#i hate this i hate everything i want to run away and never come back to this house

[okkotsuus]

mirror opposites. (michael k.) !

features: michael kaiser.

contents: kaiser backstory spoilers. mentions of child abuse. mentions of unhealthy mindsets. mentions of blood. reader is a rich girl and actress, also just a decent person. toxic-ish relationship dynamics. suggestive at times. angst. hurt no comfort. one-sided enemies to lovers. 2.2k words.

notes: i wouldn't consider this dark content, but it certainly isn't happy content. also i am NOT enabling anything that mihya's father did, god no. this is questionably written i spent like a week in multiple sessions on this hoe...

michael kaiser has never loved anyone other than himself.

this is something he knew to be true.

knew.

because the second he set his sights on you: such a pretty and sweet little thing. he was hooked.

you were everything that he was never blessed with the privilege to be.

a being that exists to uplift others, to build them up by giving. born to two loving parents who thoroughly wanted you. never having to truly work for a thing a day in your life.

yet, at the same time, so contrarian: you were everything he has ever hated about himself and his upbringing.

an actress that soars so far on the top of the charts that people believe she is a god-given talent. someone who follows so easily, a sheep ever to be drawn to her shepard. and a director in your spare time.

it stirred his very being, in a way that shook his stolen identity. a king high atop his throne feeling an earthquake rumbling below his palace.

his lips instinctively curl into a sneer as the thrum of his pulse deafens his ears. michael kaiser knew all about you, because it was simply knowing himself.

why you were here, at a bastard munchen publicity event: was something he did not know.

the little voice in the back of his head told him that it would be best to leave it a mystery. to let sleeping dogs lie.

but to listen to that voice was to degrade back to his old way, to allow the old man to crash his nearly empty bottle of jäegermeister against the back of his skull. there were always just enough droplets of that putrid filth inside to seep into his fresh cut: and sear at the tender flesh below golden blond hair.

he doesn't get the choice, though.

another thing he hates.

"excuse me, may i get through, sir?" a voice rings out from behind him. god, you sound like the sweetest honey, rich and full bodied like fine wine.

michael's head snaps in your direction, eyes sharp like a bird of prey. something burns in the back of his throat, a biting remark teetering on the tip of his tongue: just waiting to lash out and see crystalline tears roll down your pretty cheeks.

but it never comes.

his words die before they are ever born into this world.

just like his father wished of him.

an iron taste fills his senses as his teeth clamp down, skimming a few tastebuds clean off his tongue. with a clenched jaw, his teeth creaking and echoing in his head, kaiser steps to the side to allow you to pass him. "of course, my bad."

the words are a hurried mumble as his fleet footsteps direct his lithe frame towards the men's room.

everything feels hot as michael takes deep, hurried breaths. his hands prop against the sides of the sink as he hunches over the porcelain. the fabic of his button-down feels like a snake, like hands holding him down-

no.

with a cough, spit splats into the wall of the sink, a bright red marbling with the fluid.

it's flushed away with the turn of a knob.

if only he could flush this feeling away just as easily.

an all consuming paranoia, chills running up and down his spine in unity with flashes of heat. his palms feel like every single pore is being pricked with needles. his lungs ache as he takes gasping breaths.

yet, he is devastatingly silent.

when his head raises to see himself in the mirror, just for a moment: he sees a grimly little boy.

CRACK!!

now, in the shards of bloodied glass, he sees himself once more.

he needed to remind himself of his identity in the most base way he knew: pain.

michael doesn't feel the sting of his knuckles as he runs them under the water till it goes clear. he wraps toilet tissue over the wound and keeps his hand tucked into his pocket as he returns to the floor.

no one would ever know.

not until after the event.

and kaiser's trail of debris was not something that bastard munchen was unfamiliar with. on his very first day after being freed from his cell, he practically incapacitated three players in one breath.

it was an unspoken part of the team.

the price for his talent.

was blood.

as cerulean eyes survey the area, mapping every single money-grubbing exec to avoid, he is forced out of his thoughts once again. by that aggravatingly melodic voice that was beginning to etch its way into his mind. carving to make a mark.

"pardon, sorry to bother, but i completely didn't recognize you earlier: michael kaiser, right?"

his blood ran ice cold in his veins.

you knew him.

like a slap in the face, his calm was shattered to thousands of bits and pieces: like that damned mirror he had just slashed his hand on.

rashly, he reaches a hand to push his bangs from his eyes. the feeling of the strands against his forehead suddenly becoming far too stimulating. he doesn't even realize his mistake.

not until he sees those e/c eyes of yours widen like saucers.

fuck.

michael forgot that was his cut up hand.

like a deer in headlights, he stands there, arms limp by his sides.

but when your gentle hands reach for his, every muscle in his body tenses up. like a coil ready to snap.

no one touches him.

no one.

not fans, not teammates, not even ness.

in the corner of his eye, he can see his loyal guard dog's face paint in horror.

that instinctual disgust never hits him as soft skin meets with his own, so delicately as you bring his bloodied knuckles closer. that sends him further into his silent spiral.

why?

why does it have to be you?

out of the 8.2 billion people on this earth, it just had to be you.

god hated him, he was sure of this before; but now, he was certain.

"don't touch me." michael's words are poorly masked with indifference, which means nothing with the way he refuses to pull himself from your ensnaring gentleness.

you don't even acknowledge his quip, staring down at blood-stained porcelain skin with enigmatic eyes. "you're hurt... let's wash this out and get it properly wrapped."

kaiser can't find the strength in himself to fight you, not when you cradle him so gently in cupped palms: as if he were the last drop of salvation on this cursed and rotten planet.

it winds him up leant back on a random bench, while you pick some shards of glass carefully from his wounds with the tweezers of the emergency first aid kit your manager keeps. dutiful, you stay hunched over his knuckles, not even moving when drawing in slow breaths.

he'd dare to say you could have been a surgeon in another life.

ZING!!

okay, maybe he won't go that far. a searing shot of pain races up his arm as your hand shakes for just a second.

before he can pull away, you pull out a small, but jagged piece of glass. "i'm sorry, could tell that one hurt you..."

normally, michael wouldn't give an apology the time of the day. if they make the mistake once, they can and will do it again: that was his outlook.

but, seeing that forlorn look in pools of e/c, he finds his heart growing a little more forgiving.

even if just slightly.

"it's fine, didn't hurt that bad, schätzchen*. i've faced worse." the words leave a bitter taste on his tongue. even if he had not experienced it in so long, the memories of the wretched pain his drunk father would leave is something he can never shake.

"that doesn't matter, i hurt you: which means i should apologize." you speak, tone firm as you sprays an antibacterial spray on his knuckles before placing gauze and wrapping them taut. "that's common decency, michael."

he knows that.

but he was never taught that, it was something he had to learn over time. something he still hasn't fully grasped yet, even at nineteen years old.

another thing he can blame dear old dad for.

you tie off his bandage and hum, leaning down to press your lips against the fabric. "my mother says this makes anything heal faster..." it comes out in a whispered confession, as if you didn't intend for him to fully hear the words.

against his better judgement, heat begins to nip at the high points of kaiser's face.

"we'll see if that really works out, ja**?"

and just for a second, he can see that public face of yours crack just a bit when heat begins to pool in the middle of your palms, eyes averting his ocean gaze.

not quite sure why, but he found himself liking that reaction; though he had claimed to hate you. it sent a trill up his spine, bouncing up each vertebrae like a xylophone, leaving a melodic ringing in his ears.

wow.

so this is what love is like?

immediately a sense of horror begins to eat at the corners of his mind. falling in love at first sight with an actress? just like his dad did all those years ago.

he had no way to know you would stay.

and that truly scared michael kaiser.

possibly more than fearing for his life, as he did for so many years.

"it may not seem it, but i'm actually a football fan..." you murmur, tone creeping into the territory of shy as your eyes dart up to meet his once more. "originally, i had come to this event for a promotion that my manager arranged: some commercial that would be shot in a few months. i figured, while i was here, i would try to get an autograph..."

that perked kaiser's interest: you, a fan? with the millions of people who watched your movies, here you were in front of him acting like someone who just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

it was... cute.

"so, you're a fan of mine, then?" he hums, a smug look beginning to curl at the corners of his lips. his hand, the one you had so carefully bandaged, reaches to brush a stray h/c strand from your eyes.

yet, against his nature: michael's hand lingers, fingertips brushing over the supple skin of your cheek before slowly retreating. "i could give you a lot more than some autograph, schatz***..."

just like he thought, he can feel the heat that begins to radiate from your skin at his words. strangely, michael finds this sensation as fulfilling as breaking down other strikers. the sight of your pretty lips being drawn behind pearly teeth as he watches your head spin.

"oh, gosh- i don't even know what to say..." the words tumble from your lips like water from a broken dam.

kaiser grins, he had you: hook, line, and sinker.

"you don't need to say anything, just yes." his blood thrums under his skin, michael can practically feel it rushing through his veins, as it beings to pool.

god, the sight that you give him the privilege of seeing next sends a wave of heat running under his collar. those pretty e/c eyes swallowed up by dilated pupils he can practically see himself in, pink lips shiny and bitten.

"yes, please, michael."

it's like you've opened pandora's box.

.

.

.

every muscle in kaiser's body aches, raised red scratches spanning his broad back. but when cerulean eyes open, from briefly dozing off, he can't find the sight of you in his hotel suite.

the bitter taste of bile rises to the back of his mouth before he thickly swallows. in an instant, he's sat up, eyes desperately searching. his robe thrown on haphazardly.

in his fervor, he doesn't notice the envelope that he knocks off the bed, neat penmanship scrawling his name across the back.

michael's phone rings with a buzz, he picks it up with hope it's you; even though numbers weren't exchanged. no, it's jinpachi ego.

and in that moment, michael kaiser thinks he can understand his father's anger. even if just a little bit.

*Schätzchen: Sweetie (feminine petname)

**Ja: Yes (affirmative)

***Schatz: Darling (feminine petname)

okkotsuus 25

[starsinmylatte]

I saw your dilf Veritas post and listen I had to hop in cause I am so damn hungry for this man istg

Anyway, I don't think I've seen anything in regards to the moment when Veritas loses his cool for maybe even the first time in his life. And that's the birth of his child. He has knowledge on birth and all about it but with that comes the knowledge about all that could go wrong and bro is stressing 🥲 he wants his beloved partner and his precious baby safe and sound and healthy. He also hates to see his partner in so much discomfort throughout all this

I have failed my fellow HSR cuties bc I have been HOARDING some delicious content in my drafts while waiting for the hyperfixation to return. Everyone thank @delirious-donna for pinging my last brain cell and reminding me that hoyoverse still exists 🙂‍↕️💕

Anywho..... Back to our scheduled simping!

Veritas is the man who always has a logical plan or a well-thought-out answer to everything. He is aloof at most times, able to step away from any situation happening in front of him so that he may analyze and produce the best course of action. He prides himself on his ability to organize his thoughts and process his feelings according to logic, oftentimes being the only person to take charge during emergencies. That is, until you wake up in the dead of night to find that your bedsheets are.... strangely damp? Oh shit.

Being the chronic over-planner, Veritas had your due date neatly penciled into his calendar for precisely two weeks from now, so when you tapped at his shoulder rather urgently, he was decently confused. "My darling, I know cravings are intense, but eating at this time of-"

You cut through his raspy, sleepy drawl- the same one you'd heard groaning obscenities against the shell of your ear as his son was conceived-" Veritas, the baby is coming."

His head twitched, raising off the pillow as if he needed both ears to hear what you were saying, "I, I apologize, but it sounded li-"

"Veritas. Get the bag. Our son is coming."

For the first time since you'd met the man, you swear that you can hear the subtle clicking of Veritas Ratio's mind running as he processes a set of data. During that particularly pregnant (ha) pause, you heard one distinct tick as he registered the condition of the bedding, and then the father of your child was immediately out of bed vaulting across the room.

A choice string of vehemently hushed obscenities falls from his lips as he snarls in frustration at all the extra fucking buckles on his goddamn pants that he's never noticed before and-

"Dear, just keep your sweatpants on. Just find a shirt and some shoes first, and then grab pants and shoes for me."

Your clear voice stops his thoughts on a dime. Of course, How had he not thought of that? His beloved wife was so brilliant.

For the first time in his entire life, Veritas's brain was simply on overdrive. His carefully separated thoughts and feelings were clashing with no intention of stopping, leaving the man on autopilot. If it were any other situation, you'd have been amused.

Veritas's mind snapped back to normal after you winced from a contraction as he helped you with your shoes. Knowing that you were in distress gave his mind the kick it needed to prioritize correctly again, and he got you to the hospital in record time.

Originally, you had planned to go to the hospital that was further away- the one Ratio didn't lecture at daily- but now that didn't seem like a possibility. Getting you comfortable as quickly as he could won by a mile in Ratio's list of priorities, so many heads turned in the Emergency Department as they suddenly heard their strictest professor's voice at three in the morning. Some twitched in their chairs, fully convinced they were in the throes of a nightmare as the widely respected, widely feared Doctor Veritas Ratio strode toward them at a breakneck pace in his pajamas.

"Mywifeishereandsheneedstobetakenuptoaroomimmediately."

The doctors glance at each other. From the sea of confused faces, that didn't make sense to anybody. "uh- sir?"

"My wife. Is here. She needs a room. Now." Veritas annunciated his words very slowly as if they were the densest people on the planet, which meant that he actually managed to speak his sentence at a somewhat normal pace.

As if to drive the point home, the nurse Veritas had left to gather your things and bring you in suddenly appeared, quickly wheeling you into the room. The staff paled as they noticed you groan softly in pain, one arm draped protectively over your heavily pregnant belly.

The medical team whisks you away to a delivery room, and Veritas is quickly thrown into an unfamiliar world. The man used to having decisive answers is sat squarely in a chair next to his wife's bedside, grasping her hand tightly as she cries out in pain. He can't stop thinking about all of the variables, all of the things that could go wrong- the way your face is scrunched up in agony- the knowledge that he's about to meet his son.

The thoughts continue on a revolving loop of horror and wonder until a shrill little cry pierces the air, and Veritas Ratio snaps to attention to meet his son for the first time.

[belliexpog]

heyy i was wondering if you Could do Sae byeok x fem reader and reader is pregnant. Like Maybe headcanons on the things she would do While you are pregnant like making sure you ate Well (you two would go to her moms house a lot and her mom would say to you, to eat more While Sae byeok is just adoring you) makes sure that you are comfortable when cuddleing, never lets you lift a finger, is there when you are feeling really sick in the morning, tries the thing Where she is behind you and she gently lifts your tummy releaving All the pain in your back and tailbone. (She adores the way you dip your head back on her shoulder and close your eyes, humming How Good it feels as she lift your tummy) and more.

thank you and have a wonderful Day or Night.

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Two babies in one- Sae-Byeok

(headcanons in points + writing)

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The discovery:

Her jaw would drop in shock that the insemination actually worked

"BABY, WE'RE PREGNET!"

She would certainly cry with joy.

Headcanons:

With confusion on her face, she holds up the small, light wooden box, opening it slightly. You shift your position on the bed, sitting up better to see her reaction, with an anxious smile. And She gives you a suspicious look and opens the box. The box was lined with gray crepe paper, but she didn't pay any attention to it, seeing a gray baby bodysuit and the pregnancy test on top. "Baby...Is this...?" She asks, looking at you fearfully with a gleam of hope in her eyes. Your smile widened, and you placed your hand on your stomach, nodding. The girl opens her mouth in shock and puts the box aside, throwing herself on top of you on the bed, kissing you all over. "Baby, we're pregnant! Oh my god..." You let out a laugh, nodding and wrapping your arms around the girl's neck. Her expression suddenly changes, becoming worried. She rolls over, now lying next to you, and places her hand on your belly. "I can't crush the baby..." She murmurs, worried. You He let out a loud laugh and pushed her hand away. "The child is still a seed. There is nothing to crush here."

Telling the mother-in-law and Cheol:

Her mother was super happy, as it was her dream to be a grandmother.

Cheol smiled and said, "A new friend!"

Sae's mother gave you several tips on what to do, what not to do, what you can eat and what you can't eat, everything you needed to know, and Sae listened very carefully, taking mental notes.

Your mother-in-law was the most helpful person ever, often coming to your house to help with things while Sae worked, taking Cheol with her so he could distract you.

Her mother-in-law also makes a point of filling your plate with food, now with less fat and more nutrients, because "it's a mother and her baby who were eating"

First Trimester (Weeks 1-12):

Even though the girl (Sae) HATES reading, she bought pregnancy books to help her to better understand your mood changes or physical disposition.

She bought a new mattress just so you could sleep better, since, according to her, "the book said that in the first trimester of pregnancy, pregnant women could spend a lot of time sleeping."

She doesn't get irritated by your mood swings, just confused. But she takes a deep breath, nods her head and just goes with the flow, not wanting to disagree with you.

Headcanons:

You were exchanging kisses lying in bed, when suddenly, you get up and run to the bathroom. The girl quickly got up, sitting on the bed, seeing you going to the bathroom. As soon as she heard vomiting sounds, she quickly He got up and went to the bathroom, kneeling beside her and grabbing her hair, pulling it away from her face. "Oh baby..." she murmurs, mostly to herself, looking at you with concern. She didn't get up from the floor until you were completely okay. She helped you getting up and washing your face. She made you lie down while she went to get you food.

Second Trimester (Weeks 13-26)

She is SO happy to see your belly growing.

Believe me, she started to become a thousand times more affectionate. Kissing your belly, talking to the baby and helping you to sit.

She drools when she sees you in maternity dresses, or just in your underwear. She simply thinks you look magnificent with your huge belly.

She massages your feet every night, and this gave her the opportunity to buy several body creams thanks to your influence.

Headcanons:

You walked around the store, actually you walked and Sae carried the cart with the groceries, eventually asking you what else was on the list. She didn't really like the idea of you going out and making some kind of effort, but since she knew that it wasn't healthy to spend all your time sitting or lying down every day, she made an exception. Sae crouched down, looking at the section of shower creams and gels. "You like vanilla, don't you?" She asked, picking up a vanilla shower gel and looking at the label. The older woman gave you a quick glance, as you stood with your legs slightly apart, one hand on your back and the other on your belly, lightly patting your face as you looked at a moisturizing cream. "Mhm...Vanilla is perfect" You mumbled, picking up the moisturizer and opening it to smell it. Sae nodded and smiled, standing up and putting it in the cart, seeing the cream you had put on She raised an eyebrow and looked at you. "Me and the baby have to have our skin moisturized... And smelling good." You say, running your hand over your belly and smiling slightly. Sae shrugged, turning to walk again. “That makes sense.”

Third Trimester (Weeks 27-40):

She started to be more careful with you, as she knew that the birth was near.

She would always go with you to the bathroom and help you if you needed it.

At night she would NOT sleep until she was sure you were asleep, because she knew you were having trouble falling asleep.

Every time you woke up to go to the bathroom, she would sit on the bed, watching, and only go back to sleep if you were also asleep.

She started to prepare the delivery bag: With the baby's clothes, your clothes, some hygiene items, diapers for you and the baby, a blanket for you and another for the baby.

You also decorated the baby's room, but it was Sae who did everything, you just gave orders and opinions.

She always got scared when you had contractions.

Headcanons:

"But why paint the colors pink or blue? Use a light gray. When the child is born, the kid will decide. We don't even know if the child will like pink or blue!" You said, leaning against the doorframe, with Sae in the middle of the room, with her hands on her hips, looking at the walls. She nodded, and then looked at you "You're right, princess. Gray it will be!" She said, and smiled looking at you. "And put an armchair or small sofa on that wall, it will look nice. Now I'm going to the bathroom, I'm worried." You said and turned around, walking quickly with difficulty,with her legs spread and her hands behind her back. Sae held back her laughter and followed you to the bathroom.

Labor & Delivery:

Headcanons:

As usual, at 9:30 pm you were already asleep - or trying to -. It was then that one night in January, at 11:00 pm, some strong contractions woke you up. You woke up, moaning in pain.It stopped for a few seconds, but not even a minute later the contractions started again, moving up your back and into your belly too. Sae woke up to the groaning, and immediately said, "You wet the bed..." She mumbled, sitting up in bed, but when she saw that it was too much to be pee, all her senses awakened. "Oh, fuck!" She stood up and walked over to your side of the bed, helping you up. "Shower... Let me take a shower..." You moaned, leaning against her. "No fucking way, honey! You're going straight from the car to the hospital!" Luckily, the delivery bag was already in the car. She reached into her bag, put your cell phones in there, and grabbed the car keys. "Can you walk?" You looked at her, leaning on the bedroom vanity, with your hand on your belly and shook your head. She nodded and walked over to you, picking you up. "I'm training for the future," she jokes, leaving the room, making you laugh in the midst of so much pain. You chose to have a natural birth, aware of the pain, but wanting to feel it. The birth, besides being painful, was at the same time wonderful, because as soon as your little figure arrived in your arms, you immediately stopped crying, you felt as if you were falling in love again, cause you really were. You looked at the face of that tiny being, seeing your features in it. How did such a thing come out of you? Was that cutie less than 50cm tall that would one day come out of your wings? Tears rolled down your face, Sae's hand brushed away the hair stuck to your forehead and smiled. "Hold on, you're the mother too." You said, lightly lifting the baby in your arms. Sae shook her head and smiled. "Let the doctors take the baby and take care of him/her. I have to take care of another baby." You smiled, and the doctor came closer, wanting to take the baby. With a little pity you handed the child into the doctor's arms, and watched him leave. You turned your head to Sae and smiled. "It's so tiny..." The girl let out a laugh and pulled the chair behind her to sit closer to you. She sighed, sitting down and took your hand, stroking it, while the other stroked your forehead. "It's true, princess... It's very tiny..."

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taglist: @vigilxntesht @wtvlmaosstuff

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MAN THIS IS SOSOSOSOSO CUTE

I love you anon for this idea 🙌🏽

Hope you liked it babies!

Xoxo!

[rosiecosy]

for your own good୨ৎ

(mingyu x reader)

it starts with whispers.

low voices at fansigns, barely audible over the noise—you should stay away.

then, it’s the messages. anonymous accounts sending vague warnings, escalating into outright threats. you try to ignore them. mingyu tells you not to worry. security tightens. but still, they keep coming.

then, it happens.

the crowd at the airport is thicker than usual, pushing and pulling, bodies pressed too close together. mingyu is just ahead of you, reaching back to hold your hand, but in the chaos, someone shoves you—hard.

your knees hit the floor. pain shoots through you.

and then—

"stay away from him," someone murmurs, so close you feel their breath.

your blood runs cold.

then, just as fast, they’re gone.

hands grab you—mingyu.

"hey, hey—are you okay?" his voice is frantic, his grip firm as he pulls you up.

you nod automatically, even as your wrist throbs, even as your heart pounds. you don’t want to ruin his schedule, don’t want him to worry.

but then he sees it.

the bruise already forming.

and his expression shifts—from concern to something darker.

—

you don’t see mingyu for a few days. his schedules are packed, and you convince yourself that everything is fine.

but then, late one night, there’s a knock at your door.

when you open it, he’s standing there.

silent. eyes tired.

"mingyu?"

he exhales, stepping in, shutting the door behind him. his hands find your wrists, his touch featherlight when he reaches the bruise that has now faded into a dull yellow.

"i should’ve been there," he whispers.

you shake your head. "you were there."

"not fast enough." his jaw clenches. "this happened because of me."

you hate the guilt in his voice. hate the way he’s looking at you like he’s the one who hurt you.

"mingyu—"

"maybe—" he swallows. "maybe we should—"

no.

you already know what he’s about to say.

so you do the only thing you can think of. you reach up, cup his face, and pull him into a kiss.

his breath stutters.

but then he’s kissing you back, hands gripping your waist, pulling you so close you can feel his heartbeat racing against yours.

when you finally break apart, he exhales shakily.

"don’t," you whisper. "don’t say we should break up."

his brows furrow. "but—"

"no." you shake your head. "you don’t get to decide what’s best for me. i choose this. i choose you."

his shoulders sag, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. but then—slowly, finally—he nods.

"okay," he breathes.

and when he wraps his arms around you, holding you like he never wants to let go, and he doesn't.

[twistedpink]

Who’s your valentine? @/cafekitsune banner

And the spinner says….

Idia + getting sick + quality time

“Hey… I know how this looks.”

The cabinets clatter violently with how you scramble against the wood- Veggies, boullion, and way too much water go in the pot. You hope he tastes the anger.

“Glad you’re self aware, Casper!”

“The friendly ghost?? Mid reference.”

The ‘how to not murder your boyfriend’ council in your head is screaming at him to shut up already, but you kind of want him to keep going. Just to watch him talk himself into a corner, like your shit-stirrer so often does. The least he could is entertain you after this royal betrayal,,

If there’s anything you regret about tonight, it’s not hating Idia more (not that you do hate him, but everyone can sympathize with a little trouble in paradise!). It doesn’t matter anymore if it was a work function or family dinner- He promised to go, and now even his immune system’s flaking!

The half-hate soup simmers in the background while your true crime show is playing ‘FBI torture: not clickbait!’ as a duet to Idia’s shakey sneezes.. God, you’re mean. He doesn’t even like this show, he’s just compliant enough to sit in on it! Because he likes you!! “Dinner’s ready.”

There’s something special about the way he looks up at you- His hair pools in a waterfall down his hunched back after jailbreaking from a low pony that you gave him, and his little sickie nose twitches at the warmth… He’s way too cute to stay mad at!! The hot spoon full of fresh soup presses faithfully against his lips, and you’re soon to realize that he’s never looked guiltier.

“You good, babe?”

“UH. um. Never better, babyface..? This soup’s totally meta, YEAH, that’s it! Just thinking about soup!”

“It’s not that good! But I’m not here to yuck your yum, let’s get you better. Love you.”

“Yup! That too,,”

. Cheezy catchphrases and emote sound effects blare from your surround-sound system (Ids insisted on on the thing, and you’re weak to begging), echoing off the comparatively bare boned living room setup. One thing you convinced Idia to do was drag all his gaming into the living room “to share” (you’re hardly allowed to touch anything, much less any guests) you just couldn’t ever sell him on the “normal” knickknacks, barely avoiding anime figures for decor.

He’d only half persuaded you into starting this rpg- All the fantastical races and classes usually melt together whenever mods come into play, but you’re really starting to enjoy yourself! You’re so invested in the current dialogue that you almost don’t notice a boyfriend-shaped beartrap wrap around your arm. Almost.

“Idia, are you sure everything’s okay?”

He forces out a weak ‘m sorry, and the game’s forgotten pretty quickly to start loving on him (great! Now you have to catch up later), you lavish kisses all over his face, mumbling pet names into his sensitive ears- Avoiding his crusted nose and making your way to his neck before he shoves a palm in your face with a little too much force. It’s not like you can get away with all his weight piled up on your thigh, that’s just rude!

“I’M FAKING!”

what

“What?? There’s no way you’re faking this, how dumb do you think I am?”

“It’s stupid. I licked a Petri dish at work so we wouldn’t go out. I’m super sorry!”

Before you know it, you’re giggling uncontrollably at the mental image of Idia licking a Petri dish, and running away- Leaving only licks as evidence. He is HORRIFIED. Maybe this is your murder giggle?? Regardless of whatever he’s thinking, the grip on your arm gets tighter, and he joins you with a couple entertained huffs.

“SHUT UP, YOU DIDNT! You’re the funniest guy I know! Next time, just let me know when you want to stay in. I’m pretty slippery when I want to be :),”

“Really?”

“Really. Either way, it was a good Valentine’s Day. Are you up for icecream?”

“Sure! And, uh,, happy Valentine’s Day. Ilyt.”

[hazelira]

at least, once

The night air is cold against my skin as I step outside, the weight of my luggage dragging behind me. The streetlights flicker faintly, casting long, lonely shadows across the pavement. Our house looms behind me, silent and still, like a graveyard of memories I no longer belong to.

My breath shudders as I exhale, watching it dissipate into the night like all the words we never said. I don’t look back. If I do, I know I’ll break.

Ni-ki is still inside. Maybe asleep. Maybe awake. Maybe standing behind the door, listening, waiting for me to change my mind. But we both know that won’t happen.

It hurts. God, it hurts.

But love doesn’t always mean staying. Sometimes, love is knowing when to walk away before the pieces left behind become unrecognizable.

I clutch the handle of my suitcase, my fingers trembling. I should have seen this coming—the way the late-night conversations turned into silence, the way his touch became hesitant, the way his eyes searched for something in me that wasn’t there anymore. Or maybe it was, and he just stopped trying to find it.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I let it.

"Maybe you won’t love me again," I whisper into the void, my voice cracking under my heartache. "But at least I got loved by you once, and that was the best feeling ever."

And with that, I take my first step away.

The suitcase wheels rattled against the pavement, a quiet echo against the stillness of the night. Each step away from him, from our love, felt like ripping apart a piece of myself. But I had no choice.

Ni-ki told me it was an accident. That the girl kissed him, that he pulled away. But all I could think about was—what if it wasn’t? What if, for just a moment, he forgot that I was his? I forgot that I was the love of his life, supposedly.

What if, years from now, we got married, had kids, built the future we used to dream of—and he saw her again? What if he still thought about her? What if, behind my back, he met her in secret and whispered apologies against her lips the way he should have whispered them to me?

The thoughts wouldn’t stop. They clawed at my chest, suffocating me. I didn’t want to live a life full of what ifs. I didn’t want to wake up every morning wondering if I was enough. Suppose I would always be enough.

So I left.

And now, the sun was rising over a Ni-ki-less future.

His POV:

The bed was cold when I woke up.

I reached out instinctively, searching for her warmth and familiar weight beside me. But all I found was space.

My heart dropped.

“Babe?” My voice was hoarse, sleep-rough, but there was no answer.

The air felt wrong. The silence screamed louder than anything.

I stumbled out of bed, my chest tightening as I rushed through our house. The bathroom? Empty. The kitchen? Empty. The front door—unlocked.

That’s when I saw it.

The missing suitcase. The empty closet.

She was gone.

A shaky breath left me as my knees hit the floor. My mind raced, replaying every last word, every last look. The way she trembled when I told her. The way her eyes darkened with thoughts she didn’t say aloud.

I thought she’d stay. I thought she would yell, cry, tell me she hated me, but still choose me anyway.

But she didn’t.

I pressed a hand over my mouth, my body trembling.

She left.

Forever.

Your POV:

The morning light creeps through the cheap motel curtains, bathing the dull room in soft gold. But no warmth reaches me. The sheets are stiff, the air stale. Everything about this place screams temporary—just like us.

I pull my knees to my chest, staring at my phone on the nightstand—no missed calls. No texts.

Ni-ki hasn’t called.

I don’t know if I should be relieved or shattered.

Maybe he’s still asleep. Perhaps he woke up, saw I was gone, and decided I wasn’t worth chasing. Maybe this is proof that I was right to leave.

But why does it hurt so much?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push away the image of him waking up, running through the house, calling my name—only to be silent.

Would he cry? Would he sit on the floor, his head in his hands, wondering where I went wrong?

Or would he… move on?

I bite my lip to keep the sob from breaking free.

I want to believe he’s hurting like I am, that this is tearing him apart, too. But I also want to believe that leaving was the right choice.

I can’t have both.

I press my forehead against my knees, swallowing the ache in my throat.

Maybe in another life, I would have stayed.

Maybe in another life, he wouldn’t have let me go.

His POV:

The house is too quiet.

Too empty.

It doesn’t feel like home anymore, not without her.

I sit on the floor, staring at the space where her suitcase used to be. My fingers dig into my hair as I replay last night repeatedly. The way her face fell when I told her. The way her lips trembled like she was holding back a scream.

She didn’t yell, throw things, or demand to know why.

She just… left.

I should have stopped her. Should have grabbed her wrist, pulled her into my arms, begged her to stay.

But I didn’t.

Because deep down, I knew—she wasn’t just leaving because of the kiss.

She was leaving because of what it meant.

She thinks I’ll do it again. That someday, years from now, she’ll be sitting at home with our kids while I’m out somewhere, lips pressed against another girl’s.

And the worst part? I can’t blame her for thinking that.

I never got the chance to tell her—tell her that it was never a choice, never a moment where I forgot she was mine.

Because forgetting her? Impossible.

She is in everything. The way the pillows still smell like her shampoo. The tea mugs on the counter that she always forgot to clean. The way the sun hits the window just right at this hour, the same way it used to catch in her hair when she sat in this very spot.

She’s everywhere. And now, she’s nowhere.

I reach for my phone, my hands shaking. I stare at her contact, my thumb hovering over the call button.

What if she doesn’t answer?

What if she does?

What if she’s waiting for me to fight for her?

I take a deep breath and press the call.

It rings once. Twice.

Then—

"The number you are trying to reach is unavailable."

The automated voice cuts through my chest like a blade.

She blocked me.

And just like that, I know—

She’s really gone.

His POV:

I keep staring at my phone, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t escape.

What if I never told her?

What if I had just swallowed the guilt, buried it deep inside, and let it rot within me instead of breaking her heart with the truth?

Would she still be here? Would she be curled up on the couch, waiting for me to wake up so we could eat breakfast together? Would I still hear her laugh echo through the house, still feel her fingers tangle in mine, still see the love in her eyes when she looked at me?

I told myself that honesty was the right thing to do. That I owed it to her. But now, I wonder—did I just ruin everything for nothing?

It wasn’t my fault.

I didn’t know the girl. I didn’t even see it coming. One second, I was standing there, and the next—her lips were on mine. Everything happened so fast. I pulled away immediately. I didn’t kiss back. I didn’t even hesitate before pushing her off me.

But none of that mattered, did it?

Because in her mind, the damage was already done.

She didn’t just leave because of the kiss. She left because she couldn’t live with the possibility of me hurting her again. Because she thought that someday, I would forget she was the love of my life.

But she was wrong.

I could never forget.

I press my palms against my face, squeezing my eyes shut.

If I had just kept my mouth shut, if I had just held her a little tighter that night and never let her feel like she had to run—

Would she still be mine?

Or would the truth have found its way out eventually, tearing us apart in an even worse way?

I don’t know.

And maybe I never will.

Your POV:

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at nothing.

The bags are still in the backseat, untouched. I was so sure when I packed them—so sure that leaving was the right thing to do. That I had to go before I convinced myself to stay in something that would only hurt me later.

But now, I don’t know anymore.

Ni-ki told me the truth. I didn’t even give him a chance to explain everything, to tell me what happened in full. I just let my mind take over, drowning in worst-case scenarios until I felt like I was suffocating.

And now, sitting here alone, I keep asking myself the same question.

Why do I always run?

Every time someone hurts me, even if it’s unintentional, even if they don’t deserve to be abandoned—why do I leave before they get the chance to fix it?

Ni-ki isn’t perfect. He made a mistake. But I know him. I know his heart. I know the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing that matters.

I still love him.

I love him so much it terrifies me.

I glance at my keychain, my fingers brushing against the silver house key.

I still have it.

He didn’t change the locks. He didn’t throw my things outside. Maybe…maybe he’s waiting.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the key and step out of the car. The cold air stings my face, but I barely notice as I make my way back to the house.

I stand in front of the door, hesitating.

What if he’s asleep?

What if he doesn’t want me back?

What if I’m too late?

I shake the thoughts away and slide the key into the lock.

The moment the door opens, my breath catches.

There he is.

Ni-ki is sitting on the floor in the dimly lit living room, his back against the couch, his phone hanging limply in his hands. He looks exhausted—eyes red-rimmed, hair a mess, his hoodie wrinkled like he hasn’t moved in hours.

The second he sees me, he freezes.

We stare at each other, time stretching between us, hearts hanging in the balance.

And then—

“...You came back.” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

I nod, my throat tight. “I never really wanted to leave.”

He swallows hard, like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Then why did you?”

I step inside, letting the door click shut behind me. “Because I was scared.”

Silence. A thick, fragile silence.

Then he stands, his movements slow, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

“I need you to know something,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “That night… I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t even see it coming. The moment it happened, I pushed her away. And the only thing I could think about was you. How much I love you. How much I—” His voice catches, and he swipes a hand down his face. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my vision blurring. “I know.”

Ni-ki takes a shaky breath. “Do you?”

I nod, stepping closer. “I let my thoughts ruin everything before you even had the chance to explain. I ran because I thought it would be easier than staying and facing it. But I—” My voice wavers, and I look down, hands trembling. “I don’t want to keep running from the people I love.”

A pause. Then, a whisper. “You still love me?”

I look up, and for the first time since I left, I smile. It’s small, hesitant, but it’s real. “Yeah. I do.”

Before I can say anything else, Ni-ki closes the space between us, wrapping me in his arms so tightly it knocks the air out of my lungs. I bury my face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat racing against mine.

He’s shaking.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I thought I lost you forever.”

I close my eyes, holding onto him just as tightly. “You didn’t.”

And in that moment, I know—

We’re not perfect. We’ll make mistakes. We’ll hurt each other sometimes.

But love isn’t about running when things get hard.

It’s about finding your way back.

requested by: anonymous

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

@seonhoon @dollrincess @ethanatvre @rei4sunoo @shxhdsstuff @jakeflvrz @laylasbunbunny @jiiyen @saphiranishimurashan @lovelycassy @starry-eyed-bimbo @babyboomysweetie @24svnn @pinkglitterpuke @mellowgalaxystrawberry @dolliewon @s1rawb3rry @freaky-enhamadswriter @aishigrey @yangjungwonnie @lilmarsh-t @hoseokteardrop @mrsjjongstby @ro-diaries @ijustwannareadstuff20 @leilamaybelyla @celestialen @yejisuu @kpopslays @berryberrystrawbery @jungwon101

[rik0shii]

Part 2: Love in the Aftermath

this is a part 2 of this

The days following the concert were suffocating.

You thought you had mastered the art of pretending, of shoving your past so deep inside that it could never crawl its way back out. But Jiyong’s presence, that single glance during his performance, had shattered everything you had built to protect yourself.

You hadn’t spoken to him in years. No messages, no late-night calls, not even an accidental run-in at the YG building. The world had built walls between you two, and you had let them stand. But now? Now it felt like those walls had been made of paper, burning at the edges from the briefest of sparks.

And then he texted you.

“Can we talk?”

The message sat there on your screen, glowing in the dimly lit studio where you were still winding down from practice. Your group was still together—2NE1 was still standing, still making music—but you had ventured into solo activities too. It wasn’t a departure, just another part of your journey. Music was in your blood, just as it was in his. You had moved on, built something new, something that didn’t revolve around him.

So why did it feel like his words could unravel all of it?

You should’ve ignored it. You should’ve deleted it, let the past stay buried. But instead, before you could second-guess yourself, you found yourself typing:

“Where?”

His answer came quickly.

“The old place.”

Your breath hitched. The café. Your café. A quiet little corner of Seoul where, years ago, love had been simple, untouched by the pressures of the industry. A place that had once been yours and his alone.

You knew going was a mistake. But you went anyway.

Familiar Faces, Unfamiliar Silence

The café was exactly as you remembered it, down to the way the warm scent of coffee clung to the air. It was quieter now, a slow afternoon, only a few people scattered across the room.

And there he was.

Jiyong sat at the corner booth, the one you used to share, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of a coffee cup. His mint-green hair fell slightly over his eyes, a soft contrast to his usual bold colors. It suited him—ethereal yet striking, like he had stepped out of a dream. And though he looked nearly the same, there was something different about him. The exhaustion in his features was new. The way his shoulders seemed to carry a weight heavier than before.

For a moment, you hesitated. You could turn around, pretend you never saw him, pretend you never answered his message. But you had come all this way, and a part of you—one you hated—wanted to hear what he had to say.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over and slid into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” you said softly.

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and for a second, his carefully crafted mask of indifference cracked. His eyes softened, something unreadable flickering behind them. “Hey.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with years of unspoken words. You had expected him to speak first, to have some kind of prepared speech about why he had called you here. Instead, he just… stared. As if he couldn’t believe you were real, sitting in front of him again.

Finally, he exhaled, setting his cup down. “I didn’t know how to reach out before.” His voice was quieter than you remembered, lacking the effortless confidence he once carried. “But I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. Like we’re fine. Because we’re not, are we?”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting deeper than they should have.

“No,” you admitted. “We’re not.”

Jiyong sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve been thinking about us. About everything. And I—” He hesitated, then leaned forward slightly, voice lowering as if afraid of being overheard. “I regret how things ended.”

A bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Do you?”

His jaw tensed. “Yeah. I do.”

You looked away, your fingers clenching into the fabric of your jeans. “You left first, Jiyong. You were the one who walked away.”

“I know.” His voice was raw, and when you looked back at him, you saw it—the regret, the self-loathing. The years had changed him, and maybe, just maybe, he had spent them regretting the same things you had.

“I wasn’t ready,” he admitted. “I thought I was protecting us. The pressure, the rumors, YG breathing down our necks—I thought if we walked away, it would be easier. That it would hurt less.”

A sharp pain stabbed at your chest. “Did it?”

Jiyong let out a breath, his lips pressing into a thin line. “No.”

That single word felt heavier than any apology he could have given.

“I don’t know if we can fix this,” you admitted.

Jiyong nodded, as if he had already prepared himself for that answer. “I don’t either. But I’d like to try.”

You looked at him for a long time. At the man who had once been your entire world. The man who had left you in ruins. The man who was now sitting in front of you, asking for a chance to put those ruins back together.

For now, you weren’t ready to say yes.

But you weren’t ready to say no, either.

Maybe that was enough.

For now.

The Stage That Brought Us Back Together

You weren’t sure how it happened. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just the universe playing another cruel joke.

But somehow, a month after that café meeting, Jiyong was standing backstage at your solo concert.

The idea had started as a joke—CL had offhandedly mentioned it one night when you were brainstorming surprises for your setlist. “What if you bring out a guest? Something huge?”

You had laughed it off, but later that night, as you stared at your phone, the idea wouldn’t leave your mind.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you had texted him.

“Want to surprise the world?”

His response came minutes later.

“Always.”

And now, standing behind the curtain, hearing the deafening screams of the crowd, you could feel your heart pounding. The intro to your song—the one you had written with him years ago—was playing. The audience had no idea what was about to happen.

Then, as the beat dropped, you stepped forward. And right behind you, stepping into the spotlight for the first time in years, was G-Dragon.

The crowd exploded.

Jiyong smirked slightly, his familiar stage presence slipping over him like second skin. He raised his mic, and the second his voice rang through the stadium, you felt it—this was meant to happen.

The performance was electric. Every verse, every note, every glance between you and him felt like the past and present colliding.

And then, as the final note faded, Jiyong stepped closer. His hand found your waist, and before you could even process it, his lips were on yours.

The stadium erupted.

Cameras flashed. The internet would break. But in that moment, nothing else mattered.

The Interview That Confirmed It All

Days after the performance that shook the entire industry, you and Jiyong sat side by side in an exclusive interview. The air buzzed with anticipation, cameras rolling, lights bright, and the interviewer practically beaming with excitement.

“So, let’s address the question on everyone’s mind,” she said, leaning forward with a playful grin. “The IT couple of YG—are you officially back together?”

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. He glanced at you with a smirk before turning to the interviewer. “What do you think?”

The interviewer laughed as the studio audience—handpicked VIP fans—erupted in cheers. You shook your head, suppressing a smile, but before you could say anything, Jiyong continued.

“I mean,” he shrugged, squeezing your hand where it rested on your lap, “I don’t think we ever really stopped belonging to each other. We just took a long… very long break.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Jiyong smirked, leaning back in his seat. “Sounds better than ��years of painful separation and stolen glances,’ doesn’t it?”

The interviewer gasped dramatically. “So you were keeping an eye on each other all these years?”

Your lips pressed together as heat crept up your neck. “I mean…” you hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “You don’t just forget someone like him.”

Jiyong turned to look at you, something softer in his gaze now, his thumb rubbing slow circles against the back of your hand. “I never forgot you either,” he said, voice just above a whisper, but the mic still caught it.

The interviewer sighed dramatically, clutching her chest. “I swear, this is like a K-drama playing out in real life.”

The audience laughed, but the energy in the room shifted—this wasn’t just a reunion for fan service. It was real.

“So tell us,” the interviewer continued, “how did this comeback performance even happen? Did you two plan it from the beginning?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Not at all. It started as a joke. CL suggested bringing out a huge guest, and I don’t know, I guess a part of me wanted to see if he’d say yes.”

Jiyong shot you a playful glare. “You didn’t think I would?”

You smirked. “Well, you haven’t exactly been easy to reach these past few years.”

The crowd let out an “Ooooh,” and Jiyong chuckled, rubbing his neck. “Okay, I deserved that.” Then he turned serious, his grip on your hand tightening. “But when you texted me? I didn’t even have to think about it. The answer was always yes.”

The interviewer clapped her hands together, clearly enjoying every second of this. “So what was that moment like? On stage together again, after everything?”

Jiyong exhaled, leaning back in his seat. “It was… surreal. Like nothing had changed, and yet everything had.” He turned to you again. “The moment we started performing, it felt like home.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It did.”

“And that kiss?” The interviewer gasped. “That wasn’t scripted, was it?”

You laughed, hiding your face in your hands, while Jiyong chuckled beside you. “Definitely not planned,” you admitted.

Jiyong smirked. “It just felt right. And judging by the reaction…” he gestured toward the screaming audience, “I don’t think anyone minded.”

The interviewer shook her head with a teasing smile. “Oh, trust me, no one’s complaining.” Then she leaned forward, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “So… what happens now?”

You and Jiyong exchanged glances. It wasn’t like everything was suddenly fixed. There were still conversations to be had, wounds that time hadn’t fully healed. But for now, you knew one thing for sure.

Jiyong turned back to the interviewer, a soft smile playing at his lips. “We take it one step at a time. But this time…” he looked at you, his gaze full of quiet promises, “we take it together.”

The audience erupted into cheers, and just like that, the IT couple of YG was officially back.

You were his again, and he was also yours.

[heleninhha]

TRAPPED IN SHADOWS | I/EN

Feels like we had matching wounds, but mine's still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now. The Exit, by Conan Gray

Romantic partner: Azriel (ACOTAR) Summary: After Feyre's first two tasks, she finds herself broken and depressed; Greer feels her pain constantly, but something about that night bothered her more than usual. Approximate reading time: 13min Words: 2,5k Warnings: Angst at the beginning, but with a bit of cuteness (like, I just want to hug Lucien forever), and at the end. Mentions of possible triggers. NOTE: I really believe in second chances, but I don't know if it's Sarah's writing or something else, I can't feel that with Tamlin. I'm sorry, it's just a bad feeling.

I: Hiccups at dawn Masterlist | Serieslist | Last chapter | Next chapter

Currently…

She heard the muffled cries through the walls, unshed tears and an anguished heart. As she combed her hair, she could feel the tension in the human shoulders, the sense of desperation seeping through her veins, chasing an almost imperceptible thread of hope.

Greer had hated himself for many years, so many she didn't know where to begin to explain why she was angry, but there was one being who stole all that anger for herself. The center of his disgust, the reason she couldn't just fly as far away as possible.

Amarantha. The name had a metallic taste in her mouth, like boiling blood; the plague that Tamlin had so eagerly led Feyre to believe was only a sickness in once fertile meadows. But like an eagerly orchestrated game, it wasn't just the red-haired fairy who had made her see the world as a battlefield. Yes, she had longed to strangle the blonde since her mother's death, but an idiotic agreement made her run after him like an obedient dog.

Even though the tattoo on the back of her neck burned every time she felt the need for vengeance, she couldn't ignore the empathic agony in her chest.

More screams and Greer wondered if they were just thoughts. Feyre's mind had always been delicate and innocent to her powers, but ever since she'd had the bright idea to seek her love — something the older woman would never understand — her thoughts had been screaming.

She wished she could help her, but she knew that as soon as she dared to look away from the throne, her brother would suffer the consequences.

"If you even think about lying in bed with that filthy smell of booze, I'll slit your throat."

Lucien muttered in disbelief and stepped around the object with some difficulty. He fell to the floor beside the dressing table and hit his head against the dark wall.

"I'll never drink again."

"Liar," the woman whispered, tucking the comb behind the silver jewelry box. "You're just a poor wine addict."

A hum of derision, as if to say the unclean speaking of the unclean, and a metal eye stared at her.

"You look beautiful."

"And you're drunk."

"Yeah, well…" he sobbed, putting his hand over his mouth. "Don't judge me."

Greer smiled weakly and returned the attention. As much as she wanted to yell at her friend for his lack of responsibility in getting his ass into enemy territory, Feyre's screams and the sense of desperation she radiated were exhausting her. Besides, the male didn't need another jerk trying to control his life, especially when he had come so close to losing it a few days before.

"Go take a quick shower and then we'll go to bed."

Lucien didn't answer at first, just stared at her.

"I would have missed you."

The female snorted and shifted her gaze to the rest of the room. Dark silk curtains and an old wooden headboard, a strangely comfortable bed and a small, worn wardrobe, paintings of obscure landscapes and a spacious attached bathroom; everything was contrasting and frightening, but it didn't make her want to vomit as much as the scene she had been forced to watch less than 60 hours ago.

She still remembered the sick feeling in her stomach, the headache and the racing heart; Lucien's desperate screams and an illiterate human reeking of fear and rage. If it hadn't been for Rhysand…

"I mean it."

"Don't talk nonsense." She watched him again as she got up to crouch down towards his friend. "You attract bad things."

"You and this crazy theory about attracting things… There is no such thing."

"Let's not argue, I'm exhausted."

Before the older man could open his mouth, she pulled him up, wrapped her right arm around his back and supported him. He rested his head on her shoulder, accepting the help only as the wine made him dizzy, and tried to keep up with his friend.

"If you'd just listen to me for five minutes," Greer grumbled, kicking open the bathroom door.

"Let's not argue."

"You bastard!"

Lucien had only had five seconds to laugh before he was thrown into the tub of cold water. She had swallowed him alive, and if it hadn't been for the fire in her veins, she would have died for sure. Those pesky shadows…

Was it sunset or dawn? She didn't know, she just watched as the sun filled the clouds with magenta and purple, the orange and gold rays blending together like a happy dance. An infectious rhythm, full of unmistakable passion and…

Greer fell out of bed, her eyes wide and her hands shaking. She scanned the room for any sign of that cruel trick, but all she found were the curtains swaying in the wind and Lucien's soft snoring on the other side of the mattress.

Her hands were still shaking as she stood up, the music of her childhood filling her senses and driving her through painful memories. No one knew that song, no one present on that mountain knew the origin of one of the most beautiful compositions ever created in the world, so how could they torment her?

Amarantha didn't know that Velaris existed, let alone that Rhysand was capable of such generosity to anyone but himself, and so she followed the line of reasoning; no one had the faintest idea of the true nature of the Night Court — at least the part of it that her father had chosen to benefit.

So... what did that mean?

Greer shook her head, ignoring the latent pain in her chest with a sticky feeling called longing, and sat up in bed. She was about to lie down when the music rose in pitch, as if preparing for a triumphant fall, and she snorted. After a shitty day of being forced to be some kind of sick bodyguard for the queen and her Grand Lord, she just wanted to wallow in the strangely soft sheets.

Cauldron had a dark sense of humor, and maybe the fae hated him for it, but she couldn't deny that part of her enjoying reminiscing about old times.

A memory of a field of flowers, an allergic friend, and a contemptuous, animated laugh. Shadows that looked like yours, a plate of hot food and books on the table. Cozy hugs from an older brother, with a kiss on the forehead and a warm good night.

She felt her stomach turn sour, bile rushing up her throat, but she ignored the bad feeling. Instead of running to the bathroom, she pushed back the covers at the foot of the bed, vaguely hearing Lucien's murmur as he turned the mattress over and hugged the pillow in front of her. Then Greer found herself standing at the door, her hand on the doorknob, the shaking stopped, but her heart still racing.

Anyone in their right mind would be in their tenth dream at that time of night, the dark sky dimly lit by the moon, but it seemed everyone had decided to run up and down.

She dodged a grey-haired fae, his steps hurrying as he muttered softly, a book in his arms. Behind him, three others were talking, the middle one staggering from the drink of hours before; they saw her with the door ajar, her hand still on the handle, but outside.

"Good night, Shadow." The man on the left smiled, lips closed, bowing his head in respect, and the others followed.

Greer just blinked, confused and annoyed. She hated that ridiculous nickname, even if it was as sincere as possible.

With a tired sigh, she closed the door and ran her hand over her dark satin nightgown. The soft fabric wrapped around her like a glove, and the unnecessary cleavage at the back made her want to scream. If she could, she would have taken Lucien's robe, but she didn't want another argument with Tamlin.

A painful sob echoed in her mind, a sharp pain tearing at her chest. She hoped it would pass after a few hours, that Feyre would overcome her melancholy and raise her head in the darkness, but apparently she was too broken.

Greer sometimes saw herself in her; she remembered Andras' death, how Tamlin had been possessed, but also hopeful. Days later, the human had arrived at the castle, a clear, seething rage that made the female smile in fascination. But those feelings seemed to fade, giving way to the sick love that Feyre believed to be real.

She tried to warn her several times, tried so hard to tell the girl that she was putting herself in a place where she wouldn't come back alive, but her prohibition to see her without anyone around made it difficult. Lucien helped her most of the time, sneaking through the spell of the agreement between his Grand Sire and his friend, but always ended up listening to the older man's bullshit.

Another sob, deeper this time, almost as if she was too exhausted. The fae quickened her pace, letting the music guide her through the dark corridors of the mountain. More drunken men and women, sneaking through the darkness of the night and rushing to the nearest rooms; she thought it was all just one big brothel, the smell of sex permeating every corner she dared to explore, but she couldn't stop at that moment, not when she was so curious to know who was tormenting her.

A low whisper followed by a tight feeling in her chest. Feyre was sitting on her toes, hunched over, staring at her hands as if they had plunged a knife into her stomach. She took deep breaths, trying to reach all the oxygen in the world because it never seemed to be enough, and Greer noticed that her heartbeat was racing as well.

You could call it empathy or pity, but the female crouched down in the darkness, mimicking the position of another, a few steps away from the human's cell, and hugged herself. Staring at the sickening scene before her, murmurs of Tamlin and what am I going to do? followed each other for a few minutes, loud tears fading to silence.

She dropped her head to the wall, letting the weight of her body collapse against the cold, dark stone, and followed Feyre's lost gaze to the ceiling, searching for whatever had caused her that terrible crisis.

Then the music seemed to double in volume, almost as if to greet the older woman. She smiled, holding back her own tears, finally understanding.

Shadows crept across the floor like fog, and Greer sensed the presence of a third person. He didn't need to look to know who the conspicuous essence belonged to, but he allowed himself to blink as Rhysand hid behind a beam of darkness, almost imperceptibly and in the posture he had always worn.

He didn't see her, though, too focused on the shattered human to worry about anyone else. After all, who would be crazy enough to go down there in the middle of the night?

The cold fog wrapped itself around the ankles of the others, becoming agitated and emotional, just like its owner. She wanted to run and hug him, but she knew the consequences, so she just pushed the darkness away from her brother before it didn't look like night anymore. Tightening her embrace, she sank further into that tiny peak and turned her eyes back to Feyre.

She was calmer, her breathing calmer and the whispering stopped. She seemed more melancholy than desperate, and then came the realization: there were only two days left until the last task.

An avalanche of disapproving yet hopeful thoughts flooded the eldest's mind, and she wished desperately that the human could close her mind.

Listening to the reflections of others had always been something to be proud of, but Greer knew it was complete torture to push the boundaries of someone who hadn't built a good wall. It was almost as if they pushed her into the other person's confusion, and at that moment it was Feyre.

Feyre, who had sometimes found her hiding in the library, her glasses at the end of her nose and the smell of tea filling the room, but who hadn't touched her. Feyre who looked at her strangely during the dinners she was forced to attend, but who smiled kindly at her. Feyre, who met her in the bedroom corridor at dawn, but who never judged her by the smell of Lucien on her skin.

More on impulse than anything else, the fae released the shadows again, allowing them to keep her company, and smiled with her lips closed as the mist danced around the human. She sniffed deeply, straightened up to sit with her legs crossed, and ran her hands through the strange smoke. It was icy, almost like fresh snow, but oddly comforting.

A moderately loud laugh filled the room, filling Greer's heart with an almost masculine pride. The younger woman smiled, her thoughts less desperate and melancholy, and turned her wrist, shadows engulfing her arm and the tattoo that had robbed her of her nights of sleep — and all the shit she was going through.

Rhysand frowned, leaning away from the pillar as if it were all an illusion. Then he stood up and looked around to see who else had this rare gift. Azriel was the only one he knew who had it, but this was different; it was more like the darkness being manipulated, duplicated to do the bidding of the person commanding it.

Greer left her hiding place before her brother could find her. She knew she'd be finished if she was caught, especially if he looked into her eyes, those irises she'd never been very good at hiding.

Before she knew it, she was leaning against her bedroom door, shadows disappearing through the cracks as she got rid of the evidence. She took a deep breath, her right hand over her heart, telling it to calm down.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ignoring Lucien, the fae remained leaning against the wood until everything was back to normal. Then she mentally counted, just as her mother had taught her to do in moments of fear.

One, two, three, four, five…

She took a last breath and locked the door before walking over to his side of the bed. The man comforted her, even though he had no idea what had happened, and ran his hand down her back.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking at Lucien with endless gratitude.

"Always." He smiled and pulled her to lie down.

Greer settled down on the mattress, forced herself to close her eyes, and hugged her friend. Grabbing him, she wrinkled the tattered shirt he wore as pajamas, and he continued the caress, always on that particular spot on his back.

You'll be free, he thought, and she sighed, knowing that the lowered wall wasn't out of laziness.

I think I'm in love with Greer… Taglist: @lenasardn @galaxystern08 

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 25

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

Harvey and the babies come to visit and more than just one couple is having thoughts about newborns

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

“How did my beautiful fiance sleep?” Jake whispers, kissing the back of my neck. It had been a week since his return and we were still in a blissful bubble, spending as much time as possible wrapped up in each other outside of work. 

“Hand’s asleep,” I mumbled, turning to face him. “Something heavy’s on it,” I put my left hand on his chest, admiring the ring there. The heirloom was perfect and it meant so much to me that pops had chosen to give it to me, that his whole family had schemed to make the proposal special. Everything about our engagement was perfect.

“How many mornings in a row are you planning on using that same joke?” Jake slid a hand beneath my shirt, fingers splaying across my back. He was looking at me like I hung the stars and the moon in the sky, like I was his entire universe, and I thought back to the days where I wasn’t sure if Jake was flirting for the hell of it and wondered how I could have been so blind to the love in his eyes. 

“As many as I damn well please,” I arched to kiss him, tasting the mint of his tooth paste. He must have woken up earlier and crawled back in bed with me so that I wouldn’t wake up alone, something I hated to do after being without him for so long. Jake hummed into the kiss, rolling me onto my back. My sleep pants were already abandoned on the bedroom floor thanks to a middle of the night quickie, and it was easy for my panties to join them there. 

“I love you,” Jake whispered, fingers sliding between my folds, igniting the fire within me that burned for him. He swirled his fingers around my sensitive bundle of nerves, pulling needy noises from me. “And I’m gonna marry you.” 

“I’ve still got, oh my god,” I moaned as Jake began slowly working his fingers inside of me, “Still got time to run away at the altar.” He rolled his eyes, 

“I run faster than you, I’m not worried.” 

“Asshole,” I laughed, pinching his side. It was nice being able to love and laugh at the same time, his fingers never faltering, preparing me to take him. “I’d have Javy trip you, give me a head start.” Jake shook with gentle laughter,

“You think my best friend would betray me like that?” My response was cut off by a moan, feeling Jake push into me, filling and stretching me. No one else had ever felt this good. Maybe it was because Jake was extremely good looking and knew what he was doing in bed. Or maybe it was because I loved him just as much as he loved me.

“He would,” I rocked my hips, urging him to move. “Because his girlfriend would be my getaway driver.” Jake kissed away my giggles as he fucked me and we took turns expressing how much we loved each other. When he came, it was with my name on his lips and I swallowed it with a kiss, loving the taste on my tongue. 

Tasha was on my shoulders, taping up the birthday banner. Harvey, Emma, and the girls were going to disney for Sarah’s birthday and had decided to stop by for a day to celebrate the day before. 

“Is it straight?” Tasha asked, stretching for the corner, testing my own balance. I tried to look but felt my center of gravity shift and decided that a crooked banner was better than an ER trip.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I walked us back towards the couch and slowly lowered us until she could climb off of my shoulders. 

“There’s going to be beer involved at some point today, right?” Tasha pouted, “Because I’m really hoping there’s beer involved.” 

“Jake’s bringing the beer,” I promised, kissing her on the cheek. “Javy’s getting the balloons, I already made the cake for tonight. All we need to do is get lunch prepped and get ready.” I had everything planned out on my phone for the day, not wanting to waste a minute of time with my nieces, even though I knew they’d be happy if I just sat them in the living room with a Disney princess movie and a trough of candy. 

“I’ll leave lunch to you, unless the little monsters want burnt pasta,” Natasha gently elbowed my side with a grin.

“Shut up and shower,” I rolled my eyes. Little monsters. That girl loved my nieces and I had a sneaking suspicion I would become chopped liver the second they saw her. Auntie Daisy was cool and all but Auntie Tasha? She flew planes for a living and was sooooo much cooler (according to Sarah at least). Once they got their adorable hands on her, my only hope for love and affection would be from baby Jill. 

“Auntie Tasha!” Sarah screeched, dropping Harvey’s hand and flinging herself at Natasha. Javy and Jake both looked confused and amused by the display of affection,

“Auntie Daisy!” Haley ran forward, attaching herself to my legs like a koala bear. “We’re going to see Mickey!” 

“Yeah you are,” I scooped her up into my arms, kissing all over her face before settling the giggling toddler on my hip. 

“You must be the boys dating my sisters,” Harvey’s “big brother” voice had me biting back a laugh, “Pilots, right?” I rolled my eyes, looking at Emma who just shrugged, patting baby Jill who was in one of those swaddle-carrying things on her chest.

“Jake Seresin, it’s nice to finally meet you, Harvey.” Jake turned on the charm, offering a handshake, “Sorry I couldn’t make it to Christmas.” 

“Wait, he’s a pilot too?” Sarah whispered unsuccessfully to Natasha and I couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore, neither could Tasha apparently. 

“They both are, little monster. But don’t worry, Auntie Tasha’s still the best pilot in the world,” She glared at Jake when he opened his mouth to disagree.

“Want Tasha,” Haley tugged on my shirt. It was nice while it lasted, I let her down and watched as Natasha effortlessly picked her up and placed her on her other hip, opposite Sarah. I looked at Emma,

“It’s good to see you but I fear we’ve been forgotten about,” We did a side-hug around Jill.

“It’s been a long car ride,” Emma sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’ve heard “mom” so many times that I’m happy to be forgotten about.” 

“Why don’t you go up to my room and have a few minutes of alone time? I’ll take Jill and get you once the girls are ready for lunch.” Emma grabbed my cheeks with both hands, bringing my forehead within kissing distance,

“You’re an angel, I married the wrong Prentiss.” 

X

Harvey was nice, quickly changing from trying to be a protective big brother to laughing and joking with Javy and I about everything from our jobs, to sports, to Natasha and Daisy. Javy’s attention kept drifting to Natasha, who was sitting on the couch with both of the older girls glued to her side, watching something animated on the TV. Daisy was in the armchair with Jill on her chest, humming softly and kissing the baby’s head. 

The images I had imagined of Daisy with a baby while I had been reading her letters on the ship were nothing compared to seeing it in real life. She looked so perfect, I mean, she was always perfect, but it was clear that Daisy loved her niece and the idea of her with our kid? That was a lot to handle, especially surrounded by kids and her brother.

Daisy looked over at me, cradling Jill with one arm, her other hand reaching out to me. I excused myself from the conversation and crossed the room to squat down beside her,

“Hi, baby,” 

“Hey,” She smiled softly, whispering. “Just wanted to give you a quick kiss.” Who was I to deny her? It was chaste and short but it still had my heart kicking into overdrive.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me with all of these kids, Wildflower?” I whispered, gently running my fingertips over Jill’s arm. 

“Trust me, Cowboy, I’m struggling just as much as you are.” Really? Interesting… I kissed her cheek, whispering into her ear so that only she could hear me.

“All you have to do is ask, Daisy.” Daisy swallowed hard, her cheeks burning red. “And it looks like we’re not the only ones thinking about it.” Daisy turned her head, biting her lip to keep from giggling when she saw the way Natasha was eyeing Javy like a piece of meat.

“Our kids can share birthday parties,” She teased softly. I could imagine it, Javy and I grilling hotdogs and hamburgers while little kids ran all around, Natasha and Daisy keeping an eye on them, making sure everyone was having fun. The rest of the daggers would be there, hopefully with their own kids and partners, and Mav would be trying and failing to hide his excitement after buying a totally over-the-top present that Penny told him not to. 

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Is all I said in response, kissing her forehead before standing back up, “Do you need anything?” 

“Can you heat up lunch? I want to get everyone fed so we can take the girls shopping.” 

“Your wish is my command.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @memoriesat30

[ame-to-ame]

.

[gilfrespecter]

Listening to coinstar by the growlers and thinking about mel so hard I get nauseous

Ridiculous stream of conscious in the tags apologies but not really

[miesozernacma]

5am is a wierd place to be.... on the day of Christmas eve of all days also

like why now

[ryuusei-niu]

I'm so sick of this

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[robinsgrl]

toxic baby daddy rafe does something to me. no soft rafe (only with his girls and only sometimes). he’s abrasive and harsh. even more when someone messes with you. yooo where my panties at

mdni 18+

It’s been three months. Three months without Rafe as your boyfriend. Three months of his only title in your life being your baby daddy. There were days where you would refuse to even call him that.

In high school, you loved the sound of his voice. You loved how the palm of his hand felt at the small of your back. You loved that being around him brought you a sense of peace.

Now, all you two do is argue. About everything and anything. Even if you do start half of them. Not now, though.

“What I do in my spare time is none of your business!” Luckily, Samara’s in the living room, her noise cancelling headphones on as she watches some YouTube show, giggling when something funny comes up. You’d usually try and pay attention to her screen time but you can’t when Rafe is in your home and bitching at you.

“So you’re whoring it up when Samara’s with me?” His words are harsh, spitting them at you.

Your eyes are wide and bewildered as you look up at him, chest rising and falling from the intense match you’re having. “Listen to yourself! Whoring it up? Are you from the fifties? Women can have sex without being called a whore nowadays!”

“So you are fucking someone? Who is he.” It’s not a question. It’s a goddamn demand and you hate the way it makes your knees feel weak.

You scoff loudly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not fucking anyone.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, ___, Topper fucking saw you.”

“Topper’s your dick rider.” You spit back out. It comes without warning. His big hand falls on your neck, tightening around you. Your back pushes up against the wall, eyes wide and up on his as he stares down at you angrily.

His face nears yours, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. A shudder runs through your body and you want to shut your legs to help ease the sensation between them but he forces his knee to you. “I’ll kill any man who gets near you, do you fucking hear me?” His words are low and menacing. From anyone else, it’d be scary. It’d drive you away and straight to goddamn police station. But from him? You can’t deny how good it feels.

Rafe’s always been protective of you. Since you two met, he’s hovered around you like a scary dog, growling at anyone who came your way. It grew when you got knocked up in your senior year of high school. And it grew tenfold when your baby girl was born. But it got to be suffocating. You broke it off with him and it took him two weeks to realize you were being serious.

You would never admit that you made a mistake. Not ever. Admitting that you miss him only lets him win. It gives him a point. And yes, you should be mature enough to realize this isn’t a game but he’s so damn cocky about it. The last thing you need from Rafe is a bigger ego.

“Who is he?”

“Eric. Eric Jones.” You admit easily, breath shaky and full of a need for him.

“Did he fuck you?”

You can’t answer. He repeats himself.

“Did he fuck you?”

You nod, hands falling to his arm as his hand tightens on your neck. His eyes won’t leave your face, taking you in completely. You can see it all. The anger. The jealousy. The twinge of hurt. He pulls his hand from your neck and pulls away from you. “Call your mother. Tell her to pick Samara up.”

“What?”

“Just fucking do it.” And you do. Like always, you do as told and Samara’s off with her grandma for the night.

“He can’t fuck you like I can.” You’re a drooling mess as he pounds into you from behind, the sound of skin on skin meeting fills the room. His hand is in your hair, forcing your head back. “Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

The moans and whimpers coming from you won’t stop. You try to form words as he keeps shattering your world but it won’t come out. “Fucking slut. Answer me.” His hands trail down to your neck, pushing you up slightly to sit as he keeps fucking into you. Your back arches up against him, toes curling as you feel the building ache in the bottom of your belly.

He groans loudly as he feels your walls clench down on him as you curse out loud, grinding down on him to reach that peak you want so badly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight. He couldn’t even fuck you right, could he? My poor girl, getting fucked by amateurs.” His fingers trail down to your freed tits, pinching at your pebbled nipples. “I don’t care what break you think we’re on, when you need a good fucking, come to me. No one can ever make you this cock drunk.”

You’re nodding frantically, “yes, yes, fuck, Rafe! Rafe! Oh, fuck!” You come undone when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing at your sensitive and pulsing bundle of nerves.

At this very moment, you’re grateful for the house that Rafe bought you instead of cooping up in the one bedroom apartment you wanted when you moved out of his place. You had hated the power he had for giving you such a nice place but you’re grateful now as you moan and yell his name, body convulsing as his fingers keep working against you.

“Raaaafe, fuck!” He’s pushing deep and deeper as he pushes your front side back onto the bed. The overstimulation is making you writhe beneath him, pretty whimpers leaving your swollen and reddened lips. You can tell he’s reaching his own end when his thrusts become harder and longer, momentum slowing.

One pump. Two pumps. Three. Four. And he’s groaning in your ear, his front pressed up against your back as he comes inside of you from behind, your cunt fluttering around him at the full feeling of his load.

—

You awaken hours later to the bed dipping beside you. You had fallen asleep in Rafe’s arms after he had cleaned you up and whispered soothing and sweet nothings into your ear.

“Rafe?” You sit up tiredly, rubbing at your eyes to wipe the sleep away. His back is turned to you, the most relaxed you’d seen him in a while.

You scooch closer to him, pinched eyes trying to take a look at him. A small gasp leaves you as you see his bloodied and scarred hands. “Go back to sleep, baby.” His polo is covered in dribbles of blood, some drops of it drying up on his face.

You want to ask questions. You want to clean him up. But you can’t. You’re not a very good liar and the last time the police came around asking for your help, you almost broke, but Rafe was always thinking of you, his lawyer cleaning up the mess you made with the police. He had kissed and soothed you down from your teary apologies that night for being weak.

You nod, yawning softly, “okay… just… put the shirt in the wash.” It’s his turn to nod, a soft smile on his face as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

[bonniepop]

another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

as quiet as possible, you leave your boyfriend in your shared bedroom.

you stumble to the couch and kick off your shoes, blindly searching until your fingers catch the lampshade switch. you yank it to provide some light, rattling as it flings back into place.

you pull your knees to your chest and press your forehead against your kneecaps. a numb part of your brain thinks oh, so this is where this was, when you think of the misery that quieted itself, replaced with a numbness that overtook you during the fight you had with him earlier.

the numbness that made your limbs feel like ice when he clicked off the phone call without even hearing you out.

you wanted to tell him so much, but in the face of his blank gaze and dismissive demeanor, you shut off. you have more fight in you, you know that. but tonight you just couldn’t. couldn’t listen to him tell you that he needed more from you—more support, more time, more patience.

you’ve given him that, right? your brain runs with thoughts you can't keep up with. you gave him yourself. you have, for months, for years. you did what you could. you’ve withstood lonely anniversaries, forgotten birthdays, broken promises. you’ve done everything you could. you gave what you could. you gave everything you could.

i want you to come home, you wanted to tell him eatlier tonight. come home. you’re never home. i know you’re busy at work and you’re doing what you love but please, ‘samu. please. 

love me, too.

your body wracks with a sob, the hurt fresh, as if the words that you never got to say wounded your insides instead. you wanted to tell him that, you wanted to beg for it, beg for his time, beg for his attention, beg for him to love you back. but time and time again he just turns and says he’s tired, he doesn't want to hear it, and the moment is gone, and now the fear of knowing that leaving things unsaid will destroy you, will destroy him. will destroy both of you.

you huddle closer into yourself and sob, a sharp sound in your ears making your head pound.

“babe?” you hear through the ringing in your ears, and suddenly warm hands are on your arms. “babe, what’s wrong?” his voice is calm against your turmoil. “are you having a panic attack?”

“’samu, i’m—” you shudder and he leaves for a moment, flitting to the kitchen to grab you some water. 

“drink, please,” he tells you, gently unfurling you to sit. you comply with shaky limbs, taking the water he’d given you in your delicate grip. a few sips are enough to calm you down, but the fear is still there.

he gingerly takes the glass and sets it aside. he kneels in front of you, taking your hands and soothingly rubbing his thumbs against your skin. his fingers are hot, almost like a furnace, but when you realize that he's not, he's fine, your hands are freezing, you resist the urge to pull away as he warms your palm.

when he looks up to smile at you, you see the exhaustion on his face, and, instantly, you hate yourself for it. for this.

"i'm sorry," you blurt out, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

his hand leaves yours and cups your cheek. "for what, baby?"

“i love you so much, osamu,” you tell him without thinking, voice thick and wet and miserable. you press the palm of the hand he let go of against his cheek, hiccuping when he closes his eyes to lean into your touch. 

“i love you, too,” he says, ready to apologize for the fight, but it's not about that.

not anymore.

you pull away. the confusion and hurt on his face is making everything worse.

“i love you so much,” you tell him, desperately wishing that he could understand. “but i—” you sob, “but, osamu, i can’t anymore.”

osamu presses his lips together, saying nothing. you hear him sniffle, and his fingers come forward to brush at the tears on your cheeks and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“i love you so much,” you confess. “i would do anything for you. and i have, i have for years. i’ve tried my best, but osamu, i’m so tired,” you sob. your voice feels like its giving out but the desperation makes the words claw themselves out of your mouth. “i’m so tired, i'm so tired and i'm so lonely, and—and—and i love you so much, but i have nothing left to give.”

you pull your hands away to hunch over and cry into your palms unable to face him. messily, you wipe at your face and push your hair back. you give him the most apologetic smile you can muster, but you're unable to see his face through your tears. “i’m so sorry i can’t give you more, osamu.”

you hear him sniffle and when you wipe your tears away with the backs of your hands, his eyes are glassy. then he closes his eyes.

the pain that washes over his face is absolutely unbearable. the furrow of his brow and the wrinkle of his chin, the lines by his scowl that you know is him trying his best to keep it together.

when he opens his eyes to look at you, his eyes are no longer glassy. your heart breaks for the pain he refuses to show. “what’s next?”

your smile is sad and wet with tears. “i think you know.” you brush his hair back and cradle his face with your hands. “let’s… let’s do this in the morning, okay?”

he nods, looking away. he licks his lips and shakes his head, and he turns to face you with a furrowed brow and a little more composure despite his watery gaze. but it doesn’t take long before his face crumples and he rushes to hide his face against your legs. his quiet sobs are pained and miserable, his chest shaking as he cries. 

you press your face against his hair and cry with him.

—

the morning greets you kindly, the soft sunlight bathing your room in a sweet glow. it’s early, but you can’t keep sleeping. there’s a lot to pack.

your eyes feel hot and swollen, and bones feel heavy beneath your skin, weighing you down from getting up from the bed. still, you fight. you push yourself up to sit and notice that you’re alone. unsurprising, really; osamu has been leaving earlier and coming home later. onigiri miya needs care, needs nurturing, so it’ll blossom and grow. you need to stop begrudging him for it.

you finish your morning ablutions in the bathroom and head out to the kitchen, but when you open your bedroom door, the smell of food hits your nose like a smack to the face. your stomach twists when you see a familiar broad back—osamu didn’t leave—and your fingers turn cold.

the door slides shut behind you and he turns. “good mornin’,” he says quietly, shutting off the stove.

“good morning,” you say, walking to your kitchenette. when you see the spread on the table, you gape despite yourself. “osamu. what is—what.”

he flushes, sliding a delicious looking steak unto a plate and setting it alongside the other plates—nearly every single plate you own, you note—and your dining table is bursting with food. “cooked breakfast.”

“for how many people?” you ask, incredulous. “i tried t'remember everythin’ you liked,” he said with a sniff, and your heart crinkles at the edges, because that means something.

“thank you,” you whisper, and you quietly take a seat while sets aside the dishware he used. 

when he finishes, he turns to look at you, leaning on the counter. it takes him a while. “when you leave,” he says, “i’m going to try again.”

you stare at him, confused. you say nothing and wait for him to continue.

“i don’t want you to leave,” he says, and he rubs his face in frustration. “but i know i’ve—i know i fucked up. i love you, and i never should’ve hurt you.” he inhales through his nose. “but i did, and i can’t change that.

“but i’m not giving up on you. not on us. you—” he clears his throat, and the dark circles beneath his eyes makes your heart feel tight. “i’ll… if i have to start all over again, i’ll do it,” he whispers, walking closer and taking your chin in his hand, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “i’ll win you back.”

“osamu,” you whisper, and his face crumples again.

“i love you too much to let you go,” he says, voice breaking as he fights back tears. “and i know that makes me a jerk. but i’m… i love you, so much—so fucking much, and i hate myself for not making you feel that. for hurting you.”

he gets on his knees and tears are streaming down your face. “leave me if you have to,” he says brokenly.

“if you need space, i’ll understand. but please,” he begs. “please don’t give up on me.” 

he does the unthinkable. he curls over and bows, back curved and forehead pressed against the backs of his hands, pressed against the floor.

the horror that overtakes you is beyond words. 

you drop to the floor to pull him upright, not letting him do this. he won’t do this to himself, you won’t let him. not for anyone, not for you. you pull his face against yours and kiss him as hard as you can, crying as you do.

you won't let him do this.

later, you sit on the couch, arms around osamu’s middle as you lie on his chest. the idea that this could be the last time you held him like this made you want to burst into tears again.

“i’ll make it up to you,” he promises, pushing your hair out of your face, gently guiding your chin up. “please, just… give me another chance.”

you look up at him, and your eyes meet.

—

“hey!” atsumu greets warmly as soon as you enter the restaurant, spreading his arms wide to engulf you in a hug. “it’s so good t’see you!“

“hi, ‘tsumu,” you greet, returning the hug. 

he motions for you to sit as he picks up the menu. “know what you want?”

you nod, not even bothering to pick up the menu. “how are you? how’s training?”

“’m good! training’s good. teammates are pretty good, too.”

"yeah? like who?"

atsumu makes a show of looking at the menu. "oh, i don't you know them."

you roll your eyes at his obvious ploy to get you to start talking. “fine. ask me.”

atsumu instantly leans in, conspiratorially covering his mouth with the menu and whispering, “how are you two? it’s been over a month now, right?”

“oi.” you twist your head to smile up at the newcomer. “stop bothering them, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu glares at his twin. “i’m the one who invited ‘em to lunch!”

osamu rolls his eyes and lays down a platter of onigiri in front of you. he snatches the menu and smacks his brother’s wandering hands with it before they get to close. “these are not for you.”

“but that’s a lot!" atsumu whines. "can’t i have any?”

“no,” osamu says resolutely, then turns to you and gives you the softest smile he can muster, pinning the menu by his side and arm.

"i haven't even ordered yet!" atsumu complains.

osamu ignores him. “let me know what you think.”

“okay,” you say with a smile. 

“and let me know if you need to take out anything,” he continues, “i’ll wrap it up for you.” he leans forward and presses a kiss to your temple. “enjoy.”

“thank you, ‘samu,” you tell him before he turns to leave. 

he smiles back at you and heads back behind the bar.

atsumu has evidently forgotten about ordering, because his eyes shuttle back and forth between you two before nodding considerably. “so i take it things are going well?”

“yeah,” you admit, picking up an onigiri. “going really well, actually.”

“you’ve been…” atsumu searches for the word, “is it still called ‘dating’? you broke up. but… entertaining each other…?”

“don’t hurt yourself,” you joke. “but yeah. let’s call it dating. and it’s going well, thanks for asking.” you take a bite of the onigiri.

“does he still have a chance?” atsumu asks, genuine curiosity on his face.

you chew thoughtfully as you look back at osamu, who’s smiling at a customer. you remember that bright morning, when he helped you pack, helped you move into your friend’s apartment. when he cooked all that food, and you found it neatly packed away in a thermal bag that had a handwritten note, reminding you to eat well.

you remember the next day, when he showed up at your friend’s door, holding flowers and inviting you out to get some ice cream. you remember his messages, his calls, his check ins on you, littered across the days, asking you how you are or if you’re eating or if you need any food.

you could call him if you needed any help, if you needed anything at all.

but reality sets in when you think of how one phone call could be a mistake, it stops you from searching his name each time you pick up the phone.

in your mind, you see his bent form, his begging, his tears. you remember his smiles and his hugs and his ‘see you later’s, his gradually growing list of unbroken promises. you remember the effort, the time he’s putting into you, putting aside for you. you remember how hard he tries for you.

it's like everything is new again.

his eyes catch yours and he gives you a small wave, and you wave back, your stomach fluttering.

it's not new, you think. it's better.

you swallow your food. it's delicious.

“yeah,” you say softly, “he does.”