#hanahaki x reader

[bluukive]

Hanahaki

coɴтεɴт - MDNI, angst, mentions of dēath, jjk men x reader, reader has hanahaki dīsease, rejection, jjk men are mean

cнαrαcтεrѕ - Nanami, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Toji

Hanahaki Disease - a fictional dīsease where the vīctim coughs up flowers after experiencing a one-sided romance. This condition only ends once the love is returned, or the vīctim dīes. Please do not read if you think this will dīstress you ♡

Pt 2 HERE

I luv angst

[solxamber]

Coughing up Love - Idia Shroud x reader

You don't think much of it when Idia starts acting weird because let's be real, that seems to be his default around you. Wait are those flowers he's coughing up?

There’s something odd about Idia lately. He’s acting weird—well, weirder than usual, and that’s saying a lot for someone who’s mastered the art of avoiding people for weeks at a time. It’s subtle at first. His normally snarky, rapid-fire commentary seems more hesitant, his usual screen-lit complexion a bit paler, and he’s excusing himself mid-game way more often than usual.

And, most bizarre of all, every time you hang out, he always seems to keep something in his mouth. Gum, candy, or, more suspiciously, a fist pressed against his lips like he’s hiding something. You know Idia— he's socially awkward, sure, but when it’s just the two of you gaming or chatting, he’s rarely this strange.

Today, the two of you are halfway through an intense raid when he suddenly stands up, his chair creaking violently as he jerks upward.

“Pause! Time out, emergency bathroom break,” he blurts out, yanking his headset off with lightning speed and scrambling for the door.

You frown, watching his character get obliterated on screen. “Dude, you could’ve at least—”

“BRB!” he shouts, voice trailing off as he disappears into the hall. He’s gone in a flash, leaving you blinking at the door, wondering what just happened.

But that’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. Over the next few days, Idia pulls more disappearing acts than a badly programmed NPC. Mid-conversation? Poof, gone. Halfway through a snack? Vanished.

It takes a while, but eventually, the pieces staet to click together. You catch him out of the corner of your eye, face flushed pink, a hand pressed firmly to his mouth as he stifles a coughing fit during one of your game nights. At first, you’re concerned—it’s not like him to get sick, not seriously anyway. You suggest getting him medicine or a trip to the infirmary, but Idia adamantly waves it off.

“I-it’s nothing!” he stammers, trying to hold it together while choking down the coughs. “Just, uh, allergies! Y’know, dust and stuff. Old consoles… gotta, uh, clean them more…”

Suspicious. Old consoles? In Ignihyde? Yeah, right. You narrow your eyes, but drop the subject—at least for now. It’s not until later, when you see something float from his mouth—something blue and oddly petal-like—that you realize what’s happening.

You’ve heard of Hanahaki before. It’s practically a meme among some circles—an outdated trope, really. People coughing up flowers because of unrequited love? What is this, a 2000s anime fanfic? But now, watching a crumpled blue petal fall to the floor in slow motion, you realize that your very own shut-in gamer might be the rare exception to the rule.

The worst part? He’s really, really bad at hiding it.

A few days later, you invite him to hang out at Ramshackle, hoping the quiet environment will calm whatever’s been causing his weird behavior. Things seem fine at first—until you notice him coughing into his sleeve again.

This time, he has a backup plan.

“Are you okay?” you ask, brow raised as he muffles yet another cough.

“Yeah, totally! Just, um…” He rifles through his bag and pulls out a—oh dear sevens, is that a mask?

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You’re… you’re seriously wearing a mask now?”

“It’s for—” He coughs violently again, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. “For, uh, germs! You know, flu season! Gotta… gotta be prepared…”

You squint at him. “We’re indoors. And it’s summer.”

“Exactly!” he says, as if that makes sense. “The germs are, like, in the air! Sneaky buggers!”

The mask stays on for the rest of the evening, and every time you glance at him, you see his eyes flick away like he’s hiding something worse than a little cough.

His next attempt is, frankly, genius in its stupidity. You’re in his dorm, playing a co-op game, when the inevitable happens: he starts hacking up petals. At first, he plays it off with a hurried gulp of water, but soon the coughing becomes too much. With a gasp, he fumbles for something on his desk—a box of tissues? No, it’s a full-on dust mask this time.

“Idia, what the fu—”

“Pro-gamer tip,” he interrupts, voice muffled behind the mask. “Always be prepared for, uh… dust allergies! It’s, uh, a top-tier strat. Totally not s-suspicious.”

Dust? When he has Ortho making sure that he doesn’t perish? You stare, absolutely dumbfounded. “I’m starting to think you’re more allergic to honesty than dust.”

He laughs—well, tries to. It comes out as a garbled mix of coughing and awkward chuckles. “W-what are you talking about? I’m fine! Really!”

“Fine?” You raise an eyebrow, watching as more petals spill out of his sleeve. “You’re literally falling apart, dude.”

At this, his face burns bright pink, and his hair flares up, turning from it's usual blue to a mortified rosy hue. “N-no I’m not!” he protests weakly. “J-just a little springtime cold, that’s all.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, crossing your arms. “Because spring colds definitely involve coughing up whole bouquets.”

There’s a brief pause as you both stare at the mess of petals on the floor. Idia winces, clearly defeated, and slumps back into his chair.

“...Crap.”

The look of his face tells you to let it go and you do, believing that it'll probably resolve itself. You weren't from this world, maybe it was common here and you were the one that's overreacting?

After another week of weird excuses, mask-related antics, and watching him suffer through increasingly ridiculous attempts to hide his Hanahaki, you’ve had enough. You’re going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.

You catch him mid-cough during one of his solo raids, bursting into his room without warning. Idia practically jumps out of his seat, slamming the pause button and whirling around with wide eyes.

“W-what are you doing here!?” he yelps, trying (and failing) to hide the petals littering his desk. “I—uh—this isn’t what it looks like!”

“Really? Because it looks like you’ve been coughing up whole flowers,” you say, deadpan, as you point to the pile of blue petals strewn across his keyboard. “Seriously, Idia. What’s going on?”

He freezes. For a moment, the room is deadly silent—except for the faint sound of digital gunfire in the background. His face, already pale, turns ghostly white, and his flames flicker pink in embarrassment.

“I…” He stammers, looking everywhere but at you. “I didn’t… It’s not…”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Spit it out. Or should I say, ‘cough it out?’”

It’s the worst joke you’ve ever made, and yet, somehow, it breaks the tension. Idia lets out a wheezing, awkward laugh, though it quickly dissolves into another coughing fit. This time, he doesn’t even try to hide it—just pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in his arms, defeated.

“I’m such a loser,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “I thought maybe… maybe if I ignored it, it’d just go away. Y’know, like a glitch or something.”

Your heart clenches at the sight of him, all curled up and vulnerable. It’s so unlike the cocky, trash-talking gamer you’ve come to know. You crouch down beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Idia,” you say softly, “you’re not a loser.”

He peeks out from behind his arms, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Y-yeah, right. I’m just the guy who gets Hanahaki because I can’t even confess like a normal person.”

You blink. “Wait—Hanahaki? Like actually?”

You did not expect that. You expected it to be some weird disease that was native to twisted wonderland and not actually Hanahaki of all things.

Idia winces, his hair turning a bright shade of pink as he realizes what he’s just admitted. He looks away, fiddling nervously with the edge of his sleeve. “...Yeah. It’s stupid, I know.”

For a moment, you’re speechless. All those strange behaviors, the coughing, the flowers—it all makes sense now. He’s got Hanahaki, and he’s been trying to hide it because…

“Idia…” you whisper, heart pounding. “You love me?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body trembling. “I-I mean, i-it’s not like I expect you to feel the same! I know I’m not, like, Vil-level handsome or anything. I just… didn’t want to ruin things.”

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Idia goes completely still. His hair flares up, a brilliant pink, as he slowly opens his eyes in disbelief.

“Y-you…” he stammers, voice barely a whisper.

You smile softly. “I love you too, you dork.”

For a second, he just stares at you, as if he can’t quite process what you’ve said. Then, with a choked sob, he flings himself into your arms, burying his face in your shoulder as the last of the petals fall away.

“I’m such an idiot,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of relief in his voice. His arms tighten around you, and you can feel the rapid thumping of his heart against your chest.

"You’re not an idiot," you murmur, gently running your fingers through his hair. The flames have cooled down to a soft, warm pink, flickering faintly in the dim light of the room. "And you don’t need to be Vil-level handsome. You’re just you, and that’s more than enough."

Idia snorts, though it’s more out of disbelief than amusement. "Yeah, right. I’m just the weirdo who plays video games all day and coughs up flowers. Super attractive."

You pull back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. "Hey, I don’t care about that. Do you think I’d be hanging out with you all the time if I didn’t like you? I’m here because I care about you, Idia."

For a moment, Idia just stares at you, his mouth slightly open like he’s trying to come up with some kind of retort, but nothing comes out. He looks… overwhelmed, his usual sarcastic defense mechanisms short-circuiting under the weight of your words. His eyes dart away, then back to you, and finally, with a shaky breath, he mutters, "I don’t get it… Why me?"

You smile, brushing a stray petal from his hair. "Because you’re kind, even if you don’t realize it. You’re funny, you make me laugh all the time—even when you’re not trying. And you’re smart, way smarter than you give yourself credit for. I like being with you, Idia. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t."

His face flushes a deeper pink, his flames flickering erratically as he shifts nervously in your arms. "I-I… I don’t know what to say…" he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought for sure you’d think I was a weirdo or something."

You chuckle softly, resting your forehead against his. "Well, you’re my weirdo, then."

That earns a shaky laugh from him, though it quickly turns into another coughing fit. You gently rub his back as he coughs, but this time, instead of petals, there’s just the sound of his breath gradually evening out. He looks at you, wide-eyed, as if expecting to see more flowers—more proof of his self-doubt.

But the petals are gone. The weight that’s been crushing his chest, suffocating him with every breath, has finally lifted.

Idia stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening as the reality of the situation settles in. His arms loosen around you, but he doesn’t pull away—he stays close, resting his head on your shoulder with a sigh that’s both relieved and exhausted.

"Does this mean…" He hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. "Does this mean we’re… together now?"

You grin, tilting his chin up so he has no choice but to meet your gaze. "If you want us to be."

Idia’s face erupts into a brilliant shade of pink, and for a moment, you think his face might actually catch fire. He quickly looks away, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt, but there’s a small, shy smile playing on his lips.

"I-I guess that’d be… kinda nice," he mumbles, almost inaudible.

You laugh softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "It’s more than nice, Idia. It’s perfect."

For the first time since you’ve known him, Idia doesn’t argue. He doesn’t self-deprecate or brush off your words with sarcasm. Instead, he lets out a soft, content sigh, resting his head against you again, his flames warm and steady.

"Yeah," he whispers, his voice filled with quiet relief. "I think it is."

And for once, Idia Shroud—the boy who always felt like he didn’t deserve happiness—finally lets himself believe it.

You stay like that for a while, curled up together in the quiet of his room, the low hum of his gaming console filling the background. It’s peaceful in a way you never expected with Idia, who’s usually so frantic and anxious. But now, with the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, he’s calm. Happy, even.

After a long moment, he pulls back slightly, glancing at the screen. "Uh… w-we left the raid halfway through," he mumbles, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "My bad. We probably wiped the whole party by now."

You laugh, ruffling his hair. "I think they’ll survive without us for a bit. But we can jump back in if you’re up for it."

Idia hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. "Nah… I’d rather just… stay here. With you."

The admission is so soft, so vulnerable, that it makes your heart ache in the best possible way. You smile, pulling him close again, and this time, he doesn’t flinch or make any excuses. He just rests his head on your shoulder, his pink flames flickering contentedly.

Maybe it’s not the typical "fairy tale" kind of love. It’s awkward and a little messy, filled with gaming mishaps and coughing up flowers. But it’s real. And for Idia, that’s more than enough.

he's reminds me of a pathetic wet cat left in the rain but god do I love him

Masterlist

[betweenblackberrybranches]

Soooo Hanahaki disease am i right?

Part 2 Part 3

Luckily the guys arent in as immidiate danger as y/n because they can just open up their insides and get all that stuff out before it gets too bad... they could also just try to get over y/n but they would never do that

And y/n is just having a time being helplessly in love with their animatronic coworkers, too afraid to confess and too stubborn to forget about them

White clover and forget-me-nots if anyone is interested

[b3ach-bunn7]

THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS

Keigo Takami is in love with you, and you don't love him back

Hanahaki disease, angst, fluff, workplace romance

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Keigo starts his morning the same way he has for the past two months, by coughing up a handful of bloody petals.

It splatters against the pure white of his toilet bowl, and he watches, knees digging into the floor and hands grasping the lid as they wash away, the water turning pink as the red petals disappear. It’s disgusting, really, the way he’s sprawled on the toilet floor, and on any other day he wouldn’t even consider touching the lid of any toilet, even his. But he doesn’t care, because the pain in his chest is aching, and his lungs burn as tries to breathe in, and Keigo cannot stop thinking about you.

The first time he’d coughed up a petal, it was after a week of pain. He thought it might just be the flu, or some other illness he’d caught from flying around in the cold winter winds. But then one night it had reached its peak, and Keigo was in slight disbelief at the red rose remains in his hand after he’d coughed his lungs out. It was small and bloody. He didn’t know what to think of it, so he didn’t. Maybe he swallowed something when he was flying, who knows. It wasn’t anything to worry about, he decided.

And then it happened again. And again. And it’s been happening ever since, now two months later, only getting worse and worse as the days go by. It was only after a week that he looked up his symptoms, the flowers and the blood and the constant pain in his chest, and the internet said there was only one thing it could be. 

Hanahaki disease. It originated in Japan, apparently, and was rare, but real. Keigo skipped past all the useless information to find what he really needed. He found it’s a disease where someone coughs up flowers due to unrequited feelings for somebody. And he knew, the minute he read those words, that his unrequited feelings were for you.

Keigo had never loved anyone in his life. Not his parents, for obvious reasons, and his training at the Hero commission had meant that he had no time for it anywhere else. Not that there was anybody in there to love, anyway. And now, as a Pro hero with his own agency, he didn’t want love. It complicated things, and he was in no position for a relationship anyway. He barely had time for himself, so how could he deal with a relationship? So Keigo filled the empty parts of himself with meaningless sex with whoever he found. At parties, at award evenings. It was just the physicality of it, skin on his own. He craved it and got it where he could. It pissed his publicist to no end, but they usually kept quiet, and scandals always did good for the agency. 

And then he met you.

His assistant had quit. Something about better opportunities, work closer to home. He had flashed her his best smile, sent flowers to her home, and waited dutifully in his office for you to walk in the next day. And you did, perfectly pressed shirt and black skirt, smiling so sweetly at him and introducing yourself, and he knew it was over. 

It’s not his fault. What couldn’t he love about you? You were funny, you were kind. You brought him breakfast every morning and started leaving a pillow and a blanket in his office when you knew he’d come off a night shift. You actually spoke to him like he was a person, not Hawks, not the Number two hero. It didn’t take long for the feelings to start but he thought he was pushing them down well enough.

These flowers tell him he’s not. 

He flirts with you, and the two of you joke around, but nothing ever comes of it because he knows you don’t like him back. And even if you did, Keigo would never do you the horrible favour of burdening you with loving somebody like him.

Keigo sighs, pushing himself gingerly to his feet. He clears his throat and it stings from the acidity of throwing up. He moves on autopilot, shrugging on his coat and typing the laces on his boots. His mind races with thoughts of you, of how long he has left. The final stages are apparently whole flowers and he ignores the voice in the back of his mind that says judging by what he just coughed up, he’s getting dangerously close to the end.

The weather outside is cold and bitter. Keigo hates winter, hates how he has to bundle to avoid the sharp, piercing wind whenever he flies. It’s harder to patrol in the dark and you’re less likely to leave the agency for your lunch break, so it also means he can’t use it as an excuse to take you out. He steps out on his balcony, sliding the door behind him, and he shuts his eyes.

Sometimes he thinks in another life, he’d tell you. In another life maybe he was just an assistant like you, someone normal, someone you deserved. That after his shift he’d get to come home and you’d have cooked dinner or he’d bring home takeout. He craves normalcy, to have a home with someone, and he can’t help but dream it’s with you.

He slips his goggles on and pulls up the gaiter around his neck. He steps forward and with one strong flap of his wings he’s in the air. 

The flight to the agency doesn’t take long. Nothing really does, to be honest. He’s not patrolling today but he still keeps an eye on the ground, the sky still dark as the world wakes up around him. He lands deftly in his own office, and the wide windows being pushed open already lets him know you’re in the building too. He runs a hand through his hair, quickly checking his reflection to make sure he looks good. He does, obviously, but he can’t help but worry. There’s a familiar knock on his door, and you don’t wait for him to let you in before you enter.

Today, you’re wearing a long pair of trousers that hug your legs, the white blouse you have on buttoned up apart from the top two, a small sliver of skin exposed to show a small gold necklace he got for you at a Christmas party, holding two coffees.

His heart pounds and he coughs into his sleeve. Your eyebrows furrow and you step forward, empty hand reaching out.

“Are you okay, Hawks?” You ask, and he nods.

He clears his throat, swallowing away the feeling prickling it. He nods, flashing you a toothy grin. “Yeah, now that you’re here.”

You roll your eyes but he doesn’t miss the small smile on your face as you set his drink down on the table. He takes a long drink of it and you wince.

“God, I don’t know how you drink that. It’s more sugar than coffee.” You scrunch your nose and he shrugs.

“I need the energy, babe, you know that. All that flying around burns calories quickly.”

One of his feathers shuts the window, another two hanging up his coat. Your eyes follow quickly. He might be trying to impress you a little, but it’s been a long enough time of you watching this show that he’s sure it doesn’t do much. The skin tight thermal might, though. He may or may not be flexing a little when he stretches, but he doesn’t see any harm in that. 

You nod, pulling out your phone, eyes quickly averting away from him. “Okay, so. Luckily for you, today is just paperwork. No energy necessary.” You sigh, sitting down heavily. “I hate paperwork days.”

He knows exactly why. The long, tired hours of writing and reading. Anyone would hate it, but Keigo? Keigo loves paperwork days. A whole day with the two of you in a room? What couldn’t he love about that?

He sits down across from you. It feels a little weird, too formal, with you across his desk. He doesn’t use it much. His office is pretty empty. There's no decorations, no plants, nothing. It's empty because Keigo doesn’t care. He doesn’t like this office. The only thing he likes about it is that it’s the place he spends the most time with you. He wishes you were closer.

He coughs. There's a familiar feeling itching in his lungs and he begs to a God he doesn’t know that he won’t throw up flowers in front of you.

“Aw, come on. Paper days are fine. And I’ll order food for us later.”

You perk up at that. “Really? Let’s get yakitori.”

“And this is why I love you.” He coughs again and you peer at him.

“Are you okay? You keep coughing today.”

He nods. “Don’t worry about it, babe, I’m good.”

You keep looking at him. “If you’re sick, go home.”

“No, I’m fine. The number two hero doesn’t get sick.”

You don’t look convinced but you hold up the first set of papers. His fingers brush against yours as he grabs them. The two of you sit in silence for all of five minutes before Keigo groans. You look up, amused.

“I’m bored.”

You sigh. “Me too. But as your assistant I have to tell you to keep going.”

Keigo pouts. You tap the pen in your hand against the desk.

“No way to get out of this?” He says. “Nope.”

“No work parties I can look forward to?”

You shake your head. Then you sit up suddenly. “Wait. Oh my god.”

Keigo sits up too, immediately mirroring your panic. His wings curl out behind him. You cover your face with your hands.

“What? You’re freaking me out, Y/N.”

“There is a work party! Tonight. That I’m supposed to be planning. And I completely forgot!” You groan.

Oh. That’s easier to deal with. “It’s fine, don’’t worry. We’ll sort it.” You shake your head and it ruffles your hair, and he wishes he could reach forward and brush it behind your ear. “No, I don't know what to do. It’s for Kaylee’s birthday! Everyone loves Kaylee, I love Kaylee, that’s why I offered to plan this for her.” You ramble.

Keigo catches most of your babble. He quickly moves off from behind his desk to stand in front of you, his hands coming to rest at your shoulders. “Breathe, girl.”

You do, chest moving up and down slowly. Like this, with you still seated and him standing, he towers over you. He thinks for a moment.

“Let’s just go now.”

“What?”

“We’ll just go get the stuff you need right now. Shouldn't be too much, right?”

Your eyes glance at the paperwork on the desk. “What about all that?”

He hums, and you look up at him again. This close, Keigo can see you so much clearer, so much brighter. Another cough rumbles in his chest and he ignores it. “We can do it another day. Blame it on me.”

You bite at your bottom lip, considering his offer. You stand up and nod, determined.

“Okay. Okay, let me get my coat. I’ll meet you at the front desk.”

And then you’re out before he can say another word.

—----------

Keigo thinks this is torture. Real, honest to God torture.

You’d refused his offer to fly to the marketplace, so now the two of you were just walking down the street. He’d left his feathers at work, and changed into the most civilian outfit in the agency. It always felt weird without them on his back, the heavy weight something he’d been used to since he was born. But for you, Keigo thinks he might set them all on fire. 

What makes everything worse is that you’re walking with your arm linked in his. You had been since you’d walked out the agency, animatedly talking and pointing at the things around you. It was hard to focus on much when your fingers squeezed his bicep every time you saw something you liked. 

“Okay, so. I need a cake, and decorations. And like, snack food.”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am. Can we squeeze lunch in there?”

“There’s always time for lunch, Hawks.” 

The first stop the two of you end up at is a supermarket. You pass him a coin to grab a shopping cart and he immediately starts running around with it, and you tut.

“Hawks, enough. People are looking.”

Your words should sound annoyed, but there’s a soft fondness behind them that has his head reeling. You take the cart from his hands and he lets you walk ahead, because the feeling that he’s started to dread builds in his torso, and he grabs the tissue out of his pocket and he coughs.

It’s loud and grating and it scratches the back of his throat. He’s lucky that there’s nobody around to see him gag into his hand, the petals tickling as he spits, blood splattering against it. He breathes heavily, once, twice, and tears prick at his eyes. He curses, eyes screwed shut. Not today, not like this. Not when he finally has a day alone with you. He throws the tissue in the trash outside the shop, and goes in to find you.

He finds that grocery shopping is fun. He’s never actually been before. His groceries are kindly delivered by the Commission straight to his front door, so he’s never actually done this before. It’s exciting. He likes the little line you get between your eyebrows whenever you get annoyed at him for putting random things in the basket.

“Hawks, enough! We don’t need six loaves of bread!”

“We do! We can make those little hors d’oeuvres with like, pesto on them.”

You mumble some choice words under your breath, putting them all back. “Hawks, this isn’t some Hero commission party. We’re getting a bag of Doritos and dip and calling it a day.”

Keigo pouts and you drag him over to the basket. “Here, you push this.”

You take him to the produce aisle and he boos as your throw in a few vegetables sticks. Keigo gags again, holding up the celery sticks. You snatch them out his hand and toss them back in the car.

“Stop. We need something healthy so we can eat a carrot stick and feel good about the cake I’m going to buy.” You tap your head knowingly and he grins.

“I don’t look healthy enough as is?” He stretches out his arm and the windblower you’d found for him in the agency billows around his arms.

You snort, patting him on the chest. “Oh, yeah. You look great.” 

It leaves him winded, just for a second, and then he’s back.

The cake aisle is his favourite one. You steer him clearly away from the children’s cakes, because he’s sure you saw the light in his eyes when he noticed the Marvel cake. 

“Can we get chocolate?” He asks, and you shrug.

“I don’t know. You know what Kaylee likes?” You step a bit closer to the shelves, peering at the different boxes.

Keigo hums, tapping the corner of his chin. He walks around the cart until he’s right next to you. “How about that? Red velvet. And it looks cute.” He points to the one near you, arm reaching over and brushing against yours.

“Hm. Yes. That’s- Yes. Red velvet.” You nod.

Keigo glances at you and he finds the two of you are closer than he realised. He thinks if he leans in just slightly you’ll be kissing. He smiles, soft and sweet. 

“You look pretty this close.”

“So I look ugly from afar?” You joke, but you sound nervous.

Keigo's eyes dart to your lips. It’s so quick but he sees the way your cheeks flush. “You never look ugly. Don’t I compliment you enough?”

You shove him away softly, reaching for the red velvet cake.

“Enough out of you. Go grab candles.”

And Keigo does, in the next aisle over, and hopes you can’t hear him coughing up another handful of petals. 

———

The two of you finish up quickly, despite Keigo’s efforts to long out the day as much as he can. The coughing only gets worse, and he’s surprised you haven’t noticed the amount of times he disappears to hack up his lungs around the nearest corner.

But it’s fine, he tells himself. This is about you, about helping you. He can deal with this problem later. 

You, who are sitting across from him in the tiniest table known to man at his favourite yakitori place. Part of him is a little annoyed about the whole ‘civilian disguise’, because whenever the owner sees it’s him he always gets a few extra sticks. But he can’t complain. Your legs are touching his, seeing as you’d shoved the both of you in the farthest corner of the shop possible. Which also happens to be the smallest in the shop.

“Okay, so, when we get back I’ll set up everything and we’re done!” You speak around a mouthful of food, chicken almost falling onto the table.

He nods, mouth also full. “Perfect. And you’re sure you don’t need help setting up?”

You shake your head. “I should be good, there’s not that much to do.”

You place the now empty stick on the table, dusting your hands. “Thanks for this, Hawks. Really.” 

He just smiles. “Don't mention it. Anything for my favourite assistant.”

“Aren’t I your only assistant?”

“So? You’d still be my favourite if I had more.” 

You snort, picking up another stick. “Sure, sure.”

The grocery bags crinkle beneath the table. And like this, without his wings and without any eyes on him Keigo can be selfish and pretend like this is real. 

You glance around the restaurant. “I like this place. Why haven’t we come here before?”

Keigo shrugs, polishing off another two sticks. “It’s usually busy around our lunch time. We should come more though.”

You nod. “Definitely. There’s this ramen place too, we should go there. It’s by that supermarket we went to.”

It’s so casual, so calm, and his heart is racing. 

“Oh! I found this song. I think you’ll like it.”

You dig in your purse and pull out the same ratty wired earphones he makes fun of you for everyday. He rolls his eyes and you glare at him.

“No. Shut up.”

“Just let me buy you a nice pair of AirPods, babe. Seriously, these are dying.” He flicks the wire that’s covered in tape and you tut, pushing his hands away.

“Never. I'm a wired earphone supporter till I die. Come here.”

You scoot your chair closer to the table, but they don’t really reach. “Fuck. Okay, wait.”

You stand up, dragging your chair so it’s right up next to his. You sit down, and your hand comes up to brush his hair out of the way so you can press the earphone in his ear. And if you see his breath hitch you don’t say anything. Just hit play, your own earphone in.

And the pure bliss of having you this close, close enough that he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume, lasts about a minute before he starts coughing.

He reels it back as much as he can, wincing as he swallows the petals that try to crawl their way out his throat. He drinks water, washing away the taste of metal from his mouth and he barely even registers your hand on his shoulder.

“Hawks? Are you alright?” There’s panic clear as day on your face, and he nods.

“Y-Yes. Don’t worry, I think I just swallowed a piece of chicken wrong.”

You’re not convinced as easily as before. “That didn’t sound normal, Hawks. Should we take you to the doctor?”

“No, it’s fine, babe. I promise.” 

He holds up his pinkie. You just stare at him for a moment, eyes searching for a lie. But you seem to believe him, because your hand comes up and your finger curls around his.

——-

The party is going well, he thinks.

Kaylee looks happy. You did well with the decorations, as best as you could do with an office room and an hour. There’s pink balloons and streamers that Keigo wants to scream that he bought with you. But that’s stupid and desperate, so he doesn’t. 

You’d all sang and cheered as she blew out her candles. She looked nice but Keigo couldn’t keep his eyes off you, grinning so hard it was like your face was about to split in half. People were milling about now. Keigo likes to think he knows all his employees but he’d be lying if he said he recognised every face that had come to greet him.

There is one face he could recognise anywhere.

“Birdbrain! What are you doing here?”

Rumi’s voice is loud and full of energy, and he can’t help but mirror the grin on her face the second she claps him on the back.

“It’s almost like this is my agency.” He raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

“Kaylee and I know each other from ages ago. She used to intern when I was working with Best Jeanist.”

Keigo nods. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a guy approaching you. One of the office workers he can’t name. His wings are back on his body and he wishes he could send one over to listen to what you’re talking about.

“But- Are you even listening to me?” Rumi says.

“Yes. I am.”

“No. You’re not.” 

Rumi follows his eyeline, to where you’re handing out slices of cake. She nods, understandingly. “I see. Have you asked her out?”

“What? No. Why would I- She’s my assistant.” Keigo splutters.

Rumi laughs, clapping him on the shoulder once more. “Oh, Hawks. Has positions of power ever stopped you before?”

Keigo frowns. “No, it’s not like that. I’m not trying to just hook up with her.”

“Oh.” Rumi looks at you again. “You actually like her?”

“Yes. No. It’s- It’s complicated.”

Rumi hums thoughtfully. The two of them were quite blatantly staring at you now, and Keigo is sure you’d be quite weirded out if you caught them. But he doesn’t need to worry about that, because your attention is stolen away by some guy. Keigo doesn’t even know his name because he’s some irrelevant worker that doesn’t even matter.

But he seems to matter to you. Because you are smiling and laughing, and you nudge his shoulder when he says something Keigo itches to hear.

“Well. Maybe try telling her. She won’t wait around forever.” Rumi nods towards you and he shakes his head.

“That’s… I don’t- Just leave it.” Keigo’s voice sounds bitter in a way he’s not used to, and Rumi peers at him.

“Birdbrain? You doing okay there?”

He’s not. How could Keigo be doing okay, when Rumi is annoyingly right? You won’t wait forever. Keigo doesn’t even have forever. He has a few weeks left if his research is correct. And for some dumb reason Keigo didn’t seem to think about the fact that he might live to see you with someone else.

You move slightly closer to him, and Keigo’s fist clenches. 

He doesn’t even know the guy, but can he be surprised? You’re perfect, you’re you. It makes sense that he’s not the only one in love with you. Keigo sees the hand this guy places on your elbow, the way he smiles at you whenever you laugh. He knows that look because it’s how he looks at you everyday. 

And then it starts. Slow and slight. It stirs in his lungs, just a tickle, but he knows, he knows what comes next.

Rumi notices the way his face pales, and she shakes his arm. “Hawks? You’re freaking me out, what’s wrong?”

And he tries to answer, but all that comes out is a choking noise he can’t even recognise as a sound his own body made. And the feeling builds up all too quickly, and Keigo thinks he might be dying. He’s rushing out the room to try and make it to the bathroom, but he doesn’t make it further than out the door, because the pain in his chest is splitting, like somebody is trying to push their way out of his skin. He drops to the knees and he clutches at his stomach, and he coughs and coughs and there’s blood, and there’s flowers now, fully grown flowers-

And then everything goes dark.

——————

Keigo opens his eyes to the bright white ceiling of a hospital room. It’s not something he hasn’t seen before, and the slow blink back to life and the few seconds of peace before the pain kicks in are always the worst. He blinks harshly before slowly, slowly sitting up, arms almost buckling from his weight. 

He hates the weakness that comes with injury, the embarrassment. If he was still training at the commission they would’ve sent him back on the field before he’d even gotten up. But, he doubts he’d have gotten a disease quite like this over there.

It’s only after he’s pushed himself into a sitting position that he sees you. 

Arms crossed as your head leans back against the wall behind you, asleep. He has no idea how long it’s been, but judging by the fact you’re still wearing the clothes you were wearing in the office, he assumes it’s the same day. He glances out the window and its pitch black.

And you look beautiful. Even with the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, the worry on your face even visible in your sleep. Keigo looks away, but not before you wake up and catch him staring. You blink like you might be dreaming, before you bring your chair closer to him.

“Hawks. You’re- You’re awake.” You whisper the words like if you say them too loudly they might not be true.

He smiles as best as he can. “Hey, pretty. The party still going on without me?” He tries for a joke but your eyes prick with tears. 

“Don’t. Don’t joke right now. Nothing about this is funny.” You sound serious in a way he’s never heard before, and some sick, twisted part of himself is giddy that it’s all for him.

“You promised you were fine.”

Keigo wants to turn away because the hurt on your face is his fault.

“I’m sorry. I just-“ He sighs. “Did you see?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone else see?”

“No. Rumi stopped them from coming out into the hall.”

He nods. You shake your head, hand coming up to rub at your eyes. 

“How long has it been?” He asks.

You check your watch. “It’s one in the morning so. About six hours.”

Keigo falters. “Wait- You’ve been here for six hours?”

You frown. “Well obviously. I- They said I’m your emergency contact. And someone had to be here to tell you what the doctor said.”

He knows already. From the sharp pain in his chest he knows.

“I’m assuming you know it’s Hanahaki?”

He nods. You nod.

“You-“ You curse. It takes a few moments for you to get the words out.

“He said you don’t have long. The petals, he said they’re starting to look like flowers. Fully grown ones. And that means you’re in the final stages.” Your voice cracks and Keigo thinks he might throw up again.

“Okay.”

You pause. “Okay? Is that all you have to say? Okay?”

Keigo frowns. “Y/N, I-“

“Do you not get it, Hawks? You’re going to die. He says you’re going to die if you don’t either tell the person or- get the surgery done.”

Keigo shakes his head immediately. “I’m not doing the surgery.”

Your lip quivers and you pull yourself even closer. Your hand grabs his and it’s cold where his is warm, and you squeeze. 

“You have to, Hawks. The world can’t lose you. I can’t lose you.” You whisper.

And your words sound so raw, so vulnerable, and it tears at his inside more than the roses growing inside them.

“Just try. Try, okay? Tell them how you feel and see. It- It might be reciprocated. It definitely will be. I mean, who wouldn’t be in love with you?” You laugh wetly, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

But there’s something else behind them.

Jealousy.

And there’s a small flicker of hope that grows beneath his bones. And he looks at you then, at the tears that gather on the bottom of those fluttering eyelashes. And he reaches up, brushes the curve of your cheek.

And your breath hitches. He feels the heat on your face from how close he is, and he thinks he might cry.

“It’s not fair.” His voice sounds so weak, so awfully weak and he wants to scream. 

“What is? What’s not fair?” You ask.

“I can’t tell her. I don’t deserve her.”

You look so confused. Like he’s said the dumbest thing in the world. “What?”

“I’m not- I work almost everyday, and when I am off I’m too tired to do anything. My place is more of a prison cell than an apartment. I- I’ve never even been in a relationship before. Never even thought about it. I can’t- I’m not allowed, Y/N.”

And now his voice cracks and your hand squeezes tighter. And his voice sounds unfamiliar. This desperation, the frantic panic that fights against his words is so unlike him. Keigo has never been vulnerable with anybody in his life, but that look in your eyes makes him feel like he can tell you everything. All the dirty horrible secrets he keeps locked inside himself.

“It’s not fair. I don’t know if I can even be there for someone. It’s why I never said anything, I didn’t want to mess up a relationship that’s so important for me for one I can’t even commit to. It’s not fair on you, Y/N. You deserve better.”

He feels like there’s a weight that’s left his shoulder when he finishes speaking, rambled words he can barely remember. He’s out of breath when he’s done. Waiting anxiously for you to say something. Maybe this real version of Keigo is too much for you. He has half a mind to tell you it was just a joke, he didn’t mean it if it means you’ll stop looking so shocked. Keigo just needs you to say something.

“I deserve better?”

He doesn’t expect that. “What?” He says, confused.

You swallow roughly and he watches the sharp lines of your throat as you do so. “You said ‘you deserve better’. You as in, me. As in… I’m the one you have feelings for?”

Shit.

“I- Did I say that? I think it’s the medicine, it’s making me all-“

“Are you in love with me, Hawks?”

The room isn’t silent. The machines he’s hooked up to all make a low humming noise, and he can hear people and nurses walking and talking outside. But when you say those words it feels like the world has stopped. 

He could lie. But Keigo won’t get the surgery, so he figures he might as well let you know how he feels before he dies.

“Yes.”

You freeze for a moment. Then your hands come up to cover your face and he immediately misses the contact. And then your shoulders start shaking and he thinks you're crying.

Keigo sighs. “It’s not that awful of a thing. No reason to cry.”

“I’m not crying. I’m laughing.”

When you look back up at him there are in fact tears running down your face, but you look happy. And hope claws its way out of him.

“This funny to you?”

“No. Your stupidity is, though.” 

Keigo is quiet for a moment, confused. “Do you mind elaborating on that?”

“Hawks, do you think it’s normal that I do all your paperwork with you? Or that we get lunch together almost everyday? Do you think any other assistant in all of Japan would stay as late as their boss, especially when he’s a top ten Pro hero who rarely finishes before ten in the evening?”

“I-“

“Do you think it’s normal that I wear this necklace you bought me everyday?” And you reach into your shirt and pull it out, the gold catching against the light.

“Hawks, I spend every waking second I’m in that agency with you if I can help it. I’ve had job offers a million times better than what I do for you, and I’ve rejected every single one because I wanted to be with you.”

Keigo doesn’t say anything. You grab his hand again, but it feels a little more threatening this time.

“You don’t get to decide if I deserve you or not, I do. It’s- I can’t believe you. I don’t care about all that. We’ll figure it out together.”

And Keigo just closes his eyes, because this can’t be real. He must be dreaming, because Keigo doesn’t get things like this. Love. Nothing like that look on your face that’s all for him.

“You sure you're not just saying this because I’m dying?”

And you laugh, and let your tears fall freely, and Keigo can finally breathe clearly for the first time in months.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

this is for lysa if ur anyone else stop reading...?

JKKKKK guys i love hawks so much i can't explain... he was my lover for so long i miss him

also i loved writing this i literally did it in ONE NIGHT?? plz give me more ideas pookas

LOVE U ALLL HAVE A GOOD NIGHT

[sinnabarmoth]

These Roses Have Thorns

Pairing: Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: Reader has feelings for a man she met at the arcade named Sylus. There are two major problems though. 1. He has feelings for someone else. 2. This means you've contracted Hanahaki disease. Could having a crush be any worse?

Content Warnings: Adult language. Kidnapping. Descriptions of coughing up flowers.

Length: 6k

So you had worked at the arcade for a while now. It was a pretty easy job as jobs went. You restocked claw machines, vending machines, disinfecting joysticks, made sure floors stayed swept and that kids weren’t climbing into through the claw machine flaps to steal toys. For the most part you were behind a desk just people watching.

You saw a lot of couples come in and out, playing games and acting all adorable. It made you long for something like that. You had been single for a while now and the desire for a boyfriend got stronger and stronger every time you saw another ridiculously cute couple come in.

There was this one girl you saw come in a lot. She was always with a different guy though. All of them good-looking. You thought that maybe she was a serial dater or maybe she just had three different boyfriends that she was cheating on. Maybe she was just friends with all of them and you were reading too much into it. It was hard to know for sure because she was so stinking cute and the guys she came in with her were all drop dead handsome.

They spent most of their time at the claw machines winning prizes. After a while you stopped blinking an eye when she came in with the blond then the purple haired guy then the serious looking dark haired man every week. Whatever their relationship was, it was none of your business.

Then one day someone new walked in. You were sure you had never seen this man before. He had silver hair, blood red eyes, and had on dark clothes that stood in stark contrast to the peachy pink interior of the arcade. He spotted you staring and walked up. He was also tall as could be, easily dwarfing you by a good few inches.

“Can you exchange these bills for tokens?” his voice was a smooth and rich baritone that made your toes curl in your shoes.

“Oh uh,” you forced yourself to stop staring and take the bills he held out for you. “Yes. Right away.” You turned, heart hammering hard in your chest as you stuck the bills in the coin machine behind you and exchanged them for a huge bucket of tokens.

“There you are.” You set the bucket on the counter. “Sure is a lot of tokens, planning on playing a lot of games?”

“There’s a certain plushie that a friend of mine wants. It’s apparently a limited supply stock so she was adamant about getting it, but she also got called away on work suddenly. So here I am.”

“Oh! The cake bunny one? Yeah, we don’t get them in very often.” You couldn’t deny you weren’t tempted to steal one for your own plushie collection back home. “Well, sounds like you’re a very good friend. I wish the best of luck to you.”

“Thanks.” he took the bucket and went over to the claw machines. From where you were stood you could keep an eye on him, and you were more than thankful for that. He was definitely not bad to look at.

You watched him for a while, trying and failing over and over to get the plush he desired. He was having good luck accidentally grabbing other ones though. You did end up having to go over and talk to him when you noticed him use an evol on the machine.

“Sorry sir, no evol influence with the machines.” you said, scampering up to him. “Company policy.”

He sighed, looking in at the glass case and recalled his evol. “This bunny is proving far more difficult to get than I anticipated.”

“You got a lot of others though.” you picked up one of the little stuffed bumblebees. “Even if you don’t get the bunny you can shower your friend in all these.”

“She has most of them already.” he poked the bee you were holding. “If you want any of them, feel free to take them. I’ll have no use for them.”

“Really?” you squeezed the bee plushie to your chest.

He smirked. “Of course,” he leaned in closer so he was almost nose to nose, “If you can do me a favor and look the other way on this evol business. What do you say?”

Your face flushed and your heart went racing again. “Oh uh…” you looked away. “I mean, it isn’t like I’m losing money if you end up getting the toy. Just don’t be obvious about it, okay?”

He chucked you under the chin. “You’ll see that I can be very stealthy, no one will ever know about this. Your understanding is greatly appreciated, have your pick of the lot, honey bee.”

Did he just call you honey bee?

He turned back to the game, his evol re-emerging to help move the cake bunny plush into a better position. You were stuck for a moment before remembering yourself and grabbing two other plushes from down by his feet and carrying them back to the desk.

You glanced back over your shoulder and saw that he was watching you with a satisfied smile. A tickle fluttered in the back of your throat and you coughed lightly to dislodge it, though it did nothing of the sort.

The day continued on and soon it was time for you to start locking up. Unfortunately for him, that guy was still at the claw machine. He was hitting his head off the glass and looked about two seconds from breaking it and just grabbing the plush.

“There is no way that this isn’t rigged somehow.” he said. “There just isn’t a way I can be this bad at getting one stupid toy.”

“Well, you got one more token.” you handed it to him. “One last chance and then I gotta lock up.”

“Lock up?” He looked around at the abandoned arcade. “How long have I been at this?”

“Long enough that it’s night now.” you gave him a little pat on the back. “Come on, one last try. You got it.”

He sighed and put in the last token. “You can do it! I believe in you!” Maybe a little cheering would help.

He gave a wry smile and moved the joystick so the claw was over the toy once again. He hit the button and lo and behold the plushie stayed! It dropped down into the chute and the lights flashed as he finally won.

“Three hours…” he took the plush out of the machine. “She had better appreciate what I went through for her.”

“I’m sure your friend will. Now come on, I was supposed to have this place locked up a half hour ago.”

“If you closed half an hour ago why didn’t you kick me out sooner?”

“You had been at it for so long and you didn’t have that many tokens left so I decided to just leave you to it while I did some cleaning.” you shrugged.

You left the arcade and locked the door behind you. Then cursed when you realized it was raining. Walking back to your apartment was going to suck. Why hadn’t you brought an umbrella?

The man went to a motorcycle parked by the curb and got on. “You waiting for someone?” he asked.

“No. I think I’ll just wait to see if the rain lets up any.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t impose.”

“You let me cheat at the game and kept the arcade open late for me. I can give you a ride home, I have an extra helmet.” he opened the seat and fished out a helmet.

Your heart did another pitter patter in your chest. “You don’t mind? I don’t want you to have to go out of your way.”

He rolled his eyes and tossed you the helmet. “Get on the bike, honey bee.”

“Okay. Thank you.” you pulled the helmet on. He sat you on the seat of the motorcycle and told you to hold on tight so you didn’t fall off.

You gave him the address for your apartment building and he drove straight there. It was nice getting a ride but because it was on a motorcycle you were still getting drenched by the rain. Finally you made it back to your apartment and got off the bike. “Thanks again,” you said. “Um…sorry I don’t know your name.”

“Sylus.” he held a hand out.

You shook it. “It was a pleasure.” A crack of thunder made you jump. At the same time your phone beeped with an alert. Automatically the emergency alert started playing.

“Severe and unsafe weather conditions. All citizens are encouraged to stay inside. Roads experiencing flooding. Drivers are advised to pull over and remain where they are until the storm has lightened at eleven PM tonight.” the automated voice said.

“Sheesh.” you looked at Sylus as he prepared to get back on his bike. “Hey! You heard that alert the same as me. You shouldn’t be driving.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words.” you stormed back into the downpour and grabbed his arm. “It’s not safe. Please. Come inside, just until the rain lessens.”

He considered you for a moment. Something in your eyes must have resonated with him or maybe he was pitying your pleading look but he got off the bike. “Lead the way.”

This…probably wasn’t a good idea. Then again none of the choices you were making tonight were necessarily good considering that you didn’t know this guy. You watched him fail at a claw machine for a couple hours, that was it. And from that you decided to keep the arcade open late, got on his motorcycle, trusted him with your actual home address, and were now inviting him in. You didn’t get a vibe that he was someone who was going to hurt you but if your friends could see you right now they would yell at you for letting a strange man into your apartment for an indefinite amount of time!

Well too late. You were in it now.

You walked up to your apartment and let him. Your immediate course of action was to change out of your wet clothes and into dry ones. When you came back out of your room Sylus was still standing in the entry way dripping wet.

“Oh shoot, I forgot you were also still soaked.” you shoved your wet clothes in the laundry. “I think I have something you can change into while I put those clothes in the dryer.”

“And what do you have that you think will fit me?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure my ex-boyfriend left some of his sweats here when we broke up. Let me go find them. If you want you can go to the bathroom and dry yourself off, I’ll set the clothes outside the door.”

He nodded and went into the room you pointed to. You fished around in your drawers finally finding a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt your ex had missed when he was packing. The pants may be a little short on Sylus and the shirt was definitely going to be a bit snug since his chest was a lot broader but it was better than nothing. You set the clothes outside the door to the bathroom and went about wiping up the puddles of water while you got the kettle boiling. Rainy nights were a good time for hot tea and instant ramen.

The door to the bathroom creaked open and Sylus came out wearing the dry clothes. Like you thought, they weren’t a perfect fit but he didn’t look uncomfortable in them.

“I’ll just take those.” you grabbed the wet clothes and tossed them in the dryer. “Do you want anything to eat or drink? I was making some tea and ramen for myself if you wanted anything. Pretty sure I have some leftover curry too, some snacks, anything sound good?”

“Tea is fine.” he said.

You nodded and poured both of you cups of tea. There was a bit of an awkward air around you two as silence descended. You decided to have mercy and turn on the TV to distract yourself. After your ramen was done you both went to sit on the couch and watch whatever was playing.

As the storm raged on outside you found yourself becoming more and more at ease with your guest. The conversation wasn’t groundbreaking or anything but it was pleasant. He was pretty funny when he wanted to be. Time passed and you barely even noticed when the rain finally let up. It was nearly midnight when your phone alerted you that the streets were safe for drivers again.

“I’ll be taking my leave then.” Sylus said, “Thank you for inviting me in.”

“No problem. Thanks for the ride home.” you pulled his clothes out of the dryer and handed them to him. “Did you want to change back before you left?”

He shrugged on the jacket. “No. This will be fine. I need to get going sooner rather than later.”

You walked him to the door. “This has been a pleasant evening, more so than I was expecting.”

“Glad to know I was a good host.” you beamed. That tickle in the back of your throat had been getting more persistent all evening and you cursed as you turned to hack into your elbow again.

“Sounds like you should have gotten a hot shower when you came home instead of playing hostess.” Sylus said. “Can’t have you getting sick.”

“I’m not sick, I just think there’s some dust in my throat or something.” you wiped at your watering eyes. “Stay dry out there. Good night.”

“Good night.” he nodded and left.

Once the door had closed a large dopey smile had grown across your face. This evening had been so nice! He was really cool and kind and interesting. Not to mention pretty darn handsome. You were afraid you had made your mooning over him obvious by the end but he didn’t seem to have noticed. Probably too distracted by your annoying cough to realize you were gazing at him like a lovestruck school girl.

Maybe fate would lead him back to your arcade another day. You’d be brave and ask for his number if that happened.

You went to bed with your head full of fuzzy warm dreams. You were probably asleep for an hour or two before you woke up again coughing like mad. You could feel something caught in your throat. You know you could! Oh god, were you going to puke?

You swung out of bed and ran to the bathroom coughing and coughing and coughing until your throat was raw and your eyes watered so much you couldn’t see. When you peered down into the toilet bowl you saw a splash of red and your blood went cold. Oh no…was that blood? Were you coughing up blood?

You wiped the tears from your eyes and saw the red spot was not blood at all but instead a bright red rose petal. “Oh shit…”

~~~

The next couple days you could not stop thinking about that damn flower petal. Of course the second you developed a crush on a guy it would turn into Hanahaki disease! Hanahaki was annoying disease that was caused by a metaflux fluctuation hundreds of years ago that had permanently altered human DNA. So now, anytime someone fell for someone who did not reciprocate that feeling they coughed up flowers.

Your life wasn’t in danger. Hanahaki was an annoying chronic disease that lasted so long as you had feelings. You could opt for surgery to have it removed but it was still experimental. You knew that early surgeries had resulted in the patients being unable to fall in love at all after completion. Newer surgeries had seen progress where it just removed the inability to ever develop romantic feelings for the person you previously liked again which was a lot more doable.

Most people just lived with it until they finally had their hearts move on or if their unrequited love turned into an actual love match. The ratio of people who contracted Hanahaki and those who actually got with the person they had feelings for was not great. Then again, you checked five different medical websites and numerous forums and results varied wildly from place to place.

So you were just stuck with this. Coughing up stupid red rose petals again and again, all because you had the gall to like a guy. What a cruel world you lived in. It was absurd! You met the guy once! Spent a couple hours chatting while watching TV and that was it. What were the chances you were ever going to see him again? You just had to wait this out until your heart forgot about him.

Did suck to know that he must not have felt anything for you either. You had really thought you had some kind of connection.

A few more days went by and the cough wasn’t letting up. You didn’t want anyone at work knowing so you lied about having a slight cold and wore a mask to avoid questions. It was another normal day when you heard the door open. Glancing up from your notebook you saw who had walked in. Sylus!

The tickle in your throat started up again. A faint ray of hope shone down on you before being immediately crushed. Right behind him was that girl. The one that you saw coming in all the time with the other good looking guys. She was all oblivious smiles as she tugged on his arm towards one of the claw machines and you watched as Sylus’s expression softened at her touch, letting her pull on him toward the line of machines. It was the same look you had seen on every other guy that came in with this girl. You had seen enough love struck couples walk in and out of here to know exactly what was happening. He liked her.

She was the one that he had spent all that time and money on to win that stupid cake bunny plushie, wasn’t she? Fuck!

This girl had four different guys falling all over themselves and you couldn’t get one guy to look at you! This was beyond unfair! Why did it have to be this guy? Why did she have to add Sylus to her little harem? Would she not be satiated until she had every single good looking guy in the city fawning over her?

You took a deep breath in through the nose. You needed to stop. She was just a girl. Not her fault she’s cute and pretty and stuff. And Sylus didn’t owe you anything. He was just a stranger who had given you a ride home and made small talk with you for a couple hours. That was it. Still, it hurt. You turned around, coughing violently until you felt the wet velvet of a flower petal on your tongue. You tugged the mask down to spit out the petals and dropped them in the trash. This was a nightmare.

“Um…” you turned around at the sound of someone clearing their throat. It was the girl again. She gave you a bright smile. “Can I get some tokens please?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” you pulled the mask back up and exchanged the bills she gave you for tokens.

For the next hour or so you watched as Sylus and this girl went around winning prizes and playing games. You heard them mention getting lunch somewhere as they strolled to the exit. At least you didn’t have watch them any more.

As they were leaving though you saw Sylus turn his head and made direct eye contact with you. You straightened automatically. He gave you a polite smile and then he was gone with the girl.

You sighed. “I’m just an idiot, aren’t I?”

The day came to an end and you locked up the arcade. When you turned around you noticed a motorcycle pull up by the curb. He driver lifted the helmet off and you saw it was Sylus. “Glad I caught you.” he said. He fished something out of the storage compartment of the bike and held a bag out to you. “I washed the clothes you lent me. Here you go.”

“Oh,” you took the bag. “You really didn’t need to give them back. Not like I was going to miss them.”

He shrugged. “I don’t like being indebted to others.”

“Well, thanks.” you rocked on your heels. As he was pulling his helmet back on you felt a question flying off your tongue before you could swallow it back down. “I saw you come into the arcade earlier with a girl. Is she the friend you spent all that time winning that prize for?”

He looked up surprised. “Yes. She was very happy to have the toy but thought me ridiculous for spending so long to get it.”

“It just shows you’re persistent.” you forced a saccharine smile but realized he couldn’t see it behind the mask. “So is she like your girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Oh.” That made you feel a little better. “Then is she dating someone?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing. I just see her come in a lot with other guys and I figured one of them had to be her boyfriend.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “I have a feeling I know who you are talking about.”

Silence descended again. You wished he would just drive off so you could stop yourself from asking questions you knew would hurt you. “So…do you like her?”

“Yes.”

You swallowed back the urge to cough and throw up an entire bouquet of red roses. It felt like the roses in your lungs had spread to your heart and were constricting it with their thorny vines. One word from him and he had devastated you in ways you didn’t even know possible.

“Cool.” you said, your voice tight with control. “Well, good luck with that.”

You turned and started walking down the street, needing away from him before you did or said something else idiotic. Unfortunately he was not letting you off that easy.

“Do you need a lift home?” he called after you.

“No thank you. It isn’t raining tonight.” you said.

“But it is late and you don’t exactly live in the best part of the city.” he said, keeping pace with you on his motorcycle.

“Not as bad as the N109 zone at least.”

You could sense him watching you and when you turned to look at him he had the visor open and was giving you an unimpressed look.

“What?”

“I live in the N109 zone.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It isn’t for the weak.” he parked. “Now hop on already.”

Despite your best judgement you found yourself replying, “Fine.”

He dug the spare helmet out and passed it to you. You hopped on the back of the bike and held onto him as he drive you home once again. Without the rain pouring down on you, you could focus on the ride more. The lights of the city flashed by you so fast they looked like ribbons trailing behind you. Then there was Sylus who was so warm against you. You wanted this drive to never end.

When you got to your apartment building you handed him the helmet back. “Thanks again for the ride. Now I owe you one.”

“I’ll be sure to cash in in the form of you looking the other way when I use my evol to win arcade games.” he said with that smirk that made your insides melt and your lungs constrict. “Now go inside, turn on your light so I know you got in.”

“How like a mother hen of you.” you teased. “See you.” You bounded up the steps and got to your apartment. You turned on the light and went to the window. You saw Sylus down below give you a thumbs up and then he drove off.

The moment he was gone you doubled over and started coughing again, more petals falling from your lips. “These feelings aren’t going away any time soon, aren’t they?”

You were right. Your feelings did not go away as you had hoped they might have. After that night he drove you home again your feelings only continued to grow. This strange little thing became a more common occurrence.

Sylus would come by the arcade with the pretty girl every once in a while to play games and such. Then when evening came and you were locking up, he’d be waiting on the curb to drive you home. You tried not to think anything about it. Tried to tell yourself that he was just being kind. That he was just doing it to keep you in his good graces so you didn’t fine him for using his evol on the machines.

But the hopeless romantic in you saw something else in all his little gestures. Sometimes you would invite him in for coffee or tea and he’d join you for a bit inside. You’d chat as you sipped and then he’d have to leave. Most of the time when you got back to the apartment he’d stay outside and wait for you to turn on the light before driving off. But even that little act of making sure you got inside safely made your heart flutter.

Your weird little friendship was only making you fall harder and harder. And the harder you fell the worse the Hanahaki got. You had finally hit the stage where instead of a couple of petals you were coughing up entire rose heads. Thankfully they were small buds and not huge in full bloom blossoms but it didn’t make them hurt less.

Somehow you had gotten away with keeping your Hanahaki a secret from Sylus. You knew it was only a matter of time till he figured it out though. You had barely been able to cover your tracks and you could tell he was getting suspicious.

Finally you realized that you had to just bite the bullet and tell him about your feelings and the Hanahaki. You knew the chances of him reciprocating were slim to none. He had feelings for someone else but at least it would be off your chest. Maybe then you could finally move on.

It was another day and once again Sylus had driven you home. You turned to go inside but stopped and steeled yourself to tell him how you felt. When you looked back at him though he was tapping his finger quickly on the handle of the bike. “Something wrong? You look antsy.” you said.

“I’m just in a bit of a hurry.” he said.

Your heart clenched painfully, or maybe that was your lungs. “Going to meet your little girlfriend?” you teased, despite the ache in your chest.

He scoffed, “You don’t want to know my business, honey bee. Now head inside.”

“Alright. You get going if you’re in such a hurry.” you ushered him off.

He glanced at his watch and sighed. “Yeah. See you later.”

He took off down the street going far faster than the speed limit allowed. One of these days you were going to have to talk to him about not speeding. Even if he did have some kind of weird advanced healing factor it wasn’t safe for others for him to be going that fast.

You sighed. Your lungs ached as another flower decided it wanted to pop out. Fuck!

You coughed your way up the stairs to your apartment, finally spitting out the little red bulb. Did it look more in bloom than normal? “Well that’s just great.” you muttered. “Guess that’s my punishment for not saying anything. Maybe next time.”

You automatically reached to grab your key from your bag and immediately realized you had left your purse in the storage compartment of Sylus’s bike! Damn it! You grabbed the knob of your apartment door, knowing it wouldn’t open but frustration wanted you to try. You turned the knob and…the door opened! Did you forget to lock it before you left? That was careless but fortunate.

You stepped inside trying to figure out a way to tell Sylus he had your purse if you didn’t have your phone. It was probably why you didn’t notice the shadows at first. Not until you kicked off your shoes and your brain caught up, making out three large figures clad in black standing in your living room.

“Don’t make a fuss and this won’t be a problem.” one of them said.

You immediately turned to run back out the door but the figures lunged, grabbing hold of you before you could turn the handle. Someone hit the back of your head and it made you so dizzy you pitched forward, eyes rolling back into your head.

You couldn’t say when you came to again. There was some kind of bag over your head and you were aware you were in a car, could feel it bumping along down a road. Your head ached and you felt a stickiness at the back of your neck that you couldn’t discern as being blood or sweat. When the car came to a stop you were pulled out and walked somewhere. Even with the bag over your head you felt yourself swaying with dizziness.

Why was this happening? Were you being kidnapped? Trafficked? For what reason could someone want to kidnap you from your home?

You were sat down and tied to chair before the hood finally came off. You could tell pretty instantly you were in some abandoned old factory building. The figures that had kidnapped you were standing around you, two were men and one was a woman.

“What…what is going on?” you said, forcing your thoughts to stay straight. “Why did you kidnap me?”

“Don’t worry,” the woman said, “We’ll let you go once your boyfriend pays the ransom we send.”

“Boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.” you told them.

“You do.” one of them, a burly building of a man, gruffed at you. “No point trying to play dumb.”

“I’m not playing dumb. I don’t have a boyfriend. Whoever you think I am, I’m not the person you’re looking for.” you snapped at them. “Please, just let me go.”

“We saw him drop you off.” the woman said. “The leader of Onychinus.”

You wanted to question what they meant by Onychinus, you were sure you heard the name before. You were bad about keeping up with the news so you couldn’t say what it meant at the time. It was the other part that caught your attention though, they said they saw your boyfriend drop you off at your house.

Oh dear god above! “You mean Sylus?” you asked. Their gazes hardened.

“See. You do know who we are talking about.” the woman nodded to the more wiry man on her left. “And you wanted to grab the other girl.”

“Sylus isn’t my boyfriend you idiots!” you seethed. At the same time the statement made your lungs spasm. Shit! Not this too!

“We’ve been tracking him for a while and we have noticed time and time again that he drives you home, even comes inside. There’s no point denying it.”

“I’m not denying him taking me home. I’m denying him being my boyfriend. We’re just friends.” coughs wracked your body. You gasped around the flower pushing itself up your throat. “We’re--we--” more coughs shook you, “are nothing. I mean nothing to him.”

“You can say that as many times as you want but we know--”

The woman was cut off as you finally coughed up the flower and spit it onto the floor. All three of them froze as you took in ragged breaths.

“What the fuck is this?” the wiry one kicked the flower. “Do you have Hanahaki?”

“What gave it away, dumbass?” you muttered. “I told you. He’s not my boyfriend. I like him but…but he doesn’t like me. He has feelings for someone else.”

“Shit!” the woman continued to curse. “We grabbed the wrong one?”

“Told you.” the wiry man said.

“Shut it!” the woman snapped at him.

“What now, boss?” the burly man asked. “We can still try ransoming her if they’re friends.”

“You think he’s going to care that much about her worthless little life? There’s every chance he’ll just let us kill her if we send him a ransom.” the woman tsked. “Might as well keep ourselves off his radar until we get the right girl. Let’s just kill her now and move on.”

“Wait!” you screeched, “Wait please! You don’t have to kill me! I promise I won’t say anything if you let me go. Please!”

“We’re not taking that chance.” she leveled the gun she was carrying at you and a loud bang echoed in the room.

You closed your eyes, tears streaming down your face as the realization hit you that you were going to die in the moment. Was this really how it ended? Executed over a case of mistaken identity and a crush on a guy you met at work?

You waited and waited for the bullet to strike but you didn’t feel any pain. Maybe she shot you through the head and didn’t even get a chance to feel the pain. Maybe your brain was stretching out these last couple of seconds of your life. Maybe you were already dead.

Then you heard more loud bangs and your eyes snapped open. You were still in the warehouse. You weren’t dead! But then what--

You looked up and saw that Sylus and the pretty girl from the arcade were there. The three people who had kidnapped you laid on the floor, whether they were unconscious or dead was unclear. There was a tiny clink of metal and you saw a bullet fall to the ground and roll towards your feet. Had it just stopped halfway?

“You check her, I’ll get these guys.” the girl said and leaned down to check the kidnappers for a pulse. You really needed to learn her name at some point.

You felt the restraints holding you loosen and fall. Sylus walked over and knelt down in front of you. “You alright?”

“I…” without the restraints keeping you up you fell forward. Sylus caught you and sat you down on the ground. You relaxed into his arms, taking several deep breaths to still the shaking. “Sorry. What happened? How did you know I was here?”

He held up your purse. “You forgot this in my bike. I turned around to run it back to you and saw a van careen away from the apartment building. When I went up to your apartment the door was open and the inside looked like it had been ransacked. So, I called in some back up and found where that van had taken off to.”

“She a co-worker of yours or something too?” you asked.

“We actually operate on opposite sides of the law.” he shrugged. His gaze went to the flower on the floor. “What was this for?”

Your face burned. There was too much going on right now.

“Honey bee,” he turned your face to his, “Why did they kidnap you?”

“They thought I was your girlfriend. They wanted to ransom me back to you.” you said. “And the flower…I coughed it up.”

“You have--”

“Yes.” you almost wished the bullet had killed you so you didn’t need to have this conversation. “We don’t need to get into it.”

“Hanahaki is nothing to be embarrassed about.” he said. He glanced over at the girl who was stepping away to make a call for backup to come arrest the kidnappers. Sylus looked back at you, talking quietly. “I had it too.”

“Really?” you should have guessed as much considering how much he seemed to like this girl.

“I was coughing up bleeding hearts for months.” he sighed. “They’re small but still not fun to constantly be coughing up flowers.”

“You said you ‘had’ it. Does that mean pretty girl finally returned your feelings?” you could feel an entire bouquet of flowers about to erupt from your throat just thinking about it.

“No.” Sylus answered.

Your eyebrows shot up on your forehead. “Then, you got the surgery?”

“Also no.”

“Then what happened?”

“I…” he held you a little tighter, “I started coughing up pink peony petals instead.”

“Hanahaki can just change flowers in the middle of the disease?”

Sylus shook his head with a dry laugh. “No. As far as I am aware, the flowers are individual to the person the unrequited love is for.”

“Then who is it that you…” realization and a spark of hope started to rise in you.

He gave you a small smile. “I think we have a lot to talk about, honey bee.”

[valeriele3]

Yellow Carnations

A Hanahaki disease + SAGAU/Cult AU

Notes: Wanderer will be called Wanderer, or you can imagine the name you gave him, and Traveler will be referred to as Traveler since no one knows their real name except their sibling (and maybe Paimon?). Sorry this is rushed

A story where ones hope to love another turns hopeless.

"Traveler, can I.. tell you something?"

"Hm? Of course!"

You whip your head around to make sure no one else but the traveler can hear and whisper to their ear, "I like Wanderer."

The Traveler's eyes widen at your sudden confession and excitedly say, or rather, exclaim, "You do!?" She laughs bubbly. "I knew it! Sooo, when are you planning to confess?" They ask, their eyes practically sparkling.

"C-Confess!? No, no, no. I can't do that. Or at least, not yet!"

"And why not?"

"I don't even know him that well; I doubt he even remembers me."

"As if. you're practically hovering around him 24/7. I'm sure he remembers you. I would even go as far as to say that he likes you back!"

"Really? You think so.?"

"Mhm! If he didn't like you, he would've told you so, harshly, or even ignored your entire existence."

"Then..do you think I have a chance? You're really, really~ close to him, right?"

"Hmm~..Yeah?"

"Wha, so I really don't have a chance..!"

"Kidding, kidding, I think you have a high chance."

You continue to panic inside and overthink the possible endings if you were to confess. The traveler, noticing this, tells you, "How about this? I ask him if he's currently into anyone and maybe even pry enough to get him to say the name, ahem, your name, ahem."

"Really? You would do that for me?"

"Of course, you're my best friend."

"Of course I like, no, I love them. That isn't even a question worth answering; it's a given." Wanderer rolls his eyes and walks away to who knows where.

After waiting until the man was gone, you slowly walk out of your hiding spot, bubbling with joy. You and the traveler share a look and high-five each other.

After finding out about Wanderer's feelings for you, you consistently hung around him more; he always acted annoyed, but it wasn't any different from past interactions you've had with him.

You figured that this truly is just how he shows affection, somehow, like a tsundere!

And so you bid your time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to confess.

And when the time came, you faced a great humiliation.

It turns out he wasn't in love with you at all. No, he could never fall in love with someone like you; he said it himself after all.

You felt sick in your stomach, like it was churning, your throat was aching, and it felt dry.

While it was true he loved a Y/N, the Y/N he loved was not you. He loved the Creator.

How did you not know about this Creator? They even have the same name as you.

Wait, no, something's weird. What's this about a creator? You don't remember Teyvat having anything like that.

But before you could ponder anymore, your train of thoughts was interrupted by a coughing fit, covering your mouth with your hands. You tried to stop coughing, but the itching feeling was too much to handle.

Cough

Cough

You pause, 'petals?', where did the petals come from? There's no flowers around you

Clutching your hand, you began to spiral in your thoughts.

D̵̢̟͔̱͕͑̍͒̋̔̊̽́͝ǫ̷̧̧̜͍͖͎͕͉́̓́̍͜ ̶̻̲͛̀͛͑̒̾̕͝y̵̹̮̖͊͊̍̄̔͠ơ̵͇̺̯͓̗̫̜̝̆̌̏͜͝ú̵̪͚̫̬͈̙̭͈̙̈́́̌͗̐̂͋̓̔̈́͑̓͠͝ ̷̨̧̩̠̱̘̳́̐̉̅̐͗͒̏͗͝��̝r̵̛͉̃̂̎̾̋̎͆̎ę̴̧̧̛̛̪̱̜̞͚̦̘̳̙͙͉̄̇̋͋́͑̓̎̌͜͠͝͠ṁ̶̡̢̬̤͖͙̪̟̰̹͇͕̹̼̿͒̋̄̈̽̂̔̑͌̃̒̒͜͝e̵̖̻͚̝̦̘̤̓̒̉m̴̢̝̝͈̭͙̯͚͊̀͐̍̊̈́̚͘ḇ̶͉̬̖̅͒̂̽̔̆̊̆́͒͑ͅe̸͙̞̭̮̽͌̀̓̈́̎͂r̷̻͓̠̬̖̙̗̺̥̹̺̠͕̄͊̀̀̑̔͛̃̀͋͗̀͘͝ ̶͔͕̽͒̓̈́͋́̒̒̓̚í̶͍̺̣̞̟͐͐ͅt̴̹͐̎̾̃̚͝ͅ?̴̘̥̫̲͈͉̊͗̉̇̆͆͛͑̾͘͝ ̷̹̝̝̳͔̪̖̩̜͍͚͇̀̀͘H̶̫̺̿̅̍́̽̃̇͋͗a̸̧̢̢̢̛̯̮̫̩͙̠̫͔͙͔̔̀͊͒̾̆̽́n̴̨̞̬̾͜ą̶͙̥̥̻͎̼͂̓h̵̫̤͚͖̙̐á̷̧̧̪̥̭͖̂̂̐̔́̊̐͜͜ͅk̵̘̰̎̓̇͗͆͗́̿̈͛̀͠͝ͅi̶̛̳̍̈́̚ ̸̧̲̘̰̯͓̈́̓́͊͂́͊Ḑ̶̼̰̰͍̫̗͔̩̣̤̻̝̮̲͛̾̑͠i̶̧͖̪̋͌͌̒̔̉͐͋́́͗̿͆̅͠ş̶̲̬̦̺̖̀̒͒͂̆͛ę̴̡̝̳̩̝̹̥̯͇̮̻̪̟̬͑̑͐ằ̴̡̡͎͓̬̱͚͎͈̯̦̇͒̅͊ś̸̢̧̺̘̜͇̰̯͚̦̉̉e̵̡̡̤̙͖͉͍̝̭̞̝̓

"Y/N?"

The traveler spoke

"Are you alright..?"

Silence

The Traveler kept calling out to you but received no response.

'Ah..'

'My head..it hurts..throat..water..'

"Y/N?"

'Is someone calling me..?'

"He— Y/N!"

Thud

Opening your eyes, you see an unfamiliar ceiling above you.

Now on alert, you begin scanning your surroundings.

Creak

Surprised by the sudden sound of the door, as if by reflex, you quickly pretended to be asleep, just like the times you pretended to be asleep when you still stayed at your parents house when you were younger.

"Oh, you're awake."

They begin to move closer to you, and your breath hitches, but you remain unmoved.

"Chill Y/N. It's just me."

Now able to listen to the voice more clearly, you realize it's the Traveler.

Slowly opening your eyes, you're greeted by the sight of Traveler smiling at you beside your bed.

'I knew the traveler was good-looking, but damn. Imagine waking up to this sight.'

"Here, drink some water." The traveler offers, and you reach for the water in their hands, of course, saying thank you in the exchange.

"What happened?" you ask.

"You passed out out of nowhere; oh, don't worry, I made sure to get you checked out by a doctor, and they said that you probably just overworked yourself."

"I see.."

"Oh! The petals..! Did the doctor say anything about it?" You inquire.

"Petals? What petals?" the Traveler tilts their head in confusion.

"Before I passed out, I think I coughed up some flower petals."

"Ah..you must still be a bit dazed. Don't worry, you didn't cough up any petals. And if you did, well, that's a bit worrying. We can get you checked again if you want."

You shake your head, "No, its alright, I trust you. I probably just imagined it or something.."

Deciding to trust your friend, you try to move onto another subject, "By the way, where are we? I don't recognize this place."

"Oh! We're at my teapot."

"Hmm~ You decorated this place wel—I mean, what?! Teapot!?" Realizing that the Traveler might find it odd if you don't question how being inside a teapot works, you acted surprised in the middle, hoping that the Traveler would fall for your clumsy acting.

The Traveler stares at you for a second or two before answering. "Yup! I got this as a... gift of friendship. It uses adeptal energy to maintain the place, I guess? I don't really know the complexities about this place, so you can just ask Tubby about any questions regarding this place." The Traveler explains

"Hmm..Adeptal energy, huh? I've heard of that before..Liyue, right?"

"That's right!"

As you and the Traveler engage in casual conversation, you start to feel an itch in your throat, but you decide to ignore it. It's probably just a common cold about to come.

After resting for a few days in the teapot at the behest of the Traveler, you began engaging in your normal everyday life, or as normal as it could; you no longer hang around the Wanderer and try your absolute best to avoid ever running into him. Some people either look at you mockingly or with pity. But it's fine. You don't care about them; they won't have an effect on your life.

Another thing that's different from normal, though, is the fact that you're coughing up blood-stained flowers.

You didn't know the cause; you didn't want to worry other people, so you didn't tell anyone, but you did go see a doctor secretly, although not even they could provide the cause.

All you knew was that, upon looking back, it all started with a small cough, flower petals, and then as time went on, you started coughing up petals with blood.

You were worried that the next thing that might come out of your mouth might be full-grown flowers, but surely that's not possible, right?

A/N: SO..This was supposed to be an idea post like Live Stream, but the past me decided to write about it at the time with no planning whatsoever. Even the character chosen (Wanderer) was not planned. It was originally Xiao, but I couldn't do it since the dialogue didn't feel "Xiao," so I just swapped it with Wanderer since he has a very veryyy blunt personality.

So yes, this is technically unfinished, and I don't think I'll ever get back to it if I just continue to leave it inside my drafts.

Feel free to make a fic out of this, and if you do..PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TAG ME. I'VE BEEN CRAVING SAGAU + HANAHAKI DISEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Additional notes regarding this fic are in the comments

[lorelune]

(minors dni)

sorta hanahaki with jing yuan.

he’s caught spitting up ginkgo leaves (he has already had them in his throat, on his tongue, for quite awhile, but it’s these episodes are becoming more frequent—) tabloids run wild with rumors about the general succumbing to mara.

only he knows that he’ll die long before mara eats his mind. the gingko will never grow roots in his muscles and skin. it'll come up from his lungs and stomach far sooner.

jing yuan, as one can expect of someone so keen, is deeply aware of where his affliction stems from.

you’re a a recently-retired vagabond, a traveler. you've returned the luofu to settle down after a centuries away. you’re as enigmatic as you are charming. you've charmed him, certainly. he knows you’re settling into a new life.

there's a vivacity to you. regardless of his affection for you, it makes your life and way of living seem so out of reach for him. you feel out of reach for him. you humor him on little outings and frivolous appointments, but jing yuan never asks for more than that. not even when his gaze lingers with you for too long, or when you he itches to call you when he’s too deep in his cups. the itch under his skin blossoms into gingko flowers and third-moon leaves.

he has accepted the nature of his own affections, and the immutable truth that they couldn’t be returned. never mind how they continue to blossom within him, more and more whenever he sees you regardless of his reality.

you worry for him when the rumors start. you dote him on (you never have before, not like this—) you follow him around some days, helping wherever you decide he needs it. sometimes it's with desk work, other times training with yanqing. you even help him tend to his gardens and stock his seldom-used kitchen with easy meals.

he doesn’t think much of it, really. you’re not the only one to attempt to lend him a hand. it's just a kindness for an old man.

(in retrospect, he feels very foolish.)

one day in his gardens, after you so thoughtfully offered yourself up to tend it with him— you fall to the dirt, like you've been cut in the back of the knees. you make a sound like you're dying.

panic hits him so quickly he feels sick, a wretch working up his throat along with a mouthful of half-formed leaves.

it’s worrisome, how quickly his heart lurches and how the distance he’s maintained with you disappears. he’s at your side, a palm on your back as you cough and choke, a hand cups over your mouth.

with a final wet cough, your hand comes away to reveal a palmful of pink camellia petals, dappled with blood.

[noctxj]

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

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

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

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

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

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

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

pleasedontlookatme—

whatdoyousee—?

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

pleasejohndont—

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

bullseye— 

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

soblue—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“of course, captain.”

lies.lies.lies.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

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

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

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

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

agent is running out of time.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

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

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

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

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

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

agent acknowledges this. pain is pain after all—

whats more to add to the pile?

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

tric’s notes

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

thanks for reading!! ♡︎♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username!)

[frostedclock-writes]

Crimson Magnolias

----

Alastor x F! Reader

Warnings: one-sided love, Hanahaki disease, R rated as mature themes mentioned, eventual flashbacks to Human life, Ace Alastor,

----

Part 1 (Part 2)

Whistling filled the air like a scream.

" Shit the tea!" You get off the couch and rush to the stove, though it took you a moment to tear your eyes from the T.V. screen.

You flip the dial on your gas stove and it clicked off, the whistling slowly faded. You spun and look back at the 666 News, but it barely fazed you. You could have sworn. Right before it interrupted with the 'breaking news' , a commercial. Something in the corner. A distortion.

You tasted ginger in the back of your throat.

Seven years.

It had been seven years in hell since you last saw him. No word, no explanation.

Alastor.

Your heart fluttered at the thought. He was alive. Maybe. You wished the commercial would have been let to play after the news faded away. You run your fingers through your hair as you try to recall what the commercial had been for. It had been so quick, and your attention was immediately drawn to the corner of the screen.

You took a small breath.

Some hotel....

Wasn't there some hotel that cropped up a few months ago? Happy Hotel? No that's a stupid name. Hazbin?

You pour tea into the prepared porcelain cup, it mixed the sugar and lemon juice together with the over steeped black tea. You lifted the cup up to your lips and blew softly, thoughts swirled around your head. Your throat tickled a little.

You should be pissed. He left without a word to you. Made you and most of hell believe he had been killed. Double dead. Fucking toast. You should hate him.

An image of him laughing over a cup of rye whisky was brought to mind. Back when you both were still....

He was so handsome, and knew exactly how to make you laugh. His silly puns that made you smile. The way he glided across the dancefloor and would bring you along for the ride.

You set the cup down quickly. A floating white petal with bits of crimson stained in it floated on the top.

You cover your mouth and shake your head, swallowing down the taste of iron mixing with ginger. The taste of the sweet tea long gone.

It shouldn't matter. Doesn't matter. Matters.

Fuck.

You walked into your bedroom and grabbed at the coat hanging up. You slipped it on, it covering the simple ankle length dress and button up blouse you had worn for the days errands. You sinched the tie around your waist as you stepped into your slip on flats. You moved quickly out of your house, not even nothing to lock the door behind you as you traveled down the sidewalk. You dodged sinners and imps alike on the streets, moving beneath a few swings of fists and weapons.

The streets were crazier then normal. But to be expected.

You knew this part of the Pentagram like the back of your hand, so it made it at least marginally easier to get to that strange broken down hotel. The flickering neon became visible by the time your lungs stung a little from the walk and your feet ached a little from the thin flats. You let out breaths in quick succession as you gaze up at the tall building behind walls that were tall enough to block off the view of the yard surrounding the dilapidated hotel.

Hazbin Hotel.

You stopped at the open archway that was the gate to what might look more like an old cinema building on the outside with the old ticket booth and the illuminated board that could hold the plastic letters. A little tower attachment on the side seemed haphazardly attached and like it didn't quite belong. A sign flashed in the window. It made your stomach clench.

On Air.

You slowly walked up the cobblestone path up the the doors of the hotel. You hold your breath as you reach for the handle. Maybe this was a mistake. Fuck, your already here. If he wanted to see you wouldn't he have come found you? Told you he was back?

Your throat tickled a little.

Just do it! Go!

The door opened, and came swinging out. The sting of your nose was quick, and painful as the gold painted metal trim of the door hit you square in the face. You reeled back and gripped your nose, warmth touched your lips. Great.

" Oh shit! Whatcha doin' out here, just standin' behind that door? Fuck, ya bleedin' and everythin'. "

You blink to clear the tears pricking hour eyes and you see a tall spider... Man? Very feminine man. Pretty. Was the word that came to mind. Tall, pink and dressed to the nines with heart shaped sunglasses resting above their mismatched eyes. He was digging around in a sparkly purse, he held out a wadded up napkin.

" It's .. it's fine I'm fine. Sorry. " You took the napkin and brought it up to your nose. " Ugh, gross, " you pulled it away and looked at the clotted blood. You look back up at the spider person. " I came looking for someone..."

" Oh?" He wiggled his shoulders and put one set of his hands on his hips. " Who are ya lookin' for, doll? A booty call maybe? " He cooed the last words.

You brought the napkin back up to your nose. You hoped it covered up the heat rising up to your cheeks. " No, no, nothing like that," you cough a few times, covering it up by blowing your nose shortly after. " I know this must seem odd, but I'm looking for Alastor."

He laughed. Gaffawed even. " No, really. Who ya lookin' for? Husk? He seems like he had a bad past love or two in his books, if ya know what I mean."

Husk, you remembered the gruff ex-overlord. He was kind behind that bottle of whiskey. If he was here, then Alastor...

The spider looked down at his phone as it began to go off several times in a row. He cursed under his breath and then shoved his phone back into his purse. " Look, if ya are looking for tall, dark and red flags, he was in tha parlor room last I saw him. I gotta get ta work. " He put his sunglasses down. " See ya. "

You watch him stride off, you blink and look back at the door. You step inside and the door slowly slid closed behind you. The inside was a little nicer looking then you expected, but some of the wallpaper was peeling and the carpet held stains that made you question what caused them to take such unique shapes. The faint glow of green drew your attention over towards a part of the hotel that was clearly an addition like the broadcast tower.

A bar. Neon lights flashed Jackpot and Beezlejuice on the dark wooden walls. A familiar face cleaned glasses behind the bar countertop and placed them in the shelf. His ear twitched as your footsteps approached. He looked up and at first his face held a look of irritation, then it melted into half of a smirk. A laugh escaped under his breath and he put the rag back down on the table.

" Y/N, what in the fuck are you doing here?" Husk asked.

You crack a smile. " Would you believe me if I said I came to get a drink?" You joked.

He made a scoff and rolled his eyes. The smirk faded to his usual expression. A near scowl. " I know for damn sure you didn't come here for me. " He picked up a glass and put it down hard on the counter. " You came for him."

You took a seat at the bar as the glass began to fill with a dark amber liquor. Whiskey you assumed. Or maybe a dark rum. " He's my best friend, what can I say? Though, I should be mad at him. Leaving me in the lurch like he did. Even sweet Rosie had no clue where he had gone off to."

Even the bite of the liquor didn't help with the swallowing of the lump in your throat.

Husk rolled his eyes and slid the glass over to you. " Who the hell knows, and someone like you should just stay away from him or you'll end up used like everyone else. He didn't even notice that-"

" Husk. " You snapped a little at him. Husk was always so observant.

" Look. " He set the bottle down then growled. " You know what, whatever. Why should I care if you like to torture yourself? Just shouldn't make your friends watch you do it. "

" I.... It's nothing. " You put on a smile and take another drink. " Nothing I can't handle and haven't been dealing with...."

" Heh, yeah, well someone like ya deserves better then a -"

" Y/N?"

You felt goosebumps rise to your skin at the sound of a voice you hadn't heard in seven years.

Alastor.

You spun on the stool and looked over to the source of the voice. He looked just as he always had. He strode over and you rose to your feet. You met him halfway and he put his arms around you in a warm embrace. You return it with your face planted firmly in his chest. He smelled of a mix of iron and damp wood.

"Alastor!"

You heard a gruff huff behind you and you assumed Husk was watching with that disapproving gaze you had come to expect from the winged cat sinner. Alastor's hand rubbed the small of your back before he placed both hands on your shoulders and pulled you away just enough to look down at you.

You silently begged for him to stop looking at you like that. It made your stomach flutter and your throat clench.

" It is a pleasure to see your smiling face again, my dear, quite a pleasure. " His gaze shot over towards husk, his eye twitched a moment. " How long have you been waiting down here?"

" What? Don't look at me, I'm not your fuckin' secretary. " Husk snarled and you kinda felt sorry for the glass he was cleaning. It was getting thoroughly cleaned.

" I haven't been here long! " You tell him quickly, bringing the Radio Demons attention back down to you. " Only a couple of minutes."

His body language changed and he spun on his heels, one arm around your shoulders and leading you off in the direction of the large staircase. " Ah! In that case! Let me show you this fun little project I've been working on! I think you will find the notion as amusing as I do. "

" You work at this hotel now? Didn't peg you for the hospitality type. " You tease.

His chuckles were like a radio flipping through stations. " Oh, dear, this project is mainly for my own amusement! The Princess of Hell is the one who is encouraging this notion of redemption for sinners. "

You cock an eyebrow. " Redemption like... Do well and get let out for good behavior?"

Seemed silly.

You followed him up the staircase and watched your hand as it slid up the railing for splinters from the chipped wood of the banisters. Alastor thew one hand out in a grand gesture at the lobby, his microphone materialized and landed in his hand and he smoothly used it to point.

" Exactly! But what better way to amuse myself then to watch her struggle to have sinners ditch their ways?" He tapped a finger on your shoulder.

He lead the way down one of the hallways, gold and red covered most of the hotel it seemed. Though you could tell where Alastor had began to leave his own touch behind. The hotel was grand, although from years of neglect before the current owner, there was things that would have made you cringe when you were alive. Mildew in the flooring and walls, roaches crawled out every once in a while and then sprinted off under another table in the long hallways, creaking steps going up, and bulbs that flickered in a way that hurt your eyes at times.

" Are you still working as a singer?"

You look at Alastor out of the corner of your eyes. " From time to time, Mimzy hires me most nights when I need money. Otherwise, I pick up whatever jobs I can find nowadays. " You admit. " What have you been doing these past seven years?"

Alastor seemed to grip his microphone a little tighter, though he put a laugh in the air. " Oh, I just took a small vacation. A well deserved one. "

A vacation. You didn't believe that for a moment.

" Ah, well... You could have told me some of us. I thought someone might have finally gotten he upper hand on you." You joke.

" Ahahah! Don't be silly, " Alastor shook his head and a smirk grew on his lips. " A simple sinner couldn't get the best of me. " His steps paused in front of a door, he tapped his microphone cane's end on the ground. His hand left your space and he opened the door up.

Alastor turned with the door and let you inside the room. The smell of swamp was in the air. A dank wetness with the soft smell of pines and cattails. The room turned from a study to a swamp, though you were unsurprised - Alastor knew how to manipulate a lot of things. And spaces were no different. A green fire burned in the fireplace near the two armchairs within the space of the study, it made the shadows dance on the wall as it flickered.

Alastor walked across the wooden floor towards the chair, he turned in a swift motion and leaned his hand and held his weight on the back of one of the armchairs. That smile. Does he even know what he does to you? He went to offer you a seat when his shadow grew across the ground and then swirled up. The cracked smile in the shadow brought a laugh to your lips.

Like a mist, Alastor's Shadow swirled around you. Then shifted into mostly solidness. "Shade. " You cooed the petname for the creature and reached out, it felt like cupping thick smoke, " Are you watching after Alastor for me? Such a sweet thing..."

Crackles like a dead station full the air.

You felt safer showing this part of Alastor affection. The being made of shadows and magic seemed to be something of its own and yet part of its master. You sometimes wished, just for a moment, that perhaps you wouldn't ruin the friendship between you and Alastor by just touching his cheek like this.

" Well I missed you too."

Alastor made a sigh and rolled his eyes, though the soft smile that graces his lips lead you to believe he was amused. He cleared his throat abd Shade sank back against the floorboards and rejoined his master. He gestured for you to sit in the chair he leaned against and you make your way to the plush armchair.

" Now, you have to tell me what Ive missed these past years. " He took his own seat across from you, waving his hand and two coffee appeared. His own red cup and yours a black one.

'Oh, deer!'

' Doe- re- mi '

You coughed a little and covered your mouth up. You clear your throat and bring your cup up to your lips to cover up the bitter ginger with dark black coffee.

This was going to be a lot harder than before. You thought the years apart would have lessoned the feeling you held in your soul.

He hates it. You remember him going on and on about ladies throwing themselves at his feet when the both of you were alive. You saw the disgust on his face when he mentioned it. He would hate you too. Would throw you away if you did.

You swallowed the hot liquid down hard with the lump in your throat.

He can't know. Won't know.

Ever.

Tag list: @boldlyenchantingfox22 @sirens-and-moonflowers

[faetima]

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

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

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠. .

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

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

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

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

but last week had just solidified your beliefs.

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

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

and after that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"i want to break up."

--

now, you were rethinking your decision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

--

aventurine was growing increasingly worried as the days passed.

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

he took a shaky inhale.

fuck it.

--

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

he glanced around, and froze at what he saw.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPETALS OF DEATH * CHEERLEADER!JENNIE

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

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

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

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²　::　part 2.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N nodded slowly, pondering his suggestion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe the universe had better things for them.

© vanteguccir

[happilykrispypirate]

Bloodstained Petals

Pairings: Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, unrequited love, mentions of blood and throwing up, violence, death, and my shitty writing.

Summary: The Hanahaki Disease is a rare disease that causes flowers to grow in the person's lungs. The only way to stop it from killing the person, is to get the one they're in love with, to fall in love with them.

-

Y/n sighed as she watched as Mattheo make an advance on the girl he's been keen on for the last 2 months.

Theo sighed as he saw the look on the girl's face. He had known about her love for the dickhead since the beginning.

Y/n, you're making things harder for yourself," He finally spoke up.

"What's wrong with me?" She asked the question she's been asking him for years now.

"There's nothing wrong with you, love," Theo said, "He's just a fucking idiot."

Y/n sighed again, looking down at her food, feeling too sick to even think about eating anything.

"I'm going to bed, I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast," She said before getting up and walking out.

"I need the room tonight," Mattheo said when he came back to the table, "Where's Y/n?"

"You're a fucking idiot," Theo said also getting up to try and catch up with her, but she was already gone.

-

Y/n woke up in the middle of the night, coughing up her lungs. She ran to the bathroom to get her something to drink so that she'd stop coughing.

After downing a glass or two of water, her stomach churned. She quickly bent over the toilet and threw up.

Her heart sank with fear as she saw the blood and the petals. She then started coughing again, more petals.

Next thing she knew she stormed to the Gryffindor common room, ignoring the fat lady's whining about waking her up, and she ran straight to Hermione's room.

"Thank Merlin, you're awake," Y/n said.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked worriedly as she looked at the panicked girl.

As if on cue another coughing fit started and petals landed in het hand.

"Are those?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God," Hermione said, "You have the Hanahaki Disease."

"You say that like I'm supposed to know what it means," Y/n said as she threw the petals into the bin.

"Hanahaki Disease, is caused by unrequited love."

Y/n stayed silent. She brought this upon herself... falling in love with Mattheo.

"It's very rare. It causes a flower to grow in your lungs. The only way to stop it, is to..."

"Is to what?" Y/n asked, looking at Hermione.

"Is to get the person you're in love with, to fall in love with you. They can't just say I love you, and it'll be gone. They have to actually mean it," She said.

"I'm doomed," Y/n said as she sat down on Hermione's bed.

"Y/n," Hermione said. Her words were cut short when Y/n went into another coughing fit. She patted Y/n on the back, to help in whatever way she can.

Y/n then ran to the bathroom to throw up. Hermione ran after her to hold her hair back.

"We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said.

"No, I don't want anyone else to know about this," Y/n said, "Especially not Mattheo or Theo."

"Y/n if you don't do something, you're going to die," She said.

Y/n didn't answer her...

-

Over the next few days everyone noticed that she looked a bit sick. Professor McGonagall had sent her to her dorm after she had ran out of the classroom for the third time that lesson.

So, Y/n, just laid there in her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Her room littered with petals.

Theo had tried to come by a few times every day, but she made sure he couldn't come in.

She had Hermione put a charm on her door after Pansy walked in and saw Y/n coughing up petals. Y/n tried to lie her way out of, but Pansy knew immediately what it was. So now, the only people who can enter her dorm, was Pansy and Hermione.

As Y/n laid on her bed, she heard a soft knock on her door. She thought it was Theo, but when the spoke she knew she thought wrong.

Matheo.

"Y/n, I'm just checking in on you. Are you alright?" He was silent for a few moments, "Theo says you won't even let him in."

"Please, I need to know if you're alright," He said, "You're my best friend, I care about you."

The word 'friend' echoed in her mind for the rest of the day. She was only pulled out of her thoughts when she heard Theo yelling at Hermione.

"Why can't I fucking see her?" He yelled.

"Theo, she's not feeling well," Hermione said, "She said she doesn't want to get you sick."

"You and Pansy are in there every day!" He yelled again.

"Hermione," Y/n spoke, her voice raspy. Her throat was raw because of the coughing. She was weak due to the amount of blood she lost and the lack of oxygen.

Hermione's head poked through the door, "Let him in," Y/n said. She knew she didn't have a lot of time left, so she knew she had to tell him.

Hermione nodded, glad that she was finally telling Theo.

Hermione closed the door and lifted her wand. A few moments later, she turned towards Theo and nodded her head towards the door.

Theo didn't hesitate to storm in. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw how sick his best friend was.

He saw the petals, and immediately knew about what she had and why she had it.

"Holy fuck, love," Theo said as he knelt down next to her.

"Hey Theo," She smiled weakly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked. Tears were in her eyes; he feared for her life.

"I didn't want to worry you too much," She said.

"You still worried me, love," He said as he took her hand and kissed it.

"I'm sorry," Y/n said, her eyes starting to droop.

"Get some rest, love," Theo said, "I'll be here when you wake up."

Y/n took her hand out of his and placed it on his cheek. A tear fell from his cheek, she wiped it away with her thumb before she closed her eyes.

Theo stayed for a few minutes. He thought, how could someone do this to her.

The anger consumed him. He made sure Y/n was comfortable before he stomped off to find Mattheo.

-

He found Mattheo with that girl. He pulled him up by the collar and pinned him to the wall.

"You motherfucker, you did this to her. She's dying because of you're fucking selfishness," Theo spat in his face.

"What the fuck man?" Mattheo said, "Who's dying?"

Theo said nothing, he dropped Mattheo on the floor before dragging him to Y/n's dorm.

Theo opened up the door and saw Hermione standing over you. She had her wand out, she was examining you.

"Y/n?" Mattheo said. His heart sank. He saw the blood, the petals. He knew.

It was because of him?

"This is all your fault. She's been in love with you for a long time, but you didn't even bother thinking about her. You made it seem like you love her but then you go after other girls," Theo said.

"I've always loved her. I just thought she didn't love me," Mattheo said.

"It's always been you."

They both looked up and saw that Y/n was looking at them. Or, Mattheo.

Mattheo went over to her, and crouched beside her bed.

"I'm so sorry I did this to you," He said, "I love you, I really do love you."

"I love you too, Mattheo," She said, smiling weakly at him. He leaned forward and planted his lips on hers. Neither of them caring about the blood and tears.

They both pulled away when another coughing fit started. Mattheo placed his hand on her back and rubbed circles.

"Why isn't she better?" Theo asked, "Shouldn't she be cured now?"

"I'm afraid, it's too late," Hermione said as tears ran down her cheeks. Pansy stood to the side, trying not to get lost in the tears.

Both the boys' hearts sank. She looked at them both.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," She said.

"It's alright, love," Theo said as he too crouched down next to her bed, taking her other hand.

"I'll always be with you," She said, "I love you both."

"No, don't say that, you're not dying," Mattheo said, "I finally got to tell you I love you. You're not leaving me now."

She smiled at him, tears running down her cheeks.

She let go of her last breath.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," Mattheo begged sobbing. He lifted her up and held her to his chest as he rocked back and forth, sobbing into her hair.

Theo sobbed as he held her hands. His best friend since childhood gone.

Hermione held Pansy as they both cried.

"Don't leave me, please, don't leave me," Mattheo's voice cracked as he begged with every sob.

He blamed himself, he was too late.

[pathologicalreid]

spenwer weid hanahaki pwease 💐💐💐

perennial | S.R.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it had to be the truth.

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

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

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

The surgery he refused to get.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not that easy,” he breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ferigrievous]

✶⋆.˚ ROMANCE TROPES | SEIJOH FOUR .ᐟ

⤷ masterlist ; requests open ; 1.8k wc

a.n ; inspired by @kaiijo's romance tropes post. saw it yesterday night and the idea plagued me until i wrote about it and got a little carried away sorry 😓😓

oikawa tooru ✦︎ fake dating

oikawa tooru is sick of love. or maybe, he’s sick of the version of love that people throw at him– the hollow kind, the infatuation that burns bright and fizzles out, leaving only the aftertaste of disappointment. he has always been beautiful in a way that hurts, in a way that makes them forget that he’s more than just soft smiles and perfect hair. 

they fall for the idea of him, for the image he’s so carefully built, but none of them ever stay long enough to see the cracks beneath the surface. and maybe that’s why he doesn’t let them. but you, though, you’ve always known. 

you, who sits across from him at cafes, watching as he stirs too much sugar into his coffee. you, who listens to his rants about volleyball and the way his voice wavers when he talks about not being enough. you, who understands him in a way no one else does, in a way that terrifies him. because it’s easy to play pretend with strangers, but not with you. never with you.

so when he slides the idea across the table between bites of his lunch—let’s fake date—it almost feels like a joke. a ridiculous, stupid, reckless idea, the kind only he would come up with. but there’s something in his voice, something tired and worn down. a close friend has caught feelings, and he’s exhausted, and you—his best friend, his safe place—are the only one he trusts to do this without complications. "i need someone who won’t catch feelings," he says, and you agree before you can think too hard about why that stings.

but it should’ve been a warning.

because the thing is, oikawa is good at pretending. he always has been. but for all his acting, for all his careful distance, he doesn’t expect the way it starts to feel real. the way his heart stumbles when you laugh at something stupid he says. the way he starts watching you like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. the way it stops feeling like a performance.

and its easy, at first. posting each other on your stories, getting matching keychains, matching necklaces. leaning into each other on the train just enough to sell the illusion. you play your part, and so does he. but somewhere between staged photos and whispered gossip, the line between fiction and reality starts to blur. the way he looks at you lingers too long. the way his hand finds yours even when no one’s watching.

and by the time he realizes, its too late.

because love, real love, has always scared him. it’s messy and unpredictable, and he’s never been good at holding onto things that matter. and now, here you are, looking at him with something like understanding, something like patience, something like the very thing he swore he wouldn’t feel.

and maybe this is the part where he ruins it. or maybe—just maybe—it’s the part where he finally lets himself have something real.

iwaizumi hajime ✦︎ childhood best friends

some places never stop belonging to you.

he has spent his entire life as something in between. too japanese for his filipino relatives, too filipino for his japanese classmates. his mother calls him anak, his father calls him hajime, and neither name feels more real than the other. he spent years swallowing syllables, and now, he is something else entirely. his japanese too stiff, his english too practiced, and his filipino non-existent, his identity a blurred outline of something he cannot quite define.

he was eight when he left the philippines. sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can still hear the voices of the neighborhood vendors calling out in the morning. can still feel the heat of the pavement under his feet, still taste the salt in the air.

and he can still remember you.

you, his first best friend, his shadow in the summers he spent barefoot on hot pavement, running through the streets of a neighborhood that smelled like sun-dried laundry and frying garlic. you, who sat cross-legged next to him, drinking melted ice candy from plastic tubes, who never made him feel like he had to choose between halves of himself. you, who he left behind when his father’s job took him across the sea, who he promised to call and never did.

but life has a strange way of circling back.

he doesnt expect to find you again. not here, not in america, not years,  later in a university much too far away for either of you. but when he hears your voice, your voice, when he turns and meets your gaze across the room, it’s like something shifts back into place.

“..hajime?”

and just like that, he is eight years old again, standing in the middle of the street with a packed suitcase and a heart too full for his chest.

at first, it’s small things—catching up in between classes, sharing meals that taste almost right but never quite like home. he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed the way you say his name, the way you switch between languages like it’s second nature, like you’ve never had to think twice about where you belong. and he still calls you by the same nickname, like no time has passed at all.

but time has passed.

he is not the boy who left. and you are not the kid who stayed behind.

still, there is something familiar about the way you fall into step beside him. something easy about the way the lilt in his voice when he speaks to you, the way he lets his guard down in ways he doesn’t with anyone else.

"it’s weird," he says one night, walking side by side through the city. "i always felt out of place in japan. but here, i don’t know… you make it feel less lonely."

you don’t say it, but you understand. you always have.

and maybe that’s why, when his hand brushes yours as you two walk, neither of you pull away.

matsukawa issei ✦︎ unresolved feelings

a cowards way out.

thats what it was. thats what is was, breaking up with you right after highschool, when everything was already changing, when he could pretend it was just another part of growing up. another thing to leave behind.

but god, if it was that easy, why does he still dream about you?

it wasnt even real. not in the way that mattered. no grand confessions, no whispered ‘i love you’s’ between classes, no valentines gifts or anniversary flowers. just you, beside him, always, with your shoulder pressed against his like you belonged there. just the way you’d lean into him when the world felt too loud, the way his fingers would catch your wrist before you could slip too far away.

just the way it felt like something more, even when neither of you called it that.

but the truth is, he was terrified. because it wasn’t supposed to be serious. just something easy, something comfortable—best friends with a little more weight between you two, a little more gravity. but then he started wanting. started craving things he couldn’t put into words. started feeling too much. it felt  wrong, in the way that made love feel like a curse, like something he had to cut out before it rotted him from the inside.

so he ended it. before the flower could bloom. took a knife to the stem and cut it lose.

it was supposed to be easier. if he let go first, before it could wilt, before it could mold, if he walked away before it could become something he couldnt care to lose.

but the thing about love—the real kind, the kind that sinks into your bones and refuses to leave—is that it doesn’t care about logic. doesn’t care that he thought he could outgrow it. doesn’t care that he thought distance would fix it.

but distance only made the absence heavier. it crept in through the cracks, settled in his chest like a second heartbeat, a quiet, persistent ache that never really left. every time he reached for someone else, he found the ghost of you instead. in the way they spoke, the way they laughed—never quite right, never quite enough.

and now, years later, he sees you again—across a crowded room, older but still you, still his, if only in the way his body reacts before his mind can stop it. only in the way his heart feels too big for his chest.

his breath catches.

and when you look at him, when your lips part like you might say something, he realizes—

issei never stopped wanting you.

hanamaki takahiro ✦︎ hanahaki disease

hanamaki doesnt know when it started. maybe it was the first time you laughed, head thrown back, sunlight catching the sharp edges of your smile. or maybe it was all the little things—the way you spoke his name like it belonged to you, the way you leaned into him without thinking, the way you never looked at him the way he looked at you.

it doesn’t matter when.

it only matters that it’s killing him.

the petals gather around his bed in some cruel mockery, soft and pale and drenched in something not quite right. he forced down the rest that bubbled in his throat, convincing himself that he just had drank too much the night before. a trick of a mind, just another thing he could ignore.

but this isnt something he can ignore. not you, not the roots curling around his lungs, vines tangling in his ribs. every breath is a struggle, every word caught between the thorns that twist and dig into the tender flesh of his throat. he speaks less, smiles through the pain, pretends it’s nothing even as petals slip past his lips like confessions he’ll never be brave enough to say.

and hanamaki knows how this ends before it even starts.

he could tear out his heart. place it in your hands, let you decide if he lives, or how he dies. carve it from the marrow of his bones and be left with something empty, something quiet. he could survive this.

but to survive would mean forgetting you.

you, who has always been just out of reach, who laughs like the world was made for just you two, who speaks of love like it is something simple. you, who links pinkies with him in crowded hallways, or holds onto the back of his shirt while walking. you, who is everything he has ever needed, and then a little more.

but the body is cruel. it does not let him forget, does not grant him the mercy of ignorance. even when he closes his eyes, you are there, haunting him in every dream, every half-remembered moment where you are his. but then he wakes up, and all that’s left is the ache and the petals staining his pillowcase

so he lets it grow.

lets it consume him, lets it wind around his heart and squeeze until there’s nothing left. until he is nothing but petals and longing, breathless and bleeding for a love that was never his to keep.

he lets it grow. and the flowers bloom once more.

[pampushky]

Disk Florets

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

ao3 link | masterlist

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

But he is an idiot. Especially around you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Roronoa Zoro, you are a fucking idiot .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love me?” You sound breathless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[writingrock]

petals of longing

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

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

word count: 2.2k

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

edit: there's a continuation here

Has he ever noticed you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tulip.

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

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

You just had to fall in love with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

© writingrock 2024 do not copy, translate or repost.