#yall can shoot me I paid for them I get to do what i wish XD

[fandom-monium]

i finished for the holidays and i just *chefs kiss* beautiful talented amazing sajkgdkj no words i love that romance wasnt even the main point 🥺💘 anyway i love how you write reader and i wondered between her and spencer who gets jealous???

Unrivaled

Summary: In which you seem pretty close with the new intern, and Spencer is not happy about it. (ft. one of my fave white bois) “Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

WC: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, Jealous!Spencer bc id like to see that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, the lightest implication of smut ever, points to yall who can guess who the intern is before reading the end or the tags 😉

—

Spencer is not jealous. He’s not.

Why would he be? 

He has no reason to be jealous, Spencer chants to himself as he sits at his desk. Even from across the bullpen he still manages to hear your voice, and while normally it’s music to his ears, even better than Mozart, now it just feels like nails against a chalkboard. Grating his eardrums, making him wince.

Because you’re laughing. Not with Spencer though. Not at his obscure references or lame jokes.

With the new intern.

Why did Emily have to put you in charge of him? She could’ve chosen anyone on the team to have him shadow, but it had to be you! Not that you’re incapable or unqualified; you’re experienced, talented, and the best person he knows. 

… Okay, he can see why she picked you.

Why do they even have interns? Unnecessary, really, when the BAU has you and him and he guesses the other teams too (it’s weird, he’s never actually interacted with them but whatever). Maybe it’s time to start making budget cuts. He’ll discuss this with Emily when he gets the chance. He’s got some influence, working at the BAU as long as he has.

But he’s not jealous. 

Logically, jealousy (like an intern) is unnecessary. The green-eyed monster (like an intern) is ugly and contributes nothing productive, and if Spencer’s being honest, the world (like an intern) would be much better off without it.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he downs his coffee like a shot of whiskey, trying to quell the squirming beast in him. Despite 90% of it being sugar, it still tastes bitter. He sets his mug down with a thud, and it’s loud enough to make Luke, Garcia, and JJ turn their heads, exchanging concerned glances when he slumps back in his chair.

Spencer doesn’t care. The world’s ending; you’re apparently into younger guys, with neat dark hair and forearms that can probably snap someone’s neck, and he can’t do anything about it. What does it matter if his best friends catch him in a sour mood, right?

“Hey, Spence,” JJ's tone is soft as they slink over, Garcia and Luke leaning against the edge of his desk and JJ flanking the other side. “You alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Spencer gazes past them, his eyes never leaving you. He deflates; your stance is relaxed, completely open as you nod at whatever Intern is saying, his hands gesturing spastically. It must be interesting, the way you listen with rapt attention and respond just as enthusiastic.

Spencer scoffs. Not like that’s anything special. You do the same for him. And the rest of the team.

...What the hell are you guys talking about? 

“Well, you look like you’re about to throw your mug across the room. Or at an intern.”

Spencer blinks, finally breaking away from you long enough to eye the ceramic octopus. “That’s a good idea actually.”

“Don’t,” Garcia and JJ both shoot him a warning and he huffs, resting his chin in his hand. Garcia looks horrified, betrayed even while JJ has that expression on, the one she gives when she scolds Henry and Michael.

Whatever. It’s not like he’d ever sacrifice Mildred. Garcia entrusted her to him, after all. 

Unless...?

No, he couldn’t… Maybe.

“You know, Reid, if you’re jealous—”

Spencer snaps his head to Garcia, eyes wide and darting to you like you have super-hearing, “Jealous? Who’s jealous? Not me.” He cringes, his voice octaves higher and cracking like a prepubescent boy.

Garcia snorts, “Okay, sure. But if you are jealous, I was going to say you have no reason to be. You wanna know why?” Spencer raises an eyebrow at her and she continues, “Sure the guy’s smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship at GWU, and he’s top of his class at the academy—”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

"And he’s one of the most good looking guys I've ever met—”

"How is that relevant—"

Luke frowns at her. "And have you met me?"

“My point is,” Garcia’s red lipstick curls into the most reassuring smile, “that you have nothing to worry about because (Your Name) loves you. A lot.” 

Spencer perks up. “You really think so?”

“I know so. I see the way they look at you, and if that’s not love I don’t know what is," She shrugs, "And just because they’re talking doesn’t mean they’re into him.”

There's a collective nod of agreement and Spencer sags in relief. Of course they're right. He knows they are. 

If you think about it, technically, he's got the advantage. You've known each other longer, bonded and shared experiences together good and bad, and you’re emotionally and even physically intimate with each other (something he's especially proud of, considering how long it takes you both to warm up to others).

And who knows? This is probably temporary! Whatever this is, the connection you seem to instantly make with Intern (faster than when you two had met, he realizes with a needle to his heart) is short-term at best. It'll peter out eventually, like most friendships do.

It’s sad, but a cruel fact of life.

(Is this selfish, wishful thinking? Nah.)

They’re right, there is no need to worry, Spencer thinks as a weight lifts off his chest, finally able to breathe. You love him and he loves you and eventually, everything will go back to normal. 

There’s nothing to worry about.

—

The world’s ending.

“It’s really not.”

Yes, it is.

“Doc, come on.”

“Do not ‘Doc’ me,” Spencer grumbles, lifting his head from the comfort of his arms. He grimaces at Luke. “You didn’t see the way they looked at him. The way they talk about him.”

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since you’ve taken Intern under your wing, and he’s had enough. If Hell is real, this is it. For days, he’s tried to resume some form of normalcy, and he was never one to be bold but desperate times call for desperate measures as he asks you out for lunch or invites you out on dates, even stuff he wouldn’t normally do because they’re more your thing. Something, anything to get you away from Intern. But...

At work: “Hey Spence, I'm teaching Intern (menial task that a 4 year old could do). Would you like to help—”

During break: “I’m taking Intern out for lunch. He’s still new to town, and I thought he could use a tour—”

In bed: “Did you know Intern’s a huge fan of Star Wars—”

Snap, and there went his patience.

Intern this, Intern that. 

Spencer could tolerate this at work. At least he’s saving lives, being productive, getting paid. But under his roof? In his bed? 

That was the last straw.

Spencer's not one to wish ill on another, he's not like that. But if something happened to the guy, say, get injured in the field, perhaps from a "stray" bullet, he'd be intern-ally grateful. Heh. 

"Hey, you good?"

Spencer sighs, swiping a hand over his face and turning back to Luke. "Yeah, why?"

Luke waves a hand at his face, eyebrow raised, "For a second there, you kind of had a scary look on your face."

"Did I? Weird."

"Right," Clearly unconvinced, Luke brushes it off, deciding to get to the root of the matter. "As I was saying, I still think you have nothing to worry about. Although, I do think it's a little weird that (Your Name) is talking about Intern as much as you say they are." He offers Spencer a little smile, his hand falling heavy on his shoulder. It's the most comforting touch he's had in two weeks. "I'm not one to talk, but I suggest you speak to them. I'd also be uncomfortable if my partner were talking up someone else."

Spencer blinks, squints at Luke, before gripping his hand and standing up. "Have I ever told you how much I value your friendship?"

"You can stand to mention it more often," Luke shrugs, eyes crinkling with amusement as Spencer lets go and heads for the door. 

"Noted."

—

Spencer nearly goes feral when he finds you.

Of course you're with him.

He searched the floor like a bloodhound, discovering you've been on your feet almost the entire day, running around the office, up and down the elevators, finishing your work and helping around. You must be exhausted. It's because of this he tracks you to your favorite break room, mostly quiet save for the buzzing drip of the old coffeemaker. He knows you need to be alone sometimes, recharge those social batteries.

So when he bursts into the room like he would hunting an unsub, eyes quickly scanning the immediate space, he expects nothing less but you. What he did not anticipate was to find you, just as soft and pretty as ever under the fluorescent lighting, leaning against the counter and sipping daintily at your favorite mug. 

With Intern standing a little too close to his liking.

“Hey, Spencer,” You chirp as you lower your coffee mug, lips glossy from your drink. Spencer's quick to shake his stupor―he can’t afford to be distracted, but it’s difficult when you’re beaming at him, clearly excited. You nod at the home-wrecker, “Me and Intern here were just talking about demonology and he’s got this interesting theory on werewolves―" Lycanthropy? Are you fucking kidding him right now? 

Just when he thought he couldn't hate the guy any more.

"CanItalktoyou?" It comes out rushed as Spencer gasps between breaths, leaving no room to second guess himself.

"Sure," You blink at his urgent tone.

For a second, you watch him expectantly, and Spencer's gaze darts between you and Intern. "Alone?"

"Oh! Okay. Be gone," You wave Intern off, and when you place a hand on his shoulder, Spencer sees red. Or green in this case.

Intern doesn't resist, but the noise Spencer releases is animalistic because the guy can’t seem to read the room, questioning you as you gently shove him towards the door. "What about the thing―"

"We'll talk about that later."

"But you still need to show me how to―"

"Don't worry, Intern. Just wait for me, I'll show you once the adults are done talking."

"You know at some point you're gonna have to call me by my name." 

"Nah. If we get to call Luke a newbie, we get to call you Intern. Also I do not know how to say your first name."

 "You could just call me St―"

Enough of this. Spencer closes the last stretch of distance, batting your hand away from Intern’s shoulders as he kicks him out himself, slamming the door in his face. Spencer turns on his heel to face you, caging you both. “You―” He pants, chest heaving for air.

“Me?”

“You-him-we―”

You’re unfazed, simply nodding at him and his odd behavior. If anything, you’re enjoying this as your lips twitch in a poor attempt to withhold your amusement, trying to cover it with a slurp of your cup. Then again, it’s not everyday you get to see Spencer, face flushed from exertion, speechless as he gasps for breath.

(At least not at work… In the break room specifically.)

It takes a minute as Spencer swallows a few times, but his heart’s erratic and it’s not just from running through the entire building. When he’s got enough air, he blurts out, “Did I do something?”

Your brow shoots up. “What?”

“Did I forget something important? Upset you in some way?”

“No? I don’t think so?” You frown at him, your answers more like questions. 

It only spurs him on, and though his tone is frantic and his eyes just as wild as his hair, you’re more intrigued than frightened. Definitely confused.

“Okay, but you know I love you, right?”

“Yes and I love you too but Spence, what’s this about?" Setting down your mug, you look at him like he's grown another head.

Spencer sighs, "I just… you…" He frowns, glancing between you, the floor, and the empty space between you. 

Spencer Reid is a man of words. Many, many words, according to all his friends and his coworkers. Mainly knowledge―he's never been great with feelings―but as you gaze at him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts, he wants to melt into the floor. There's not a hint of annoyance on your features, your eyes warm and inviting. 

He's so in love with you.

Then like scripture the words come, natural without much stuttering or hesitancy. He recounts the last two weeks. The internship so far, the times you've left Spencer behind for him, the times you just talked about him, like the guy (practically a stranger) is your new best friend. Usually, pretty people make him tongue-tied and you do―god, you do―but at the same time only you make it so easy. Talking, expressing without fear of―

"Pfft―"

―Judgement. Pausing mid-sentence, Spencer gawks as your nose twitches and your blink rate increases. You purse your lips, a hand slapped over your mouth as it threatens to break out into a grin.

"Are you-are you laughing right now?" When he just poured his feelings out to you? 

That does it. You keel over, peels of laughter coming like a tsunami, crashing into him and Spencer loves your laugh but not when it's at him. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing," you wheeze, gripping your stomach. Spencer pouts. There's even tears in your eyes. "But you're telling me this is all because you're jealous?"

He stutters, "Well-I-no-It’s just…" He wants to say ‘you're mine’, but as your eyes crinkle he knows there’s no need.

"That's kinda hot."

"Wha-really?" Wide-eyed, Spencer squeaks as you step closer to him, backing him into the door. His hands come up to his chest in a kitten-like manner yet at the same time protective―you'd never hurt him and you both know that―but you admit your initial reaction was poor when he laid his feelings bare. 

“Ahhhh Babe, you know there’s no one else for me but you.” Spencer blushes and you chuckle, taking his hands in yours. He let's you. “Also, as adorable as Intern is, one, I think I’d be able to tell if he was hitting on me, and two, he’s not really my type.”

Spencer swallows, “And what exactly is your type?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Looking him up and down, you step closer, enough that your breath puffs against his chin. You smell like cheap coffee. “Tall, handsome doctors with messy, brown hair―” You lightly tug at one of his stray curls and he bites back a smile. 

“―and a cute nose―” Your hand moves to cup his cheek, bringing him down to peck the tip of his nose. It scrunches as Spencer breaks out into giggles. 

“―Who can recite classic literature. Who can bake like he belongs on The Great British Baking Show but can’t cook for shi―”

“Okay! Thank you, I get it,” Spencer says, almost completely relaxed now.

“Good,” You nod with finality. “And for your information, I wasn’t trying to make you jealous."

He raises an eyebrow. "So you just abandoned me and talked about another guy for the hell of it?"

Spencer's tone is casual, joking even but you know better. There's underlying bitterness and hurt and your heart squeezes because you did that. "No, of course not. There is a reason behind all that.“

“What could possibly excuse you going above and beyond your job as a mentor―”

“I was trying to set you guys up.”

Spencer deadpans. “Set me up? With him?” Oh god, he knows you’re weird, but he’s never considered you to be outright insane (is it weird he still loves you?).

As if reading his thoughts, you roll your eyes, “Spencer, how many friends do you have outside the team?”

“Not a lot.” No hesitation, but he accepted the fact a long time ago. 

“Yeah and that’s okay. But if you’d talk to Intern, you’ll find you two have a lot in common. I know he’s younger than us, but he’s a good kid, real smart,” You give him a meaningful look and shrug, “Not like IQ 187 smart but he could definitely hold a conversation with you.”

Spencer murmurs, pulling you in so you're chest to chest, “This entire time, you were really trying to make us friends?”

You nod, your expression a mix of giddiness and hope that makes whatever feelings he felt before, the confusion and―yes, fine―the jealousy, dissolve like sugar in water. Spencer sinks into you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your soap. Of course you had good intentions. Of course you wanted to do something nice for him.

Fuck, he loves you.

“So… we good?”

Spencer huffs, “I hope you realize how much I suffered the past few weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Then yes, we’re good,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “I appreciate what you were trying to do.”

“And?”

His brow furrows and he pulls back, meeting your eyes. “And what?”

“Will you try to be friends?” You look at him expectantly.

Spencer opens his mouth to answer, a definitive no on his tongue, but then you’re giving him puppy-dog eyes and before he realizes it, “Okay.”

Wait, no. That is not what he meant to say.

“Yeah!” You throw your arms around him, and Spencer can’t stop you, grunting as you basically swing him around like a rag doll. But he finds he doesn’t care when you set him back down because you’re happy, happy for him, grinning ear to ear as you babble, “I can already tell you two are gonna be the best of friends! You guys have so much to talk about, all that nerdy stuff. Maybe even debate! And we could play chess and―”

There’s a knock and you both turn, a voice muffled by the door, “Hey, guys? I don’t want to interrupt in case you’re boning, but you didn’t exactly tell me where to wait for you? God, I hope you guys aren’t boning. Please tell me you’re not boning right now.”

You groan, “No Intern, we’re not boning! Right-uh-go ahead and meet me back at the office, I’ll be right with you.” You turn back to Spencer, sending him an apologetic look. “I will see you later, okay? And since you’ve been such a patient and understanding partner,” You plant him one last kiss before patting his cheek, and his eyes widen as your voice lowers in the way you know drives him crazy, your eyes glinting with mischief, “I’ll make it up to once we get home. Bye, love you!”

Before Spencer can fully register your words, you're out the door, cackling as you leave him to compose himself, his face beet red from running the possibilities. By the time he emerges from the break room, you’re long gone.

“Hi, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer almost snarls, cursing under his breath. Just when he thought the day was getting better. He turns back. 

Intern stands tall, relaxed and shoulders back, black tie loose and cheap white-collar button up slightly wrinkled. No doubt from working hard and following your instructions throughout the day. Spencer respects the work ethic at least. Meanwhile, the younger man eyes him, and he’s certain it’s not from intimidation but with curiosity.

Spencer doesn’t linger on that. He’s used to it, not being intimidating to others.

He continues, “It’s nice to finally talk to you, one on one I mean. I’m a fan of your work. Seven degrees, huh?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says curtly. Recalling the earlier conversation with you, he stamps down his irritation and tries to extend an olive branch. “How did you know?”

“It’s the internet, sir,” Intern raises an eyebrow, offering an innocent smile. 

“Right,” Spencer returns it with an awkward one of his own, “Hey, sorry for... literally kicking you out before. That was completely unprofessional.”

Intern waves him off, “No, it’s cool. I totally get it. I’m flattered, by the way.”

Spencer frowns. “Flattered?”

“Well, it’s not everyday you find out your superior’s jealous of you.”

Spencer blinks, and it takes all his experience as a profiler to mask his embarrassment. “You heard that.”

“The FBI’s got thin walls,” Intern shrugs and steps towards him. “Although I have to say, Agent (Your Last Name) is wrong about one thing.” Stopping short in front of him, for the first time Spencer is close enough to note the moles dotting his face. “They can’t tell that I’m flirting with them.” 

He starts down the hall after you, and Spencer’s eyes trail after him as his brow furrows, until realization slams into him and his jaw drops. “Wait, you...”

“Oh and since (Your Last Name) wants us to be friends, I think we could be on a first-name basis,” He pauses to look back at Spencer, watching with a crooked smile as the older man sputters. 

“So, you can call me Stiles, sir.”

Then once again, Spencer is left behind, frozen in the hallway as he processes what just happened.

And the next time he finds you and Special Agent Stilinski in the same room, whether it’s crowded or not, Spencer does not hesitate to cling to your side, putting as much distance between the intern and you as he can. Spencer’s grateful you don’t question it.

There may not be anyone else for you, but that doesn’t mean no one will try.

―

AN: ahhhhh thanks anon!! There was a similar request then i saw this tiktok (and listened to this tiktok the entire time) and i combined them. Id also like to emphasize that my version of reader is neutral across the board, race, gender, etc.

Yes, i have a type. No, i will not be taking criticism. 

Been hella overwhelmed with classes and work so here’s my way of destressing. Also suggest checking those tiktoks if you wanna understand me :))) also you mean to tell me i have to write the threesome myself?? Bs tbh 😔

watched 15x4 and i was so sad when Spencer addressed Luke as his coworker like no bitch hes your new bro stfu

and i have no doubt that stiles and spencer would be one of the best crossover duos given the chance 

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanon for being Hela’s child

Hela Odinsdottir x child!reader

Thor/Loki x reader

warnings: blood/death/ alcohol mentions

a/n: been thinking abt hela a lot lmao

prompt: y/n is hela’s child

you were born in hel

and raised on stories of your mother’s triumph

she always left out her downfall, though

growing up to hate the thought of your grandfather, odin

he was always regarded as “backstabbing coward”

“and what will you do when we finally go back to asgard, my child?”

“stand beside you while you rightfully rule the kingdom, mother”

“that’s correct”

after years and years of enduring hel, you’re only home, you were released at the sight where your grandfather had took his final breath

“you didn’t tell me i had any uncles...”

“they’re irrelevant, my dear”

thor and loki being extremely confused upon meeting the evil family members that they had just discovered

“and odin never said anything about hela having a child!”

“i was born in hel”

:)))

straight up attacking them, it was all you had been trained for

you were your mother’s weapon, that was for certain

craving destruction and blood, that was what you were taught—now that you’d escaped your prison, you could finally do that

and you wanted asgard, you were robbed of that much after your mother was banished

it felt so elegant there, nothing like the depths you were trapped in

striking fear into the hearts of asgardians, but something seemed very off

their fear didn’t make you happy like mother had promised?

it wasn’t very glorious when you killed anyone

“mother, you said this would be fun...”

“you’re not having fun?”

“not even a bit”

your only fun was watchcing skurge dance around for your mom

and it wasn’t even that good then

your uncles returning to asgard for a fight to remember

while your mother was distracted with thor, you ran across the bifrost, running into loki

“now just what do you think you’re doing, child?”

“my mother is a monster, i cant serve her any longer”

this god of mischief believed you

“then you better fight like hell to prove it”

your powers were similar to your mother’s, blades were never scarce to you

thor and the rest of the “revengers” regrouping on the bridge

“what the hell is this one doing here?”

“helping you defeat my mother”

“well, okay then. welcome to the team”

valkyrie didn’t trust you right away

you paid no mind to that, you were focused on one thing

“y/n?! what do you think you’re doing with them?”

“getting rid of you once and for all, you..?”

*thor, whispering* “bitch”

“bitch!”

“typically i dont condone the usage of that word, but your mother gets a free pass”

happily fighting alongside your uncles, it was almost as if you could tell each others next move, it was mesmerizing

you saved loki from being hurt

“well then...thank you, little one”

“im 1200 years old”

“i stand by my words”

hela begged you to join her once more, it was startling and pathetic (and maybe even a trap)

happily watching your mother perish, you hadn’t realized how cruel she was until then

“i’m sorry about your mother, young y/n” -thor

“im not”

the asgardians didn’t trust you very much, you would have to earn it

and you did when you encountered the mad titan known as thanos

you swore you did everything you could, but it wasn’t enough

you had to watch thor be tortured and loki be killed, it was scarring

being picked up by the guardians of the galaxy

“who are you?”

“i barely know who i am”

thor needing to go to nidavellir and taking you with him

“im sure you’ll need a mighty weapon to see the fall of thanos!”

“but...am i worthy of such a thing?”

you felt a sense of guilt for your past actions

and even your mother’s

thor put each of his hands on your shoulders and looked you in the eye (with the only one he had)

“y/n, you must understand that your mother...she poisoned your mind with nothing but hate, but i can tell that you’re much different than her. i’ll be here for you from now on, believe me”

dmitri was able to forge you a weapon of your own, you fell in love with it as soon as you laid eyes upon it

also thor almost died??? that would’ve sucked

and then he took you to midgard, the only thing you knew about it was that the people were weak and irrelevant

but when you met the midgardians, you only met warriors (mind you, you had just landed in the middle of a battle)

another significant fight with your uncle thor

“captain! this is y/n, my (neice, nephew, nibling)”

“hello, y/n. welcome to earth”

“thanks, i hate it!”

going out of your way to save as many as you can, it just felt right

“who is that?”

“well, apparently thor had a sister no one knew about, that’s her kid?”

i nearly forgot about rocket and groot, who you thought were the coolest

“rabbit! over here!”

“for the millionth time, y/n, it’s ‘rocket’”

seeing thanos once again, you and thor thought alike over what needed to be done

you attacked him from behind while thor struck him in the chest, but the disaster ensued and you were left blaming yourself once more

“it’s not your fault, y/n. we all failed”

“captain rogers, i could have killed him, i know that im the one to blame”

everyone could tell that you carried an abundance of guilt, your mother didn’t treat you well

you had to control your anger, you didn’t want to be perceived as a threat

eager to kill thanos

thor told you his stories of war, you idolized him after this

“so, y/n, tell me about your childhood”

“what’s there to tell? i was born in hel”

“good point”

happy to watch thanos die

thor and you rescued the rest of your people and founded new asgard

you and valkyrie ended up running it together, though

thor only became depressed, but he did teach you how to play fortnite

“y/n, y/n look! im doing the dance!”

“very impressing, korg!”

you and valkyrie actually became friends

she realized that the horrors inflicted by your mother were not a reflection of your character, you could be guided by valkyrie instead

“val, where’d all the beer go?”

“ask your uncle”

“why do i even bother”

a shot at redemption after meeting a smaller version of the hulk, giving your uncle a small sliver of hope

and him telling you who jane was

“you never told me you dated a midgardian?”

“yes, well, the reason for that was...”

he started crying

“right...”

tony called you “the little hel-raiser”

you did not laugh

maybe you didn’t have the greatest sense of humor

thor took you back to asgard where you met frigga

“thor, do you know if she’s my grandmother?”

“not a clue”

:)

but you met her anyways

“y/n, dear, it’s good to finally meet you”

“oh, yes, you...you too”

she was very kind, you wished that you were able to see her in the natural timeline

you sort of wished to meet odin, as well

yall kinda saved the universe tho, that was pretty cool

valkyrie brought pegasus to the fight, you rode behind her while shooting daggers below

“you’re very good at that!”

when the fight was finally over, thor made the decision to leave new asgard to you and valkyrie

“you’re ready, y/n. they trust you. and valkyrie will be sure to guide you, ill see you again someday”

[ddaenggtan]

hearts on fire | jhs

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

He just really wishes that he was the groom.

pairing | jhs x reader, knj x reader

word count | 6.5k | cross posted to ao3

genre | angst, light fluff

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

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

also go stream ego bc its wonderful and i love it

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

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

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

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

[then]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can’t wait to watch you flourish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About that…”

[then]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hobi?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But your scholarship, Hobi, I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[then]

"What is that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Seriously, Hobi, can I see?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[now]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[then]

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

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

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

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

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

“And you never said anything? Ever?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then there are the others. 

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

“But...the side effects-”

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you tired, Hobi?” 

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

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

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

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

[now]

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s gorgeous, right?”

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

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

“She does,” Namjoon agrees. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[then]

“You need what?”

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

Though maybe he should have.

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

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

“No, I get it, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like he has no right to you. 

[then]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hobi? Are you there?” 

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

“Yeah, Starshine, I’m here.”

[now]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t ever see Hoseok again.

[acoupleofbravedorks]

Through Thick and Thin

Hey yall!  Heard about @shipmistress9‘s Hiccstrid week 2020 celebration, and I wanted to take part in it.  I’m writing up a few things I hope will be done in the next couple days, buuuut I had this rather fluffy commission laying about involving a set up I haven’t seen played around with much in the fandom.  

I will note that this is not my work, and that the author is fine with this being released, but wishes to remain anonymous.  I hope yall like it as much as I did! 

Hiccup meandered along the street, heading nowhere in particular but feeling the need to get out of the house. Typical, his first proper day off work in weeks and he'd woken up too damn early, and then got bored trying to stay indoors and relax. Still, at least it was a nice day out, sun shining but just enough breeze to stop it being sweaty and stifling.

He was just debating heading to the shop for nothing in particular other than a distraction from boredom, when a big shadow fell across his path.

"Hiccup Haddock, is that you?"

Confused, Hiccup looked up from the ground to the source of the voice. His eyes found a very curvy lady, with round cheeks and thick thighs and a soft, round belly resting beneath an ample chest. Realising he was probably staring a bit too low, he lifted his eyes up to her face.

There was something familiar in the blonde hair, the round freckled cheeks and blue eyes...

"Astrid?!"

She'd been his best friend when they were kids, spending endless hours together talking about dragons. Astrid used to chase him with an axe if he bugged her, but it always ended in forgiving cuddles and childish giggles. Then her parents had a very, very messy divorce, and Astrid was whisked away to live with her grandmother to keep her out of it. They'd meant to stay in touch, but they were only kids and it wasn't easy. He lost her grandmothers address when his own parents split, the bit of paper with it written down obviously stolen by mountain trolls when packing up to move out.

Of course, Astrid had been a lanky, skinny child back then, shooting up in height before most of their classmates and charging around so much she obviously burned off a lot of energy.

Now, lanky and skinny were definitely not words he could use to describe her. She seemed to follow his thoughts despite him not voicing them, reaching up to pat her big belly with a laugh. Her smile hadn't changed, completely and utterly her.

"Yeah, I gained quite a few pounds over the years. Grandma's cooking and a lot of lazy food in college, yanno?"

He shrugged, smiling, awash with fond nostalgia for his oldest friend.

"No, no, you look great. It's so good to see you!"

They hugged, her body soft against his but the strength she held him with was surprising, reminding him of how she could easily crush him when they were kids with her super-strength.

"Great to see you too. I barely recognised you, you actually learned to do your hair. And you're so tall!"

"Yeah, puberty hit me like a ton of bricks, as I've been told. And I had to learn to do my hair, else I get awful helmet hair when I'm out on my bike."

"Finally got your wheels?"

She obviously remembered him fawning over motorcycles in his dads mechanic-themed magazines as a kid, always insisting he'd be riding one as soon as possible.

"Yep! So... what are you doing here? Are you around for long? Want to go somewhere and catch up?"

He realised he was talking kind of quickly, still buzzing with the pleasant surprise of seeing her again. Astrid nodded, beaming.

"Sounds good!"

As they walked, Astrid informed him she'd just moved back to the area when her job got transferred there.

"What do you do?"

"Just some machine assembly work. Not exciting, but pays the bills and it fit around classes when I was at uni. And, to everyones surprise, I'm not phased by trudging around on my feet all day on the factory floor. What about you?"

"Garage, obviously. Up to my elbows in grease and metal all day every day."

Astrid smiled.

"You must be thrilled!"

Hiccup nodded, grinning.

"Yeah. So, where are we going again?"

"Little place I like. Good food and sturdy furniture."

She wasn't kidding - Hiccup didn't actually fill the chair, and it definitely felt strong under him as he perched, watching Astrid scour the menu and exchanging friendly greetings with the staff.

"You brought a date! Sarah, come see this!"

"He's not my date, you mad woman. Just a friend. Hiccup, please ignore her."

Feeling his cheeks flush slightly, he laughed it off.

"Oooh, with a smile like that he'll be snapped up if you won't have him Astrid!"

Blinking in surprise, Hiccup watched as Astrid shooed off the waitress with demands for chocolate milkshake while they looked at the food options.

"Sorry. They're a little too friendly sometimes. I think I keep them afloat with how much I eat here."

She giggled as she said it, humming before smiling over the top of the little paper foldout at Hiccup. He smiled back.

"It's fine. So, what's good here then, if you know them so well?"

"Oh, everything. But if I remember rightly, you like your food meaty, so I'd go with the steak burger. And if you ask nicely, they put a scoop of ice cream in your milkshake."

Trusting Astrid's judgement - and it did sound delicious - Hiccup ordered what she recommended, and was very pleased by how tasty it was. Astrid had the same, plus some kind of cheese-fries mountain on the side. They chatted between bites, catching up on all the years gone by since they lost touch, whiling away well over an hour there before Astrid frowned at her phone, then looked up at him.

"Sorry, I gotta go, work needs me in. We should do this again soon, now I'm back down here."

"Yeah, sounds great."

They traded numbers, paid and tipped the servers and hugged goodbye outside. Hiccup found himself smiling, warmed and happy about Astrid being back in his life already. He continued on to the shop, pleasantly full of food as he pottered about the aisles, picking up a few things and heading home afterwards.

Astrid texted him that evening when she got off work, and the two quickly compared schedules so they could hang out again soon by phone call.

"If you tell me what you like eating, I'll cook you dinner one of the days."

Hiccup offered, hearing the smile in her voice when he offered.

"Ah, you already know the way to my heart!"

"Well, you said you ate a lot of 'lazy food', I thought home cooked might be a nice change for you."

"Hey, I'm not complaining!"

After forgetting to give her his address on the phone and hastily texting it to her the next day, Hiccup got to planning and prepping, ready to cook. Her hearty appetite was a bonus to him - he loved cooking, and was pretty used to cooking for his dad and uncle Gobber, so big portions came rather naturally. When he visited his mom, she often reminded him neither of them could put away as much food, and there were always leftovers.

He opened the door at her punctual knock, Astrid beaming as she stood in his doorway.

"Come on in."

"Ooooh, your place smells amazing!"

"That'll be dinner. Unless it's me. I did shower today."

She snorted, shaking her head at his feigned bragging.

"Oh, you haven't changed."

It was like no time at all had passed, the two reconnecting easily, having each other in fits of laughter. Astrid still shoved him playfully, though it had a bit more force to it now than when they were kids. They reminisced over childhood TV favourites, and got a little tipsy on the wine Astrid brought over to accompany dinner.

"Ah, I missed you so much!"

Astrid threw her thick arm around him, squeezing Hiccup to her side. Chuckling, he hugged her back.

"I missed you too!"

He offered to let Astrid stay the night (platonically!), but she declined and so he saw her in to a taxi that evening after plates were clean and they'd arranged another meet-up. She pecked a kiss on his cheek with a smile before climbing in to the car, Hiccup watching her go and feeling genuinely sad to see her go. Their friendship had awakened effortlessly, and there were years to catch up on.

It was a couple of days before they got to see each other again, but they chatted over the phone and put on the same terrible TV shows so they could rag on them together, which Hiccup found absolutely hilarious.

At first, Astrid's weight gain didn't really... come up. She was still Astrid. There was just... more Astrid.

But when they were both off work and the weather was nice, Hiccup suggested a picnic. Others obviously had the same idea, so there were quite a few people out in the field. Hiccup put an old throw down for them to sit on, Astrid joking she'd need help getting back up as she sat down, mid-thigh shorts straining slightly as she got comfortable.

Some rude passerby made a rude comment about her size, and Hiccup found himself incredibly annoyed. Astrid barely seemed to notice, at least until she looked up with a glare that could curdle milk.

"I can lose weight. You'll always be an asshole, and I don't remember asking for your opinion. Now go away."

The guy recoiled, then looked over at Hiccup. Hiccup was, incidentally, holding a knife. It was for cheese, but it seemed to look threatening enough that the rude stranger decided not to continue digging themselves into a hole and left.

"Are you ok?"

"Me? I'm fine. It happens, and hey, they can go home to a salad while I have a heaping pile of lasagna. Guess which of us is happier for dinner?"

She was smiling, but Hiccup still shuffled over and gave her a hug. Astrid let him, then nudged him and nodded at his bag.

"Food?"

"Sure."

They ate and chatted and lounged in the sun, Astrid looking pretty and at ease as she laid back on the throw and closed her eyes, soaking up the sunshine that hit her skin. After a little while, she cracked an eye open, peering up at him.

"Are you watching me?"

"Not intentionally. I'm debating if it's too bright to get my sketchpad out, and your top is white so it's a good point of reference."

She rolled her eyes, then went back to sunbathing. Hiccup did get the sketchpad out, doodling the nearby scenery - there was a river a little ways away, with some rocks and trees littering the banks.

"You were always scribbling when we were little too."

"I like drawing. It was something me and mom did together a lot, so I guess it's a lot of happy memories. Oh, by the way, mom wants to see you soon!"

"She does?"

Hiccup nodded.

"Yeah. I mentioned you'd moved back down this way and she was thrilled, asked when I was bringing you over."

Astrid smiled.

"I did always like Valka. How is she doing?"

"See for yourself, next time you're free I can invite her over to come for dinner?"

For a minute, Astrid looked oddly... nervous.

"Is that wise?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is she gonna go all 'should you be eating that' or sly digs about my weight?"

Hiccup raised an eyebrow, bemused.

"You do remember the size of my dad, right? Mom's not gonna care in the slightest. She'll probably laugh and say I found someone who's appetite matches my cooking portions."

Finally, Astrid smiled again. Eventually, they agreed to go, and Hiccup managed to help Astrid back to her feet, taking a leisurely walk along the path to get out of the park before school let out and the place was flooded with children itching for freedom.

The only flaw in the walk was the rather aggressive wasp that chased Hiccup, but he managed to lose it eventually while Astrid very unhelpfully roared with laughter.

"I think he liked you."

"I think he wanted the leftover juice in my bag."

Feeling that usual contentment that spending time with Astrid gave him, Hiccup was sad to see her go, but she did agree to the dinner with his mom. Hiccup relayed that information to Valka, who was thrilled and giddy about it. He did give her advance information that there was quite a bit more of Astrid than before, so that she was prepared and wouldn't make Astrid feel uncomfortable. His mother, as Hiccup predicted, was not phased in the slightest.

Valka arrived first, hugging Hiccup tightly and ruffling his hair as she asked about the minute amount of things that had happened since they last saw each other and he shooed her away from the kitchen side.

"You're a hazard!"

She tsked, then leapt excitedly when the door knocked again.

"Astrid!"

"Oh my gods, Valka! I swear, you haven't aged a day!"

Well, those two were getting on like a house on fire in seconds, Hiccup smiling to himself all the while as Astrid headed over to hug him in greeting. She looked very nice that day - not that she didn't always, really - in a brown skirt and blue shirt, placing a bottle of wine to contribute to dinner on the side before she went back to chatting with Hiccup's mother.

The evening went absolutely wonderfully, conversation flowing easily. Of course, his mother did her best to fill Astrid in on all the embarrassing moments that happened while she was away, Hiccup's awkward teen years out in the open and Astrid fell about laughing while Hiccup pouted. He couldn't stay mad about how happy the atmosphere was though, and after walking Astrid down to her taxi, he returned to his mother who was loading the dishwasher for him (one of his little weaknesses, because he cooked so much).

"Did you have fun tonight mom?"

"It was wonderful! And I'm so happy you two reconnected, that you've found someone t-"

Wait, wait. Hiccup realised his mother had gotten the wrong idea somewhere along the lines.

"Whoa, mom. Slow down. It's not like that."

She stopped, blinking.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I mean, Astrid's great and it's amazing having her around again, but we're just friends."

Somehow, she did not look convinced.

"Really?"

"What do you mean, really?"

His mother shrugged, knowing look on her face as she checked the side and closed the dishwasher.

"Nothing, nothing. I just... you seem very cosy, that's all. And I see the way you smile at her. I just thought you seemed rather smitten."

Now it was Hiccup's turn to blink, confused.

"I... what? No. I'm not smitten."

"If you say so son. I should get going, I have work tomorrow."

She hugged her son and kissed his hair, all while Hiccup was still sorting through his thoughts somewhat. He hadn't really thought about whether or not he was attracted to Astrid. She was Astrid. They were childhood best friends, and he'd assumed they'd just reverted to the same sort of relationship now. Simple, right?

And his mother thought they were actually dating. So... did that mean Astrid was giving off some kind of signal only moms could notice too?

No, that was ridiculous...

Right?

He scrubbed a hand across his face, drained the last bit of wine into a glass rather than bother storing what was barely a single serving. Then he sat down on the sofa and sighed, sipping slowly at the wine and absently picking at leftover dessert.

Hiccup was no closer to clarity the next day, a mild headache from either the wine or the constant thinking nagging him when he woke up. A couple of painkillers washed down with his morning coffee took that away though, leaving him to text Astrid and invite her over for movie night sometime soon. Plenty confused by his mothers words, Hiccup figured the best chance of clearing it all up in his head was to actually talk to Astrid.

They sat on his bed, a huge bowl of popcorn between them, and pizza delivery called for and due thirty minutes from then. Hiccup fiddled with a few bits of popcorn until they were crumbs, knowing he'd regret it later when he had to get all the crumbs out of his bed.

"Want to hear something funny?"

Astrid glanced over, raising popcorn to her mouth.

"Sure?"

Hiccup drank some water for his suddenly dry mouth.

"My mom thought I was introducing you to her as my girlfriend."

He watched for her response. Astrid crunched her popcorn a little more slowly, using her drink to clear the remnants from her mouth before she answered.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Started gushing about how happy she was I'd 'found someone'."

Astrid tsked, rolling her eyes.

"Like that's ever gonna happen."

Hiccup, still unsure until just then, realised he was disappointed by her dismissal.

"Wow, you are really rough on my ego."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"I didn't mean cus of anything about you! I just meant... come on, it's not like you're gonna be interested in me like that."

Hiccup frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She gave him an exasperated look.

"It means... I'm fine with how I look and all that, I could change it but yanno, I'm healthy enough and I can move around. But it's not... pretty."

Hiccup shook his head.

"That's really what you think?"

Astrid nodded, gave a non-commital shrug.

"It's the truth."

She reached for more popcorn. Hiccup moved the bowl, placing it aside so he could kneel up next to her without sending the kernels cascading everywhere. Astrid frowned.

"What?"

"I just... I don't like you putting yourself down. And... well... I think you're beautiful."

Astrid, normally so forward and confident, dropped her gaze from his, freckled cheeks flushing.

"Yeah. Sure."

"I'm serious!"

She turned back to look at him, expression unreadable.

Then she kissed him.

Hiccup wasn't expecting it, but it didn't take much time for his brain to catch up and respond in kind. They found themselves horizontal sooner rather than later, hands roaming and touching exploring over clothes. There was so much of Astrid to feel, after all, thick thighs he squeezed at gently, enthralled by the way Astrid gasped against his mouth.

She was soft and pliant everywhere his hands landed, from her plush hips to her juicy backside. Her hands made short work of him, sliding under his shirt to roam his bare skin beneath. Hiccup felt himself harden against her stomach, prominent and soft and warm as it pressed against him. He kept his own hands above clothes for the moment, though he let his hands roam a little over her chest, pleased when he was not rebuffed.

Surprising even himself a little bit, Hiccup let his hands wander down to her belly, rather transfixed by it now he had the free reign to be. He rubbed it, felt Astrid tense up slightly at his touch.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just... big."

"So?"

Hiccup continued to rub her belly, fingers finding bare skin where her shirt had rucked up with their squirming on his bed. There were bumps and ripples of stretch marks that he couldn't quite resist tracing, Astrid letting out a sound halfway to a giggle. He wriggled down, wanting Astrid to feel reassured, safe, desirable. Kisses dropped over the soft bump of her belly, and she actually giggled at the tickling of his hair when Hiccup wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her tummy properly.

"What are you doing?"

"Proving to you that you have nothing to worry about. Plus... I like it."

"Seriously?"

He nodded, smiling when Astrid relaxed. She urged him back up, but their kisses grew a little lazier, more relaxed when he moved, hands staying above the waist. Astrid played idly with his hair, which he found sweet enough that he smiled in to their kiss, Astrid returning it before they both dissolved in to giggles, breaking apart to catch their breath.

The timing was good, as the door knocked just then to announce the arrival of their pizza.

"Back in a minute. You want a plate or shall we eat out the box?"

"Well, there's fries and garlic bread too, so yeah, plates might be a good idea."

Hiccup nodded, pecking a kiss on Astrid's lips that brought another adorable smile to her face before he climbed off the bed reluctantly, exchanging money for tasty food. The delivery guy definitely gave Hiccup a "no way you'll eat all this" look, not matching the volume of food to Hiccup's narrow frame.

Stacking plates on the top of the pizza box, Hiccup headed back to where Astrid awaited him, cheeks still pink, eyes bright, clothes rumpled and he felt a little breathless for how gorgeous she really was.

"Can I interest you in dinner, milady?"

"Absolutely. Although, garlic bread seemed a better idea before there was kissing."

He chuckled.

"We'll both have bad breath. Alternatively, I have a spare toothbrush you can use."

They plated up, and after a little adjusting, Astrid leant herself against Hiccup with a soft sigh. He could only eat one handed, but that was a small price to pay. He rather liked the weight of her there. Astrid was harder to convince, eventually suggesting they swap places. Perching himself on her lap did have it's perks, like the feel of her soft thighs under him, her round belly against him, and he could feed her until she let out the sweetest little giggles.

"So..." Hiccup dared to venture the question when they'd finished eating, having lost all track of whatever film he'd put on earlier "what is this? What are we?"

Astrid hummed, wrapping a thick arm around him and Hiccup thrilled in the reassuring grip.

"Well... much as you will surely hate to admit it, I'd say you can tell your mom she was right after all."

As she kissed him again, both paying no mind to garlic breath, Hiccup found the prospect of having to tell his mother that wasn't so bad, since it meant Astrid was now his girlfriend.

[ukulelewrites]

thank u, next

A/N: am i whipped for one (1) kangaroo leader???????? maybe lol but i’m on break rn for cranberry season and i whipped up this fic after listening to this song on repeat for a kajibillion hours. i’m thinking of making this a two part series? or should i keep the ending as is? or do y’all want more of this dynamic???? lmk what yall think!!! Also if anyone can tell what the song skz is singing hmu

Pairing: Stray Kids’ Chan x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Pop Star!Reader x Rock Star!Chan/Exes AU

Word Count: 5.4k 

Thought I’d end up with Han / But he wasn’t a match,

Wrote some songs about Hyunjin / Now I listen and laugh,

These words flowed through the car stereo late at night as Chan found himself kissing some random girl he met at the nightclub. She kept her hands clutching tightly to his leather jacket, and he smirked as she let out another sigh.

Even almost got married / And for Chan I’m so thankful,

Wish I could say “thank you” to Felix / Cause he was an angel,

Chan froze once he heard his name coming from the stereo. “What’s wrong, babe?” the girl, who’s name had slipped his mind, asked.

He dropped his shocked expression and slipped back into his normal cocky facade. “Nothing, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he reassured her, leaning down to ghost his lips against hers, Now, where were we?”

One taught me love / One taught me regret

One taught me pain / Now, I just can’t forget

You had not expected such an explosive reaction to your newest single, but here you were, scrolling down your Twitter feed to the endless tweets gushing over “thank u, next.”

“Darling! You’ve done it once again!” your manager exclaimed as she burst into your dressing room, “I’m getting calls after calls asking you to come onto talk shows, radio shows, award shows, the whole shebang!”

“I’m glad to see you’re so excited about this, Melissa,” you teased, “I haven’t seen you this happy since you’ve met Chris Evans.”

“Now, as much as I love that man, I love you much more, my little songbird,” she sang as she booped your nose. “Did you hear what they’re calling this? ‘Pop Princess turned Pop Queen!’ God how I love the press! They’re eating this whole thing up!”

“I guess they didn’t expect me to release such an honest song,” you replied, still scrolling through your feed.

“Of course they didn’t! Who knew innocent ‘Somni’ would pull a Taylor Swift and drop a song about her exes? And name them too? No other artist has done that before!”

“I’m pretty sure I wrote that song about my self-growth, Melissa, not just to highlight I dated those guys.”

“Of course, darling. Now, why don’t we get you all dolled up for the red carpet? It’s your first public appearance as the ‘new’ you!” She let out a squeal before running out to grab your stylist and make-up artist.

You giggled at her newfound excitement and looked back down at your phone only to freeze at the headline glaring back you: CHAN CONQUESTS AGAIN? You swallowed down the uneasiness that crept upon you and placed your phone face down. “Get a grip, Y/N. You’re no longer ‘little Ms. Pop Princess,’” you said to yourself, training your eyes firmly on your reflection in the mirror, “and some boy isn’t going to make you revert to that.”

“Now, Somni, how does it feel to be all grown up now?” Amber asked. You laughed at her formality, considering the two of you were close friends, and pretended to ponder upon the answer.

“Honestly, I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you answered, giggling a bit at the eye roll she gives you and the disappointed looks you get from the audience members.

“I can’t believe you’re playing coy with me right now!” she jokingly complained, “I expect answers during my interviews, Y/N, answers!” The audience ooh’d when she used your real name.

“Sorry, Amber, I just don’t get your question! I’ve been a grown up since I turned 18, and that was a while ago.”

“Nuh uh! Somni was not grown up two years ago when she released ‘Wonderland.” Iconic album, but definitely the cookie cutter pop album we’d expected it to be. But this? ‘thank u, next’ completely defies what we expected coming from you! What caused the shift?”

You could practically feel the audience members leaning forward with bated breath. Ever since the song dropped a month ago, the internet had been ablazed with speculation over your music’s sudden shift.

“Well, I guess I was done writing a narrative where I was always the person getting saved,” you said, referring to the long list of love songs you had written in the past, “and I wanted to be the person that saved myself. ‘Monochrome’ is definitely going to show more of that self-love theme that I teased in ‘thank u, next,’ and I’m so happy that everyone has been so supportive of the change!” You gestured towards the audience members, earning a cheer from them, and even acknowledged the camera, knowing many of your fans were also watching at home.

“Amazing. I’m so proud of you for taking that next step in your career,” Amber gushed, earning an ‘awww’ from the audience, “Now, we can’t just ignore what everyone here actually wants to know about.”

You looked at her and quirked a brow. “And what is that?”

“The boys of course! You can’t just name drop them without spilling some tea, sis,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Stop,” you whined, “why would you even bring them up?” You exaggerated bashfulness by covering your face with your hands.

“C’mon, you name dropped a few big names in that song. Han? The biggest name in the up and coming rap scene right now! Hyunjin? He’s the highest paid male model in the world! Felix? Before his retreatment from the scene, he was the most well-known actor of his time!”

“Well, they helped build me into the person I am today. I didn’t think anything more of it,” you replied diplomatically.

“And we cannot leave out the biggest bombshell from that song: Chan, the lead guitarist of SKZ, which is, by the way to anyone watching who have been living under a rock for the past year, the biggest rock band on the scene right now! Who knew you were into the bad boy type, Somni? And you almost married the guy too!”

You let out an airy chuckle, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Yeah, we were young and in love. A risky combination if you ask me,” you joked, eliciting laughter from your audience.

“C’mon, Somni, you gotta give us something!” Amber pleaded.

“You know I don’t kiss and tell,” you jested, “especially not to the thousands of people who watch your show!” The audience whined at your statement, and you only flashed them an apologetic smile.

“But seriously, how did the bright-eyed, princess of the pop world end up almost married to the biggest playboy rock star on the scene right now?” Amber goaded.

“We were different at the time, Ambs. Life just happened to end up this way,” you replied cryptically. She tsked at your unwillingness to spill everything, but she retreated from the topic.

“Anyways, focusing back on you, I heard you’ll be performing at the American Music Awards, and you’re premiering your new single’s music video during it? That’s huge!”

“Yeah, ‘Without Me’ is getting a music video. Stan Twitter, this one’s for y’all!” you exclaimed, shooting finger guns towards the camera.

“And you’re album is dropping tonight right?”

“Exactly at midnight! I hope everyone can listen to it. I know it’s my favorite and most intimate album to date, and I hope everyone enjoys it to!”

“Well that looks like all the time we have with Somni tonight, folks. Check out her new album, ‘Monochrome,’ dropping tonight at midnight!”

You were back in your New York City penthouse, finally away from the hustle and bustle that came with album promotions. A small sigh escapes past your lips as you submerged yourself into the warm, bubbly bath water. You rested your head against the tub and looked up at the ceiling, finding yourself slipping away into your memories.

“What do you think about this chord, songbird?” Chan asked, strumming a jumbled mess of notes on his guitar. He got a scrunched up nose and a ball of sheet music thrown at his face as an answer. “Just teasing you,” he pouted, scooting over on the couch to look over your shoulder.

“I know you are, but I’m trying to focus right now,” you grumbled, pushing your glasses back up your nose and scrunching your eyebrows together. Your pencil was still flying across the page, putting down notes and rests and lyrics.

“Why don’t you take a break,” he asked sweetly, “focus on,” he leaned his head down to nip at the sensitive skin on your neck, “something else?” You stilled your hand for a split second, and Chan thought he had finally broken through, but you just shrugged him off and went straight back to work.

“This is my first album after debuting, Chan. I can’t just put it off. I need to come back with good music,” you sighed. He looked on worriedly as you ran your fingers through your hair once again and let out another huff of air.

“Songbird.” His hands found themselves on your waist, and he hoisted you onto his lap. You didn’t struggle and leaned back into his arms. “Sometimes you just,” he pressed feather-light kisses against your neck after each word, “need a little distraction,” once he found your sweet spot, you knew you were gone, “or some inspiration,” you let out a soft groan when he lightly bit down on your flesh, “like how well I’m going to-”

BRRRING! BBBRRRIING!

“Sorry, babe,” you mumbled, leaning down to scoop your phone off the floor. “Let me take this, and I promise you we’ll get back to where we left off.” Chan just waved you off, but you had missed how his eyes trailed after your retreating frame lovingly. If only you had seen that.

You knew you were over your past relationships. Each one ended, relatively resolved, and tucked away in your memory box. You and Han ended things after six months due to busy schedules. Hyunjin was dropped after 4 months when you realized you needed someone to fulfill a deeper, emotional need. Felix disappeared from the scene a year into your relationship, and you just assumed it was over when he stopped replying to your texts. And Chan — your eyebrows furrowed at the thought of him.

You could never really pinpoint where things went wrong with him. It was a flurry of you falling too fast for someone who never really reciprocated back and diving right in when he proposed to you 2 years into the relationship. A wry smile graced your lips when you recalled the realization that had dawned on you two months into the engagement. “He never said ‘I love you’ sober,” you mused as you continued to soak in the bath. You knew that he was tucked in a box just like the other boys, but a small voice in the back of your head continued to pull at the ribbon that kept his box shut.

“Somni, you are absolutely stunning tonight!” the interviewer gushed as she gestured towards your fitted maroon suit jacket and tight cream pants outfit.

“Why thank you so much!” you beamed.

“I must say, this is probably a huge night for you,” she said, “How does it feel to be one of the main focuses of the night?”

“Well, I don’t know about ‘main focuses,’ but I am so excited to perform tonight and reveal the music video for the new single, ‘Without You!’”

“Speaking of ‘Without You,’ it is easily my favorite song from ‘Monochrome!’”

“Stop! You’re just being polite,” you teased.

“No! I seriously love how raw you sounded in the song. I honestly felt the pain in your voice,” she said. “Plus, it was quite fun trying to figure out which of the exes this one was about.” She gave you an over exaggerated wink, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation.

“Well, I hope you don’t expect me to tell you who,” you retorted, “It was lovely talking to you!”

After you bid her goodbye, you continued walking down the red carpet, stopping every now and then to pose for the camera and wave towards your fans. You also stopped every now and then to talk to some other artists and congratulate them for their nominations. In the midst of your conversation with Jaime, a deafening cheer from the hoard of fangirls came crashing into your ears. You looked behind you and saw SKZ getting out of their limo and beginning to walk down the red carpet. It was a blatant understatement to say Chan looked good. Even after accepting your failed relationship as it is, you were still capable of addressing that the guy looked fine. You dared not to stare for too long, since there were cameras everywhere focused on you, but you took a mental snapshot of Chan with his, newly dyed, blond hair swept up to reveal his forehead, adorned with a leather jacket thrown over a, teasingly, tight white button up and torn black skinnies, and the trademark devil may care attitude that seemed to wash off of him in waves.  A flash of light followed by a click pulled you out of your trance, and you refocused your attention back on Jaime. “Where did we leave off?” you asked sweetly, planting back on your trademarked smile.

The stage lights were pulsing, and the roar of the crowd became almost deafening around you. It had been a long night of dancing, singing along to the performers on stage, and afflicting yourself to pain whenever you had to trek onto the stage in your heels to present or accept an award. The camera seemed to love you as it continued to film you and Jaime as the two of you bounced up and down, both of you ditching your heels at that point, to the artists on stage and lip-syncing like your lives depended on it. However, you noticed the camera lingering on you longer than usual, and you sent the cameraman a playful quirk of the eyebrow. That was when Jaime pointed towards the main stage.

“SKZ is about to perform,” she explained, keeping a hand on your arm comfortingly.

“Awesome! I heard they’re performing a never heard before single,” you said back, trying to keep your expression upbeat for the camera.

The brief break ended, and all cameras trained their focus onto the side stage where the host stood. “Revealing a brand new single for the first time, here are the heartthrobs of SKZ with ‘Moving Along!’” they exclaimed.

Chan began to strum a steady rhythm, and a lump formed in your throat when you noticed the songbird sticker still stuck to the bright, red body of his guitar. The song was definitely more chill compared to their older, “edgier” releases, but you liked the lazy feel of the bass, the driving force of the rhythmic guitar, and the lax attitude the guys took on as they sang into the mics.

Been thinking bout you lots lately / Have you been feeling empty beds just like me?

I’ve been thinking bout you lots, lately / Or are you moving along?

You couldn’t help but chant along to the chorus, ignoring the weird feeling you got from the lyrics.

Is it wrong if I ask you to come over? / Is it wrong if I told you that I love ya?

Even though I never do it when I’m sober / Is it wrong? So wrong

That lyric struck a chord in you, but you continued to plaster on your smile and dance along to the song, keeping up a show for the camera. “If I wrote a break-up song, I guess he can too,” you mused.

The neon lights flashed to the bass that vibrated throughout the entire nightclub. You found yourself retreated to one of the side booths, scrolling on your phone to look at all the feedback you got back for the “Without Me” music video. It was amusing to see the internet freak out over, but you couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the lack of commentary on the music video’s aesthetic, which you had painstakingly curated, instead the buzz seemed to be around who the music video alluded to. Was the song about Chan? Definitely. You wrote it shortly after your split with him, and it sat in your drafts for a good year before your management pulled it out, dusted it off, and polished it up to be the second single for “Monochrome.” Was the purpose of the song to demonize Chan? Hell no. It was just to help you heal, help you get over such a harsh fall from cloud 9. You disappeared from the music scene for a good year to recuperate because being with him was like a firework. It built up and heated up and kept you enthralled, but it ended so quickly and left messes behind. It just happened to be that you were the mess that was left behind.

“Where were you?” you asked, too tired to put any emotion in your words anymore.

Chan looked at your sitting frame on the couch in shock. Well, as much shock as a drunk man could muster. “What’re you doing still up?” he slurred.

“Where. Were. You?”

“Out with the guys. Celebrating the new album’s release, the usual.” Chan’s brows furrowed. The tone of your voice took a complete 180 from what he was used to. “What’s wrong, songbird?” He walked up to you to try and get some shred of the usual warmth you emitted, but he was abruptly stopped when you stood up and held up a hand in between the two of you.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.” You had no clue where your iciness came from, but it wasn’t hard to assume it accumulated over the past two months of your engagement. The past two months where you were planning the wedding alone in your apartment’s kitchen with the company of a glass of wine while Chan is out every night getting shit-faced with who knows who?

“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” he pleaded, trailing behind you to the shared bedroom. You replied with silence, keeping your pace steady and your face still. You knew if you spoke, your voice would’ve wavered. “Y/N?”

God, he sounded so broken and confused. It took your all not to spin around and wrap your arms around him like everything was okay. But it had been months of his lack of attention, affection (unless he was absolutely desperate), and affirmation. Your revelation had been when you were sitting on the living room floor, writing a song about him as a surprise present for him during the wedding. However, in your fit of brainstorming, it came to your realization he hasn’t told you he loved you since the engagement. He hasn’t sat down with you and helped with the planning. He hasn’t been home most nights to hold you in his arms at night. The sudden distant behaviour led you to thinking: maybe he didn’t want this at all. Maybe he didn’t want you at all.

You were in the bedroom now, and you grabbed the giant duffel bag you had packed earlier and spun around to leave as quickly as you could.

“You’re leaving me?” he asked, “Why are you leaving?” You pushed past him without a word, but he grabbed your arm and spun you around to face him. “Y/N, talk to me.”

“Let me go, Chan.” God, you were too tired to drag this out any longer.

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on!” Chan spat back.

“I’m leaving you! That’s what’s ‘going on!’ I’m finally doing what’s right for me and leaving your sorry ass behind!” you screamed.

“What the hell did I do?” He was getting angrier now. “I just got home, and you’re already being a pissy little bitch!”

Your glare hardened at his last word. “Really now? You’re calling me a ‘bitch?’ Maybe I have a reason to be one,” you got right up into his face, “considering you’ve been an awful fiance for the past two months! You haven’t helped with any of the planning! You have barely been home at all lately! And we haven’t had a proper conversation in ages! I’m so tired of being strung along and left out to dry!”

“Maybe if you weren’t nagging me all the damn time, I’d stay home! Don’t you know how annoying it gets when I get home from the studio and the first thing I hear is your fucking voice telling me to pick out a goddamn flower arrangement?” he seethed, “If I knew you were this annoying, I would’ve never proposed.”

You had kept your indignant stare trained on his face the entire time, but at that last sentence you tore your gaze away and pulled your arm out of his grasp. “Would’ve never proposed, huh?” you parroted humorlessly, trying to smother down the lump forming in your throat and the tears swelling in your eyes. “Yeah, I wish you never did too.” You turned away to hide the tears slowly streaming down your cheeks and just started walking away.

“Wait, Y/N, songbird, I didn’t mean that,” Chan said, following after you, “You know that I love you.”

You spun around quickly and sent him a spurned look. “Do I? When was the last time you told me you loved me? When was the last time you held me? When was the last time you helped me? You don’t love me. You probably,” you choked up, “never did.”

“No, Y/N, I swear, I swear to God, I love you. I promise you I’ll be better,” he begged.

“Can you tell me that tomorrow when you’re sober?” you asked wryly. Chan just looked at you pleadingly, practically begging you to stay. “I’m done being another body that keeps you warm at night. Goodbye, Chan.” And just like that, you were out of his life.

You blinked back the tears that crept up and began putting back on your “Somni” mask, smiling brightly and cheerfully at everyone. Jaime and some of your other artist friends were lost to the beat, dancing away the night in the middle of the room. You were a solid two steps away from joining them before halting when you made eye contact with Chan. He was still dressed in that ridiculously fitted white button-up, and his hair had become messier, with strands falling down to grace his face. He was dancing with some girl; his hands on her waist as she kept her back firmly pressed against his chest, but his eyes were trained on you. If it was past-you in present-you’s position, you would’ve probably ran out of the room trying not to let tears spring from your eyes. But this is present-you, the one who spent a year healing and coming out of the wreckage stronger. You gave him a brief smile before turning away and walking towards the exit. “I think I’m done for the night,” you thought to yourself, “That’s enough excitement for a day.”

Chan woke up again to a cold bed. He groggily turned onto his side and glared at the bright red numbers that told him he was, once again, late to a meeting with management. “Great,” he said, falling back onto his back, “I couldn’t get any last night. I ran into my ex. And now I’m fucking late to a meeting.” The day hasn’t even started yet, and it’s already the worst day of his life. He grumbled and groaned some more before getting out of bed and stumbling to the drawer to find a clean shirt and pair of jeans. “When the fuck were you so soft, Chan?” he asked himself while digging around for socks. He would’ve usually never be affected like shit like this, but ever since you released that song he hasn’t been able to think of anyone but you. Every single girl he tried to bring back to his place ended in absolutely nothing because you keep plaguing his mind. Every single radio station he goes to ends up playing your song. And now his band’s highest selling single is the song he wrote about you. It was like he could never escape, and he was so fucking tired of it.

“Glad you could join us, Chan,” his manager said sarcastically.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “long night.” His bandmates looked at him sympathetically; almost everyone could tell Somni’s latest album was affecting him more than he’d want to let on.

“Anyways, we’ve generated such a good buzz around the upcoming album with all this ‘ex-lovers’ gossip, the company thought it’d be good to accept an offer for a special interview on Amber’s talk show,” the manager started cautiously.

“What kind of interview?” Chan asked.

“With you and Somni.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Chan seethed. “We’re ancient history! The public wouldn’t have cared this much if she didn’t release that stupid song and name-drop me.”

“But they care now, and bottom line, everyone knows you wrote ‘Moving Along’ about her. Do this interview and you boys are projected to break the Top 10 of album sales for 2018.”

“So we’re exploiting me for album sales?” Chan sneered.

“You signed up for this life, rock star. Don’t tell me you’re backing down because of some girl? Thought the two of you were ancient history?”

Chan studied his manager hard before gruffly agreeing to the interview, “If it gets you off my case.”

“So this isn’t awkward at all right?” Amber asked midway through the interview. You politely waved off her worry even though you could practically cut the tension between you and Chan with a knife. “Awesome,” she exclaimed, “Now let’s get to the juicy stuff. How did the two of you meet? Considering both of you are so freaking famous, how did no one know about this relationship???”

“Simple,” Chan plastered on his “rock star” persona quickly, leaning into the leather couch and easily placing his arm behind your head, “We figured out how to avoid the press after all of our years in the spotlight. Plus, it wasn’t hard for me to approach her; she was this bright-eyed, newly debuted pop princess completely left alone at an after party bar. I figured I might as well grace her with my company and from there it’s history.”

If he can put on his persona, I can too.

“If I remember correctly, I told you to buzz off when you offered to buy me a drink,” you said with a quirked eyebrow. The audience ooh’d at that, completely drinking up your newfound HBIC attitude.

“Looks like our pop princess is gone,” Amber joked, riling up the audience a bit more.

“But then you took a complete 180 when you ran into me tipsy into the alleyway outside the club,” Chan retorted, a playful smirk gracing his features.

Before you could stop yourself, you softly smiled at the memory and agreed. Chan was 100% taken aback by your change in demeanor. The queen-esque Somni facade was replaced by the Y/N he remembered waking up to every morning. If he wasn’t on camera right now, he would’ve definitely melted.

The moment was interrupted by Amber. “Wait, what happened? Y’all can’t leave us hanging like that!”

The soft expression left your face as quickly as it came and you settled back into your camera-self. “You know I don’t kiss and tell, Ambs,” you teased, “And I hope Chan here knows better and doesn’t either!” The audience laughed at your jest.

“Fine, but you can’t spend this entire time not giving us anything!”

“I can’t believe you told them the kitten story!” Chan exclaimed as the two of you lounged in the break room.

“What? They wanted some sort of tea, so I gave them an adorable story about the time you tried to ‘save’ a ‘stray,’ and it turned out you catnapped our neighbour’s cat!” You broke out into giggles at the memory of it all. All the tension between the two of you eased away somehow throughout the interview, and here you were now, sitting on the break room couch waiting for your ride while sharing memories with your ex-fiance.

“Okay, how was I supposed to know Benjamin already had an owner? He didn’t have a collar on him!”

“You can’t call the kitten Benjamin, Chan. It’s name was Spot, and we ran into it every day when Mr. Jameson went outside to collect the mail with the kitten trailing behind him.”

“Fine! I admit I just wanted a pet,” he said with a pout. Laughter fills the air, and it seemed like the clock had been turned back, like it was you and Chan on your couch at 3am sharing stories with each other. A comfortable silence falls upon the two of you.

“Do you miss this sometimes?” he asked out of the blue. You were taken aback by how serious he sounded.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I miss this.” He said it so nonchalantly that you almost missed it.

“Why would you?” you teased, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Because I love you.”

You didn’t know how to process that confession. You didn’t know how to respond to that confession. Hell, you didn’t even know he had it in him to drop that confession. You awkwardly chuckled, trying to diffuse the sudden surge of emotions running in your mind, “C’mon, you never really loved me, Chan. It’s all the media stuff getting to your head.” You tried waving it off while also trying to ward off the sudden heat rising to your cheeks.

“No, Y/N, I do love you. I loved you then, and I was an asshat for never telling you. But I was an idiot then who had no idea what love was. I hopped from girl to girl every single night until I met you. I dropped on one knee so fast and you said yes, and that’s when I realized that I was in no way shape or form good enough for you, and instead of facing it and trying to become better for you, I ran away and drove away the best goddamn thing that has ever happened to me. And I’m so fucking sorry for what my drunkass self said to you that night because it never said what I really wanted to say, ‘Stay. I’m sorry. I love you. Forgive me.’’

The air was getting heavier and you found it getting difficult to breath.

“But I swear, Y/N, on my heart, on my guitar, on my band, I love you, and I’m so sorry for not being the man you deserved.”

And that was when the dam opened. You just started bawling. It was like every single ounce of pain and sadness you bottled up after that break up, every ounce you poured into your music so you could pretend to be strong and move on, came rushing out. In your tears, you didn’t notice when Chan wrapped his arms around you. Taken over by muscle memory, you burrowed your face into his chest and wrapped your arms around his torso. He ran his fingers through your hair and rubbed your back reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’m sorry for always making you cry, but I’ll be here for you now. I swear.”

Even then, with him comforting you and speaking so genuinely to you, you didn’t know what to make of the situation. Should you shut this down now or risk crushing your heart again just to give him a second chance? Chan took notice of your sudden stillness.

“Y/N? You alright?” He pulled himself away from you to study your face. “Y/N?”

“Chan,” you whispered, “I-” With a surge of stupid impulse, you grabbed Chan by the shirt and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips harshly against his. Like many times before, Chan’s hands find themselves gripping onto your waist before pulling you onto his lap. All caution was thrown to the wind when your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging at the strand slightly whenever you found him pulling back. “Babe, give me more,” you mumbled, pressing yourself even closer to him.

“Wait, Y/N, maybe we should-”

“Please, Chan? Please?” you begged, peppering kissing down his neck, “Just this once?”

At the sound of your whine, Chan flips you onto the couch, so he’s hovering above you. “Who said anything about ‘once?’”

asjdfkl so yeah, thoughts on a part 2??????? I kinda wanted to flesh out more of their backstory and maybe see what happens next?? and kinda wanted to delve in further into the other exes but then i realized it would’ve been wayyyyyyy too much and i apologize for all the freakishly long fics i write OTL also lmk if you know what skz in this fic sings bc yall a real one if yall do !!!

[misterbitches]

Im not intelligent at all. In the conventional sense. The ramblings of a girl who just has sooo much going in in her head it's constant. But im not a genius. Or that confusing.

It just sounds like I am bc fandoms have this issue where they can JUSTSO point out the issues in soletiing. They can pick and prod and go oh problematic! But then you go to name the problems and the difficulties within society like for ex: the idea of representation in general. Salivating over it. How fucking sad that is. How we are trained to accept it. So in a BL and also RACE in the bl genre they exploit viewers naivete both domestically and internationally. Ive seen tons of people liken being asian to being a person of color. However, in their predominantly homogenous society (or intentionally publically homogenous society), they are not "poc" (also name the of color; i dont use bipoc idc if u do but it's called being asian guys cos yall aint talkin about black ppl lmao)

They as humans seeing other humans who look like them everywhere, engage with the world differently than an american in asia or asians living outside of their home country (like bae doo nanwhen she worksnin the US is not the same as the bae doo nanworking on a korean program) I dont complain about it in everything i see bc ppl say it ALL THE TIME. but it is NOT the same. Being a person of color is very distinctly an american concept. This is all stuff people will get to know on their own if they choose to dig more.

I do my best to underline what my ugly little eyes process. How i figure things out as a black female american artist too! Im hard on shit cos i should be. I take it seriously. And even if i dont take it seriously bc THEY dont then thats their problem.

I know this is a complaint that I am not alone in. I know it's the internet. I just don't get how people can write really heavy analysis but they refuse to actually probe the underlying issues. Not everyone is me, or like my friends, but if there's way fewer people talking about this stuff it seems absolutely glaring when theres few people engaging in the way i do. It seems like im the glitch but I am thinking just as much just differently.

I really loved where your eyes linger but there was little deep class analysis. I remember few convos a bout it. I know a lot about korea (sigh being a black ex kpop fan lol mess) and i love the history but all ofnit matters! Korea's relation to labor!

People bringing up thai actors snd actresses leaving the industry and doing acting as something quick. As an artist~ who went to film school with insanely wealthy ppl and isnin tons of debt you have to understand how shitty that is. People have monetary access and they just fucking do whatever just because they want to. Meanwhile you have young people being coerced into this bullshit mainstream life to LITERALY just make money bc they dont come from a rich background. The wealth gap in thailand is BAD, theres a dictatorship, they had a fucking coup. The governments like here do not respect their people. Their marginalized groups. Trans thai women, black thai ppl, poor thai ppl. And it LITERALLY CANNOT DO ANYTHING EFFECTIVELY IN CAPITALISM. No nothing can be perfect but if it's going into our eyeballs and we can view the worlld critically then why the fuck not!???

I dont say the things i see are wrong always. I reply when i think i need to. I try and engage with others but not to kuch avail. I just want to rb stuff and tdhink lajfhhdjwhjej.

But like yea theres a lot of just wrong or misguided stuff. A lot of the times it is just historical inaccuracy in framing or idk. A refusal to think outside the box. I dont care. Theres more to life than just sort of looking and not thinking especially for othrr artists.

Idk im sorry. I dont see how i can change how i view things. I really wish people would expand their palettes too and go deeper into other means of art from places! Things not in the mainstream! Theres a lot of good thai artists and a lot of them critical as fuck about their country as they should be. Authority, austerity, patriarchy, capital, racism etc like that is central to a power thats interested in growing gains and fiscal and social power. Theres rly radical or left leaning etc ppl out there in the world and these countries in these communities. So they exist. No people in these countries dont have NO clue whats going on. Cultural relativism is alsos something people should understand. I had a good talk with ppl on here a while ago about that. Talking about shit, critiquing, but being respectful to a group. Part of thay is realizing these groups CLEARLY know their own issues and all our cultures share the same goal. Guess what it is. It rhymes with acquiring wealth. Money means you hurt people. In the post, we talked about use of "wife" and "husband" which is a stupid joke that has been "explained" a billion times and yet the explanations still dont seem to answer or justify a minor problem (it's very funny to me that a language that doesnt have gendered pronouns is now very specific about two men. Hmmm wonder why. It is annoying.)

So im not the only person on the planet doing this. Or the few ppl ive seen that do. Im not new my thoughts arent new. Ive gotten to see another side to a culture i knew not much about and that means i can put the context of my beliefs and life and try and understand thheirs. For ex i learned from ITSAY because of a sign that said 'french food' that they were the only country to not be colonized back then. Do you know how integral that history is to their region? That was an interesting detail (i didnt finish itsay bc ihad a lot going on and i was rly upset that i would see hownrich they are and i hate that.)

Anyways thats my complaint. It used to feel like a sting of rejection. I left online for months in 2019, i started organizing more, joined a union, trying to do some panther work shit like that. I learned a lot in those months and it changed my life! But when I came back, I felt so isolated. It wasnt my true friends tho sometimes theyre ANNOYINGGGGG (love u) but it was me being like "if we are going to complain guys then lets put our money where our mouth is" lets be fucking serious about it then. No say it with your chest dude. It isnt difficult. Go with the fucking flow, talk about it, critique it, think. You can still fucking like itnor love it.

I am BLACK ok and i love rap. I am a black woman. I will continue to clown black men that cant seem to not clown themselves and listen. No i wont support monetarily: drake is a creep and i hate him but i bump that niggas song. Thats fucking LIFE. I got so sick of hiding myself and it became clear that it wasnt that i wasntthinking well or hard enough. They just didnt like that i said we need to commit class suicide and inspect out middle class sensibilities and middle class wealth hoarding (google it) if thats what we engaged with. Every part of you, antagonize it. I still have my privileges; class, skin color, even my father being a nigerian immigrant, me being cis, im not str8 but not a lesbian and those are differences.

Insecurities in general but some shallow thoughts (?) on discussion in "fandom" space. FYI, this will most likely stay the same. I tend to stay in my own bubble socially IE me and my friends are similar in our views. During this awful year while running my union's account, im surrounded by like minds. Me and my friends? We changed together. We grew up and saw what we didnt like and what we want. We do our best.And i CHOOSE my life to be that way bc it should be. There is no solution. I dont believe in solutions because the solution is to abolish capital or just divest. Abolishing capital and labor are a huge one and i will die before that happens (but so help me as long as im alive? Black women to FREEDOMMMM is my motto!) so making your own path in life is the best thing an artist can do IN MY OPINION.

However with technology and stuff this puts another layer onto things. Tech, social media, this shit....it THRIIIIIIIVESSSSSSS off of conflict and shallow readings of the world. We are literally primed for it. Engagement in bites. Impossible for me with my brain; i got used to it and i paid for it by limiting my scope. Not being encouraged to THINK AND READ before just speaking

(For ex i am in iww, i helped form a branch here. It is a radical union. Unionism is imprative to me-if ur interested u should read up on some. Look up peter cole! Google inthesetimes Ilwu. Gives you some understanding. Ive always been progressive and now i am....very left idk ic ant label myself. But even in my progrssiveness i had the gall to tell my white friend, whoa has her privileges but i had mine with our class disparity, that we dont need unions, i have WORKED retail. Ive done barista work for sonoing and i do gig work. So i wasnt out of touch. I had been stiffed even with a shoot i was working on by rich kids. So i had a frame of reference . But i didnt know what the FUCKa union was and why it is imperative. Then learning about anarcho syndicalism and all these other things. It changed my fucking life but two years earlier i was this idiot spouting shit like that making one of my best friends fucking upset. We DO AND CAN CHANGE. Think!!!!)

So were i a creator for tv id just constantly try and push the buttons if i need big money. Make them sell into me (thank you sonic youth!) theres Endless possibilities guys which means theres SO MUCH TK EXPLORE!!!! When i wanna have fun with it i just have fun. When i want to think i do. I dont understand why we are so dedicated to upholding things and doing mental gymnastics to end up in a space you dont need mental gymnastics for. What about these critiques makes you uncomfortable? Saying we're all part of the problem as spectators? Im sorry but we will always be. Thats LIFE. God fuck. Fuck me. I feel so fucking worthless and stupid sometimes. I know I am not. I know i am talented and intelligent. I know my friends and family. I know how to approach ppl. I know how to tell people if they are rich but want to be progressive whatsup. I choose how i live part of that is being ok to say what i want.

Ironically consrrvatives say this shit alot. But they arent ever alone bc their ideology is default. But yea it does feel shitty. It even feels shitty when ur in left circles but people STILL dont even wanna do that. These perspectives really arent ss many as they should be. I dont want to feel so alone with it. I know there are more. I just love art and the world so fucking much, endless possibility. Endless pain but endless good.