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ddaenggtan · 4 years

Text

hearts on fire | jhs

Hoseok has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, and he’s beyond excited to see you married and glowing.

He just really wishes that he was the groom.

pairing | jhs x reader, knj x reader

word count | 6.5k | cross posted to ao3

genre | angst, light fluff

warnings | angst, mentions of blood, mentions of vomit, lots of choking, lots of angst, this is open ended so like.......potential (?) mcd??, like this is very very very open ended yall there is no happy ending and there is zero satisfaction at the end, like it’s truly just here to hurt you

a/n | part of Outro: Tear, The Angst Now Told, and you should really read all of those fics bc they hurt so good but they’re sO WORTH IT, and i’m shouting out to @personawife not only for betaing this, but also for putting the Outro Tear Angst Collab together, because it’s been so fun!!!!! and yet so painful!!!! in so many good ways!!!!!!! this was honestly really fun to write, mostly because it’s rare that i write angst - unhappy ending angst, at that - so it was nice to stretch my creative muscles.

also go stream ego bc its wonderful and i love it

It starts, as most things do, with a kiss.

It was innocent enough - just a soft peck on his cheek and a sunflower in his hand while he cried about another student kicking him in the shin. To this day he can’t be sure what it was that did it for him. Maybe it was the way the sunlight lit up the barrettes in your hair and made them glint like stars. Maybe it was the way you hadn’t hesitated to smooch him on the cheek and give him the flower you’d picked out of a vase just to cheer him up. Maybe it was the fact that it had worked when nothing else had. Maybe it was none of that, instead something bigger altogether and more complicated than he could ever understand.

Or maybe it was all of it. A simple act that led to a simple reaction - him taking your hand and making you smile with some face he made - that led to this moment.

Either way, Hoseok decides as he watches you walk down the aisle in the off-white dress with the golden sash that perfectly matches the sunflowers in your hands, he doesn’t care. Because it all led to this moment.

[then]

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late!” You call over your shoulder. Hoseok laughs, wrapping his hand around your wrist to slow you down from your sprint.

“We are not going to be late,” He tells you firmly. Your lips form a pout that he wishes he could kiss away, but he resists the urge. Instead, he grins and pulls you into a warm hug. “It’s not like they’re going to start our graduation without us, Starshine. It would be a little conspicuous, don’t you think?”

“Ooh, conspicuous, big word! All that studying paid off, I see.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes; he doesn’t mention that he’s been studying his ass off ever since you started crushing on one of the bookworms in the school. He refuses to acknowledge to himself that he did it in the futile hope that it would make you notice him.

“Hey, it was worth it! Got me into that fancy university, didn’t it?” He wags his brows and lets go of you, and he does his best not to let his arms linger around your waist for longer than they need to be there.

“Yeah, that fancy university that’s a million miles away from here,” You complain. His smile falters a little, and he covers it with a dramatic gasp.

“What’s this? Is my little starshine going to miss me?” He doesn’t tell you about the packet laying on his desk at home, about the scholarships he’s scoured the internet to find, about the decision he has yet to make, despite the looming deadline. He doesn’t mention the sunflower pressed between the pages of a book that sits beside his bed, so he can stare at it each night as he wonders whether it’s stupid to take the harder road just for love.

“You know I will, Hobi,” You tell him. You curl into his side, lacing your fingers with his. “You’re my best friend in the whole world. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. Who’s going to make me study when I don’t want to? Or convince me that getting pancakes at two in the morning is a proper breakfast?”

Hoseok shakes his head. He knows exactly what will happen when you head off to school in a few months. You’ll meet so many new people, make boatloads of friends, create new memories and new jokes and new references, and he’ll be standing off to the side, waiting to hear about all of it.

He can’t wait to watch you flourish.

“Who’s going to help you stop stressing out about your choreography, or your routines?” You ask. Your voice dips into a whisper, and it’s the most scared he’s ever heard you. “Who’s going to be there when I need someone?”

He knows what you mean; he knows all about the anxiety that wracks your body every so often, the way your brain spirals and panics and can’t seem to bring itself down out of red alert. He remembers - in vivid detail - all the nights he’s climbed through your window to help you breathe in that rhythm your school counselor taught you, or just talked at you through the phone about some new song or dancer he found until he eventually heard your soft laugh.

He remembers the nights you called and called and called and eventually just sought him out, not even bothering to knock as you barged into his room because his parents adore you and don’t care to let you in whenever. You’re like a second daughter to them, something his sister gives him no end of grief about. He’ll always remember the way your hands felt against his skin as you tugged him out of his room and into the kitchen to make some kind of monstrosity, just throwing anything and everything into a blender or skillet, only to wind up going out to the corner store to get noodles anyway.

“I’ll be here,” He tells you. His voice is as soft and firm as his fingers as he brings your chin up to face him. He wants you to look at him, wants you to maybe see after all these years just how easy it would be for him to move the earth if you asked him to. “I’ll always be here for you.”

Your eyes search for something in his, and he wonders if you’ll finally realize. If he’s finally told you about every single pang of love that he’s ever felt without even needing words.

You smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and playfully shove at his shoulder. “Not when you’re off at your fancy university a million miles away from mine.”

He covers the heartbreak with a deep sigh and slings his arm around your shoulders as you head into the building where your graduation is being held. He wonders what you’ll think of the sunflowers sitting on your chair, waiting for you to find them.

Something tickles his throat, a hint of a cough not ready to be cleared, and he swallows it back.

“About that…”

[then]

Asthma is what he tells you, months and months later while you both sit in your dorm room, curled under blankets.

You’re preparing for your philosophy paper, pages and sheets and everything else strewn about your bed while he sits at your desk. The lamp is focused and bright as it shines on the metal and stone in his hands, glinting as he twists the wire this way and that.

“Aren’t you supposed to be studying for your dance eval?” You ask him. He shoots you that half-smile, a quick glance so that he can finish wrapping the quartz in his palm. He hasn’t told you that he switched majors, that he’s now ‘undecided’ simply because he can’t keep up with the others anymore.

“Aren’t you supposed to telling me who made it their mission to disprove Kant’s entire career?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to,” You pout. He smiles, satisfied, at the stone in his hand; it’s wrapped in wire shaped to look like a tree. He never thought he’d be the jewelry-making kind, but thanks to a randomly-selected elective, he’s discovered he’s got a knack for it.

Besides, he enjoys seeing the collection on your windowsill grow with each new thing he can make you.

He extends the quartz to you - a polished golden one that complements the tarnished brass he’d used to wrap it, the same colors as the flowers you love so much - and the way you light up as you take it makes his heart clench painfully.

Something tickles his throat, too familiar now, and he does what he can to swallow it down, but this one is stubborn. It forces its way up his windpipe, giving him no choice but to try to cough it up.

You watch, worried, as he rushes to the sink in your room, bending as far over it as possible so that you won’t see as much.

It’s small, when it falls. Small and unassuming and spit-slick, he can almost believe it just fell out of the vase of them nearby, and he hopes that’s what you’ll believe as well.

“Hobi?”

He hates how small your voice is, how worried you sound as you listen to the ragged pants of his breathing. So he wipes his mouth, checks in the mirror to make sure there’s no blood, and turns back to you with a wry smile.

“I’m fine,” He says softly. His voice is still hoarse, and you don’t look convinced, but he continues before you can argue. “Just asthma.”

“Asthma? You don’t have asthma, Hoseok-”

“I do,” He says quickly. “Developed recently. Strained myself too hard, weakened my lungs, or something. I don’t remember what the doctor said exactly.”

“But...your dance, how can you-” You cut yourself off with a sharp breath, and he can’t bear to see the heartbreak in your eyes as the realization hits, so he stares down at the scuff in his sneakers instead. “That’s why you aren’t practicing right now. You had to drop out of the dance program?”

You sound like you’re on the verge of tears, so he plasters a smile on his face that’s more convincing than anything else he’s ever done.

“It’s fine, Starshine. Not all dreams come true. Besides, there’s other things I can do.”

“But your scholarship, Hobi, I-”

“Already figured out,” He says quickly. It isn’t, not nearly, because he can’t just call his parents to say ‘hey I lost my scholarship because I’m hopelessly in love but don’t have the guts to say anything about it’ and he hasn’t had time to go visit them, either. The corners of your mouth are turned down, and your lips are pressed together, and it’s obvious you’re upset, and it hurts more than the roots tangling in his lungs.

He crosses the room and slides some of your papers to the side so that he can sit across from you. You’re still holding the quartz in your palm, fingers wrapped gently around it like you’re afraid it’ll break if you squeeze too tight, so he wraps his own hands around that one of yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You ask him. Your voice is small and hurt, and he hates that he made it that way, but he knows it’s better than what would come if he told you the truth.

“Because I didn’t want you to worry,” He replies quietly. “You’ve got exams and studying and papers to worry about. I don’t need to add to that. Besides, you’d just try to help somehow, and you do that enough as it is.”

“How could I possibly be helping you with this, Hoseok?” The look you give him is familiar and humorless and fond and it makes his throat tickle so he looks away. Stares down at the feather-soft blanket in your lap instead.

“Just by being here,” He tells you. “Distracting me from it. It’s not important, that’s all. I can do other things.”

“Like what? Dancing has always been your dream, and now-”

“Like,” Hoseok interrupts, sliding the quartz from your hand and placing it with the other things he’s made you on the windowsill, “Making things, like this. For you. For everyone.”

You’re quiet for a minute. Your eyes linger on the collection of stones he’s decorated for you, that he’s worked on so carefully to make them as beautiful as you deserve, and he wonders if you can tell.

If you can see it in every careful twist of wire, in the way his hands are always so gentle against your own, in the way he can’t bear to look at you for longer than a few moments but can’t bear to be away from you in the same way.

“Well,” You eventually say, blinking back what might be tears. “I suppose we’ll just have to find you a new dream, then, won’t we?”

Your smile is weak and watery and doesn’t reach your eyes, but it’s still a smile. So he returns it, and locks his pinky with yours, and vows to himself to make sure you never cry for him again.

[then]

"What is that?"

Hoseok looks up from the book he's got propped against the table. He hasn't been paying much attention to the conversation, too engrossed in the metalworking book his glassblowing professor gave him while you studied for an upcoming test, so your words surprise him.

"What's what?" He asks, looking around the cafeteria as if he can magically spot whatever it is you're talking about.

" That ," you repeat, stabbing towards him with your pencil. It's reflex that brings his hand up to his chest, and it's realization that has him clutching the pendant tightly, praying you hadn't really seen it.

"Nothing," he says quickly, tucking it back under his shirt where it's supposed to be. "Just a practice thing."

"Why won't you show me?" You pout. "You always show me your practice work."

"Yeah, because you always take it," He quips back with a laugh. You don't even try to argue, because you both know it's true. The collection on your windowsill has grown immeasurably over the last two years, and it makes Hoseok's heart stutter every time he lets himself consider why you keep all of them. Especially when some are so terrible.

"Seriously, Hobi, can I see?"

He starts to say no, because if there's one piece he's ever made that could tell you about his feelings, it's this. He should say no, should insist this once that you can't see it, but before he can, his hands are pulling the chain over his head and setting the entire thing gently in your palm.

He watches your mouth fall open and your eyes grow wide and he wonders.

He wonders what you see among the curl of metal; if the fact that he would do anything for you is obvious in the way it twists and turns on itself, looping around and around. He wonders if you can see, hidden between letters, how just being near you gets him through every day and makes it all worth it. He wonders if you'll be able to tell, between the pressed yellow petals, just how his chest aches; if you've put the pieces together, after so long, now that you're holding his heart so openly in your palm.

"'Remedy,'" You read, and Hoseok's heart jumps into his throat, even when he knows you don't know about it. "And some tulip petals? It's so gorgeous, Hobi, but what does it mean?"

"They're sunflowers," He corrects, almost scandalized that you could confuse the two. The petals are shortened, of course, cut so that they'll fit into the pendant without obstructing the text in the back, but still. "And it doesn't mean anything. Just something I wrote once in high school."

Your eyes light up. "You mean that poem you never let me read?"

"It was a song, actually," He mutters, but your attention is back on the necklace, looking for any hints about the secrets he keeps. Something soft tickles the back of his throat when you glance up at him and smile, the light glinting just right along the stones and casting golden beams along your features.

You look more beautiful than he's ever seen, and his chest aches with more than just the flowers taking root there.

"This is really gorgeous, Hobi," You tell him as you watch the way the light reflects through the amber beads along the edge.

"Yeah," He whispers as he watches you, drinking in the way your eyes widen in awe and the soft smile on your lips. "It is, isn't it?"

He wishes that moment could last forever, that he could tuck it away into a pocket and pull it out whenever he needs it, but he can feel the flower starting to work its way up his throat and he doesn't know how to hide that from you.

The coughs start right as someone calls out your name and his, and he tucks his chin into his elbow in an effort to hide it. He doesn't bother to look yet, just waves a hand as someone sits beside you, and by the time he's got the handful of petals tucked safely away in his pocket, you're deep in conversation with Namjoon about one of the classes the two of you are taking.

[now]

Hoseok decides, looking at you now, that you are happier than ever.

You've said your vows and you've cried several happy tears and you've kissed more times than he can count, but you're still radiant. It's the glow of contentment, the promise of more to come, all coalescing to shine like stars in your eyes.

"May I, Starshine?" He asks, extending a hand and pulling you away from your current dance partner. Yoongi doesn't look too upset about it, just smiles knowingly at you both as your hand folds into Hoseok's.

You move with him as if it's second nature, and Hoseok supposes that it is , at this point. As many times as he held you this way while teaching you the steps, as often as he led you through them before today, you should be able to move out of sheer muscle memory.

"Have I told you yet that you're sparkling, Starshine?" He asks, smiling along with you when you laugh.

"I think that you're confusing me and the ring again, Hobi."

On cue, he looks down at it. He spent so long on it, years of dreaming of what it may look like and months of trial and error and practice runs before he got it right. It was worth it, though; the ring does sparkle, takes the glow of your skin and the joy in your smile and amplifies it.

Crafted to look like a sunflower itself, the ring is easily the most expensive thing he's ever made. Each petal sparkles with the same yellow quartz of that stone he gave you so long ago, and set into the middle is one large chocolate diamond that he spent entirely too much money on because it was already cut exactly the way he needed it. He'll never forget the way you cried when you saw it the first time.

Hoseok's eyes meet yours, and he frowns at the tears he sees there.

"Hey, none of that, Starshine. It's a happy day, remember?" He stops moving in the middle of the dance floor, hands moving to wipe your tears before they can fall.

"I just...I'm so happy Hobi." He grins at your words, resisting the urge to poke fun, because of course you're happy. You just got married.

You look up at him again, eyes still watery and he pulls you into a tight hug.

"I love you so much, Hobi," you mutter against his chest. His heart flutters in his chest as he resists the urge to press his lips to yours right where you stand.

"Yeah," He whispers. "Yeah, I love you too, Starshine."

Someone taps him on the shoulder and he releases you, relinquishing his grasp on you so you can dance with Namjoon. The pendant around your neck sits beautifully, shadowed on either side by the white of the cloth, and he thinks for just a moment, that maybe he made that pendant for you, after all.

He's worn it for years, of course, but the smile on your face when he slid it around your neck was worth it. It was worth being asked if you could have it, not entirely joking, and it was worth every single time you would fiddle with it during movie marathons, and it was worth every single night he held it in his clutched palm as he sat over the sink and coughed up the yellow blooms that you've strung up all over the reception hall.

very day that you bugged him about it, how you asked every day without fail if you could have it. He knew you were kidding - mostly - but the light in your eyes when he finally gave it to you before the wedding today is something he’ll remember for the rest of his life, no matter what the future holds for him.

It ends, as most things do, with a conversation.

It was innocent enough - just a phone ringing in its place on the worktable and his hands covered in clay while he struggled to hit the screen with his elbow. To this day he can’t be sure what it was that he missed, exactly. Maybe it was the way that you’d been calling him less and less in the middle of the night. Maybe it was the way you hadn’t noticed that he’d been spending too much time in the studio, pouring his soul into every shape he crafts and wire he twists while he chokes down petals. Maybe it was the classes the two of you shared and the projects you worked on together, that he assumed was friendly and not anything more. Maybe it was all of that, everything working in tandem in a way that he could never understand.

Or maybe it was none of it. Simple acts that led to simple reactions - being too busy for each other, not talking as often, coughing up sunflower petals - that all led to that moment.

Either way, Hoseok decides as he watches the heart-shaped vase spin aimlessly on its wheel while you cry tears of joy through the phone because he finally - finally - asked you out, he can’t care.

[then]

Asthma? is what Jimin asks him, years later when they’re both locked in Hoseok’s newly renovated store, basically a hole in the wall that he saved and saved for with his online sales. Hoseok is curled over the workbench in the back, doing everything he can to catch the petals before Jimin can see them.

When they eventually subside, long enough for him to gulp down some water and shove the red-tinted petals off to the side in a pile that’s been steadily growing for weeks now, Hoseok shoots Jimin a self-deprecating smile.

He doesn’t even get a chance to lie to him.

“How long?” Jimin asks him. There’s no softness to his tone; it’s all hard edges and naked truths, and for once, the exhaustion overtakes Hoseok. He’s so sick of lying. He’s so sick of carrying an inhaler he doesn’t need, of shoving sunflower petals into every nook and cranny he can find so that no one sees them, and he just wants someone to know.

“Forever,” Hoseok answers simply. “As long as I can remember.”

“And you never said anything? Ever?”

Hoseok sighs, throat scratchy and raw, and he stares down at the ring he’s been fiddling with. “Would you?” He eventually says.

When he looks at Jimin, the other man has a petal of his own in between two fingers and rubs it absently, distractedly, like it’s habit. When he looks up, Hoseok understands, and an understanding passes between them.

Jimin goes back to the laptop perched in front of him while Hoseok continues to work on other orders, things less important than the ring burning a hole in his mind’s eye, begging to be made.

He isn’t ready, he tells himself. He isn’t skilled enough yet. Maybe one day.

“I’m getting the surgery,” Jimin says after a few hours of silence. Hoseok fumbles with the pliers in his hands, twists the wire the wrong way, and it all clatters to the tabletop. He doesn’t bother to catch it, either; he’s too busy staring at his best friend in shock.

“Seriously?” He breathes. Jimin nods, and the air rushes out of Hoseok in the span of a heartbeat.

Everyone knows about the surgery, just like everyone knows about hanahaki disease. It took years to develop and it’s the only known treatment, but there are always side effect. Always. Sometimes they’re minor, just losing your feelings of love for the person you have feelings for, or like the guy that just became allergic to the peonies that he had removed.

But then there are the others.

The people who lose the capacity to love altogether. The ones who never find anyone else, who never learn how to love another person, not like they loved the one that caused the flowers. Or the ones who just lose their emotions completely, and become essentially lifeless. Unable to feel love at all, or sadness, or grief, or joy, or excitement, or remorse, or anything. They just exist.

“But...the side effects-”

“Aren’t guaranteed,” Jimin interrupts. “Plenty of people get the procedure every day and walk away fine.”

“Yeah and some of them turn into lifeless machines!” Hoseok counters. Jimin’s expression hasn’t changed. He looks steadfast, decided, and he’s barely looking away from whatever work he’s doing on the laptop, and it infuriates Hoseok. “You’re gonna sign away any hope that you have, any chance that you have, because it...because it hurts?”

“No,” Jimin says as he closes the laptop and slides it to the side. “Because I’m tired, Hobi. I’m so tired, all the time. I’m tired of keeping it a secret, and I’m tired of puking my guts every time I think about-” Jimin cuts himself off and closes his eyes, tight, as he swallows.

When he opens them, Hoseok can see every emotion he’s ever had in Jimin’s eyes, and it makes his heart ache.

“Aren’t you tired, Hobi?”

Jimin’s voice is small, and weak, but it lingers in the air between them. It curls past Hoseok’s throat and then down to wrap around his chest, growing tighter and tighter with every breath. Neither of them break eye contact, and Hoseok wonders what Jimin sees in his face.

“Yeah,” Hoseok eventually says. With that, the spell is broken, and he can breathe again, and he drags his eyes away from Jimin to look at the piece he’d been working on instead. “But I can’t just...stop, y’know? I’ve loved her for basically my entire life. I can't...I don’t even know who I am without that.”

Jimin’s quiet for a long moment, and Hoseok thinks maybe he’s not going to say anything. Maybe he got through to Jimin, maybe he won’t get that surgery.

“Don’t you think that you should find out?”

[now]

Hoseok watches from across the room as Jimin spins you in a circle, both of you laughing brightly.

Jimin’s suit matches your dress wonderfully; Hoseok doesn’t think anyone else could quite pull off the pattern on it quite like Jimin does in such an effortless way. He looks happier than Hoseok has ever seen him, more content, more at home in his own skin.

He isn’t coughing, and he isn’t struggling, and everything worked out well for him. No more flowers in his lungs, no more lies to his friends, no more unrequited love left heavy in his heart. Just happiness and laughter and joy. Hoseok wonders if he’d be the same.

His thumb rubs absently across the business card in his pocket. It’s been there since Jimin handed it to him, what feels like forever ago now. It’s worn, and faded, and torn, and old, but the doctor is still practicing, just got recognized by the World Health Organization for his work. There’s an appointment reminder dinging in Hoseok’s phone, and a business card in his pocket, and he still doesn’t know if he’s even going to go, because you look so beautiful.

You’re surrounded by your flowers, and you’re glowing like the North Star, and he can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“She’s gorgeous, right?”

Hoseok turns and smiles at Namjoon. The man looks just as good, decked out in the best suit money can buy, with crinkles in the corner of his eyes and a dimple in his cheek as he grins.

“Yeah, she is,” He says. Emotions clog in his throat when he looks back at you only to find you looking his way. There’s love in your eyes and a soft, private smile on your lips, and it makes his chest tighten. “She looks really happy.”

“She does,” Namjoon agrees.

Across the room, you wiggle a finger, and the ring glints in the light. Hoseok stifles a laugh, and shakes his head.

“I can’t dance anymore, so this is all on you, big guy,” He tells Namjoon. The other man looks more than happy to take him up on the offer, grinning sheepishly as he sets his drink down to make his way to you.

You take Namjoon’s hand and pull him close as the music transitions into a slow dance. Namjoon presses his forehead against yours, and both your eyes close, and suddenly, Hoseok feels like he shouldn’t be watching. This feels private, intimate, in a way that he’s never been privy to.

His throat clenches and he can feel it in his throat.

He nearly drops his drink, but he gets to a table just in time to put the cup down with shaky hands. He knew, he knew what would happen. He clenches his jaw and heads through the side door of the event space, barely chancing a glance behind him. You don’t seem to have noticed, thankfully, but Hoseok makes eye contact with Jimin. The younger boy taps his wrist, and Hoseok just heads outside.

He doesn’t need Jimin to remind him that time is up.

[then]

“You need what?”

Namjoon’s smile turns shy at Hoseok’s tone. Of all the things that Hoseok could have anticipated Namjoon would ask him for, of all the potential items that he’s been commissioned by the taller man, this was never something he expected.

Though maybe he should have.

“-you know her better than anyone, y’know, and no one can craft like you, Hobi-”

The nickname sounds wrong, suddenly; like poison on Namjoon’s lips, but Hoseok just plasters on his smile again, the one he saves for truly difficult customers who try his patience, and he prays Namjoon doesn’t recognize it.

“No, I get it, yeah.”

“I just...it needs to be perfect. And you’re the only one that I trust to make it perfect.” Hoseok’s heart twinges in his chest, and he can feel the roots moving in his lungs. “I’ll pay you whatever you want, too, cost isn’t a factor, it just needs to be-”

“Perfect,” Hoseok finishes. Namjoon smiles again, sheepish, and nods. “It’s fine, I’ll make it. No charge.”

“Hobi, I can’t ask you to do that, not for free-”

“You didn’t,” Hoseok insists. “I’m offering. Consider it a...gift.” Namjoon’s smile is blinding, and he really must trust Hoseok with this, because he’s heading out just a few minutes after, already on the phone with you because the two of you are meeting for lunch.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. It makes sense. It’s been years. Isn’t that the usual time people start to expect this kind of thing?

A voice in the back of his head, bitter and cruel, tells him that he should have charged Namjoon. Should have made him pay an exorbitant amount, enough to keep the shop running through the months of the slow season, enough to help heal the wound in Hoseok’s heart, but he brushes it off. It wouldn’t have felt right, charging for this.

Not when he’s had the design sitting in his head since he wrapped that first stone with wire, since he first learned how to make this jewelry. Not when he’s had pages upon pages of designs drawn out for years, since before he even owned his own shop.

That was never his to design, though, he reminds himself as he heads into the workshop. He had no right to that design.

Just like he has no right to you.

[then]

Later, weeks and weeks later, In the darkness of his apartment, Hoseok cries.

Hoseok cries for all the things he’s never said, all the things he’ll never do, all of the things that you don’t know. He cries for the late nights together and the impromptu adventures and the panicked phone calls. He’s been so blind, he’s refused to see it, he knows. It’s all been waning, all put on the backburner in favor of him.

He’s the one you call when air can’t make it to your lungs. He’s the one you pull from work in the dead of night to make him sleep. He’s the one that gets to wraps his arms around you while you watch the newest episode of whatever show you’re obsessed with lately. It’s all him, and it will never be Hoseok, no matter how hard he wishes, because he’s too late.

He spent so long obsessed with maybe. Maybe you’ll love him back, maybe it’ll ruin the friendship, maybe you’ll realize. For years and years, he said maybe, and now it’s too late, because you’re going to be saying yes to another man’s question, and Hoseok will be left in the darkness, no longer able to look at the stars in your eyes because you’ll be looking at him.

For the first time in his life, Hoseok hates. He hates you for not realizing that he loves you; he hates Namjoon for taking the chance and asking you out; he hates the flowers growing in his chest that are just further proof that he’s alone in his feelings. Mostly, though…

Mostly, Hoseok hates himself, he realizes as he crumples against the wall of his living room. He hates himself for not taking the risk that Namjoon did, for not putting it all out there so that you could give him whatever kind of closure would come.

And it’s there, sitting on his floor, surrounded by the remains of too many projects that he spent too long on that you’ll now never see, that he first begins to consider it. Everyone knows about the surgery, everyone knows that you can get the flowers removed, but that it comes with a cost. He stares, past his tears, past the colorful crystal remnants at his feet, and he considers.

There’s already a numbness spreading through his body; it follows the same path as the roots of the flowers in his lungs, it runs parallel to the petals and seeds, and it only serves to highlight the painful ache that his feelings have caused. He’s already becoming numb to it, so why not? He may lose the ability to love forever, yes, but he can still be your friend. He can still watch you marry another man, this time without the itch in his throat and the flowers in his bile. So why shouldn’t he?

His phone rings, and he already knows it’s you. Not by the specialized ringtone - the only custom one in his entire contact list - and not by the blinking light that’s sure to wake him up in the middle of the night. No, he knows it’s you, because he knows that there’s no way Namjoon could have resisted the temptation to ask you tonight. He’s pictured what you’d look like a hundred thousand times, knows exactly how bright your smile would be as you said yes, how soft the tears would feel as he wiped them away, he knows.

And now you’re calling him, to tell him the great news, or maybe scold him for not giving you a heads up about it in the first place since he’s the one that made the ring. Either way, you’re on the other end of that ringing, ready to tell him about the happiest night of your life, and Hoseok can’t…

He can’t resist it. It’s autopilot as he drags himself to where his phone is still ringing, and it’s only after a deep and shaky breath that he answers it.

You don’t even give him time to speak for you’re launching into your squeals and happy giggles and how Namjoon did it, and Hoseok feels a reluctant smile cross his features. It only grows when you start to gush about the ring, complimenting his skill, and he can feel a bud trying to make its way up his throat, so he mutes his phone. He doesn’t want you to hear as he rushes to the kitchen sink, as he chokes and coughs and gags and eventually spits out a nearly whole sunflower.

It’s not a big one, maybe an inch or so in diameter, and not fully bloomed, but it’s there, and Hoseok knows it’s more of a death sentence than anything.

“Hobi? Are you there?”

He wipes his mouth and clears his throat and leaves the flower in the sink with its red-stained petals so that he can unmute his phone.

“Yeah, Starshine, I’m here.”

[now]

In the alley beside your wedding, Hoseok coughs. He coughs and he gags and he chokes, until the ground is littered with flower petals that aren’t from your bouquets, and blood drops and tears. He chokes until he can’t breathe anymore, until he has to reach in and pull the flower from his throat before he really does die, and it makes him shudder when he sees that it’s nearly fully formed, almost completely bloomed and everything.

He doesn’t think he’ll make it through the next one.

He stands up, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of the red suit he chose for this exact reason, and he looks through the window, to the space where you should be dancing with Namjoon.

You aren’t, though. You’re watching him, brows drawn together, confused, and you’re saying something that he can’t quite make out through the glass.

Fear strikes his heart. Fear that you saw everything, that you know everything, but directly after it comes relief, because he knows now. He knows what he needs to do, because he doesn’t think he can bear to have you watch him die, but he doesn’t think he can bear not to love you anymore, either; no matter what, he’s lost you, and that knowledge solidifies his decision. He holds a hand over his chest, and you mirror him, your fingers closing around the pendant he made so, so long ago.

You turn, looking for someone - Namjoon, maybe, or Jimin, to ask what’s wrong with him, and he takes the opportunity. He heads out of the alley, as fast as his legs can carry him, because he knows.

When you finally make it into the alley, you don’t understand. Your best friend, your best man, is nowhere to be found. In his wake are flower petals, drawn out by the wind.

One catches your eye, and you pick it up. It’s soft against your fingertips, and you frown when you see the red on it.

You don’t ever see Hoseok again.

#magicshopnet #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #bangtanscenery #btswritersguild #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #j-hope fanfic #j-hope angst #hoseok fanfic #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #hobi fanfic #hobi angst #hobi fluff #ddaenggtan

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isobel-thorm · 4 years

Text

More nonsense but in that last Mandalorian recap I realized I gave the barely-a-fic I’ve been doing a plot hole, and even if three of y’all care I fixed it bc my writing brain is finally, finally working again. Behold, the worst summary:

Refusal of the Call

In which Din has a request, and Raza and Cobb share a brain cell with different degrees of success in its usage.

Din stared across the table at Raza and Cobb, trying to figure out just how to present the thing he had been hesitating to ask the last few hours. Din had bitten the bullet and returned to Mos Pelgo after the speeder debacle so the speeder could get repaired and he could get some rest so he wasn’t caught as unawares again. But now he was about to depart so he intended to ask at the last minute so there could be less damage. For all involved. It has been nice enough, he could admit, but the sight in front of him made him think back on the last thought he had about the dynamic, and well, now that everything had calmed down and he could make clear connections, well, there was something obvious staring him in the face. He turned his attention to Raza. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Her smile was immediate, kind. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

“I need you to take the kid.”

She beamed. “You got it,” she looked at The Child. “How about that, Little One? You stay here with Aunt Raz and Uncle Cobb when your daddy goes off to do something dangerous?” she looked at Din. “For how long? Couple of days?”

“As long as you can take him. Life, if you can.”

Her response was immediate. Her smile dropped instantaneously: “No!”

It was matched perfectly with Cobb’s incredulous “What?!” and even the Child made a squeak that sounded stunned and offended.

Din sighed. “He’s… somehow a Jedi. He needs to be with his people-“

“Mando, I’m not his people. I’ve only known one of his kind and -“

Din started to stand at the comment, completely forgetting the Child was in his lap for the moment. He scrambled to catch the Child, only to find that Cobb had already lunged for him, gotten a hold of him and had set him in his own lap instead. That was another reason he was certain he was making the right choice. The kid would be raised loved and protected if he did this. It was much better than his current situation. Though the fact that Cobb leaned over The Child what looked like protectively against him and was giving him a warning look didn’t quite sit well in his gut. Even The Child looked distressed, which made it much worse. Maybe he’d wait to see about the species mate. Maybe that would work better than a Jedi. “You’ve seen his kind before?”

Her response was guarded. “A long time ago, when my father brought me to an old Jedi for a game of catch up- and to see if I could train.”

“Where is he now?”

“Was. Was in Dagobah. But he’s long gone, I’m afraid. Died… must have been ten years back now. My friend Luke might know more. He’s one of us, too. I can ask if you’d like but with my skill, well, lack thereof. it might take a while.”

Din sighed again. So close and so far. He thought that would be it, he would be home free, the kid could be safe with his people who would understand him, keep him on the right path. It was finally getting to him just how many plans had gone wrong. At least this one didn’t end up in mayhem or bloodshed. “No, that’s…” what could he even say. “He needs to be with you, your mother- Jedi. Decent Jedi. And I don’t mean in skill.”

“We’re barely Jedi, we don’t count.”

“You’ve got decent covered, though. You’re all I have. And some understanding is better than none.”

“And you’re all he’s got. He’s your son.”

“He’s not.” His heart broke at the honest to god distressed sound the Child made. “He just… needs people who are better for him.”

“You’re the best for him. You can have him get trained in the Force without severing any sort of relationships. It worked for me... more or less.”

“I took him with me to fight the Krayt Dragon,” Din objected.

Cobb finally spoke up. “And he loved every second, if I heard right.”

Din turned his attention to Cobb and tried to convey annoyance through the helmet.

It worked, judging by how Cobb tossed his hands up in the air. “What? He did! He only got scared the one time. That’s saying something.”

“Yes, it’s saying he’s getting used to danger. That’s a problem,” Din looked back at Raza.

“No,” she repeated, firmer than the last time.

“Cobb wants children,” Din blurted. If the other man was going to throw him under the bus, he’d do it right back. “Told me last night when he had a couple of drinks in him. You can get your wish if you take the kid.”

Cobb gaped at him, then looked at Raza frantically. “Now hold on a sec-”

Raza put a hand out to silence him. “And that’s our call when the time comes, not yours trying to pawn off the kid.”

The Child cooed at that, sounding hurt, and Din’s heart broke again. It’s for him. It’s for his safety. “I just want what’s best for him.”

“You’re what’s best for him,” Raza replied.

“Doubtful,”

“So the next best thing is dumping him off with strangers?” Cobb cut in.

“We’re not strangers.”

“Funny, you told me the opposite two days ago,” Cobb deadpanned. He sounded… off.

“I just… trust you both with his safety… and knowing what to do with those powers of his.”

Cobb scoffed with enough venom in his tone that it alarmed the other two. “You’re asking us to sit by and let you abandon your son, Mando,” Cobb finally cut in. His voice sounded dangerous. “It happened to me, my parents dropped me here right after having, and I I’ll be damned if I sit by and let that happen to this little guy that I’m already fond of.”

Din’s stomach twisted all over again. So that was why he had been so quiet, why he was holding the Child so tightly during that conversation.

Cobb continued. “If we’re not strangers after all, you won’t ask that of us. So don’t you dare. Ever. And honestly I’m pretty damn disappointed in you that you made it this far.”

Well now this was bound to end like all others had. So mayhem, then. He opened his mouth, then shut it. “I’m not trying to pawn him off, I-”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“Take. Your. Damn. Kid,” Cobb replied. He passed the Child over to him, the Child himself whining at the sudden shift in energy.

To her credit, Raza did too. She gave the Child’s head a reassuring rub, then looked at Din. “Look, we get it. We do. And we know you care about the kid. And that’s another reason why we can’t do that to you. Or the little one.” She went to pull her hand from the Child, but the Child reached up in order to keep her hand there. She sighed, then passed her hand over his head lightly. “You two will be fine, you can make it through this. You’ll help him find his way. It’s just not here without you.”

Cobb’s eyes flicked to his, not at all losing any of the annoyance he had built up.

Din sighed. Those two were tough, but they made fair points. There was no sense in arguing. There was no way Raza and her mother were the last two around. She had mentioned Luke. Luke Skywalker, he supposed. That was a start. “I suppose you’re right. We’ll be fine. We’ll make it through. Won’t we, Kid?” He hoped it sounded convincing. He opened his arms. “Come on Kid, we have to go.”

“Wh-“ Raza’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re leaving from here? You were actually going to dump him and run?”

“Would’ve been easier on the both of us,” Din admitted quietly. He only took small comfort in how Raza’s face shifted from growing anger to sympathy. At least he had that. Cobb was still glaring at him. He opened his arms. “Come on, kid. We have to be back to the Crest by nightfall.”

The Child pouted for a moment, mourning the soon to be loss of the pets, but got up on the table, waddled over and let Din put him back in his sling.

“We’ll walk you out, make sure you don’t dump him on one of our doorsteps,” Cobb commented drily, rising to walk with him all the same. Raza joined them, and they all gathered by the speeder, just like they had the last time.

“I won’t. You’ve got nothing to worry about, message received, loud and clear. He stays with me,” Din assured them. He took the Child’s carrier out and set it on the floor of the speeder. Then, carefully, eager to out some physical and emotional distance between them: “Thank you for the hospitality. We’ll meet again.” He got into it and fired up the engine, and without another word, pushed off and started making his way through the town.

The Child popped his head out of the bag and waved goodbye to the other two, and they waved back half heartedly.

After Din was out of sight, Cobb sighed heavily. “Kriff…” Another pause. “That reminds me, we gotta go to Mos Eisley this weekend. Ma invited us for dinner. She asked me to ask you to bring the stuff to make that roasted nuna you made the last time.”

“Okay. You do know that he’s gonna kill you when he finds out that you lied, don’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely. But you were floundering, I jumped in to assist. But I just lied to the guy. You mind tricked him. He’s gonna be more mad about that, I’m sure.”

“The kid’s not vocal. He’s not gonna know about the Jedi mind trick for a while. He’s gonna figure out the lie way sooner.”

“He’s gonna have to catch me, first,” Cobb countered. Then, carefully: “you think he and the kid will actually be okay? He ain’t gonna do something stupid?”

“See, that’s the good thing about my mind tricks. Most of the time they only work if there’s already some semblance of what I tell them in their heads already,” Raza answered. “They will be fine. He doesn’t want to leave the kid as much as he pretends he does.” She looked back at the speeder, already just a dot on the horizon. “He needs the kid more than he thinks the kid needs him. Part of him knows that, too.”

“That is… actually assuring. Feel like an ass for doubting him, though.”

“You’re in good company there.”

—-

A few months later, Cobb had been repairing part of his roof when he heard a few passersby talking excitedly about how ‘he’ was back. He was vaguely concerned for a moment until he looked over the side of the roof to see a familiar green and brown lump make its way to his doorway. “Kid…?” There was silence, an excited squeak, followed by Raza going “Little One!” inside. Ah. That “he.” No cause for concern then. Especially if he still had the kid. He hopped down from the roof, intent on finding the surrogate father, only to come just about face to face with him just outside the entryway. “Hey, our favorite Mandalorian returns. Good to see you. What brings you here?”

Din hummed. “Had some trouble in Mos Eisley before this.”

“Oh?” Cobb grinned.

“Trouble with a job. Had to stay the night,” he slowly turned towards him. “Met a nice old couple who put me up for the night. Eric and Noma.” Cobb stopped smiling. “Vanth. Who are very much looking forward to their son Cobb’s wedding in a couple of months. Noma’s been dreaming about it since they took him home from the Medical Pavilion.”

Cobb flinched, feeling the annoyance seeping from the man. He wondered if he should just start running now. “... Can I get a head start, at least?”

Din’s response was punching him in the gut, but he could tell he pulled it, so even as he doubled over, he tried not to laugh after the pain receded. “Okay, so it was a lie, a bit of a mean one. But hey, you’ve still got the kid, so we were right. He is yours.”

“That’s why you’re not dead,” Din answered. “Is Raza inside? I’ve got a question about… Jedi mind altering.”

Shit. “You gonna hit her for pulling that, too?”

“... … What?”

Cobb frowned, then looked at the kid, suddenly putting together that he had done something with it. Go figure. She had said the thought had to be there. “Nothing. Right this way. Help me up the step, I can’t move anything below my chest thanks to you.”

“Fine.”

#I dont know what to tag this #Ship: Robb #kinda #more just like their verse #Cobb Vanth

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glasyasbutch · 4 years

Note

Stella: 13 Roona: 22 Gent: 30

prose boys part one! prose boys part one! under a readmore bc its almost 2k words! thanks for sending them in rebekah i did full scenes for each prompt bc im a whore. bolded are the actual “things they said”.

Stella: Things you said that were important to you (set about six months after her clan’s home in the wood is razed to the ground, and she’s just found herself fully indoctrinated to the nearby city’s criminal ring as an assassin)

Her hands are small, even relative to the rest of her, which as a gnome, is much tinier than most people walking these streets. It's usually an advantage. Makes it all the more simple to just slide her hand into someone's pocket while they were preoccupied at the food cart. Snag a coin while they ordered, snag a hunk of bread while they paid.

She isn't proud of it. She doesn't like having to penny pinch other people's pennies to get by between jobs. But she likes starving to death less, so she swallows her damn pride and got down to it.

The problem is that the figure she’s trying to rob is also a gnome, which means her hands are not nearly as relatively small as she’s used to them being, and she manages to get her thumb caught on the edge of his pocket as she pulls away. His hand is around her wrist before she has a chance to react, grip terrifyingly tight.

"Pardon me, but I don't believe anything in my pockets belongs to - Ester?"

The fake tears she's been trying to push out begin to well up for real, turning her into a breathless, glassy-eyed mess, and she looks into a face she thought she'd never be seeing again. "Gray?"

Gray drops his grip on her wrist, only to clasp her hand between his protectively. "Ester, what are you doing out here doing this?"

She finds her knees start to buckle, and she pushes her weight into Gray's hands a bit to stay standing. "The fire, Gray, I barely made it out, I just ran in the first direction I saw. I ended up here, and when I looked back it was nothing but smoke. I only had my bow with me and I - I thought I was the only one who made it out. I didn't know what to do. I'm just trying to survive in a world I wasn't raised to live in."

Gray's eyebrows furrow, his expression sinks. He reaches his other hand out to grip the side of her face. "There's at least three of us who made it out. I left with Reddy, but he took off from this town a few weeks ago. I was starting to get lonely, but ... then I find you." He smiles, in the crooked sort of way that happens when loss starts to slip through the cracks of joy. "You can do better than this, Es. We're still clan. My house is still your house. Come back with me, at the very least 'til you get on your feet."

"Gray, no, really, I couldn't," she starts, but gets cut off as he begins to tut and takes his hand from her cheek to grip her other hand.

He pushes back her sleeve with his fingers, unintentionally, ever so slightly. He isn't even looking, but it's still enough to make her gasp and stiffen. That, he does notice, and gods damn it, he glances down.

Their clan is from the woods. They don't know a lot of city culture, but the symbol tattooed on her wrist, still slightly red from its freshness, is one of the things they have to recognize. Its something they know damn well to avoid, because these men who take shelter in the woods some nights, with these symbols emblazoned on their wrists and sword scabbards and coin pouches, setting off their hunting traps for fun and leaving their empty booze bottles behind when they go and not putting their fires out properly, are the kind of men who know no rule or law or code, and show no mercy when they feel they've been crossed.

"Ester," he says, voice darkening. "You can do better than this."

She tears her wrist away, tugging her sleeve back down. "My business is my own, Gray."

"As is my home, if you've chosen to turn your back on everything we lived for so quickly."

"I was hungry. I was going to die out here. I don't have many marketable skills, but they saw something worth a paycheck in me."

Gray says nothing, but drops her hands from his with a sharpness that can only indicate disgust.

"You can do better than this," he repeats. Then, for a brief moment, his gaze softens. "I hope you do."

She makes no move to stop him as he turns to go, walking with as big a stride as his gnomish legs can let him, vanishing into the crowded streets. She rubs at her wrist, letting the sting of pressing on the fresh tattoo distract her from the sinking feeling in her gut as one of the last survivors of her clan willingly turns his back on her. She had always figured she had no one left, but now she’s looking right at him and she knows it.

"I'm gonna," she whispers at the space where he has been standing, making up her mind to get back what scraps of her family she still has left. "I'm gonna get out of there, eventually. Swear on the trees."

*****

Roona: Things you said after making a bad decision.

"Vinny Vinny Vinny Vinny Vinny!" Roona pants, running so fast she nearly trips over her feet, "Pouch pouch pouch pouch please please please!"

They tug at the loose piece of leather fixed around their traveling companion's waist, barely waiting for acknowledgement of their presence before scrambling up the leg into the pouch and pulling the flaps closed, trying to look as much like a lute as possible.

Now, most lutes arent quite so lumpy, because they don't have knees to tuck in, and they don't swell and sink because they don't have lungs that are heaving from the mad dash they've just undertaken. But, however much like a lute she doesn't look, Roona supposes the ruse has worked, because no one sticks a sword straight into the flaps and the shrill complaining voice eventually huffs its way out of earshot.

"Is the purple dress lady gone?" she whispers, pulling one very small peep hole open in the mouth of the pouch.

"Yeah," Vinny sighs, still debating whether or not she wants to know what happened this time.

"Okay, good." Roona's head fully emerges from the pouch now, braids more mussed than usual and face still flushed reddish from exertion. They flash a forced smile up at Vinny. "So, don't get mad but. Um."

It seems, whether or not Vinny wants to know, Roona's gonna be telling her anyway.

"You know that really fancy dress shop down the road? I was over there window shopping, you know, like you do. And, well, I went inside, cause they had this really nice yellow thing and this other dress with lilac trim, and I wanted to know how they'd look together? Um?"

Vinny's lips press together, knowing exactly where this story's going.

"So I, uh, I grabbed a pair of shears, and I took a little bit of the trim off the back of the skirt? I mean, it's the back right, no one's gonna see, and it's not like they ever sell the mannequin models anyways, but. For SOME reason, the dress lady didn't like that."

"Roona. C'mon."

She sighs, brushing a few loose hairs out of her face. "No, no. I know. I ... I know. Like, actually. Sometimes people are just stuck up dickheads about their stuff, but like, this one I get. I'll go apologize in the morning, probably. Once she's had the chance to forget where she's left the fabric shears again."

They begin to pull themself out of the pouch, but stop with one leg dangling out over the lip. "On a totally unrelated note. Can I pitch you on a mix and match dress shop?"

*****

Gent: Things you said when you should've been quiet

"Gods," he huffs, flipping over what he's pretty sure is the third page of sigils for what he's significantly less sure is the fifth time. "You really think an archmage with a lifespan like his and absolutely no friends to hang out with would be able to find the time to write a damn key for his notes. Wenceforth! C'mere. Do you know what the fuck these double lines are supposed to be mean?"

The goblin starts at the mention of his name, trotting over on creaky joints from the post he'd be standing by the door. He slips on a pair of glasses, and peers over the piece of paper being held out for him. He spends a good minute tracing a finger across the ink, grumbling and mumbling to himself before turning to face Gent and announcing, very definitely, "No!"

Gent groans and slumps even further in the chair than he has been.

"You've known him forever, Wenceforth, has he always been this illiterate? I mean, god, for all the griping he does at me about penmanship making the difference between a Dancing Light and a Flaming Sphere, you'd think he'd care literally at all about how his own fucking notes look."

"Well, Master Errenis is quite a learned mage, you know, he's really quite skilled, but uh. Between you and me. He's always been a bit more meticulous with his notes since. Well."

Gent immediately shoots up, leaning over the arm of his chair to stare down Wenceforth. "Since what, Wence? You can't just leave me hanging here, man."

"Oh, you know, I don't really want to embarrass him or anything," he mumbles, anxious grin twitching onto his face.

"Oh come on! Please? I'll pay you the rest of my weeks stipend, Wence, I need to know what could've possibly embarrassed Yussah bad enough to change his wizardly ways."

"Oh, all right," he chuckles, leaning in, "but you didn't hear it from me. One time, good few years back, Master Yussah was studyin' this little ball thing, and got himself stuck inside. Had to call in a bunch of his wizard friends to get him back out. And they, ah, barely made it too, I heard, 'cause his map notes were just ... unintelligible."

"You're kidding, Wence? He got stuck. In a ball."

"Sure did, sure did! Had to call that pretty Taldorei lady myself to fix it all up."

"You had to get Arcanist Vysoren to get Yussah out of a ball?" Gent reaches for the goblins shoulders and gives them a good hard squeeze. "Thank you so much for telling me, Wence. You are truly the only man I have ever cared about in my life."

"Come now, surely he's not the only one." someone drawls from the doorway behind Gent.

Gent spins around in the chair, placating grin half way through stretching across his face. "Master Errenis, hello, how are you doing, did you need a hand with something, hope I haven't kept you waiting?"

Yussah gives a wry laugh. "I've been waiting in this doorway long enough, Ms. Avoris. Gossiping about my handwriting won't get those wards copied any faster."

Gent presses his lips together, turning (relatively) apologetically back to his work. Yussah motions for Wenceforth to follow him out of the room, starting to describe some spell components he needed dug out of storage. He stops in the doorway, just to be sure Gent is still in earshot.

"I have got to get that kid to see some other wizards. Let him study with someone really old and crazy, like Waccoh. Then see how he feels about my damn notes."

*****

#bros if you thought This was long get ready morgan sent me one for every single character #stella #roona #gent #asks

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detroitsmashthisass · 5 years

Note

Omg I love your writing so much!! Could I make a request for Bakugou x reader where she’s super flirty and Bakugou wants to fight her cos she has a really powerful quirk. She flirts with him throughout the whole fight and at the end she beats him and he asks her out? Thank you!! 💛

(OMG THANK YOU FOR BEING SUCH A SWEETHEART OFC I WILL. I hope this is to your liking baby <3)

author: detroitsmashthisass

genre: fluff // katsuki bakugou x reader

warnings: should i even put the swearing warning anymore?

Bakugou glared at you from across the training room as you finished up your match with Ashido. You pissed him off. A lot. You didn’t know that, though. You just assumed that Bakugou was pissed off by everyone.

You fist-bumped your good friend, Ashido, and kissed her on both cheeks, something you did after each and every fight you had. Bakugou didn’t know why the fuck you did it and that made him mad. Then, he got mad at himself for being mad about something you did.

He doesn’t care about you! What the fuck was he thinking?! Bakugou groaned and rubbed his eyes. His mind trailed to your quirk and how it functioned. He was embarrassed to admit it, but he knew.

Bakugou knew of the subtle ways your power worked, what you needed for it, and all the weaknesses that came with being so strong. He understood; his quirk was strong as all hell.

Bakugou lifted his eyes up to see you wiping the sweat off your face with a towel and laughing at something Jiro said. You lit up like a Christmas tree, eyes sparkling and mouth wide open as your laugh filled the room. Bakugou growled to himself; he had had enough of your stupid smile and what it did to him.

The angry boy stalked over to you like a predator and gripped your shoulder, spinning you around to face him. “Fight me,” he said boldly.

You were taken aback by the blond’s words, but your face was quickly dominated by your signature cocky grin. “Ya’ sure? You know what I’m capable of, Katsukiii~”

You dragged out his first name, causing him to become flustered. His face burned, but he managed to nod firmly. “Did I fucking stutter?”

You shrugged good-naturedly. “Alright, alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when I beat your sorry ass.”

You winked at Bakugou before crossing your arms over one another, grabbing the hem of your sweaty shirt, and pulling it slowly and deliberately over your head. Bakugou was stuck watching your every movement. He was entranced by the way your abs flexed and rippled and the way your smooth arms popped as you threw the shirt to the side.

“Are we gonna fight or are you gonna keep staring?” You teased, flipping over the ropes on the fighting ring.

At this point, everyone in class had gathered to watch. They had never seen you two fight and were interested; two of the most powerful students in Class 1-A? Hell yeah! (I mean, the grape kid was only there because you didn’t have a shirt on)

Bakugou growled and dipped under the ropes, walking into the ring and facing you with a determined expression on his face. You could tell that he respected you enough to take the fight seriously; unfortunately, you were never one for serious.

When Uraraka blew the whistle that signaled the start of the fight, you just stood there. You didn’t even bother to drop into a proper fighting stance, while Bakugou was already creeping around you and sizing you up.

He glared when you didn’t move, but you only giggled. “Well, are ya’ gonna hit me or what? I thought you wanted to fight, Firecracker!”

Bakugou tensed at the nickname, feeling hot anger boil up in his gut. There was something else, too, but he didn’t really want to pay that emotion much attention. He threw a huge explosion at you and you jumped into action without hesitation.

You cartwheeled to the side, avoiding his attack entirely. He lunged forward at you with the famous right hook that Midoriya warned everyone about. You grinned cheekily, completely expecting it, and ducked under it, speeding around him until you were behind him.

You threw both hands out in front of you like you were telling someone to stop, then activated your quirk. Huge jets of water, like the ones from fire hoses, blasted from your hands and hit Bakugou square in the back. He flew forward, body crashing against the ropes. An attack like that would’ve been enough to knock the wind out of anybody, but you knew Bakugou wasn’t just anybody.

“Aww, c’mon, Bakugou, where’s the heat?” You taunted him, settling into a defensive stance. “I thought you were stronger than me! Aren’t ya’ gonna come and prove it?”

That seemed to strike a nerve and you briefly wondered if you had gone too far, but Bakugou didn’t give you much time to think. He used his explosions to launch himself into a high backflip, landing directly behind you.

You thanked whatever god was up there that you had quick reflexes. You swung yourself around with a powerful roundhouse kick, catching Bakugou in the side of the head. He stumbled backwards, ears ringing, which gave you enough time to hit him with another jet of water, finally knocking him down.

In class sparring, you had to pin someone to win the match. So you plopped your whole weight on Bakugou, pinning his wrists above his head as he panted in exhaustion. You leaned down close to his red face and murmured, “I win.”

He growled and shoved you off after Uraraka named you the winner of the match. You put your hand out to help him up, but he ignored it and bluntly said, “Go out with me.”

You smirked. You knelt down in front of him, kissing both of his flushed cheeks as you did after every match. You stared at Bakugou’s handsome, red face, piercing eyes, and sweaty hair and smiled a happy, genuine smile. “Sure.”

(i gave the reader a more psychical quirk bc i thought that would be the most simple to write off as powerful. let me know if you want anything else in the future and tysm for the request !! also, i’m super sorry that i’m ass at fight scenes please forgive me :’))

#request #bnha #mha #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #flirting #fluff #anime #manga #romance #thankyouforrequestingbaby #iloveyou

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thelittlestspider · 5 years

Note

💜👻

@mvcreates

💜- top 3 favorite lines

hmmmm. okay forewarning: this is gonna be long. also spoilery.

1. sage “kills” owen.

[warning(s): car accident, violence, torture, blood, guns, gunshots, and crying.]

sageis driving when the tires are shot out, causing them to spin out andflip over a bridge. Sage is hella pissed. Like burn the world downpissed. She drags violet and carter out of the vehicle, laying themdown safely out of sight, and then goes to hunt down the fucker thatdared to try and kill them.

Shegoes up to the bridge to see a boy and a girl who she thinks might besiblings, holding guns in their hands. Sage holds up her hands tomake them feel safe.

“whoare you” asks sage, slowly edging closer to them.

Theboy smirks. There’s a look in his eyes sage dislikes immediately,something evil. “hm, nobody you need to worry about.”

sage’smouth quirks. “i doubt that.” she glances at the girl, then atthe gun aimed at her. They are fools, the both of them. She wouldhave thought they were trained better than this.

Sagegrabs the gun out of the girl’s hand, punching her hard enough todaze her. She spins lightning fast to hit the boy with the butt ofthe gun, then slams her hand against his chest with enough force tobreak ribs, dropping him to the ground. When he holds the gun up,wheezing for breath, sage wrenches it from his grasp. He glares ather with a hatred that would be frightening if he wasn’t so pathetic.

“thiswas your idea, wasn’t it?” she asks, voice low, soft. “i hopeyou’re satisfied with what happens to you now.” his sister screamsat the first gunshot, tears streaking her face, her handoutstretched. Sage glances at her. “get out of here while you stillcan. I might not feel so charitable once i’m done with your brother.”

theboy gurgles as blood fills his lungs. His sister cries. Sage watchesthe scene, unmoved by their pain.

“what’syour name?” the girl looks up at her with frightened eyes, lipsquivering against her sobs.

“w-what?”

“yourname.”

thegirl opens her mouth and closes it again, struggling to draw breathinto her lungs. “bella. My name is bella.”

“thankyou. I just wanted to know who i’m dealing with.” sage walks aroundthe boy’s legs to stand next to his side. He gives her that glareagain. She narrows her eyes at him, places her foot on his gunshotwound, and presses down. “Now i’m going to offer you a way out ofthis. You leave him here, I spare your life, you live the life you’vealways wanted free of this cancer.” he screams as she presses downharder, grinding her heel into his wound. “he made you do this,didn’t he? He’s always making you do things you hate.”

“yes,”whispers bella. More tears fall down her face. Bella’s guilt ispalpable.

“go.”

bellastands on shaky legs and walks away. She doesn’t look back.

i mean. it’s gonna have to be rewritten but like sage is so fucking raw in this scene i had to put it here.

2. nina tells carter about her abusive ex kyle. i really like bc it was one of the scenes i wrote that solidified the bromance between them.

[warning(s): talk of emotional abuse and gaslighting.]

the party has been going approximately an hour, when they realize nina is nowhere to be found. Violet sends carter to make sure nina hasn’t been kidnapped or eaten, or boarded herself up in the bedroom to avoid an awkward conversation.

Eventually carter finds her sitting in one of the lawn chairs in the backyard, gazing up at the night sky. She looks so serious sitting there, knees pulled up to her chest. Carter wonders if the void would give him the answers to life’s mysteries if he asked, or if it would stare back at him with its vast coldness, as unknowable and everchanging as time itself.

He plops himself into the chair next to nina, deciding nina’s troubles are more important than the void.

“are you alright?” asks carter, copying nina’s sitting position.

“yeah, i’m fine. I get overwhelmed when it’s a big crowd of people. So sometimes I have to go hide away somewhere when it gets too much.”

“um, ever since I was a kid, i’ve always liked going out at night and talking to the moon. I’d tell her about my day, or about the books I was reading.” nina smiles jewel bright in the faint moonlight. “kyle always told me I was weird for doing that.”

“was kyle nice to you?”

“most of the time. I guess.” nina looks down at her hands, fiddling with a thread on the sleeve of her cardigan.

Carter waits for her to speak.

“kyle could be really mean sometimes. He would tell me I was weird and that’s why I had to have the moon as my friend, because I couldn’t get anyone to be friends with me.” nina’s eyes become shiny as she talks, reliving an open wound. “and when i’d cry because it hurt so bad, he told me he was sorry. Then he would um,” nina sniffles, wiping tears away with her sleeve. “he would buy me gifts, take me out to dinner; that kind of thing. He was so sweet that I forgave him, and I’d start to wonder if I had overreacted, like maybe I just blew it out of proportion.”

“but I wasn’t carter, I wasn’t.” nina’s face scrunches up. “he didn’t care about me at all. When the ghosts hurt me, he didn’t believe me. He said I was just making it up for attention.” carter wraps his arms around nina, rubbing her back as she cries. “tiffany was the only person who believed me.”

“i’m going to set him on fire,” says carter, deadly calm. “and then i’m going to use him to light my cigarette.”

“please don’t do that,” nina hugs carter tight, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “but thank you.”

some of this is gonna be rewritten bc of plot related stuff, but i still really like the lines in this.

3. carter confides in nina about a one night stand gone wrong and about his past. nina is heartbroken.

warning(s): mentioned slutshaming, implied domestic violence and sexual assault. it’s not graphic or anything like that, but still heed the warnings just in case.

nina hears carter take gasping breaths behind the door as he cries, and holds her clasped hands to her chest, a terrible ache in her gut. She recognizes that kind of crying; the kind of sound you make when you try so hard to stop, but you can’t because it’s pouring out of you. All of the hurt comes out in these kinds of moments. Nina closes her eyes, bracing herself for the fallout.

She raps her knuckles on the door. “carter, can I come in?”

“come in.”

carter��s sitting on the toilet seat, lips pressed together against another sob. His face and eyes are red and his nose is dripping. He grabs a handful of toilet paper and wipes his face, trying to look brave for Nina and utterly failing in the attempt. Nina looks back at him, thinking Who did this. Nina sits on the floor next to him, back resting against the cabinet, arms draped around her knees. She waits there looking down at her nails to stop herself from looking directly at carter’s downturned face. The trick to getting carter to open up is to let him talk first. She tried to force it once and saw that naked look in his eyes, before he flew away like a startled bird. Out of the corner of her eye, carter sniffs wetly, tears clinging to his lashes.

“i’m sorry,” rasps carter. “i didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

nina chances a look at him. “what happened?” carter opens his mouth, then closes it. More tears fall.

“some guy I went out with, we– we were having fun. And um, he asked if i’d go back to his place. So I said, “okay.” but once we got there…” carter blinks, eyes distant. “he started getting mean. He called me a, a slut, and he sounded so much like him, I just couldn’t–” he puts a hand against his mouth, lips trembling. “i left.”

I’m so sorry, Nina thinks, blinking back the warm pinpricks behind her eyes. She clenches her hands into fists, feeling her palms itch with the urge to hurt whoever gave carter these wounds.

“if I ever find him, he’s a goner,” says nina, jaw set.

“bella beat you to it,” replies carter with a watery smile.

i can’t spoil what’s gonna happen, but nina sort of plays a part in owen’s eventual downfall.

👻- 2 or 3 sentences from something you haven’t posted yet

tiffanysees carter grinning down at his phone during break and it takeseverything in her not to lean over his shoulder to find out who he’stexting. The curiousity is killing her.

“so…”she settles onto the stool next to carter, trying to be cool andfailing miserably. “okay you know I can’t be chill about anything.Who are you texting?”

“there’sthis girl. Her name is nina. She likes ballet and horror andantiques. She’s really cool.”

“likebuddy cool or girlfriend cool?” carter looks at her with such blankconfusion – like the thought of nina being anything more than afriend had never occurred to him – tiffany almost laughs out ofreflex. Luckily she doesn’t. She’d hate to put that red tinged,shamed look on his face he wears when he feels he’s done somethingwrong, only he doesn’t know what and he’s being laughed at for it.It’s a look she’s seen him wear too often.

“well,i’m glad you made a friend. I know how hard it is for you.” tiffanyprobably knows better than anyone how hard it is to find a friend.Especially when everyone knows you’re different.

It’sone of the loneliest things in the world.

#mvcreates #paper heart tag

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lordshaxx · 6 years

Text

so @autobotbara and i were talking about zavala/shaxx bc its a good ship and we started joking about shaxx proposing at inopportune moments.

and then i got an idea to write that. its set during towerfall.

so ya. here u go.

The second Shaxx heard the satellites had gone dark, he knew something was immensely wrong. He closed down his post and went over to Arcite, not hesitating to reactive the old frame’s defensive and offensive protocols, receiving a questioning, “Si-r?” in return.

“Something’s not right,” is all the Titan offers in explanation, handing the frame one of the many auto-rifles sitting on the stands. “Be on your guard, something big is coming. Begin evacuating the arenas if the situation escalates.” He casts one last look over to the Vanguard, namely toward Zavala whose deep frown and creased brow was not an uncharacteristic look of his when he was concerned or in deep thought. On any other day, Shaxx would think him handsome but there’s a glint in those alluring eyes that tells him now is not the time.

Accompanied with a sick feeling in his gut, Shaxx enters the backroom that lay behind the hall, walking down the eerie rows of his newest series of Redjack frames. He’s started punching in a series of defensive codes when a terrifying crack shakes the Tower and he pulls up the outside feeds in a panic -- his heart stutters at the sight of the Cabal ships filling the perimeter cameras, their megaton slugs pounding into the Walls, tearing it to shreds as dropship after dropship swarm from the capitals. The AA guns lining the walls try their best but the capital ships know where to aim and it isn’t long before the City is defenseless against this new faction; with that sick feeling turning into a sinking one, Shaxx thinks of Stoneborn, how many Titans are lost in that initial barrage and how many Guardians and civilians they are going to lose, caught off guard by this.

The Redjack frames are powering up, pulling themselves off their racks and standing at attention, waiting for their orders. Quickly, Shaxx transfers all protocols and codes to his neural HUD and Ghost before begin a hard wipe on all his computers; he steps around, facing the frames, and announces, “We are under attack by an unknown legion of Cabal! You know what you were made to do, head to the armory and defend this Tower while civilians evacuate -- coordinate with the Guardians and militiamen, make sure no lives are wasted!”

A chorus of ‘Yes, sirs!’ meet him before they march off to his personal armory down the hall, disappearing around the corner just in time for another explosion to rock the Tower. Smoke pours out from underneath the door and Shaxx bursts through, Raze-lighter appearing in his hands, and he sees rubble and fire blocking the way further into the Vanguard Hall. Several civilians as well as Zavala are sprawled on the ground, knocked away from the previously unseen explosion, and Shaxx rushes around, picking people off the ground and silently mourning over those he knows will never get up again; he directs the survivors toward the Hall entrance, gently guiding injured civilians toward the more able-bodied ones as they assist each other to escape. When he reaches Zavala, the smaller Titan is already picking himself up but Shaxx offers his arm anyways, glad to feel the firm grip against his gauntlet as he hauls his partner up.

“The Cabal,” Zavala coughs, dust flying off him as he brushes himself down.

“I saw. Took our defenses down in an instant, but I’ve got my Redjacks out there and we’ve still got our Light,” Shaxx reaffirms, clasping a hand on Zavala’s shoulder. “Stoneborn has trained for this as have the rest of these Guardians, we will not fall today, Zavala.”

“No, we won’t, but we still have to get these civilian out. Emergency transport will meet us on the Traveler’s Walk but,” they both turn, seeing that the entrance was also blocked by rubble, “we’ll have to take the long way around and these Cabal are efficient, no doubt they’re in the Tower now.”

“You go ahead, meet up with my Frames in the hangar, I’ll take care of these civilians.” Zavala furrows his brow, a look that has Shaxx smiling beneath his helmet fondly.

“Shaxx…”

“I know how to take care of civilians, Zavala, don’t worry about me.”

“You know that’s not what I’m worried about.” Shaxx’s invisible smile fades at Zavala’s somber look and he bows his head somewhat, feeling that twinge of worry in the other Awoken’s Light. His grip tightens momentarily on Zavala’s shoulder, tight enough to make the shorter Titan flinch before Shaxx lets go and moves to kneel before him, a hand clutching the Commander’s tightly.

“Zavala-”

“Shaxx, please…”

“Zavala,” Shaxx says sternly, making the Awoken close his mouth, “if you think that one of us is not going to make it out of this alive then… I need to know. I need to know that, if this didn’t happen, if this overwhelming possibility of the Cabal of all things besting us didn’t frighten the great Commander Zavala, the one question of marriage would be the scariest thing to happen to you all day.

So, Commander Tyrus Zavala, I ask of you: will you marry me?”

Zavala stares down at Shaxx, eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape but he doesn’t pull his hand away. There’s a… hopeful glint in his eyes even.

“Shaxx, I-” A muted explosion interrupts him, followed by the ceiling collapsing, two Cabal Phalanxes dropping in behind the pair. The Titans don’t hesitate, Shaxx unsheathing his sword and diving to the left as Zavala lunged past on his right -- the Phalanx doesn’t have time to bring up its interlocked shield before Shaxx’s Raze-lighter bites into its side, exposing the gases it breathes into the air and briefly igniting, causing the suit to implode while Shaxx continues dragging the jagged blade through, crudely chopping burning flesh. Zavala, meanwhile, wrestled the other Phalanx to the ground, headbutting it to stun it before bringing his auto-rifle up and unloading several rounds into its face.

They both get up, peering at the holes and both are satisfied to see that they hadn’t come directly from the Traveler’s Walk, making the area still a viable evacuation site. Shaxx takes Zavala by the wrist and drags him up the stairs, past the panicked civilians, and over to his armory doors; seeing that the door mechanism was seemingly destroyed in one of the initial explosions, Shaxx digs his fingers into the grooves and forces the damn thing open, not minding the sparks that flew or the gears that whined in protest.

“You need to help defend the courtyard,” Shaxx says, snapping Zavala out of his blatant staring of his arms. “These Cabal seem smart, know where and who to strike, so they’ll know that the Walk is the Tower’s safest point of evacuation. You’re our Commander, you need to go now. ”

“I’ll tell you when the coast is clear,” Zavala agrees, walking into the armory and picking at the different guns Shaxx had lined up. “You don’t mind if I take some of these, do you?”

“For you? Consider it a gift, love.” At that, Zavala smiles, magnetizing a shotgun and a red-white decorated auto-rifle, before moving towards the back doors,

“Stay safe.”

“I’m not the one that’s gonna be shot at. Don’t die too much out there.” A pause and Shaxx adds quietly, “I love you.”

Zavala hesitates, thinking back to Shaxx’s previous question, before simply saying, “I love you, too.”

( Sometime later, when a certain Guardian and a certain mortal repair a comms. tower, the Commander will have a message for the Guardians still amassed on Earth. And, for the longest time, the Guardians wonder what he means when he says in a voice far gentler than they could ever imagine, “And, Shaxx? I will.” )

#[ ya i gave zavala a first name bc i could deal w it ]#[ these two are my fave destiny ship ok ]#[ my destiny otp ]#( . drabble )#( . okay to reblog )

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