#hanahaki angst

[immortalmsmoon]

Could I get pls Ren Amamiya x fem!reader, who has problems with hanahaki? (It is a disease in which flowers grow in the lungs of the person you love, and you cough up flower petals and blood in one.)

I'm counting on you, I like your blog very much!!

Hanahaki

A/N: PLEASE I LOVE THIS?? I am so excited to post this this was so fun UGHHGGHH THANK YOU SO MUCH! Also i will be referring to Joker as Ren Amamiya in this one, hope that's ok!!

Ren Amamiya x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Descriptions of Pain, a little sad, angst, mentions of heart break.

If i missed anything, please let me know!

Wordcount: 1,696

It was a beautiful day, truly, the sky a stunning shade of blue and the clouds fluffy pieces of cotton drifting in the wind. the sun had just begun to set, streaks of pink and orange and pale purple mixing in the the blue that would slowly soften, only to deepen once the moon rose.

The sky was pretty and all, but there was one thing that really stood out to you.

He looked so pretty, the pretty colours of the sky dancing off his glasses and pale skin, and he looked just ethereal. his hair, messy as ever, framed his face so nicely, and that charming smile was out as he spoke to your friends.

you had fallen behind the group a bit, but that didn't matter to you, not when you could look at Ren from where you were without being met with suspicious eyes.

You had liked him for what felt like forever, even though it had been just about a year. you had never said anything though. Not when he made it clear to his closest friends- You, Ryuji, and Yusuke,- that he heart only beat for Ann. it hurt more than it should have, to know that all you were to him was a Friend. But you supposed that was better than being nothing to him.

Your friends called to you from there places ahead of you, and you hurried over to stand by Ren.

"pretty, isn't it?" he murmured to you, Butterflies dancing in your stomach as he leaned down to you to ask the question. all you could do was nod your head in response.

The night ended after you and your friends watched the sun set, and you all hurried to quickly catch the last train before midnight. You and Ren were the last two of your group on the train, and you joked and giggled from your seats in the back of the train, showing each other meme's from your phones, and funny Tweets.

the train ride was short, and soon you were parting ways, waving to him from your door step as he walked off to Leblanc. You stayed on your front step until he was out of sight, and stood there even after he was gone, wondering, if maybe in another universe the two of you could be together, be more than friends. You were quick to shake your head. you had thought these thoughts before, and it only ended with you in a messy heap of blankets and tears.

in the light of the moon you sat on your bed, your face stained with tears. You knew this would happen from the moment you stood out on your front step. your head throbbed as you sucked in a breath, attempting to calm your breathing. something about the pain in your head was different, and it stirred a nauseating feeling into your stomach, and you were quick to stand up, which you quickly regretted.

you placed a hand on your head as you slowly made your way to the bathroom. Could it be the flu? maybe...but you felt fine just hours ago! you navigated through your dark house to your bathroom, and just as you passed the threshold of the door, you felt as if something had stuck to your throat.

you coughed, and felt little movement of whatever had wedged its self into it. you coughed a couple more times, and then finally you felt whatever it was in your mouth. it felt weird. smooth. soft. you spit it out into your sink.

Flower petals.

you had heard of this before. Hanahaki, a disease that sparked from unrequited love. Your thoughts traveled to Ren, his smile, his voice, his hair, and a pain found its way to your chest, right above your lungs. You coughed again, the stinging in your throat almost unbearable.

A dream. This had to be a dream.

Tears found there way down your cheeks, and you took in a sharp breath. You felt an anxious pang in your gut, and a saddend cloud fogged your head. You had known Ren didn't feel the same as you, and you had tried to live in ignorance, and force it from your mind. you spent your days pretending, wishing, that what the two of you had was more than friendship, even if he had explicitly told thats all it was.

A dream. You would go to sleep, and everything would be fine, right?

you ventured to your room, stumbling through the dark, but taking care to not wake up the rest of your family.

Weeks passed and it only got worse as time stretched on. The flower petals started to appear in a higher quantity, and with the flower petals came thorns and leaves. Your throat was sore, the white petals stained red from the blood that the thorns had drawn. Sometimes in the middle of the night, you sat in your bathroom coughing and crying, from the pain of a broken heart, and the stinging of your raw throat.

Today you were supposed to meet everyone. You didn't want to go, your throat so sore talking felt like a chore, but you did anyways.

Leblanc, the cafe Ren lived in was where you all met. It was nice, a rustic looking cafe with a warm and inviting enviroment. You hadn't seen everyone in weeks, you had been taking days off school, saying you were sick, or skipping because you couldn't bear to see Ren.

As you sat at the booth, sipping your drink, Ren slid in beside you.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? i've missed my best friend" he said, tossing you a teasing wink. A pang went through your heart, and you blinked hard, nodding your head, humming in response. You felt a heaviness in your chest as well, and you chose to ignore it. You took another sip of your coffee.

"So....I've been thinking...About Ann."

You felt your stomach drop, your chest tightening.

"I might ask her out"

You felt your chest tighten even more. He continued to speak, and you pretended to listen. Your chest continued to tighten....maybe it wasn't tightening because of what he said. You felt a pressure in your throat, a far to farmiliar. You coughed, covering your mouth, and stood up in an instant. Ren stood up beside you, his mouth moving, but you couldn't hear anything he was saying. Your ears were ringing, your throat sore, as you coughed in an attempt to push out the flowers crushing your lunges.

Chaos had erupted within Leblanc, your group of friends rushing to you, patting your back soothingly, and asking if you were ok. Ren had tried to rub your back, urging you to cough, but it had only made it worse and so you pushed him off. Having finally made it to the washroom, you slamed the door behind you and crahsed to the floor, hacking into the toilet. The petals in your throat felt thicker, sticker, and clung to the inside of your throat more than the other ones had. you continued to cough, feeling it sticking and slicing your throat. you coughed harder, some of your friends trying knocking on the door trying to see if you were ok. you ignored them, focusing more on coughing up the petals. You should have known this would happen. Being with Ren, Being near Ren, hearing his voice, everything about him hurt you, and in the end, it had only made this condition of yours worse.

You finally managed to cough it up. You could feel it in your mouth, scraping along your tongue and the roof of your mouth. a Flower. A full flower. Not just petals. You panted as you held it in your hand, staring at the flower, covered in your fresh blood. The knocking on the door and the calling of voices through it grew louder, and you opened your mouth to respond, but your throat had been scratched so much you didn't think you could speak. blood soaked petals clunge to your cheeks, blood dripping from your mouth and onto your lap.

The door burst open, you friends freaking out at your state. Ann came closer, her hand outstretched, but you moved away from her touch, the blood covered flower curshed in your hand, which caught her eye. her face filled with panic as she finally took in your full state, and let out a cry as she saw the blood coming from your face. you pushed yourself into the corner of the bathroom, dropping the flower, and wipping the blood from your face. it wasn't long before an ambulance was called.

Your doctor told you about it, well elaborated on what you already knew. You would cough up flower petals, more and more until it became a full flower. eventually, it would kill you. that was, unless you got it surgically removed. It seemed like the best option, but as usual, there was a price that must be payed. You would forget ever loving him. You would forget ever loving the glow of his eyes in the sun, and the softness of hands. you would forget loving the deepness of his voice, and the brightness of his laugh. It brought tears to your eyes. you had beat yourself up over loving countless times, but never, not once, did you ever want to forget the feeling of loving him.

But maybe it was for the better, Right? To let go, to move on. Maybe it would be better for you, maybe you would grow into a new person. It was a daunting feeling. You weren't sure if you were ready to let go, to face whatever you would have to without him.

People used to tell you that "Where flowers bloom, so does hope". it was something you mother said frequently, actually. you had lived by it for so long, clinging to the saying, telling yourself that if you lived your life by the day you would bloom too, and that hope and happiness would find its way to you.

You weren't so sure you believed that anymore.

[lovedumbandbroke]

A concept in my head that been rolling around a lot:

Hanahaki, but instead of it being triggered by unrequited love, it's triggered because all the love you have for a person turns inwards because you're too afraid to show it.

So it kills you, not because someone doesn't love you back, but because you don't let it out and all that love you have stored, that could grow into something beautiful, turns on you and turns your insides beautiful.

Love is growth, and without any place for it to grow outside, it grows in. If you confess, reciprocated or not, the disease goes away because it's no longer trapped. It gives self-destruction a new meaning.

[cicadaart]

Been drawing nonstop all week but I did it!!

[Edit: but wait, there’s more!]

Bonus without text:

[peachmangopie323]

tw//eyestrain, mild body horror

"What am I to you?"

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗟𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: The Hanahaki Disease is a rare illness where the patient throws up and coughs flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. In order to fully recover from the disease, it's necessary that the one they're in love with fall in love with them too. Or to fall in love with somebody else.

WARNING: Throwing up, blood, stomachaches, lung aches, one-sided love, crying, death talk. PURE ANGST, with a happy ending.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Panting and covered in a thin layer of sweat, Y/N found herself emerging from the whirlwind of bad memories that enveloped her sleep. Her heart hammered in her chest, echoing in the silence of the night. With numb hands, she reached for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in soft yellow light.

Her heart seemed to be squeezed as the images still danced in her mind, an unwanted reminder of the emotional turmoil that consumed her.

In the center of his room, Y/N remembers seeing Chris sitting on his own bed with a relaxed expression. Next to him is another girl, perfect, with long hair and a radiant smile, who seems too comfortable in his presence. Their gaze met briefly with a complicity she knew very well, but at that moment, it cut through her like a sharp blade. His sparkling blue eyes carried a glow of intense love that she understood well because she saw it in her own eyes every time she thought of him.

Y/N closed her eyes tightly, running her trembling fingers through her hair, trying to ground herself when a sensation that was already quite common for her captured her throat. Coughing softly, she felt something strange shifting from her lungs. A heavy sigh escaped her nostrils at the sight of small rose petals cascading onto the fabric of the sheet covering her legs.

The initial feeling of sameness quickly turned into panic as she felt increasingly suffocated. The petals continued to sprout, climbing up her throat like a reverse slide and sliping from her lips between each cough, like a dark warning of an unrequited love that was eating away at her insides.

In a moment of frightening lucidity, she seemed to remind herself that this was just another attack of the dreaded Hanahaki disease. Flower petals, once symbols of beauty and romance, have become signs of a silent curse for Y/N weeks before.

The famous, but so rare illness that haunted the passionate hearts of those who dared to love without restrictions. When a soul found itself consumed by unrequited love, its body rebelled, expelling flowers and petals through painful coughs, a physical testimony to the deep emotional wounds that afflicted the heart.

It was quite hypocritical of the universe to create such a disease that affected those who love. Suffering from unrequited love was already too much, but apparently not enough.

Each cough was an explosion of petals that escaped her slightly bruised lips, dark red blood vibrating against the yellowish light, leaving a messy and disgusting trail. Y/N clenched her hands into fists on her sides, feeling her limbs give involuntary spasms, the flowers gathering on the bed around her more and more.

The strange, distressing sound of coughing echoed through the hallway of her house, cutting through the silence like a cry of distress. Nick, who was staying in the guest room - better known as his own room - wakes up suddenly.

His brain barely had time to register his sleepy mind or what time it was, worry consuming him as soon as his eyes opened, getting up from the bed abruptly. His feet tripped over the pieces of clothing thrown on the floor while his hands rested momentarily on the wall decorated with posters, trying to regain his balance.

The boy runs towards his best friend's room blindly, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He pushes the door open hard, finding the devastating scene. Y/N was above her own bed, curled in on herself, surrounded by a sea of ​​petals, her face contorted in agony.

Without hesitation, Nick approaches, calls for her name escaping his mouth, desperately seeking a way to ease her pain.

"Shh, I'm here, I'm here." Nick whispers softly, kneeling on the floor next to her body and reaching out to gently stroke her back with one of his hands, his other one hovering over the sheets, feeling imposing at the sight of the confusing and unlikely mess of blood. "It's going to be okay, I promise."

With difficulty, Y/N looks up to meet the blue ones looking back at her, her teary eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and gratitude.

"Nick, I don't know what to do anymore..." She murmurs, her voice weak and shaky. Nick smiles tenderly in response, his free hand traveling to her clenched one, grabbing it firmly.

"Let's take one step at a time, okay? First, let's help you calm down." He carefully helps her to her feet, guiding her to the bathroom while whispering words of comfort.

Upon entering the small room, the brunette quickly guides her to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, moving nimbly to turn on the bathtub with warm water, adding a few drops of lavender essential oil that he knows is her favorite, with the intention of helping her body relax.

"Come here." Nick helps her stand again, helping her trembling arms undress her body, keeping it covered only by her underwear. "Let the water soothe you."

He holds her right hand firmly, guiding her until she sinks into the hot water. A sigh scapes Y/N's lips, feeling the heat enveloping her tense limbs as Nick sits on the floor beside the bathtub edge, ready to help her with the necessary.

"You will be okay." Nick whispers gently, watching the girl close her eyes and try to control her coughs.

While he offers her support with a calm aura never seen before in Nicolas Sturniolo, his heart is torn between care for her and a fierce anger toward his own brother that boils inside him, fueled by pain to see her in that state and injustice by what he witnessed every day since Y/N discovered the consequences of her unrequited love.

Nick holds himself back from screaming, from letting his fury consume all the space between them. But even in his silence, the girl could feel the tension emanating from his body, the intensity of his emotions throbbing in the air.

Nick vividly remembered the day he discovered the terrible truth about the Hanahaki disease that afflicted his best friend. He could almost see her anguished expression again, the silent tears that ran down her face as she confessed what a torment her unrequited passion had become. The memory of the revelation echoed in his mind like an incessant echo, mixing with Chris's trembling image.

Nick quickly shook his head, expelling the bad thoughts and feelings, focusing all his attention on the girl in front of him.

After Y/N had calmed down a bit, he helped her out of the tub, wrapping her in a soft towel before guiding her back to the bedroom, where he had her sit on one of her pink puffs, seeking for a comfortable set of sweatshirts, ironically, from Fresh Love in her closet.

"Are you feeling any better?" Nick asks her softly after making sure that her body was already covered in the warm outfit, his eyes observing her figure hugging the wet towel in her arms as if it were a teddy bear.

"A little." Her voice came out hoarse and worn out by the force she exerted when expelling the petals and flowers, feeling her throat scratchy with each breath.

"Come on, let's change the sheets so you can go back to sleep. You need the rest more than ever right now."

Together, they remade the bed, removing the scattered petals and replacing the sheets with fresh, clean ones, where the two lay down together, Y/N gently asking Nick not to leave her alone again.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The next day, Tuesday, after a restless night, Y/N and Nick headed to his house. It was recording day, and the oldest triplet couldn't find the courage to leave her behind. The atmosphere inside the car was tense but comforting. The girl drove cautiously, keeping close attention to the sensations in her body.

Upon climbing the entrance stairs, the two were greeted by the random sounds of a movie that escaped from the television sneakers and the silly fights between Chris and Matt, who were in the living room, thrown comfortably on the soft couch.

The wooden kitchen table was already filled with 21 different drinks that the boys would have to try and blindly guess the brand and flavor for that Wednesday video

YN tried to smile in greeting, but the weight on her chest seemed to suffocate her. A small "hi" escaped her lips, her hands quick to place her purse on the floor, next to the couch, before sitting on the other end of the upholstery, bringing her legs together beneath her body.

As she watched the triplets go over what would be done on the video, her gaze inevitably turned to Chris. Her heart sank as she saw him break into the most radiant smile at the mention of his girlfriend after Matt said something that reminded him of her. Every word that escaped his lips was like an arrow piercing her soul, reminding herself of the cruel reality that he belonged to someone else.

Y/N quickly looked away, trying to hide the anguish that was boiling inside her, but every passionate detail he shared about the other girl only intensified her own silent pain. She found herself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, desperately wishing he could see her while fighting the sadness of knowing that would never happen.

And then it happened. A sudden coughing fit took her by surprise, shaking her body violently. The girl bent her upper body, undoing her intertwined legs and resting the soles of her feet on the floor, panting as the three brothers turned to her with concern. She quickly brought her right hand to her mouth, covering it.

"Is everything okay, YN?" Chris asked, frowning as his eyes ran over her figure.

Y/N tried to smile, but another wave of coughing overcame her. It was as if invisible thorns were piercing her lungs, tearing her from the inside.

"I...I'm fine." The girl muttered, struggling to catch her breath. Her eyes quickly found her palm, blood smeared on her skin, along with small broken petals. She swallowed hard, struggling to control her overflowing emotions. "I think... I need some air." Finally, she confessed, her voice shaking.

Without hesitation, Matt suddenly got up from his seat, walking towards her with agile steps, stopping in front of her body and extending his right hand, offering her help.

"Come with me." The brunette suggested softly, grasping her hand and guiding her out of the room slowly, Chris's confused question about what was happening fading behind their backs.

The two went down to the garage, and despite the pain in her body, Y/N smiled as she stepped foot in the room that was so common, but that meant so much to them. Sunlight filtered between the small windows of the gate, naturally illuminating the space that became small with the van.

Together, they sat on the floor, their backs against the back of the car, the silence comforting as she tried to calm her rapid breathing. Matt remained by her side, offering her silent comfort, his eyes conveying deep empathy, concern, and a hint of something that, despite it being hypocritical of her, Y/N didn't seem to recognize.

"You know..." Matt began, his soft voice breaking through as he fixed his eyes on the gate in front of his outstretched feet. "You could still consider having surgery to remove the flowers."

Y/N nodded slowly, pondering his suggestion.

"I know." She murmured, her voice thick with resignation. "But... I don't know if I can. I don't want to lose our memories."

Matt frowned, his orbs traveling to her side profile, running over every little detail momentarily.

"I understand." He whispered, even if internally, he didn't completely. How could he understand that the love of his life preferred to suffer in an unimaginable way for someone who didn't look at her in the same way that he himself did? "But you know that if you keep going in that way, it will only get worse."

Y/N looked down, tears starting to pool in her eyes. She knew what Matt was talking about.

Hanahaki disease doesn't have many cures, but those that did exist were intense; Having surgery to remove the flowers and, consequently, forget about the love feeling and all the memories that surround it, or having the feeling be reciprocated, or survive with that until your body can't take it anymore.

She knew that if she didn't remove the flowers, she would die. Eventually.

"I know." She admitted, her voice shaking slightly. "But... I can't, Matt. The memories with him, with you two... they mean so much to me. I can't just give them up."

Matt nodded momentarily, his own anguish rising in his chest along with the urge to scream to the seven seas how much he loved her and that he was there to give her the love she deserved.

It was an indescribable pain, witnessing the girl he loved more than anything in the world be consumed by a passion that wasn't towards him, and Matt wished with all his being that he could ease her suffering, even if it meant sacrificing his own heart.

"He's an idiot. For not seeing you, I mean." The brunette muttered, lowering his gaze to the ground between his legs. "He's lucky to have your eyes on him and to receive a love like yours."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N's condition only seemed to worsen, leaving her increasingly weak and vulnerable. Vomiting entire flowers became a frequent occurrence, a constant reminder of her miserable situation.

Now, she was no longer left unsupervised, Matt and Nick taking turns looking after her, despite her complaints and constant fear of becoming a burden.

On a particularly difficult night, she was at their house, in Matt's room, where she would sleep since Nick needed to edit the last Cut The Camera podcast.

The sound of loud laughter came from the living room next to the small hall that led to where she was; Chris and his girlfriend were playing some video game on the television. The sound was like a knife to the heart, and Y/N couldn't help but curl up beneath the thick duvet, feeling a wave of nausea and despair approaching her.

Matt, who was sitting in his gaming chair while answering some emails on his computer, soon realized her imminent agony, rising from the chair abruptly as violent coughs echoed through the walls of his room.

"Hey, hey, I'm here." Matt crouched on the floor next to her body, murmuring softly. His blue eyes ran over her fragile figure while his hand quickly found home on her back, massaging the covered skin.

Carefully, Matt pulled the duvet down her body, straightening his posture and picking her up in his arms, quickly carrying her into his bathroom. The boy helped her sit on the edge of his bathtub comfortably, with her face above the open toilet.

The boy gathered the loose strands of her hair into a loose ponytail secured by his right hand. He grabbed the washcloth from the sink, dipping it into the running water of the tap before pressing the wet fabric over her forehead.

"That's it, let it all out, sweetheart." He whispered, his voice soft like a comforting breeze.

His blue eyes squeezed shut as the sound of a loud sob followed one of her coughs, his own eyes filling with tears. Matt caught his bottom lip between his teeth in a death grip, swallowing back his sobs.

As the coughs slowly subsided, Y/N felt relief seep into her being, small sniffling escaping her nose while thin tears ran down her reddened cheeks, a deep sense of tiredness taking over her body. She felt completely exhausted.

"Are you feeling like throwing up again?" Matt asked gently, stroking her shoulders with his free hand, receiving a small shake of head in return. "Okay, do you want to go back to bed?"

"I... I don't want to get the sheets dirty if... If another crisis comes." She murmured, her voice weak and tired.

Matt nodded understandingly, a gleam of determination in his eyes. He quickly reached out with his hand that was previously on her back, pressing the flush and closing the toilet lid.

"You're okay." The boy whispered, his voice soft like a comforting breeze. "Come here."

He settled on the cold bathroom floor, resting his back against the freezing walls. Matt gently pulled her to sit next to him, his arms wrapping around her shoulders in a protective hug.

Y/N leaned against him, laying her head on his right shoulder and looping her arms weakly around his torso, feeling the comforting warmth of his body against hers. Their hearts beat in unison, sharing the weight of their worries, fears, and loves.

"Sleep, honey. I'll be right here when you wake up." He murmured softly in her ear, his words echoing almost as a promise of comfort and safety.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to close her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the feeling of peace that Matt's arms gave her, which she never felt anywhere else. Her breathing began to get lighter, indicating that sleep was finally approaching.

With a heart heavy with love, Matt gently leaned his head over hers, his lips delicately brushing her hair as he whispered words of love in the silence of the bathroom, believing that the girl was sleeping.

"If you only knew how much I could love you the way you deserve..." He murmured in a soft, loving tone. "I love you more than anything in this world, and I promise to take care of you forever, even when you are not aware of it."

The girl was slightly startled when she heard the words, her heart beating wildly in her chest and surprise flooding her mind. She expected everything but that. However, she remained quiet, savoring the comforting warmth of his arms and words, which unconsciously touched her heart in a different way. A good way.

Maybe the universe had better things for them.

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[faetima]

THE AVEN + HANAHAKI THING YESSS I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS FOR SO LONG BECAUSE LIKE. I know it's always super angsty when it's the reader that gets hanahaki but rine having it. imagine pushing your s/o away because you don't think you can do a relationship rn just to get hit by the stupid idiot in love disease. damn sucks to be you man

(tbh hanahaki as fun as the angst is I love aventurine so much and usually just alter hanahaki to be like less deadly because a) I DONT WANT TO BE SAD and b) the whole guilt of "I developed hanahaki because of you now love me or I WILL die" feels strange to me)(but also yum angst and the consequences of pushing someone away) ((sorry I talk a lot teehee okay bye))

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. .

. . too bad he wasn't your darling anymore.

// tws ; slight cursing, blood ; gn reader ; modern au, hanahaki au 

a/n: finally wrote the aventurine exes hanahaki au lol ,, had no idea how to finish this but i might make a part 2 !! :3

ever since you had started dating aventurine, you felt like you were a burden to him in some way. but you were never sure if you were actually a burden to him, or if that was your mind playing tricks on you.

but last week had just solidified your beliefs.

you both had fought over something petty--you couldn't be bothered to remember what it was--and harsh words had been thrown around in the process.

words that cut deep into you, practically making you bleed out.

and after that?

aventurine had ignored you for the rest of the entire week. he hadn't even glanced in your direction. it was fine if he needed some space to think, but he didn't even tell you, he just started fucking ignoring you.

your efforts to talk to him had just been met by blank uninterested violet eyes.

everything that happened in the last week had all led up to yesterday.

you stood in front of his door, swallowing your nerves. why were you so nervous?

after everything that happened, everything you felt, everything he said, you didn't think you could handle a relationship at that point.

so, when aventurine answered the door, his blonde hair unruly and lavender eyes tired, you took a deep breath and finally said the words you had been so scared of saying.

"i want to break up."

--

now, you were rethinking your decision.

on one hand, it felt like a large weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

on the other hand, breaking up with him had left you in your current predicament: crouched on the cold tiled floor of your apartment, hurling up bright yellow marigolds. you coughed them up, unwillingly watching as they hit your newly polished floor. they hit the ground ungracefully, clumped together with a disgusting mixture of mucus and blood. you gagged on the flowers as the sickly sweet smell of the marigolds hit you, making you feel lightheaded and sick to your stomach.

you didn't think you would get the disease again after aventurine asked you out.

you had it once, albeit briefly. it was before you had even talked to aventurine, too scared to do so. maybe it had been your shyness, or maybe you were just scared of rejection. you weren't too sure which, but it had caused you to cough out a few lemon yellow petals.

but, as quickly as the disease had started, it had ended. aventurine talked to you and started getting close to you, and your hanahaki had eventually diminished into nothing. after that, you thought it would never start again.

but you guessed you were wrong, since the disease decided to plague you.

marigold petals--slick with mucus--fell out your mouth as you coughed your lungs out. they fell almost gracefully onto the small flower pile.

you took fast and shaky breaths, collapsing. you were too exhausted to move, the hanahaki sucking all the life out of you.

--

it had been a week now, and the disease had just gotten worse. at this rate, it would only take a month or two until you suffocated on the fucking marigolds.

you could talk to aventurine, but he would probably just ignore you again.

you could get the surgery, but you would rather die than forget aventurine. you still loved him.

at this point, you couldn't do anything but hope that the disease would just somehow go away.

--

aventurine was growing increasingly worried as the days passed.

he hadn't seen you at all after you had broken up. sure, that was normal, but his gut told him something was wrong.

horrible thoughts of what could've happened to you plagued his mind, and he couldn't take it anymore.

he grabbed his keys, his coat, and headed towards your apartment.

maybe it was an invasion of privacy, but even your friends felt as if something were terribly wrong. he'd just check on you once, and never speak to you again. you'd be okay with that, right?

--

aventurine had knocked about a dozen times by now, but had received no answer.

he swallowed. he still had a spare key to your apartment, but what if you didn't want him to come in? what if you were just busy? what if he was breaching your privacy?

he took a shaky inhale.

fuck it.

--

he stepped inside your apartment, and was hit by the extremely potent smell of marigolds.

he glanced around, and froze at what he saw.

[pampushky]

Disk Florets

Roronoa Zoro/Reader - angst, hurt/comfort - 4k

ao3 link | masterlist

Roronoa Zoro is an idiot. That much is obvious, and a well known fact. He is incredibly well versed in battle, able to adapt and think on his toes, one of the finest warriors to ever live, in this life and the next. He is a strategist, through and through, able to turn any losing situation into a win for himself and his crew. He is confident, training day in and day out, a marvel of what pure human strength and determination can conquer.

But he is an idiot. Especially around you

Roronoa Zoro is an idiot. That much is obvious, and a well-known fact. He is incredibly well versed in battle, able to adapt and think on his toes, and one of the finest warriors to ever live, in this life and the next. He is a strategist, through and through, able to turn any losing situation into a win for himself and his crew. He is confident, training day in and day out, a marvel of what pure human strength and determination can conquer. 

But he is an idiot. Especially around you. He stumbles on his words, even when you’re not even talking, only standing a few feet away, watching whatever nonsense Luffy has started on about, eyes always so observant. Whenever you do speak, he listens, and he listens well. Your voice is firm, but soft, stating nothing but facts in a dry, humorous tone, delivered straight to his door with your sharp tongue. You had made a joke at his expense once, during dinner— something about how his lack of brain was made up for in his rather impressive chest— and he had broken the glass he was holding, blushing rather violently, his drink exploding onto himself and the table as you very slowly closed your mouth, looking at where his cup had been, and then looking straight at his face, before saying, in the kindest sarcasm he has ever been blessed with hearing, “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Roronoa.”

Oh, and he lives for those backhanded compliments from you. He would crawl on his hands and knees, groveling at your feet for you to even speak to him, but the way you compliment him, in such a cruel way? Slut shame him all you want— Zoro knows that’s the closest he’s ever going to get to you lavishing praise upon him. And it’s pathetic, he knows, the way he worships the ground you walk upon when you’re so clearly taken. 

He’s not oblivious to the way you and Sanji interact. How the cook can draw a bright, blinding grin onto your face with the smallest of gestures. How gentle he treats you, draping his jacket over your shoulders when you so much as a shiver, and how dedicated the two of you are to each other. It’s… honestly, a bit inspirational, to see you two together. Granted, you’re never holding hands or anything, and Zoro’s never seen you so much as kiss, but he knows how people act when they’re in love. He may not be the smartest man on the seas, but he can add two and two together to make four. You and Sanji are meant to be, written in the stars. You’ve come through on top from so many trials and tribulations, proving your loyalty to the crew time and time again, more than any of them, your dream being threatened at one point, should you stay with them, and dammit, you still found a way to make it work, spitting up blood and declaring your loyalty to Luffy with a sword to your neck, ready to die even if it meant you would never see your dream come to fruition.

It had been Sanji, who held out his hand to welcome you back, not Zoro. So, he’s settled into his peace. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance against the cook, however much he loathes the fact that he talks so frivolously to other people while he has you. But, Sanji knows you better than Zoro. Has fought more battles with you than him, and you work perfectly in sync with each other. There is no competition when Zoro loses the moment it starts, so why even try?

He bottles up his feelings for you in his sake and training. Lets you make your dry comments, and watches you from afar, as Sanji brings you snacks as you dig through some articles, looking for some clue as to their next move, leaning over your shoulder and pointing at something you missed. Because one day, he’ll die, and those emotions will die with him, and he will never have to see how you react to them. He won’t have to fear rejection, because he knows he’s not strong enough to hear you turn him down. 

Naturally, he does get a bit worried when you catch a cough. It sounds bad, and they had just passed a winter island, so he assumes you’ve caught a rather nasty cold, and he gruffly instructs you to see Chopper as soon as you’re done with your chores for the day. You roll your eyes at him, giving him a sarcastic, “ Yes, Vice-Captain.” As you continue to roll extra barrels of fresh water into the storage room, back turned to him as he watches for just a few more seconds, before walking off, needing to complete his tasks. 

He doesn’t hear you cough again for about a week when he asks Chopper in passing if he has given you some medication to help with your cough. The doctor looks at him in confusion. 

“But… I never even talked about a cough with them,” Chopper strokes his chin with his hoof, insisting that you had not come to see him at all that week, and it seemed like you had been actively avoiding him. Zoro lets out an annoyed tch and thanks Chopper anyway. He is stupid, but he’s at least kind sometimes, especially to Chopper.

He keeps his ears peeled for any sounds of coughing for the rest of the day, lazily patrolling the ship instead of napping like he normally would. That’s when he hears it. The cough. It sounds like it’s gotten worse, now actively with retching and hacking added into it. He can hear you gag, along with a small groan of pain. You’re nestled between some crates and a barrel, shoulders shaking as you cough into your fist, trying to silence yourself as you hear footsteps approaching. Zoro stops and holds still for two whole minutes, and that’s when you start again, the cough ugly and wet, with hiccups in between, as if you’re actively puking. A final, wet splat hits the ground, and that’s when Zoro can’t take it anymore, striding over, a bit frightened that you’re still coughing so violently. 

What he sees makes him stumble a bit. You look so small, curled up in the fetal position and shaking in pain. Tears are pricking your eyes, and blood is trickling from your lips. In front of you, lying on its side, the stem thick and covered in phlegm and blood is a sunflower, deceivingly cheerful and massive. It must be a mammoth, the largest of the many varieties, and it’s a wonder it even made its way out of your mouth without ripping your skin as it pushed its way past your teeth, and through your lips. You let out a small moan, trying to shift away from Zoro’s view, tears now falling freely as you lay on the floor. Small sobs rattle from your chest, and it breaks his heart to see you this way, it feels damn near violating to witness you in such a state.

The petals, a vibrant gold, have blood splattered on them. Smaller, un-bloomed buds are scattered around it, none of their stems quite as thick or as healthy looking as the bloom, though. It makes him panic, his breathing growing erratic as he gets down on his knees, and you whimper. He’s never seen you like this. You’re always so cool, so collected, the level-headed member of the crew that holds back Luffy’s impulsivity. But now, you’re trembling at his touch, letting out a yelp as his fingers brush your skin as if you’ve been burned. You’re so, so small, he realizes. He’d never seen you as that, even if you were shorter than him. Your attitude was larger than life, how could you ever be so small now?

You let out another weak moan, and he pulls you closer, gently hushing your attempts to slip from his arms as he stands, nearly sprinting up the stairs to get you to Chopper. For the first time in a long time, Zoro is scared. He is utterly terrified he is going to lose you, or at least the idea of you that lives in his mind, in his heart. He wonders how this could happen to you— how Sanji could let this happen to you— and his stomach bubbles with red, hot rage. 

How could Sanji not love you? You were funny, you were witty— you were the smartest fucking person on the crew! You were a brilliant strategist and investigator, working side by side with Robin, delving into the mysteries of the Ponegylphs and so much more, able to bargain with just about anyone, in any situation, and still give the impression that no matter how stacked the odds are against you, you have cashed in all your chips, with no intent to lose. You were, in Zoro’s eyes, an ethereal creature, more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen, and he would lay down his life, ten times over, dying in agony again and again, if it meant you would so much as smile his way. He would die at the altar of your love if it meant there was so much as a chance you could return those feelings for him, and love him just as desperately as he loves you. You take another rattling breath in, letting out a cry of pain as another bout of coughs racks your chest, the precipice of another bloom starting to crown out of your mouth, the flower, with sharp disk florets forcing its way out, as the stem pushes its way up your throat. Zoro watches the flower bloom as he takes the first step above deck, the flower and stem fall from your mouth as you wail in pain when he's so close to the infirmary.

He shouts for Chopper, and the reindeer is already there, the crew crowding around Zoro as he holds you, wide-eyed and looking down at your trembling form. He can hear Nami gasp, uttering the names of the various gods that once watched over the world as he rushes you to the infirmary. Sanji is by your side in a heartbeat, panicked, shouting your name and clutching your hand. And he looks utterly disgusted that Zoro is the one carrying you, shoving him away the moment you’re laid on the cot, forcing him from the room with a flurry of kicks. And Zoro, stupidly, lets him, too scared, too deep into the shock of just how much pain you must have been in, to even fight back against the cook who he thinks might be causing it. 

Because Zoro is an idiot, and he is helplessly in love with you, and he wishes he was the one with sunflowers choking him, constricting his lungs, and crushing his heart with their roots. But the world is cruel, so endlessly cruel, and it’s you who is suffering.

Chopper solemnly informs the crew he’s helped you stabilize, but that it doesn’t look good. The roots are so strong, so ingrained in your lungs, that you may have a week to live, at most. Zoro breaks at that, collapsing to his knees, catatonic. And that’s when something inside Sanji finally snaps, and he lands a solid kick against Zoro’s head.

Who is this man, this pig-headed, muscled idiot, to act so devastated when he is the reason you’re like this? Sanji remembers when you first confided in him, two years ago, as they sat on Thriller Bark, about your love for the swordsman, watching over him in his unconscious state. 

“He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” you laugh at yourself, shaking your head, a blush dusting your cheeks as your closest friend gapes at you. “What’s that look for?”

“Roronoa Zoro. Marimo. The swordsman. Mossy Hair,” Sanji repeats, “Is one of the smartest people you’ve ever met?”

“He is!” You insist stubbornly. “He’s a menace in battle, Sanj, you’re just too prideful to admit it. I’ve never seen anyone, besides yourself, come even close to thinking as quickly on their feet as he does! The calculations he must do in his mind, it’s amazing!”

Sanji listens to you gush over Zoro, smiling as he realizes how deeply you’ve fallen for the man. And why shouldn’t he? You deserve a chance to be happy, especially with someone you so clearly view as your equal. But that joy fades, after meeting up in Sabody again. You’re still you, clever and quick as ever, but something’s changed. 

Sanji finds out you’re sick when you leave Fishman Island. He finds you late one night bending over the kitchen sink, hand covering your mouth as you struggle to keep petals from spilling past your lips. His heart breaks when you look at him with a watery smile, blood staining your lips red, and small buds and petals falling into the sink as you move your hand away.

“Guess he doesn’t like me back,” you try to laugh, though tears are running down your cheeks as you say this. Sanji can only hold you as you cry into his arms, trembling in grief and pain.

Zoro looks up at him, enraged when Sanji goes to kick him again. He blocks the blow with one of his arms, shaking from the impact.

“You have no right,” Sanji’s voice trembles when he’s pushed away, breathing hard, seeing red. “You have no right to act this way!”

Zoro lets out an angry cry, tackling Sanji and hitting him to the ground. “You’re the reason!” Zoro roars, bringing a fist down where Sanji’s face is, fully intending to kill. The cook moves his head, and Zoro’s fist gets stuck in the deck. “I saw the flowers! Do you know how painful that must have been?! How dare you say I have no right to be angry when you’re the reason the flowers are there! ” Zoro rips his hand from the deck, not caring that he’s bleeding.

“How dare I?” Sanji seethes, looking up at the swordsman in rage, “Do you even know what you're talking about?!”

“I know enough to know that you’re a fucking playboy! ” Zoro gets kicked off by Sanji, who gets up, and they start to circle each other. “You’ve led countless people on, proclaiming your love for them and moving into the next, never thinking your actions will have consequences,” Zoro sneers, hands tightening into fists, before murmuring your name, closing his eyes briefly. “Do you know how I fucking found—”

“I don’t care how you found out, not when you’re the reason someone’s dying in the first place!” Sanji finally screams, a flaming kick slamming into Zoro’s chest, sending him into the railing. The wood groans underneath him, and Zoro looks up at the cook, picked up by his collar and pulled against his face. Angry blue eyes look deep into his. 

“It’s so painful, how deeply someone can be in love with you this entire time and you just brush off everything like it’s nothing!”  Sanji screams, throwing him down, breathing ragged as it finally dawns on him what’s happened, holding his head in his hands.

“Roronoa Zoro, you are a fucking idiot .”

Zoro’s breathing stops, his eyes wide. The crew is silent around him, tense from what just happened. Zoro blinks once. Twice. And then he gets up, crossing the deck in three strides to get to the infirmary, leaving the entire crew in stunned silence as the door swings open then shut, open then shut, and finally closes, as the Straw Hats all stand around in shock.

You’re so hopped up on painkillers that you think Zoro walking into the infirmary is a hallucination. Because you actively smile at him, small and gentle, hands folding on your stomach, in your shitty paper gown, heart rate monitor beeping gently in the background as he makes his way to your bedside, staring down at you in what can only be described as utter pain. 

“It’s not so bad,” You hum, leaning back on your pillow, and Zoro’s breath actively shudders when he sees the outline of some of the roots in your skin, bumping out. “I won’t feel it, anyway. Chopper says I’ll be out when I do go.”

“You won’t,” Zoro insists fiercely, taking your hand. It makes your breath hitch, a dark blush coming to your cheeks. “Oh, gods, how could I let this happen—”

“S’not your fault,” you laugh, a few tears slipping down your cheeks, and you smile at him again, full of regret for making him feel guilty. Even if it’s not reciprocated, you love him. And you don’t want to hurt him, even as you lay on the verge of death. “You can’t help it.”

“But I can,” He looks at you, devastated, slumping over, holding your hand to his forehead. His voice shudders, and he wishes so desperately that things were different. And that his insistence that you would never feel the same hadn’t turned into this, for you. “I— I can’t, I can’t do this without you.”

You only hum, taking your hand from his grip and running your thumb over his cheekbone, wiping away his tears with a small smile. This must be some hallucination, brought on by the drugs. Zoro was cold to you, avoidant, and blunt. Oh, what cruel tricks the mind can play when your organs are shutting down. “Hey, no tears,” you chide, and Zoro lets out a wet, heartbreaking sob, holding your hand to his face so delicately. “You’re smart, You’ll be able to adapt without me. It’s okay—”

“It’s not! ” He finally snaps, falling to his knees and clasping your hand tightly, crying freely as you look down at him in confusion. “I have loved you, for so, so, long, and this isn’t fair !” He looks up at you, gasping for air, “I love you!”

You look at him. He looks at you. You’re shaking, trying your best to push yourself up and he panics, standing up in an instant, trying to gently get you to lay back down. But you’re stubborn, gods, he loves that you’re so stubborn, and you’re fighting against him, tears on your cheeks growing fatter as you look up at him in terror, realizing this isn’t a hallucination.

“You’re joking,” And Zoro wants to die at how afraid you sound. So, so afraid, thinking that he’s playing with you, toying with your emotions like he’s playing with a meal. Because you are the last thing he would ever joke about, and he can’t imagine a world without you in it, somewhere around him, so long as you are near him, he can breathe easier. “You’re playing some cruel joke on me.”

“Never,” he chokes on a sob, wishing so, so desperately he could wipe the tears from your face as you had done for him. “Gods above and below, I swear that I love you. That I have always loved you,” he starts to cry harder, gasping between his sentences and sobs, “And that I’m a fucking idiot, who cannot live without you.”

You stare down at him, looking at the way he refuses to meet your eyes, slumped and crying against your stomach, hands clasped over yours as if in prayer. 

“You love me?” You sound breathless. 

“I love you,” He looks up at you, eyes red and puffy, so uncharacteristic of him, “Please,” he begs, a shaking hand reaching up to touch your cheek, as if he's afraid you’ll crumble under his touch, “Please don’t leave me.”

You let his hand touch your cheek, placing your own on top of it. It is times like this, that you wish your wit didn’t leave you the moment anxiety prickled your skin. You tremble like a leaf in the wind under him, so much smaller, so delicate in your current state as he looks down at you, dwarfing you in every way. His tears burn you, hot and stinging as they fall on your gown, and you feel like you’ve been stripped barren before him, left out in the cold, fully exposed with all of your dirty secrets on display for him to judge.

Yet he doesn’t. Zoro holds you, carefully setting himself on the cot, and cradles you in his arms, shaking when you lay against his chest and cry out, hot tears falling against his scar. He holds you so tenderly as if you are the most precious artifact in the world to him, scared that he will break you, somehow even more than he already has. Guilt weighs heavy on his mind, as you whimper into his chest, his tears still falling as he looks down at you in wonder. You love him. So desperately that the thought of unrequited love, accidentally planted by his careless actions, bloomed into a flower that had nearly killed you, leaving you just a few days from death. 

How will you ever forgive him? He did this to you, caused you pain for gods know how long, before he found you just two hours earlier, shying away from his touch as if he were a demon of hell— which he may as well be, with what he has done to you— to now, held against him, sobbing. 

He thinks of the flowers he found you with. The one that had bloomed as he carried you. How long have you suffered? Had you lain awake at night, crying because of him? Coughing up blood and petals and seeds, because of his cold demeanor? And why couldn’t the gods have done it to him, instead? Why were they so cruel to make you bear all of this on your own, to suffer because of his sins? He looks down at you, how you shake as if you’re afraid this is all going to fade, and a deep pain fills his chest. It is nothing, he thinks bitterly to himself, as he holds you tighter, one hand cupping your head, It is nothing compared to what I have done to you. 

He lets out a low, mournful cry, and you look up at him, startled. 

“How can you love me, after this?” He looks down at you, at your form, noticing how sickly you have become, the thinness of your wrists, and the dullness of your hair. “I’ve hurt you, so terribly...”

“You didn’t know,” you lift a hand to his face, and he bows his head to make it easier for you, going so low that your noses touch. He closes his eyes when both of your hands touch his cheeks, he lets out a small groan from the back of his throat. “You didn’t know.”

“I should have,” he insists, opening his eyes, and looking straight into yours, “I worshiped the ground you walked on. Every word you spoke I hung off of. I should have noticed, it was my duty.”

“Y’here now,” you manage to smile, and it makes his heart break all over again. He should have been there from the start. He could have protected you, stopped the pain before it even started, and he whines at how you still fall into a fit of coughs, though no blooms come up, only a few, wilted petals. Carefully, he tucks you into his jacket, stroking the back of your head until you fall asleep in his arms, held against his chest, quite possibly one of the safest places in the world.

“I will not leave,” he hoists you up, cradling you, and taking you out the door, “I am yours, for as long as you will have me.”

The crew looks at the both of you. Zoro looks regretfully at Sanji, whose steely gaze meets his own, and for the first time in his life, he backs down from it, only holding you closer, before making his way up to his quarters, nestling you safely in his bed, and curling around you, holding you to his chest as he presses his first kiss, of hopefully many throughout his life, to your forehead, his heart fluttering as you mumble out a quiet, “ Love you, Roro..” and cuddle closer to his chest as his hands fall naturally on the back of your head and lower back. 

Roronoa Zoro is an idiot. But he would gladly rip his heart from his chest and hand it to you, still beating, if he could get you to smile.

[writingrock]

petals of longing

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral) summary: after spending time with bakugou, you couldn't help but make the dire mistake of falling in love with him.

notes: angst, unrequited love, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, college! katsuki bakugou, rejection

word count: 2.2k

a/n: I lied, I have more angst in my drafts.

edit: there's a continuation here

Has he ever noticed you?

After listening to Bakugou talk about training for the past hour, you couldn’t help but rethink about your presence in his life. The two of you are in his dorm room, having another one of those late night conversations. You weren’t sure when but having late nights together became normal.

It didn’t matter whose room or what the conversations were. The only thing that mattered was that it had to only be the two of you. At first, it started off as night study sessions but it devolved into something more casual.

The two of you got close by chance. It all started with some assignment where the two of you happened to be paired up. From the beginning of the project, he had displayed his frustration to be paired with you. Something about being paired with ‘some extra’. You paid no mind to his comments and essentially forced him to comply with you.

Bakugou did eventually get used to you. Working with you was effortless. Not like he'd ever admit that. He liked working with someone who cared like you. It was refreshing to see someone match his hardworking nature. There were late nights and countless revisions over this project. It was tiring. You could recall how badly you wanted to yank your eyeballs out during certain nights.

But the two of you kept encouraging the other, keeping each other alive and motivated. Bakugou always specifically made sure you were eating. To the point where he cooked for you during those study sessions. It was always paired with his long spiel about how important it is to take care of your body. Ironic, considering the number of sleepless nights the two of you shared over this project.

But it was all worth it when the assignment returned highly-graded. The look on Bakugou’s face when he read the commendations from the professor was memorable. Pure satisfaction. These two words describe his expression perfectly. The way his eyes gleamed with a sense of achievement when he read the professor’s comments.

You’d never seen such a proud grin stretched on his face. “We make a pretty good team.” he remarked as he admired the result displayed on your laptop’s screen. You should have realised then that you saw him differently. Whilst his eyes remained glued to the screen, yours were admiring him.

You thought that would be the last you’d see of Katsuki Bakugou. That the two of you would return to being strangers after the project. Afterall, he wasn’t ecstatic in being your project partner initially. To your surprise, Bakugou started hanging around you. In subtle ways of course. It started with small texts about lectures— asking about deadlines, exchanging notes and arranging study sessions.

At first, you didn’t think much about it and figured it was beneficial to both parties to become study partners. But it slowly became more than that when he started inviting you to do stuff with him. Accompanying him to the grocery store because he needed help with the groceries. Making you watch him cook so you could learn and try his new recipe. Then eating with him because he made too much.

Before you knew it, the two of you became friends. A friendship that most did not expect and even questioned. Spending time with him brought the two of you closer. Peeling back the layers of Bakugou and uncovering the nuances that uniquely made him who he is. Learning easy details about him like his favourite foods and hobbies. Occasionally, you'd hear snippits of his deeper thoughts if he'd allow.

You even got used to his insults, forming witty comebacks in response to them. It stunned him when you fired back at his words for the first time. Resulting in endless banter you deal with daily. His brash exterior you once deemed unnecessarily aggressive became something you understood. The closer you got, the softer he became. However, with that came a flower.

A tulip.

A blood-stained, pink tulip that you retched out one night. You jolted awake one night, gasping desperately for air. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps as the coughing fit intensified, each spasm more forceful than the last. Did you get sick? Another violent cough wracked your body. No, this is definitely something else. Fear gripped your heart when you realised how clogged your throat felt. The panic you felt that night was unmatched to anything you’ve ever experienced. Throwing the covers off your body, your mind raced for answers. The air felt thick, suffocating, as you stumbled out of bed. You barely made it to the bathroom, the cold tile floor sending a shock through your bare feet. What was happening to you?

Falling to your knees in front of the sink, your reflection in the mirror blurred by the tears welling up in your eyes. Your heart pounded hard against your chest. With a final, desperate heave, the mystery lodged in your throat finally gave way. You doubled over the sink, feeling something solid and foreign in your mouth. Trembling, you opened your lips, and a delicate pink tulip fell into the sink, its petals slightly crushed but unmistakably beautiful. The vibrant colour stood out starkly against the white porcelain, its soft edges smeared with the faintest trace of blood. A cold wave of realisation settled in your gut like a stone. You have it don’t you. You weakly draw a slow breath. Hanahaki disease—the tragic, unspoken affliction of the lovelorn. A disease born from unrequited love.

You just had to fall in love with him.

The tulip in your hand was just the beginning, the first bloom of many. And as you stared at its delicate beauty, you felt the bitter sting of irony—the same love that had once filled your heart with warmth and hope was now destined to consume you, one petal at a time.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ pink ] - caring, attachment, happiness

Has he ever noticed you? Did he notice the times you’ve hurriedly excused yourself to throw up these plague of flowers? How much weaker have you been? Or even the trail of pink petals you leave behind? Your eyes find him leaning against the bed frame, scrolling on his phone. Oblivious to your suffering. How you wish you could be blissfully ignorant too. It’s been a month since you learnt of your condition. You’ve tirelessly tried to fall out of love with Bakugou. Avoiding the areas he frequents and making lame excuses that you can’t see him. Texting him less and telling yourself that he’s just some asshole. He’s not even that good looking. Right? His deep, rumbley voice isn’t attractive at all. Bakugou’s voice belongs to an old man who eats cigarettes. Plus, his attitude sucks. There's absolutely no reason for you to love him.

Oh, but… one look at him and it all crumbles down. His eyes, fierce and crimson, are like molten embers—burning with a relentless fire that you’ve always admired. Those wild locks you love to run your hands through. His chaotic crown of ash-blond spikes that comedically defy gravity. It frames his face in a way that accentuates his sharp features. Specifically his irritatingly perfect, sculpted jawline. And, of course, his voice never did sound like a senile smoker. You’ve always found his gravelly undertone to be hot. His looks weren't the only thing that made you gravitate to him. The air around him crackles with raw energy and confidence. He's strong-willed and fierce, he's unforgettable. You want to be by his side and watch him achieve his ambitions. Aside from all that, it's how soft he becomes when it's just the two of you. No matter how much you told yourself you didn’t love him, he only needed to appear for your heart to race. Lying to yourself was useless.

Deep in your lungs, you could feel a tightness that’s been building for weeks. You knew it was getting worse yet you refused to confess. But this curse wasn’t going to give you time. It hits you hard. You catch on quickly that this flowery misfortune is flaring up now. With you sat on the floor of his dorm. The pain in your chest intensifies, a sharp, burning sensation that spreads to your throat. Your stomach twists with anxiety and fear, but beneath it all, there’s a quiet, desperate hope. It dawns on you that you are unable to keep your secret for much longer. You have to tell him now. It doesn’t take long for Bakugou to take notice of your pain. Alarmed, he goes to your side, putting his hand on your back.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t look too good.” His voice carries a gentle warmth, confused with the sudden change from you. Softly, he rubs circles on your back in an attempt to soothe you. Unfortunately for you, his concern only makes the tightness worsen.

“Katsuki, I have to tell you something– ” Your voice trembles as you utter those words. You’re barely holding it together from the twisted pain. Just as you take one shaky breath, a cough forces its way through. A red petal lips past your lips, falling to the floor. The petal alone being the confession you were meant to voice. You press your hand over your mouth, letting out a sob.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ red ] - declaration of love, true love, eternal love, romantic love, believe me

“I… love you Katsuki. I’ve always loved you.” The words come out in a rush, each one a painful release. “From that moment we got assigned together, you’ve taken my heart.” You can’t stop the tears now; they spill over, sliding down your reddened cheeks. Each breath you take brings another cough, another handful of those red petals, each one soaked in the essence of your clandestine love. The petals start to fall faster now, flooding the floor with these red tulips.

Bakugou is frozen in place. His widened eyes stuck onto the floor that is now scattered with red petals and tulips. The moment that petal flew out, he knew what you’ve been suffering with. Reluctantly, he turns to look at you. “You…” What does he even say in this moment? Words lose him as his mind races for a solution for this whole situation. Something has to ease your pain. Is there a cure for this unforgiving disease? Bakugou knows himself and the reality of this situation. The cold, harsh reality is that he doesn’t love you. His features harden as he grits his teeth, swallowing hard. “You… hopeless idiot. Fucking hell.” Is all he manages to say. He can’t bring himself to crush you with the raw truth. His lips twist into a scowl. Why did you fall in love with him? Why did you make the mistake of loving him? You absolute fool.

“I never wanted you to fall for me.” he wished to say.

He doesn’t need to say it. Another flurry of petals erupt from your mouth. These red tulips are stained with blood. The fluid sticking on them in sickly sweet fashion. His hesitancy is the only answer you need. His silence speaks volumes. Bakugou does not love you. Your heart sinks as you find the courage to face him. To take one look at the handsome face you’ve grown to love. However with one look, you regret ever catching a glimpse of him. That detached, impassionate expression of his shattered your heart. How could he look at you with such indifference as you regurgitate your declaration of love. You didn’t blame him for not feeling the same way. But the way he looks at you makes you feel sick. You couldn't accept how he's looking at your pain as if it were meaningless.

He looks at you like you’re nothing to him.

“Look.” With your remaining strength, you fist up a bundle of these petals. Shoving them in front of his distant gaze. You wanted him to see them, the raw consequences of your love for him. Red petals, dripping in red secretions in your grasp. Blood dripping from your fingers to the floor. “I am literally head over heels for you,” You spat, a few more petals leaving your mouth. Facing his glare with your own. It’s hard to speak but you need to. You need to scream at him. Did all of your memories with him mean nothing? To look at you with such an apathetic expression hurts you more than this wretched disease. There never was a chance for the two of you.

“But here you are,” You scoff as you lower your hand. Letting the petals sink to the floor. You should have known better. He's right. You're just a pathetic fool. A fool that can't even bring herself to hate him even now. “indifferent to everything that I’m feeling.” A full bulb of a tulip tumbles from your mouth. The final, yellow tulip lands silently by their feet. Your heart sinks, and the pain in your chest doesn’t disappear. Why does your quivering heart still beat with such passion for him? The yellow tulip stands alone, its petals vibrant and golden, glowing softly in the light. Blood clinging onto its velvety surface and seeping into the grooves of the petals. Everything dissipates, you only feel despondent.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ yellow ] - brightness, sunshine, hopeless love, unrequited love

You pull away from his embrace, accepting the rejection. Wobbling as you rise to your feet and turn to the door. Bakugou tries to reach for you, trying to find the right words. You don’t entertain him, swatting his hand away as you shake your head. Turning to the door before he could catch sight of the fresh tears in your eyes. You walk out the door with heavy steps and an aching heart. Now with every breath, flowers bloom within you to remind you of a love that will never be reciprocated. Your unrequited love.

a/n: just something quick because my brain was rotting. I don't offer free therapy on my blog, sorry :) @chocogoldie

In case you needed me to say it, hanatokoba is japanese flower language.

Reader's last words are from the angst prompts over at @me-writes-prompts !!!

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Hanahaki comic part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Ah well they got their feelings out... now they should really have a long talk.

Sun and Moons flowers are still growing eventhough they confessed.. curious huh?

Well and the daycare is just fully trashed after their freak out... luckily y/n found them at the tail end of it or this could have gotten an absolutly heartbreaking route...

[hammysando]

"When The Carnations Bloom" Jing Yuan x GN!Reader

AN: Here's the Arbiter General~ Felt kinda rushed at the end, but I'm more or less happy with how this came out! Once again likes and reblogs are appreciated! Don't be shy to leave a comment down below as well! <3 Reader is Gender Neutral!

Wordcount: 1.9K+ words~

Prompt: Reader has Hanahaki and hides it from everyone. (Except for Bailu.)

TW: Major character death (Reader), slight descriptions of blood.

Please read at your own risk!

More below the cut~

You were in the bathroom, throwing up those damned flowers again. They came up and out of your throat quickly and painfully, as you emptied out whatever you could. Tired, you leaned against the wall and glanced down at the bloodied and saliva-covered red carnations in your sink. Crinkling your nose up in disgust, you tried to regulate your ragged breathing by taking deep breaths. It proved to be difficult, but little by little, you calmed your erratic pulse. And little by little, the urge to break out into violent coughs ceased. Moving to get back into bed, you groaned softly as a knock sounded at the door. Vowing to murder whomever showed at your door, you wearily trudged over.

“(Name)! General is slacking off again!” A boyish voice shouted from the other side, drawing a long sigh from you. Ah, it was Yanqing.

Begrudgingly, the door swung open and you scowled slightly at the thought of having to drag Jing Yuan back to the Seat of Divine Foresight. Yanqing stood there, looking just as annoyed as you did, and the two of you shared a knowing look. The general was once again skipping out on paperwork. Stepping out in whatever you were wearing currently, you didn't care for the strange looks you garnered from your neighbors.

“Again?” You grumbled this softly, trying to ignore the flowers that started to tickle the back of your throat, just from the thought of Jing Yuan. Ah, how could you have fallen for someone so frustrating, yet so handsome?

“Again. I couldn't think of anyone to get him to do his work but you.” Yanqing said this apologetically but started to lead you away to where the general slumbered. The entire way, you grumbled about how you should start charging Jing Yuan. You were acting as his very own human alarm, after all.

The arduous journey led you straight to a certain garden. And lo and behold, the snow haired man slept soundly under an arbor of wisteria and an assortment of other flowers. You fought down the flowers that clogged your throat as your eyes found his form. Letting out a strained grunt, you stalked over to Jing Yuan, and prepared to smack him upside the head. Yanqing watched on curiously. He had seen this spectacle several times, but you seemed… Tired, to him. Less eager to smack the general. Though as soon as his thoughts started to wander, a resounding smack of skin on skin drew his light topaz colored eyes to the source.

Jing Yuan rubbed the back of his head, a relaxed and even amused smile on his face as he regarded you. Meanwhile, you frowned at him disapprovingly. It looked like a lion being scolded by a very unhappy sparrow. It was comical to any passerby, if it weren't for said lion being the General of the Xianzhou Luofu.

“Jing Yuan, how many times are you going to slack off?” You scolded him, expression softening. Ah, you could never stay mad at him. Those sincere honey eyes of his made you weak to your knees. Keeping the flower petals at bay, you simply crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly.

“Well my dear (Name)... If I didn't slack off, I wouldn't get a chance to see you everyday.” His deep voice said this with velvety smoothness as he chuckled and smiled at you fondly. “You know how boring it is to do paperwork everyday. What if I want to see my favorite-”

You flicked his forehead and sighed through your nose. His words caused the roots of the flowers in your lungs to tighten and contract. It hurt to hear those words from him. You almost wished he would stop saying such things. And to stop looking at you with such softness. Every action and look from the cloud-haired man fueled the slow agony you suffered.

“Seat of Foresight. Now.” You crossed your arm tighter as he sighed heavily and stood.

“Anything for you, little sparrow.”

The weeks passed on uneventfully, and your routine stayed the same. You coughed up those dreaded carnations, rouge color matching that of your blood. Then tiredly, you would drag Jing Yuan back to his office to fulfill his duties before going about your own day. It was troublesome at times, but it was comfortable. Admittedly, you enjoyed what little time you had with the general. After you retired from the frontlines, you gradually saw Jing Yuan less and less. This was one of the few ways you could see him still, without seeming a bother.

More weeks passed, and you seemed to grow weaker and weaker as the deep red carnations started to bloom. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to tell anyone of your predicament. Of your beautifully cruel disease, as it destroyed you quietly. The flowers came heavily now, blooming delicately in full.

One fairy night in summer, a knock on the door sounded softly. You weren't surprised. In fact, you had expected this to happen. You see, as your condition worsened, you distanced yourself. No longer, did you go to rouse the general from his slumber. No longer did you go to the Seat of Divine Foresight at the request of Jing Yuan, only to end up playing a game of starchess with him. Honestly, you had expected him to come sooner. You opened your front door, revealing the tall man. His golden eyes looked down at you, screaming their worry despite the calm smile on his face.

“Jing Yuan.” You spoke softly, acknowledging him.

“Little Sparrow.” He acknowledged you back, dipping his head toward you.

A silence ensued as you both stood there, gazing at one another. The sun had started to die in its grave in the sky, giving way to a plum sunset. And yet, nothing was said. Eventually, when the plum shades faded into inky indigo, Jing Yuan spoke. His tone was calm, with undertones of hope.

“Will you be there to scold me tomorrow?” It was a silly question that made laughter bubble up in your throat. The petals accompanied it, however. Fighting them back, you managed to crack a smile at the general.

“I'll be there.” His smile widened and his eyes melted into pools of honey, uncontrollably fond.

“Then I shall look forward to tomorrow. Until then, Little Sparrow.”

You sobbed softly to yourself that night as the stars made their nightly travel across the dark expanses of space.

Lady Bailu frowned at you deeply, anger and sorrow pooling in her eyes. Looking ready to cry, she turned away and sniffled violently. The Vidyadhara healer had just examined your condition, and her conclusion was not a favorable one. Fists clenched, she turned back to you.

“You're going to die very soon, (Name). If you don't do something. The carnations are in full bloom.. At this rate you'll suffocate on them and-.” The tears started to slide down her cheeks as she glared up at you. Your only response was a sorrowful smile.

“I'm a coward, Lady Bailu. I could never burden Jing Yuan.” You sighed.

“Then let me treat them. Let me get rid of them for you-” You cut her off, shaking your head gently.

“And lose the ability to love? To be considered alive?” Bailu could not fight against you. Instead, Bailu sobbed into your shoulder, gripping you tightly as you bent down and gently hugged her small, quivering form. You would miss her. Miss Yanqing. Aeons, you'd even miss Fu Xuan and her nagging. And Jing Yuan and his lazing about.

The following days, you spent packing your things into boxes and labeled them with names of the ones you wanted them to go to. Your precious sword collection would go to Yanqing of course. Qingque got your prized mahjong board made from the finest jade. And Jing Yuan received the first tea set you ever got. It had been a gift from the man himself. A retirement gift, as he would have put it. You knew he'd take good care of it. Saying goodbye to these things were bittersweet. But, you couldn't bring yourself to bear your soul to Jing Yuan. And you couldn't undergo Bailu’s treatment to rid yourself of these carnations in your lungs. All living things were built to love. Platonically or not. If you lost that feeling, could you even consider yourself ‘alive’, anymore? You sighed softly as you finished the last of the box. You were certain that they would be treasured and treated well. The last thing to do, was to pen the letters.

News of your death spread through the Xianzhou Luofu like wildfire. Many were in disbelief, while some mourned for you. Jing Yuan had been shocked by this, not wanting to believe it. His footsteps echoed on the pavement of your home’s walkway. No, he needed to see you. He needed to put the worries and fears in his mind to rest. You couldn't die. You were General (Name) (Last name), the Blade Singer. The one who slayed thousands of abhorrentions of abundance. There couldn't be a possibility you had died.

The air of your home was already going stale without your presence. Though it also carried the faintest wisps of your scent. Jing Yuan’s chest tightened with pain as he stared at the boxes with names. At the letters. At you, so still in your bed. Your eyes were shut peacefully as red carnations surrounded you, in full bloom. One could almost mistake you as simply sleeping. Bailu was at your side, sobbing, along with a Yanqing who clung onto your hand, head bowed as hot tears slid down his face and hit the floor with a dull thunk.

Your funeral was one lush with flowers, and held on a day as sunny as always. The summer fairy lights seemed to gather around your starskiff, adorned with different blooms, to send you off. A silent farewell. Jing Yuan watched with unsteady honey eyes. He had lost so much already. To the point where he assumed that losing would no longer hurt him. Alas, he had been wrong. Losing you, brought an indescribable hurt to him. Chest clenching painfully, Jing Yuan excused himself soon after your funeral.

Wandering aimlessly, the General found his feet taking him to the garden you had both met in when you were young. He had fallen asleep, and you were running away from your mentor. A wistful smile found its way onto Jing Yuan’s face before he slipped a letter out of his pocket. In your handwriting, his name was penned. Jing Yuan couldn't bring himself to open it before, scared that if he acknowledged your passing, you would truly disappear from this world. But now, steeped in an indigo peace, he found the courage to open the neatly sealed envelope.

It carried your scent and your presence in every line. Every brush stroke.

To you, who I loved;

This journey has been a strange blessing and curse. Though, I would rather not have had it at all. Unfortunately, it seems unrequited love has been my undoing. I'm sure Lady Bailu has filled you in on everything… And I would like to apologize for being such a coward.

I loved you, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. Perhaps it was my own fears that stopped me. I didn't want to burden you with my feelings. But I think most importantly, I didn't want to relearn the pain of losing someone I loved. We've lost so much, Yuan. I couldn't bear to lose you too. It was my own shortcoming. And it may be selfish and too late to say now, but...

I love you, Jing Yuan.

-(Name) (Last name)

Jing Yuan traced your penmanship with his fingertips. And a single hyacinth flower fluttered from his lips.

[noctxj]

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent who slowly withdraws from poly!tf141 after the first episode of bloodied flowers (realising they’re in love), from declining offers to relax in the rec room, accompany them to the local pub, or even working out in the gym to sparring.

agent knows that they’re not being subtle, see’s the guys try and figure what is going on with them. but agent refuses to let them find out—never.

agent who finally manages (after ensuring they wouldn’t hack up another flower) to file a notice, a formality really, to john— captain price, for their absence in the oncoming month or two. as there are no current operations needing agents’ immediate attention, its an opportunity for agent to get their other affairs in order after months being on base with the taskforce. 

john— captain price, briefly glancing at the document before focusing his ocean blue eyes to search agents (tired) face, a frown creasing between his full brows.

pleasedontlookatme—

whatdoyousee—?

the captain getting up from his seat to circle around his desk to stand before agent, his scrutinising gaze trying to catch agents downcast eyes.

pleasejohndont—

“this wouldn’t be about you pulling away from us recently hm?”

bullseye— 

agent could feel a thorn piercing the walls of her throat, their jaw tightening in response. a reaction john notices, his face softening as he reaches out to tip agents chin back to finally see his now gentle imploring eyes.

soblue—

“just don’t forget to come back to us, okay little love?”

little love. a pet name that simon (proudly) started to refer to agent amongst the taskforce (and no one else, lest they meet ghost in the middle of the night) while the others also followed suit—

“or would you rather shorty? or tiny even?” simon had smugly responded after seeing agents offended (blushing) face.

ugh that big oaf of a man, not everyone needs to be the size of an industrial fridge—!!

johnny and kyle chortling in the background, seemingly forgetting they’re suppose to be supervising the recruits’ training.

the pinch of another thorn dragging up their throat throwing agent back into the present.

“of course, captain.”

lies.lies.lies.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent whose kept a mental list of contacts who owe them favours, a debt that is finally being repaid: to find a cure for hanahaki disease. from the highest level of power and prestige in society, to the lowest trenches of the underworld. over the course of a few weeks, one by one, each contact falls short of delivering. but agent keeps digging. keeps searching.

there is never nothing. there has to be something somewhere. someone must have at least thought— until finally a contact (old friend) provides them with a lead. 

a doctor whose dedicated their life in medical research of hanahaki disease, searching for a cure— whispers that there is a cure. they’re located halfway across the world. but that doesn’t matter to agent, they’re leaving within an hour; flight booked and travel bag already packed.

washing the remnants of blood down the sink drain, tears wet on their cheeks. the episodes were happening more frequently.

agent is running out of time.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“… it can be cured through surgical removal, but when the infection is removed, the victim's romantic feelings for their love also disappear…”

agent feels drained as the doctors words echo in their mind even hours after agents abrupt appearance in the doctors office. one look into agents (desperate) eyes and the doctor already knew why they had come, offered tea to soothe their throat (wash the metallic taste away, even if temporarily).

agent immediately coughing out both the tea, then one bloodied rose— then two— three— and finally four, as agent reaches to rip the tangled thorns from the back of their throat, ignoring the screaming pain of thorns dragging out of their mouth and past their stinging pale lips. 

the doctors face stricken with worry and sadness, trying to wipe the blood from agents face and hands; disposing of the thorny flowers in a sterile bin. the doctor concluding that agent does not have much time to deliberate if they wish to proceed with the experimental procedure. an incredibly invasive surgery that may not completely cure the victim; follow up surgery’s may be required. 

being split open from larynx to diaphragm, sown back together, only to be split open again if a single flower is coughed back up.

agent acknowledges this. pain is pain after all—

whats more to add to the pile?

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

added some dialogue in this part compared to the first part. unedited, also like the first part. i know nothing about the complexities of surgery (google images my saviour) so don’t try to make sense of it haha.

thanks for reading!! ♡︎♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username!)

[zapperona]

Day 2: Hanahaki

[casualheizouenjoyers]

- secrets i have held in my heart

featuring: jing yuan, bailu, yanqing, reader

warnings: a bit angsty ig, hanahaki au, blood, sickness, throwing up, coughing and just general sick stuff

Orchids grow where others cannot.

This phrase reigns especially true when orchids begin to grow in your body. Scratching your throat and clogging up your lungs. 

You try to laugh it off as a small cough, a small sickness, as if the whole thing didn’t fill you with dread when you thought about the invasive plant infesting your every breath. 

It isn’t until finally you violently cough over your sink that a bloodied white orchid petal came fluttering out.

Were… you some form of mara struck? You wondered in confusion at the collection of petals that grew with each hack of your lungs. 

The high elder —Bailu— immediately takes up your case. Which is potentially concerning as you’ve gone to about possibly any doctor that will see you for some kind of explanation to your floral fever and none of them have had anything good to say. 

In fact, they have nothing to say about your illness. No one knew what was causing the orchids to bloom, making a home of your decaying body; a pretty parasite taking you ahold. 

The little Vidyadhara girl frowned upon seeing the collection of whole flowers and crumbled petals, all coated with a splattered layer of dried blood. 

Bailu’s eyes squinted as she observed the floral. 

Perhaps, it was some kind of achievement that you had every doctor and healer on the luofu stumped at your conditions? 

It isn’t until you’re coughing out another flower, this time red covering it was still vibrant and liquid, that the healer decided you were some form of mara struck and needed to be monitored closely. Even as she wrote out her prescription and made you promise to come back the next week, you could tell she wasn’t too sure about what she was saying.

That did absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. 

You go home after collecting your prescription and puke out leaves and stems along with the flowers. 

Despite your sickness, work is work, you decided, and working as a tutor was fulfilling for you. You hope —prayed— that the sight of your favorite student, Yanqing, would bring you some form of joy. The lesson went smoothly, though it was clear your student’s mind was up in the clouds, but you didn’t comment about it as yours was rooted deep elsewhere. 

With the closing of the textbook, Yanqing’s eyes light up. 

“Can we swordfight now?” The teenaged boy asked.

You almost said no.

You had realized early on that Yanqing would do his work and pay attention better if you found a way to relate it to swordsmanship, or if you promised that the two of you would spar a little after a lesson. 

There was a growing weakness in your body. It seemed that describing the flowers as a parasite wasn’t inaccurate, as every day went on you felt them drain the energy out of you. 

Yanqing waited for your response.

You nodded, standing up and picking up your sword from where it rested on a wall. Once, you had used it as a cloud knight, now it only ever saw use when teaching the blonde boy. 

Yanqing excitedly ran to the other side of the room, drawing his sword and getting into position. He paused, looking over at you.

When did your eyes become so sunken in? Your hand shook as you held your sword up and it became increasingly clear to Yanqing that you were in no position to swordfight. 

Your student called out your name, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“I— Give me a moment—” You called out, placing a hand on your head as a sudden headache came, making your vision blur and your legs lose balance as you head tumbling for the floor.

Yanqing tossed his sword far away as he slid to catch you. 

Bailu is halfway through her yearly appointment with the general when you come in with Yanqing by your side.

You mumbled apologies for the interruption and swore on your life you were fine. 

You had honestly not realized how bad things had gotten in the few days from the last time you had seen the healer.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of Jing Yuan.

The orchid also fluttered out of your mouth in a set of coughs that leave you out of breath on the ground, Yanqing down at your side again. 

There are multiple voices speaking but your mind can focus on none of them. 

Jing Yuan helped you up and you feel your heart clench up as a choke comes to your throat.

More orchids. 

He whispered to you in a soft voice, trying to help you through this coughing fit as Yanqing explained the situation that had happened just a few minutes before. 

Bailu watched this, shock painted on the girls face as she realized two truths.

You were indeed mara struck, just with a rare mutation that had gone out thousands of years ago. 

You were also in love with the general

and it was going to be the death of you.

[cicadaart]

You guys really seemed to like the last one, so I decided to torture Vox again 🥲👍

[munsonburn3r]

Oh, Camellia, won't you take me away? - A Hanahaki!Eddie Munson story (sneak peek!)

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson had been a constant during your short time in hawkins, indiana, which made it that much harder when you had to leave. four years and a clinical trial later, you'd thought you'd conquered an otherwise fatal disease. what you weren't expecting, though, was the man that nearly killed you to walk back into your life, threatening to undo all of the progress you'd made towards healing - both physically and emotionally.

cw: hanahaki!au, angst, descriptions of light gore, childhood trauma, sexual themes and content

a/n: here is a snippet from the hanahaki eddie fic that has been bouncing around in my brain over the past week. feedback welcomed!

Water flowed out across the floor in a surge that mimicked crashing ocean waves. You cursed as you scrambled to right the plastic Procona and liquid sloshed awkwardly, lapping at your fingertips. It was a surprising amount from a relatively small bucket. 

“Everything alright out there?” called a gruff voice from the back office. 

You sighed. “Just fine, Bill! Minor spill. Nothing major.”

A muffled grumble could be heard from the owner’s space behind you, but you paid it no mind. It only took a few steps for you to grab the mop and start cleaning up the water all over the workspace floor, and to your relief, it really wasn’t as much as it seemed. 

The nearly four years you’d spent at Indiana Floral Company had seemed to fly by in a blink of an eye. You weren’t expecting an on the spot interview when you’d first stopped into the shop, but the owner Bill had been impressed at your willingness to learn and your natural eye for design and hired you immediately. Probationary, of course. 

So under Bill’s tutelage, your floral design skills blossomed. The basic knowledge of plants you’d brought from years of spending time gardening with your Grandma grew. You went from simply identifying lilies to knowing the difference between Asiatic and Oriental and their best growing seasons. You could identify roses based on subtle color differences and had learned how to take the most tightly closed bud and blow it open with a little humidity, a plastic bag, and very careful preening. And though you didn’t like to brag, you could match corsage ribbon to prom dresses better than anyone in town. 

As time wore on, Bill had shared that years of design had wrecked his body and that it was time to begin passing the torch. Since Indiana Floral Company was one of the top floral design studios in town, the responsibility embedded in passing said torch was sobering. But after a year and a half of earning your stripes, you landed a head designer role and began training to take over the small family business.

Humming a nondescript tune, you refilled the earlier bucket with water and flower food before chopping the ends off of a bunch of de-thorned roses with the guillotine-like stem cutter. A clunk thrummed out when you dropped the two dozen stems into the water. Each blossom peered at you with a center like a curled eye — delicate sandy cream — perfect for the event you were designing later this weekend. 

A ring of the bells on the front door broke your focus. You wiped your hands on the rag shoved haphazardly into your apron and turned at the sudden sound of Bill’s voice. 

“The 1:30 initial wedding consult must be early. You mind taking this one, kid?” His head peeked around the office door. “I started the file – it’s on the cash wrap.” He looked tired; the man should have retired two years ago. 

With a slight smile, you nodded. “Got it.”

It was impossible to see who had entered due to the amount of plants, gift items, and displays you’d designed around the small space (“customers shop with their eyes first, kid; you gotta draw them in before you let them see the price tag” Bill had said). But as soon as you rounded the front display, your stomach dropped clear out of your body and onto the floor. 

Maybe it was the habitual need to weave around the labyrinth of flora and gifts that had lowered your defenses. Or perhaps it was the fact that this was a typical boring Wednesday afternoon in April. Hell, it could have been the questionable sandwich you had for lunch that you found at the back of the minifridge. 

But one thing was clear: you hadn’t expected to see Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham hand in hand looking around at the array of merchandise you’d set out in preparation for Mother’s Day. 

“Hi!” A saccharine voice matched the sickeningly sweet smile on the strawberry blonde in front of you. “We’re here for a wedding consultation at 1:30. Sorry we’re a bit early — we didn’t want to be late!”

Time stood still. Or maybe that was just you — frozen as you stared the couple down with a look of surprise plastered across your features. You didn’t think you could move (or even speak, for that matter).

However, for the first time in almost four years, you felt your chest tighten and a sharp prickling sensation snake up your windpipe. You licked your dry lips (hadn’t you just put on chapstick?) and attempted to swallow with no success. Instead, your throat constricted, and there it was: an involuntary, yet ever so familiar metallic cough.

image credit: pinterest dividers: @saradika-graphics

tagging some moots that might be interested: @chickpeadumpsterfire @voyeurmunson @joshlmbrt @mediocredreams @littlexdeaths @anamelessfool

[pathologicalreid]

spenwer weid hanahaki pwease 💐💐💐

perennial | S.R.

unrequited love brings spencer to his death bed, unless you can rescue him

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: hanahaki au, spencer reid gets a degree in yearnology, terminal illness, happy ending, surgery, doctors, this is a made up disease, mentions of other diseases like cancer and briefly mentions reid's addiction and schizophrenia, and death. word count: 3.01k a/n: if you don't know what hanahaki disease is, neither did i until bri asked. look here for some background. i did not come up with this concept. im not that creative.

He had never quite been able to pinpoint the date he fell in love with you. He wasn’t sure if it was the say you laughed at his jokes or the way your hair shone in the sunlight. He just knew that he loved you, and it was killing him.

It wasn’t killing him in the colloquial sense, it was physically going to end his life. The deep, brutal love he felt for you had been slowly chipping away at him for well over a year now, ever since you waltzed into his life. Haphazardly, he tossed the packet that his doctor had given him onto his coffee table, the papers ungracefully fanning out over the oak surface as he did.

Leaving his apartment today had effectively drained him of energy, prompting him to call out of work – something he had been doing with alarming frequency these days. Luckily, Hotch was able to give him leeway, but it couldn’t be long until Spencer got into trouble. Someone else would notice, he was sure you already were.

Yours was the face he always saw when he closed his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn your features were tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. Despite his exhaustion, he was wary of falling asleep. He didn’t want to see you in his dreams, lest it cause his health to deteriorate even more.

Trying to take a deep breath, something caught in his throat, causing him to stumble over to his pathetic-looking balcony. Leaning over the railing, he lost himself in a coughing fit, letting the petals that were poisoning his lungs fly out of his mouth.

Once Spencer got his bearings back, he straightened up. Blinking tears out of his eyes, he watched the purple flower petals float away in the wind. He was watching the petals when he noticed you, walking determinedly along the sidewalk, your jacket flowing behind you. Was it five o’clock already? Had you already gotten out of work?

Splitting himself in two, he hoped you weren’t going to come to his door while also hoping you were headed to see him. He knew that the dull ache in his chest only grew worse when you were closer, but the possibility of seeing your beautiful eyes provided him with the bravery that he needed to confront that pain.

Watching you disappear into the apartment building, he waited until he heard a knock at his front door. He took the wobbly steps required to reach the front door, clearing his throat, and letting a petal fall to the floor just before he undid the lock and deadbolt.

You swung the door open, not even waiting for him to open the door. He waited as you studied him, eyes flittering across his body – just taking in the state of him.

Spencer had never been overly large or muscular, he had been lanky pretty much from the get-go, but over the past year, he had become frail. You swallowed thickly as you took in the way his sweater practically hung off of him, “Hi, Spence.”

His chest ached at the familiar nickname, everything about you was familiar. “Hi, Y/N,” he greeted politely, and he watched your confidence falter for just a moment before he silently pulled the door open. “You can come in if you want,” he felt as though there were an angel and a devil on his shoulders. One would beckon for you to enter the apartment, and the other wanted to banish you. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure which was the angel, and which was the devil.

Nodding, you stepped into the apartment, your shoes tapping against the hardwood before you took them off. His throat tickled at the recognition that you remembered his preferences for shoes in his apartment. Shoving your hands in your jean pockets, you peered up at him, “What happened to you?” You asked with concern violently apparent in your tone.

Narrowing his eyes, he cocked his head to the side, “What do you mean?” He had to bite his tongue from saying you happened to me.

“Hotch said you called off, and I noticed you had been doing that a lot recently,” you said, your voice a gentle caress.

Your observations of him sent him into another coughing fit, and he silently hoped you wouldn’t notice the flower petals that scattered the floor. Purple anemones created a pattern of lovesickness in the entirety of his apartment. His skin burned where your hands landed on him, gently ushering him to the couch.

Gratefully, he accepted the tissue that you had held out for him, allowing him to conceal his flowers. “I’m worried about you, Spence,” you confided in him, unable to hide the silver that lined your eyes.

He waved you off, shaking his head as he launched into another coughing fit. Once he gathered himself, he looked up, avoiding your eyes, “I had a doctor’s appointment.”

Your eyes widened in recognition, “Did you finally get your cough checked out?” The inquiry was innocent enough, but he couldn’t help but cringe inwardly at the words that had come out of your mouth. How was it that something as pure as worry could cause him so much pain?

He didn’t answer your question, leaning back against the supple leather of his couch. With a sigh, he allowed his body to meld into the cushions, it was almost enough for him to just fall asleep.

Flinching as you set a hand on his knee, he finally met your eyes, “Spencer, are you sick?”

He knew what you were asking, you wanted to know if he was ailing. Maybe if he had cancer or something that could be removed from his body. Maybe his opioid addiction had finally caught up with him. He didn’t think he looked jaundiced, but maybe his liver was failing.

Perhaps you were thinking about something more psychological, he was at the age where he could have a schizophrenic break. You knew very well that that was a fear of his.

There was also a strong probability that his years in the BAU were just starting to catch up with him. “Spencer?” You breathed, holding your breath as you were afraid of what he could be hiding from you.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he was sick. A patient in the doctor’s waiting room had called him a love-sick fool, and they had been right.

You spluttered for a moment as you searched for the right thing to say. Telling him you were sorry felt like a waste of words, an apology couldn’t help him now. “Is there a cure?” You asked him softly, leaning closer to him until he could smell your floral perfume – the world was cruel.

Taking a moment to clear his throat, Spencer answered your question while tucking a flower petal up his sleeve, “There’s a surgery, but it comes with… risks.”

His answer didn’t satisfy you; risks weren’t enough for you to sit and watch him die. You pulled your hand off of his knee, sitting on the floor and folding your hands in your lap, “But without it, you’ll die.” It was clear to you that whatever was going on with Spencer was serious, and if his illness was fatal, you would do anything in your power to help him.

“Most likely,” he confirmed, the both of you knowing he had already run every probability relating to his own survival. It was all he could do to not reach out to you as your teary eyes finally flooded over.

Wiping furiously at your face, you scrunched up your nose in frustration, “You have to do it, Spence.” Your voice was insistent.

Sighing, he shook his head despondently, “I can’t.” He noticed the way you bristled at his answer, but he couldn’t elaborate.

The risks that came with his surgery would be devastating. He would lose you. You wouldn’t die, but every memory that he had of you would die. That was a sacrifice that Spencer wasn’t willing to make.

Truth be told, he was afraid. He was afraid of forgetting you. Forgetting the way you sang along to every song on the radio – even if you didn’t know the words. Forgetting the way you liked to dance in the kitchen while you cooked. Forgetting the way you protected the people you cared about so fiercely.

Forgetting you was a nonnegotiable term. He’d rather die in love with you than live in a world where he had never known that feeling.

His fear of forgetting you greatly outweighed his fear of death.

He took a deep breath, which only resulted in more coughing. Your soft hands guided him tenderly, helping him to lie down on the couch. “Will you look after her?” He blurted, looking up at you as you returned from the kitchen.

Setting a glass of water down on the coffee table, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “Look after whom?”

“My mom,” he clarified, his voice gravelly from all of the speaking he had done today.

Your lips parted in surprise, evidently that had not been what you were expecting him to say. “You want me to take care of your mother after you…” you couldn’t even finish the sentence. “You won’t even fight to stay with her.”

He couldn’t find the courage to explain his sickness to you, so he let you form your own conclusions. If you wanted to operate under the assumption that he was a coward, so be it. At least he still had you. “I can’t fight it, Y/N. I don’t expect you to understand, but I do want you to respect that.”

Shaking your head, you looked down at the floor, not meeting his eyes anymore. Looking at your pretty eyes was a privilege he had lost, it seemed. “I can’t,” your voice wavered as you stepped backward, stumbling over a pile of books on the floor before you turned and walked out the door, taking bits and pieces of him with you.

Laid back on his couch, Spencer wiped his own tears before that too became arduous. Left in his apartment to rot, he thought about this disease. This unexplainable disease that he had never even heard of before being referred to a specialist.

There was one cure for Hanahaki Disease, and that was to turn unrequited love into requited love. You had the ability to cure him, and all you needed to do was tell him you loved him.

And it had to be the truth.

Even if he did get the surgery, he could return to work. He could meet you again, which would confuse the entire team, including you, but he’d still be damaged. His doctor had told him just that morning that his lungs were past the point of no return.

You deserved better than that. You deserved someone who had the lung capacity to kiss you breathless. You deserved someone with the guts to tell you how they feel.

All of that was purely hypothetical because in order to re-meet you, he’d need to survive the surgery.

The surgery he refused to get.

Either way, he was going to lose you. That realization knocked the air out of his lungs, causing him to turn over on the couch in a fit of coughs. Bringing a new meaning to ‘hacking up a lung,’ he continued his fit until there was a pile of purple flower petals beneath his face.

It was fitting that the flower petals were anemones. He had thought that from the very beginning. Anemones were perennials. Perennial, meaning lasting for an infinite time – enduring. Just like his love for you.

When the surgery was first offered to him, he challenged the doctors. Insisting that his love for you could endure any surgery. He was a man of science; he didn’t fully comprehend how a cardiothoracic surgery could affect your memory. Then again, he was coughing up fresh flower petals on the daily.

The click of the latch on his door caught his attention, and you stepped through the door. He was surprised to see you, and even more surprised to note the red rimming your eyes. You had been crying – over him. “I thought you had left,” he murmured, watching you carefully.

Nodding absentmindedly, you kicked off your shoes. “I did, I… I was going to go home, but on my way to the metro, I passed that deli that I know you like. You need to eat, I know you haven’t been eating right - or at all, actually.” You took a deep, shaky breath, setting the deli bag on the coffee table. “It’s just soup, I thought it might help soothe your throat,” you informed him, rubbing the back of your neck as you crouched next to him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer insisted, even if the smell coming from the bag made his mouth water.

Wiping a hand down your face, you cleared your throat, “I was thinking about you. What if I went with you to your next doctor’s appointment? There could be a clinical study or something available. My college roommate works at Johns Hopkins now, maybe she has an in.” The hope in your eyes was almost enough to break his heart.

He smiled at you sadly, “There’s nothing, I’ve asked.” That part was true, he had called in every favor that he had in order to find answers and solutions. Either no one knew what he was talking about, or they told him things he didn’t want to hear.

Tears welled in your eyes again and he reached out to wipe them from your cheeks, his hands trembling in time with your bottom lip. “I refuse to believe that this is the end. This can’t be how it ends.” You looked at him pleadingly, “Are you sure you won’t get the surgery?”  

He nodded regretfully. Losing all of his memories of you was a fate worse than death.

Bowing your head, you let loose a sob, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Spence.” You apologized incessantly to him, “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

His own eyes grew teary until he was just looking at your outline, a blurry visage of the girl that he was dying for. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he insisted, reaching over and smoothing down your hair. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me,” he whispered, having a hard time speaking as emotions caused his throat to swell.

 “Please get the surgery,” you spouted, eyes widening as if you hadn’t even expected yourself to say that. “Please, Spencer if you don’t do it for yourself, then do it for me,” your words started to merge into pleas.

Silent, Spencer watched you as you unknowingly begged him to forget you.

Taking a shuddering breath, you looked at him, watery eyes boring into his. “If for no one else, then save your life for me.”

“It’s not that easy,” he breathed.

You brushed off his excuses, “Spencer, I need you. I need you to get this surgery because I absolutely have to have you in my life. Please, you’re my- I’m…” you faltered over your words. He watched as you desperately searched for the right thing to say, “god, can’t you see I’m in love with you?”

Spencer’s chest ached as he grew fearful. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“I love you!” You shouted, surprising even yourself. “I love you, and I need to keep loving you. So, I need you to get this surgery.” You swallowed thickly, “Please, Spencer.”

He felt like he was out of tears to cry, “Just so I understand, what kind of love are we discussing?” Platonic love wouldn’t do it, not for this.

Leaning your head back, you stared at the ceiling helplessly, “Like the soul-crushing, yearning, I’d-marry-you-tomorrow-if-you-asked kind of love.”

Nodding slowly, Spencer leaned forward, and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, prompting you to kiss him back. It was soft and careful – the two of you were oh, so careful. “I love you too,” he said, knowing damn well that his yearning had nearly killed him. “But for the record, I’d do a much better job of asking you to marry me,” he pointed that out because he did plan on marrying you one day.

Laughing despite the tears that were still flowing down your cheeks in steady streams, you tilted your head at him, “Does that mean you’ll do the surgery?”

For you, he’d move heaven and earth, but he knew that the surgery wouldn’t be necessary. “Come with me to my next appointment, you can meet my doctor, I’m sure he’d love to meet you.” Spencer’s doctor had, after all, heard everything about you.

“Okay, of course, I will,” you told him, burying your face in your hands. “I’ve been sitting on that for almost a year now,” you admitted, causing his heart to clench.

Propping himself up on his elbow, he eyed you curiously. He wasn’t expecting to return to his old self immediately, but Spencer felt like there was some sort of weight lifted from his chest – like getting over a bad cold. “Hey, Y/N?”

Your eyes widened, “Oh! Your soup!” You moved to get up and grab a spoon from Spencer’s kitchen.

Quickly, he reached up and grabbed your hand, tugging on it until you toppled down onto the couch. You landed gracefully, being careful so you didn’t hurt him. “Actually, I was thinking about something a little more along these lines,” he said, poking his head forward and kissing you again.

Nothing but slow, gentle kisses today. The two of you had all of the time in the world. He leaned back onto the pillows, never separating from you. Finally, he let the scent of your floral perfume drown his senses.

For once, it didn’t fill him with dread.