“Oh G-God,” Hunk’s whimper sounded from up above and Shiro jerked his head up to see Hunk — his rope cutting off a few feet above Shiro — staring down with tears starting to form in already red-rimmed eyes. “L-Lance.”
Lance didn’t react.
The cavern did though.
Another groan reverberated through it and there was the skittering sound indicating loose shale that always preceded a larger piece of rock breaking off.
But the worst of the sound was across the cavern.
This time.
The entire cave still shook as the rock smashed through the intertwined path, dust and smaller rocks breaking off around them and a few pinging off of Lance who still didn’t react and Shiro was starting to fear he wouldn’t.
He shoved the thought away.
Lance was right there.
Despite the odds, literally at the end of their rope, they’d found him.
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In which Hunk has secretly been in love with Lance for years
He fell in love with him shortly after he met Lance at the Garrison and they were made roommates
Hunk has been hopelessly pining for Lance for years but has never had the courage to ask him out
He was also pretty sure Lance was straight because of how interested he seemed in girls. He was always flirting with them and talking about them
He was over the moon when Lance came out to him as Pansexual
Except he was still too afraid to ask him out. He felt that Lance wouldn't fall for someone who looked like him. He also figured that Lance only thought of him as a friend
Little does he know that Lance had feelings for him as well. But he also felt that Hunk only saw him as a friend. So he flirted with other people to try and find someone else.
Eventually they get shot into space
They're still hopelessly in love with each other
Hunk one day notices that Keith is very upset and angry
He tries to cheer Keith up and asks him what's wrong
Keith comes clean that he also has a crush on Lance and he's pining hard on him
Hunk feels like he was basically shot right in the heart. He's upset that someone else has feelings for Lance. But angry at himself because he knows Lance isn't his. But worried that Lance will fall for Keith instead of him.
Lance and Keith start to get along better, Hunk is angry at himself for being jealous and wanting Lance to himself
Keith regularly vents to Hunk about his frustrations and feelings for Lance because he feels that Hunk is the only one he can talk to (besides Shiro) about his feelings without being judged
Hunk wants to be a supportive friend to everyone so he pushes his feelings aside and tries to cheer Keith up and give him ideas for getting closer to Lance. Since he knows Lance better than anyone.
Things with Lance become really awkward as both Hunk and Lance are trying to hide their feelings for each other while still hanging out.
Hunk notices that something is bothering Lance and he is very concerned
Lance eventually let's it slip that he has feelings for someone. Which he automatically assumes is Allura because of how often Lance flirts with her and talks about her
Eventually Lance let's it slip that it's not a girl Lance has feelings for. Hunk feels his heart break as he assumes that it must be Keith he has feelings for
Recently Lance and Hunk have been getting along much better and had even started to become friends
Hunk still wants to be a supportive friend so he tells Lance to confess his feelings. Lance eventually agrees that he will in the future
Hunk still listens to Keith talk about Lance while secretly being upset because he thinks Lance likes Keith back. Of course doesn't tell Keith that because he still doesn't want Lance to end up with Keith
One day Hunk finds Lance crying his poor little eyes out. He's extremely worried about Lance. He embraces him in his arms and tries to comfort him. He asks Lance what's wrong but Lance refuses to tell him.
Eventually he opens up and tells Hunk how upset he is because he really likes this person but he's scared they won't like him back.
Hunk asks him who he has feelings for but Lance still doesn't want to admit who it is. He tells Hunk he's afraid that Hunk won't like him anymore if he finds out who he has feelings for
Hunk promises that no matter what, he will always be Lance's friend, which only makes Lance cry harder. However Lance decides to Confess to Hunk and hope that he rejects him gently and remains his friend
Lance tells him that the guy he's in love with is him.
Hunk stares at him in shock and can barely process the words he's hearing
Lance takes his silence as rejection and starts crying again.
Hunk eventually snaps out of his trance and tells Lance that he has feelings for him too.
Lance looks into his eyes and goes "really?" And he sounds so broken too which crushes Hunk's heart
He tells him he's had feelings for him for years and that he's in love with him.
Lance smiles brightly with tears running down his face and tells him that he loves him too. They share a quick but passionate kiss.
Lance is shocked however that Hunk has been in love with him that long. Hunk has liked Lance a year before Lance liked him back
They then decide to get together
A couple days after that he and Keith are talking. Hunk is much happier now that he and Lance are finally in a romantic relationship and he can act on his feelings for Lance and in return Lance provides him with lots of affection
But then Keith starts talking about his feelings for Lance again and Hunk feels his heart drop. Keith still has feelings for Lance. And Hunk knew that his friend also liked Lance. But he still decided to pursue a relationship with him which makes him feel like a bad friend.
He also doesn't want to hurt Keith's feelings by telling him the truth that he and Lance are a couple now
Weeks turn into months and Keith still vents all his emotions to Hunk and tells him countless times how he's so lucky to have Hunk as a friend.
Hunks starts to feel guilty for being with Lance. But on the other hand Hunk was in love with Lance much longer than Keith. Hunk loved Lance too much to let him go. And he was well aware that Lance felt as strongly for him. And he's so madly in love with Lance that he never wants to do anything to hurt him especially break his heart
Hunk saw how broken up Lance was when he thought Hunk wouldn't like him back. He never wanted to make Lance feel that way again. He hated being the cause of Lance's pain and wished he'd gotten the courage to ask Lance out long ago so neither of them would have to feel the way they did.
He loves Lance and he's definitely not gonna be the one to leave him. But he still feels like a bad friend for dating Lance even though he knew Keith liked him as well. He feels even worse not telling Keith about their relationship.
“Hang on buddy, we’re getting you to a healing pod !”
Ok so this was a quick relaxing doodle that decided to have colors and a excuse of a background. Plus, I’ve wanted to draw Hunk for a while, and I live for some whump-
Summary: Soulmate!Au where you have your soulmates last words etched into your skin.
Genre: Angst
Notes: masterlist – i'm?? sorry??
---
“I hate you, Hunk Garrett!”
Those were the words that would forever be locked into Hunk Garrett's skin – the last words of his soulmate.
It was a harsh reality to succumb to. His mother had always told him that, from the moment she had read those words on his chubby wrists on the day he was born, she knew he would be left shattered when the time came for them to be put to use. She went as far as to say that she protected Hunk from other people, not wanting one of them to be the person who would eventually break his heart both in death and before that.
The words had never bothered Hunk to the extent many people believed they should have. Soulmates, fate, destiny – he didn't believe in any of that stuff. He would date whoever he wanted – he wouldn't wait around for somebody special. And besides, the words I hate you had been spewed to him on multiple occasions in his life, so what was the point in worrying about it? What was the point in walking on constant egg shells, trying not to make everybody mad just so he wouldn't have to hear those god forsaken words spoken ever again?
He had girlfriends. In high school, he dated a number of girls who would always say to him, “I think you could be my soulmate!” before showing him the words etched upon their own wrists – it often took everything within him not to roll his eyes at the superstition, because that was all this phenomenon really was; a superstition, something to rile people up even more. And sure, maybe it was true. The idea of being born with words tattooed onto your skin seemed a little too far for something that could be classed as a conspiracy, but Hunk had never taken it seriously. The words on his wrist were harsh, but they never weighed him down, never stopped him from living the life he had always wanted to live.
It was a Monday morning whenever Hunk met you.
Mondays. A constant drag, something he wished he could avoid at all costs. The first day back at school after the weekend, the busiest day of the entire week as he struggled to catch up on the work he had been unable to finish over Saturday and Sunday – he was a hard-working student. He didn't slack off, didn't just not do his work. But sometimes, the work load got too much that compressing it into one or two days was simply impossible, meaning Hunk often found himself trailing himself into the coffee shop on the Monday morning in search of something to keep him energized.
His bag hung limply on his shoulders, and he remembers the exact moment he looked up and saw you.
You were just like him – hunched over in a chair on the far side of the coffee shop, head dipped in one hand whilst your other fumbled for a pen from your pencil case. You kept your eyes down, but Hunk could see the panic lacing them, alongside the extra boost of caffeine that he knew must have been thumping through your veins in that moment – you looked the ideal picture of a stressed out college student, and Hunk found himself smiling at the relateable sight.
And perhaps it was the relatability he felt, the draw he felt, that made him choose to give you company that day, whether you wanted it or not. He would try it, he told himself. He would sit by you and start an easy conversation, and hope for the best.
So, Hunk grabbed his coffee from the barista and then made his way over to you, nervously sitting down on the chair in front of you. You barely looked up at him – in fact, if it weren't for Hunk lazily thumping his bag against the table, he was fairly certain you wouldn't have even noticed he was there.
His bag crashed against the table a little louder than he had anticipated, forcing you to look up in shock. Oh yes, Hunk thought. Definitely a tired college student.
He gave you a warm smile. You didn't return it for a few seconds, simply staring at the stranger who had decided to grace you with his presence on this cold, Monday morning.
But then you were smiling back at him, a nervous little grin that had Hunk clenching his fists in his jeans. Even though your eyes were void of any and all energy, your smile radiated a kind of excitement that Hunk couldn't quite explain – it was like you were two different people from the nose down.
“Sorry if you're busy,” Hunk started. “I saw you working and I just – uh – thought you might want some company. Us college students need to support each other, right?”
“You're a college student?” you replied, surprisingly easy. There was no hesitation in your voice, no doubt over whether or not talking to this complete stranger was a good idea – you just dove straight into the conversation.
Hunk settled back in his chair, plucking his coffee off of the table, allowing himself to relax in your presence just a little bit more. “I am. Sadly.”
You giggled. “Sadly is correct. I have three essays to write – all for next week. There really aren't enough hours in the day.”
“I agree. Maybe I can help you. What are the essays for?”
“Psychology, biology and Spanish.”
Hunk blanked. You looked up at him, his silence catching your attention. He blushed profusely, not wanting to admit that he knew nothing about any of those subjects. He opened his mouth to speak, to perhaps lie and say he could still help you out, but you were laughing at his expression before he could get the words out.
You were laughing, and the noise was unlike any noise Hunk had ever heard before. He silently cursed himself for thinking such a thing – it sounded like something straight from Lance's mouth, some cheesy exclamation of love that left people cringing in their seats – but Hunk couldn't help it. That was truly what came to his mind whenever he heard the sound emitting from your mouth.
You covered your mouth and settled down. “Sorry, sorry. I don't mean to laugh. You don't have to to help me, by the way. I'm perfectly capable of doing this on my own – well, with the help of a little caffeine.”
Hunk pursed his lips, bringing his own coffee up to his lips, if just to hide the blush forming on his face. He felt it rising, a physical heat engulfing his neck and his jaw and his cheeks that he tried, to no avail, to hide with his paper cup.
This couldn't be happening. Surely this wasn't real. This wasn't what everyone had always said it was, was it?
He stayed silent after that, and you got back to your work without a second thought. You didn't seem bothered by his presence, even after the conversation dulled. You kept your head down and you worked – just like Hunk was supposed to be doing, but his mind was reeling at a million miles per hour and he could barely keep his own hand from trembling – how was he ever meant to get a pen out and start writing?
His school work would have to wait. This was a crisis.
This was a crisis, because he had heard of the stories. He had heard of the tales woven by his parents, his grandparents, his aunts and uncles who were sorted together by the bind that was labelled soulmates. They had told him all about that connection, how they had felt whenever they had stumbled upon the person who they would eventually find out was their soulmate – whether it be in the most heartbreaking of ways or not.
They described that draw, that ache to be with them even though you barely knew them. They described that instant connection, the way every little thing they did seemed to be purely to impress you. The trembling hands. The excitement. The nervousness.
The nervousness.
Oh, Hunk was feeling that now. He couldn't deny it as he looked at you now, and he knew he should have got up and left before he got himself hurt, because if the words on his wrist were any indication of how this relationship would end up, it was only going to hurt him in the end.
But he was glued to the chair. You had said a few sentences to him, and yet he was absolutely captivated by you. He wanted to talk to you more. He wanted to learn everything about you, and there was truly only one explanation for this odd sense of need that was washing over him.
He had just found his soulmate.
In a coffee shop.
On a Monday morning.
He shook his head slowly. This was unbelievable. His entire life he had gone against that stupid superstition, told himself it was nothing more than a teenage tale. But now he was living it, and it felt good and bad all at the same time.
He clenched his fist around his coffee cup, silently hollowed out his cheeks and asked, “So, what's your name?”
---
Your body pressed against Hunk's would be a feeling he would never get used to.
He lay down in bed, one arm draped loosely around your bare shoulders. Your head was resting on his chest, your eyes closed and your breathing coming out in laboured puffs – you had fallen asleep over an hour ago, and Hunk had had every intention to follow after you, but his heart had kept him awake.
He had looked down at you as you drifted to sleep with your hands resting upon his chest, and he had been unable to close his eyes. He didn't want to close his eyes, didn't want to lose the image of you looking so peaceful then and there. He had instead stayed awake, stroked his hands through your hair and basked in the feeling of calm that was engulfing him in that moment.
He loved you.
He knew that much. His life was hectic, and nothing was ever set in stone, but there was one thing he had been certain of from the moment you two had met; he loved you. He wanted to protect you. He wanted to give you the world.
So far, he believed he had done a pretty decent job of doing just that. Sure, there were arguments here and there, and whenever those broke out, Hunk wished and prayed that you would never let out the heartwrenching words engraved on his wrist; I hate you, Hunk Garrett!
But so far, you never had. You had always told him you never would, that it wasn't possible for you to feel that way. Hunk had believed you, even though he was aware it was foolish to do so; although he had never been a big believer in fate, the evidence was there. The words scribbled on his wrist would be words he would hear eventually, and they would follow something agonisingly painful – unless, of course, you turned out to not be his soulmate, though that seemed even more unlikely than the idea of you going against destiny.
He often forced the thoughts out his head – like right now. Even though he aware he would have to deal with it some day, he didn't want the good moments to be ruined by something such as that. So, he pulled you closer to him, gently dipped his hand under the cover to hide the words on his wrist – just for now. Just so he could bask in this moment for a little while longer.
You stirred against him as he moved, grumbling incoherent words under your breath. He looked down at you, holding you a little bit tighter – the sudden tensing of his arm was enough to startle you into full consciousness. You lifted your head off of his chest and looked up at him, eyes narrowed and hair a groggy mess, sweat still coating your forehead from the activities the two of you had participated in only a few hours before.
He smiled at you, and you grunted in response, letting your head drop back on his chest.
Hunk chuckled. “Tired, baby?”
“Why haven't you slept yet?” was your response, grumbled and groggy. “I was exhausted afterwards.”
“Was that a compliment?”
You groaned again, causing Hunk to laugh a little harder. “You should rest, Hunk. You have work in the morning.”
“I will rest,” he insisted. “I just wanted to watch you sleep for a little while. It's not very often I see you looking so peaceful.”
You pouted, resting your chin on his chest so you were looking directly up at him. “That would have sounded creepy if I didn't love you.”
Hunk grinned and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You grumbled, tugging away and covering your mouth with the quilt.
“I have bad breath.”
“I don't care,” he replied before kissing you again. You squealed this time, tugging away and slapping his chest. He chuckled, looking up as you lifted yourself onto your knees beside him, pouting down at him in that way that always drove him absolutely crazy – but you would never know that. He never showed how mad you truly drove him, how he felt a physical tug in his gut every time you did something cute or impressive.
His hands were on your bare waist before he could even comprehend he had moved. You didn't seem to mind, the feel of his hands on your bare skin being nothing that was new to either of you.
“Did I make sleeping beauty angry?” he chuckled.
You rolled your eyes and slapped his chest. “Sleeping beauty needs her sleep. She also has work in the morning.”
Hunk scowled at that. “Why don't we both just cancel and stay in bed all day?”
“We can't. In case you forgot, my dear Hunk, we have bills to pay and food to buy. We need the money.”
You flopped down on the bed beside him, sweat soaked hair fanning out around you upon the pillow. Hunk rolled over to face you, idly messing with the ends.
“I love how you always say we,” he said before he could stop himself.
You looked over at him, raising a brow. “Of course I do. This is our house.”
“This is our life,” he corrected, poking you in the side. You grunted, moved away from him before you seemed to think better of it and shuffled back over to his side. “Do you ever – Do you ever think about the soulmate marks?”
Your face fell at that, and Hunk immediately knew he had said the wrong thing. An instant mood-crusher in the Garrett household, something you two tended to avoid thinking or talking about whenever you could. Sometimes the topic was inevitable. Sometimes it just had to be brought up for you two to ever get passed that hurdle, but Hunk would much rather prefer keeping it out of the conversation as all costs.
You looked down at your own wrist then, and Hunk glanced at the words etched in black ink across your skin. Why don't you just leave then?
For months, Hunk had believed that they were to be spoken by someone else. As much as he wanted – as much as he knew – that he was your soulmate, and those were words that belonged to him, he didn't want to come to terms with it. He didn't want to think of himself yelling such cruel and demanding words in your direction, because he knew he would never mean them. He knew they would be said out of anger and nothing more than that, and the idea that they could be the final things he ever said to you ripped a void in his heart.
He reached out now and gently ran his finger over the black wording. You shivered beneath his touch.
“I don't like to,” you replied, voice quiet now, the playful tinge disappearing completely. “Sometimes it's difficult not to look down and realise – realise just how important they actually are, you know?”
Hunk nodded slowly. “I know.”
You looked up at him then. His fingers were still wrapped around your wrist. “Do you ever think about them?”
Hunk swallowed thickly. “All the time.”
---
“At the end of the day, we're all gonna die,” Keith grunted, taking a swig of his beer. “There's no point in fretting over our last words. We should be more worried about the death part.”
“How can you say that?” Shiro scoffed. “It's like you don't give a shit about your soulmate.”
“I don't even know who my soulmate is,” Keith replied. “I'm not a big romantic like Hunk – I won't know who my soulmate is until they're dead. Until then, the person I'm with is just going to be labelled my significant other – nothing more than that.”
Hunk scowled into his glass, unknowingly tugging his sleeve over his wrist to hide the soulmate mark. Shiro, Lance and Pidge all rolled their eyes at Keith's words – classic Keith. Though the man had been married for nearly three years, he still refused to call his wife soulmate.
And Hunk supposed that was a safe route to take. At the end of the day, failed marriages weren't uncommon. Thinking somebody was your soulmate, preparing yourself for them to say the words etched onto your wrist only for it to all go horribly wrong and for you to find out that they weren't your soulmate – it happened often. Keith was merely saving himself from disappointment.
But Hunk still found himself growing uncomfortable with the conversation topic. Marriage was hard. He had been married to you for nearly four years now, and everyday was like a gift sent from God – not because he didn't expect the two of you to last, but because you truly made each and every day something he could look forward to.
The idea of you not being his soulmate was jarring – it was unrealistic. He couldn't even wrap his head around the idea of somebody else walking into his life and taking that title, giving him feelings beyond what you already gave him.
No, he assured himself. You were most definitely his soulmate. You were most definitely the person who would tell him you hated him before he would never hear your voice again.
He swallowed down more beer than he thought possible and ended up choking. He gasped for air, Pidge clapping a hand against his back as his friends laughed around the table, watching him struggle to grab for air.
“Hey, hey,” Pidge exclaimed. “Slow down there, buddy. You know you can't handle your drink. What's gotten into you?”
“We all know he doesn't like talking about the soulmate marks,” Shiro said, helping Pidge by tapping the other side of Hunk's back.
Hunk merely scowled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Oh yeah!” Lance exclaimed. “I forgot about the one on Hunk's wrist. What is it again? I hate you or something like that?”
“Lance,” Shiro barked, swatting the man around the back of the head.
Hunk straightened up in his chair, pulling his sleeve fully over his hand – it wasn't good enough just covering his wrist. He didn't want to risk anyone reading what was tattooed onto him, even though he knew people had seen it a thousand times before. They had seen it, and they had always looked at him with that stupid look of pity that made his blood boil. He didn't want pity. He knew what was coming, knew what he would have to hear one day, and knowing himself was bad enough without the added annoyance of other people feeling like they had to form an opinion.
He silenced his hostile thoughts. His friends were just trying to help him. They were just being kind, and he was there cursing them out in his head.
“You know, maybe they don't mean what we all think they mean,” Lance continued on despite Shiro's previous warnings. “Maybe you and Y/N are . . . I don't know – role-playing.”
Pidge choked on air beside Hunk.
“And maybe one of the characters has to say I hate you and that's when Y/N dies-”
“Lance!” Shiro exclaimed. “That's enough now!”
Hunk grimaced. There was nothing to say, nothing he could reply with that would disguise that feeling of despair that immediately ran up Hunk's spine – dies. He had concentrated on the words themselves for so long, that the event that would take place afterwards had never fully occurred to him. Of course, it had been in the back of his mind – how could it not be? But never before had he let himself dwell on it too long.
Hunk stood up from his chair, dragging his jacket behind him. “I'll talk to you guys later on, okay? I should probably be getting home. Y/N wanted me to cook dinner with her tonight and I'm already running late.”
“Ah, maybe that's why she'll say she hates you!” Lance cheered, but his exclamations were once again cut off by Shiro slapping him on the back of the head.
---
It was ruining everything.
This stupid mark that had been given to him against his damn will. He didn't want it. It caused nothing but absolute terror to brew in his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to get rid of it.
Hunk stood in the bathroom, the scent of beer still lingering on his clothes and on his breath. He had told his friends he was coming home to help you cook dinner, but he had walked right past you whenever you called out to him and stormed into the bathroom before you could even ask why. You had tried talking to him through the door multiple times, but he had ignored you.
He leaned against the bathroom sink. He inhaled deeply. With a trembling hand, he rolled up the sleeve of his work shirt and revealed the black ink that had been tormenting him for as long as he could remember.
I hate you, Hunk Garrett!
It had never bothered him before. He hadn't believed in soulmates at one point, which was why the ink just seemed so harmless. But now that he was certain he had found his soulmate, it was eating away at his brain constantly – what could he possibly have done to make you say such words to him? And why did they have to be the last words he would ever say to you?
He gritted his teeth and lowered his sleeve again. He was angry. Angry, and tired, and a little bit drunk – a little bit. He nearly laughed his own thoughts. With the conversation that had been passed around that table tonight, he was sure he had drunk nothing short of the entire bar.
And he didn't even care.
Not as he stepped out of the bathroom, ripped his work shirt off and replaced it with a short-sleeved one – one that would reveal the words on his wrist. One that wouldn't disguise the disgusting thing that was etched into his skin forever.
He stumbled downstairs then, jaw clenched. You span around to look at him as soon as you heard the door open, and he wanted to go over and kiss you. He wanted to feel you against him, wanted you to calm him down in the way you always knew how, but he didn't. He walked right past you to the fridge, grabbed a can of beer and slumped down at the kitchen table.
The beer had been in the fridge since New Year. Hunk hardly ever drank – not unless he felt the need to forget.
You watched him in shock. He could feel your eyes – those eyes that had once belonged to the exhausted college student he had fallen in love with – burning into the side of his head, asking a silent question.
“Nothings wrong,” he said to the air.
“You're drinking,” you pointed out. “You never drink. What happened?”
Hunk scoffed, throwing his head back and swallowing down the god-awful liquid. He didn't even like beer – it just got him drunk quicker than any other alcohol, and that feeling of tipsiness was the one he was chasing at this moment in time.
“Hunk,” you seethed, storming over to him. You tried to grab the beer from his hand, but Hunk tightened his grip and pulled it back into his chest.
“What are you doing?” he exclaimed. “I'm thirsty! Jesus, Y/N. I've been working my ass off all day and I want to finally take some time to relax. You can stop being so damn stingy for one second and let me have this one.”
Your jaw fell open. “Stingy?”
“A spoil-sport,” Hunk slurred. “A kiss-up to the god damn world. I'll drink what I want. The thing was bought with my fucking money anyway.”
He saw you flinch at the curse word that had just left his mouth – another thing Hunk very rarely did; not when he was in his right mind, which he very clearly wasn't right now. You clenched your jaw, and Hunk knew, even in his drunken state, that he had made you angry.
But he didn't care.
Because he had those god-awful words scribbled into his wrist, and he was angry about it. He was so, so angry.
And who's fault was it that he had those words on his skin forever, forever taunting him, forever teasing him?
You.
It was your fault, because you were the one he decided to love more than anyone in the world, and you were the one who would break his heart by saying those very words to him.
So, no. It wasn't fate. It wasn't destiny. It wasn't some wild defect at birth that just somehow happened to spread to every single person – it was you being too loose with your tongue.
Hunk's drunken mind seethed. He looked up at you, somehow seeing you in an entirely new light as this realisation struck him. He took another long swig of his beer and scowled.
“You know what,” he slurred. “This is your fault.”
You froze, still staring down at your husband in shock. What he had said clearly made no sense to you, but Hunk didn't care. Not right now.
“This is your fault!” he exclaimed, slamming the can of beer down and showing off his wrist. “If you would just keep your mouth shut and not say such awful things, I wouldn't have this fucking thing on me! But no! One day, you're gonna be a bitch and you're gonna say these to me, and then you're going to die. You're gonna die, Y/N, and that is the last thing I'm ever gonna hear from you. And for years I've been telling myself it's my fault, but how can it be when I'm not even the one who's gonna say them? Huh? How does that even work?”
His laugh was high pitched as he slumped back against the chair again, shaking his head with a look of disbelief on his features. You stared at him in shock, not entirely sure what he was saying or what he meant by them – but you couldn't move. You couldn't even talk.
He had never said something so cruel to you before. Not once. He loved you, and he prided himself in showing you just how much he loved you each and every day, but the drink had done something to him. You could see it. See it in the way his pupils were dilated, in the way he smiled lazily to himself as if he didn't have a care in the world.
“What kind of wife tells their husband they hate him?” Hunk continued. “Certainly not a good one, that's for sure.”
You let out a choked noise from the back of your throat. Hunk looked up at you then and shrugged. “I'm just telling the truth.”
“I'm going to bed,” you croaked out. The tears had started forming. Your hands were trembling, and you wanted nothing more than for Hunk to reach forward and take them in his own, kiss them and say he was sorry – but he didn't move.
He rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back against the back of the chair. His neck was glistening with sweat, the only reminder given to you that he was drunk right now, that he couldn't possibly mean a single thing he was saying.
“Alright then, go to bed. Leave me be. Don't even apologise for putting me through this.”
“Are you serious/” you barked, slamming your hand against the table. “Is this really coming out of your damn mouth?”
Hunk pointed to his lips then and spoke, loud and clear. “No good wife would make their husband feel this way.”
And that was it. That was all you could handle. You stumbled away from the table, tears dripping down your face. You felt as if he had been physically clawing at your chest, as if he were a completely different person. He was a completely different person – this wasn't the Hunk you had fallen in love with.
“You know what, Hunk?” you growled. “You wanna know why it says that on your wrist? Because it's true! Whenever you get like this, it's the truth! I hate it when you act like this!”
Hunk's face visibly paled. He stood up then, stumbling a little bit over the chair leg. “Is that right? Why don't you just leave then?”
You groaned, tugging on your hair. You weren't even thinking. Your mind had gone blank. You snatched your jacket up from the counter and rushed towards the door, but not before you stopped and turned to look at him over your shoulder. “I hate you, Hunk Garrett!” And then the door was slamming closed behind you, leaving Hunk to stumble around the kitchen in his drunken state.
---
It was the sound of the door knocking that woke him up the next morning – at least, he thought it was the next morning.
It was still dark outside, he noticed. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, his head pounding with the alcohol that had once been buzzing through his veins – the alcohol that was still buzzing through his veins. It hadn't worn off just yet, meaning he had to lean against the wall in his attempts to reach the door.
“Give me a minute!” Hunk yelled as the knocking persisted. “Jesus Christ. I can't even get a decent sleep these days.” He turned over his shoulder just before he turned the handle. “Y/N? Baby? Are you awake?”
Whenever he got no reply, he pouted and shrugged. You had most likely headed upstairs to sleep. He was fairly certain you had work in the morning, anyway.
He turned the handle then and opened the door.
And was greeted by two police officers.
He narrowed his eyes, the sight of the two figures startling a little bit of sobriety into him. He stood up a little straighter, attempted to fix his hair – had someone in the building been robbed again?
“Officers,” he said, nodding his head. “Is there a problem?”
The two police officers shot each other glances – if Hunk were any less wiser, he would have thought they were looks of sadness, perhaps even a little bit of pity. But there was nothing for them to feel pity for, was there?
“Are you Hunk Garrett, sir?” one of them said.
Hunk nodded slowly.
“We need to come in to speak to you. It's quite – it's quite urgent. Quite a serious matter.”
Hunk frowned. “My wife is sleeping right now. Can you just tell me here?”
Hunk watched the officers faces crumble, watched them genuinely pale. For the first time in his life, Hunk was seeing two professional officers look as if they had been punched in the gut, the air knocked out of them – and it confused him. Nothing bad had happened. Nothing that he was aware of. There was absolutely no reason for them to be acting like this.
The first officer stepped forward and took his hat from his head, clenching it between his hands. “Sir, this is regarding your wife. Mrs Y/N Garrett was found dead only a few minutes ago – she was run over on her way to a friends house, it seems.”
And just like that, the entire world came to a stop.
There was nothing – nothing – that could have prepared Hunk for the mass amount of memories which suddenly slammed into his brain, the sudden feeling of remembering that shuddered through him. He felt as if it was going to rip him apart.
He wasn't even sure how long it had been, but he now remembered what happened. He remembered the words you had spoken – those god-forsaken words that he should have been prepared for, should have been avoiding at all costs.
But no. He had gotten drunk. He had gotten too locked into his own head and now you were gone and the damage had been done and there was nothing he could do to fix it.
He didn't even realise he had been falling to the floor until the officers were lurching forward and grabbing a hold of his arms in any and all attempts to keep him upright. But he didn't want to be upright. He didn't want to be standing. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want a whole lot of things right now.
At one point in his life, Hunk thought he would never have to face this moment. It was stupid of him, but he thought that he may have been able to outlive you – you deserved to live much more than he did – especially after what he had said to you.
He shivered at the memory, of those acidic words slipping past his lips and cutting so deeply into you that you had said you hated him and stormed out of the house – your house. Our house. You had stormed out into the darkness and Hunk had been too drunk to do anything to stop you – he should have gone after you.
He wailed and he screamed and he told the police officers to stop joking around, that this wasn't funny, but he knew they were telling the truth. He knew they were just delivering the news, and it hurt. It hurt more than any physical blow ever would.
Eventually, the police could no longer hold him up and he crumbled to the floor. They stood over him, silent, unsure of what to say. Hunk sobbed, pulled his knees up to his chest and rocked back and forth – he half expected you to come running out of the bedroom to comfort him, wrap your arms around him in the way he was so used to you doing whenever he had a tough day.
But there was nothing.
His hand was trembling as he pulled his arm away from his legs and glanced down at his wrist – where your final words once lay bare upon his tanned skin, was now nothing. Nothing but a white scar slicing across his veins, because the damage had been done.
Your final words had been spoken, and there was nothing left.
We’re coming home~
We’re coming home~
Tell the world we’re coming home~
Let the rain wash away~
All the pain of yesterday~
We know our kingdom awaits~
And they’ve forgiven my mistakes~
We’re coming home~
We’re coming home~
Tell the world we’re coming home~
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So I’m cleaning out my inbox and I’m going to be answering a pretty decent amount of questions and/or responding to comments, etc. To those that I haven’t answered in like months, I’m sorry in advance.
However, the point of this post is to say that there is an insane amount of prompts in my inbox and I feel bad that a good number of them aren’t going to be written by me. That’s why I wanted to introduce my new blog.
@blueplanetprompts
On here I’m going to be posting the prompts that I got along with notes and a basic storyline that I came up with for said prompt. A lot of them are really solid, fantastic prompts that should be seen by everyone and have a chance of getting written, so I wanted to share them.
You’re free to write for any of the prompts and you don’t have to follow what I thought was a good idea or anything. Especially if you’re a blog that’s been struggling to find good prompts, I think you’ll be able to find something great to write on here!
If you do decide to write any of these, please tag me! I would love to see what you came up with!
Now, this isn’t like a “don’t send me anymore prompts” post because I fucking love receiving prompts and I will be keeping some of them that I’ve already started but I wanted to give some that I simply just don’t have time for a chance. So, I hope people won’t feel bad if their prompt isn’t written by me.
Anyway, I’m really excited to start this blog and get the prompts rolling out to you guys!!
Prompts I know are in there somewhere:
Keith centric
Hunk centric
Shiro centric
Pidge centric
Lance centric
Langst
Keith angst
Pidge angst
Hunk angst
Shiro angst
I could go on and on, there’s so much variety I stg
I have a few projects going on or in preparation (some langst, as usual, and probably a Pidge/OC fluffy fanfic)...
But, in the meantime, here’s a angsty mini fic centered around Hunk!
Enjoy!
Fanfic Master Post
Hunk came to with a terrible headache and nausea. His ears were ringing and everything around him was blurry. He couldn’t remember what had happened. He felt completely lost. Trying to find something to bring him back to reality, he turned his head to the left. It was dark to the left. There was something, a big mass, in front of him now... He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it.
Is vision finally cleared of a bit, and the fog that had taken hold of his senses seemed to be lifted at the same time.
It was Yellow. His Lion was lying on the ground, his mouth opened towards Hunk, and no life coming out of him.
Hunk remembered then, The crash. Voltron had been hit by some weird weapon, he remember the feeling of agony his Lion had felt, and the rest of the team too.
Hunk tried to move, but his body was hurting everywhere. He would probably need to spend a few hours in one of the pods after all that...
A wave of nausea hit him as soon as he was on his hands and knees. He hardly contained it. Honestly, he was pretty proud of his growing capability to control his nausea. That was mostly thanks to Yellow and his usually strong and safe built. Hunk's obligations as a Paladin of Voltron and his desire to free enslaved species throughout the universe had been a pretty good motivation too.
“Guys?” A weak voice asked over the coms.
The coms sounded weird. They had probably been damaged in the crash.
“Pidge? ...you?” Another voice, Shiro, answered. “Ar...ou... alright?”
Yeah, definitely broken.
“...blood ...kay, ” Pidge answered.
Hunk could barely hear them. “I’m here too,” he tried, his voice shaky and raw.
No one answered him. He was starting to panic now, so he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, knowing that Pidge and Shiro were possibly alright and that he didn’t seem to have any really concerning wound, at least he hoped he didn’t have one...
There was no worrying amount of blood around him, so that was a good sign, right? He tried hard to push the thoughts that he might have internal bleeding aside. It felt like it was difficult to breathe now... He was officially panicking now. What if he was really injured and the others didn’t come in time? What of Lance and Keith? And Allura and Coran?
Hunk’s mind was running wild with all the possible bad endings this situation could have.
Hunk took off his helmet, yearning for air. It helped a bit, but that’s when he heard something near him. Someone... grunting? He lifted his head and saw Keith a few metres ahead. He was standing by another Lion, the Blue Lion, desperately tugging on something.
“Come on!” Hunk heard him cry out in anger.
But then Keith dropped to the ground and started sobbing.
Through his pessimistic thoughts, Hunk remembered Keith’s words when they were in the Weblum’s belly months ago. “I gotta be able to count on you.”
Keith clearly needed his help now.
But then, Hunk heard movement on the other side of his Lion. This was so disorienting, he felt sick again.
Galra soldiers came into view. They were walking towards Keith, pointing their weapons on him. Keith turned to face them and Hunk saw Lance on the ground, unconscious and visibly stuck underneath his Lion. Keith had been trying to help him.
Hunk stood up, but dizziness brought him back to his hands and knees. He saw Keith summon his shield. Blood was dripping from his other arm. He was probably injured and couldn’t use it.
“This is the end, Red Paladin,” the Galra commander at the head of the group of soldiers demanded.
Shots were fired then, all hitting Keith’s shield. Hunk tried to stand up again. He knew that, if he didn’t, Keith and Lance would probably be done for.
Hunk had always been a scaredycat, there was no denying it. In his core, he was a pacifist, he wanted people to simply get along with each other. That’s why he loved cooking, everybody loved food! It was a way to gather people over a common need and love.
He wasn’t a fighter, but there was no way he would let his friends die before him without doing anything.
So he stood up and started running, ignoring the pain in his whole body, the dizziness in his head, and the fear in his heart.
He summoned his bayard, a yell escaped his lips, and then all hell broke loose. His bayard shot at their enemies with a precision, it was almost unreal. There was clearly something deeper to his bayard... He couldn’t be more thankfull that his shots hit so many targets, letting him reach his friends.
Keith had dropped to the ground in surrender, his shield cracked. It was so out of character of him, but Hunk could understand why Keith had felt hopeless. The blood loss from the wound on his arm probably didn't help either. Keith was looking at Hunk as if he was some kind of angel. Or maybe more like Mothman... Yeah, Keith would totally be more astonished by Mothman than an angel.
Hunk put up his shield and stood in front of Keith and Lance.
“Kill them!” The Galra general screamed in rage.
“I won’t let you!” Hunk shouted back, his voice strong and decisive.
He heard movement behind him as he protected his friends behind, his shield holding on strong. It would crack, like Keith’s, but Hunk was not giving up anytime soon. He had too much to protect... He needed to stay strong as long as he could for Keith, Lance and himself. As long as they were alive, there was still hope!
“Lance! Shit! Breathe!” Keith shouted then.
Hunk’s heart skipped a beat. His best friend... Lance was dying behind him. He would be the first to pass away if a miracle didn’t save them right now. Tears fell from his eyes and he yelled in desperation.
Just then his bayard changed. It took on a weird form, some kind of yellow gauntlet. And then, they were all surrounded by a translucid dome. It was a shield, but it was way stronger than their usual shield. It would be enough to protect them for a longer period of time at least. Hunk really was greatful that his bayard had chosen this moment to change. The three of them needed it right now. Hunk turned to Keith.
Keith was pushing against Lance’s chest. The Cuban boy was unmoving, his face too pale, blood pooling underneath him, where he was stuck underneath Blue.
“Shit! It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have tried to get him out, I...” Keith cried, panicking.
Hunk walked to Keith then, His shield moving with him, but still covering them completely.
“Keith, you have to continue giving him CPR,” Hunk told him then, seeing as Keith was slowing down. “I’m sure the others are coming, and we can’t give up on him.”
“Y-yeah!” Keith agreed, hardly containing his overwhelming emotions.
Keith breathed air in Lance’s lungs, and then continued pushing against his chest. Hunk dared looking around them. There were more and more Galra soldiers, and no sign of their allies.
Just when hopelessness and panic started creeping in his mind again, Hunk heard a big roar in the distance.
Shiro.
Then, the Castle pierced through the clouded sky. Shots were fired around them, completely destroying the Galras surrounding Keith, Hunk and Lance.
The Black Lion arrived from behind the Blue Lion. It dropped on the ground in front of them. Hunk smiled for a small instant, but turned to Keith and Lance right after. Keith was still pushing.
Hunk knew it had been too long. If Lance came back, he would probably have brain damage, but neither Keith or him were ready to let go. They both needed him, the team needed him...
Shiro ran to them and Hunk unsummoned his bayard. Shiro realized soon enough how dire the situation was. Through his mental bound with the Black Lion, Shiro asked for its help. The Black Lion lifted the Blue Lion and Keith dragged Lance away instantly. Keith, Hunk and Shiro saw right away that Lance had lost way too much blood. His right leg... It was in an awful state.
Now Hunk had reached his limit, he couldn’t help but puke his guts out at the sight. Shiro and Keith remained strong however. Shiro took Lance in his arms and ran into the Black Lion. Hunk and Keith followed, hardly following their leader’s speed.
They found Pidge inside. She looked pretty beat up too. The young girls eyes followed them as they put Lance on the ground and Keith started doing CPR again.
They flew to the Castle, all praying for their dying friend’s life.
This is hunk angst is eveything i ever wanted and I can’t believe how well this season is for hunks character and emotions, Thankyou so much writers but also fuck you for the emotional termoil
