#hiccup dies au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

urdepressedslut · 11 months

Text

You’re Mine, Sunshine ❝part two❞

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky takes you home, and later finds you in the library. You both get to know each other better, but Bucky is hesitant.

♡ Warnings: daddy issues, angst, mentions of parent death, fluff, bucky being a grumpy boi

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au

Part 3

Italics are flashbacks

Your nails bit into your palm, crescent shapes left on your skin in attempt to hold your emotions back. The stare of your Father only made you feel small, the disappointment evident in his eyes.

“You know why this has to happen, right?” He asked you, annoyance laced in his tone.

You scoffed, trying to focus on the pain from your palms instead of the whirling emotions that threatened to escape.

“Father, you don’t have to lie to me. I’m a big girl.” You answered with some bite.

You were sick and tired of this sudden shift from him, he had changed after your Mothers passing. You understood completely, the death hitting him hard. But it wasn’t an excuse for him to be treating you like this, you lost your Mother too. Instead of both of you leaning on each other, he shut you out almost completely— leaving you to attempt to heal on your own.

He was acting as if buying you a house would fill the hole in your heart— acting like he was doing this for you. In reality, he just wanted nothing to do with you.

You didn’t need a house, you needed him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, exhaling loudly.

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. You know why.” He repeated, refusing to meet your now glossy eyes.

“I don’t want to live in a house all by myself! I want to stay with you!” You shouted, scared of being alone— in need of your Fathers comfort.

Your Father had called you in to talk with you about your new living conditions. To which, you were upset about the idea of living alone— away from your only family.

“You’re old enough to live on your own. I’ll provide you with everything you nee—”

“I don’t give a shit about any of that! I need you! I can’t do this alone!” You cried finally, the tears finally making their way down your cheeks.

“Don’t you dare use that language with me! You’re going to do as I say and shut your mouth, understand?” He boomed, and you flinched back from the loudness of his voice.

Your cries died down, only small hiccups here and there. You couldn’t help feeling your heart twinge in pain, his want to get rid of you hurting you deeply. You needed your Father more than ever— and he just didn’t care. You stared mindlessly at the floor, the familiar numbness starting to form in your fingertips, the tightness in your chest growing more intense.

He was willing to provide you everything you needed, except for the one thing you needed the most. His love.

You felt unwanted. You felt like a burden to him.

“Do I make myself clear?” He repeated, his voice sharp and angered.

You swallowed through your tight throat, knowing you wouldn’t be able to word any verbal response. You chose to nod weakly instead, keeping your eyes trained to the ground.

Pierce sighed in frustration, sitting back in his chair. He was stressed about your reactions to his plans, and decided that this conversation was over for now.

“That will be all, you can go.” He dismissed you.

You wanted to laugh in embarrassment, he didn’t even talk you like you were his daughter. He spoke to you like he did with his workers— like you were nothing.

Right now, that’s what you felt like. Nothing.

The car’s engine shutting off had woken you up, the drivers door shutting having you perk up in your seat. You straightened yourself in your seat, wiping the little bit of drool off your chin. You didn’t even realize you had dozed off.

You watched from the inside as Bucky moved swiftly to your door, opening it for you.

You swung your legs over the edge, hopping out of the car. You gave Bucky a smile, nodding in appreciation.

“Thank you.” You spoke to him, making your way up the concrete stairs to your house.

He only grunted in response, closing the door— and scanning the area. After the area seemed clear, he followed you up the stairs. The exterior of the house was quite impressive. He was aware that your Father had bought you the house— seeing as he was one of the richest men alive. But he wasn’t expecting the house the be so… you.

Again, he barely knew you. But your light presence seemed to match with this house very well.

He watched over your shoulder as you fiddled with your keys, finally unlocking the door and walking in— to which he followed close behind.

He quickly shut the door, turning and taking in the new environment. Your house.

It was a beautiful home inside as well as the outside, the walls intricate in their carved designs. The floors polished— free of any smudges. The only thing he found a little off, was the fact that there was minimal furniture.

Yes, there was a couch and some side tables here and there, but other than that— it was quite bare.

“I assume you’re going to be staying here?” You guessed, your assumption confirmed when Bucky nodded his head. “Where’s your stuff?”

“Will be delivered eventually.” He answered quickly.

You nodded in understanding, keeping the warm smile on your face.

“Well, help yourself to anything in the house. Its yours now— as well as mine.” You told him so kindly.

Bucky nodded in appreciation, but otherwise didn’t try and make any more conversation.

“Pick any room you’d like. Mine is the farthest room down the right hallway.” You informed him, pointing up the staircase.

He nodded again, staying silent.

It was going to be different having someone lurk around you at all times. But Bucky was so silent sometimes, you wondered if he was even there in the first place.

You took a deep breath, deciding to head into the library. Reading had always been the one thing that could calm you down, let yourself escape from reality for a little while. Your personal library within the house, was one of the things you were most proud of. It was grand and had so many selection of books to choose from. You smiled to yourself just thinking about it.

“I’m going to my library, please make yourself at home.” You told him.

“Very well ma’am.”

“You don’t have to do that, (Y/n)‘s just fine.” You corrected him politely.

“Okay (Y/n).” He tested out, watching your smile grow wider at the sound of your name rolling off his lips.

Giving him one last warm smile, you turned and headed to your library.

Bucky watched as you walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Which was never a good thing. He still didn’t know what to think of you. You just seemed too… chipper. There was a catch— there had to be. He didn’t know when he’d see the true you, but he was prepared for when the moment came.

So far, you were polite and overly kind. It just didn’t make sense— your Father had described so differently. Made Bucky wonder why?

Bucky had walked around the house, curious as to what the rest of the house looked like— along with picking his room out. He decided to pick one in the same hallway as yours, he assumed it was the most practical option— in case of emergencies.

After choosing his room, he made himself comfortable on the couch downstairs. He oddly enjoyed the silence, the only sound being his breathing.

The house was so quiet— too quiet. He furrowed his brows, deciding he should check up on you.

Making his way towards the library, he was amazed as he walked through the doorway— taking in the walls of books. He was quite the book worm himself, just never showing it off. He couldn’t argue with himself that he was obsessed with this room.

He found you quickly, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in. You were curled up on a loveseat, nose buried into a book. You were so lost amongst the words— you hadn’t realized Bucky standing there.

He cleared his throat, making you jump— holding a hand to your chest in fright. He definitely enjoyed spooking you a little too much, as he fought down the urge to chuckle.

“Oh my god— Bucky! You scared me!” You breathed out, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Sorry (Y/n), was just checking on you.” He informed you, turning to head out of the library.

But before he could make it too far, you called out for him.

“Wait! Bucky!” You shouted, making Bucky turn back around to face you, eyebrows up— waiting to see what you wanted. “Sit with me?”

He squinted his eyes, about to remind you that he was working a job. But your soft, desperate voice struck a chord within him.

“Please?” You pleaded, your smile dropping just slightly. Enough for Bucky to notice.

He’d let it pass this time, but he was going to hold himself accountable. He would not slack off, he would not fail at this job.

With a huff he nodded, sitting on the couch across from the loveseat. You were smiling widely now, shimming in excitement in your seat.

“Um… I thought it would be a good idea to get to know each other better.” You suggested with a hopeful smile.

“No.” Bucky shot back.

You flinched slightly back, not expecting that harsh of an answer. Your smile faltered little. You were starting to see your Father in Bucky— with the mood swings and all.

“Why not?” You asked him.

He squinted his eyes at you— something he seemed to do a lot towards you. He was trying to think of a reasonable excuse, but his mind came up empty. He just simply didn’t want to get to know you. He wanted things to stay professional— keeping his distance. For his sake.

“No.” He repeated.

You rolled your eyes with a light chuckle, a sound that had Bucky’s chest all warm.

“We are going to spending a lot of time together, it’s only fair that we trust each other— and I can’t trust you if I don’t know anything about you.” You explained, making a good point.

Bucky clenched his jaw, knowing you were right.

“Fine.” He gave in, leaning his arms on the back of the couch.

You smiled to yourself, pleased that you had convinced him— yet again.

“What’s your favorite color?” You asked him, causing him to scoff.

He tilted his head in amusement. He thought it was a silly thing to know about someone, but he also was stalling because he didn’t have one. He wondered for a moment what was wrong with him, everyone had a favorite color. Even if not a favorite— there was always a color people were drawn to. But not him.

He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on a book cover with a withering tree, the background lavender.

“Purple.” He revealed finally, hoping you wouldn’t notice his lie. Was it a lie? Purple could be his favorite.

You smiled, setting your book down to the table next to you.

“Like a dark purple or a pastel purple— a lighter purple?” You pried, fully serious.

Bucky felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and he had to fight the smile down. He couldn’t help it, seeing your serious face. Interrogating him about a color. It was cute.

“Does it matter?” He asked genuinely, and he watched your mouth open in an O shape. Your eyes staring at him like he just said the most ridiculous thing.

“Does it matt— Bucky. Of course it matters, a person’s favorite color says a lot about them. About what type of person they are. About their secrets.” You whispered the last part.

Bucky squinted his eyes again, this time defensively. Your words were playful, but he couldn’t help but feel self conscious. Your stare all of a sudden felt like you could see right through him.

“Really?” He asked seriously, and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you.

He genuinely looked freaked out for a second there, and you couldn’t contain the laughter. Bucky on the other hand, didn’t find amusement in the situation. He was slightly embarrassed that you were laughing at him, but kept his features neutral.

“No, I’m just messing with ya!” You told him, breathless from laughing. “Seriously, what kind of purple?”

He rolled his eyes, genuinely annoyed. But he couldn’t help but feel so carefree around you, he felt lighter. It almost felt like he wasn’t working a job, and just letting go.

“Light purple.” He told you, watching you nod. “What about yours?”

He dared to ask, knowing you’d probably go on a full tangent about your favorite color and why it was your favorite.

You thought for a moment, looking up to the ceiling in thought.

“Red.” You answered quickly.

Bucky waited for a moment, waiting for you to begin rambling— but you never did.

“Light… dark?” He mirrored, just as you had asked him. But he found himself genuinely curious.

You shook your head, fiddling with your fingers.

“Just red.” You said blankly, readjusting your legs so they were crisscrossed.

Your words from earlier rung through his head, and he knew you were obviously joking— but he did feel that someone’s favorite color said a lot about them. He just didn’t know what yours, said about you.

“What made you wanna be a bodyguard?” You asked him, catching him off guard with the question.

He thought hard for a moment, seeing if he could even come up with an answer. He had done a lot of things throughout his life, each moment having meaning behind it. Each path having a story of why he ended up there. But being a bodyguard? Sure, he had experience but— it wasn’t that easy of an answer.

“Your Father needed someone for the job.” He answered. “I have years of experience as well.”

His answer was quite pathetic, but you didn’t seem the type to judge. You simply nodded along, listening intently like he was saying the most interesting things.

“Well, I’m sure he was very happy that he found you.” You told him with that warm smile of yours.

“You have a nice home.” He pointed out, deciding to change the conversation.

You smiled, looking around your library in pride.

“Thank you. My Father gifted this place to me.” You told him.

“How nice of him.” Bucky thought out loud.

You let your eyes drop to the floor, trying your hardest to keep the smile from dropping. You wished more than anything that you could associate good memories with your Father. All the good memories you had left, were beginning to vanish.

“Yes, he’s a wonderful Father.” You expressed, hating that no matter what went on— you’d always love him.

Bucky listened to you answer him, while he also watched as your face would drop at the mention of him. It was a flash of happiness that looked trapped within this dull expression that would take over your features. You spoke about him like he was only a dream, something of your imagination.

He wanted to pry— but he knew he shouldn’t.

“It’s been uh… hard for him since my Mother passed.” You revealed solemnly, while attempting to keep your features light.

Bucky grew tense at your confession, his own wounds throbbing from the mere mention of your Mother. Despite his discomfort, he stayed silent.

“He tries to put on a good face but— I know he’s hurting. He’s a powerful man but, even he needs a break.” You explained, picking the skin around your nails.

Bucky noticed the way you’d talk about your Father, and your Mother’s passing. The way you were trying to act unbothered. Truthfully, you were good at hiding how you truly felt— but he could still read people well. He knew you were hurting deep down.

You weren’t sure why you felt secure around Bucky. He was a man of few words, and rather let his presence do the talking. He was a reserved guy from what you could tell, but along with that— he was also a good listener. You were also lonely, deprived of human interaction. You didn’t care if he was being paid to be around you, you’d take advantage of the company. Even if it hurt that it wasn’t really real.

“Sorry— he’d probably kill me if he knew I told you that. He’s all about his image, being the tough guy and all. Just forget I said anything.” You rushed out, realizing what you were exposing.

“Don’t worry about it.” He assured you, knowing he’d never utter a word of anything you said.

“So, what about your family?” You shot at him, and Bucky felt attacked.

He squinted his eyes, glaring at you slightly. He knew you didn’t mean any harm with the question— but he couldn’t help the the way his mind filled with dark thoughts.

“No.” He huffed, watching you shrink back back into your seat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I—”

“I need to get back to work.” He lied, there was nothing for him that needed to be done.

You watched as he got up quickly and stomped away, a scowl etched on his face. You assumed his family was a sensitive topic, and you respected that. Although, you didn’t mean to upset him.

Bucky was mysterious and it made you want to bring him out of his shell, unlock the deepest parts of him. His presence lured you in, making you want to learn everything about him.

Bucky made his way out of the library, angry with himself. Your question was surprisingly not what had him upset, it was the fact that he started to feel comfortable enough to answer it.

There was something about you that had him slowly melting, the walls that he’d built starting to crumble in your presence. He wouldn’t allow that, he couldn’t.

☀️A/N: pls let me know if i forgot to put you on the taglist, and i’ll add you for the next one!

TAGLIST: @winters1917 @unaxv @sebastianstansqueen @casa-boiardi @sonatabee @nytzirhk @almosttoopizza @erinallene @daddy-dotcom @h0nestly-though @beautiful-loserr @gloriouspurpose01 @lesleurs @justherefortheficandsmut @floralwsloki @dottirose @madi-be-buggin @navs-bhat @happinessinthebeing @ximi1315 @buggy14 @dancer3205 @neeezza101 @rovckwells

2K notes · View notes

tarjapearce · 10 months

Text

El Charro Negro

Charro Negro AU! Miguel x Reader

Requested Here by @arrozleche ♥️✨

Inspired in this artwork by Kattromz

WARNINGS: angst at the beginning, bit of light horror, a bit of fluff, spanish dialogue and serenades, Mexican urban legend, a bit of possessiveness If you squint. Hope I got it right :')

Summary: Don't make deals with the devil, people.

The song Miguel sings to reader ⬇️⬇️

May the day he was born forever cursed. May the day his parents decided to have him, cursed. May the humble and tattered home he lived in, damned.

Oh how he longed to have what other men had. A good hat, food on his table every day, not having to worry if he'd sleep with an empty stomach, a more comfortable bed and not the paltry and smelly rags he had for a bed; the good and clean clothes instead of his patched up pants and holed shirts. His parents loved him dearly. But it wasn't enough, even if they worked as hard as he was, it wasn't enough.

It was never enough for him.

He wanted more. He wanted to be admired instead of shunned and treated like an outcast for not having enough.

"Ya verán..." (They'll see.)

He'd prove all those that mocked him for being less, that he would be better. Better than all of them. When his Patrón would pay him what he is owed, he'd buy decent clothing. He'd have his Charro suit his heart yearned so much, and just then, he would laugh in the faces of those that wronged him.

But, Oh the misfortune his name carried since birth, followed him like a lost, mangy puppy, looking for solace in his tragedy. His parents died within a mine. buried and forgotten. El patrón didn't even bother himself into try and getting them and some other workers out.

Unbeknown to his parents, they had been digging their grave long ago.

He had to steal a bottle from the foreman's reserve so he could at least have the respect to knock his senses with good alcohol. Mezcal was his favorite. No money, no parents, poor and sick of everything was his current mood. A perpetual will of someone bigger than him, that had cursed him to live on scraps all his life.

"¡¿Feliz?! ¡¿Qué quieres de mí?!" (Happy?! What do you want from me?!)

He hiccuped as he entered his empty and tattered home, blaspheming at heavens as he cut a bit of his palm and attempted to draw a circle with it.

"¡Lo he dado todo y nunca fue suficiente!" (Gave it all and still it wasn't enough.)

He weeped and growled. The mezcal numbing his senses slowly. Sluggish footsteps finally tripped over a termite chewed chair, and he hissed at the stung from the cut in his hand.

"Daría cualquier cosa..." (I'd give anything)

His eyes felt heavy, the tip of his fingertips tingled with spreading numbness. A chill ran down his spine while his face pressed against the dusty floor. It vibrated. He groaned and took another swig from the bottle.

Black mist crept around him, the temperature suddenly feeling cold. He shuddered and scrunched his nose at the simmering fear that was below the surface.

"¿Lo que sea?" (Anything?)

A gravel like, yet sultry voice echoed from the darkest part of the room. His breath hitched as his vision blurred for a second to then focus on the bright, fiery red eyes that stared at him with keen interest.

His voice made all the mezcal to evaporate from his body. Wide, fearful eyes stared at the entity.

"Lo que sea." (Anything)

Miguel breathed with a nod. The being smirked, revealing a pair of sharp canines adorning his perfect and malicious smirk.

"¿Te apetece un trato?" (Fancy a deal?)

-------

The women made lines just to get a glimpse of him, Clad in a perfectly tailored suit just for him with the finest fabrics available. Tall, broad and muscular body not many had the luck of tasting, a horse that seemed brought from foreign lands due it's sheer size and color. Jet black with beady amber eyes. Wide brim hat, with a lace bow hugging his neck.

Even though many knew him, his money was the talk of town. Where would he get larges amount of money to invite everyone in the cantina a round of shots? his suits? his horse? his properties? The women?.

"Les dije que sería mejor que todos ustedes." (Told you I'd be better than you lot.)

He mumbled as he threw a woman over his shoulder with a smirk, she squealed in excitement as he took a long swig of his bottle. He'd throw the most outrageous parties in his estate almost every week.

The fiery eyes just watched him from afar, his smirk widening.

-------

Despite having more than fifty people before him, and women throwing themselves at him, his heart had said enough. Enough of the madness, enough of the parties, enough of fake loves that only seeked him for pleasure or money. Enough. He had enough.

He threw everyone out of a rage fit. He was sick of them. Even thought their faces were familiar, he knew shit about them all. He wanted, needed, to be alone.

"¿Ya te has cansado de esta vida, Miguel?" (Have you grown tired of this life?)

Miguel stumbled on the floor as panic rose within his heart.

"Y yo que creía que te estabas divirtiendo" (And me here thinking you were having fun.)

"¿Q-Qué estás haciendo aquí?" (What are you doing here?)

"He venido por lo que me corresponde por derecho, Miguel." (I've came for what's rightfully mine.)

"Tu alma" (Your soul)

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

Even though his attempts in running away from the devil worked for him for a bit, in the end, he was found and not only that, but cursed to be the devil's personal debt collector. He and his horse.

He was everywhere, yet nowhere. He'd travel in a cloud of black mist that moved with him, almost like the darkness itself had life of its own. Red and glowing eyes adorning his Adonis-like features. He was tall, broad, clad in black and dangerous.

He'd travel with his faithful horse, a jet black stallion that only responded to him. As far as the legend went, he'd go town to town searching for the debtors, to claim their souls by luring them with money and other riches.

His eyes settled for a hidden little town, a few souls would fulfill his hunger, but he had to be careful. He could see some of the stony white houses donned with a cross on their front doors. He sneered at them, his horse gave a disapproving neigh.

"And they're the ones who sin the most" He mumbled under his breath and scanned the zone, It was 3 am, none was on sight. The soft noise of his saddle and his horse's steps echoed through the houses. Some dogs barked, howled even, other just growled at him and his in fear.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw you, clad with a black shawl, tears in your eyes as you left the town's cemetery. He chuckled at your stupid yet brave action. None would venture alone at that time, in such a sacred place, unless you worked with magic.

His mind was settled. He'd stay here. But first, he'd have to earn the trust of those whose souls would be claimed later.

He vanished into thin air.

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

Your day always started at 4 am, sometimes even earlier than that, you had gone and clean your parents tomb in the cemetery, always giving them fresh flowers. They had died of sickness, little could be done to save them. Their hearts just gave up.

Then, you would go to the town's cantina and help prepare for the day, washing glasses, making sure the mezcal was ready to be served, cleaning up in general and of course, having to withstand the leering glances from the men around as you brought their drinks and food.

Town was 'everyone knows everyone here' type of little. It had a few stores of antique things, a hospital, a bar, some boutiques, a school among other basic needs stuff. It was small, but pretty. Colonial-style and traditional sort of pretty.

It wasn't around midday that he showed up. A man so tall you had to look up to meet his amber colored eyes, sharp and handsome features, shoulders so broad you were sure it would take a toll on your back to hug him, A small waist adorned by a strange belt buckle, if you looked closer it was a small skull like spider, surrounded by a subtle pentagram.

His heavy steps made the place to go silent for a moment as everyone stared at the new face. He was wearing a pale blue Charro outfit, he removed his hat, revealing silky and shiny ravenous locks. He smiled gently and took a seat in one of the lone seats over the bar.

"Buenos días, señorita. By any chance do you a place where I could stay?"

Your coworker flushed by the mere tone of his voice, you rolled your eyes at the display. She'd do that with every handsome man that would come closer. Visitors weren't as regular as people would think, even though the town had it's charm, it was away from other main cities. The perfect target for Miguel.

"¿Señorita?" It was enough, you called her and his eyes snapped your way. He blinked at recognizing you from before.

"Go tell Rodrigo we need to refill one barrel of mezcal." She obeyed while stealing a glance in Miguel's direction before disappearing.

"Sorry for that. There is a hotel at the end of this street. Se llama Posada Buenaventura" (It's name is Buenaventura Hostal)

He bowed his head, grateful. Soon he stood and left.

--------

You had noticed the Charro that had appeared our of nowhere being a social yet secretive man. He'd laugh with the elders, he'd listen to his stories that many ignored, would help people around by making small favors. And the women adored him, he'd of course entertain them by smiling or singing a bit for them. He was nice. But too perfect. Your eyes squinted at him.

"Don't look at him like that, he's really good. Man, I'd sell my soul to have a man like him." Your coworker spoke in between dreamy sighs. It had been only a couple of days since he came and everyone seemed to love him.

Suspicious.

Even more when he showed up in such fancy quality suits many would only long for. You had learned that his name was Miguel. It suited him, but still, something was wrong. Something in your mind told you to run away whenever he was around and his stare lingered a bit too long on you.

"Stop being a hornball and go tend the clients. It's a busy day today." You waved her off as you began cleaning the bar. He sat before you and regarded you with an intense gaze, hinting the challenge you stared back at him, arching your brow, unamused.

"Will you order something or you'll keep the staring contest?"

He smirked, and held his hands in defense.

"A breakfast shall do fine." you sighed

"Coffee?"

"Si. No sugar, please." You nodded and disappeared behind the doors, a man, his prey, approached him with a sympathetic look.

"Every man in town knows that trying to get (Name)'s attention is pointless. Mostly of us have given up on her. She's hard to get at."

"Is that so?"

"If you're wise, you'll rather to spend the time with Emelina. She's a sweetheart."

Miguel just nodded and looked at your form approaching with his food and steaming coffee. Your beauty was sure a sight, but your temper was something he couldn't help but feel intrigued for, specially when you were throwing a guy out of the cantina that got too hammered a bit too soon.

You wouldn't fall that easily, and he loved challenges.

He winked at you and you just rolled your eyes.

You'd totally be worth it.

------

Emelina hopped into his horse, the lucky girl, and snugged him from behind. They'd gallop through the town together, parading and showing his horse taming skills. Girls around would watch with envy, as you glanced at them briefly with a smirk, tumbling some clothes to dry under the sun.

Not that you were hard to get. You simply feared of being fooled again, everyone in town had known that your fiancé had left a day before your wedding to never show up again. He had ran away from town and from you.

Miguel and Emelina galloped away from town, her excited shrieks could be heard as they headed out of town.

But after a while, the landscapes seemed neverending, repetitive and boring.

"We have to go back. Around five I must feed my chickens." Emelina's voice announced behind him. But Miguel didn't stop. The horse just galloped faster, she held tightly onto him, a small wave of fear washing over her.

"I-I wanna go back, Miguel." Her voice meek, her breath hitching in her throat upon realizing what was going on.

"Let me go!" She cried but he only smirked, black mist surrounded them both as darkness engulfed Emelina . the last thing she could see was Miguel. No. El Charro Negro, a demon, looking at her. Her screams vanished into nothingness.

-----

After closing the cantina, you headed home, and saw Emelina giving a small court to Miguel, to then disappear into her home. An illusion really, but who could tell? His eyes wandered over your form.

"Need help?"

"No."

Even though you actually did struggle with the wooden box full of spices.

He gently pried the box from your small form. You sighed and rolled your eyes with a tiny smirk.

"Te gusta molestarme." (You like annoying me."

"Kinda. If that's what it takes to see that little scrunch in your nose when you get angry, then yes. I do."

You didn't want to admit that he had his charm, but the thought was quickly batted away when he spoke again.

"Fear."

"Hm?"

"You are scared." He mumbled as he walked next to you.

"I'm not-"

"You hide your pain behind a brave mask. What happened?"

You frowned at his words. He pried too soon into your healing wounds.

"Not your business, certainly." you stopped at your home, and took the box from his hands. Pain bloomed into your chest and he knitted his eyebrows together, sensing your discomfit.

"I'm sorry" He'd mumble as you looked away.

"Entiendo ese sentimiento de no ser lo suficiente para alguien muy bien, hermosa." (I know the feeling of not being good enough for someone, beautiful)

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you pushed them aside, and sighed

"His loss, really."

"Buena noche." (Goodnight), he mumbled and watched you go. It came to his attention that you lived on your own.

As much as he was the devil's personal collector, his past was always haunting him, reminding him of his mistakes. He couldn't help but find a bit of solace in the fact that there was someone that could relate to his pain. And for what he could gather through the towners, he knew about your wedding fiasco.

The initial challenge to have your soul slowly changed into something more meaningful, a bit selfish if he came to think about it. He'd conquer you, even if it meant to harvest the life of every person in town.

---------

People talked about the sudden leaving of Emelina, and his prey, Rodrigo. Apparently they both had ran together, and started a new life elsewhere. His task in town was almost done. He just needed two more souls to leave.

But every time you'd serve him his usual breakfast with the bitter coffee, the demon inside him subsided. He had tried everything, leaving roses in your door, only to find them stored in jars later, He'd send letters that you would only read with a wistful and pained expression, he'd gift you with jewels, but you never wore them.

You were hard to get. But it was thrilling for him. To do such thing after spending years traveling, collecting and vanishing from town to town. You had made his dead heart to beat again, but yours ached for someone that had been long gone. He'd never forgive him. He collected his soul.

-----

Every gift your not so subtle fan gave you, had warned your heart a little bit more. You knew it was Miguel. The outrageous gifts screamed his name all over the place. He'd send you roses, which you stored in a glass container to make things out of them, his letters full of poems about you; made the ice on your heart to melt, bit by bit.

And the jewelry, the most intricate and beautiful thing you could lay your hands on. Gold looked good on you. It was like he knew your heart desires by heart despite you shooing him away in hopes he'd gave up before it ended up in another heartbreak for you.

But he was determined to make you his. You noted much. You had to give props to the man that against all odds, was getting a spot in your heart. But for now, you needed sleep.

The sultry and baritone voice sang through your window.

No hace falta que salga la luna

Pa' venirte a cantar mi canción

Ni hace falta que el cielo esté lindo

Pa' venirte a entregarte mi amor

You opened the window and your eyes turned bashful as his voice kept echoing, a few more men behind him, playing instruments. His voice serenading you.

Solo Dios, que me vio en mi amargura

Supo darme consuelo en tu amor

Y mando para mí, tú ternura

Y así con tus besos borro mi dolor.

Your heart couldn't help but flutter. You had tamed a demon.

He was about to sing another verse when your neighbor's angry voice chided in, disrupting the moment.

"It's bed time! Sing to her in the morning!" His words only made him want to vanish and give him a lesson, but your giggles only made him sigh.

"Buena noche, chula."

"Goodnight, Miguel." you kissed his cheek. A chill ran down your spine. He was cold, but your heart was sure warm.

He totally gave the man a good scare in his dreams.

---------

"It's concerning that people have been leaving town lately without much explanation." You heard one of the elders speak, and sure enough, the town looked emptier than usual.

"Don't you think it's weird? Ever since... that guy, ese Charro, came here, weird things have been happening." Your ears perked up at the information. Of course you had been too enraptured in your blooming feelings for Miguel to actually pay attention to what was happening around you.

Your workplace was less and less crowded, Emelina and Ricardo ran away together. Then, another man you barely spoke to was next, and then another woman also left. Four people in total. And given how small the town was, the number was alarming.

Dread settled on you once more. You didn't know what Miguel did during the day, but he always seemed to have enough money to buy everyone's house twice. He was always impeccable, well dressed and his charisma had earned the trust of the people. You felt dumb.

You had lowered your guard down enough to let another man in.

What was his game? You certainly refused to be his plaything.

-----

Your sudden change of attitude concerned him, of course, people would talk, and they were growing suspicious. He had his fill of souls, but his dead heart ached for you. You'd refuse to look at him in the eye, your voice so distant and cold. You had also grown suspicious of him. He knew he had to leave.

But he didn't, as a new pact was signed within town. His duty called.

-------

Just as darkness followed him, it had engulfed the man and vanished him into nothingness. He smirked, satisfied.

"It's... you..." You voice snapped his glowy red eyes at you. Your skin crawled as the hairs on your back stood in alarm. Your mind told you to run away. You approached instead, clarity coming to your mind like a cold bucket of water.

The glow of his eyes vanished, a solemn look on his face.

"It all makes sense now" You mumbled. You weren't scared, your hands cupped his cheek. he was no longer cold.

"I need to go."

You shook your head.

"Everything you did, for me, was true?"

"All of it." His large hand caressed yours while his eyes regarded you wistfully.

"Then, take me with you." You'd mumble and his eyes widened.

The sounds of many other horses along some people, angry and demanding for Miguel, approached.

"I couldn't... No."

"Then, I'll make a pact with the devil if that means for you to come for me and see you again."

His heart leaped in his chest. You wanted him as he was.The mob approached.

"I'm yours" You kissed his hand and you were swooped off your feet, his lips pressed into yours and with a whip on his horse, you two ran away, never to be seen again.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #astv fanfic #spiderman 2099 x reader #el charro negro #t writes✨#Mexican urban legend #Spotify

746 notes · View notes

kingminie · 5 months

Text

until forever falls apart | 01.

pairing: kim taehyung, reader

genre: angst, exes au.

warnings: emotional cheating, infidelity, swearing, detailed smut, chain smoking as a coping mechanism.

word count: 11.8k

description: you’ve never been much of a believer in the phrase ‘first love never dies’ but it seems as if the universe badly wants to prove it to you — and you’re absolutely and royally damned the moment you find out that the phrase holds truth.

or alternatively, you come as a stand-in photographer for your cousin’s prenup shoot and you find out that it’s your secret ex who’s about to get married, and kim taehyung really doesn’t make it any less easy for you.

01 | ongoing.

Love has always been easy for you — both falling into or getting out of it, but more of the latter, really.

However, there are things about this so-called ‘love’ that you don’t quite get — will probably never get — and it leaves you in a sticky position when friends come to ask advice that roots from such a concept.

It always ends in a snotty mess and a sigh of I don’t know why I came to you for this at the end anyway. It makes you feel like shit; a clueless, ignorant, wondering piece of shit because how is it that everyone seems to have been looking at love and defining it from a single different lens with a unified perspective, and you’re stuck at seeing it from the other endpoint.

It isn’t your fault you don’t assimilate hurt with loving, is it? It isn’t your fault that you don’t expect to clean up a colossal mess every time love comes to its end. And it most certainly isn’t your fault that when love ends, you let it go. It ended, and that’s that. For you, anyway. So, why exactly, do people fault you for having such a reaction at the conclusion of a relationship?

Why does it seem to be a taboo and something that’s unheard of when a month after a relationship ends, you find yourself not grieving over a love that’s lost? When and why does it seem to have become the standard to mope and pine and cry as if acceptance and moving on is an outlawed concept right after a relationship ends?

That’s because you’re a heartless, unfeeling bastard, that’s why, as your best friend, Jungkook, so likes to put it every single time. And maybe, it is the defeat and the eventual acceptance that people will never see things in your perspective that you just roll your eyes and move on with your day.

Love, for you, is something that ends when it ends. A wound that closes, heals. It leaves a scar, sure. You remember the hurt, yes. But the initial peak of pain wouldn’t be there again if it healed, would it.

With all that, you’ve become unsure — of what to do, of what to say, of how to act — when people lament over a lost love. Which, at this very moment, is what exactly your sister is doing.

All tears, snot, and hiccups under your blankets.

Sobs wrack her body in an uncontrollable shake, a vibrating mess under the sheets as you’re left to wonder what the fuck to do with your hands. But you never get the answer because she wails, head lifting from the blankets, “How could he do that to me? Six years, six years! Six years he threw away for what, a year of meaningless sex with his assistant?”

You don’t really think it’s meaningless when dear, dear respectable Hyunwoo decides to break off the engagement, but you keep your mouth shut and continue to awkwardly pat your sister’s back.

Your hand stills just an inch away from her back when she looks at you, wet eyes and mouth set in a downward curve, and whispers, “What should I do now?” She sniffles and you flinch. Because her goddamn snot is staining your bed but fuck, okay, you can’t think about that now, “I love him.”

You hesitate, weighing the words you’re about to speak in your head and thinking about the consequences before settling for a question, “You–you’re not thinking about giving him another shot if he asks for it, are you?”

At this, your sister remains silent and you sigh because yes, yes she will give him a chance in one heartbeat if the bastard do so much as give her a fucking petal and a printed ‘I’m sorry’ hallmark note.

“You don’t get it.”

Ah, there it is.

Of course, it’s always going to come down to you not getting it.

Maybe your sister sees it, the anger bubbling in your gaze as you glare at her, because she scrambles to sit down with her legs underneath her, knees parallel each other as she kneels on the bed facing you.

And it would have been funny, seeing your older sister like this, but the searing exasperation breaks through and you let it, mouth opening, “No, you don’t get it. See, this is not just a matter of moving the fuck on. He fucked you over, Hana, so much that there’s no amount of apology or groveling he can do to fix that. He fucked his assistant when he’s due to walk down the aisle in a year with you and if that doesn’t spell out how much respect he has for you, for our family, and you still choose to remain blind despite that, then you came to the wrong person because I won’t coddle you.”

“I care about you,” your voice softens and you see her shoulders slump, “This is not just about my once-it-ends-then-it-ends view on relationships. Hyunwoo did an unthinkable, unforgivable thing and there’s no going back from that. I’m not letting you walk back to the person who lacks respect for a relationship, much less for you. Do you get where I’m coming from?”

Hana nods meekly, head hanging low before you hear her sniffle once more. It hurts to see her like this and you want nothing more but to pummel the son of a bitch who did this to her, “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and you let out a breath, all air knocked out from your lungs when she slumps forward, arms snaking around your shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, the phrase of ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ a litany on her tongue. You squeak as her legs slither their way around you in a tight grip and she lets out a weak laugh that sounded much more like a wheeze before you push her off, feeling a wet blot on your shoulder.

“I want to be you for a day. Not like you,” she mutters as she gets comfortable on the pillows, your pillows, “But be you entirely. I want this pain to vanish in a week and just forget about him.”

She pauses, “Maybe after I key his car.”

The pain doesn’t vanish, you think and tell her. “I just learned how to deal with it, Hana. And it isn’t overnight that I do it. And you will get over it too. Heal from it. Someday, one day.”

The silence that follows is comforting, and you think she must’ve fallen asleep, just as most do after a good cry. But she hasn’t, you realize, when she rolls over once more and speaks in a quiet voice, “The way you are right now,” she pauses, only continuing when you give her a nod, “is it because of him?”

There are only a handful of people that could fit about who she means, you know that, but you refuse to speak of any of them and opt to ask her a question instead, “Which way that I am exactly are you referring to?”

“The closed-off you,” Hana replies, a soft tilt to her words, “I had a theory, you know, that you moved on so fast from the relationships you had after because you were never really invested in the people after him. That he broke you, enough for you to place that, whatever you have around your heart that doesn’t allow people to hurt you. You love other people, but you never really allow them to love you as much because of it which makes detachment and parting easier when it ends.”

You don’t really mean to, but the words Hana speaks are like a vacuum, drawing you into a place you’ve managed to tuck away in the very back of your mind. Memories rush in and you drown in it — of honey blond hair, rectangle smiles, and skin that smelled of oakmoss and jasmine.

“Am I right?”

You let out a laugh as you nudge a pillow towards your sister, “You and your unending theories. No, Hana. It’s not because of anyone in particular. This is just how I am, how I think. It’s just unfortunate that it's only the minority that shares the same sentiments as I do.”

Hana looks as if she’d try to refute before deciding against it, groaning when her phone rings and you raise an eyebrow because who in hell would be calling her at midnight. She shakes her head, twisting the phone around so you can see who’s calling and you see the word Studio and you shrug before she takes the call, only hearing snippets of the conversation and it seems as if it's about work.

Hana owns a photography studio — a hobby turned business venture with her friends. Your parents were against it initially, deeming it a ‘not suitable’ business for Hana, but your older sister is a head-strong bull and proceeded with her plans without a single support from your parents and of course, because she’s Hana Park, she can make anything succeed if she puts her mind to it.

“—yeah, you goof, I’ll be right there, don’t worry. Why are you so stressed about this anyway, is this your secret wedding or something?” You lie closer to your sister and she mouths ‘Jimin’ before returning to picking her nails, “I get it, okay. Stop freaking out, I promise to be there tomorrow. M’kay, bye.”

She heaves a dragged-out, exaggerated sigh just as she tosses her phone on the bed where it bounced, “You know, I’d assume it’s our dear brother’s prenuptial photoshoot tomorrow with the way he’s freaking out over the details. I’d actually think that if I didn’t know of him and his single ass and his emotional attachment to his bachelor title.”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow, and you’re booked because of that phone call,” You list, “So I can only assume Jimin knows one of them and used his connections to book your exclusive ass into working on a Sunday.”

Hana laughs, “You’re not wrong. Soyeon made the reservation for November, which is like, a month from now. Jimin moved it for tomorrow in such a rush last week for reasons I don’t know why.”

“Soyeon?” You gasp, eyes going wide, “You’re not talking about Yang Soyeon, are you? Oh my god, how did I not know about this?”

Your sister snorts, ungraceful and loud, “Who would have expected for the youngest cousin in the family to be the first one to be wed, huh? Date’s set for April next year and I don’t even know who she’s marrying,” But she pauses and a frown mars her features, “I would’ve been the first one to walk the aisle and yet, here I am.”

Wait.

“Hana,” you start, “aren’t you meeting Hyunwoo’s parents tomorrow for brunch? To formally call off the wedding? Isn’t that what you came here for tonight, because you were having second thoughts of actually calling it off tomorrow?”

You see the realization dawn upon her, her eyes widening in recognition of the planned confrontation, her mouth dropping to a comical shape of the letter ‘o’ before she sits up so fast you actually ask if her back’s okay and you hear the frantic hits of her nails against the glass of her phone, the worry leaking thickly in her voice as she speaks to multiple people, all of which ending in a frustrated sigh and groan from your older sister.

“Fuck!” she screams as she disconnects from a call once more, “I can’t find anyone to replace me, everyone’s either booked already or have plans for tomorrow. Fuck, shit, I’m screwed. Jimin’s going to kill me. No photographer’s available tomorrow, what am I going to do now, I—you.”

You still, nailed in place by her stare, “Fuck are you looking at me for?”

It’s in this moment you feel the doom coming down on you from all the corners of the universe when Hana smiles, actually feeling it that you shiver. She picks up the phone, calls Jimin, asks if 10 o’clock is okay for everyone to gather tomorrow, kisses your cheek good night.

Kiss of fucking death, you feel like.

You’re never a morning person — nor do you have plans to become one — and you aren’t used to being awakened by a goddamn wet, slimy tongue licking your face all over.

Hana’s laugh echoes around your room, followed by hushed good job from her and a shrill bark from her dog (you really did not know how Orion arrived here when the dog wasn’t even here last night), and you are never one to have thoughts of murder so early in the morning but your family has really been testing your limits. But then you remember that you willingly handed over to Hana the passcode to your apartment, something for emergencies and shit like that, but of course, she took it as an invitation to come and go as she pleases.

Fortunately, she cleans up after Orion’s mess, thank god.

Rolling over, you prepare to squint as protection against the glare of the sun since Hana had already pulled back the curtains, but you sit up at the lack of the sun’s intrusion into your eyes and see that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. The city that you can see through the glass window is quiet, still in deep sleep. As you should be just before Hana woke you up.

“Dad’s going to have a fit when I tell him what you’re blackmailing me to do,” you groan, falling back on your pillow, “I’m running his business and here you are making me take photos of people Dad hates, well, by extension.”

Hana does nothing but flash you a grin, “You’re the only one I can trust to be on par with my skills, honey. Besides, I already have Dad booked in the freaking out area ‘cause you know, I’m a bachelorette now.”

You roll your eyes and you move off your bed, making it neat and tidy to which Hana scoffs before grabbing the mug of cold coffee right from her hands and chugging it all down. Looks like you’ll need more than a cup with what you’re going to be faced with today.

“Is Jimin coming? My car’s in the mechanic, I’m getting it tomorrow.”

Hana nods before telling you just how far Jimin is from your apartment, “About Jimin, actually.” Your sister trails off and you feel an oncoming headache because of course, there’s more.

“I didn't exactly tell him I can’t make it today so I’m trusting you to, um, calm him down when he freaks? He’s only weak to your charms and absolutely immune to mine.”

Turns out a little while after that, Jimin’s absolutely immune to the both of you. Especially you.

“No, what the fuck. What—no.”

Jimin stands frozen, fingers gripping the edges of the kitchen island. His eyes are wide, mouth open in disbelief as he listens to Hana’s explanations of why she can’t go today, her eyes flashing as if to call you for help but you only shrug because there’s really nothing you can do to help her out of this. She made her own bed, might as well let her lie in it.

It irks you quite a bit though when Jimin starts to become unreasonable despite Hana’s crystal clear explanation as to why she’s unavailable today, and on a typical day, you know Jimin would understand, and would easily let it go because obviously, Hana’s life matters take precedence over a photoshoot that can be scheduled on a different day. Jimin today, however, is extra adamant on not having you take over the shoot and it might have very, just very slightly struck the wrong nerve in you.

“You know, Jimin, if this is a matter of your trust in my abilities, I’d gladly back out of this. I’m doing this as a favor to Hana, I’m not here to help you,” you quip, tight and low as you regard the both of them, “So, if you refuse to accept my help, then call your friend to find another photographer, better yet schedule another one with Hana.”

Hana starts to protest but Jimin shakes his head, turns to you with soft eyes and a pouting set of lips, “I’m sorry, that came off wrong. Really wrong. I swear I wasn’t trying to undermine your abilities, nor am I saying that there is anything to undermine because you’re good as shit at this, maybe even better than Hana, it’s just that—”

He cuts off his ramble mid-sentence as if to catch himself — to keep from spilling whatever his reservation about you being the stand-in for Hana, which you don’t really know what.

Three things about Jimin are these: he rambles when he’s extremely nervous, fidgets with his thumbs when he’s scared, and refuses to make any eye contact if he believes he’s done something wrong. It’s always one of the three when it comes to him and never altogether. And yet, he stands in front of you, doing all three simultaneously and your heart plummets to the marble flooring beneath you because what is he so scared of, really, to be like this in front of you.

“Look, if you don’t want me to do this, that’s okay,” You start to speak and Jimin turns to you and opens his mouth to speak when you shake your head. You aren’t finished speaking, “That is, if you have an alternative, if Soyeon agrees to reschedule, I’m sure Hana can fit them right in some other time—” You give a pointed look at your sister who rolls her eyes but nods, “—but if they don’t, you have no choice, Jimin. Unless you want to take the photos yourself.”

Jimin lets out a breath, agrees, and proceeds to call whoever he needs to and converses in a low tone that isn’t discernible to you, but Hana can hear and your eyebrows furrow in concern when her head turns so fast towards Jimin’s direction, panic clear-cut in her eyes as she picks up on whatever it is that Jimin is saying. She curses under her breath, turns ghostly pale before she pulls Jimin into one of the guest rooms, leaving you to your thoughts and your second cup of coffee.

“You kept this?”

It’s a good three minutes after that Jimin’s voice pulls you out of your trance — your attention previously held by the large black ant that is now on top of an apple. You turn and your breath hitches at the rough sketch of the overly-familiar Pomeranian in his right hand. You shrug, “Jungkook must have left it there when he came over.”

At this, Jimin raises his eyebrows. Stares at the picture a little bit too long before putting it back in place, under Jungkook’s purple-pink painting of a sunset, to the right of Jimin’s present two years before. He then looks at you, really looks at you, that you become unnerved enough to look away and pretend to busy yourself with some imaginary dust on the counter.

You know. You know how the framed sketch is too clean, too in place, and too taken care of to be something that your best friend accidentally left behind. And you know Jimin knows this too with the way his eyes turn to you and you fear. Fear that pity would be reflected in them and so you stand abruptly, deaf to the frantic calls of Hana and you head straight to the building basement and settle comfortably on the passenger seat of Jimin’s car.

You ran because you’re a coward — afraid to face questions you know you have no answers to.

Jimin enters not a minute later, silent and mum, but the silent looks your sibling keeps giving you is not something you miss no matter how discreet he tries to be about it. You brush it off though, citing the tense atmosphere to be the reason he’s doing so.

But little do you know that this is the first of the many mistakes you will be making — the tiniest among all others.

The theme is simple. Glamour, editorial-esque Vogue-spread motif. Fit for the rich. Something that exudes elegance and opulence. Classy, simple, and elegant. You nod as you skim through the print-out Hana rushes to get to you through one of her employees, one hand busy writing ideas and suggestions.

It warms your heart that despite all the things Hana has to face today, she hasn’t failed to make everything easier for you, as she always does. And everything’s in accordance, just as they should be. That is, except for one, someone. Jimin really cannot stop himself from shaking and you actually fear the poor boy is turning into a leaf, dancing in the wind, with how he physically cannot stop himself from moving.

You’ve had enough of it — his nervous fidgeting, the frantic scan of his eyes among the crowd, the unending bounce of his knees — so you move to approach him, just in time to pluck out the cigarette he’s about to light in his hand and he jumps, “Minie, you’re making me nervous here. I’ve seen you nervous but it’s never been this bad.”

Jimin looks at you and your chest constricts at the face he’s making. A beat, two beats before he lets out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

You think of the exchange back at your apartment, the one where it came off as if he had no faith in you as Hana’s substitute and you let out a small laugh. You know Jimin would never think that. Flicking his chin, you shake your head, “It was me who took your words the wrong way, Min. You don’t need to apologize.”

He looks as if he wants to say more but a car pulls up, red and ostentatious with the way the roof is folded down, and you grin as you see your cousin, a matching upward curve to her lips.

It isn’t new, really, when you catch sight of her hair — beautiful shades of cotton candy pink and pastel blue glinting under the sun.

Beautiful, daring Soyeon, the darling of the Yangs.

You nearly meet your end, though, that day if it isn’t for Jimin cursing and pulling you back when Soyeon isn’t able to stop her car at the designated yellow parking line and she too squeaks a wheeze when she steps on the brakes. The car comes to a stop, and you see her breath does too, before she throws her head back and laughs.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

She sticks out her tongue before she jumps over the door, her flimsy taupe pants billowing after her. You only manage to let out a yelp of protest before she has you and Jimin in a bone-crushing hug and you feel your chest rasp to get some air in when she squeezes once more before finally letting go.

“This is a two-people marriage we’re having today, right? You’re not marrying yourself here?” You ask and laugh as she rolls her eyes. It’s definitely her thing and it wouldn’t be a surprise if she did. “I didn’t even know you were in a relationship and now you’re getting married?”

She shrugs, a wide smile still on her lips, “It just happened,” Her eyebrows furrow when she looks over at Jimin who’s uncharacteristically silent and nudges him, “I still won’t forgive you. I know my groom’s your best friend but it doesn’t really give you a free-pass to have him here at six in the morning to get you coffee. Who does that?”

You don’t really hear what Jimin has to say to her because you’re bidding your goodbye to them both when one of Hana’s assistants — the one she had assigned to brief you over all the details of today’s shoot — pulls you from the conversation, apology written all over her face at the thought of interrupting you but as soon as she open her mouth to speak, you dismiss it with an its okay and you signal for her to go ahead.

“This is the final list of the concepts Hana had brainstormed which one of the client is yet to choose from,” she hands you a thin stack of paper, a portfolio sandwiched between two clear binding covers, “The bride has already chosen the concepts she wants that are to be included for today’s shoot, so, all that's left is to hand the checklist to the groom for the shoot next week.”

Nodding, you skim through the portfolio and shit, it’s definitely good.

You’re whisked away towards the building, directed towards the seventh floor of the rented building in which you’re told Soyeon’s groom is, handpicking his outfits for the day.

You give the door a knock, hearing a bustle of people talking on the other side of the door, and when no one answers, you push the door open. You’re immediately greeted by a flurry of people walking back and forth, all of them either with stacks of paper in their arms or Brioni and Gucci suits in tow.

It’s a mess, a downright mess you want to run from because you haven’t ingested enough coffee to face this.

Which is exactly why you nearly cry when someone steps in front of you, a neat smile in place and a large cup of iced coffee in one hand, a hand extending towards you, “You look like you need this.”

He tilts his head once, gesturing inside the room, “I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi. Jimin texted me earlier that his other sister is standing in for Hana and I assume that’s you.”

Something feels vaguely familiar about Min Yoongi and you list it off as a passing name Jimin had mentioned in the stories he had told you.

“There’s a meeting room on the very far left, grumpy groom’s there,” Yoongi smiles, “Nice meeting you, um—”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N), nice to meet you too, Yoongi.”

You think as you walk that there’s no point in going over next week’s concept today since Hana can already make it by the next photoshoot and she would’ve understand better the dynamics of it all if they talk then, but okay, since you’re already here, might as well help all the way.

Through the frosted glass of the meeting room, you see a silhouette, tall and broad. You have never been a people-person and meeting new ones really isn’t your strong point so you take three deep breaths, hand tightening on the cup of coffee Yoongi handed you, before pushing the glass door open.

“Hi, I’m sorry I ran a bit late. It’s—”

And you stop.

You stop because you suddenly can’t feel the cold cup slipping from your grip. You stop because you feel the liquid pool at the very bottom of your shoes, sticky and wet and messy. You stop because you can’t breathe. You stop because your heart fucking stops too at the sight of Kim Taehyung.

Beautiful, dazzling Kim Taehyung.

First boyfriend, first love, now ex-lover, Kim Taehyung.

Soyeon’s groom and soon-to-be husband, Kim Taehyung.

“Everything okay here?” Yoongi. You hear his footsteps behind you before you see him and you can’t be thankful enough at the interference that’s very much needed.

But you allow yourself to be pathetic, just as you always are around Kim Taehyung. And because you can’t help it, frankly, when your eyes meet his and all sense that is good and common jumps out the window behind him. Because he looks fucking beautiful — him and his honey hair that’s now framing his face, a little bit longer, lighter. Because the room reeks of him, jasmine, vanilla, and oakmoss and it consumes you. The part of you that, despite it all, still longs for the Kim Taehyung from four years past.

On a good day and you meet him once more, you think you would have laughed. A fake smile and a head held high would’ve done it in front of him. But all it takes is one look now. One look, at the time when all your defenses are down, for the self-imposed chain that blocks it all to break and give, a domino effect in your mind as it all comes back; the whirlwind of feelings and emotions that the calamity of him brings forth.

You nod, feeling the light touch of Yoongi’s fingers around your arm, and you anchor yourself with it. Pull yourself from drowning in him once more. “Yeah, sorry,” You breathe, “It slipped. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll have someone take care of it, don’t worry,” Yoongi waves you off when you bend down to start cleaning up your mess, nods toward Taehyung, “Go on, he gets grumpy if he’s left to wait.”

Oh, you know.

So, you do.

You drag your legs to where Taehyung stands, feeling like you’re hauling wet logs for limbs. It’s silent, save for the sound of Yoongi’s shoes against the floor as he kicks at the fallen blocks of ice, and maybe, he takes the silence for Taehyung’s bout of pettiness because he hisses a quiet behave before he walks out. The silence becomes even more suffocating when now it’s just you and Taehyung.

“So—”

“I—”

You shut your mouth when he speaks at the same time as you.

You decide, though, to continue because you’re here for one thing and that one thing entails that you have something to say to him. But he doesn’t, he shouldn’t.

“So, let’s talk about concepts. I’ve been told that Soyeon has already chosen the ones for today — for both your individual and couple shots, and you get to choose the ones for the shoot with Hana next week. Here,” you slide the portfolio across the table, taking a seat across his own without waiting for him, “Hana already made an outline for everything so, this, is basically a checklist you just have to choose from and—”

“How are you?”

“—I’m just going to wait until you’re done filling them out so I can bring them back and start with—”

“(Y/N).” You finally look at him then and you look away the second you do because you’re trying so hard to keep yourself whole and you feel like one second more in his gaze and you’ll fall apart, “I’m sorry.”

And you try. God, you try so hard to repress the tiny, evil voice that pushes you to throw reason out the window. But it comes out anyway, and there’s no stopping what flows out of your mouth after, “Why,” you laugh, “Sorry because you wouldn't have chosen Hana's studio if you knew I was the one to take your photos? Or sorry because you had my brother acting like a train wreck just to keep this from me? Don’t worry I won’t be here next week.”

His face pinches, tongue rolling out to wet his lips, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then don’t apologize to me—” you grit, fists clenched and heart thundering, “—as if you assumed that seeing you has put me in a position that hurt me. Because it really doesn’t. Not anymore, Taehyung. So if you have anything to apologize for—”

You cut yourself off because no, no he has nothing to apologize for. He doesn’t have to say sorry. One person deciding to walk out of a relationship doesn’t warrant an apology from them. An explanation, sure, but you don’t really need it from him. He made it clear enough all those years ago just before he slammed the door of your apartment shut that he just didn’t love you enough — not anymore then.

It’s been four years. It’s been four long years and you should be over him — and you are, you’re certain that you are. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt because it does, fuck, it still hurts so much and you don’t know why.

“—apologize to Jimin because I just know he feels like shit for lying to me because of you.”

You commit your second mistake that same day in the middle of shooting Taehyung’s individual photos. Soyeon had gone for a nature theme this time and so you find yourself in the middle of the forest with a near-naked Taehyung in tow and thank heavens it rains because one more glimpse through the viewfinder at his well-oiled torso and you might have combust and run away from the photoshoot, Hana’s reputation be damned.

Jimin seems to be attached to you now, becoming a human magnet not long after he had apologized so much he knelt, snuggling to your side every chance he gets that it’s suffocating you because he’s overcompensating but you don’t really have the heart to call him out. Not when he looks like a puppy whose tail got accidentally stepped on when you get around to even do so much as try.

So, you let him become your shadow for the time being, finally letting out a huge breath of relief when lunch time comes around and everybody takes a break and you slip past him to the very back of the dilapidated cabin you stumbled upon just before the last shoot ended, not too deep into the forest that faces the river.

Finally, you think, as you savor the peace, even though momentary. You’re glad to be away from the commotion and it makes you realize once more why you choose to be cooped up in an office. It’s because you really can’t handle this many people and it physically and emotionally drains you that you can’t think.

You pause when you reach into your pockets, the gritty warning from Hana and Jimin an alarm ricocheting in your mind how it’s an unhealthy habit and it’s going to fucking ruin you someday. But the short-lived guilt is replaced by justifications of how it’ll be a free-pass and your siblings can fuck off because they’re the reason you’re here in the first place.

Besides, burning through one stick won’t hurt them if they don't know.

So you let your fingers feel for the familiar leather case, pull the only stick inside and you’re so, so close to reaching your sweet release from this damned mental pressure when you realize you left your lighter at home. Letting out a curse, you clamp your mouth around the unlit cigarette, letting it hang and opting to indulge in its semi-sweet smell that goes so well with the rain.

“Want a light?”

You still, the cigarette falling from your lips at the sudden fright. Down, down, and down until it’s washed away by the rain. What a waste, you lament. Sighing, you turn and see Taehyung who’s sporting a sheepish smile, the same familiar white in between his own mouth, lit unlike yours, “I’d accept, but there’s really nothing that needs lighting anymore.”

He has a shirt on now, you notice, flimsy and buttoned up halfway. His hair is tousled messily, now free from the rigid form it previously had, and you give him your back when you feel the urge to fix the fraction of hair that has fallen forward. You hear him take a drag and you smell before you see the tendrils of gray smoke when he releases and god, the small whiff, even in the tiniest fume, has your shoulder relaxing.

“I’d offer one but I don’t have any spare with me,” you hear him say before you feel him move, “I’ll get the fallen one for you, if you want.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you see him lean against the other column, the change in position means that he’s now closer, closer than he’s ever been since the day you last saw him, years ago. And he’s close enough that the thin material of his shirt brushes against your hoodie when the wind moves. And you want to move too, only if it isn’t for the fact that one move and you’ll either fall into the river or be skewered by the worn down wood and you don’t really feel like dying today.

Ironic, how you went for a smoke break to relieve the stress of the day, only to have it doubled.

Now, this is where you make the second mistake.

Because you really don’t mean to stare at Taehyung. You don’t mean to let your stare at his mouth linger a second too long that he sees. It’s just unfortunate that the cigarette is in his mouth, and you stay fixated on the damn cigarette that you fail to see him catch your gaze and hold it.

It’s unfortunate that you don’t take a step back when he takes one step forward.

It’s unfortunate that you become pliant when his cold fingers softly grip your chin, coaxing your mouth to open and welcome the smoke that he blows from his own mouth, hot and intoxicating and tinged with the memories of all the nights past that he’s done this.

It’s unfortunate that you take a long drag when he places the soft end of the cigarette from his mouth to yours, unhesitating and eager.

“Feeling better?” He asks, gentle as he pulls the stick, planting it back to the hold of his mouth. You see a slight upward curve at the corners of it.

This is bad. Wrong and unacceptable and absolutely inappropriate, you know. But you can’t help but accept when he offers one more drag, an offer of release. This time you pluck it out from his fingers, feel the warmth of him around the smoke, and inhale.

It’s only when the embers die out that you feel it, the heavy feeling coming back tenfold as you realize the gravity of what you just did. Not for anyone else, but for you. The toll this will have on you when you go home and have all the time in the world to think about your stupidity. So before you get sucked into the void of self-destruction, you excuse yourself, not caring about the delicate drops of rain that fall but not before you turn back and shout your thanks.

“Okay, you shared a smoke, so what,” you mutter to yourself as you dry yourself off. You’re two people who share a history, a history that’s now dead and gone. A flame that was once bright but has now burned out, never to be rekindled again.

You enter the building with thoughts of rationalization that tries to justify what you’ve done as something harmless, clouding your mind enough that you don’t see Jimin barrel towards you with a smile on his face, only to be replaced with disgust when he breathes and chokes at the ghost of smoke that clings to your clothes.

He rummages through a nearby luggage and returns with a bottle of perfume, “If you want your head still attached to your shoulders by tonight, you’d know better and douse yourself in that shit because Hana’s here to take over and you only have two minutes to shove Listerine down your throat before she finds you.”

In the haste of trying to avert your sister’s wrath, you damn near shower the entire contents of the bottle, only to realize that night when you come home that despite the endless showers you take, you still smell like him. Because of all people, Jimin just had to take from Taehyung’s things and now you’re doused with him all over again.

It’s later that night that you’ll fall asleep to the smell of jasmine and vanilla despite years of trying so hard to rid your apartment of any scents.

Of any trace of Kim Taehyung.

The third and fourth mistake, you make five days later. A Friday that you’re miraculously off work early. Well, technically, you can get off whenever you want but as the faithful, loving, and overworking youngest child that you are, you’ve assimilated longer hours at your father’s company to productivity and so you’ve never really found reason to clock off early when you can do so much more if you stay a bit later than most.

Besides, the company won’t run by itself, so there’s that.

Now, though, you wonder why you thought like that because as you walk down the street, everything looks divine. The setting sun settles on the horizon, sandwiched between two skyscrapers, bleeding purple and orange and pink and it’s breathtaking. Painfully so. For the first time, you indulge yourself in the sounds of the busy city and for a change, it’s peaceful despite the loudness. You can’t remember the last time you took a stroll like this, having been so immersed in work. The last time you walked down the street the like had been years ago, with—

The breath you take is sharp and sudden that it has you bent over on the sidewalk, coughing and wheezing your lungs out that people start to look. You flash a smile, sending a quick thanks to your sister’s ex-lover for choosing to establish the studio within a five-minute walk from the company building, and nearly combusting on the spot when you pull their glass door that clearly says push right after you nearly heave your lungs out from climbing 10 sets of stairs because the elevator isn’t working, coincidentally.

“Hey,” you greet the people on the lounge before specifically turning to Younha — the one who had walked you through everything on the previous shoot, “Is Hana here? I have the initial photos ready if she wants to see. Played around and edited most of them.”

Younha looks sheepish as she raises her hand to her nape where she nervously scratches, “About that,” she grimaces, “Hana phoned earlier that she’s running a bit late tonight so she told me to look over the photos and pick the final ones with the client, but I don’t trust myself enough to do that just yet, so would it be okay if we go through it together?”

You assure her it’s okay. And really, it is, because you’ve finished work anyway and it’s a Saturday tomorrow. You can afford to be late an hour or so. You watch her plug the USB on one of the computers lined up against the wall, see her gasp when she pulls up the photos.

“Oh my god, these are beautiful. You’re telling me you shot each of these by yourself, edited them all on your own, all in less than a week,” Younha turns to you, eyes wide, “Can’t you come and work with us?”

You laugh, genuine and loud, “The raw files were already beautiful untouched. Just touched up some lighting here and there.”

“Yeah, and who took those raw shots, hm? Who coordinated every single thing that resulted in those shots looking like that? You, that’s who,” Younha seems to realize who she’s talking to and she blushes before muttering something else you can’t hear, “Also, about Hana—”

Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

“—so she told me earlier if I can pick out the final photos with the client, right? And since you’re here,” Younha trails off and you still there is no way, no way that you’re going to sit hours dissecting each photo with Soyeon, worse if it’s Taehyung. You have your pride and you’ll cling to that even if it’s the last thing you do in this world.

No way in hell. “Hana’s on her way here, right? I think she can make it.”

Younha nods, a low hum before she answers, “She can. In two hours. Maybe. Not sure. Our client, however—” She tilts her head to the right. Towards the direction of Hana’s office. “—is here.”

It’s a sigh of defeat you let out. Walking away from here means you admit you’re a coward, walking in Hana’s office will mean you’re weak. See, it’s always a lose-lose thing for you everytime a certain Kim is involved. The very, and only, Kim who seems to be haunting every part of your daily life the past five days. Or in this current case, a future Kim but a Kim nonetheless.

Younha smiles, the sly fox, when you place your bag back down on the table, “If I’m going to stay here for the night, might as well ask for coffee. Lots and lots of it.”

You only barely get the full sentence out but Younha is already on her heels with a mock salute.

You push the door to Hana’s office, making sure (twice) not to pull this time, and your eyes land on Kim Taehyung whose eyebrows rise in surprise upon seeing you. If he thinks you’re meaning to keep on meeting him like this, well, he’s wrong. The universe likes to spring surprises down your path of life and it just so happens that for now, Kim Taehyung might be its play thing — to torment you with, most probably.

He sits on the couch that rests against the white wall, beside the windows that occupy the whole one side of the room that overlooks the city. Hana’s office is more like her office and a miniature studio, exclusive for her and whoever she decides to let in here, separate from the lounge and the main studio. It’s an industrial loft, made modern and more suited to her taste and it’s just so goddamn bright in here, you realize.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you mutter as the door clicks shut behind you.

You head straight to Hana’s computer, turning it on and plugging the USB before you plop down on the office chair. “I had the photos with me and I dropped by to leave it for Hana but she apparently has things to attend to for the next two hours and you’re here already so, yeah.”

Taehyung only nods, silent and awkward when he stands.

You sigh, “Grab a chair and come here, I guess. We have, like, a thousand photos to sift through. See if you’d like any changes done to them. The earlier we finish, the better.”

Three hours pass after that and you’re left with no Hana in sight, 325 file numbers listed down, a faint headache and tired eyes, a hungry stomach, and three accidental brushes of Taehyung’s hair on your cheek because what before is a ruler-long distance between the two of you has been reduced to mere centimeters, and Jesus Christ, you don’t know who moved between the two of you that it has come to such. You’re firm to say it isn’t you because your ass remains frozen, stiff as a board everytime Taehyung does so much as inhale.

“Can you—” Taehyung clears his throat, pointing to the keyboard, “—move to the next one, please.”

You mutter an apology, pressing the right arrow and you see the photo move. Frankly, you aren’t paying attention. Not to anything, least of all the photos. It’ll be like knocking consciously on Hell’s door if you do pay attention.

Because you can take being around Taehyung, you can easily detach yourself from reality when you are — and not feel anything, to look at him alone and think of him as an ex-friend, an ex-lover without the rest of the titles attached. But to look at the photos, the pictures you took, there’s no detaching from that reality. The reality that the man you had feelings for — might still have feelings for, but you push that thought back — is getting married, of all things.

And you list this off as feeling weird, an ex marrying a cousin. You aren’t jealous, god, no. It’s just that — weird. Well, you think.

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Taehyung breathes and you still, unmoving as the statue on the corner of the room, “I’m going to order Chinese. I’m not going to last the rest of these photos if I don’t eat. Anything you want?”

He might as well have slammed the mouse he’s holding with the way he casually lets it fall off from his hand to the table, leaning back on his chair and oh god, his head is leaning on the back of your chair. One move of your shoulder and the back of it will touch the side of his head. He has his phone over his head, elbows hanging in the air as he opens his phone with a click. He hums as he scrolls and this is so, so painfully domestic that you struggle to breathe.

It’s been push and pull the whole night. He asks, you answer, and never the other way.

Fifteen minutes that you’re plunged in deafening silence and you punch the air in your mind when Younha knocks, take-away bags at hand and a smile on her face.

Taehyung hands you your food, places the utensils in neat order, pokes the straw through your bubble tea and gently places it in front of you and you stare. You stare because never in your life did you ever think you and Taehyung would ever be in this situation. Toeing around each other, walking on eggshells.

There had been a time that silence wasn’t an option — it’s either you filled the quiet or he did; mouths off about Pokemon and stickers and dogs he met on a certain day, or silence filled with wordless communication through flesh and skin and heavy breaths.

Never this — a fragile silence that no words could ever fill. But of course, Taehyung knows how to break that. Break you when he speaks, “I think we’ll have this one framed for the reception.”

You blink at the photo on the monitor, big and taunting. In it, Taehyung smiles, a wide rectangle stretch of his mouth as his chin rests on top of Soyeon’s head, the latter leaning her weight on Taehyung. It’s evident, palpable even, the happiness that’s shared between them. A running joke between the two of them captured on a permanent photograph only they can understand.

“Yeah,” you nod, a smile, or an attempt at it, stretching your lips, “it’s beautiful. Definitely worthy for the reception. You can hang it in your home after.”

It’s an instinct – you’d like to believe so – when you feel Taehyung move beside you and you mindlessly mirror him, freezing the moment you take in the miniscule space that’s left as you both huddle to look at the monitor. A good couple inches you can count on one hand. And you refuse to move away because no, this is not at all affecting you. And it’s Taehyung, you justify, who’s currently invading your space.

The third mistake is when you try to steal a glance at the corner of your eye because you think he’s engrossed with the picture.

But then you see that he isn’t. Not when his stare locks with yours the moment your eyes move. Had been on you all this time.

The fourth is when he moves and you don’t.

Not when his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe whatever it is he sees there.

Not when he flashes you a smile – something so fond and warm and tender that renders you mute.

Not when he succumbs to sleep an hour later, head lolling on your shoulder.

But the entire world moves when he stirs and the overhead lights hit something golden. It crumbles and caves beneath your feet when a locket falls out of the top of his loosely buttoned shirt. An identical locket to the one that now sits heavy on your chest – once heavy with the broken promises, but now empty of the love that first came with it.

You see his forehead wrinkle as he slowly wakes and you feel the start of the burn that first settles on your chest before it moves and starts from the corners of your eyes. You train your eyes on the monitor, fingers clicking away on the mouse and the keyboard faster than ever.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say. His head stays on your shoulder as he speaks. “What time is it?”

“Quarter before ten—”

“I missed you,” he breathes and you hear him let out a soft laugh before he whispers, “I always miss you.”

It feels as if all the air in your lungs has been knocked out and you turn to speak when you see that he’s fallen back asleep. And god, you wanted to shout at him, let out the years of pent up frustration and grudge you’ve had all these past years and ask all the unanswered whys and hows. But looking at him now, after so, so long, you realize you do too.

A tear drops and a multitude of realizations follow.

You missed him. You missed him. You miss him.

And fuck, you’re still in love with him, you realize. So much and enough to make you not think of the consequences of the realization that you do.

Not when his fiancée finally comes and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

Not when a wedding invitation lands itself on the desk towards you.

And especially not when the ghost of him lingers when they’re gone and you find yourself praying for it to stay just a little bit longer.

You did not plan for your Friday night to be like this at all.

The initial – and final – plan was this: show up to the club your sister wanted you to show up to, make it look like you’re genuinely happy to be there, flee the moment midnight hits when your sister and her friends are too drunk to realize you aren’t there anymore, and sleep away in the solace your tranquil and quiet apartment offers.

The night and plan had been going well, much to your delight.

Just until the fleeing part, that is. Because the moment you press the unlock button to your car half past one in the morning, you see a very drunk Kim Taehyung eagle spread on the hood of your car, with only a rumpled halfway-buttoned shirt that’s tucked into his pants, one of his shoes already on the roof of the Mercedes.

And so instead of proceeding to the sleeping part of your plan, here you are now, struggling under the weight of Taehyung as you try to push in all his limbs in the passenger seat because he refuses to go away. Why, of all people, must you be the one to find him like this? Other people would’ve paid no mind leaving him on the pavement but of course, the universe had to make sure it just had to be you because old, cruel fate had it out for you and your demise.

Two weeks spent in isolation from the rest of the world in an attempt to justify and get over the realization you had of still being in love with an ex and the world just dumps him in the hood of your car of all cars.

“Kim Taehyung, I am not above violence, I will fucking knock you out if I have to if you step your foot out and kick me once more, for the love of god,” you heave, “Are you with Jimin?”

At this, he grins and nods, eyes half-closed, “Jimin went home. I think. Or wait, maybe he’s passed out in Yoongi’s tub. I think. I don’t know, do you think he’s still here? Wait, do you know Jimin? How do you know Jimin?”

You sigh, “Give me your phone. I’ll get Soyeon to pick your ass up.”

Taehyung lets out a loud gasp, proceeds to choke on air before he looks up at you, “How do you know my girlfriend?”

You pause for a second before rolling your eyes, “Phone.”

“It’s in my left pocket, can you get it for me? I’m so tired,” he whines, wincing as his head lands on the head rest. You reach over to pull his phone out, only to retrieve a pack of cigarettes but no phone. You freeze when his hand grips your wrist that’s still in his pocket, feeling your heartbeat in your ears when he leans forward, so close that you feel his breath on your cheek, “Butt pocket, sorry.”

You take a deep breath as he continues to look at you with a grin. You move closer, angling your head away because you would be fucking cheek-to-cheek if you don’t and you pause just before you touch his back pocket, “No, you know what, you can get it yourself. Either that or I leave you out here on the streets.”

Taehyung pouts but he moves his arm behind him nonetheless, proceeds to feel his other pocket when he finds the first one empty.

“My phone’s gone,” he huffs, “Oh! It’s in Minnie’s car!”

You let out a loud groan, rounding the car to open the driver’s side to look for your bag so you could use your phone and you let out another sound of frustration, louder this time, when you remember the picture of a beige bag being left underneath your couch’s pillow. You look over at Taehyung, a war in your head as to what to do with him, before you finally settle on the choice that you never, ever think you would’ve made.

“Fine,” you grit as you turn the engine on, “I’m going to drop you off your house but I’m not gonna be held accountable for the reasons you’re going to have to explain to your girlfriend if she greets your drunk ass as to why the fuck her cousin’s dropping her fiance off, alright? Now, are you still staying in the same apartment ‘cause I’m going to drop you–”

Taehyung snores, body folding in on himself as he slightly shivers. You sigh, dropping your forehead on the steering wheel, enough to hurt and make the horn whine, “This is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey, Taehyung,” you shake him, poking his shoulders the way you know he hates, “Wake up and tell me your address, asshole. I’m not driving to the other side of the city only to find out you changed address. Hey.”

He makes the tiniest wave of his arm before he goes back to sleep.

You glance at the clock that says it’s now nearing three in the morning and you run your hands over your face because fuck this.

Now, you head to your apartment with the plan of just dumping Taehyung in the foyer and letting him sleep there until he has his mind back in the morning – you figure he’d probably run off the minute he wakes up.

“Hey, wake up.” You nudge him when you arrive and you sigh once more as he merely stirs, opening his side of the door before attempting to move out of the car only to heave when the seatbelt he still has on pulls him back.

With a grimace, you round to his side and lug one of his arms around your shoulders and basically carry all of his weight towards the elevator. You give a tight smile to the staff at the reception as you pass by, dismissing the offer of help. You nearly drop to your knees as soon as the elevator doors close, exhaustion flooding you all of a sudden.

As soon as the door opens to the penthouse, you remove your hold on Taehyung and he slumps against the wall. You let out a breath before pushing him to one of the guest rooms where he immediately plops down on the bed after knocking his shoes off. A small smile plants itself on your face and you reach over to pull the covers over him.

Kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, you brush off the loose hairs that cover his face and you whisper, “You’re making it so hard for me.”

Deciding that you’ve helped him enough, you head to your room to change and shower – a long bout of internal battle against yourself as you try to wash off all that happened.

It is an hour later when you’re already in your bed, tossing and turning that you find yourself a long way from sleep, and so you push the covers off of you to head towards the kitchen to find something to drink. The sun is starting to rise, you see, as you stare at the large windows, uneasy at the thought that Taehyung is there. Here.

And you know you shouldn’t care anymore. You’ve done enough and beyond to help him, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t matter, really, because here you are, pushing the guest room open to check on him, a bottle of water in hand. He remains as he was the second he got here and you sigh as you pull one of Jungkook’s shirt and sweatpants from the cabinet, a spare he leaves in the case he unintentionally sleeps over, and you walk towards Taehyung before slowly shaking him awake.

“Hey,” you speak softly as his eyes crack open, mind still swimming in alcohol, “you should change into this. Your clothes must be uncomfortable to sleep in. Here’s some water too.”

His eyes open a little bit wider, voice hoarse when he speaks, “(Y/N)?”

You swallow, “Yeah, it’s me.”

“I can’t remember most of tonight, how did I—”

You smile, “And you probably won’t remember all of this when you sleep once more. Just change and drink this, Taehyung.”

A part of why you’re doing all the things you’re doing is the fact that you know he will forget this.

He sits up, swaying as he does so, twisting the water open. You greet him good night, and just as you turn to head back to sleep, his hand dart out to grip your wrist – as tight as the grip that has your heart beating so loud in your chest as he does, “I’m sorry.”

Without turning around, you answer, “You don’t have to be. I would’ve done the same for anyone else.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

Pressing your tongue against your cheek, you rip your arm away from his hold, now turning around to face him. He slowly stands, eyes trained on you. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, “I’m not saying sorry just because of tonight,” he speaks quietly, “This is an apology that’s long overdue. An apology I never had the courage to give you. An apology that I owe you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being the coward that walked away without an explanation. For not being the person I promised you I would be.”

“I told you,” you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t owe me an apology, Taehyung. It’s over and done with. Apologizing to me would mean that there’s still loose ends between us, and I’m telling you that there’s none. You may have burnt those ends the moment you walked away and I have burned mine in the years that followed. You don’t owe me anything.”

He’s closer now, so close that you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and his perfume. “Then why are you still wearing this?”

You feel all the walls come down, then, when his fingers trace the golden chain of the locket. The once emblem of young and promised love, of an oath, of Kim Taehyung. The necklace that never was once removed from you since then.

You chuckle, bitter and harsh, “You’re still wearing it too, Kim.”

You flinch as you feel the pad of his thumb wipe away at the trail of tears that has somehow escaped, “Leaving you was the only choice I had then. It killed me to walk right out of that fucking door but it was the only choice. For you, for me, for us. Even if it meant me becoming the asshole, it was the only choice.”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, you left me. And in my vocabulary and everyone else’s, leaving the person you claim to love without a single explanation is a shit move,” you nearly damn snarled, “I could’ve accepted you telling me you didn’t love me anymore but you fucking walked out without a single word. Well, I guess it worked out great for you, huh? You’re getting married now.”

“I did l—”

“Don’t fucking dare say it,” you sob, feeling all the energy draining out of you in a second, “You’re four years too late, Taehyung.”

The chains that hold all the hurt and grievance of the past four years had been unlocked and with the thought of Taehyung not being able to remember this tomorrow, you let it all out.

“I lied,” you whisper, lips and chest shaking as you breathe, “It hurts me seeing you now. So fucking much. Because you never wanted to get married. I remember when we were together you said that we could live without the titles, the labels, and the technicalities of it all, because you’d love me the same. So yes, it hurts. I can’t deny that it does when the things you didn’t want with me, things I wanted to have with you, you learned to want with someone else. Shit like this hurts because even if I was okay without all the titles, I thought then that spending a lifetime with you wouldn’t be so bad. But you made it seem like you never wanted marriage, not with anyone ever and so I accepted it, content even with just being with you.”

“But then you show up like this,” you say so quietly you don’t know if he can hear it, “You can’t expect it not to hurt, Tae, because it does. So, so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung lightly rests his forehead on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer me this one question,” you look up at him, “Please.”

You feel him nod, “Anything.”

You feel it again, the suffocating claws that grips around your chest, the pain of unanswered questions and doubts, “Was my love not enough for you?”

You feel it before you hear it, when he nods against your head, hands coming up to hold your cheeks, “No, no, god, no. It was more than enough. It was so much more than enough that you became someone who didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t reciprocate the amount of love you were giving me. I’m sorry.”

“I miss you, Tae.” You whisper, and you can barely see him through the tears, “And it’s so, so wrong and I shouldn’t be doing this but fuck, I do. Four years and I still miss you and now you’re here, back in my life, and yet you’re still the farthest you’ve ever been from me.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he is – so far away from you and will never be close enough anymore – that you think maybe this is the long-awaited end. The closure you’ve once longed for but never had. Maybe there really was no reason for him leaving you beyond the fact that he didn’t love you anymore – and maybe that was enough reason. You just didn’t want to accept that fact. Maybe it’s time that you do.

After Taehyung, you’ve become someone who believed that love is something that’s easy to let go, when in fact, all this time, it is the love you had for Taehyung you’ve never let go of. And maybe, it was never love for the people that came after him and so it became easy for you once it’s over, once it ended. Because what has started that really counted has never reached its end, for you anyway. Because it will never be the same.

Because they weren’t Kim Taehyung.

“Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it,” he smiles a small smile as he wipes a tear away.

“Then stop making me cry, asshole,” you softly retort, hands coming up to wrap around his own to pull them away from your face. You can’t think straight when he has his hands on you, “I’m not asking for you to love me again, not anymore. Maybe we could be friends?”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, you know. And you really don’t think you can be just friends with Taehyung. But you’re weak for Kim Taehyung and you’re still so fucking in love him that you’d settle for whatever there can be between the two of you. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

“Can we, really?” He laughs softly, a sad smile appearing, “I’m about to do something very stupid, for the very last time, so please, stop me if you don’t want to because I don’t think I can stop myself.”

He leans forward as the inches between you decrease down to a zero, his lips pressing against your cheek, your forehead, your eyelid, and to the corner of your mouth before he pulls away. “No, you had something to drink too, I’m drunk, you’re drunk. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, ” Taehyung breathes against your cheek, eyes shut tight.

“I’m not.”

Whether that’s an answer that refutes your state of intoxication or a statement that debunks Taehyung’s apology, you don’t know. Because the next moment finds you pulling him forward, arms snaking around his shoulders as you kiss him. Soft and unhurried and sad – a declaration of what had remained unsaid for the past years.

The last time, you swear, and from tomorrow then on, you’re going to be friends. This night will be void – forgotten and discarded. Taehyung is going to continue with his life and you with yours.

It’s so easy to become so lost in Taehyung that you forget the rest of the world.

That you don’t hear the sound of the door opening.

Or the second set of drunk footsteps that follows the first one.

“What in the fuck is going on here?”

326 notes · View notes

marvelfanfics1 · 10 months

Note

I just fell. I know a random start but when I was playing outside I fell and hurt my knee and it bleeded 😥 maybe you can do the same with daddy stucky x little reader x little Peter (Tom Peter) where the reader fell and it bleeded so her dada Steve toke care of it and put a cute little unicorn plaster (I'm not sure how it calls bc English is not my native Language) and she is still crying when they got out of the bathroom and daddy Bucky but her in his lap and hug her and little petie comes to the reader and put a kiss on the hurting knee and says "that makes u feel bwtter"

🩹<---- I mean this thing

Kisses make it better

(GIFs not mine)

The Super Soldiers Little Angels au

Pairing: daddy!stucky x little!reader x little!Peter

Warnings: Age Regression, hurt knee, mentions of blood, fluff, comfort

A/n: Hey guys 🤗 I'm really sorry for the lack of fics, I had a writersblock and have been struggling with family drama (ya know the usual 🤙🏻) anyway, I hope I overcame it now and can spoil you with fics again 💜

⭒𖥸⭒

It was a beautiful day outside so Steve and Bucky decided to take you and Peter to the compound so you could play outside with other littles from the Avengers group.

At the compound were so many fun things to do and with how much space they have you can find activities literally everywhere.

Now you were running around a play structure with Kate while Peter was chasing you both. It was all fun and games until you tripped over your own foot and fell on the rubber ground that was around the structure.

It all happened so quickly that it took you a few seconds to now feel the pain that was coming from your knees, tears already blurring your vision before you could even take a look at it.

Peter was a second later beside you, trying desperately to figure out what was wrong when he saw your bruised knees and quickly jumped into action.

"I go get daddies!" he said and rushed off to where all the caregivers were sitting and talking.

Meanwhile, poor Kate was trying as hard as she could to comfort you, Peter would most definitely almost suffocate you in a hug, Kate only rubbed your back, assuring you that Peter will be back soon with your daddies and it did comfort you in a way.

Soon enough you saw Peter coming back with Steve jogging after him and he quickly knelt beside you.

"Shh, it's okay, Angel. Dada's here." he grimaced a little when he saw your bloody knees. Your little sobs broke his heart, he and Bucky hate seeing either of their littles in pain, and in a quick motion, he picked you up and carried you inside to the nearest bathroom.

"Dada hurts." you cried while Steve was looking for some bandaids and something to clean the wounds.

"I know, sweetheart." he kissed your forehead. "I promise it will be better soon."

You kept crying silently, wincing when he touches a sore spot with the alcohol pad. When all the blood was wiped off he grabbed a colorful unicorn bandaid and put one on each knee, hoping to cheer you up a little but you were still sobbing a little.

"Let's go see what daddy's doing." he offered you a smile and you nod, raising your arms for him to pick you up which he happily did.

Your crying ceased to little sobs and hiccups while Steve carried you to where he was before Peter came in running and frantically pointing outside. There you saw Peter who was leaning with his back against Bucky's shoulder and playing on his switch but he quickly turned it off when he saw you.

"Our poor doll." Bucky cooed and you started to make grabby hands for him.

Steve handed you over to him and you got comfortable on his lap with your back against his chest and him wrapping his arms around you to make you feel secure and safe.

Peter frowned a little, seeing how some tears kept falling from your eyes. He got up from his spot beside his daddy to kneel before you both. First, you were confused, tilting your head to the side. He then leaned forward to kiss each of your knees carefully.

"Dis will make you feel better!" he smiled and you wiped the remained tears away, smiling back at him.

"Fank you, Petie."

He got back on his spot and took one of your hands caressing the back of it with his thumb, making your daddies hearts almost explode from the cuteness.

⭒𖥸⭒

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

Stucky masterlist:

@almostcontentcreator @stuckysgirl27

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!

634 notes · View notes

smplykiel · 10 months

Text

what was I made for?

watching the barbie movie w genshin characters!

kazuha, kaveh, xiao, wanderer x reader (separately)

warnings: a tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, crying, modern au, tooth-rotting fluff !!

You've been anticipating the release of the latest Barbie film for days. Your excitement was as great as ever since you had already planned your pink-themed outfit days before the film's release.

If you were going to see the Barbie movie while feeling like a Barbie, you'd need your Ken, right? So you just had to invite your significant other to see the new movie with you!

Kazuha

Your well-thought-out pink-themed outfit was now slightly damp from the countless tears streaming down your tear-stained cheeks as the movie slowly came to an end. The saddening music playing in the background as you suppressed your cries.

Kazuha, on the other hand, was wiping your tears away. Warm hands cupped your wet cheeks as his thumbs gently wiped away your salty tears. His brows were knitted together in a frown as he watched you cry in his hands.

"Hey, it's okay. Everything is alright. That's what I'm made for, right? To be here for you always. So it's okay to cry. It's okay to let out all your bottled-up emotions. And when you do, I'll be by your side, okay, my love?" he whispered into your ear as he pulled you into a passionate embrace.

Your tears came to a still as you felt Kazuha pull away, your arms that were once wrapped around his shoulders loosening. You look at him with puffy and red eyes, but Kazuha couldn't care less. He leaned in again before pressing a soft, gentle kiss on the corner of your lips, making butterflies swarm your stomach almost immediately.

The scene made the other watchers admire the couple, feeling proud, while some felt envious and asked each other where they could find someone like your loving boyfriend.

As he pulled away, you couldn't help but feel lucky to have a boyfriend like Kazuha.

Kaveh

You didn't know how you found yourself in this position—Kaveh sitting on your lap, face buried into the crook of your neck as he sobbed loudly, ignoring the fact you were in a completely public space.

"Kaveh..? What's wrong, baby-" Before you could finish your sentence, your sobbing lover suddenly pulled away from you before looking at you with glazed orbs. "If you EVER cry without telling me, I will literally cry! I swear with MY LIFE that I will never make you feel unloved! I'M ALWAYS HERE FOR YOU, OKAY Y/N?!" Kaveh rapidly said, a couple hiccups interrupting his words as tears continued flowing down his rosy cheeks.

A soft sigh left your lips before you cupped his tear-stained cheeks. Sure, some people would find your boyfriend embarrassing for yelling in the middle of the theater, but you couldn't care less about any of that right now; all that mattered was your lover, Kaveh.

You quickly wiped away his tears before pressing a quick peck on his slightly damp cheeks. "Okay, but don't scare me like that again. You're going to make me cry." You whispered soft, loving words into his ears as you pulled him into a hug, opting to rest your chin on the pads of your boyfriend's shoulder. All of your words were quickly interrupted again as he cried in your arms, his tears soaking your pink outfit.

Some people expected that you would be the one who should be crying in your boyfriend's arms, yet for you, you found it endearing and adorable as Kaveh cried in your arms like a big baby.

Xiao

Your brows were knitted together as you watched the end credits roll with a frown. Sure, the movie made you feel somewhat sad, as you related deeply to the story, but it wasn't so far that it made you cry.

You swiftly picked up your trash before standing up from your seat. Head turning to look at your boyfriend, Xiao, if he was ready to leave. His expression was... somewhat sad, yet confused. Maybe he related to the movie too.

"Xiao, let's go," you whispered before putting out your free hand, waiting for him to intertwine his with yours. When he did, you felt a bit more at ease. You didn't know why, but you just did.

As you were about to exit the theater of the mall, you could feel yourself slightly stumble back as your boyfriend was now a bit far from you, hands still holding onto each other.

"Xiao..?" Your silky hair fluttered as you whipped your head to face your boyfriend, only to see him staring holes into the floor, the tips of his ears slightly turning a tint of pink.

"I'll always be there for you if you need me... if you didn't know." he quietly said as his brows furrowed, his embarrassed eyes slowly glancing at you for a response. You could feel your heartbeat accelerate ever so slightly, the apples of your cheeks a light shade of red as your hand loosened its grip on Xiao's hand, making him puzzled at the loss of contact.

"Y/N..?" Before he could even process what was happening, he was quickly pulled into a warm hug, immediately melting in your arms as he wrapped his around your waist. "Thank you, love. I'll also be here for you always," you whispered into his now red ear. You slightly pull away from the hug before pressing a faint kiss on the tip of his nose, making his face flush red.

Before you broke the gears in his brain even more, you pulled away from the embrace before intertwining your hands together. "Let's go!" you said before turning away from him and dragging him to who knows where.

But he doesn't fail to catch the burning shade of red spread all over your ears, and he unconsciously smiles at this.

Wanderer

Your boyfriend didn't know what to do as you sobbed uncontrollably to yourself, eyes fixed on the TV screen as the ending credits rolled in.

What's he supposed to do? Does he need to tell you to stop crying? Yeah, no, he was sure that would just make your sobs even louder. Should he wipe away your tears and curse the people who made the movie? He sat there frozen and puzzled, his mind running millions of miles for ways to comfort you.

Out of nowhere, his body moved on its own before lifting you up from the sofa as he placed you on his lap, a protective arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand pressed your head onto his shoulder, letting you sob all you wanted. Though he doesn't let out a single word, as silence engulfed the both of you, only the sounds of your cries and hiccups remained, but either way, the both of you found the silence comforting.

Once he was sure your cries had come to a stop, he slightly pulled away, enough to see the aftermath of your tears plastered onto your face. His usual expression was nowhere to be seen and was replaced with a soft one.

He gently wipes away the remaining tears from the corners of your eyes. His hand suddenly brushed the stray strands of your smooth hair that framed your face perfectly away before pressing a soft, yet somehow shy, kiss onto your forehead.

Your eyes don't miss the way his cheeks burn up ever so slightly and his ears turn bright red. Before you could say anything, he pulled away from your forehead and pushed you back onto his shoulder. You smile warmly at this.

Sure, your beloved lover isn't too good at comforting others through words of affirmation, but he's pretty capable of showing it through actions instead.

A/N: HELLOOO i just watched barbie a few days ago and i legit cannot stop thinking about it. anw have some fluff before i start writing the pt. 2 of albedo angst! 😘

369 notes · View notes

notemaker · 5 months

Text

Old(er) Hijack Au in which Jack lived his human life during the 1700's and became a spirit at his late forties or early fifties. His previous memories remain intact. Three hundred and a half years later, Jack, self appointed old homeless (human) person, meets Hiccup, national park ranger (and self appointed hermit). Keep reading below.

Jack has been developing his powers for some time now. Since the way in which he became a spirit didn't permanently stunt his growth and emotional stability forever at the tender and hormonal age of 18, Jack became able to control his powers way sooner and better. It didn't take long for him to become a guardian this time around, so he's had the reigns of things for a while now. -The Guardian's belief system works different for Jack. He's a seasonal spirit. He's Winter incarnate. People not only believe in winter, but know it true. So, he gets the bonus of being able to be seen by the overal populace, only lightly. Like passing by a stranger in the street and forgetting two seconds after, people can see Jack, but not quite. Perfect for pranks. -As Jack's powers developed, his staff (yes, he still has his staff. its part of his personality) also did. It grew a little more than in canon. A little wilder. -Unfortunately for Jack, he's made a name for himself in the spirit world. Worse: a good one. He's busy with winter and Guardian duties all year long. So occasionally, he'll sneak out, dress up like no one's business, and launge around, pulling tricks for shits and giggles. -"What do you mean OLD man winter? Im not old, what do you mean old. No, being 300 yrs doesn't count." -Jack is a regular at a cafeteria that's mostly empty during sundays. The lady owner at the counter feels like she's known him for years but never seems able to remember since when. For some reason, she know's the man's order by heart, but only when she sees him enter the shop. She thinks he's fun and mischivious and joyful, but also has sad eyes. -Jack knows her since she's ten. -Hiccup met Jack because Jack had fallen asleep on a bench. Jack, for reference, doesn't breathe. Hiccup nearly had a heart attack, called the ambulance because some guy had died in middle of the park, until said guy woke up and Hiccup nearly had a second.

#why is there an ant on my chair #the chair is on top of the table. whats an ant doing on top of a chair on top of a table #hijack #my art #art post #frostcup #hijack au #rise of the guardians #how to train your dragon #httyd #rotg #jack frost #hiccup #hiccup haddock #rotg jack frost #jack frost rotg #jack frost fanart #jack frost rise of the guardians #art

202 notes · View notes

thegurlwhoisntthere · 2 years

Text

Okay, HTTYD fandom I’m coming for you.

I want an au where the gang were always friends. Like, they grew up to be just as tight-nit as they are in RTTE, but because of reasons they hide the fact that they’re friends with Hiccup from the adults. Why do I think this could work?

Well:

Hiccup by nature is very forgiving, so when all his friends come to him and say they can’t be friends in public because of one reason or another, he sympathizes, as long as they’re still friends, he doesn’t really care.

Snotlout is the first in the group to start drifting away, and they all ask him why

Spitelout doesn’t like that his son is hanging around Hiccup when he’s so unviking-like

He pressures Snotlout to cut ties with his cousin and to start putting him down for not living up to “what he should”

This backfires

Baby-lout hasn’t yet had the time to really internalize his father’s teachings, so when his friends ask, he tearfully tells them

Most of the group is furious, but Hiccup understands

If it had just been up to him the group probably would’ve disbanded then and there

Lucky for him it wasn’t

They figure that if Spitelout doesn’t want them to friends then they won’t… in public

In private is a different story

In public they treat it like a game, to taunt each other and be as sarcastic as possible

But when they’re alone they let their guard down

The next one to go, surprisingly, is Astrid

After her uncle died her family’s reputation takes a dive

At first, the fact that she’s friends with the chief’s son is a good thing, but as time goes on and he doesn’t grow, her parents start getting pressure, and Astrid, not being as young anymore, feels it, too

Astrid’s extremely conflicted, because on the one hand she doesn’t want to abandon Hiccup, let alone insult him in front of the village like Snotlout

But on the other, she needs to restore her family’s honor

So they come up with Astrid’s cover: in public she’ll distance herself from all of them, working hard to be a shield-maiden, only being a part of the group in an orbit-sort of way

She grows into ignoring Hiccup in public because if she doesn’t she’s going to take the head off the next person who insults him

For Fishlegs and the Twins, there’s no specific moment that they start to distance themselves in public

Overtime, the twins become more destructive and so does Hiccup, so being seen together is a no-go

Fishlegs is growing evermore into the scholar and is completely uninterested in fighting, to the point where, if it wasn’t for his stature, he’d be in the same boat as Hiccup (if less magnified, because he’s not the Chief’s son)

So they all “grow apart” into the roles we see in the first movie, with some noticeable differences

They sit together in the great hall, but to anyone casually observing Hiccup’s excluded from the conversation

In actuality, Hiccup and Fishlegs came up with their own little version of sign language which Astrid forced everyone to learn, though some are more fluent than others (Tuffnut is surprising good at it, but Snotlout’s lucky to understand a full sentence)

Astrid still trains extra in the forest, but usually you can find the rest of the group somewhere nearby doing their own thing, if they’re not needed elsewhere

Similarly, because they hang out around her while she trains, she manages to bully at least Hiccup and Fishlegs into being at least passable with one weapon (sword and hammer)

Snotlout still flirts with Astrid, but it’s far more joking and well timed than in canon (of course he still has a crush on her, she’s Astrid, but he also flirts with her to escape that weird fluttery feeling he gets when Fishlegs gets excited about the book he’s reading)

The twins outward behavior doesn’t change as much as their friends’ perception of them

The group is very aware that the twins are far smarter and more capable than they let on, and are aware that a lot of their chaos is carefully planned and not just violent stupidity like the rest of the village might assume

The gang even joins in a lot, the twins made them far more mischievous than they let anyone know

Due to the closeness to Astrid, Ruffnut is far more willing to be serious about training and other things, even if she still tries to downplay it

In reverse, Astrid is far more willing to chill the fuck out and have some fun, let her creativity take the lead, even if she’s very strict about keeping a mask in public

This is getting really long and repetitive so I’m just going to leave a few more thoughts

Fishlegs is far more confident and courageous because of his friends, but he’s still skittish in public

Hiccup is far less he’ll-bent on proving himself, but he’s still a sarcastic insane inventor so the results are pretty much the same he’s just happier (less lonely and lacking self-esteem)

Snotlout and Astrid are more comfortable with their emotions

Snotlout has less self-image problems (still-there though, fuck Spitelout)

When Hiccup says he shot down a Night Fury, they can tell he’s telling the truth, but they don’t have time to search with him that day, so he still meets Toothless the same

They plan to work together come dragon training, but Toothless kinda throws a wrench in that plan

Hiccup tries to keep him secret, but they know him, so when the Zippleback thing happens, he stands no chance

I have a lot more ideas but this so long

Just. Let them be friends damn it

2K notes · View notes

teabutmakeitazure · 1 year

Text

Burgeon - 3

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader (Soulmate au)

>Warnings: blood, needles, stitches, Chrollo being a smart arse

>Word count: 4.8k

Part 1 I Part 2

Lately, Chrollo has been getting numerous reminders of how the both of you are worlds apart. There are a considerable amount of differences between the two of you, and he could even claim to be opposites in some things. The situation he is in now is just an added proof.

Chrollo helps you swallow the painkillers with water, your previous sobs having died down into hiccups. Just as an added precautionary measure, he grabs one of the syringes filled with local anaesthesia that he keeps in the first aid box but is stopped by your fearful expression directed to the now unveiled needle.

“I understand that I’m not a medical professional, but I assure you that I know what I’m doing.”

Your eyes dart to the blood that still remains on the kitchen counter behind him before settling at the syringe in his hand, all the while gripping the edge of the bar stool tighter. In all honesty, Chrollo doesn’t understand why you’re hesitating. He’s helping you, cleaning and patching up your wound. Why are you so frightened?

When he grabs your trembling injured hand, you’re quick to stop him. Fresh, hot tears flow down your cheeks and Chrollo frowns at the sight. It took him so much to calm you down but it didn’t seem to last long.

“Wait, Chrollo…”

“What’s wrong?”

Your eyes are fixed on the needle, but you don’t respond.

“[Name]. I need to clean your wound. I’m aware that it hurts and it’s extremely unpleasant, but please. Let me help you.”

“I… I don’t…”

“What is it?”

More tears run down your cheeks as you open your mouth, eyes not at all budging from the object of their attention. “I don’t like needles.”

Ah. That’s… certainly not what he was expecting. He glances between your still bleeding palm and to your eyes, settling on the latter and smiles. Chrollo knows that sighing or such would upset you further since you might take it as him being annoyed with you.

“Close your eyes,” he requests. “It won’t hurt. The most you might feel is a little pinch.”

You still look hesitant. If his hands weren’t stained with your blood, he would’ve held your face. Nevertheless, he tries again. “It’ll be quick, and you won’t even feel it. This is local anaesthesia.”

A few more tears escape your eyes when you look at him. Sniffling, you close your eyes and hold onto his shirt with your other hand. Chrollo immediately seizes the opportunity to administer the dose, not aware of your increased panic.

When he asks you to open your eyes, he’s quick to give you a smile. “That’s all there was.”

Next, he asks you to hold his phone over the cut, the flashlight feature on it turned on. He had to tell you the code to be able to access his phone, but it’s not a problem. He’ll simply change it again.

Before diving into the cut with tweezers, he once again asks you to close your eyes. Chrollo may be ruthless, but it doesn’t mean he won’t commiserate with his soulmate.

The larger shard stuck in your flesh is his first victim. It is promptly pulled out and placed on the counter behind him with the rest of the broken glass. Then, Chrollo quickly gets rid of any other shards that shine under the light. Your faint hiccups catch his attention now and then, but he makes it a point to be quick.

Once the wound is cleaned, he lets go of your hand and reaches into the first aid box on his lap. Your horrified expression greets him when he holds up the thread and needle, puffy eyes ready to start weeping again at a moment’s notice.

“The wound is deep,” Chrollo states. “I need to stitch it closed or else it won’t heal.”

“Can it not heal on its own? Please? I… I don’t want any more needles.”

“...Are you that afraid of needles?”

Shyly, you nod your head and Chrollo almost chuckles at the preciousness.

“You don’t need to worry, darling. You trust me, don’t you? I promise to be gentle.”

Any protest that you may have is shushed by him, a smooth chuckle giving way to another request from him. “I’d like it if you closed your eyes again. It might be too much to watch.”

“Are you sure you can do this?”

“Of course. This isn’t my first time.”

As expected, you comply and close your eyes as Chrollo starts closing the wound. Every single time the needle goes through your flesh, a chill goes down Chrollo’s spine and tingles the tips of his fingers and toes. It’s illogical and a tad bit annoying, but he doesn’t let the feeling deter him.

When halfway through, a bit of blood starts oozing out of the cut again. It pools in your palm and Chrollo’s chest constricts at the sight. Simply stitching an insignificant wound like this is making him uncomfortable. This never occurred before…

He shakes his head. Once the stitches are complete, he cleans your hand again before wrapping it in bandages. Every single action makes him uncomfortable - chills down his spine, teeth clenched, nervous gulps and throat constricting - and he has no concrete reason for it.

Chrollo tries his hardest to ignore your flushed face and puffy features and simply gets to tidying up the numerous glass shards on the counter. In all honesty, he’s absolutely dumbfounded on how you could have caused this. You had gone into the kitchen to get a glass of water while he was messaging a troupe member and the next thing he knew, you started screaming.

Perhaps he should place a new, temporary rule. One that would set the kitchen off-limits. However, all that should come after he interrogates and scolds your clumsiness. Do you not realise how careless you are? Does it not bother you that seeing you crying and quite obviously in pain hurts him as well?

Wait…

So those feelings were that of hurt?

The conclusion makes sense. Chrollo had realised halfway through the stitch that piercing a needle through the skin of your soulmate doesn’t allow any sort of indifference to remain in yourself. It pains you just as much as it may pain them.

He sighs. His index finger and thumb touches the drops of blood on the counter. Unlike the warm red that oozed from your hand, this is cold. The blood on your palm… oh dear. The injury is bound to leave a scar, isn’t it? The texture he loved is a tad bit ruined, but he supposes that he’ll cherish it either way.

When chrollo is done throwing away the glass, he begrudgingly washes his hands and cleans the counter. In the beginning, Chrollo was afraid that the initial passion that drew him to court you - ahem, after he took you away - would fade, like how Kierkegaard states, but for Chrollo, it simply grew.

He blames it on the connection you two share.

Even now, as you look out the window, hand cradled near your chest, Chrollo can’t help but feel… conflicted. On one hand, he craves to go to you and hold you close in a protective grip, but at the same time he wishes to scold you over your carelessness like he would any of his troupe members.

In the end, he settles for a mix of both.

The first thing he does when he settles next to you on the carpet is slowly exhale over you scooting away. After your bold display of talent with glass, Chrollo fails to understand why you would just scoot away like that. Didn’t he just comfort you and bandage your wound? Sure, you initially asked for a hospital, the ER more specifically, but he is more than capable of giving you first aid, so he did.

He calms himself down. Losing his composure is unlike him. Try again, Chrollo.

He moves closer to you himself, and the little race continues until your side hits the glass and he has free reign to throw an arm over your shoulder. Finally successful in trapping you, he notes that you’re still trembling, so Chrollo soothes you by running his fingers over your hair.

“Your scolding comes later,” he warns. Chrollo pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, noting how you don’t resist him this time.

Besides, you called him out on his attempts to subtly condition your mind. Of course you’ve been rejecting his advances harshly. When he first came to see your bleeding hand, he thought that perhaps he should have you apologise for your recent rudeness, but immediately decided against it.

Some silly pride can never compare to his soulmate. If nothing else, it would simply be daft of him to be smug when you’re obviously crying out in pain.

“Hey, Chrollo…?”

Your voice is a welcomed melody in his ears. Chrollo notices that you’re not looking at him, eyes still fixed at the view of the city and hand still cradled to your chest.

“What is it, dear?”

“How… how long will this take to heal?”

Before he could even think, a reply was already out of his mouth. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

With your pursed lips and furrowed brows, Chrollo concludes that you aren’t convinced. Well, he doesn’t blame you. When it comes to you, not even he can trust himself. So, he decides to lie like he always does.

"It won't take long. Just try not to use that hand for a few days. No flexing, no moving and no doing anything with it." He spins another lie, another false promise, and watches you relax from the corner of his eye. "I'll take care of you. I promise there are no games or tricks involved. This is serious to me, so you needn't worry."

A sniffle from you and Chrollo finds himself chuckling. You're too adorable sometimes. A slight overdose of painkillers, local anaesthesia and Chrollo's promise to take good care of you don't suffice to put you at ease. He almost feels too out of touch with your emotions when he recalls the last time he had to get stitches.

Pakunoda started the procedure straight after disinfection. No painkillers, no anaesthesia, nothing. Chrollo hadn't even bat an eye to it, yet when he saw you crying and panicking, his first instinct was to eradicate the pain.

And still you're bothered. Just how fragile are you? And why is such a fragile being bound to him?

Well, it doesn't matter. Taking care of you doesn't inconvenience him, and Chrollo could even claim that it brings him a certain feeling of contentment. That may just be the reason why he never questioned his decision to take you away.

However, he does sometimes find himself wondering about your Nen ability.

You're quite docile at times, even obsequious, but the rest of the time you push him away, keep him at arm's length and demand he stay there. Rarely is he able to tiptoe closer, and even then you catch his attempts and place him back a few steps. It's frankly annoying, but Chrollo finds the reward of being in close proximity fulfilling.

You let him reward himself with sometimes being close to you, then later become distant and repeat the cycle. This facet of your being doesn't resonate with what your Nen ability is - or was - so Chrollo wonders if it has something to do with other facets of yourself.

The fact that you keep yourself so emotionally guarded is aggravating. He has you all to himself, yet he still can't pick your brain apart and understand you better. Why?

One day you allow him to speak to you, converse with you on something he recently read to get your opinion and you give it to him. But the next day you stop conversation altogether, only answering in short sentences and only when asked.

It's frankly quite maddening at times and the only thing keeping Chrollo from using Skill Hunter or psychological tactics is the fact that first of all, you caught on to his little Pavlov-ing scheme and second, he wants to thoroughly pick you apart.

However, seeing the situation on hand - pun intended - he may have gotten a chance to pry more into you. Perhaps this is a little push from fate itself.

"Have you ever gotten stitches before?"

The innocence with which you voiced your question is adorable. Are you really trying to get to know him better? How cute.

"I have actually," Chrollo replies. "But it was nothing like the stitches I did on you. My friend had disinfected the wound and dove straight in with the needle and thread."

You're still not looking at him. "Didn't that hurt?"

"It wasn't too bad."

Your lips press into a thin line. Slowly, you raise your head, moving Chrollo's hand with it and slump into his hold. "How can you say that? I saw the needle and I thought I was going to die."

The admittal makes him chuckle, and he almost forgets that you're injured and he was supposed to be scolding your carelessness. "That kind of thought never crossed my mind. Have I ever told you how cute you are?"

"Many times actually."

"Well," Chrollo drawls, "I hope to tell you that many times more."

You groan and Chrollo finds his heartbeat picking up the pace. It's illogical for it to do so in this situation, but he brushes off the oddity, blaming it on the events that just transpired. In retrospect, he should take full advantage of the situation and the fact that at this very moment you are allowing Chrollo to come closer.

So, he takes the opportunity and tiptoes closer. Quietly and hastily, he gets as close as he can.

"Have you ever gotten stitches before? Before this I mean."

You remain indifferent to his question, but mumble something he didn't quite catch before you answer. "Only once when I was a little kid."

"What happened?"

"I tripped and fell on a rocky area. I don't remember where we were, just that the rocks were all blood. It was pretty long ago. I was a toddler, so I don't remember. Not even the scars on my knee remain."

Chrollo slowly snakes his hand around your waist, smiling when you don't point it out. "That must have been scary for you."

"Yeah," you breathe out. "My mom was terrified because I couldn't stop crying and the bleeding didn't stop."

"How were you as a child?" His hand gently rests on your hip. Warm and heavy, it makes you relax into him more as your injured hand falls to your lap. Chrollo eyes what he can see of your face even if it's not much. "I can imagine that you would have been a cute little kid."

You think for a few moments before answering him. "I've only seen pictures of myself, so I can't really say much because I don't remember most of my childhood. I guess you could say cute? As cute as an average toddler or kid is."

"Were you outspoken?"

"I don't remember, but my mom did say I was."

Your repeated confession of not remembering your childhood nags at Chrollo's brain, but he pushes the thought to the side for now, keeping it away for further contemplation for later. He recalls the pictures of you he found in your phone gallery. The child version he saw of you was something he thought about a lot. The wide smile and innocent eyes had changed into something else as you grew up.

It's almost unbelievable that the same child has later gone to kill someone. Alas, Chrollo has no right to call it unbelievable. Circumstances change and who knows how you were brought up.

"What were you like as a kid, Chrollo?"

"Nothing special," he replies. "I want to hear more about you. Why don't you remember anything about your childhood?"

For the first time in very long, you willingly look up at him while he has his hands on you. Chrollo's palm slightly moves against the fabric of your shirt as your body slightly shifts, the action making him painfully aware of the curve of your hip under his palm. The eyes that meet his suffice to halt his breathing for a few seconds, but Chrollo finds himself enjoying that feeling.

The most rewarding of all, however, is the sight of your lips moving to allow you to form words.

"I don't know." Your voice is hushed, breathy. It's almost as though you've already tired yourself of this thought countless times before and wish not to do the same again. "And I'm not lying. I really don't know. Isn't it normal? I mean, as children we don't remember everything. Isn't it normal to not remember anything at all?"

Chrollo thinks over your question. He personally remembers the majority of his childhood and so do the other troupe members. The only explanations he can think of is either memory loss or suppressed memories due to traumatising events. For some reason, he wishes that it's the former.

"It's not normal."

You sigh. "I guess so."

Eye contact breaks and once again you slump in his hold. The warmth of your body envelopes Chrollo's side as you snuggle into him, and he grabs the opportunity with the desperation of a starving man. Palm previously on your waist, it travels upwards to briefly rest and then travels downwards. Chrollo repeats the up and down motion till you relax even further.

Silence ensues, but it's short lived. Chrollo's hand is removed from your hip by you but immediately put around your shoulders as you move impossibly closer to him. Almost instinctively he lets his hand wander to your hair, fingertips lightly massaging your scalp as you sigh.

The both of you remain like that in silence until Chrollo hears your breathing grow slower and feels your body go completely lax. With the simple skin to skin contact he just had with you, Chrollo thinks his itch for physical touch has been assuaged. Unfortunately for you, he feels another kind of need growing.

It takes a lot for Chrollo to tuck you into bed.

He was so occupied by the fact that you had finally allowed him to touch you so carelessly, even going as far as to snuggle up to him, that he absolutely did not want to part with your warmth. Alas, life is cruel and he had to put you to bed.

Now sitting in the darkness of the living room, Chrollo again goes through your phone's gallery. He stops at the pictures of you as a child and just stares. He doesn't understand why he's doing this, but he is.

He can't take his eyes off of the picture.

So much has changed, but why? What happened in your upbringing that led to your moral compass being so odd? Yes, you've committed murder even if you repeatedly call if self defence, but you don't seem too particularly bothered about it. Chrollo would have brushed that contradiction off if it wasn't for what you said earlier.

'Isn't it normal to not remember anything at all?'

Maybe that's how you had coped with the gap in your memories. But, he shakes his head, that is not what he needs to do.

Skill Hunter is conjured into Chrollo's right hand, and he stares at the cover in the darkness. He hadn't used your ability after he took it so there's a few questions he wants answered. He just isn't sure whether using the ability will answer anything.

Regardless, pages flip and a page containing your picture opens up. His sight instantaneously changes into something more overwhelming, something brighter and sharper.

Chrollo can see every single ray of light peeking through the curtains while any and every white light is now consisting of rainbows.

The darkness turns into normal lighting for him, and he raises a brow at how even the curtains look like they're illuminated.

After a few more moments of staring at the changes in his sight, Chrollo looks at his left arm. He imagines the Ben's knife he usually uses and before he knows it, it's conjured into his hand with no effort at all.

The sight of the white, translucent knife in his hand makes him recall your dishevelment from conjuring your dead friend’s head.

If something like this happens to an ordinary civilian who has no knowledge of Nen then it’s practically guaranteed to chip away at their sanity until they isolate themselves. However, you actively attempted to understand it better. The books you had picked out at the library are proof.

Chrollo even thinks he figured out how you may have killed that man.

Deep in thought, Chrollo subconsciously starts twirling the Ben’s knife in his hands. It feels exactly the same as the one he owns and even the sharpness is the same but the colour is, well, different. Considering that conjuring something so easily like this is possible, he figures the ability is more handy than he thinks.

The sound of a door’s hinges silently creaking registers in Chrollo’s mind, but before he reacts to the sound, footsteps rush from one corner of the living room to another. Skill Hunter is instinctively closed, his aura flaring in defence as he gets up and faces the source of the loud croak.

Chrollo sees you standing in front of the now open window. Panting heavily, terror is painted across your countenance as you attempt to guard the open window with your body. His eyes briefly flicker to your injured hand hanging by your side before they rest on your face.

When his aura dies down, you relax a little bit, but Chrollo doesn’t miss the way you’re looking at Skill Hunter.

“[Name],” he says, “I got startled. Why are you up at this hour?”

Voice shaking, you hardly get words out. “You… put away that book… please…”

“Book?” Chrollo glances at his right hand for a moment. “Do you mean Skill Hunter?”

“Put it away!”

Wordlessly, Chrollo does as told. You immediately relax when the book disappears, but the guarded exterior hasn’t mellowed down. The room starts getting warmer due to the open window and Chrollo has to fight back the urge to go and close it himself. There’s a reason people use the AC in summers.

However, as soon as he takes one step, your breathing stops for a moment. He stops in his tracks and in the overwhelming silence of the apartment, Chrollo thinks he can almost hear your wildly pounding heart. You’re still guarding the window with your body which serves to further confuse him.

“You should close the window.” He sighs when you don’t respond. “The AC is on.”

You raise your bandaged hand to your chest, eyes intently watching him. “You won’t summon the book again, right?”

“Why would I do that?”

You bite your lip, seemingly hesitant to trust him, but step away from the window regardless. Dull footsteps accompany your little run to the bedroom, leaving Chrollo standing there confused. What was that?

After closing the window, he decides to gingerly approach the bedroom, opening the door as gently as he can. Contrary to what he thought, you’re currently curled into yourself under the cover. The only proof of your presence underneath it is the big bump.

Chrollo sits himself on the edge of the bed and waits for any reaction from you.

There is none.

Thus, he does what comes to mind: pull off the cover.

Your surprised face greets his smiling one as you sputter out your words, usual confidence and indifference having not yet returned.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Checking on you,” he smiles. “You were acting odd earlier. What was that about?”

Your expression morphs into one of indignance, body halfway sitting up but still somewhat lying on your side. “That’s not important.”

“It is to me. You were clearly upset over something and frazzled.”

“I woke up and saw your book. Of course I was upset.”

“You’re not telling me everything.” Chrollo leans towards you, smile widening when he sees you shrink into yourself closer to the headboard. You’re being intimidated and cornered. That’s good.

“You… you don’t need to know everything.” With that, you grab the cover and pull it towards you to cover yourself, but he stops you short of the action. Chrollo’s grip is stronger, so you end up pleadingly looking at him in hope he’d let go.

He does not.

“You’re my soulmate,” Chrollo states, slowly scooting closer. “I’m obligated to protect and cherish you. That includes taking care of you which in turn includes knowing why you are upset with things so that I can deal with them.”

“I thought you said you only wanted to do whatever you wanted.”

He tilts his head playfully. “I placed that obligation on myself.”

Again, you try to pull the cover toward you only to shriek when a strong pull from Chrollo causes both it and you to land closer to him. The harsh tug almost makes your injured hand hit the mattress but you manage to save it. The glare you send him is enough proof of your added displeasure.

“Sorry.” Letting go, he scoots even closer to you and gently grabs the bandaged hand, placing it in his lap. If your open mouth and widened eyes are anything, you’re probably surprised at the bold action.

Patient as ever, Chrollo gives another try to his pursuit of figuring out the cause behind your unexplained distress. “What’s wrong? You’re not telling me everything.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I am your destined other half.”

“How romantic.”

“And now you’re dodging the question.”

You groan and Chrollo finds himself chuckling at that.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, quite obviously not in favour of telling him anything. “That book creeps me out. That’s all.”

The admittance frankly amuses him. “It creeps you out? That’s a surprise. It’s just a book.”

“Don’t forget what you made me witness.” All emotion drains from your face. Eyes distant, you look at Chrollo with what he can only describe as condemnation. “Just because a few months have passed doesn’t mean I forgot.”

Ah. You must be referring to Indoor Fish. Chrollo admits he went too far with that one, yet he didn’t think you would hold it against him. How cute.

“I thought you would’ve forgotten about it.”

You scoff. “Well that’s a stretch.”

Chrollo narrows his eyes. You’ve been oddly chatty ever since your injury. Is there something up your sleeve or are you indulging him because you have no other choice? Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but there is always room for surprises when it comes to you. Despite how enervated you may seem at times Chrollo knows you’re observing and making note of everything.

Unfortunately for you, so is he.

“You ran to the window right when the door opened. I didn’t notice it at first, but I did.” His hand gently holds your injured one’s wrist. A silent threat, one that he wouldn’t dare go ahead with but a threat nonetheless. “Considering normal human reaction times and the fact that you just woke up, you shouldn’t have been able to so quickly see Skill Hunter in my hand and act accordingly in the same second that you opened the bedroom door.”

You still. Whether it’s from his grip on your wrist or his blatant statement of your actions not adding up he can’t tell. After a few seconds of silently staring at each other, you capitulate while biting your lip.

“I was… well… I was going to get some water, but I stopped when I opened the door just a crack. My hand was throbbing and I was debating having to talk to you. That’s when I saw you through the little gap and something white in your hand.” You nervously look away, hand fidgeting with the bedsheet under your palm. “I saw the book and panicked.”

“So you were watching me?” Maybe he shouldn’t have been so absent minded, but it’s not like you have the power to do anything.

“I wasn’t watching you. Heck, I didn’t even ‘watch’. I saw the book and went primal. That’s it”

“Hm.”

Chrollo bends to look at your face. When your eyes meet, you’re quick to move back but his grip on your wrist stops you. The fact that he’s grabbing your injured hand so close to the stitches must have unnerved you because you immediately relax yet you’re still wary.

Despite all that, Chrollo lets you go with a smile and stands, eyeing how confused you look at him.

“You said you wanted water, right?”

“Well… um yes?”

He takes a step back, turning around to leave the room. “I’ll get you some. Stay here.”

Your injury may have led to you being a little too uncharacteristically honest and chatty, but it’s all in his favour. When it comes to you, fate hasn’t done Chrollo wrong yet, and he decides to uphold that.

#posting something i completed while i was gone these last 5 days #hunter x reader #yandere hunter x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer

312 notes · View notes