Minho: I Hate Seeing You Like This

⋆‧͙˚*✧•̩̩͙*˚  Fairytale  ˚*•̩̩͙✧*˚‧͙⋆

I thought that writing Herbarium would free me from the Capitano agenda. But I was wrong and now we have a side story + epilogue written from Capitano’s POV…….pls don’t expect much from this, as it’s just a collection of dark fluff and bonus scenes which take place throughout Herbarium. Also, three cheers for Sumeru update ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

To those who previously enjoyed Herbarium, I hope you enjoy this fic and don’t mind me tagging you. I will forever be grateful for your feedback!! And thank you once again to my dear friend @diodellet​ for peer-reviewing another self-indulgent fic :’>

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, kidnapping, violence, blood, murder, psychological trauma, mention of child abuse, mention of nsfw, spice, MINORS DNI

Note:: Female reader described as physically weak and smaller than Capitano, pre-release characterization of Capitano which will likely be obliterated by canon lore

♡ 3.3k words under the cut ♡

i. Once upon a time, an unlikely romance blossomed between a Monster and a Damsel.

The battlefield is a merciless place. A corner of the world nourished by violence and bloodshed, a place where only the strong could lay claim to honor and victory. For as long as he had been a Fatui Harbinger, Il Capitano had full control over this domain.

On the battlefield, there is no chance to appreciate the beauty of the natural surroundings, not when all would eventually be sullied by blood and death.

And yet here he is, standing in a peaceful meadow so far removed from the reality of the world. Having fallen victim to an opponent like no other, whose weapons take the form of melancholic glances and immortalized flowers.

“This is for you.”

She gives him flowers again. The dandelions are pressed between two sheets of parchment paper, puffy seeds flattened and denied of their promised liberation.

And just as he had done with that fateful bunch of windwheel asters, Capitano accepts her gift.

Keep reading

❞ [ 10. ] bumping into strangers

— 9:17 pm, LOG TWO: xiao’s whereabouts.

it is 9:17 in the evening when the realization dawns that despite being a man of circumspect, xiao remains baffled of the fact that he has absolutely no idea how long he’s been craning his neck across his shoulder to stare mindlessly at you.

he knows he has never dived headfirst so thoughtlessly and recklessly into all sorts of undesired situations. but he betrays himself when the sworn occasional glimpses take a gradual metamorphosis into unconsciously bewitched gazes.

it’s amazing how three long years have passed, and yet you still looked like the girl he met back in the last year of high school.

“xiao,” an impatient nudge echoes from a faintly tipsy childe. “what are you spacing out for?”

xiao hesitates to tear his eyes away from the outlying sight. but when he lazily glances at the half-full vodka shot raised in front of him, he wonders why he expects to see you holding it out towards him instead of the pretty stranger sporting a rather flirtatious smile. was she also a fourth year taking the same major? he couldn’t seem to recognize her distinct features from anywhere.

nevertheless, he takes the offered glass in his hand and throws his head back to tilt the drink squarely against his mouth, potent liquid passing by his lips until the spicy flavor violently punches the back of his throat.

it tastes fucking disgusting.

the world shines a bit too brightly as he forces himself to swallow the vodka down his throat. he blinks several times to fight the dazed sensation, vague noises of his friends’ chorused cheers resounding around him.

and when his gaze flutters subconsciously across the end of the room, he finds you staring illegibly at him.

it doesn’t hurt even when it takes less than a second for you to look away.

it is 9:34 in the evening when you suddenly collide into xiao’s chest with flushed cheeks. he reaches out to seize you in his arms, proving successful in breaking you from an awfully clumsy fall.

you stare blankly at him for the second time since you arrived — and yet for him, he’s already lost track of how many times he strained his neck just to peer over in curiosity.

it feels bittersweet, the way either of you somehow always make your way back into the other’s life without warning.

xiao can’t stop himself from asking whether you’re okay, hoping the slight tremble of his drunken voice was rendered inaudible to your ears.

“i’m fine.” comes your begrudging response as he helps you stand. surprisingly, you don’t bat his hands away as he carefully props you up.

you think he seems almost a bit concerned despite his characteristically apathetic nature that you’ve begun to acquaint yourself with for a while now, but you fearfully shake the far-fetched theory off and pace away from him in hurried steps.

leaving him behind to watch.

it is 9:42 in the evening when xiao leaves the party to take the night bus back to the dormitories.

he hated the wafting stench of drinks. he hated the stuffiness of the venue. he hated the girls that stared at him for too long. he hated the guys who egged him on to do something stupid. he hated the spreading of faint pain across his neck. he hated your flushed cheeks. he hated childe for miraculously convincing him to tag along.

and yet, xiao finds himself gazing quietly outside the glass window.

because for the first time in three years, he finally allows himself to wonder how it all went wrong.

I WISH YOU WERE SOBER — [ previous. masterlist. next ]

synopsis — in which you were never really one for spontaneity or precipitous decisions, until you got yourself drunk at your senior year university party and woke up the next morning with the most dreadful of hangovers…along with a painfully distorted memory of a stolen kiss on that hazy evening.

note — because we love mysterious pasts with the ex hihi

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45 OTP ANGST PROMPTS

“It’s all my fault.”

“I trusted you.”

“I never wanted this.”

“Get out of here! Just leave!”

“Please talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“You’re a horrible person.”

“I can’t do this again. I won’t.”

“What the hell do you want now?”

“Please, just let me go.”

“You deserve so much better than me.”

“Don’t put me in this position.”

“I can’t live without you. Don’t go. Please.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Hang on. You’re gonna be okay. Keep breathing.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why can’t you forgive me?”

“I’m never coming back here.”

“I can’t believe you did this to me.” 

“You ruined my life.”

“I know you won’t forgive me, but I’m still sorry.”

“You crossed a line.”

“I never want to see you again.” 

“That was the only lie! I swear.”

“Our child is dead.”

“That was the worst day of my life.”

“I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

“Did it take you long to move on from me?”

“It was an accident!”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“We have to let go.”

“Burn in hell, for all I care.”

“You broke my heart.” 

“I can’t stop crying.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Another nightmare?”

“I regret ever loving you.”

“I needed you. And you weren’t there.”

“Just let me help you.”

“I’m still not over you.”

“This can’t be the end.”

“Doesn’t my love mean anything?”

“I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll always be there for you. Don’t you know that?”

“The worst part is, I loved you anyway.”

“Don’t let go…”

It breaks B’s heart that A says it like a question. Like there’s even the smallest chance that they would leave.

“I won’t.” B says, barely holding their sobs in.  A is shaking like a leaf in B’s lap and they shift to pull the jacket closer around them. The blood is starting to seep through the makeshift bandages and B can feel it staining their own skin and clothes.

“I won’t leave. I’m not gonna let go, I’ll stay, I’ll-”

A tear slips down and lands on A’s face and this time B can’t hold it in. They sob and whimper in the same breath, curling over A like they’re nursing a wound of their own.

“Why are you crying?” A whispers, slurring on the words. They sound sleepy.

“I’m… I’m not, I- … You’re going to be fine.”

B takes a shaky breath and collects themself and then says again, more firmly.

“You’re going to be fine.”

A looks up at B, searches their eyes sadly for a moment before giving in to their heavy lids and closes their eyes.

“Ok.”

“i wanna hold your hand” - excuses for your characters to hold hands

prompt list by @novelbear

"your hands are cold...let me warm them up for you."

taking advantage of the fact that they're walking through a crowded place and holding their hand so that they "don't get lost"

maybe they get slightly jealous while out, so they grab onto their partner's hand to establish their relationship

"something's on your finger. give me your hand, let me see.."

mentioning that they want to compare hand sizes

pinky promising over everything so that it's easier to naturally intertwine their fingers with the others'

"okay, but if i'm right then you have to hold my hand!" "that's not much of a punishment but alright babes, whatever you say."

"can you hold this for me?" "there's nothing in your hand." "exactly."

going in as if they're just innocently fiddling with the other's fingers, then trapping them about thirty seconds later

making the effort to find where their partner is and dragging them by the hand rather than just calling them over to where they wanted them in the first place.

"you need me to hold your hand so you can read the instructions?" "it helps me concentrate!"

grabbing onto the other's hand out of nervousness

slowly intertwining fingers while the other is driving

"they always hold hands and rub it in everyone's faces, i want us to look cute too!"

going on a rant about how much they love to hold hands, hoping that the other would take the hint and offer

"can you hold my hand?" "of course, my love."

MIDNIGHT HAZE — rin itoshi.

— notes ⨾ ive been shying away from posting this for too long now. [ sensual/making out ] and heavy on the details hahahs

Rin takes note of the way you're shrinking in your seat beside him, how your arms are protectively tucked in your sides and the subtle but sharp inhales.

from his peripheral vision, he can see that you're gnawing on your bottom lip, gulping hard to swallow your sniffles because he knows you don't like to be seen crying. which is why he's not sure why he's in his living room with you beside him at 2 am watching some sappy sad movie you picked. it's been an hour already since you started your movie marathon and he could've suggested you watch a horror movie instead— but he didn't, and he thinks he regrets it now.

He sighs, pausing the movie and reaching for the box of tissues he's glad he set on the table just in case. he offers it to you, smiling a little to himself when you hesitantly take it, as if you're still not ready to accept you're crying.

“you're such a crybaby” he says. by now a few tears are falling down your cheeks, leaving a damp trail behind in their wake.

“shut up, I'm not. i don't cry often, i swear”, you whimper with the wobble of your lip, and rin laughs. it's the irony of this scenario that swells his heart. you're looking at him with narrow, glassy eyes and warm hues setting on your skin. your words are meant to be firm and legitimate, but you're voice is hushed and low.

“okay, crybaby” he teases, and you pout.

his room glows in a faded shade of honey with the paper lamp you bought him as a housewarming gift. there's nothing but the sound of his steady breathing, and your quivering one. a touch of the scent of lemongrass from the air freshener lingers in the air and rin realises he's been staring at you.

there's still a dampness sticking to your cheeks and rin wants —such a treacherous thing to do— to trace his finger along the trails. feel the smoothness and warmth of your skin. when you realise he's looking at you, embarassment blooms in shades of fuchsia, “stop staring at me like that.”

rin hums. he heard you, doesn't think much about it. and before he realises what he's doing, he's caressing the side of your face. it's a ghost of a touch at first, “staring like what?”

“like you're doing right now” you breath hitches in your throat at the tenderness of rin's caress. momentarily closing your eyes, you lean into his touch. his gaze devours you whole, it makes you want to shrink further into the couch, but at the same time— daring you to wait and see where it takes you.

when all you can hear is the loud thumps of your own heart, watching the steady rise and fall of rin's shoulders as he's gazing through the soul window of your eyes, you're painfully aware that the two of you are alone.

“can't help it,” he mumbles. “god, you're beautiful” he says.

the faint glow of moonlight strips lines of silver across the room, and rin's bathed in luminescence. you can't help but trace the sharp white cut of his collarbone and the flutter of his eyelashes, over the broad expanse of his chest and the slopes of shoulders down to the ridges of hard muscle roping the length of his forearm. you take in his light. he takes in yours.

there are too many details. too much to breathe in yet not enough at the same time. a drug-like midnight haze encompasses the room, the air in the room is electrified and frozen still. rin's fingers travel down from your cheekbones to the corner of your mouth, then brush lightly against your chin.

you can't think. can't say anything. it's like your voice is caught in your own throat. all you feel is the heaviness of the air and the brushes of rin's fingers across your skin. mind blurring with the lines of a countless ‘what ifs’ and moments you've felt the same heaviness in the air, times when the glances you steal from each other lasted longer than they should've.

you swipe your tongue across your bottom lip, and rin's eyes follow the action. his gaze rests there and your falls to his.

there's a momentary pause, as if you're caught in a trance. as if there's hesitation and doubts filling the spaces left behind your words. rin's eyes are still set on your slightly parted lips.

and then it breaks.

you feel it in the form of a shiver running down your spine when the lightning in the room reaches a breaking point, you think rin feels it too. there's a shift in his shoulders when he leans forward at the very second time melts into infinity— a magnetic pull drawing you both in.

rin's other hand supports his weight when he practically crawls on all fours and rolls forward on the leg tucked beneath him.

his lips surround yours— desperate, heated, almost obscene. it's nowhere near the gentle caress from before. teeth nipping and tugging at your bottom lip, long and languid glides of tongue against tongue. he breathes in all of your gasps and mewls, chasing after your breaths to consume you whole like he's waited forever for this very moment. breaths tangle in heated knots of passion, you're holding onto rin's arms, aware that your hands are almost shaking. this is not your first kiss. you've kissed people before. but it's your first kiss with rin and he's made you forget there was anyone ever before him.

you pull away first, breathless and hot. it's addictive— the way rin's lips chase after yours, eyes fluttering open when he can't find them. but he's still close. so, so close. forehead resting on yours and hot breaths fanning against your mouth.

his eyes are brimming with awe and glimmer, but lips swollen and sinful. the contrast is striking— awestruck eyes and moon-bruised lips.

rin falls back into the couch, calming his staggered breaths and throbbing heart.

it takes a long minute before either of you speak again.

“do you regret it?” it's a whisper that's almost raw with desperation and fear. rin's eyes are glued to you again, waiting for an answer.

“i don't. i'd never regret it. do you?” though still breathless, your voice is bold.

“regret?—” he chuckles, as if you asked a dumb question, “—you have no idea, how long I've wanted this. wanted you.” it's a declaration— of all his unconfessed feelings, all the times he'd stopped himself just short of the breaking point. “i feel like i'm about to lose my mind.”

“me too”, is all you can say. it's all you can think.

and if rin senses that, then he smiles, “why don't we try that again?”

© seimirii 2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

i hope this is what you wanted m'lady @rinnahhhh

Write Rivals With Chemistry So Hot It Hurts

╰ Rivalry isn’t hate — it’s obsession True rivals aren't just like, “ugh, I dislike you.” They’re watching each other. Studying. Matching moves. Thinking about each other when they shouldn’t. Hating how much they notice the other person. Rivalry is two sides of the same coin: hatred’s messy little sibling is fascination.

╰ Let them know exactly where to hit—and hesitate The best rivals know exactly where to stick the knife. Childhood wounds. Secret fears. Insecurities no one else sees. But the most powerful moment isn't when they stab, it's when they hesitate. When they flinch. When the reader sees the care underneath the kill shot.

╰ Make every win personal Every victory between rivals should feel like flirting with a knife’s edge. They don't just beat each other; they get under each other's skin. "I outsmarted you" translates directly to "I'm the only one who really sees you." (And no, they're not ready to talk about why that makes them insane.)

╰ Layer the attraction under everything You don't have to write "he found her hot" every five seconds. (Please don't.) Just lace it into the friction. The way they notice each other’s hands. The way a sarcastic smile feels like a slap and a kiss at the same time. Let it be unspoken, which somehow makes it ten times louder.

╰ Give them one private, honest moment and then destroy them for it That one late-night conversation. That brush of honesty. That accidental partnership in a bar fight. That glimpse of trust that leaves them both raw and feral because now it’s personal. Now it hurts. And guess what? Neither of them is stable enough to handle it like adults.

╰ Let them wound each other in ways no one else can Rivals with chemistry are like: “I know your softest place. I know where you hurt. And maybe I’m the only one who could ever touch it.” Terrifying. Intimate. Sexy. Self-destructive. Delicious.

╰ Don’t make it easy to flip to love If they hook up too soon, it’s cheap. If they confess too soon, it’s fake. They have to fight it. They have to screw it up. They have to almost kiss and almost kill each other in the same breath. The reward is sweeter because it’s hard won.

╰ Make them jealous, but make it messy Not cutesy "oh no I'm jealous" moments. Ugly jealousy. Pride-shredding, shame-inducing jealousy. Watching their rival smile at someone else and feeling like they're drowning in acid and denial. Bonus points if they pretend they’re above it and then spiral anyway.

╰ Tension isn’t just in the fighting, it’s in the silences It’s the stare across the room that says “I hate you and I want you” with zero words. It’s the hand that lingers a second too long after pulling them out of danger. It's the unsent text. It's the "accidental" meeting. Sometimes not speaking burns hotter than the screaming matches.

╰ Remember, they don’t want to ruin each other, they want to matter At the core of a rival/chemistry dynamic is one truth: “I want to matter to you more than anyone else does.” And they’ll deny it. And fight it. And wreck themselves over it. (And we, as the readers, will eat it with a goddamn spoon.)

jisung: chan truth or dare?

chan: truth

jisung: how many hours have you slept this week?

chan: dare

jisung: go to sleep

chan: i don’t like this game

★ 【アバンドン蘭花】 「 7/20 」 ☆ ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow me on instagram

Woojin: *sneezes*

Chan: Bless you

Changbin: *sneezes*

Felix, already wrapping Changbin in blankets and feeding him soup: Oh my god, are you sick?! How could I have let this happen? You poor thing!

Jisung: *sneezes*

Hyunjin: Oh my fucking god shut the fuck up