossing and turning like crazy settled. He allowed himself just a moment more to grasps the idea of Eddie calming Buck down by cuddling before placing his own head down and closing his eyes.

He made a mental note to ask Maddie, Hen, and Bobby if they knew if any new relationship status’ between the two firefighters as he finally got to get his much needed rest.

.

.

.

Thank you again for the prompt! Stopping to write this was the perfect distraction that I needed from my ADHD.

-

Please please please feel free to send me any prompts you want in my asks and I will get to them when I can! ❤️❤️

[yeyinde]

Hey darlin. I've had a week from absolute hell at work and I'm in desperate need of some soft!Soap in my life. When and if you have time, would you mind doing a little drabble with Soap pampering his overly stressed and exhausted s/o? Perhaps a well deserved back rub (I need one in the worst way 😫). And spice it up if you like, I'm sure that man's got some serious wandering hands. Much love ❤️🖤

Johnny presses his chest against your back. His heart echoes through your ribs: the steady brag of Atlas. He holds the world on the slope of his broad shoulders—

"Let's get you to bed, alright?" 

—and your heart in the cup of his palm.

hiya, love~ 🖤

sorry this took a bit, but i really hope you enjoy this! @brewed-pangolin

⇾warnings :soft Soap; slight petting–fingering; f!reader, gendered female anatomy; Soap just takes care of you the way the man would

It starts slow—a gradual buildup: nothing immediate or noteworthy. Tension in your brow, an ache in your back. You've felt it all before. It's nothing to worry about. 

It's not that you're being crushed by anything in particular. There is no weight bearing down on your shoulders, no anvil locked around your neck pulling you down to the unforgiving concrete. You're not drowning in the middle of an ocean, or clinging to life on the edge of a mountain. And yet—

Heaviness. Brassbound bones filled with hardened lead. 

You waver under the ache. The malaise. The ennui. 

It's that feeling of being persistently chipped at until your skin is flayed, muscles exposed; a rawness in the cut of your brow, the sag of your eyes. 

You need sleep, but you know nine hours are just not going to cut it. 

It's the slough of life. Another cog in the machine that never stops moving. Grinding you down over time; an erosion until you are pulverised powder. 

It's everything. All of the aches and pains and the pressure that turns you into hard coal instead of a diamond, and then—

"You're home late, hen," he murmurs, twisting his head to stare at you from over his broad shoulders. They, you think, can take the weight of anything. Bear the burden. The promises made. 

Atlas stands in your kitchen wearing the worn apron you'd bought him as a joke a year ago for Hogmanay. He wears it each time he cooks. 

The kitchen is thick with humidity; dense with the scent of stew. Something robust and hearty. It's soft and secure, a warm familiarity that makes you shake when his hazel eyes meet yours. 

His hand curls around a bottle. He holds it out to you. Irn bru. Your fingers are stained with dust and ink; carpal and shaky, and you can't bring yourself to reach out when your joints are tense and brittle. 

Johnny says something low, but all you can think about is the time on the clock and the ache in your lower back. Only precious hours are left until you need to sink into a fitful sleep that is never enough only to wake to the jarring blare of your alarm in what feels like a minute. 

Maybe it's the way you sag, shoulders slumping, head knocking against the doorframe, or maybe he just knows, but it's instant. He's there. Arms around you, pulling your temple away from the harsh press into the wood. 

He smells of orange pekoe tea and clary sage. 

"C'mon," he murmurs against your temple, stubble digging into your skin. "Let's get you settled, aye?"

All you can do is nod, hands grasping the fabric of his shirt.

(Atlas can hold up the world, but surely there is no room for the weight of your burdens on his shoulders.

He does it, anyway.)

  The tub is full of rosy bubbles that slosh over the porcelain rim. A clove candle sits precariously on the corner where your bar of soap used to be. The light is dim. You smell blood orange patchouli burning. 

Its—

Heaven. 

And yet: 

Eleven hours. 

"None o'that, hen," he murmurs, hands falling to your shoulders. You ease into him to him. Softened wax under warm hands. "Can hear you from the other room—;" his cheek rubs against the back of your aching head. "Just relax, aye? Got a nice dinner waitin', a long soak in the tub."

"Not too long," you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. His fingers stroke your skin with the finesse of a musical maestro. Expert touch digging into each knot that formed, full of lactic acid, and aching. "Gotta be up early."

He huffs. The soft exhale is a breeze over the ridge of your ear. "Aye, aye. Now get in the tub, bonnie." 

He doesn't give you a second to think. His hands tug, pull at your clothes—the ones that reek of work and ink and ennui—until you're bare in his arms. The heft of them circles your middle: firm and tight. 

He perches you on the ledge of the tub, flashing another soft smile in your direction before his hands drop to the hem of his white Henley. 

"Come on," he husks, moving you forward. You're limp in the bracket of his embrace.

(Atlas, you think, with nothing but burdens to bare.)

The sight of his chest—muscles rippling, pulling taut; pale flesh dusted with black hair—makes something hungry spool inside of you. Desire. Want. Your eyes are heavy, lidded, and weighed down by lead, but the grittiness, the sting, isn't enough to make you look away. You savour it all. 

He catches your stare when his hands drop to his trousers. His brow ticks. A smirk curls over his lips. 

Johnny says nothing, but you suppose he doesn't have to. You can see the way his gaze darkens, a boscage in the bloom of spring, as he takes in your bare breasts, your tummy, your thighs plush against the white ledge of the tub. The contrast between your flesh and the porcelain makes his jaw tighten. 

His pants drop. "C,'mon, hen," he husks, hands grasping your arms, helping you stand again on knees that wobble at the sight of him. Atlas: sinew and strength. A man capable of carrying the heavens. "Let's get in the tub, aye?"

Johnny moves, lifting his leg over the rim. He goes first, sitting in the milky water—used that stuff you like, the bomb thing, or somethin'—and once settled, his eyes cut to you.

He leans back, open for you. You move after him, and his lips crook up in a smile. The water sloshes when you sit, back to him. It's warm, and perfect, and you shudder when you feel his damp skin on yours. His arms wind around your middle, tugging you back into his embrace. 

"Shush, shush," he rasps, a gentle coo in your ear, pulling you tighter in the seal of his clutch.

His chest is warm, wet, when you press your back to him. It's bliss when you ease into his hold, head falling back on his shoulder.

Arms loop around you, big and firm and secure, and the whimper you let out when everything finally cracks sounds a little bit like a sob. 

Johnny reaches for the loofah, lathering it up with the bottle of body wash on the ledge. It smells of eucalyptus and birch. His wash. You melt a little more into him when he reaches down, hand wrapping gingerly around your wrist.

"Close your eyes, hen. Know you need it."

"Johnny—;" the protests are cut short when you feel the drag of the sponge over your flesh. The fresh, minty scent clots in your lungs. 

It's soothing. A gentle scrub as he washes the stress of the day, days, away with your sponge. He's meticulous in everything he does, and washing you is no different. He starts with your fingers. Each digit is brushed with the loofah and then massaged with his bare hand. Your joints liquify. The knots in your hands ease with each pass, each roll of his fingers over you. Your palm tickles when he rubs circles over it. Pulse flutters when he drags it up over your wrist, forearm. Your biceps.

He pulls away when he reaches your shoulders, changing hands so that his arm is crossed over your chest. Secure. Heavy. The angle is a little stiff, but he says nothing, no complaints, and gathers the suds in the cup of his palm. He works his rough hands over your tense flesh until your breath stutters in your chest. Your head tips back further. The base of your skull plinthed on his broad shoulders. The wall is cold on your crown. 

His stubble scratches your temple when he nuzzles his mouth over the thrumming flesh, lips pressed taut to the place that hurts the most. "Good girl."

It's a baptism in bliss. Each pass of his rough hands over your skin turns the titanium in your bones to mercury. You melt under the heat of his flesh working those stubborn knots into ash. Johnny's hands are heavy, dragging away the malaise from your pores with each careful, reverent swipe. 

You breathe in the scent of wet pine when he drags his palms over your collarbones, the swell of your chest. His fingers catch on your nipples—hard from the chill in the air, the graze of his flesh over yours—and the pinch of pleasure makes your legs part slowly, a small mewl brimming from your throat. 

"That feels good," you whisper, head lulling on his shoulder. 

"Scoot up a bit," he husks, hands falling to your hips, helping you move. He pushes your back forward, hands sliding up to your shoulders. 

The groan you let out echoes against the humid walls when his fingers dig into your stained muscles. 

"Johnny—" 

"I know, I know…" he nuzzles the space between your shoulder blades, stubble grazing your sensitive flesh. Goosebumps ripple over your skin. "I got ya, hen." 

And he does, of course: always. 

Bliss leaks from the tips of his fingers into your muscles. He moves in small, deep circles until your body is liquid; a gooey polymer that sags in the water around you. He doesn't relent. Johnny finds each knot, tenderising it into a fine dust. Nirvana is in the tips of his fingers. 

You groan: a low, drawn-out quiver of pleasure when he works out the kink that had clotting in your shoulder blades. One born from deadlines, and meetings, and—

And gone. 

You breathe out, heavy and full, until your lungs quiver, flattened to your chest. 

"Feel good?" He murmurs, soothing his hands across your back. His knuckles notch over the curve of your spine, and the thrill of pleasure makes you pant. 

"Yeah—"

Lavender is thick in your nose. Your eyes slowly slide open when his hands curl through the gaps in your arms, winding around your waist. 

You fall back into his chest, boneless. Shattered. Dissolved. His chest rumbles with a chuckle. 

Johnny tucks you against him, coarse, damp hair tickling your back. His breath is heavy on your shoulder. 

"Hen…," there is a click in his throat when he swallows, hands roaming down to your thighs, sliding between them slowly. "Lemme make you feel even better."

It's a whisper of a touch that makes you shiver against him. 

"Johnny—"

He hushes you again, nails grazing your sensitive flesh until he meets the seam of your thigh and pelvis. "Let me do this for you, hen."

"Something tells me this was your plan all along," you huff, pressing your nose into his neck, and breathing in the mossy scent of him. 

"Nah," he murmurs, palm pressing against your core. You can feel him against your back, thick and hard, and when he parts your folds, fingers gliding through your slit, you feel him throb. His hips shift into you with a gritty inhale. His chest expands across your back. When he speaks, it's barely a whisper: "this is just for you."

Johnny knows your body, knows where to touch; his hands on you are magic. He works you—a potter moulding clay—and you melt in his arms. 

His finger ghosts over your slit, trailing slowly until he reaches your clit. 

"Relax, hen," his voice is thick, full of lust. "Lemme make you feel good."

His fingers slide back down to your hole, pushing in gently until you stretch around him with a gasp of pleasure, hands dropping to clutch at his thick forearms. His huff ghosts over the shell of your ear, lips pressing against your flushed cheekbone. 

"Gonna make you cum," he rasps, throat clicking again when he swallows. 

The low hum of his voice makes your legs part further, hips canting into his palm. His fingers thrust against your sensitive walls, thumb rubbing soft circles over your clit until you see stars in your eyes; phosphenes of pleasure that dance and sway with each press of him inside of you. Knuckles catch on the seal of your pussy, stretching you, rasping over that gummy spot inside that makes your belly fill with molten euphoria. 

"That's it, bonnie," he urges, words liquid in your ear. Oil over your flesh. A soft thrum to your core. It's good. So good. 

Your nails dig into his flesh, desperately clutching at something, anything, to keep you from slipping below the waves that lap at you. A soft erosion. The the way Johnny dissolves you into pieces until you're effervescent, veins bubbling with soporific pleasure, makes your heart lurch. The swell of affection for him—your atlas, your buoy in the churning sea—brings tears to your eyes. 

He's observant. Incredibly so. Any change, even one almost indiscernible, must have been noticed. The bunch of your shoulders. The sag of your eyes. Exhaustion fell over you in a blanket of malaise. 

You think about those nights spent bundled in his arms on the couch. Mind adrift in a sea of responsibility, lip between your teeth. You hadn't noticed the copper on your tongue until his fingers tapped the furrow in your brow. 

Y'alright, hen? 

Just—

Work. Life. Everything. 

He noticed. And—

Dinner, your favourite. The bath. The candle. The lavender bath bomb—

Lavender? He asks, rubbing a petal between his thumb and forefinger. 

You nodded. It helps with stress. 

—he knew. 

And now: euphoria pools in every synapse inside of your head until all you see is white. Body languid, more relaxed and sated than you have been in a long time, and—

The strong arms of atlas secure you to his chest. The cup of his palm is a plinth keeping you above the torrent below that wants to consume you. 

"Come on, hen," he urges, voice rucked and trembling. He throbs against the small of your back, cock trapped between your bodies.

You melt into him with a moan, dizzy and delirious from the pleasure spooling inside of your core with each press of his blunt fingers against your soft, fluttering walls. Each roll of his thumb across your clit. Your body sings for him. Aches for him. A maestro; you dance for him. 

Your head is fuzzy. Thick with somnolence and pleasure that congeal over the heft, the weight of everything else. All you can think about is how secure you feel in his embrace. Gentle and safe, and—

It's the coalescence of everything that pushes you off the edge. 

You're falling, falling—

"I got you, hen."

Your core tightens, throbs. You pulse around him like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird. Oxytocin floods your veins in a deluge, inundating your being until all you can feel is static pleasure blooming inside of you. 

You fall into him. Languid and bone-weary. He catches you with a chuckle, lips pressed against your temple, chin nuzzling the skin of your cheek. 

"Feel better?" 

You've lost the capacity for speech. Tongue leaden, eyes heavy, you twist your head, nose scratching over the stubble on his cheek. Your lips find his. Soft, gentle. He peppers you in small, fleeting kisses; full-lipped and dulcet sweet. You catch oat on his tongue; almond. Sweet London fog. 

His arms tighten around you. Johnny breathes your name, and the crooked axis you teetered on shifts. The precipice you wobbled along rights itself in the hymnal he sings for you. 

Johnny presses his chest against your back. His heart echoes through your ribs: the steady brag of Atlas. He holds the world on the slope of his broad shoulders—

"Let's get you to bed, alright?" 

—and your heart in the cup of his palm. 

[decidedly-not-heterosexual]

A Crack in the Door (Hannigram Fanfic)

AO3 link :)

Hannibal becomes tired of other serial killers consuming Will's mind. Under the guise of providing stability, Hannibal guides Will into taking on Hannibal's perspective. Hannibal gets more than he bargained for when Will realizes the depth of Hannibal's feelings–and that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper.

NBC Hannibal

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter

20,312 words, 9/9 chapters, NOW COMPLETE!

Rating: M

Excerpt:

He hears Hannibal move closer to him in the dark. The soft rustling of fabric. The gentle disturbance of air, caressing Will’s face. The scent of honeysuckle and cedar. Sweeter than he would have expected. Will breathes deep. He opens his eyes, expecting to see Hannibal’s faint outline, but he’s still disarmed by the dark. “Sometimes you need someone else to do what’s good for you.” With a smooth rustle, Hannibal pulls back. Will realizes the man had been leaning over him. Will chuckles dryly as Hannibal settles into the chair across for him, lighting a lone candle in the dark. Whatever Hannibal is for him, it sure as hell isn’t good.

Vibes: Tense, saturated, amorous, erotic, unhinged

Tags: Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Emotional Manipulation, Mind Games, Will Graham Knows (or rather he finds out), Flirting, Sexual Tension, Someone Help Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, season 1 AU, Will kinda has season 3 characterization, Will Graham Being an Asshole, Morally Ambiguous Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is a Mess, POV Will Graham

AO3 link :)

[loafwins]

Since a lot of you follow me for my In Memoriam art, I thought I’d share the Gauntwood playlist I’ve been working on too!

It’s chronological, with songs from the beginning to the end of the book in order!

Clearly I’m still not over it <3

[shookethdev]

Hey @tinyfairart!! I was your Secret Skeleton for the DCAH2023 event! I had a lot of fun drawing these guys, and I love the concept of your AU Everlasting Orbit!!

Below the cut is just the uncolored and flats/unedited version

[dreamingthroughwords]

Plates of Gold & Music From Seasons Past

My first entry for @flufftober 2024! Day 4 - Market Day!

Summary:

When Xie Lian and Hua Cheng visit a bustling day market, Xie Lian becomes wistful of days past, especially of the markets that had existed within his fallen kingdom. Hua Cheng cannot resist anything to lift Xie Lian’s spirits, and thus, Hua Cheng decides to surprise his husband with something that will surely bring a smile upon Xie Lian’s face.

(Flufftober Day 4 - Market Day)

Tags: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian, Fluff, Post-Canon, Established Hua Cheng/Xie Lian, Introspection, Romantic Fluff, Hua Cheng being absolutely in love with Xie Lian & basking in his happiness.

Word Count: 7,072

[woffles-4-waffles]

foiihfr34jf3ojiofj3ensefmbpjqww

[onejellyfishplease]

Open Your Shell to Find Your Wings, Chapter 31: Leonardo, has just arrived!

[pocket-watcher]

I saw you were doing requests and I was thinking of a scenario with covert hypnosis but the reader catches on quickly and does their best to resist/escape. I want to fight for my will against the inevitable. If not tho that's cool :)

Hi anon! Here’s something just for all you who love a good struggle…

“Excuse me, do you have a moment?”

The crowded sidewalk didn’t leave much room for you to figure out who had called out, until someone approached you with a clipboard.

You registered they were petitioning or raising money or something and your social anxiety took over.

“Sorry, I’m in a rush.” You said, avoiding eye contact.

“This will only take a second.” They added, as they always do, but you faltered as you noticed no one had signed whatever sheet they had.

And it was three on a Saturday. The heat bore down from the afternoon sun.

Pity.

So, reluctantly, you turned to them, nodding for them to continue.

A surprised smile was on their face.

“R-right. I’m going to read you a passage of a book, and by the end of it could you answer some questions?”

“Okay.”

“Great!” They flipped over their paper and began reading in a much lower tone than they’d previously been speaking in.

“The cave was dark. Deep. Never-ending. She stared and stared but could never find the bottom, no matter how far she looked. But that wouldn’t stop her. She wanted to. Needed to look deeper…”

The slow, winding tone of their voice clued you in. How the voices began to fade away from the busy street around you.

You shook yourself.

Ah.

So that was the game, hmm?

You fiddled with your nails to show your disinterest. How unfazed you were.

Ignoring the growing warmth within you.

They continued.

“She unknowingly was walking into a nest. A creature was watching, waiting. Calling to its prey. She felt compelled to continue. Walking in an almost dream.”

“Are you done yet?” You said, batting your eyelids innocently. They felt heavier, but nothing to worry about.

They licked their teeth and put on a false smile.

“I guess you really are in a hurry, aren’t you? Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon…”

They found their place on the page once more.

“How long had the creature been trapped in that cage with no one to gaze upon its mesmerising features? 10 years? No, 9. 8? 7…” they paused, looking up at you.

Feeling slightly fuzzy from the counting, you picked this moment to start walking away.

Better luck next time.

“H-hey! Wait up!”

Your movements were clumsier than usual, but freedom was just a few steps away if you could lose them…

They followed you through the weaving crowd, still reading to you.

“She was helpless. Walking in circles. Resistance was futile. Her feet felt like lead. The floor of the cave grew muddy. Sticky. Weighing her movements down. She was slowing. Her mind. Her thoughts, slowing.”

You ignored them, pushing through, mumbling half apologies to those you moved past.

They felt faster than you. Lighter than you.

Get out of my head, you thought.

“That’s it, the creature cooed to her. Stay with me. Go on. Give up your fight and stay here forever. Listen to my words. Let them seep into your mind.”

You half faltered, turning and seeing them smile at you.

“N-no. No she didn’t. She made it out of the cave…” you said looking deep into their eyes.

You couldn’t see the sun. You were no longer outside. You were in the deepest, darkest, cave.

The creature stared back from the darkness and spoke.

“Perhaps. But, even if she did, would she ever really stop thinking about what she could’ve had with the creature…?”

You dropped.

[jjkeremika]

Hi, how you doing? I love how you write, so, csn iirequest some Zeke x fem!readerslight smut? Its been a while since i read something about him. Thank you ❤❤

hello, my friend ! thats so nice, thank you <3 you absolutely can request Zeke Jaeger x fem!reader light smut! i hope its okay.

here's what im thinking...

with Zeke, there's always some sort of implication. whether it be bland and simple, or soft and sexy--it was always there, hidden and exposed: a hanging question; an additional thread.

maybe it was in the look he cast you: stern apart from an insinuating brow; steely except in the swirling and suggestive whirlpools of his irises; stoic despite the flickering, mischievous fluorescent light off the glasses.

an unspoken suggestion revealed in the slightest twitch of his lip to an upward curve. in his lingering admiration.

"yn, shall we..." his deep voice was always steady and smooth, collected yet drawn out like an overplayed, hardy record. "move somewhere a little more..." his eyes ambitiously twinkled like the sun's reflection on wet snow. his tone intimately laced with an emotion no vernacular could relate. "comfortable?"

the expecting look, the feather touch of his cool fingertips against warmed skin, the soft sway of his beard as he spoke, as you couldn't take your eyes off his lips, as you swore he was leaning closer--as he tiptoed around the implication like an amateur intruder avoided spotlight.

imperfectly.

"like a couch?" a soft palm graced your exposed thigh, slid easily under the flimsy skirt fabric like it wasn't even there. he leaned close to your ear, the soft yet prickly facial hair barely brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck and cheek. "or maybe a bed?"

obviously.

Zeke pulled away slightly, allowed himself to indulge in the sight of your parted lips and astonished, accepting eyes. you stopped breathing as he hogged the hot air. your reflection boldly cast across the glasses. "just anywhere horizontal, really."

he smirked at your audible inhale, practically a choke. his hand twitched in a looming threat to tighten around the limb.

"why only horizontal?" you were capable of only shallow breaths, unsatisfactory to the indiscernible mess of emotions flooding your gut, caving into your pelvis. despite the intense blood flow, restrained the overbearing need to jump on him, you matched his locked gaze and managed out, "we can have fun vertically too."

you were entranced with the rapid dilation of his pupils, noticed the slight tension encompass his neck and shoulder muscles as he took a controlled breath.

the large hand stretched around your thigh and followed the natural curve, right to the intimate plush of a cheek that so easily contorted under his grip, so willingly accepted his outstretched palm.

the clasp of his fingernails into the fatty skin evoked a sharp exhale—distracted you long enough from preventing the air from desperately escaping captivity, from stopping Zeke from resting an arm against the wall and closing in.

he pounced at the opportunity, collapsed his forehead against yours and needily pressed his lips to yours. took advantage of your open mouth and dipped his tongue inside, licked around like collecting melting ice cream on a cone. dropped his second hand to your cheek, stepped in further and kept you close.

close enough to feel the heat radiating off his larger body, condensing into the tickling sweat along your hairline, seeping into the pounding vessels and arteries running through your body. close enough to feel his shoulders contorting over you, bending down to kiss you deeper. close enough to feel the solid, huge erection at your waist, to feel the throbbing pulse vibrate through the fabric against your abdomen.

Zeke’s second hand joined his other, quickly adapted to the home of your bum and suddenly swept you off the ground, roughly fell into the wall. you didn’t even notice the pain from the wall due to the adrenaline in your blood, because of the insistent grinding of your clothed clit against his hard erection as he rubbed you between himself and the paneling.

he kept his mouth on yours, swallowed every single gasp and sound like he was starved. muffled each moan like it was his dream occupation and he was gunning for a lucrative promotion.

your brain flicked through each feeling like a slideshow: the fondling and squeezing of his hands against your cheeks and upper thighs; the electricity and friction where your crotch met his; the sloppy and wet meshing of your lips with his; the cold and stubborn wall scratching against your hot and flexible spine.

the soft and quiet noises still flooded the room, concentrated into a building ringing in your ears deciphered into one simple word—easily summed up in a single desire. and with Zeke, it was always more. more and more and more.