#I'M SENDING YOU THE POSITIVE EMOTIONS AND YOU CAN'T ESCAPE FROM THEM.

[letstrip13]

୨୧ - cramps

summary: your boyfriend comes over to take care of you when you get your period

warnings: none, just enjoy cutesy bf!chris. not proofread!

word count: 819

author's note: day 3 of posting blurbs!! send requests for blurbs or fics!! also over 600 likes on my last blurb is insane, i haven’t gotten that many in so long tysm!! 𖹭

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you're laying on the couch in your apartment's living room, all curled up in the only position that can provide some relief from the pain. your period came this morning and by this evening, the horrible day one cramps had hit.

about ten minutes ago, you had texted your boyfriend, chris, to come over to cuddle and watch a movie. he wasn’t too far so he’d be showing up any minute now.

another few minutes tick by when the door you left unlocked for him comes flying open. chris bursts through the door holding an overflowing grocery bag in each hand as he calls out to you, sounding urgent, “baby?!” you sit up in a panic, worried by the tone of his voice. “i'm in here!”

he rushes into the living room and drops the bags on the coffee table, almost knocking over the scented candle you had burning in the process. a giggle slips out of your lips, the panic quickly replaced by confusion and amusement. “what's all this, my love?”

he looks up at you, an expression so nervous that you just want to run your fingers through his hair and give him a squeeze, but you let him speak.

“i- umm.. it's everything you need for your period. i know it's hard for you sometimes.. so i wanted to make it better.” the confusion courses through your mind again. you hadn't mentioned it when you texted him. “wha- how'd you know?” a soft chuckle escapes him. “you always ask me to come cuddle when you're on it.. and we've been together over a year, princess, i know you.”

“you're so sweet, i don't know what i’d do without you, chris.” his face breaks into his usual charming grin. “wanna see what i got?” he kneels in front of the couch where you're sitting and he places the bags in front of him.

first, he pulls a box of pads and a box of tampons, placing them next to him. “just in case you needed more,” he adds with a sheepish smile, “i hope i got the right ones.” “you did great, baby.” a relieved smile crosses his lips and he continues digging through the bags.

he pulls out a hot water bottle complete with a cute cover, pink with little red strawberries scattered around it. then he follows it up with a bottle of generic painkillers. “the lady at the store says these will be good for your cramps,” he tells you with a proud little smirk.

he takes out a pair of black fresh love sweatpants and the zip-up hoodie to match. “these because i know you forgot to get some last time you were over,” he pauses and digs around in the bottom of the bag and pulls out a pair of purple fuzzy socks with black cats on them, “..and these because i know you love halloween, even if it is a little early.”

you watch him carefully, hanging on to every word he says but you remain silent, words having left you for the time being. he takes a different approach with emptying the second bag, opting to just dump everything out in front of you. out tumbles a pile of your favourite snacks, chocolate, and candy, as well as six bags of honey bbq fritos which chris starts to ramble on about, “i was looking for these for so long. i went to so many different stores and gas stations this week but they were sold out every time. i saw them today and thought might as well buy them all-”

he's interrupted with a choked sob escaping your lips as hot tears roll down your cheeks. the thoughtfulness of your boyfriend's loving gesture gave you such an overwhelming feeling of adoration. but mixed with the heightened emotions as a side effect of your period, you can't help but cry.

chris quickly notices and rushes to pull you into his arms, doing his best to soothe your sobs. “is something wrong? did i buy the wrong thing?” a few slightly louder cries come out of you before you can hold it together enough to speak. “no, it's all perfect. you're-” you manage to gasp out between sobs, “perfect. i love you so much. thank you.”

you can feel a rush of air leave chris at his relief. “oh good. i thought it was about the fritos. they're not all for me, you know.” you laugh, the tears quickly being forgotten as he wipes away the traces of them on your cheeks.

“how about we cuddle and watch a movie?” you nod, getting comfortable on the couch and grabbing a blanket for the both of you to share. “sounds good to me.” you rest your head on his shoulder and pick a movie. he gently tilts your chin up to place a soft kiss on your lips just as the movie begins.

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[dhorrl]

Love Yourself The Way I Love You

Eijiro Kirishima/Reader

Inspired by this piece by @dcsiremc So please everyone who loves this man the way I do, give them all the love.

Trigger Warnings: Not much, it's Eijiro :) some mild spanking, biting/marking kink.

The sound of your phone ringing interrupts your thoughts, and a thrill runs through you as you see the name Eijiro flashing on the screen. You've been together for a few months now, and he never fails to make you smile and feel giddy like a teenager in love.

In every video he sends, Eijiro's enthusiasm and positivity shines through. He beams as he showcases his workouts, effortlessly lifting weights that are two or three times your body weight. You can't help but admire the way his muscles ripple and flex with each movement, and you're mesmerized by the droplets of sweat that bead on his skin. It's clear that Eijiro is not only physically strong, but also radiates confidence in his own skin. And that's what truly draws you in to him.

As you eagerly click on the message, your heart races with anticipation. The screen lights up and reveals Eijiro's sweaty figure in a dimly lit gym, grunting as he lifts weights effortlessly. Your eyes trail down his muscular arms and chest, and your cheeks flush as you catch a glimpse of his chiseled abs. But it's his playful wink and flirty message at the end that make your heart flutter.

"Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to let you know that you're always on my mind, even when I'm not around 😉"

A small squeal escapes from your lips as you read his message, the warmth and affection for him growing stronger inside of you. As the video comes to an end, you quickly type out a reply thanking him for the sweet message and add some flirty emojis of your own. However, before you can press send, another message from Eijiro appears on your screen.

"Can't wait to see you tonight 😉❤️"

As the day passes, you can't help but constantly check your phone, hoping for another message from Eijiro. Finally, your wish is granted when he sends another picture of himself, shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck and sweat glistening on his toned chest and abs.

"Just a little teaser of what's to come tonight 😏"

As you gazed at the photo, your cheeks flushed hot as your eyes traced the sculpted muscles of your boyfriend's body. Your mouth watered and your thighs involuntarily clenched at the thought of being with someone so physically powerful and impressive.

As the evening approaches, a sense of dread fills your stomach. You know you should be excited for him to come over, but all you can think about are the things you hate about yourself. You hastily try on outfit after outfit, each one making you feel more and more insecure.

As you finally settle on a dress, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and immediately want to change. But there's no time left. Your hair and makeup become a mask as you desperately try to distract yourself from the fear of not looking good enough. And then there's a knock at the door, and suddenly you're filled with conflicting emotions - excitement at seeing him, but also dread at the thought of him seeing the real you.

Your heart flutters as you catch sight of him, dressed in a tight black t-shirt and jeans that highlight every muscle on his toned body. You let out a teasing whistle, unable to resist the urge to admire him.

"Hey Eiji, you look incredible," you say with a hint of envy as he walks towards you. "Come on in, baby. I missed you so much today." You can't help but feel self-conscious next to him, tugging at the hem of your dress nervously.

As his broad shoulders fill the doorway, Eijiro's eager grin and booming voice instantly brighten the room. He engulfs you in a bear hug, lifting you off your feet with ease. His eyes roam over your body appreciatively, a playful smirk gracing his lips.

"You look amazing," he says sincerely, his warm smile lighting up his face.

As he sets you back on the ground, his red eyes sparkle with adoration as they take in your appearance. "Why hide that gorgeous body of yours in that loose dress? You know I love every inch of you," he murmurs softly, his affection for you evident in his words and actions.

Eijiro's large hands firmly grip the sides of your dress, pulling the fabric taut against your body and accentuating every curve. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I can't stop thinking about what's hidden under there," he says with a husky tone. "Those thick thighs of yours drive me crazy." You can feel the heat of his breath against your skin as a shiver runs down your spine. "So how about we cut to the chase and I start worshipping my girl right now?"

As you feel the heat rise in your cheeks, you stutter out a response. Eiji looks at you with those intense, mesmerizing eyes and you can't help but blush even more.

"You're crazy," you say, trying to hide your insecurity. Your hands trace over his toned chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, even without his Quirk activated. You can't believe someone like him would want someone like you, and it shows in the way you fidget and avoid eye contact.

Eijiro's grin threatened to split his face in two as he felt your fingers brush against his skin. He couldn't help but lean into the touch, savoring the warmth that radiated from your palms.

"Damn, babe, I'm head over heels for you," he chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "Your strength and passion drive me crazy. And this body," his voice drops to a low growl, his eyes darkening with desire, "it's yours and it's perfect."

Leaning even closer, he traces a calloused finger down your cheek, marveling at how soft and delicate it feels under his rough touch. "You gotta see yourself through my eyes. You're fierce and beautiful and I plan on proving it to you every chance I get."

A sly grin spreads across his face, and his eyes light up with a mischievous glint. "I have an idea," he says, barely suppressing a chuckle. "Let's make a little wager. If I can make you scream my name so loud that the neighbors hear, you have to say one nice thing about yourself for each time it happens."

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he continues, "And trust me..." His gaze drops down to the noticeable bulge in his pants, making your heart race with anticipation. "I'm planning on hearing my name a lot tonight."

You swallow hard, feeling your cheeks flush with heat as you nod in agreement. Your eyes dart down to the impressive size of his bulge and you bite your lip nervously; there's no way you can refuse a bet like that, even if you end up losing.

"Y-yeah...okay, its a deal."

Eijiro's lips curl into a savage smirk, revealing sharp canines that seem to glint with primal desire. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of your arousal and nervous excitement. His strong arms envelop you in a tight embrace, pressing your body against his sculpted chest.

"You won't regret making that bet," he growls into your ear, his hands trailing down your spine until they firmly grip your hips, grinding them against his own evident erection.

With a firm grip, he guides you towards the bedroom, his predatory gaze never faltering. You can feel the electricity between your bodies as his hands explore every inch of your skin, igniting flames of desire with each touch. As you enter the bedroom, Eijiro's fingers trail more boldly along your curves, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Let's start by getting rid of this dress," he whispers in a husky voice, deftly unzipping it and sliding it off your shoulders. "I need to see the body that drives me wild."

The dress pools at your feet, revealing your bare body to him. He bites his lip in appreciation before gently turning you towards the full-length mirror on the wall. With him standing behind you, his heat radiates against your back as you meet his intense gaze in the reflection.

"Look at us," he commands, leaving no room for argument, his hands sliding around your waist. "I want you to see what I see—how damn perfect we fit together. How fucking gorgeous you are."

He begins to trail kisses along your shoulder, each one a mix of soft lips and the graze of his sharp teeth. With each kiss, he whispers praises, each word a testament to the beauty he sees in your body and spirit.

"Tell me something you love about yourself," he says between kisses. "Say it, or I'll have to convince you with my own ways, and you know I can be very persuasive…"

You look in the mirror, your mind flooded only with criticism as you look at the curves and rolls on your body, hating every thing you see. 

"I don’t know Eiji… I-I just don’t see it. I wish I did."

His eyes soften momentarily, deeply affected by your vulnerability, but the determination doesn't wane in his gaze. Eijiro’s hands trail up, cupping your face gently, making you to look into his eyes through the reflection.

"I see it, babe. Every day, every damn second I'm with you," his voice is a low, soothing rumble, filled with conviction. "I see strength in these arms," he kisses each bicep, "beauty in these curves," his hands glide over your hips and waist, "and desire in the way you look at me."

Eijiro's lips find the nape of your neck, nipping lightly. "I'll say it for you. You have a heart that's fierce and kind. You're courageous, not scared by the bullshit life throws at you. And these thighs?" His hands grasp them, a mix of gentle and firm, "they're stunning, powerful, and they make me weak every time I see them."

He circles around you body, his back to the mirror. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, worship every inch of you until you can't deny it anymore. You. Are. Gorgeous. And I’ll make you scream it out."

Eijiro lowers his head, his mouth trailing down your body. He takes his time, his lips and tongue lavishing attention on every inch of skin, until he's kneeling in front of you, his face pressed against your thighs.

He looks up at you from his position, his eyes ablaze with lust. "Gonna start by showing these gorgeous thighs some love," he murmurs, before his tongue and lips get to work. 

The sensations are immediate and intense; his mouth is hot and insistent, his tongue swirling and licking while his teeth gently graze your skin. The feeling of being adored, worshipped, is undeniable.

You gasp as you feel his tongue and teeth starting to work your legs, knees weak at the sensation. 

"Eiji! Fuck… baby." You feel his shark-like teeth leaving marks on your skin, shiver with each mark of ownership. "Please… feels so good."

Eijiro looks up at you as he etches his mark onto your skin, a sense of pride swelling within him at the sound of your pleasure. His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you steady as he works his magic.

"Good," he growls against your flesh, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you. "That's what I want to hear. Let everyone know who you belong to."

He continues his worship, his mouth a hot, wet contrast against your skin, leaving trails of saliva as he moves higher, his breath ghosting over the ache growing between your legs. Eijiro takes his time, savoring every sound you make, every shiver you can't control.

His large hands roam across your ass, kneading the flesh with a strength that promises so much more. He slaps it lightly, a reverberating sound that punctuates the air, leaving a warm sting that makes your heart race.

"You're so fucking responsive," he praises, voice laced with lust. "Now, tell me... What do you want next? You wanna feel my mouth where you're aching for me the most? Or should I use my fingers to get you wet and ready for my cock? You better say something nice, or I'm stopping right now."

His words are an obscene promise, filled with the knowledge of just how much you can take and how much he's willing to give. Every syllable drips with the primal need to see you unravel under his touch, to have you claiming as much pleasure from him as he does from you.

You look down at him, feeling your cunt quivering around nothing as you imagines every vulgar thing he wants to do to you. 

"I want all of it. Love when you touch me, when you mark me, when you make me yours." Your fingers run through his hair, mussing up the gel holding it in place. "You remind me… remind me that I’m more than my self-doubts. You make me feel pretty."

"Babe, you're so much more," he vows, his voice a husky whisper as he lowers his head to place a tender kiss on your pussy through your panties, his tongue darting our to suck on the wet spot.

He hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, peeling them down your legs with purposeful slowness, unveiling the part of you that he's claimed as his sanctuary. He loves sight of you, fully exposed and glistening with anticipation.

"I'll remind you, gonna keep reminding you," he affirms, his voice thick with passion. He leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. The first deliberate flick of his tongue against your clit is a spark that ignites your body, a gentle promise of the fire to come.

Eijiro lavishes you with attention, his tongue exploring every fold, every crevice with an insatiable hunger. His large hands spread your thighs wider, his grip unyielding as he devours you. He moans against you, the vibration adding another layer of sensation.

With every swirl of his tongue, every nip at your sensitive skin, he pours his affirmation into you. He's a man on a mission—a mission to make you see yourself through his eyes, through the lens of raw, unfiltered passion.

"Tell me when you're close," he begs, his voice muffled against your pussy. "I want to hear you fall apart, and then I want you to look in the mirror and see the goddess that you truly are."

As Eijiro works you towards climax, his eyes remain locked on yours, making sure you can see the truth in his gaze with each stroke of his tongue: you are desirable, you are beautiful, you are loved.

Your knees press against his shoulders as you struggle to stay standing, your eyes more on him that the mirror as he buries his face deep into your dripping cunt, gripping onto his hair. His hands cup around you ass, supporting your entire weight as if you weigh nothing at all.

"Fuck… fuck I’m so close. Gonna make a mess if you keep that up… E-Eijiro! Fuck, Eijiro!!"

The fervor in your voice is like music to Eijiro's ears, each exclamation of his name spurring him on, his tongue relentless in its pursuit to unravel you. He feels the tremors coursing through your thighs, the sweet tension building within you, and it ignites a primal, possessive heat in his blood.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice muffled by your soaked folds as he doubles down on his efforts, his tongue swirling around your throbbing clit with a predator's precision. "Give it to me, babe. Let it out. Make that fucking mess."

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, holding you as your climax hits. Eijiro revels in the taste of you, the wetness that spills forth as testament to the raw intensity between you. Your body convulses, your cries echo, and Eijiro absorbs each and every sound, each shudder, engraving them into his very soul.

As your orgasm wanes, he gently eases you down onto his lap, pulling your legs around his waist and grounding you. His eyes, glowing with pride and adoration, never leave your face. A smirk of satisfaction plays on his lips, the sight before him one of pure triumph.

His own arousal is evident in the way his pants tent against his growing erection, but his thoughts right now are only on you. He presses a soft, worshipful kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on him. His hands frame your face, his thumbs caressing your cheeks.

"Look at you," he whispers with a voice thick with emotion. "So fucking beautiful. Now, I believe you owe me some more nice words about yourself. And I want to hear them, babe. Because you are everything, especially to me. So, tell me. What do you love about yourself right now?"

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, focusing on his kind eyes as you try to find the right words.

"I… I love how confident I feel when I'm with you," you say, your voice still shaking slightly. "And I love the way you look at me, like I'm the most beautiful person in the world. It makes me believe that maybe I am."

"You are," he says, his voice soft but full of conviction. "In every sense of the word." He leans in to press another lingering kiss on your lips before continuing. "I also love how strong and capable you are. You always push yourself and never give up. It's one of the things that drew me to you from the beginning."

"And lastly," Eijiro says with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I fucking love how hot and sexy you are." His hand slides down to cup between your legs and rub teasingly against your still-sensitive clit. "I'm not done showing you just how pretty you are, how much you turn me on." His voice dips into a low growl. "I want you to feel every inch of my cock inside you, reminding you with every thrust that you're mine and that you're the most stunning girl in the world."

Eijiro's arms wrap around your trembling thighs and lift you off the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed, positioning you in front of a large mirror. You can feel the heat radiating off of his muscular body.

Your eyes were drawn to his massive cock, its girth and length impossible to ignore as it bounced against his rock-hard abs. Without hesitation, you reached for it with one hand, marveling at its size as your fingers struggled to fully wrap around it.

"Mmm, Eiji...your cock always fills me up and stretches me just right," you moaned, lost in the pleasure of his touch.

Eijiro's breath hitches at the feel of your hand on him, and a deep, guttural groan escapes his lips as you tease his tip with your slick heat. "Damn, babe, hearing you talk about my dick like that..." His words trail off into a lustful growl.

His red eyes are fixed on the junction where your body meets his, watching as you slide his tip around your entrance, coating him with your arousal and readying him for the tight, warm embrace of your cunt. "I love the way you take me, how you stretch around me. It's fucking perfect, just like you."

He grips your hips, steadying you as you align yourself with him. He looks into your eyes, his gaze full of heat and an overwhelming desire to please you, to overwhelm you with sensation until your previous insecurities fade into nothing.

You give him a subtle nod, signaling your readiness. He helps you slowly lower yourself down, and both of you gasp as his hard length penetrates you. It's a slow and steady process, each inch filling you with a pleasurable ache that makes both of you catch your breath.

You let out a low moan, feeling slight discomfort as your body adjusts to accommodate his size. Taking deep breaths, you try to relax and allow him to fully enter you.

"That's it," Eijiro encourages, his voice rough with restraint as he watches you take more and more of him. "Fuck, you're so tight, so perfect for me. You feel that? That's you conquering every fucking inch of me. So powerful, so fucking sexy."

Once you're fully seated, Eijiro pauses, letting you adjust to the intense fullness, the sensation of being completely claimed by him. His hands move to caress your thighs, your ass—every part of you he can touch—as he waits for your signal to move.

"Take your time, babe. When you're ready, we'll move together. Slow and steady at first, then as hard and fast as you want. This is about you, about us. I want you to feel every stroke, every thrust. I want to make you love this as much as I love you."

His hands grip your waist, guiding your movements as you ride him, his fingers digging into your flesh with urgency. The room is filled with nothing but the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, your combined moans, and the steady creak of furniture straining under the force of your passionate union.

"That's it, moan for me," he commands between grunts, his eyes locked on yours as he thrusts up into you with a fervent need to claim you. "Let everyone know who's making you feel this good. Who you belong to."

His words trigger something in you, a release of inhibition as your screams grow louder, uninhibited. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving marks that he wears with pride as badges of your pleasure.

As you move together, the pain gives way to pure ecstasy, and Eijiro pours every ounce of his strength and love into each thrust. His cock drives into you, hitting spots that have you seeing stars, the pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming.

His primal, dominant side is in full display as he dictates the tempo, his hips snapping up to meet yours with each descent. The sight of you - flushed, writhing, and utterly surrendered to the pleasure - only fuels his desire to drive you to another climax.

Eijiro's lips leave a trail of fire on your skin, igniting every nerve ending as his hands grip your hips and guide you to the edge of the bed. Your bodies move in perfect synchronization, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you.

In between heated kisses and breathless moans, Eijiro turns your face towards the mirror. "Look at us," he commands, his voice thick with desire. You lock eyes with him in the reflection, seeing the raw passion and desire reflected back.

Your bodies are a perfect fit, his muscular frame providing a powerful contrast to your softer curves. Every move feels as if you were created to come together in this moment. "This is how it's meant to be," he whispers, reaffirming the intense connection between you.

Tears run down your face as you whisper, "I see it all, Eiji. Every single part of us." Your words are filled with vulnerability. "You have me completely, and I have you."

You ride him with wild abandon, the slick sounds filling the air alongside your cries. He watches with pure adoration as pleasure contorts your face, knowing he's the cause of the beautiful sight before him.

Eijiro's thrusts become erratic, a sign he's close to the edge, but he's determined to take you over first. His hand moves between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in fast, rough circles.

"Come on, babe," he growls, his own control fraying at the seams. "Cum for me again. I want you to drench my cock with that sweet pussy. Do it. Now."

Eijiro's lips crash against yours in a tempest of fervor and desire, his tongue tangling with yours as his hips begin to move, driving into you with a rhythm that gradually escalates from a controlled pace to a fervent onslaught.

The raw, unfiltered desire in his eyes, the commanding tone in his voice, and the relentless assault on your clit push you over the brink once more. Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that leaves you breathless and quaking. 

As you shudder and scream his name, Eijiro follows, his own climax tearing through him with a roar. He fills you with his heat, his essence marking you as much as his teeth did on your thighs.

As he empties himself into you, Eijiro's embrace is possessive yet protective, holding you close as if to meld your bodies into one. His head buries into the crook of your neck, his hot breath cascading over your skin while he pants, trying to catch his breath, his heart racing against your chest.

"You're so fucking amazing," he whispers, pressing soft, languid kisses to your shoulder and neck. "You're the strongest, sexiest woman I know. And you’re all mine."

His tender words are a soothing balm, a stark contrast to the wildness of before, as he holds you in the quiet aftermath of your shared ecstasy. In this moment, everything is perfect – and Eijiro intends to spend every day making sure you know just how perfect you are to him.

"Eijiro," you whisper, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

"Yes, my love?" he replies, his voice soft and full of adoration.

"I've never felt so loved and desired before. Thank you for making me feel so beautiful."

Eijiro pulls your face up to meet his, his eyes glistening with emotion. "You are beautiful, inside and out. And I will always be here to remind you of that."

He holds you both physically and emotionally in that space, the air filled with the essence of your shared ecstasy, the bond between you unbreakable. "I love every part of you. Always will."

[ponyosmom35]

friendly face

Simon ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter seventeen!

summary: after a heartbreaking talk with Ghost, reader looks for a friendly face.

warnings: ghost is a c*nt, cursing, fake flirting, Johnny is the loml

Liability masterlist:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

After a devastating realziation that the man she loved seemed to not give a shit about her, she was looking for the one person she knew did. She scanned the base for that familiar mohawk desperately. Johnny had truly been a godsend, he checked in on her regularly. Eventaully they started speaking on the phone twice a week. Johnny enjoyed hearing about her life, it took him out of the horrible shit he saw on a daily basis. She became an escape for him. She adored he conversations with him, he was always so positive and never failed to make her laugh. When she told him that she was coming back he nearly burst her eardrum over the phone as he shouted in happiness. She loved him, since Emma died he’d become her closest friend.

She is snapped out of her thoughts when a shoulder hits her. She looks up to see a friendly face looking at her emotionlessly “apologies miss, wasn’t paying attention to where I was goin”

“shut the fuck up suds” she says wrapping her arms around his neck, he laughs and picks her up, spinning her around.

“Sight for sore eyes, it's fucking good to see you!”

“well at least someones happy I'm here!”

“glad to have you back, how you liking Mexico so far?” he asks as he sets her down

“everyone has been nice, very welcoming. how long has it fucking been since you've felt my presence? you must be so happy to see me” she jokes, 

Johnny sighs and pulls her into another hug, wrapping his arms around her shoulders  “too long, much to long…”

“we talked like twice a week” she reminds him

“Aye, but it's not the same as seeing your face”

“that's true, nothing compares” she jokes, causing him to laugh “what's the deal here, how long do you think we'll be in Las Almas? Price wants me to come back with you both when you finish the mission”

“Probably a few days, depends how things go”

“how's it coming? Ghost seems... different”

“*ghosts always been a bit... different. But we're lucky he's on our side, without him all these missions might not go as well as we hoped... wait since when do you call him Ghost?”

“since he yelled at me as soon as I arrived today, seriously Johnny I don't know what I did wrong” she confesses, feeling herself get emotional once more.

“don't let him get to ya. He's just a tad bit of a wanker”

“I can't help it, I don't understand how things could change so quickly. I really thought for a second that he liked me... I guess I was dumb”

“Like you?”  he chuckles “that's the understatement of the century”

“don't joke like that Johnny”

“Ghost is head over heels for you”

“he's not, he yelled at me like he hates me. reminds me of the beginning of my time on base”

“I don't know lass, he's a mystery” he shrugs, she watches as he gulps and rubs his neck

“are you lying to me Johnathon?”

“I would never lie, it's un-becoming of a soldier”

“what do you know?” she questions, narrowing her eyes, sending him a death glare

“I can't say, he'd kill me”

“I will kill you”

“Oh really…” he says stepping closer, she pushes him back with a laugh. Neither of them aware of Ghost’s prying eyes watching their every move. Took every fiber in his being not to throw his sergeant to the ground.

“I'll get it out of you sergeant don't underestimate me”

“I think I just got a view of how you and Ghost get along, it all makes sense now…”

“What are you talking about?”

“you like to tease and joke with him don't you?” he asks as he wraps his arms around her from behind

“he wouldn't care anyways” she sighs, as she elbows him in the ribs tyring to get him off. 

“you think not?”

“He knows we’re friends”

“You say that... but does he actually believe it?” he chuckles as he spots the death glare Ghost was sending his way.

“I told you that he doesn't care about me, lets drop it okay?”

“I don't know lass, I think he does care…” he whispers in her ear, she scrunches her nose 

“I will cut your dick off if you don't let me go” she warns 

 “ok, ok, easy on there lass” he laughs as he lets go of her, she turns around and punches him in the arm, surprising him with her strength “that was a good shot”

“You desreve a lot more than that, now moving on I have a favor to ask you”

“Oh? What would that be then?”

“I'm rooming with Ghost, I was hoping you could switch with me”

“you know that's against protocol, I can't do that” he refuses

“Please” 

“I’m rooming with a stranger, safer for you to be with Ghost, he won’t let nothin happen to ya” 

“you should've heard the things he said, he hates me! I can't sleep in there with him! I’d rather take my chances with a stranger”

“what could he possibly have said to you that's so bad?”

“he told me not to call him simon”

“oh gods lass you know he doesn't like that! His name is Simon, yes, but he much prefers being called Ghost” Johnny scoffs 

“when he gave me his name it was the first time I realized that he didn't' actually hate me. after all of the fighting he finally trusted me! you don't understand, we connected. he told me things.. he told me everything. now it feels like all of that's gone” she says looking down at her feet, tears sting at her eyes. 

“I know how you feel lass, trust me I do... but you need to understand, he does like you, trust me. He's just not the best at showing it...I think there's a lot more going on in his head than either of us wanna know”

“what am I supposed to do? I can't just ignore him... not after everything” 

“just be there for him, that's the best thing you can do”

“what if that's not what he wants anymore?” she asks 

“It doesn't matter, it's what he needs” he reassures her

“so you're saying you won't switch rooms with me?” she jokes

“No”

“goddman you” she curses 

“I can't believe you even thought I'd say yes” he laughs 

“god forbid you be helpful!”

“I am being helpful, lass” he winks before grabbing her arm, pulling her toward Ghost  “no, no, no. We're not done yet”

“stop don't you fucking dare” she says as she tries to pull away from him, he smiles mischievously

“or else what, are you gonna tell my superior officer?” 

“I swear to god-” she stops as they arrive in front of Ghost

“oh come on, Ghost, don't give us that look” Johnny laughs, as he hits his LT in the shoulder playfully. 

“Stop fucking around and go do something useful” Ghost snaps as he works on cleaning out his gun. 

“oh cheer up, we're only having fun” Johnny says smugly 

“We’re not here to have fun, we’re here to catch a fucking terrorist!”

“I believe we can do both, Ghost.” she responds, defending her friend. Ghost looks up at her and shakes his head. 

“Johnny take her to the med bay, get out of my sight the both of you” he snaps 

“you heard the man, follow me” Johnny says as he walks off, dragging her along. 

“see what I was talking about?”

“I'll give it to you, he's quite the character”

“Nobody like him in the world” she grumbles

“chin up ankle biter, we'll be out of here in no time. I'm sure once we get back to base he'll be fine”

“I hope you're right” she sighs 

“oh you know me, I'm always right lass”

“I don't think you've ever been right once to be honest” she jokes as she tries to trip him, he dodges her and pushes her back slightly, both of them laughing.

“whatever you say”

“you've learned not to argue, I've taught you well!”

“Oh yeah, you taught me everything I know, boss” he responds sarcastically  

“bye johnny, save me a seat at dinner”

“Will do”

a/n:

I love soap so much omfg, the best wingman alive fr

Tag list: @vivi123abc

[bonearenaofmyskull]

The OP has turned off reblogs at the time I'm posting this, so it seemed wise to move this discussion about the authenticity of Hannibal's love for Will over here. I want to give it its due, and the open invitation to discuss was out, so here is some context and my response.

The original ask went:

Hi! I've wanted to write about this for a long time, and your blog seems like a safe space. Let me give you a heads up—I am not against shipping at all. I am aware of the antis in your ask box, but I promise I am not affiliated with them. This is just a friendly direction. So, if you are truly open to discussion, I want you to view Hannibal as a selfish, manipulative, and extremely violent person. Notice how he is power-hungry and wanted to keep Will in his chokehold, never viewing them as equals. Hannibal created this delusional image of Will in his mind and inserted himself into Will's delusional world. Look at his actions again in season 3. Can you point out one scene where you can write, "Oh yes, Hannibal loves Will"? The problem with the antis is that they are questioning Will's feelings for Hannibal when they should question Hannibal's feelings for Will. Hannibal only liked Will when Will behaved like Hannibal—notice that in season 2. Does it change your view on them now?

OP didn't have anything to say to this, and my response was critical of anon's choice to bring this to OP's inbox, but the relevant part of what I said to the current discussion included the following:

...the basic rule [of writing discourse] is--if you're the one to posit the claim, then it is your job to support it.... You can't possibly do the leg work needed here to give your side its due. This is such a hefty claim that you've posed--that Hannibal's worst personality defects negate any authenticity/sincerity in his emotional response to Will--that the support it needs is probably running in the 6k words range. Or more.

To which @melancholymournia responded:

Let's start a discussion then --

I believe Anon has a valid perspective. They were seeking opinions and I believe it's within their right to do so. Anon's main argument is that Crimson should view Hannibal as an antagonist, as he embodies a sinister role in the narrative. Hannibal's love for Will is portrayed as selfish, driven by desperation for understanding. Anon points out Hannibal's creation of a false image of Will in his mind, particularly evident in Season 1's exploitative and abusive behavior. Anon contends that Hannibal only appreciates Will when he mirrors Hannibal's actions,evident in s2 and Will's attachment stems from trauma and a sense of justice. Will attempted to kill Hannibal numerous times and even succeeded, but Hannibal's plot armor consistently saved him. Despite this, according to Bryan, it's "Will Graham's story," implying that Hannibal's eventual demise was always a possibility. Hannibal maintained manipulation over Will even in Season 3, from start to finish. People's justification of the Dolce scene and romanticizing the gallery scene surprises me, considering both instances involved plans for mutual harm. Despite Will expressing fatigue with the chase, questions about why he fell for Hannibal linger. After discussions, it became clear to me that his attachment wasn't love but a trauma response to his abuser. In Season 3, even when Will urged Hannibal to leave, Hannibal surrendered, manipulating the situation rather than acting out of genuine love. Hannibal caged himself to ensnare Will, who later moved on with a family, but the fandom struggled to accept it, mirroring Will's Stockholm syndrome-like attachment to Hannibal. Hannibal continued harming Will, sending the Dragon to kill Will's family to manipulate him into a meeting. Ultimately, Will chose death to escape both Hannibal and himself, feeling a resemblance to Hannibal in his mind. Throughout the seasons, Hannibal's actions show a lack of genuine love, portraying him as a greedy figure taking relentlessly from Will and ultimately causing his destruction.

I think this is a teachable moment about meta and what it needs to be successful. So this is my response--partially aimed at the content of what you've said here, and partially aimed at talking about meta itself and what it needs and how to do it justice.

I think when we're thinking about writing meta that is successful, we need to be thinking about what it is we're trying to achieve. Personally, I ascribe to the belief that "the aim of argument, or of discussion, should be progress, not victory." This doesn't mean I or anyone else won't fall victim to being petty once in a while--we're all human here, I think--but that if we're doing our jobs the best we could be doing them, then we should be focused on getting to a shared deeper understanding of the text, rather than on trying to "win." Above that, I think our fandom has lost a sense of this in its discourse in the past couple months.

In pursuit of that, I don't think how you opened, with defense of anon, was wise. This argument, if it needs to be made, needs to be made for the perusal of the fandom, not specifically for one person. Crimson neither needed nor wanted to be a target. "They were seeking opinions" and having a "main argument is that Crimson should view Hannibal as [anything]" are essentially exclusive statements. Anon was not trying to get Crimson's opinion: they were trying to sway it. You stepping in to defend anon when more people than just myself have recognized the troll-y or even malicious aspects of the ask puts your argument in a bad light, which honestly doesn't serve you well. If your primary purpose is to make the argument (and actually sway opinions yourself) rather than to defend anon (create teams/advance fandom drama/"win"), then it would be better delivered if you maintained an air of neutrality by at minimum, avoiding commentary on anon themself.

That could be done by starting your own post and tagging the interested parties and just focusing on the topic at hand and ignoring anon. Or this could be done in your response by saying something along the lines of just "This is an interesting idea that I haven't seen discussed enough. I think..." and then proceed to say what you think. That then shifts the conversation to the claims being made rather than the people who make them, and how they made them. (Note my primary objection to the original ask is exactly about anon's behavior and choices rather than to the points themselves.)

So setting the issue of anon's choices aside, we next need to look at who the audience is (the broader fandom) and how they can be swayed. Because isn't that the goal, here, ultimately? It sounds like what you and your friends want is to shift general fandom attitude away from the merry-murder-husbands interpretation and into something more cognizant of the fucked up nature of the show.

And this is not in and of itself a bad goal overall, depending on how far you take it. But whether you succeed in this goal or just end up driving people out of the fandom because of the drama or because they become disillusioned with the ship itself is a very fine line to walk, and I'm not sure the people who have been walking it lately realize just how delicately they need to step (not necessarily you specifically--I don't remember seeing your name around before this tbh). It's not progress unless people come around to your way of thinking without becoming fed up and hurt and leaving.

(Obligatory reminder to my own follower base here: I don't condone people going around to anyone's inbox or comments specifically to harass them, regardless of what their opinions are. I am fully of the opinion that we can all play in the same sandbox together without throwing sand in each other's eyes, even if we think the other sand castles are ugly.)

One troubling fact of the whole-fandom-as-audience as it exists currently is that people have differing notions about what the fandom believes on the whole. To sum up, there seems to be three camps: "merry-murder-husbands," "Hannigram-BAD," and "Wtf happened to my peaceful fandom."

If you haven't deduced it already, I belong to the third group.

Merry-murder-husbands and Hannigram-BAD both seem to largely think that everyone who doesn't belong to their own group belongs to the opposing group. But I don't think that's a useful place to write meta from. Tonally, it's going to be off-putting from the very start to anyone who isn't in your own camp, even if their camp is just "Wtf." Getting your point across is also going to be extra difficult if people are from the opposing group--they're going to feel attacked or at the very least, condescended to.

For starters, your (and anon's) talking points aren't going to be focused on what matters to the Wtf crowd. Where this comes up in this particular discussion is with these points here:

Hannibal as a selfish, manipulative, and extremely violent person.

He is power-hungry and wanted to keep Will in his chokehold.

Hannibal as an antagonist, as he embodies a sinister role in the narrative.

Hannibal's love for Will is portrayed as selfish, driven by desperation for understanding.

Hannibal maintained manipulation over Will even in Season 3, from start to finish.

People's justification of the Dolce scene and romanticizing the gallery scene surprises me, considering both instances involved plans for mutual harm.

Hannibal continued harming Will, sending the Dragon to kill Will's family to manipulate him into a meeting.

Hannibal caged himself to ensnare Will.

To the Wtf crowd, this is sort of like arguing that water is wet. Is Hannibal, the biggest pile of dicks that ever existed, actually a big pile of dicks? Well, iunno...you tell me? Nobody from this crowd is arguing that Hannibal isn't a big pile of dicks. So this is basically spinning your wheels.

As to the merry-murder-husbands crowd, this is all justified because deep down, Will is just as big a pile of dicks as Hannibal, and Hannibal being a big pile of dicks to Will just uncovers Will's true dick pile qualities so they can go off and live as merry-piles-o'-dicks together. Now, personally, I think this particular response is full of circular logic and just plain wrong, but the point here is that you're never going to win against it by writing points that play into it. This crowd will move the goalposts on this discussion to a discussion about Will's character, and then you'll be dealing with that instead of the points you want to be making about Hannibal.

This also sets aside that some of these points could be argued against on their own specific merits. Does Hannibal really want to keep Will in his chokehold, or does the real excitement for Hannibal come when Will turns the tables on him? That's a whole meta post by itself, frankly, and more than we can discuss here feasibly. But it does highlight another problem with these points: some of them are interpretations and conclusions in and of themselves, not actual points of evidence.

There's an additional problem in the overall argument with multiple points being about Will rather than Hannibal:

Ultimately, Will chose death to escape both Hannibal and himself, feeling a resemblance to Hannibal in his mind.

Despite Will expressing fatigue with the chase, questions about why he fell for Hannibal linger. After discussions, it became clear to me that his attachment wasn't love but a trauma response to his abuser.

Will's attachment stems from trauma and a sense of justice. Will attempted to kill Hannibal numerous times and even succeeded, but Hannibal's plot armor consistently saved him.

Will…later moved on with a family, but the fandom struggled to accept it, mirroring Will's Stockholm syndrome-like attachment to Hannibal.

Despite this, according to Bryan, it's "Will Graham's story," implying that Hannibal's eventual demise was always a possibility.

The original anon defined this problem as "The problem with the antis is that they are questioning Will's feelings for Hannibal when they should question Hannibal's feelings for Will," but these all shift the discussion back onto Will, into places that serve your opposition rather than serving you. So even if you "won" this part of the argument--which is easier said than done--you still wouldn't have proven your point about Hannibal, you will have just made observations about Will.

Again, this is all beside the point for the Wtf crowd, and playing into the hands of the merry-murder-husbanders.

So what do we have left? These are the rest of the statements:

Hannibal surrendered, manipulating the situation rather than acting out of genuine love.

Hannibal's actions show a lack of genuine love, portraying him as a greedy figure taking relentlessly from Will and ultimately causing his destruction.

and

Hannibal created this delusional image of Will in his mind and inserted himself into Will's delusional world.

Hannibal only liked Will when Will behaved like Hannibal—notice that in season 2.

Anon points out Hannibal's creation of a false image of Will in his mind, particularly evident in Season 1's exploitative and abusive behavior. Anon contends that Hannibal only appreciates Will when he mirrors Hannibal's actions,evident in s2.

I've grouped them like this because they are each united by theme: one, that, as I put it in my original reblog, Hannibal's worst personality defects (his selfishness, manipulation, and sadism) negate any authenticity/sincerity in his emotional response to Will; and two, that Hannibal's image of Will in his mind is incorrect enough that it means that he's fallen in love with his idea of Will, rather than with the man himself.

I think we can all see that the second of these--although perhaps the more accurate one--is going to be plagued by the moving goalposts I mentioned above. In order to prove it, you've got to prove that Will isn't the person Hannibal perceives him to be. That might be doable with the Wtf crowd (probably why I see it as a more accurate concept, since I'm in this crowd), but it's going to be MONUMENTAL to try to get the merry-murder-husbands to see it this way. If you're willing to fight those off, well, you might make some headway with people who are more open-minded.

But it's going to be complicated by the fact that you're going to have to also prove the first claim in order to make the second stick, because the problems with the first one will set up problems with the second. And that first claim is going to be real difficult to prove.

Here's why: the basic presumption of the first claim--Hannibal's worst personality defects (his selfishness, manipulation, and sadism) negate any authenticity/sincerity in his emotional response to Will--is that it defines love in the kind of platitudes people use when they're teaching their children not to allow others to mistreat them. It's syllogistic.

A. Hannibal is greedy and manipulative and destructive with Will.

B. Love is not greedy, not manipulative, and not destructive.

C. Therefore Hannibal's feelings for Will are not love.

But we all know the problem with a syllogism: if either of the premises are false, the conclusion is also false.

In real life, premise in B. may or may not be a useful way to look at love, but that's beside the point here. The question is, Is the premise in B. the way the show Hannibal presents and defines love?

Fortunately for us, the show has given us two explicit statements on love and what it is and what it means, one in "Shiizakana" and one in "Secondo."

In "Secondo," the conversation is between Hannibal and Bedelia:

B: What your sister made you feel was beyond your conscious ability to control or predict. H: Or negotiate. B: I would suggest what Will Graham makes you feel is not dissimilar. A force of mind and circumstance. H: Love. He pays you a visit or he doesn't.

This view of love is that it is outside of the control of the one who experiences it. In order to support that Hannibal does experience this kind of love when it comes to Will Graham, then all you have to prove is that he had super strong feelings toward Will that caused him to be out of control, to badly predict his own behavior, and that he did stupid shit rather than negotiate his choices well. I think...well, these are all fairly easy to prove. Hannibal set his whole neatly curated world on fire for Will, all the while thinking he was in control when he was totally out of control. This would be the "Did you think you could change me, the way I changed you?" problem. Up until the moment that Will points out that he already did change Hannibal, Hannibal really thinks he's negotiating this force of mind and circumstance just fine. Meanwhile, he makes himself sad by getting Will incarcerated and mad at him, he plays his get-out-of-jail-free card with Miriam Lass, and then this loses him his very favorite murder identity of the Chesapeake Ripper, and eventually his home, practice, ability to live under his own identity and ultimately his freedom. The fact that he tries to control something that is very much out of his control is evidence for, not evidence against, defining his actions as motivated by love. At least by this definition.

The other definition presented in "Shiizakana" is probably the more damning one:

H (in Will's mind): No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.

If we stop after the first statement ("No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them") then it might seem like we have something workable with regards to the idea that Hannibal is in love with an idea of Will rather than the man himself. By this reasoning, because he's focused on his image of Will--his imago--then his love is less than fully aware of who Will really is. So maybe it's not really love.

But unfortunately that isn't the end of the statement. Seeing that person's potential (Hannibal's idea of Will) is part of being fully aware of them, by this definition. Will then coming to see that same potential in himself--the cause of him throwing them both off the cliff instead of just Hannibal--happens through Hannibal's love for him. And if Will does go full dark murder husband (the jury's still out on this, obviously, and will probably be out forever), then that would be because Hannibal expressed his love, in all those selfish and destructive and manipulative ways. Even if Will doesn't go full dark, where he has expressed his darkness--with Chiyoh and her prisoner, with touching Frederick Chilton's shoulder, with attempting to kill Hannibal himself, with his deceptions and manipulations and obvious enjoyment of terrorizing Freddie Lounds, etc, etc, whatever--is still that potential coming true.

This is going to be a really difficult point to argue past, especially because the show is largely concerned with transformation as an expression of love, all the way back to Garrett Jacob Hobbs and most of the murders of the first season. It may not be the way one should view love in the real world, but it's the way love is defined in the murderworld of Hannibal.

And that even leaves aside numerous other points, including but not limited to:

violence as an expression of love and/or sex

Bedelia--who herself disagrees with Hannibal's assessment of Will's character--nonetheless defining Hannibal's feelings as "in love"

the imago as an image of a loved one carried by the unconscious during a person's entire life, which is still defined as love even though it idealizes that person

the fact that Will planted Hannibal's imago himself

So if this is something that you really want to pursue, all this is what you're up against. It's a tall order, and that's probably why no one has really broached the issue much in the past except as a sort of moral judgment against shippers.

The limits of what I've laid out here include the interpretation of the cliffening being Will's rejection of going full dark. That's got some room to move, but it's problematic because if he fully rejected the concept of that being his potential, then he doesn't actually need to throw himself off the cliff, and additionally, it's undermined by the Bedelia leg-eating scene which suggests Will's involvement. Ultimately, it's also fully speculative--you only have those two scenes to work with, and everything else that falls under the general umbrella of speculations about S4 and beyond are just that--speculations. Not evidence.

There's probably an argument somewhere that the show draws a distinction between wholesome love (like Jack and Bella) and Hannibal's kind of love, but I don't know if that distinction is strong enough that Hannibal's love is not love at all, in the show's terms. Especially because Jack and Bella's love is partially defined through how her coping with death changes them both. But you still have the problem of it being about different types of love, not one thing being called love and another thing not. Overall, this would be hard to find all the pieces of and would require a lot of studying the stories about love that are outside of Hannibal and Will, and this would be challenging even to me, but it might be worth a look if someone wants to do that massive amount of homework.

I guess that's kind of where all this ultimately leads me, and back to the original point I made about why this kind of discussion doesn't belong in any one person's inbox. These are big questions: they can't be fully argued in a couple paragraphs. At least not well. The fandom is sorely missing meta writers at the moment who are willing to take the trouble to do the full amount of homework and effort that is required to really say something insightful. Mostly it just seems like people want to toss off a couple paragraphs and "win."

That's always been a problem with meta in fandom. It isn't a problem we're newly inventing. Everyone has opinions, regardless of the amount of thought they've put into them--but for the Hannibal fandom specifically there used to be more people who were willing to really dedicate themselves to getting to the bottom of things, to making progress understanding the show be the purpose of discussion and analysis, rather than achieving victory over a perceived group of people who are understanding the show "wrong." Right now there's...maybe one?

To be clear, I don't count myself as in that group of one person who is willing to work that hard. At least not for the most part. There's nothing wrong with opting out of that effort.

But there is something wrong with pursuing that "win," if it comes at the expense of people's peace of mind, the fandom family's unity, and deeper understanding of the show.

So if you want to have these discussions, please have them, but have them at the level that they deserve to be had. If there has to be a call to action at the end of the post, I suppose I'm asking people to do the homework--to watch the show ten more times, start to finish, to have the episodes ready to go at a moment's notice during a discussion, research existentialism and Christianity and Revelations and the original books and films and what Bryan Fuller and the cast have said and what the other meta writers said over the past eleven years.

But at the very least, let's stop letting our annoyance with each other dictate our understandings of the show itself. Yes, some interpretations and some people can be super annoying (believe me, I've been there!), but that has no place in generating bias over what the show itself has to say.

[armitagescat]

escape routes [Pryde & Hux]

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, past abuse, struggling to breathe, mention of past death (Phasma), hopeful ending

===

"Do you really believe that saying Yes to everything they ask of you to will guarantee you a win?"

He didn't mean to say it. He didn't mean to say it, not before figuring out what this unpredictable man is capable of. Not before figuring out how far he can go with him. Not without her by his side. Not without someone to soften the blow, not without someone to protect him, not without a plan, nor without an escape route.

"... Sir," he adds in an attempt to save it but it might already be too late.

The new general - Allegiant General, stupid made-up title - is staring a him, his eyes digging deep into Hux' skull. He doesn't seem aggressive but there is something else, an emotion Hux can't quite decipher until...

He's laughing. The man is laughing, not a malicious, hurtful kind of laughter, an honest kind.

"Ah, who knows," Pryde responds after a few seconds. "But I don't think that being needlessly defiant gets you anywhere either."

"You think?" Hux asks.

Pryde tilts his head. He's so different from her that it physically pains Hux. He's too calm, too devoted, too sacrificial. This man will die for the First Order. This man does not have an escape plan.

"You will not want to hear this but I have served the Emperor before. I know how this works."

"You're right," Hux says, and when Pryde smiles at this, he adds, "I don't want to hear this."

Another chuckle, softer this time. Pryde turns back to the viewport. Whatever he sees in the hyperspace lines, Hux can't make it out. "Have you ever met him?" he asks after a while.

"The Emperor?" Hux asks.

"Yes."

"Can't say that I have. You?"

There's a pause, a small moment of hesitation. When he speaks again, Pryde's voice is quieter than before. "I have."

"And you lived?" Hux doesn't mean to sound impressed but truth is that he is. Because Pryde is not only alive but unharmed. Because Pryde's ribs haven't been shattered over and over again, because his throat isn't bruised, because he can't feel ghostly fingers grabbing him whenever Ren enters the room. Because he is, somehow, whole.

Pryde turns to him again, looking him up and down. "Hux," he says, calmly, like he's about to tell him the secret to life. "Armitage."

"Yes, sir?" Hux asks, noting that he hasn't used the honorific nearly as much as he should've. His first name hangs in the air like some foul smell, unused for so long.

Pryde glances at the space behind the viewport again but his attention is on Hux, so intense that it takes his breath away.

"You can't be afraid of them. Ever."

Hux rolls his eyes. Pryde sighs, a small noise that sends an shiver down his back.

"Of course. But Enric, I'm scared of him. That's not what I mean. You have to become invisible to them. Nothing more but a useful tool."

Hux wants to ask, Your first name is Enric? but this is not the point.

"You know what Ren does with his tools? You know what he did with his own mask?"

Another small chuckle. "Don't break, then."

"Well, I did!" Hux takes a shaky breath that's too deep for his useless lungs. He coughs, quietly at first, then uncontrollably. It's after a few seconds that he becomes aware of a hand steadying him and bringing him into a position that makes it easier for him to breathe.

"Let m-" Hux attempts but he can't stop. It's not getting better. It's getting worse. "I can't -" he manages. "I can't -"

Hands on his chest, feeling for his ribs that have been broken apart an eternity ago. A sharp breath, not his own. Things are turning so dark.

A calm, gentle voice, the way he wishes his father had spoken to him, "It's alright. We'll fix this."

Another voice, so soft that it makes him think of orange skies and flowers, "Is he going to be okay?"

That odd calmness again, "Listen carefully."

Whatever the voice is saying, Hux can't focus on it. His lungs are on fire.

This is it.

He's broken. And he might have never been whole.

×××

He doesn't fully get it at first. The first days are hard, he's barely lucid, and the pain and medication are making it impossible to think. But slowly, surely, he comes back, to an orange voice and flowers. To gentle touches and anxious questions and...

Exile.

"He ordered me to..." Mitaka says when he asks about it. "He ordered me to get you out."

Hux doesn't ask why.

Pryde doesn't have an escape plan - but this is only partially true. He does. Not for himself.

Hux doesn't know why he wasted that plan on him. And he might never find out.

[livelaughwhump]

Hii!

Could you write something about Whumpee having a nightmare and shaking, mumbling and kicking in their sleep. But. Caretaker is an empath and they send out waves of calm emotions, feelings of love, care and peace, until Whumpee has fallen into a deep peaceful sleep a faint smile on their face.

Thank youu

Hi!! Thanks for the request!! Sorry this took so long. I haven't written a general whump fic in a while, so please bear with me!

I hope you enjoy!

Content: nightmare, insomnia mention, brief mention of past captivity, implied past torture, mostly comfort

-

Whumpee hadn't slept in weeks. Caretaker had tried everything, from calming tea to white noise, but nothing had worked. They'd even suggested a sleep clinic, but Whumpee had nearly had a panic attack at the very mention. At this point, they didn't know what else to do. Whumpee was clearly exhausted, so Caretaker tried the last thing they could think of.

Whumpee sniffled as Caretaker climbed into their bed with them, wiping away their tears and offering Caretaker more space than was necessary.

"I-I'm so sorry, Caretaker," they mumbled as Caretaker settled beside them in bed. "You shouldn't have to do this for me. I know you don't like sleeping around other people-"

Caretaker gently shushed them and brushed away their tears. "Don't be sorry, dove. I'll sleep better knowing that you're not alone. I offered to do this for you, remember?"

Whumpee sniffled again and nodded. "But I don't want you to sacrifice your comfort for my sake. You already do so much for me."

Caretaker smiled and brushed Whumpee's hair out of their face. "Now's not the time for guilt, dove. All you need to worry about is sleep."

Whumpee's eyes wandered. "But...what if I can't?"

"Then, I'll be right beside you. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

Whumpee's lower lip was wobbling. "But, what if-"

Caretaker shushed them again, wrapping their arms around their frightened companion. "There's nothing to be worried about, dove. Just relax and close your eyes. I'll watch over you."

. . .

Caretaker was beyond relieved when they heard the evening out of Whumpee's breath. They couldn't remember the last time Whumpee had slept through the night, and they prayed to whatever god was listening that Whumpee would make it even half that.

It had only taken a little over an hour, which wasn't as long as Caretaker had expected. They were so proud of Whumpee. They had been put through hell by a despicable human being. It was no wonder they couldn't sleep. They were probably terrified of being plucked from their bed and taken right back to that awful place without so much as a cry for help.

Caretaker snuggled closer to Whumpee, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of their head. With their incredible relief came overwhelming exhaustion, and Caretaker's eyelids fluttered. Their body sagged against Whumpee's, and with a soft breath that ruffled Whumpee's tangled hair, Caretaker closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep.

. . .

Caretaker awoke a few hours later to the sound of soft whimpering. At first, they assumed it was their dog begging for attention, until they heard spoken words.

"N-No, Wh-Whumper, p-please."

Caretaker's eyes snapped open. They quickly pushed themself into a sitting position and flicked on the lamp to their right. Their eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of the person Whumpee was begging to. As their eyes adjusted to the sudden light, they recognized the emptiness of Whumpee's room.

"Please, no. I-I don't want it, please..."

Caretaker shifted their gaze down to Whumpee's small, quivering form. Their light curls stuck to their sweat-slick forehead and tears were oozing out of the corners of their tightly-clamped eyes. A quiet yelp escaped their throat, followed by more soft begging.

Caretaker absolutely deflated. They knew all about how awful Whumpee's nightmares could be. Whumpee told them about each one in detail, and they were all worse than the one before.

Caretaker hated seeing them like this. It broke their heart to see the brilliant, joyful, funny person they once knew reduced to something so pitiful and broken.

Caretaker forced a sad smile to their face. They'd always been told that they had a gift for making people feel safe, without even saying a word. They just hoped they'd be able to reach Whumpee through the horrors they were surely reliving.

Caretaker gently ran their hand through Whumpee's hair, softly caressing their tear-stained cheeks. They wanted Whumpee to know that they were safe, that Caretaker was never going to let anything bad happen to them again. They wanted Whumpee to feel loved and accepted and heard, despite the pain and the loss they'd experienced.

Sure enough, Whumpee's trembling seemed to slow, their whimpers quieted, and the wrinkles on their face smoothed out. Their tense body relaxed and they shivered beneath Caretaker's cool touch. Even once they'd calmed down a bit, Caretaker didn't stop caressing Whumpee and wiping away their tears and sweat.

As much as they knew Whumpee would feel guilty for it, Caretaker was beyond grateful that Whumpee had woken them up. They much preferred that to Whumpee waking themself up. If they were given the option, Caretaker would never sleep again if it meant Whumpee never had another nightmare. They didn't deserve to live in such fear and turmoil, and Caretaker vowed that they would do whatever it took to take that pain away from them.

Even if it meant hunting Whumper down themself.

-

I hope this was okay!! I'm not used to writing regular whump fics, so I'm not sure how I feel about this. It's a little shorter than I intended, but I hope you enjoyed it!

If anyone else has any requests, suggestions, or questions for me or my characters, please feel free to send them to me!

[space-blue]

Hi, I'm not sure if you've talked about this before and it might be silly to ask this, but I'm curious about your opinion:

There was a scene that surprised me quite a bit in episode 6 when Vi escapes. Initially, Silco was sitting calmly, and then boom! Everything explodes. It's understandable, but it's strange because Silco has always reacted in a cautious and calm manner, except for one time in episode 3 when he was talking to Vander. After that, he has been someone who knows how to stay calm. I've seen people say that Silco's reaction is because he's a megalomaniac who doesn't like anything being out of his control, but I don't think that's the case. I think it's something more complex. I see Silco as someone who internalizes everything to maintain control or appears to have it, keeping his thoughts and emotions to himself. That's why you see Silco exhaling or releasing tension before and after meeting with his associates, but I might be wrong. Anyway, I'd like to know what you think is the reason for Silco's actions.

And I'm sorry if I made a mistake in my grammar, I don't speak English very well

Hello anon! Thank you for reaching out and asking me this question... It sends me back to my Arcane meta days with a big smile on my face.

But honestly, I don't know who looks at Silco in that episode, having finished the story, and thinks he screams because he's megalomaniac. Not only does this not go with the rest of his character, it just fails to comprehend his character arc.

Silco doesn't want power. He wants freedom, and he wants his mission to realise itself. Silco has more of a religious fervour to him. He's a zealot. He speaks of the 'Nation of Zaun' with an air of rapture. He believes it, lives only for it. Just because we may not like his ways doesn't change that. I mean look at this guy :

#fully lost in the sauce

A character who really wants power would be Finn. We see him fallen to the trappings of wealth, plotting to uproot Silco from his position. Finn never shows any care for the cause. He only cares about supplanting Silco.

If Silco truly cared about power, then why is he still leaving down deep, on top of a night club? If he's a megalomaniac, why are his list of conditions for Jayce not covering him, but demanding amnesty for his people and equal access to the Gate for commerce?

No. Silco isn't a megalomaniac. He definitely wants to be in control, but that's hardly surprising for a leader. We also only ever know Silco at crazy important moments of his life, where his plans are running wildly or exploding in his face. It's not exactly every day Silco.

Most of the people we see him interacting with also tell us things : of course he needs to be ruthless and in control while facing Marcus. That man would lash out at the slightest show of weakness. Same with the other chembarons, who actively turn on him after the factory attack (that makes him look weak).

Silco isn't a control freak to be a jackass. He's like that because he's a Zaunite, and a Zaunite in a dangerous position of power. He's shaped by his environment too.

Anyway, why does he lose his cool in episode 6?

It's actually a very short answer! It's because of Jinx.

Jinx is his everything. Across my many meta posts I covered how codependent they are. How she physically abuses him, yet he never reaches out with any force towards her. The most violent he is, is after she nearly ruined his life plans and won't listen, and all he does is snatch a pen from her hand to make her pay attention.

They exchange caresses, rest against each other. He keeps her gifts on his official desk and actively uses them. And in the end, he can't accept her mortality, and sacrifices everything he's suffered and fought for his entire sad, fucking miserable life, because he loves her more than his cause.

So why does Silco lose it? Because Vi is alive, Vi is looking for Jinx, and Vi is the only person who could actively take Jinx away from him.

I mean like a day or two prior Jinx lost her shit and nearly killed Sevika because she saw a pink haired girl. Silco takes her to the pilt to try and soothe her and put her demons behind her, the only way he knows how. And then she happily gets to work! She's doing well!

But Silco isn't dumb. He knows Jinx is unstable and unpredictable. And finding Sevika hung like a ham from the ceiling? With a broken arm? Yeah, he knows she knows, and she's pissed... And he KNOWS that he just told her that VI IS DEAD. Which he 100% believed! Since when Sevika tell him about Vi being back he's like "From the dead???" in total horror and disbelief.

Marcus completely blindsided him, and it's a race against time now.

A race in which if Vi lives and finds Jinx... His Jinx, the only person he thinks he has... The girl he loves more than his cause, even if he hasn't fully realised it yet... Might hate him. She might decide to leave him.

Then he'd be alone again. And uhm... IDK if you all noticed but like... Silco isn't exactly a picture of clean mental health either. He's trauma ridden, set in very harsh ways, and has a solid spark of paranoia (which has kept him alive, but also isolated).

So the Silco screaming and spitting and kicking is a Silco who thinks that potentially everything will be fucked up now. He's stressed about the developing situation (the one where he asked his unstable daughter to basically make a nuke with stolen uranium, while juggling an increasingly strained sheriff and actively traitorous colleagues), AND the potential idea of his ONE person, his one broken, fucked up, twisted emotional bond, potentially being ripped from him.

Last time that happened, Vander was trying to drown him.

So he's just in a Bad Place™️

Cut the poor man some slack ahaha. I think it's normal that the mask finally cracks and reveals his emotions.

Silco isn't a cold character! His speech to Vander shows his zealotry and his passion! He has a dark humour too, and is aggressive and bitter when cornered. Silco wears a mask of cool professionalism when it's convenient, which is very often, as a leader in the undercity. But he also shows lots of emotions whenever suits.

I don't think you can be a cold character and stay riveted on your insane freedom fight for like 20+ years. He's got a big fire burning in there, and the scene in episode 6 is the proof of how hot it gets when he thinks he's about to lose it all. All your examples of him 'reining it in' are great too! He clearly has strong emotions. He just manages them a lot.

I hope this answers your question! AAaaaahhhh look at me, I just went and gushed, didn't I?

Thanks a lot Anon. And your English is better than some native speakers I know, so don't worry! <3

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

#𝗩𝗘!𝗟 𝗢𝗙 𝗡!𝗚𝗛𝗧.

nonnie asked ↺ phantom would be a soft dom...

cw. soft dom!phantom, doctor!reader, praise kink, fingering, missionary position, cumming inside (use condoms irl!), servitude & overstimulation.

>> NAVIGATION <<

Someday, you want to run away with him. Somewhere far, far away, where not even the bloodied thorns of his past can follow you. Somewhere where not even the raging winds and hellscape of the Catastrophes can touch down near you.

But that's a foolish dream, even for you. But if your dreams can't come true, then why not pretend, at least?

Soft kisses are spread across your face with no direction, as if the one doling them out is drunk on love. He might as well be, given how red his cheeks are and how heavy his breaths are. Streaks of pale brown locks flit across your vision, his silky hair now a mess from when your fingers had entangled themselves within them. Another kiss is pressed to your cheek, and you lose whatever train of thought you have held.

Phantom's fingers curled up deep inside of you, rotating around in half circles that stretch you out despite the previous few orgasms that had loosened you plenty. He's always done this, always delaying his own pleasure in favor of watching you reach your climax over and over, whispering sweet nothings that echo around your mind.

His fingers stop, then grind up into a spot that makes you squeak and your leg muscles tense up. "Phaー o-ohーntom.. I.." Your words come out strange and garbled as if your very voice had been corrupted, but it was so hard to think with the overwhelming good you were feeling.

When the slender digits suddenly tug themselves from your spasming walls, you whine in protest, though you stop when you finally look at the man who's been sending you into bliss this whole time. His cheeks as red as tomatoes, chest deeply sinking up and down for oxygen as he drinks up the sight of you. He looks gorgeous.

Phantom lets out a shaky breath. "Doctor... I'm sorry, but.." He whimpered, a voice so soft that you could mistake it for a breeze. "Can I put it in..? Please?"

The sound of his voice pleading so gently tugs on your heartstrings, though the usage of your title rather irks you. "You don't need to ask, y'know. Besides, didn't I say that you don't have to call me Doctor? It's just the two of us. You can say my name, sweetie."

"I'm sorry.."

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to be sorry for." You smile gently at him before beckoning him forward. He complies with shaky eagerness, pushing his torso forward until his hips nearly slot with yours, pulsating erection rubbing up against you with shivers of anticipation. Dipping his body down till your noses are touching, you're not sure if he wants to kiss you or simply bask in your presence.

With his forehead against yours, you stared into his hazy eyes as he slowly sunk into you, filling you so deep. He shakily moans, pushing even further into you until his hips fit against yours and you whimper aloud. He's nicely snug inside your walls, cock brushing up against each quivering little spot that makes you twitch.

You take notice of how his chest heavily heaves, mouth hung open with soft moans and pants escaping. He looks pretty like this, and you wish that you could take a picture of him like this. Though you're sure that the sight will forever engrave itself into your mind.

"You're so pretty Phantom. Have I ever told you that?" Of course you have, you've told him countless times before, but it's not like you'll ever tire of saying so. When you go to cup his cheek, he jumps a bit as your skin slides against his, but he makes no effort to pull away. His cheek is soft, is warm enough to feel like a small flame against your touch.

He halts his movements, eyes wide, with a multitude of emotions coming to life and swirling about within them. "I.." He's at a loss for words, before he reaches a hand to cusp your own, his touch so light that you'd think you were being embraced by a ghost. "I do not deserve you (name).."

You throw him a playful smile, one that quivers when he rolls his hips again and your touch on his face loosens. "Hm? What are you sayin', of course you deserve me. Don't say stuff like that." A moan erupts from your mouth as soon as you finish your sentence when he rubs against that spot deep inside you — he pauses for a sliver of a second but tries it again, and if you were anymore lucid, you'd have been embarrassed by the string of moans wavering from your throat. "Good boy, good bo — o-oh god, yes, there.."

Following your moans and incoherent words as instructions, Phantom keeps the same pace, angling his hips to press up against that one sweet spot that makes you squeeze and spasm around him. When he sinks his head to the side of your neck and starts kissing, you wrap your arms around his back, keeping him in that position for as long as you possibly can.

You can feel yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge, and after a couple of particularly sharp thrusts, it finally sends you reeling into your long awaited orgasm. Perhaps because of how overworked Phantom's fingers had gotten you earlier, but your entire body feels so hot and sensitive that you feel ready to fall apart. But in his embrace, you know that won't happen.

His pace slows down, until he locks his hips against yours as deep as he can, and hot warmth floods into your lower belly. The brunette shakily moans against you, hips stuttering as his own orgasm wracks his lithe body. And yet he still had it in him to continue nibbling and sucking on your neck, albeit rather weakly. The warmth shared between your bodies is something that you never want to ever be apart from, not even in death.

Yeah, you want to run far away with him.

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[miseries-mistress]

ᴅᴀʏ 5: ᴍʏ ɢɪꜰᴛ | ꜱᴀʀɢᴇɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʰᵒˡⁱᵈᵃʸ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ ²⁰²²

⋆꙳·❅*‧ WAKING UP ON CHRISTMAS WITH HIM ‧*❆ ₊⋆

warnings: this is just fluff, well, besides some self-deprecating thoughts, but then there more fluff because hunter deserves the world, and some more fluff, life day fluff all over. w/c: 1339

notes: merry christmas!!!

event masterlist ❄︎ star wars masterlist

When your eyes fluttered open, there were no sharp rays of light penetrating through the curtains. In fact, the room was only partially lit by the cloud-covered atmosphere. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, peering at the window beside you. The sky was a gloomy, dark grey, nothing abnormal for Coruscant save for the snow falling. Steadily, flakes of snow sailed through the wind until they came to their final resting place on the ground. 

It's snowing. You stared for a moment, watching in absolute wonderment at the phenomenon. In past years, it had either rained or been cloudy on Life Day, and you had come to accept that you would never get to experience the joy of waking up to snow on Life Day like your friends had so often talked about. Yet now, you can't take your eyes off the sight until you feel a warm body abutting your back, his arm snaking around your waist, pulling you into his heat as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His dark curls tickle your exposed neck, and the faintest brush of Hunter's stubble over the skin that meets the base of your neck makes you shiver. The press of his body and the weight of his arm is almost enough to pull you back into the depths of sleep, but you turn over to face the Batcher. Hunter's eyes remain closed, but the subtle shift in his breath all but gives away his awake status. Your head finds its place in his embrace, and you can't help but inhale his scent. He was wearing some form of aftershave that blended in deliciously with his natural odor, sending flutters into your stomach as you inhaled softly. 

"Whad'ya doing up, mesh'la?" Hunter asks, his voice gravelly from sleep. Hunter's arm is strung over your waist, tightening its hold and subtly moving you closer to him. 

"Happy Life Day," you murmur, pecking his lips, unable to contain your excitement. "It's snowing."

"Mhm," he vaguely replies, adjusting to a more comfortable position, obviously not keen on waking yet. 

"C'mon, Hunter, it's Life Day." He remains silent for a moment, his eyes comfortably closed before they flutter open. You look into the rich amber of his irises as they scatter over your face, his usually tied-back hair hanging unceremoniously over his forehead. His hand removes itself from your waist to wipe the sleep from his eyes as they adjust to being open. Once he's done, his hand returns to its former position, except this time, they dip under your shirt, gliding over the base of your spine. 

"So?" You frown at his reply, ducking your head under his chin, so he's unable to see your face. 

"Well, usually I get up and unwrap the presents under the tree with my family, but since I'm not with them this year, I was hoping we could do that." Heat burns its way from your cheeks to the tip of your ears as you try to make yourself as small as possible to escape the embarrassment. Life Day was a celebration you celebrated with your family. A time to be together and elude your typically busy schedules to show through gifts how much you appreciate one another. Gifts were something you took a great deal of respect and time for. Each one was carefully selected with the recipient in mind. 

You weren't gifted with words, and expressing emotions was even more complex, so this was your one time of the year to show how much you cared for them. You had done the same with Hunter, which was no easy task. Yet having to admit how much stock you put into something you deemed essential but to outsiders might seem foolish, you felt...idiotic for caring so fervently. 

Hunter's body stiffens, and his back straightens as he looks down at you nestled in his arms. The loud pound of your heartbeat mixed with your sweet smell of adrenaline, you seemed to be admitting, infiltrated his senses, a telltale sign of your nervousness. 

"You got me something?" he asks, his voice a gentle awe. If you weren't embarrassed before, you sure were now. He seemed… surprised, for lack of better words, that you would even consider spending credits and time on him. 

"Yeah, well. It's stupid, I know–"

"No– no," he clears his throat, his hands fisting your shirt. "It's not stupid at all, sweetheart. I just– I didn't expect you to get me anything, that's all."

Now it was your turn to be surprised as you lifted your head off his bare chest. "Why?"

His gaze falters, his vision finding anything else inside the room to focus on instead of your genuine curiosity, which sends his chest tightening. 

"Well, the Kaminoans aren't exactly known for celebration, sweetheart," he chuckles lightly before his voice falters. "I've never gotten anything before. Never had enough credits to, so…"

You stared at him as he sighed, trying to find a way to remove the sorrow he had brought upon you. He knew how much Life Day meant to you, not to mention the tree sitting in your apartment but the way you couldn't seem to stop talking about it when the topic came up, and here he was being a kriffing downer on the one holiday that was supposed to be filled with joy. 

Hunter wasn't an idiot, he knew of the presents under the tree, and it had crossed his mind more than once that one of those brightly wrapped gifts may be for him, but then there was his own insecurity that put down those hope-filled thoughts. Clouded them with words of his worth, that you would never get a clone a gift. He was at constant war with those thoughts, and you usually put them at ease with your gestures of comfort. However, this time, he couldn't muster the courage to ask for your comfort, especially when you had been so busy these past few days that he couldn't help but feel like a burden. 

"Hunter…" you murmur softly, trying to catch his eye as his eyes fall everywhere except you. He seemed to be lost in his mind from the way he didn't immediately respond, so you said the first thing that came to mind. "Let's go and unwrap the presents."

He looks up in surprise, his eyes searching yours, and you offer him a smile, your previous shame gone. 

"You sure, mesh'la? We could always-"

"Yep." 

Who was he to deny you? 

As you kick the sheets off you, you reluctantly slip away from Hunter's warmth. He follows your lead, standing up and rolling his neck to the side. You don't mean to stare as hard as you do, you really do, but Hunter's toned body is an artwork to be marveled at. His wiry muscles bend and flex as he stretches his sore muscles, his torso contracting as he pulls his arms over his head. His sweatpants slip a little on his hips, revealing the taut definition of his V-line. You blink, trying to rip your eyes away from the sight. 

If Hunter notices your staring, he doesn't say while he follows you out of the room and into the living room, where you have a better view of snow falling lazily from the sky. The tree is a sharp contrast to the soullessness of the sky, its bright hues illuminating the dark space. 

You look over at Hunter to find his eyes soften at the strangely domestic sight. He never thought he would have the chance to celebrate a holiday, no less in a home, with his lover at his side. It was endearing, to say the least. 

You both sit on the floor and begin sorting each other's presents. Granit, there wasn't a lot, but you made do with what you had, making sure to put the gift from the other Batchers with Hunters' handouts. When you finish sorting, you each take turns opening the brightly decorated paper, marveling at your gifts, and exchanging thank you's. 

As the world carried on outside your apartment, outside the bubble you created, neither of you could find it within yourself to care about anything else. And for the first time in a long time, Hunter felt at peace in the safety of your apartment and at home by your side. 

[shadowthian]

HI. LISTENING TO THE PLAYLIST. TAIXU AND NEVERMORE. WHAT IF I FUCKING EXPLODED (POSITIVE) (EXPERIENCING EVERY EMOTION AT ONCE) (SAPPHIRE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

GODDDD FUCKING FR

deadass Taixu and Nevermore were the ones that had me like. okay i HAVE TO send these to Leo i have to i have to they are THE time loop songs to me

i could make a post breaking down the specific lyrics that made me pick each song but i'll do Taixu and Nevermore here besides just. the entirety of them being reflections of the same time loop

TAIXU. GOD, TAIXU. i loooove Lasah's vocals and this song irrepairably changed me when i heard it. normal time loop enjoyer

"The first end came so suddenly, you couldn't say goodbye to me

The tenth ending was agony, I thought that we were meant to be

The hundredth end was simply just an apathetic day for me

The thousand end was ecstasy, the people called for me to bleed!

The millionth end was vanity, I thought I saw you smile at me

The billionth or the trillionth end, I gave up counting how many!"

just. god. this part alone would have made me pick Taixu for this. the first end came so suddenly, you couldnt say goodbye to me. who knows what happened to the first Viking? Sapphire doesnt! in general quite a few of these picks were based around what i understand of Sapphire's character and a little bit of Navigator. Sapphire steadily losing it more and more through the loops til we get to now, where he's willing to do Anything to escape. (also one of the reasons i picked Enough: "And if you can't tell what this is about, I've had enough and I want out.")

AND NEVERMORE. AUUUGGHHH. imagine listening to Taixu and then five years later THERES A SEQUEL TO IT. AUGHHH

"What am I becoming? He looked at me, asking me silently, "Are you me?"". " "Tell me, if I'm the only one, why am I becoming doubtful of this world?/Opposition, accusation, complication, wake me from this nightmare!/Tell me, if I'm the only one, why is there another winder of this world?" "Tell me, if I'm not anyone, I can make you special in this hollow world!"

like with taixu, really the entirety of nevermore deserves to be here, but heres some highlights that REALLY hit for me. definitely feels more of the vibe between Ruby and Sapphire than between Sapphire and Navigator, and the last lyric in particular AUUGGHHH. Ruby just trying to do his best and support their brother while Sapphire is staying hidden from him but attracting attention- and not strictly the good kind.

i am very normal and totally not playlists georg

[ugh-yoongi]

Hi dear author,

I'm writing this long-ass message, primarily, to send you some love and appreciation. I've been a reader of your works, not for too long, I'm sorry, I'm new to the world of BTS ff. Been here maybe a year? Yeah. So I found you some time back, and in the months since, have practically read and loved everything I've been able to consume.

I know you have so many beloved fics. And I've loved too many of them as well. But I'd like to bring your attention to BTTIFOWIW. The angst, the way you wrote Yoongi, and oc. You have a keen eye, thank you for gifting us, your readers and followers, with this beautiful piece.

Firstly, Yoon fics are few and far between. Everyone and their mother writes and reads and likes fics for kook, which is completely fine, but it leaves Yoon fics in a bit of a corner, with quality and quantity.

Which brings me to secondly, most writers write Yoon in a certain box. An insincere box. Now I know none of us know what he's actually like. Ik ik. But purely subjectively speaking, there's a certain way I view him. And you did an immaculate job with how you wrote it. At least, it tugged at my heart.

Lastly, I guess I'd be remiss if I didn't mention this main reason why I loved the fic as much. You wrote the story, just as I would have. The characters, Yoon's and OC's. The language. The responses to stimuli. The quips about an all knowing therapist who knows when to bite his tongue and his all knowing smile. OC's tears during the first intimate scene of the story. And Yoon's. Everything. I'm not trying to placate you, and I'm not saying everything is perfect. I'm saying it touched me. I'm saying Thank You. I'm not a writer here, I guess I don't have the balls to write here. Or the fact that I know how self-critically I am. But I've been a writer outside irl for all my life. So it touched me to read something I felt spoke my language and writing style. The effort, emotions and time you spent on this is not going unnoticed, at least by me. And I know I'm no one. Just, wanted to send you some love.

I've had a particularly disgusting year in 2023, and it's not eased up as yet. So I appreciate the escapism your words continue to provide me with.

Thank you for the stories.

Lots of love,

🎈

(I connect a lot with this red balloon. You can assume it's filled with a lot of positivity I'm sending your way! And no, I'm not sending you this signature to stay anonymous. I have anonymity through this account. I just prefer ending messages with this red balloon.)

first, thank you so much for sending me this. it was so lovely and so kind, and a really nice thing to wake up to.

i'm going to respond under a cut bc i'm sure this will get ramble-y. <3

thank you for finding me, and i'm very glad you've enjoyed the work of mine you've read thus far!

it's interesting what you're seeing as someone new to bts fanfiction. i feel like most fics these days are either yoongi or jk, and speaking anecdotally, my yoongi fics are always the ones that get the most engagement. (aside from awfos, that one is an outlier and i still can't really believe it.)

i tend to agree with you re: characterization. i think all the members sort of get pigeon-holed into certain tropes/roles, but (for me, at least) i find yoongi to be the most... versatile? a blank slate? i think it's because he's so calm in what we see of him. it's easy to sort of project onto him who you think he is, for better or worse.

bttifowiw would not have worked with any other member for this reason, i think.

i also think we're able to write those sorts of characters and connect with them because they're similar to us, and there's so much of me in both the leads in that story. there's so much of my husband and my story and also a lot of nonsense and fiction, but it had to be yoongi.

anyway. thank you for reading it. that story is so important to me because it's so personal, but it's for that same reason that i'm a little terrified every time someone does engage with it, so it means a lot to me to hear you connected with it in some way.

i'm sorry to hear about your 2023. i am sending you all the good vibes that 2024 gets easier for you and some of your burdens begin to ease. it's really hard to exist right now, and i am sending you a lot of love. hang in there. <3

[barrenstars]

@chaoslulled : "you're a terrible flirt you know.". for payton and petra!

her hand awkwardly ceases its movements, the thin napkin she had swiped from underneath someone's drink doing nothing more than further rubbing the wet patch into the boy's clothing. a wet patch she had made herself, accidentally, of course. it hadn't been her intention to bump into him and cause him to spill his drink. to be completely honest, petra had tunnel vision, having wanted nothing more than to find her friend who had called her to be picked up and then leave. parties were not her thing, especially not ones like this. drink, drugs, and no doubt sex - it was a little too laid back for her taste, and technically, what with this being new york, she wasn't of legal age to drink. while back in germany she was out with friends drinking at the age of eighteen. weird, huh?

his comment has her in an awkward position and she blinks a few times, first avoiding eye contact with him and deciding to stare at the mess she'd made of his clothes - which looked incredibly expensive now she observes him. ❝ i'm not - i mean, i wouldn't - ❞ the words tumble pathetically from her mouth and she knows how agonising it is to listen, so she quickly flickers her attention upwards and onto the males face, finally looking him in the eye since soiling his clothes with his drink, which now reeked of vodka or some other strong scented alcohol.

it's not until she sees the playful, and seemingly unbothered smile dancing across his lips that the tension in her shoulders eases and she can feel her shoulders drop as a gentle breath of a laugh escapes her. ❝ i'm sorry! ❞ a free hand raises to her own lips, trying to conceal the smile that curls on her lips, but she ultimately fails. a soft snort of laughter erupts from her, and then a laugh as her nerves take control of her emotions. ❝ sorry, i'm really nervous. i wasn't looking where i was going, i was actually looking for someone. ❞

crumpling up the napkin in her hand, she balls it up and sets it aside on a table, giving a rough clearing of her throat, attempting to take back control of the situation and move forward from this. she can't spend all her time embarrassing herself in front of a cute, but no doubt prissy spoiled rich boy. she had to find her friend and leave. ❝ um - what's your number and i'll send you a text. you can give me your clothes and i'll have them dry cleaned for you. ❞

[faeryarchives]

Hi, there! Can I request a fluff/angst scenario in which Leona suddenly falls into a coma after his fem! s/o saves him from his Overblot and she stays by his side until he wakes up? Thanks a bunch!

hello there of course you can !! have a nice day anon ~

leona falling into a coma after his overblot and fem!s/o stays by his side

"hey (name), you know you can leave leona to me right? your friends are getting worried about you."

"i can't just leave him ruggie, i'm sure they would understand." seeing how you wouldn't move an inch from your position, he just gave you a sad smile and ruffled your hair before leaving you alone with a sleeping leona. oh how you wish the lion was just taking his usual naps.

your hand brushed through his hair, normally he would swat your hand away but clearly leona could not do that right now.

"leona, it's been three days already. i know you love sleeping for a long time but when are you going to wake up?"

it's been three days after the dorm leader experienced his overblot, you could remember clear as day how his eyes the horror when he saw that you having a hard time breathing through the sandstorm.

"(name)!"

"leona is distracted quick! take the prefect away from him!"

the lion tried reaching out to you but thanks to your friends - it gave them a chance to defeat him making leona fall unconscious.

everyone thought that the savanaclaw dorm leader would immediately wake up after the fight, but to everyone's shock - he didn't.

"kingscholar's life is no longer in danger. but his mental and emotional state caused him to fall into a coma."

"all this time you were suffering alone. even though i am right by your side." your hand found his own, tears starting to swell up around your eyes as your grip on him tighten.

"leona, please wake up. i miss you so much..."

a groan of pain escaped the dorm leader's mouth the moment he woke up. he could feel parts of his body aching as if he just ran a marathon.

"where am i? ruggie get me so-" when leona was about to sit up, he finally noticed you, sleeping beside his bed. hand still entangled with each other, the lion could see marks of your dried up tears on your cheeks.

not wanting to risk the possibility of you waking up, he laid back down and put a hand on your right cheek gently. "why did you cry herbivore? did someone hurt you?" the lion was about to go back to sleep bringing you into his arms when all of the sudden, ruggie entered the room with a tray for food for you.

"leona you are awa-!"

"shh! be quiet." hearing ruggie's startled voice, you slowly open your eyes spotting the hyena. "oh hey ruggie i guess i fell asleep. what are you doing here?" you raised your eyebrows noticing how he looked stunned for some reason.

"mm? what's the problem?" not saying anything, he slowly pointed something behind you, making you turn around and gasp. the now awaken lion click his tongue and send a glare at the hyena.

"i told you to be quiet. now she is awake, how annoying."

"leona! you are awake!" filled with joy, you immediately jump to hug him tightly, leona the tried to catch you but ended up letting a howl of pain when you accidentally press on one of his sore muscles.

"ow!"

"oh gosh, i am so sorry!"

"shihihi i guess i'll just leave you lovebirds alone." the hyena laugh leaving the tray on the nearby table and left the room.

you buried your face to his chest, letting out a sigh of relief. "i missed you so much, don't scare me like that again!" amused by your actions, leona could only chuckle and give you a peck on your forehead.

"sure, i am not going anywhere without you. now let me make up for the cuddles."

"leona- you just literally woke up!"

"that is not stopping me for my afternoon naps with you."

"you are really lucky that i love you."

"i love you more herbivore." he whispered and tucked you in his arms as the two of you spent the whole afternoon sleeping away.

[juyeoniemyhoney]

make you feel my love

Losing means nothing to Ishikawa when he has you.

pairing: ishikawa yuki x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: i don’t think there’s any!

word count: 2074 words

A/N: i honestly dont know who wants to read this but im just gonna post it anyways HAHA so here all you ishikawa simps pls enjoy<3

--------

It all happens at once.

The noise— screams of all pitches and encouragements of all sorts, forming a raucous cacophony in the large gymnasium— halts almost immediately; like a vacuum has sucked it all up and the only thing that is left is an eerie stillness as everyone waits in antsy anticipation for the player to serve.

And then he is running up, throwing the ball great lengths into the air and jumping to meet it halfway, hitting the ball with such force and determination you can almost feel the impact yourself. The ball hurtles through the air and crosses the net with such speed you almost don't see it.

But the Japanese team does. Their libero, Yamamoto, crosses the court in a flash and bumps the ball up so high up it gives his teammates half a second to breathe before they are rushing to connect it, the setter, Sekita, tossing the ball higher in the air for Ishikawa to hit it.

The tall Brazilians loom over him like a curse, like bad karma, as determined as the Japanese are, but not nearly as desperate. Ishikawa does not mind them and he bravely hits the ball with as much strength as his worn out body allows him, sending every last bit of energy into this spike, hoping, praying, practically begging for it to work, for the ball to hit the other side of the court with such violence that the Brazilians would not be able to even react before it hits the floor.

The next thing you know, the ball hits the hands of the Brazilians and is spindling down towards the floor at breakneck speed. Yamamoto, Sekita and Ishikawa (when he lands), all throw themselves to the floor in a desperate bid to save it, to not let it touch the floor, to not let all their hard work be washed down into a drain. But to no avail.

The ball hits the floor with a resounding thud. The whistle blows and all at once, the Brazilian supporters leap from their seats and yell and scream and shout with unadulterated joy. Because they have won! They have won the game! And the Japanese have lost. The Japanese team and their supporters are quiet in the wake of their loss. You do not move, almost as if if you did, the bleachers would crack open, the earth beneath the gymnasium would cave in and you would be falling to the floor, through the soil and to the core of the earth.

The three men lift themselves up from the floor with the weight of defeat on their shoulders and their teammates pat their backs silently, looking solemn but trying to be as encouraging as possible. The team gathers at the end line of the court and another whistle blows, signalling both teams to bow. When Ishikawa's eyes hit the floor, so do the tears.

He cries in silent agony, somehow feeling like it is all his fault. He is the captain, he should have led them better than this. He is the ace, he should have been able to hit pass those blocks. He knew hitting hard was risky, he should have been more careful. He should have moved faster, reacted faster, gotten to the ball faster. He should have been sharper, more alert, better. He should have been better.

His teammates shed a few tears too, but not quite nearly as much as Ishikawa. It's unrelenting— his tears. It doesn't want to stop, even when Ishikawa roughly wipes at his eyes in frustration, desperately wanting the raw showing of emotion to stop. Everyone can see him cry in this moment and he hates it.

When Ishikawa and his team begin to move off the court, is when you break from your stunned daze. Quite frankly, you were shocked speechless. You knew Brazil was a tough opponent but your faith in your boys would always trump any form of doubt. You knew they could do it. You knew they would be able to do it. Until they didn't.

You do not see the tears from quite so far away, but when you do, you are ripping yourself from your seat with such great speed, the people around you jump in surprise. You do not care, you do not even really notice before you are sprinting down the stairs, leaping from each flight, ignoring the desperate calls of your best friend and the shocked expressions directed at you as you race to the exit of the court.

"Ishikawa Yuki!" you yell just in case you don't catch them in time. You know you could just call him or meet him at his house but you came as a surprise, and though you'd wish you could surprise him after his victory, you think that surprising him and being able to comfort him in his loss will mean just as much.

At the sound of your voice, his head whips around, eyes wide in shock as he desperately searches the people for your face, eyes glassy with unshed tears and vision slightly blurry. You jump off the rest of the stairs, running to him with flailing arms. And when Ishikawa sees you, you swear you see his lips pout, eyes glossing over as tears run down his face.

You grin and run to him and he drops everything, his water bottle, his towel, his jacket, everything, so that he can hold his arms open for you to run into and give him a big hug. And you do exactly that. You run straight into his arms, wrapping your arms around his torso and shoving your face into his chest, not caring at all that he is drenched in sweat (and possibly tears), not caring at all that almost the whole gymnasium full of people can see the two of you have such an intimate moment, not caring at all because Ishikawa Yuki, the love of your life, is in tears and you have to do everything in your power to stop that.

Ishikawa's arms wrap around you too, holding you so tight and dear to him, you swear the both of you stop breathing. And with you in his arms, he finally crumbles to the floor, tears spilling from his eyes and sobs escaping his throat in ugly, high-pitched hiccups. But he doesn't care, you don't care, he's safe as long as you're here.

"When did you get here? I thought you were only going to touchdown tomorrow," he whispers in between sobs, his shaking, swollen hand coming up to your hair and entangling his fingers with the strands messily. You pull away slightly and pull Ishikawa down so that your chin rests on his shoulder and he can bury his face into your neck, your hand coming up to his sweaty hair to run your fingers through the corse, tangled strands as Ishikawa continues to cry in your arms. This position is so incredibly uncomfortable. After all, Ishikawa is insanely tall and the top of your head doesn't even really reach his neck, and you're sure Ishikawa's back is going to hurt a little later but he doesn't seem to mind at all at the position change, indulging in you as he shoves his face into the crook of your neck, hot breaths that tickle your skin, coming out in pants as he struggles to control his sobs.

"I wanted to surprise you," you say with a fond smile, the hand that was idle on his back coming up to send a wave to his teammates when your eyes meet, even sending one to his coach, who just smiles bitterly at you. His teammates send you rueful smiles and thumbs-ups of approval before they make their way back to the locker rooms, leaving you and Ishikawa to continue embracing at the exit of the court.

Ishikawa lets out a tearful laugh, saying, "Well, I'm surprised alright. I was just thinking about you when you called my name. I almost thought I was seeing things.".

You laugh but do not reply, allowing a comfortable silence to take over as Ishikawa lets all his emotions out in the form of hot, regretful tears. Your hand continues to soothe him with pats and strokes to his back and your hand remains in his hair. Ishikawa's large hands fist your shirt at your waist as his tears and sweat seep into your shirt. You don't mind. Of course, if this were anyone else you would. But this is Ishikawa Yuki, and you love him more than anything else in this world.

"You played so well," you whisper after a while of silence. You can feel Ishikawa wanting to pull away from you but you do not allow him, knowing full well that he wants to pull away to argue with you, to debunk your words with his incessant humility, so you do not allow him. You do not allow him to deny himself the praise he very much deserves because he's worked hard for this, no matter the outcome, he and his teammates have worked his ass off for this, and the least you can do is praise him.

"Yuki, you played very well. Don't try and deny it," you say with a firm voice, hand on his head keeping his chin to your shoulder. At this, he finally laughs and you loosen your grip, allowing him to pull out of your embrace just enough for him to see your face.

His cheeks are tear-stained and his eyes are beginning to puff up with all his crying, red beginning to bloom at the corner of his eyes, slowly taking over the white. His smile is nothing short of breathtaking, swollen eyes and red lips curled up brilliantly, smile lines and the corners of his eyes creasing sweetly. You can't help but grin back when you see his smile, nose souring with endearment.

"You know me so well," he comments, fingers coming up to tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, fingers trailing down your jaw to your chin, tilting your face up just a little bit more. His fingers guide your head just slightly forward before he is meeting you halfway in a sweet kiss, grinning immediately after your lips meet his.

Ishikawa's eyes trace over your every feature, observing, remembering, ingraining; tracing over the curve of your eyes, the slope of your nose, the perk of your lips, the peak of your eyebrows, and the line of your jaw, fingers ghosting over each feature along with his eyes, all the while maintaining the smile on his lips.

Then, he is giving your forehead a sweet kiss before pulling out of your embrace fully, turning around to pick up the things he had dropped when you came running into his arms. He brushes off his jacket and drapes it across your shoulders, holding open the jacket for you to slip your arms into the sleeves, to which you do, before he is hooking the zip and zipping it all the way up to your chin.

In his mind, he laughs at the way you are dwarfed by his jacket. Your hands can barely be seen, only the tips of your fingers peeking out from the sleeves, and the jacket, where it usually ends at his hip, ends almost at your knees. Unconsciously, he smiles and has to physically restrain himself from pinching your cheeks.

After he zips up his jacket, he bends down to pick up his towel, draping it over his shoulder before he is bending down once again to pick up his water bottle, having set them down to help you put on his jacket. Then, without a word but with the largest, goofiest grin, he takes your hand in his and leads you out of the court and to the locker rooms in a comfortable silence, fingers intertwined with yours.

For a second there, he almost forgets that they lost the game and are not able to proceed to the quarter-finals. For a second there, he almost completely forgets about his regrets and anger and frustration. And it's all because of you. And of course, he is eternally grateful to you. After all, what on earth would he do without you? He would still be crying his ass off, that's what, though he would never admit it out loud. And it is because of this reason— though he would do it without a reason at all— that he kisses you a little longer, hugs you a little tighter, loves you a little more.

[johnsamericano]

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥 •3•

I hope this ain't getting shitty. Thank you for reading, sexy people. Send me a message or an ask if you'd like to be added to the tag list.

warnings: hungover jaehyun, age gap, hospitals, nothing too extreme.

sugar rush m.list.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv @sunny-nyu @nanascupid @silent-potato @painted-hills

~

Yoonoh woke up on a strange bed, the mattress stiffer than the one he had back home. He refused to open his eyes, fearing that the daylight would worsen his headache.

Yoonoh woke up on a strange bed, the mattress stiffer than the one he had back home. He refused to open his eyes, fearing that the daylight would worsen his headache.

“Wake up, sunshine.” He groaned, all the memories from the past night hitting him like a truck. “Come on, I made breakfast.”

His eyelids finally fluttered open, frown softening at the sight of you in a messy bun and your cute pajamas.

“How come you look so fresh?” The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in the span of a few hours. Thank God he didn't have to work that day.

“I always look fresh.” You seemed to be more comfortable around him. Perhaps it was because you had to tuck him in last night. “Up.”

You tugged both of his limp hands, forcing him to sit up.

“What did you cook? It smells nice.” He scrunched up his nose like a little kid.

“Eggs, bacon, and hash browns.” Fast as lightning, he got up from bed. On his way to the kitchen, he noticed the blanket hanging from the edge of your sofa. Disappointment pinched his heart.

“Why didn't you sleep with me? You would've been more comfortable.”

You set two plates on the small table, pulling the pan out of the stove to serve them.

“You spread yourself all over the bed as soon as I laid you down.” You lied successfully. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you weren’t that comfortable yet.

You let the pan down on the kitchen counter, taking a seat in front of him.

“Do you still want to visit my father?” Sparkling orbs stared at him timidly, fearing his answer would be negative.

“I mean…” You hummed, trying not to give it as much importance. “I do want to go!” He quickly corrected himself, frantically shaking his hands. “It’s just that I don't want to meet your father like this.” He pointed at his bed hair, which had only become messier since he woke up.

“You’re acting like he's gonna see you.” There was a slight bitterness in your tone, along with a fake grin.

“Alright, let's do this instead...” Yoonoh sat up straight, clearing his throat as if he were about to give a speech. “We’ll have breakfast, you'll shower quickly, and then we’ll drive to my house so I can fix myself. How does that sound?”

“So I'm finally gonna see your mansion? How exciting.” You kicked his leg teasingly under the table, his cheeks inevitably dipping as he tried to suppress a smile. “I bet you have some peacocks in your backyard.”

“And there's also a dolphin in my pool.” He let out a hearty laugh, extending his arm over the table to grab your hand.

His house was most definitely not what you expected.

It was about the size of the one you grew up in, the decoration inside minimalistic. There were no expensive paintings framed with pure gold, only pictures of him and his family. There was a small backyard you could access through the French door in the kitchen. Half of it was occupied by a greenhouse.

“I had to donate the peacocks to the zoo.” He whispered as you looked through the glass door, squeezing your shoulders with his slim fingers.

“What a shame.” Hesitantly, he wrapped both of his limbs around your torso, letting his chin rest stop of your head. Your heartbeat was thumping loudly against your chest. Yoonoh surely felt it but decided not to comment on it.

“There’s a Tv in my room in case you want to watch something while I shower.” A hint of mischief adorned his honey-like voice. “Or you can come in and watch me instead.”

“Stop!” Your elbow connected with his ribs out of pure panic, making him bend in pain with his hands covering the injured spot.

“It was a joke...” He whispered, teeth gritting together.

I made him mad, you thought. Should you escape or face the consequences of his anger? All thoughts erased from your mind as he grabbed your calves, lifting you over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” You hit his back with closed fists, unable to see the expression on his face. “Yoonoh!”

He went up the stairs, proceeding to enter his room and throw you on his bed. Thousands of dirty scenarios crossed your mind before he threw himself on top of you, crushing your bones under his muscular body.

“My...ribs...”

“Oh, sorry, what is that?” To make matters worse, his fingers tickled your sides, provoking a fit of desperate giggles to escape your mouth. “I’m not hearing an apology.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” His hands finally stopped, giving you time to breathe. Nonetheless, he remained laid on your chest, using his forearms to lift his weight. “Aren’t you gonna shower?”

“I like you.”

The confession was so sudden, so raw it took you some time to finally react. But you had no words to give him an answer, instead, you combed your fingers through his long hair, massaging his scalp while waiting for him to speak up again.

“I never thought I'd be feeling more than friendly affection for you. Our agreement doesn't include love, after all. But I've started feeling like a teenager all over again. I can't help but get excited whenever you call me. Do you know how sweet your voice sounds through the phone?” He sighed, discouraged at your lack of response. “I guess you're not there yet.”

Instead of verbally answering, you planted a sweet kiss on his head, right where small, grey hairs had started growing.

“I’m not good with words.”

“That’s alright.” He snuck his hands under your back, holding you tightly as a sudden need to nurture you took over him. The mature image he had of you faded in less than a second, leaving behind a young, troubled woman. “I’ll shower quickly so we can go see your pops. I bet we’ll get along just fine, maybe even go golfing when he wakes up.”

“I forgot you're almost the same age. Creepy.” He smiled, though uneasiness started steering in his guts.

“Does that bother you?” He asked without giving it a second thought.

“I don't know yet.”

(...)

The man with high cheekbones and bruised skin laid limp on the hospital bed. Yoonoh had been working on his case for about a month, yet, it only started feeling real the moment he entered the room.

“This is my dad.” All emotions had escaped your eyes as if your soul wasn't there anymore. Only an empty shell.

“You look so much like him.” he was afraid touching you wouldn't be the right thing to do, so instead, he said: “He seems like a suitable golf buddy.”

Tension finally loosened its grip around his body as you snorted, pigment returning to your cheeks. Finally, he wrapped his hand around yours.

“He will wake up, y/n.”

“He’s taking his sweet time.” You glanced back at the laying figure, skinnier with every day he spent asleep. “I want someone to pay for taking away the last person that loved me.”

The last person that loved you. Would Yoonoh be able to fill that spot? Not yet, probably. He couldn't modify the depth of his feelings, but he could surely give you the vengeance you longed.

“Do you trust me?” With your eyes still glued to your father, you nodded. “Then I can assure you we’ll win the case.”

“I know we will.”

He sat silently with you, holding your hand without saying a word. The smell of alcohol and the beeping noise of machines made him nauseous. He hated hospitals. You noticed the change in his demeanor, his hand becoming cold while holding yours with strength.

“Do you wanna go?”

“No!” He smiled through the pain, scooting his chair closer to lay your hand on his lap.

He wouldn't agree to get his ass off the plastic chair. You had to tell him you were hungry for him to finally stand up, still clutching your hand like your father did when you were still a kid. His parental behavior caused several emotions to stir inside your guts, so mixed up you couldn't quite put a finger on any of them.

“What do you want to eat?” The tension finally left his body once out of the building.

“Soup.” You smiled while swiping your thumb on top of his knuckles. “I know a place, but to be honest, it isn't good. So we can go to the store and get the ingredients to- but you can't cook.”

“I’m up for a cooking lesson if you are.” He wanted to see your pretty smile again. Maybe making a fool of himself would help. “Let’s hit the road.”

“Wow, so cool.”

“I know.”

(...)

“Can you grab that can of chicken broth?” You pointed at the high shelf, letting go of Yoonoh’s hand to allow him to move freely

“I have a better idea.” He dragged you by the arm so you were standing in front of him, trapped between his body and the shelf. “I’ll lift you so you can reach it.” Matching his words, his hands grasped your waist, ready to carry you.

“Stop!” You slapped his hands repeatedly between giggles. Ignoring your complaints, he started lifting you. “Yoonoh!”

“Yoonoh?” A feminine voice had him placing you back on your feet in less than a second.

“Seryeong, I didn't expect to see you here.” His hands remained seated on the curve of your waist.

“Neither did I. I was surprised when Sungchan told me you'd left early yesterday.” She seemed a bit older than you but still younger than the man behind you.

“I had some matters to take care of.” She eyed you from head to toes with a smug grin plastered on her lips. Just by the look of her clothes, you could tell she was as wealthy as Yoonoh. You feared the scene would turn into a tv worthy drama.

“I’ll go get the chicken breast.” You tried escaping his grip, only to be pulled closer to his warmth.

“No need to. It's already inside the cart.”

Why am I so dumb?

“Does your father know about your little girlfriend?” She asked without hesitation.

“I guess.”

“And why didn't he tell me anything?” She cocked an eyebrow, his hands finally loosening around your body and allowing you to move from your position.

“Look, this is something you should talk about with him. Now, if you excuse us...” With a hand on your shoulder, he began pushing the cart to the next aisle, the chicken broth long forgotten.

“Is this some kind of arranged marriage situation?”

“Something like that.” His hands were tense while holding the cart, knuckles turning white from the strength used. “Before you start asking, I'm not really in the mood and I don't want to direct my bad mood toward you. Let's talk about something else, alright?”

Who was that woman that had the power to turn him into a literal raging ball of fire with just a few words?

[night-market-if]

Caught up on the next chapter. You’re so talented!! Thank you for continuing to write and share these amazing stories, despite what you’re going through. They’re really helping me through a tough time right now myself. 🖤

I'm not crying! You're crying!

Okay, but on a serious note here, that was the entire point of the Night Market. To help others. I'm going to get real here with you guys for a moment so hands down, feel free to skip.

I have been struggling with a loss of identity over the last few years. I threw myself into motherhood when I met my husband and then in the years that proceeded. It affected me in a way that was hard. That was full of guilt for my children. For myself. For my husband. And just as it started getting better, Covid hit. It hit my family in ways that I'm sure a lot of you felt. I was newly pregnant at the time, suddenly finding myself homeschooling my older children, along with taking care of a toddler. My husband's job kept him away from the house. I was alone. I was depressed. My mental health was tanking in a way that I tried to struggle out of, and I could only put band-aids on each situation that popped up. In short, I was surviving. I was making sure everyone else in my family had their thoughts and emotions heard and the space to process that shit storm that was our world, and I forgot about myself. This is not to blame any of them for this because honestly, they are my children. I would do it all over again twenty more times. Those little ones bring me more joy that I can describe. But, in the last six months, as my baby turned one, I knew things had to change. We have no money. Our house was nearly foreclosed on twice in the last few years. We live paycheck to paycheck and struggle to figure out at times how to feed our kids. I can't go to work because daycare is too expensive. We don't have people to watch our kids if I do. And in the end, that has to be okay. Because that is the position a lot of people find themselves in. That is also the situation we have accepted and have come to the conclusion that as long as we are happy and healthy, it is going to ultimately be okay.

So, in an effort to help myself, I began writing again. I used to write all the time when I was younger and stopped. I should have never stopped. So I picked this up again for my own sanity. So I have an outlet. So I have a way to exhaust my brain and not think about the things that will send me spiraling into my anxiety and depression. The Night Market is cathartic for me in a hundred and twenty different ways. Knowing that it is helping others during their own tough times has been incredibly gratifying. Hearing that other people out there read my work for their escape or to have a moment of peace, has been one of the best versions of therapy for me in the last month and I cannot ever thank you all enough. All I can do is keep writing. For myself. For you. For my children. To turn my passion into something I am proud of. To show my kids that life can be tough and you can still enjoy it.

So, thank you for sharing with me that this is helping you. I hope I can continue to help. If I can keep providing an escape and an outlet to anyone out there, then I will always keep writing.

With all the love I possess,

Zinnia