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pin-k-ink · 2 months ago

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HOME ⋆✦⋆ kuroo tetsurou

synopsis ➸ you knew nothing good would come from answering a late-night call from your ex’s number. but now that he’s drunk and helpless, you’re stuck with him. and you’re well aware of how this will end—you never could resist him

tags ➸ exes-to-lovers, mentions of alcohol consumption, drunk and clingy kuroo, teeny tiny bit of angst, hurt/comfort (kinda), dry humping, groping, biting, nipple play, teasing, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, squirting, begging, kitchen sex

wc ➸ 9.1k

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" you growled, snatching your phone away from your ear to glower at the caller ID blinking incessantly.

The string of familiar numbers stared back at you mockingly against the too-bright screen, igniting a complicated tangle of emotions you'd fought to bury deep over the past year or so. That particular contact had been set to automatically bypass Do Not Disturb mode - a relic from simpler times before everything unraveled between you.

Before you'd reluctantly walked away from the love of your life for reasons that still stung with poignant ache.

With a weary sigh, you swiped to answer and tried steeling your voice into something approaching calm neutrality.

"Kuroo?" Your voice still caught slightly on the syllables of his name despite your best efforts. "It's the middle of the damn night, do you have any idea wha—"

"HEEEEYYYYYY!!! There she is! The light of my life, keeper of my—!"

Your brows furrowed as a raucous chorus of unfamiliar voices erupted in the background - tipsy laughter and joking catcalls that swiftly extinguished any flare of long-harbored hurt. Apprehension slithered up your spine as you registered the telltale slur to the once-familiar rasp on the other end.

"...Tetsurou?" you ventured again, unable to disguise the sudden edge of concern creeping into your tone. "Are you...where even are you right now?"

More scuffling and garbled background noise - the distinct cacophony of an evening in full revelry you'd become accustomed to long ago during varsity parties and volleyball socials. A crisp, unfamiliar baritone cut through the whirl of boisterous chatter then, clearer than the rest.

"Apologies for disturbing you so late, [Y/N]-san! It's Akiba from Kuroo's work team here." The perky voice paused to exchange a few muffled words amidst more inebriated hooting before returning ruefully. "We, ah...well we seem to have gotten our friend into a bit of a...state tonight."

You frowned, fingers reflexively tightening around the phone case as a particular rowdy whoop clearly carried Kuroo's timbre. A pit of unease opened in your gut as worst-case scenarios swirled unbidden. Despite the bitter fallout at the end, old habits died hard when it came to his wellbeing.

"What exactly happened?" you demanded, already pushing up from the couch to search for shoes and coat. "Don't sugarcoat it - is Tetsurou somewhere unsafe or in trouble?"

An awkward pause stretched from the other end, punctuated by more muted murmuring until Akiba cleared his throat carefully: "He...might have overindulged a bit in tonight's celebration and become a tad uncooperative about calling for a ride home, shall we say?"

The understatement settled like a lead weight somewhere behind your ribs even before you tuned back into the commotion filtering through. But it was Kuroo's sudden drunken declaration that swiftly blanketed you in resigned dread:

"Jus' call m’girlfriend, she'll swoop in an' rescue me again! 'Smyyyy...precious kitten...beautiful, preeecioussss..."

His slurred affection collided squarely with the messy reality of your current estranged relationship status without reservation. Of course, Kuroo had always been a relentlessly sappy, clingy drunk whenever you were around as his girlfriend to keep him anchored. And clearly, some long-buried part of him still instinctively grasped for you to be that tether despite the distance between you now.

You drew in a shuddering breath against the memories threatening to well up and sting behind your eyes. There really wasn't a choice here, was there? Not when it came to Kuroo's potential safety hanging in limbo like this for one sentimental instant.

"Yeah, okay...I hear you," you managed finally. "Just tell me where you assholes are and I'll come pick up the mess, okay?"

Akiba listed off a familiar bar address, hurriedly agreeing as you grabbed keys and coat to head out into the night. And as you descended the front steps into the brisk spring air, you steeled yourself against the maelstrom of tangled emotions bubbling just beneath the surface at the prospect of seeing your ex-boyfriend again in such unpredictable circumstances.

The rowdy dive bar loomed into view at last, dim neon signage flickering as the cab pulled up to the curb. You cast a steeling glance towards the entrance, squaring your shoulders in preparation before handing over the fare with a murmured thanks.

Despite having braced yourself the entire journey over, nothing could've quite fortified you for the sight awaiting within those grungy walls.

The instant you stepped through the doors, a chorus of raucous whoops and hollers erupted from the far corner booth. Your eyes immediately zeroed in on the source - a familiar form draped over the leather bench, shirt rumpled and hair artfully disheveled in a way that stabbed through your chest with acute yearning.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

His chin lolled forward, supported by a firm grip on his broad shoulders as he swayed precariously. Even from across the room, you could make out the bleary, lidded gaze roving sightlessly until his tawny eyes finally landed squarely on you.

A beat passed, the raucous background noise fading away entirely. Then Kuroo inhaled sharply through his nose, back straightening fractionally as you two locked stares through the smokey dimness.

"...Kitten?" he rasped out, the old pet name escaping without a shred of uncertainty or pretense.

His friends followed his dumbstruck gaze, muttering in surprise. But you remained transfixed, rooted to the spot as a dozen conflicting emotions ricocheted through your thoughts in rapid succession. Because despite the gulf of time, space, and irrevocably changed circumstances now separating you both...Kuroo was still drinking you in like a man stumbling upon an oasis after months adrift.

Like he'd only just realized you existed again after so long missing from the orbit of his singular focus.

He began to struggle against the firm hands clamped on his shoulders then, long legs splaying under the table clumsily in a clear bid to rise and approach. But before he could topple into the surrounding din completely, you spurred yourself forward once more - moving on autopilot towards his wayward form even as reason warred with instinct.

"Tetsu," you called out once within earshot, stomach clenching at the unwitting endearment rolling from your tongue so easily. "Let's just get you home and sobered up, alright?"

His disheveled head whipped up at the sound of your voice, features etched in mournful longing and boyish hopefulness in equal measure that left you reeling slightly. Then Kuroo shook off his friend's restraining grip with a sloppy roll of his powerful shoulders, surging upright to sway dangerously.

"But 'myyyy home," he rasped out almost petulantly, prowling a few steps into your personal space with that same prowling intensity from back when you'd shared quarters together. "My home's wherever you are, precious girl..."

His trembling fingertips ghosted over your cheek in a shockingly intimate caress for a man nearly insensate with inebriation moments ago. They trailed, featherlight, along your jaw and down the delicate column of your throat until your entire body hummed with white-hot tingles of restless, half-forgotten longing uncorked all over again so suddenly.

"Stars couldn't shine half as bright as you," Kuroo murmured, breath hot and tinged with whiskey against the shell of your ear as he boxed you in against one solid forearm braced along the peeling wallpaper. "M'heart's been a black hole swallowing allll the light since you left it, kitten...just cold and empty."

A shuddering inhale punched itself from your lungs as his nose nudged along your hairline, nuzzling unabashedly and utterly oblivious to the raucous hollers of his colleagues nearby. Kuroo's free hand settled heavy and possessive on your hip, bunching the fabric there as you instinctively surrendered beneath the delirious weight of his presence so intimately close once more.

"Please come home finally, precious," he rasped in a broken sigh...teetering on the edge of lucidity yet remaining unwavering in his raw ache for you to soothe some deep-seated wound even you'd never discovered the extent of during your time together until now. "I miss...so, so much..."

The crack in Kuroo's voice threatened to completely undo you from the inside out, body tensing in aborted retreat until you regained enough oxygen to think clearly once more. With gentle yet firm motions, you pried his wandering palms away and guided him back from your shared orbit of wistful temptation for just an instant.

"You're drunk out of your mind," you scolded, well aware of how hoarse and wrecked your own voice sounded now. "And I'm not your home anymore, Tetsu...we both know that."

One dark brow pinched fractionally at the reminder, lips parting around a sharp inhale. Before he could voice the tortured protest welling up behind that intense amber regard, though, you motioned for Akiba and the others watching on in stunned silence.

"Let's just get out of here," you sighed, already giving up the battle before it truly began. "I'll let him sleep at my place until he's fit to function like a big boy again. Then maybe we can actually talk properly when he's present for once..."

Exchanging subtle nods with the young men, you scooped up Kuroo's arm and slung it over your shoulders without needing to be told. The familiar, smokey cedar wood and old spice aroma swamped your senses fully, igniting a flurry of delirious intimacy in its wake like some Pavlovian response hardwired straight into your cerebellum.

Of course his solid weight pinning you close felt as natural as breathing after all this time...just like the hungry yet adoring look glowing in his dazed stare as Kuroo leaned in to nuzzle sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your cheek towards the thundering pulse in your throat.

"Gonna take such good care of me, kitten," he mumbled in that too-raspy cadence you'd memorized beneath the sheets so many steamy nights spent unraveling together. "'Smy good girl...always have the- the magic touch to put me back t'gether."

You swallowed thickly, grateful for the steadying hands of Akiba and a few others helping guide your stumbling entourage back out into the bracing midnight breeze before you surrendered entirely to the delirious, tactile torment of Kuroo's undivided debauchery laid bare once more like this. Despite the consequences already stretching out before you both in the form of that inevitable reckoning soon...you were already helpless to deny or escape from finally reuniting in the thrall of his gravitational pull a while longer.

So as you ushered your sloshing mess of an ex-boyfriend into a waiting cab, you couldn't help but steal a glance down at the contact listing for your number - helpfully still saved to his phone under that beloved nickname you could never seem to scrub from your wounded soul no matter how hard you tried:

My Precious Kitten 🖤

The cab ride back to your apartment passed in a delirious, heated blur of Kuroo's wandering hands and increasingly bold murmurs against your flushed skin. No sooner had you bundled his languid bulk into the backseat beside you before those long fingers were smoothing up your thighs and ghosting over the exposed column of your throat.

"Pretty kitten," he rasped gutturally, amber eyes glazed yet burning straight through you with naked yearning. "Lemme touch...need to relearn what heaven feels like after so long..."

You caught his straying palms just as they began roaming over your breasts, nipples pebbling traitorously underneath your shirt. Kuroo whined low in his throat, pawing against your restraining grip with intoxicated insistence until you leveled him with a stern look.

"Easy there, big guy," you managed in a tone far steadier than you felt. "Let's just get you settled somewhere more private before you try seducing me, yeah?"

The blunt teasing helped ground you both fractionally. Kuroo huffed out a thick chuckle smeared in tipsy amusement, allowing you to corral his restless limbs close once more. He turned to nuzzle his nose into your hair then, inhaling deeply with a shuddering exhale that caressed your nape in delicious wisps.

"Was always only ever yours to seduce, though," he confessed in a gravelly murmur tinged with mournfulness. "Miss your touch most of all, kitten..."

You swallowed hard against the sudden emotion clogging your throat, forcing yourself to remain as aloof and unaffected as possible. Just a little longer and you could bundle Kuroo off to sleep and collect yourself properly before allowing the tidal wave of still-lingering sentiment to crest in relative privacy.

Sure enough, the familiar facade of your apartment complex quickly hoved into view outside the grimy cab window. You nudged Kuroo gently until he roused enough to blink owlishly at the unfolding surroundings, momentary comprehension flickering behind that hazy stare.

"Wait...s'this your place?" he rasped in a rare moment of lucidity. "'Sgonna be real easy for me to mix signals and cross lines if y'bring me to bed again, baby..."

Rather than mount either indignant protest or bemused flirtation, you simply levelled him with a weighted look before shrugging gamely.

"Well unless you've got any better options handy, this is what you're stuck with right now," you declared mildly. "So let's just get you settled somewhere soft so tomorrow's hangover won't be quite so unbearable, hmm?"

His tongue darted out to wet full lips you definitely didn't track with laser focus, shoulders rolling beneath the rumpled button-down in that boneless shrug of idle surrender you recalled so intimately from happier times. Without further preamble, Kuroo roused himself enough to shuffle from the cab without excessive guidance, muscular forearm slung over your shoulder while you supported his swaying weight against your side.

From there, navigating the dingy entrance and dimly lit stairwells passed in another heated blur of scorching looks and whispered flirtations that made your skin prickle with slowly escalating temptation the closer your shared destination loomed. Somehow, you managed to guide your stumbling entourage down the hallway and swipe your apartment door open without too much struggle. But the feeble illusion of control vanished the second Kuroo's unsteady gait carried you both across the threshold with graceless momentum.

Your footing faltered, chest impacting the nearest wall with a low grunt of effort as Kuroo's arms encircled you from behind in a viselike brace. His chin hooked over your shoulder, the scruffy rasp against your nape sending fresh shivers slithering down your limbs until you trembled despite the radiating heat of his body pressed flush against your own.

"Easy...easy there, baby doll," he purred in a familiar rumble that punched straight through any lingering self-possession you'd been clinging to pathetically. "S'okay...lemme jus' hold you 'gain, hm? Been way too long..."

You inhaled a shuddery breath in time with the molten glide of Kuroo's wandering palms along your sides - exploring the dips and flares with a shameless sense of ownership that bordered on delirium in its intensity. He sighed gustily against your neck, each tremor of his chest seeming to reverberate all the way through your own ribcage until your heart galloped completely out of sync.

"You came when I called," Tetsu murmured in something resembling awe, lips brushing the shell of your ear in a searing brand that made you squirm helplessly. "Never shoulda gave up hope...not when y'feel so goddamn perfect in m'arms again, dollface."

His slurred endearments and the scorching heat of his hands mapping over every lush curve robbed you of any outward composure completely. A punched moan slipped free without restraint as he rolled his hips with aching leisure, allowing you to feel every rigid inch of his cock straining against the taut fabric below. Kuroo groaned low in his chest in response, nuzzling closer until your cheek slanted against his and you drowned in the earthy, intoxicating notes of his cologne still clinging to sweat-slick skin.

"Used to dream about this, y'know?" he rumbled out brokenly, dragging scalding kisses over the thundering pulse at your throat between panted confessions. "About findin' m'way back t'you some way...fallin' into bed together just like this an' never wantin' t'stop feelin' you everywhere again..."

Your head fell back against the solid weight of his shoulder in something akin to rapturous surrender as his hands and mouth roamed restlessly. Deep down, every syllable dripping from that low, raspy timbre you adored resonated with your very core - igniting long-buried embers to crackling life once more despite your staunchest denials.

Because you'd spent countless, endless nights chasing the very same fantasy, hadn't you? Indulging in the hazy, forbidden imaginings of Kuroo blazing back into your world like a black hole's gravitic allure - inescapable and irresistible as the cosmic forces driving his rapturous, ardent worship of your body yet again.

He seemed to sense the exact moment you teetered over the edge into resigned capitulation entirely. Kuroo stilled for a charged beat, the tension coiled in his looming frame transmitting straight through your merged forms in electric vibrations until every nerve ending pulsed in time with your rabbiting pulse.

"Yeah...that's m'good girl," he crooned against the fevered hollow of your nape in a silken rasp that robbed what little breath remained in your lungs completely. "Been waitin' so fuckin' patiently for me all this time, I bet. No need t'fight it anymore, kitten...I got you now."

With a low, ravaged sound rumbling from his chest, Kuroo twisted his hips in a practiced grind that had your knees buckling shamefully. One mammoth palm anchored around your shoulders, pinning you upright through the shockwaves as inch after delirious inch of his scorching erection rutted against the soft give of your ass in unhurried possession.

You cried out shamelessly at the torturous friction, hands flying up to clutch the arm banded across your abdomen in a desperate, futile anchor. But still Tetsu didn't relent - continuing his merciless rhythm as he sealed every searing inch to your form with leonine mastery, raining whiskey-soaked praises and growled endearments against your skin in a delirious mantra of sin.

"Such a perfect lil' fuck toy, takin' m'cock so pretty for me like y'were made for it," he rasped hotly at one point, making you quiver. "Can already feel those sweet walls squeezin' down like a greedy vice...yearnin' t'get stuffed up an' bred full of my babies again, ain't that right baby?"

You whimpered helplessly against the onslaught, hips unconsciously pivoting into each grinding roll as he mercilessly chased your unraveling higher with every crude vulgarity spilling free from his swollen lips and scorching exhales. Long-denied flashes of muscle memory stirred to vivid life - of nights blurring into mornings spent wrapped in Kuroo's powerful embrace as he took his fill and gave back in equal measure; of being stretched impossibly around his throbbing cock; of the addictive, dizzying rush of his cum painting your innermost depths white and dripping out messy and hot rivulets.

It was only once you'd finally managed to deposit Kuroo's bulk onto the plush embrace of your living room sofa that things quickly veered out of controlled territory altogether.

Because no sooner had you straightened up fully with the intent of retrieving some water and painkillers for what promised to be a brutal hangover come sunrise...only to find yourself promptly hauled back down into the sinuous sprawl of Kuroo's trembling form over yours with crushing urgency.

You gasped aloud as his powerful thighs caged your hips between them, vision swimming briefly until your senses managed to recalibrate around Kuroo bracketing your prone sprawl with utterly relentless possession. He loomed over you panting harshly, eyes finally focusing with piercing, unhurried intent that robbed you of oxygen entirely.

"Please..." he rasped with raw earnestness laced through each syllable, calloused palm settling over the thundering cadence of your pulse in a searing caress. "Pretty girl, I need you...I can't—I can't keep going like this without you anymore..."

Kuroo pitched forward then, hot and trembling as he nuzzled and sought out every slick expanse of your throat with unbridled ardor. Each open-mouthed suckle and rasping noise he painted onto your fevered skin sent another cresting surge of electric heat saturating straight through to your pussy like the sweetest poison drip-fed directly into your veins.

The only tether to reason you still desperately clung to through the rising fog of delirious lust crashed over you with each molten glide of Kuroo mapping every curve and hollow with a devotion that teetered beyond the obsessive into something profoundly more all-consuming altogether. Raw, boundless need burned behind every caress and filthy endearment he showered over your unraveling form - yearning so utterly visceral that you couldn't tear yourself free of its anchoring depths even as your own restraint frayed.

"I can't..." Kuroo rasped again in a voice wrecked with equal parts ruin and rapture intermingled. "Can't breathe without you in my lungs, baby...fuck, need you like oxygen or I'll—"

Whatever apocalyptic promise hung trembling behind his gaze went mercifully unvoiced. Because with one final shuddering inhale, you summoned the last fragments of your slipping resistance and twisted free from the delirious tangle of Kuroo's limbs before he could swallow you whole again.

The resulting whine that punched free from his chest sounded utterly shattering - eyes gone blown wide and anguished as he watched you hastily retreat towards the bedroom on shaking legs. You paused only long enough at the threshold to pin him with one last weighted look that hopefully conveyed a semblance of the tempest still roiling beneath your own defenses in the face of his unbound hunger.

"Get some sleep, Tetsurou," you managed with gentle steel laced behind each weighted syllable. "We...we can talk properly in the morning."

He opened his mouth to protest, clearly. But you had already turned and fled through the doorway entirely before granting his fraying self-restraint the chance to tempt capitulation once more tonight. Because as the bedroom door closed behind you with an ominous thud of finality...part of you already sensed this latest reunion would merely serve to finally unmake you both with blinding, rapturous certainty in ways neither of you had yet recovered from their last disastrous conclusion.

The sizzle of bacon grease popping in the pan punctuated the uneasy silence permeating your kitchen like a stifling fog. You kept your back turned towards the entryway, feigning focus on tending the eggs with studious concentration despite your rattled nerves.

Last night's heated confrontation replayed through your mind in lurid flashes, stoking embers of yearning and consternation alike. Because as much as rational thought might attempt to overwrite the visceral reality of having Kuroo's scorching adoration and unrestrained ache poured over you so reverently...your body betrayed deeper truths.

Ones where you desperately craved being laid utterly bare before him without defenses or hesitation once more.

The telltale shuffle of approaching footsteps across creaky hardwood sent your pulse skyrocketing anew. You braced yourself, drawing in a fortifying inhale and squaring your stance instinctively.

When you finally turned to face your guest, however, all the hasty pep talks fled your temporarily vacated lungs entirely.

Kuroo stood in tousled disarray just beyond the kitchen's threshold - collared shirt hanging open to reveal a broad swath of defined musculature you couldn't tear your gaze away from instantly. His dark locks stuck up at wild angles, countenance still bearing the rumpled vestiges of last night's heated imbibing and intimate tussle sprawled across the sofa.

Yet it was the open longing etched across his striking features that undid you most of all in that suspended heartbeat. The same rapturous adoration shone bright and undiminished behind each fractured inhale shared between your suspended forms once more.

"Hey pretty girl," he rasped out in that smoke-roughened timber that caressed over every inch of your overstimulated nerves exquisitely. "Missed being the first thing my eyes landed on every morning."

Your throat clicked with an audible swallow as Kuroo prowled further into the tiny kitchen space, relentless in his approach. Despite hours of anticipated reprieve between that delirious reunion and the cruel light of sobriety now bathing him fully...the slow burn of his molten need remained banked and simmering bright within those arresting tawny irises.

"Don't," you managed roughly in what you hoped was a tone of forbidding steel despite the tremor fracturing its foundations. "Just...stay right there, Tetsurou."

Kuroo's steady advance only faltered briefly at the command before resuming its measured pace anew. It was only when he drew within a few scant feet that you whirled away again, bracing both palms against the tiny kitchenette counter as if it could somehow serve as an impenetrable barricade.

"Pretty sure breakfast's about done by now," he commented idly - utterly unphased by your clear retreat and hostility. "Mind if I steal a—?"

"Get cleaned up already if you're actually intent on sticking around," you interrupted with more venom than intended, forcibly resuming your tasks to distract from the delicious masculine proximity now swamping your senses so thoroughly once more. "And once you're done gussying up that hungover mug of yours...I think it's high time you got the hell out of my place too while you're at it."

A tense silence followed your gritted demand - charged and pregnant with unspoken currents thrumming between your rigid frames with dizzying friction. Finally, after inhaling a weighted breath of his own, Kuroo spoke up once more in a low, tempered pitch that sliced through your defenses like a hot knife cleaving soft butter.

"You know I can't leave without us finishing this first, kitten..."

He was closer now - close enough for the wafting cedar wood and crisp spice of his cologne to swamp your heightened senses completely, robbing you of any lingering faculty for retreat entirely. You sensed Kuroo moving, circling around your flank with that same purposeful yet indolent prowl you'd witnessed stalk so many opponents down to utter devastation right before claiming rapturous victory over the years.

"I get that you're pissed...and hurt," he continued, rich cadence bleeding into your stuttering focus now. "Hell, maybe you even hate my guts a lil' still over how things crashed between us back then."

You flinched against another scorching glide of his presence alongside your left hip, blunted fingernails digging into the laminate counter until your knuckles went white as paper. Any second now Kuroo would come into your periphery properly...and then all remaining delusions about composure or propriety would officially fracture beyond repair completely.

"But looking around this place again so fresh..." Kuroo husked from somewhere over your shoulder, radiating magnetic want and bittersweet yearning in equal seismic waves. "All our old routines and reminders everywhere I look, baby...not much has really moved on despite those brave faces you put on, has it?"

You flinched again - utterly undone by his perceptive summation as those calloused fingertips came into view over your trembling fists. There Kuroo traced the outline of a vibrant yet faded kitchen towel emblazoned with a whimsical cartoon cat motif - one of his silly yet doting gifts from happier days.

Further over sat your favourite ceramic mug decorated with a cheeky slogan you'd laughed over countless mornings curled up against his bare chest enjoying the quiet tranquility before rushing off to classes or jobs. On the fridge hung a lurid assortment of old takeout menus, inside jokes scrawled beside favored recommendations in your half-forgotten couple shorthand.

"I still see the home we made together everywhere I look, precious girl," Kuroo confessed in a broken rasp tinged with wistful sincerity and bone-deep fatigue alike. "And I know you can't have forgotten what we we shared here either...no matter how badly you've tried moving past our trainwreck eventually."

Time seemed to fracture and blur around you as he spoke, memories and tantalizing glimpses of a life you'd both meticulously nurtured together over years of triumph and hardship seeping through the fragile cracks of your armor against his smoldering attentions once more.

It was true. No matter how resolutely you'd vowed to press onward from the messy conclusion you'd arrived at - some stubborn, sentimental part of your soul simply refused to lay down arms against the life you'd shared with this beautiful, maddening soul of a man completely.

Every tiny touchstone or embedded routine kept in defiance of your mutual separation served as a lighthouse beacon calling you both home despite the tempestuous waves still swallowing your wrecked ships in darkness.

Kuroo took a measured step forward, closing what little distance remained separating your pinned forms until you could feel the blistering heat radiating off his solid frame in delicious waves. Instinctively, you tensed - muscles coiled to resist or perhaps even lash out against the achingly familiar onslaught of temptation swamping your senses once more.

But just as you teetered on the brink of that momentary defiance...Kuroo continued slowly, inexorably crowding your personal space without restraint. You squeezed your eyes shut as his broad chest brushed against your shoulder blades, torn between surrendering and fleeing before that magnetic aura of dark rapture and ruinous lust could fully ensnare you within its dizzying, euphoric spirals yet again.

"Don't..." you managed to bite out weakly, barely above a trembling whisper. "Tetsu, please...you need to just go before we—"

"Before we what, baby?" Kuroo rumbled from just behind your ear, smokey cadence dripping scorching sin over your thrumming pulse points. "Before you finally give in and let yourself have a taste of what you've been so desperately craving since I walked back into your world, hm?"

You whimpered despite every last fraying thread of self-composure willing otherwise. Because Kuroo spoke nothing but blistering truth laced through each gruff vowel ghosting over the prickling hairs along your nape. Already, you could feel yourself wavering - rigid defenses steadily liquefying beneath the relentless onslaught of his virile presence and unbound desire laid achingly bare.

"Hush now..." Kuroo groaned when you managed a pitiful whine of protest, calloused knuckles skating up the undersides of your forearms until goosebumps erupted in their scorching wake. "I've got you, kitten...always did, even after we completely lost the plot for a while there."

He nuzzled his face into your mussed tresses then, inhaling deeply like a man starved for air before trailing open-mouthed kisses behind your ear and down the racing column of your throat. You trembled around a ragged inhale, eyelids fluttering as every nerve ending burst to searing life beneath his scorching brands of worship once more.

"There's my sweet girl..." Kuroo husked in rapturous delight, tongue darting out to taste the thundering pulse leaping desperately against your overheated skin. "Always so responsive, like your body just can't wait to invite me back in after raising those prickly defenses to drive us both crazy..."

You shuddered against him bodily, head lolling back in helpless surrender at the first electrifying graze of his stubbled jawline scoring a delicious path to better access the vulnerable dip of your clavicles. He growled low in pure masculine satisfaction at your visceral response, one large palm settling squarely over your abdomen in a molten possession that had your back arching wantonly against the solid wall of his bulk behind you.

"There she is..." Kuroo rumbled with evident approval, tongue swirling over the juncture of your neck and shoulder in searing figure-eights that undid you completely. "My sweet, gorgeous girl finally...so desperate for her man to take the lead again after stumbling around lost for too damn long..."

Low in your belly, a coiling ache began throbbing to life in tandem with each unhurried swipe of his searing mouth mapping every inch of you he could reach properly again. You rolled your hips back mindlessly, seeking friction against the rapidly hardening length already straining against the worn denim of his slacks as a low, needy moan punched free.

"You don't have to say a word, baby..." Kuroo snarled with possession lacing every word, stubble rasping deliciously against your bared throat. "Know you better than anyone in this world...the way your pretty lil' cunt gets so fucking soaked just from me pinning you with this hungry look, yeah?"

Your vision whited out momentarily at the filthy endearment, body going utterly liquid against the brutal intensity now pinning you in sublime rapture. Because Kuroo was right - always had the uncanny knack for reading your every non-verbal cue and unspoken need like a savant. Just like he seemed to understand you were already a hairsbreadth from shattering apart into blind surrender without reservation once again now...

So when Kuroo growled out another guttural noise of relentless possession, turned you around and seized your jaw firmly to angle your slack mouth towards his waiting hunger...the only response that tore free was a broken, keening whimper of joyous capitulation at last.

He swallowed down the sound greedily, tongue sweeping between your parted lips in a searing glide of satin and sin that punched the air from your trembling lungs entirely. Each slick swipe of his probing velvet strokes branded you anew - searing unspoken promises of ruinous devotion deep within your marrow as you arched and whined mindlessly into the glorious collapse.

Because this was always your undoing in the end - slipping fully into Tetsurou's unraveling thrall against your feeble will and giving him every scrap of your surrender to claim and mould as he saw rapturous fit. Your hands roamed his rippling musculature with frantic greed, desperately seeking every hard ridge and flexing hollow as if mapping the sacred geography of his form by touch alone could fully unearth your eternal salvation there.

Only when Kuroo finally tore away from your swollen mouth on a sawing inhale did your scattered focus manage to drag its way back into sluggish coherence. He stared down at you utterly wrecked and ravaged already in his ruinous embrace - raw adoration and transcendent hunger searing through his intense tawny gaze that robbed you of breath anew in an instant.

"So perfect..." Kuroo rasped out in a tone laced with rapturous wonder and naked reverence both. "My sweet girl...my beautiful kitten...letting me touch her like this again, after the stupid shit I've put her through lately..."

He cradled your slack jaw with earth-scorching tenderness, leaning in until your laboured breaths intermingled deliriously between trembling lips. You could only gaze up at him dazedly, already utterly undone in the best way yet once more by the soul-sundering truths radiating from every blazing syllable dripping from his wicked mouth.

"Still the only home that's ever mattered, kitten," Kuroo confessed hoarsely, tilting your faces together until your noses brushed in an intimate nuzzle that made your eyes flutter shut rapturously. "No matter how many times I lose my way..."

With a trembling inhale, Kuroo sealed his confession with a soft, lingering kiss that set every nerve ending alight with delirious heat and aching need anew. He cradled the back of your skull tenderly, guiding you into the perfect angle to savour the slow, intoxicating glide of his velvet mouth over yours until you could no longer tell where his essence ended and your own began.

Only when the last scraps of rationality threatened to flee your addled brain entirely did you break the seal with a shuddering gasp. Kuroo's lips curved against yours in a satisfied smirk, nipping at your swollen lower lip in playful chastisement before pulling away entirely.

You whimpered, chasing his addictive warmth on instinct - utterly bereft without his consuming heat pressed fully against you once more. But as his grip slid from the base of your skull to clasp around the delicate column of your throat in a steely brand of possession, that familiar rush of dark rapture and intoxicating submission swept back in an instant.

"Let me take care of my pretty kitten, hm?" Kuroo husked against your parted lips, thumb stroking down the rapid flutter of your pulse beating wildly against his restraining grasp. "Need to spoil my good girl after making such a mess of her these last few weeks..."

"Tetsu..." you whimpered, hips rolling in mindless abandon now as he traced the pad of his thumb over your pouting mouth teasingly. "Fuck, just...please..."

A low chuckle reverberated against your over-sensitive flesh, his other hand gliding down the planes of your shuddering abdomen with tantalizing indolence. The calloused pads of his fingers stroked a lazy, circuitous path across every quivering plane and dip before finally dipping between your spread thighs.

The first tentative graze of his dexterous digits against your soaked panties had you jerking helplessly against the iron bands of his restraining hold. You keened aloud, nails biting into the taut bulges of his biceps as Kuroo traced a featherlight path down the soaked slit, pausing to circle your engorged clit agonizingly slowly.

"Look at my pretty girl..." Kuroo groaned low in his throat, tawny eyes blazing with ravenous intent as he watched your lashes flutter and hips grind desperately against his teasing strokes. "Already soaked straight through this lil' thing for me...just aching for me to tear them off and bury myself in this tight cunt, aren't you?"

You sobbed openly at his taunting words, head lolling back helplessly. Because even as his fingers dipped beneath the clinging fabric to tease your dripping core properly, he never applied the slightest pressure or friction where you needed it most. Instead, Kuroo drew his soaked digits out to circle your neglected bundle of nerves in lazy circles, relishing the way you bucked and mewled mindlessly for more.

"Please," you finally broke and begged, unable to endure the slow-building torment any longer. "Tetsurou...baby, I can't...fuck, need you so badly, love...please..."

That seemed to finally undo the last threads of Kuroo's own tenuous composure, because in the next moment, he had you pinned against the kitchen counter once more. He captured your open, pleading mouth in another ravenous kiss, tongue spearing past your gasping lips in time with two thick fingers plunging into your clenching walls without mercy.

You cried out against his devouring mouth, hips canting to welcome the exquisite stretch as he immediately sought outyour most sensitive spot with devastating precision. His thumb worked feverish circles over your swollen clit, each merciless thrust and scissor of his wicked digits coiling the building pleasure tighter and tighter deep within.

Kuroo tore his mouth away from yours, panting harshly as he continued pistoning those talented fingers into your drenched core with unrelenting rhythm. The molten tawny pools of his darkened gaze roved over your disheveled, wanton form, taking in every blissful grimace and desperate whine you gave with evident male satisfaction.

"Always so responsive," Kuroo praised with a growl, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit as he worked a third finger into your greedy core. "So fucking sexy like this...can't believe I was dumb enough to leave you hanging these last few months, baby..."

You whimpered, eyelids fluttering as those sinfully long fingers continued pistoning in and out of your soaked depths, stretching and filling you to perfection. Kuroo chuckled darkly, curling his fingertips up against your spasming walls in a come-hither gesture that had you crying out hoarsely as sparks ignited along every nerve ending.

"But don't worry, kitten..." Kuroo leaned in until his lips were grazing your flushed earlobe, nipping at the sensitive flesh as you keened helplessly against him. "I'm gonna fuck all those nasty memories of those lonely nights right outta your tight cunt tonight, baby...promise."

Your entire body shuddered, a choked sob breaking free as Kuroo's scorching words and skilled touch sent you spiralling towards the edge of release without mercy. The delicious coil of pressure wound impossibly tighter as he worked those thick digits in and out of you, relentless and perfect, while his thumb continued circling and teasing your pulsing clit without pause.

"Come for me, kitten..." Kuroo urged hoarsely, tongue flicking over your earlobe before his teeth bit down possessively. "Want to feel your pretty cunt gushing all over my fingers, baby...gonna watch my pretty girl make a mess of herself just from this..."

And then, without warning, he curled his fingers up against that bundle of nerves tucked deep inside, thumb circling your engorged clit and drawing you closer and closer to that precipice. The dam finally burst, shattering the last restraints holding you captive beneath the weight of his intoxicating rapture.

You were keenly aware of the obscenely strong gush of fluids coating Kuroo's knuckles as he continued thrusting his fingers in and out of your throbbing core, the slick sounds of your juices echoing loudly through the kitchen. His groans of masculine approval and praise washed over you like a soothing balm, lulling you back down from the high with every tender stroke and husked syllable.

Kuroo eased his digits from your spent body gently, leaning in to nuzzle and kiss at your slack jaw as the aftershocks continued wracking your trembling form. Your limbs were a deadweight at your sides, muscles still twitching and shuddering around the delicious burn of your release as you floated through the haze.

"So good for me, kitten," Kuroo husked against your temple, gathering you into his solid frame tenderly. "So goddamn perfect, baby...I can't believe I've gone without this sweet cunt around my cock for months, huh..."

You shuddered, instinctively wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he hitched you up to sit on the countertop. Kuroo stepped between the V of your spread thighs, calloused palms stroking up and down your exposed flesh soothingly as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

"Missed you so fucking much," Kuroo admitted quietly, breath fanning over the sensitive juncture of your shoulder. "Not just like this, baby...missed everything about you, all the time. It's been killing me, kitten..."

You hummed softly, pressing a featherlight kiss to the crown of his mussed raven locks before leaning your cheek atop the silky strands. The last lingering threads of resentment and bitter disappointment faded away in the warm cocoon of his embrace, leaving behind the familiar sense of comfort and ease you'd only ever felt in his arms.

"Me too, Tetsurou..." you admitted on a sigh, stroking your hands down his broad back soothingly. "I missed you too, baby...but we're here now, right? That's all that matters."

Kuroo shuddered against you, pulling back just far enough to gaze down at your upturned face with burning intensity. In his smouldering tawny gaze, you saw the same unspoken promises and eternal devotion that had been laid bare in your soul for far longer than you cared to admit.

And then, Kuroo was surging forward and claiming your lips in a kiss so fierce, you could almost swear you could feel your bruised heart beating a tattoo in his own chest once more. His hands tangled in your hair, tugging on the messy strands just the way you liked to tip your face back for better access.

You moaned openly, arching into his scorching form and giving him anything and everything he demanded in the wake of that all-consuming kiss. Your own hands clutched at his shoulders, kneading and stroking the firm contours as if you could somehow drag him closer, deeper, and fuse him to your very being completely.

Kuroo growled low in his throat, wrenching himself away from the kiss just far enough to mutter a single command. "Lift your hips up for me, baby...gotta get this cute ass naked for me, okay?"

You whimpered, nodding dumbly as he reached for the waistband of your dampened underwear and tugged it down your shaking thighs. Kuroo peeled the garment off completely, tossing it aside before sliding his palms up the length of your calves.

When his calloused grip reached the crease of your thighs, he yanked you towards the edge of the counter, prompting a surprised squeal to slip free as your balance shifted precariously. Kuroo only laughed, the sound boyish and carefree as he wrapped one arm around your waist and dragged his stubbled jaw against your collarbones in a playful rasp.

"Don't worry, baby...gotcha," Kuroo assured, the heat of his breath fanning over the exposed swell of your breasts. "Gonna take such good care of you, kitten...gonna fuck you nice and slow, the way my good girl deserves, yeah?"

You keened aloud, fingers carding through the messy strands at the nape of his neck as Kuroo began mouthing his way down the valley of your breasts. He traced the curve of each mound reverently with his wicked tongue, laving and suckling until you were a trembling, moaning wreck beneath his worshipful attentions.

When Kuroo's lips closed around the sensitive bud, you cried out, arching into the hot, wet cavern as he suckled greedily. His teeth grazed the hardened peak with the barest edge of pain, and you hissed, grinding down against the growing bulge pressing insistently against your aching core.

Kuroo groaned, releasing the swollen nipple with a wet pop and leaning his forehead against the valley between your breasts. His breaths came in harsh pants, the muscles in his back rippling and flexing beneath your questing fingertips as you clung to his broad shoulders for dear life.

"Fuck," he swore on a ragged exhale, nuzzling the sweat-dampened skin as his hands slid down the dip of your waist and over the curve of your ass. "You're driving me fucking crazy, kitten...keep trying to go slow, be all gentle and sweet like you deserve...but all I can think about is slamming this cute ass down on my cock and fucking you until you scream my name loud enough for the neighbours to hear, baby..."

The filthy confession punched the air from your lungs entirely, and you were suddenly acutely aware of how much you needed that too. Needed the hard, relentless stretch of his girth bottoming out inside your quivering walls until the only thing you could remember was his name.

"Yes," you begged brokenly, tugging his raven locks hard enough to tilt his head back and seal your plea with a filthy kiss. "Please, Tetsu...just want to feel you, baby. Need it so bad..."

Kuroo swore again, biting at your swollen lower lip and sucking it into his mouth as his hands kneaded the flesh of your ass with bruising force. He pulled away just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, sharing a shuddering breath as his hand fumbled blindly at the button and zipper of his jeans.

"Fuck, hold on," he muttered, tearing away entirely.

You blinked hazily, watching as Kuroo shucked his jeans and boxers down his lean hips and off his legs entirely. His swollen length bobbed heavily between his legs, flushed a dark crimson and already leaking copiously at the swollen tip.

He palmed the thick base with one hand, giving himself a few long, hard strokes from root to tip and swiping his thumb through the pearlescent bead welling at the slit. Your tongue darted out to moisten your suddenly dry lips, entranced by the sight of him pleasuring himself before you.

It was an achingly familiar and yet strangely erotic scene, and the thought that you were both still so eager and needy after all this time was equal parts humbling and exhilarating.

Kuroo groaned, tawny eyes blazing as he took in your dazed expression and parted lips with obvious male pride. He stroked his free hand up the planes of your inner thigh, teasing his thumb through your soaked folds and tracing the glistening path back to your swollen clit.

Your breath caught, fingers scrabbling against the smooth countertop for purchase as he rubbed lazy circles against the hypersensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips jerked helplessly, torn between chasing the addictive friction of his dexterous touch and the growing emptiness between your trembling thighs.

"Tetsurou," you whimpered, eyes fluttering as he teased your sensitive flesh with expert precision. "Tetsu, please..."

Kuroo chuckled, stepping between your thighs and hitching you closer to the edge of the counter in a single, fluid motion. He gripped the base of his cock, nudging the flared tip against your dripping core and dragging the velvety length through the gathered slickness.

You moaned, canting your hips forward instinctively as one hand reached for his shoulder while the other clung to the edge of the counter. But just as the swollen tip breached your quivering walls, he retreated once more.

"Tetsurou," you hissed, glaring up at the smug bastard.

Kuroo's lips twitched, eyes glimmering with unbridled mischief as he repeated the slow, torturous drag of his cockhead against your slit. His other hand snaked up the length of your torso, teasing the soft underside of your breast before plucking at the swollen nipple once more.

"What's the matter, baby?" he taunted, tweaking the sensitive peak with a little more force this time. "I thought my kitten liked it when I played with her, hm? Or does my greedy girl just want my cock instead?"

You scowled, the flush on your cheeks deepening at his shameless words. But even as your mind scrambled for some clever retort, his deft fingers continued toying with the tight bud. The sudden surge of pleasure left your thoughts scattered, and all you could do was keen in a desperate bid for more.

"Hmm? Does she?" Kuroo prompted, slipping the chubby tip into the searing wet heat of your cunt just far enough for your greedy walls to clench around the intrusion. "C'mon, baby...use those pretty words for me and ask nicely..."

"Fuck, please!" you finally sobbed, nails digging into his shoulder blades. "Please, Tetsu, want you so fucking badly...please, baby, need your cock, need you to fill me up...please..."

Your rambling pleas seemed to satisfy him at last, and with a guttural groan, Kuroo finally slid home with a single, powerful thrust. Your back arched, a silent scream parting your lips as his cock split you open without mercy.

It burned, stretched you impossibly wide, but the sensation was exactly what you'd needed. You felt the exquisite ache all the way to your bones, every nerve ending lighting up in response to the deliciously familiar fullness.

Kuroo's breath was hot and unsteady against the sweat-dampened skin of your neck, his broad shoulders quaking beneath the white-knuckled grip of your fingers. The taut lines of his body were coiled tight, and you knew he was hanging on by a thread.

"F-fuck, kitten," he panted against your neck, nose skimming along the curve of your jaw. "Always feel like the first fucking time with you...so fucking tight and wet, baby...god, you're perfect..."

You keened softly, rolling your hips down onto his cock to urge him on. Kuroo took the hint, slowly dragging his cock out until the flared tip was just barely kissing your clenching entrance. And then, without warning, he slammed back home, the punishing snap of his hips rocking your entire body forward and punching a breathless cry from your lungs.

Kuroo didn't give you a moment to recover, setting a steady rhythm that soon had your vision blurring around the edges. His hips pistoned forward, spearing his cock deep into your fluttering walls with every thrust. The obscene sounds of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the kitchen, joined by the filthy squelch of his cock pumping in and out of your dripping cunt.

You were lost to the sensations, reduced to a moaning, writhing mess as his swollen cock continued pounding into you with ruthless force. There was no space between your bodies, no way for you to move or grind down against the delicious friction except for the unrelenting pace of his thrusts.

"Such a good girl," Kuroo praised against your temple, the words slightly slurred as he chased his own release. "Taking my cock so well, baby...such a good, pretty kitten...love the way your sweet pussy feels around my cock, kitten..."

A ragged moan tore from your throat, head falling back against the cool wall as your walls began to spasm around his shaft. The telltale pressure coiled tighter, the delicious drag of his cock along the sensitive walls of your cunt building the pleasure to dizzying heights.

Kuroo seemed to sense your impending release, one arm hooking beneath your knee to hike your leg higher as his thrusts picked up speed. The angle allowed him to delve deeper, and your jaw went slack as a strangled moan was punched from your chest.

"Come on, baby," Kuroo urged, voice hoarse and strained. "That's it, kitten...let go for me, sweetheart...wanna feel that cute cunt squeezing the fuck outta my cock, yeah?"

You sobbed, fingers scrambling against the firm lines of his back as the tension finally snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge. Your body seized, a silent scream parting your lips as he continued pounding into your quivering cunt without mercy.

Dimly, you registered the guttural groan of his own release and the searing heat of his release flooding your fluttering walls. You whimpered, clinging to him with what little strength you had left as the aftershocks of your climax continued to wash over you.

Kuroo held you close, stroking one hand down the curve of your spine soothingly and dropping featherlight kisses along the side of your face. He murmured quiet praises against your flushed skin, lips skimming the shell of your ear and down the curve of your jaw.

Slowly, your senses returned, and the hazy euphoria ebbed away enough for the aches in your body to register. The tender flesh between your thighs throbbed, muscles twitching and shuddering around the spent intrusion buried within your sensitive core.

Kuroo pressed one final lingering kiss to the corner of your lips, nuzzling the damp strands of hair plastered to your temple as he gently lowered your leg back to the countertop. You sighed softly, relishing the comforting weight of his body as he pressed closer.

"Still with me, kitten?" Kuroo prompted, breath warm against your cheek.

You nodded dumbly, forcing your heavy eyelids open to meet his heated gaze. Kuroo chuckled softly, leaning in to brush his lips against yours in a fleeting caress before carefully easing his softened cock from your spent core.

A weak whine slipped free at the loss, but you bit down on your lip to silence the embarrassing sound as Kuroo helped you down from the countertop. Your legs felt like jelly, and you swayed precariously for a moment before he scooped you into his strong arms and carried you across the kitchen.

"So," he started casually, carrying you into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him. "Does this mean I’m your boyfriend again, kitten?"

You snorted, wrapping your arms around his neck as he set you down beside the bathtub. "What, you didn't get that memo when I was literally begging you to put a baby in me, Tetsurou?" you retorted, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Well, no," he admitted with a wry grin. "I was a little too focused on the whole 'putting a baby in you' part of that deal to really focus on the semantics."

You rolled your eyes, tugging on his arm to join you in the tub. He laughed, climbing in behind you and tugging you into his chest. "Okay, fine, you big idiot. Guess I’m stuck with you."

Kuroo smirked, leaning forward to capture your lips in a deep, languid kiss. "I think I can live with that, kitten."

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #kuroo tetsuro smut #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou

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seresinhangmanjake · 21 days ago

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Defending His Lady

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Both Feyd and your son take issue with the people of Giedi Prime not accepting you as their Lady. Part of the His series

Notes/Warnings: Based on a request. It's a little bit different. Typos, probably.

Words: 1250

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Years ago, when you imagined your future, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t on this planet. It wasn’t with the husband and child you have. It wasn’t with the title you obtained from your marriage. You imagined light glowing through an open home, frilly gowns, a stuffy Lord, and a daughter who would be treated like a princess. It wasn’t necessarily what you wanted for your future, but it was what was likeliest to be. You’d be a foreign Lady on a new planet, yet respected just as much as their home-grown Lord.

You learned rather quickly that that’s not always how it works. And while you wouldn’t trade the life you have—not your husband, not your son—for anything the universe could offer, you can’t deny the difficulties that come with being the wife and mother of the Harkonnen line of Giedi Prime.

The people wanted Feyd to marry one of their own, certainly not the concubine their na-Baron once took. They wanted purity. To them, you are tainted blood, and despite your status on this planet, many cannot resist treating you like a parasite. In the five years that have passed, you’ve taken the poor treatment and whispered words with as much grace as you can, knowing Feyd is always there to end the lives of those who step out of bounds, but it’s harder to ignore now that Fionn is no longer a baby.

Your son is growing. His ears catch more than you’d like. He notices how his father reacts to the harsh words directed at you and how he never sees the people who speak them ever again. He’s gathering the pieces that his mother is often disrespected, and that is the last thing you want.

—

“He sees it,” you tell your husband as you slip into your nightgown.

“He doesn’t see it,” Feyd says, pulling back the top layer of covers on the bed and settling under the sheets. When he reaches out his hand, you snuggle into his embrace. His arms are snug around you. His lips press a kiss to your hairline. “You worry too much.”

You hold in your huff of frustration. “I do not. He asked me as I put him to bed if bad people are hurting me and if that’s why Daddy keeps making them disappear.” Feyd pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed. You nod. “He sees it.”

Feyd exhales heavily through his nose. As a father, he’s been diligent, so very careful with how he leads his son; a surprisingly delicate guidance—something he didn’t have growing up. What started from Feyd’s fear of your son being too much like him died as the boy showed only love, but Feyd has continued his intricate training. He has trained so that even at the age of four, Fionn is vigilant, particular with his words, and practical in his choices. He trains so that outside factors are not as influential. He trains so the boy can think for himself. And it shouldn’t be a shock that he notices what happens in his own home.

“It’s time he understands then,” Feyd says.

Your eyes go wide and you let out a light gasp. “Feyd, he’s four.”

“There’s no point in hiding what happens to them if he’s already curious. He’s as stubborn as you are,” he tells you. “And he’s old enough.”

—

“Mommy, where are we going?” Fionn asks, his little hand tugging on yours to get your attention.

You take a deep breath, sucking in the dank air that leads to prisoner cells. You’re not sure how this is going to go, but you agreed and you need to let it play out. “Daddy wants to show you something.”

Fionn’s head turns to Feyd. “Is it a bad man, Daddy?”

Feyd pauses halfway down the hall and crouches in front of his son. You release Fionn’s hand so he can fully face his father.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a bad man.”

“He hurt Mommy?”

“Some of our guards heard him talking about your mother. He said rude things, called her names. He wished for harm to come to her.”

Fionn makes a soft noise of surprise. Name-calling—he considers that one of the worst of crimes, knowing what it got him when he insulted the little Lady of House Kenric.

“But why?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter why,” Feyd says. “What matters is that we protect the ones we love, yes?”

“Yes,” Fionn agrees with a sharp nod.

Feyd looks up at you, silently commanding that you stay here. The last time you entered a cell to face the one who insulted you, more abuse was hurled at you until it tapped into a well of internal shame. It took you three days to shake that off, all the while your husband begging for you to return to your natural state of uncaring.

You’ve always cared though, to some degree. It doesn’t matter that they like you so much as it matters that you’re not a stain on Feyd’s reputation. After all, he’s the Baron now, and one day, his son will be. If the people of Giedi Prime cannot forget where you come from, you worry they will never forgive Feyd, and worse, that they will never accept Fionn as their ruler.

Feyd takes your boy’s hand once again and leads him the rest of the way. They stop at the correct cell and when a guard turns a key, they head inside.

Inching your way down the hall, you halt just outside of it. Your finger goes to your lips to ensure the guard does not give you away, and with your back to the stone wall, you hear Fionn.

“He did it?”

The man is silent, likely knocked unconscious from Feyd’s earlier visit. You suppose he’ll be awake soon enough.

“Yes,” Feyd tells him, his voice dropping an octave, “He did.”

“Did he apologize? He should apologize to Mommy.”

Feyd releases a sigh. His son is much more diplomatic than himself. But your husband can’t fairly be bothered. That’s the point of his parenting: to raise a better Baron than both he and his uncle have ever been.

“Son, we do not let men like this apologize. We do not let them near your mother.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think we do with them?”

Fionn hums, and it’s so much like his father that it’s as if he has stood on the sidelines of every death your husband has executed. The way Feyd hums as he plays with his victims. A fake hum of consideration, of contemplation. What should I do with them? How should they leave this world? Questions he pretends to ask as if he hasn’t planned their deaths out from the moment he was informed of the crime. And that’s the hum your son gives. He hums like a natural monster in the making. You wouldn’t be surprised if the boy is tapping his finger against his chin as he thinks.

You feel an ounce of pride. There’s more to him than a kind heart, lovely as that heart is. He will be a fearsome Baron, but one that will show mercy when mercy is fit. However, here, now, mercy is not fit, and his father has made that clear.

“Would you like the first stab?” Feyd asks. “Top of thigh.”

The shing of metal scraping against Feyd’s sheath fills the space. A small blade. Good for Fionn’s hand.

“Which thigh, Daddy?”

Feyd chuckles. “You choose.”

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha fic #austin butler #dune 2

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runariya · 1 month ago

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Crash Course in Love • 1

pairing: snowboard instructor!Jungkook x ex-gf!female reader (feat. platonic OT6) genre: rom-com, Exes 2 Lovers, slow-burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: strong language, slow burn, angst, Namjoon's a snack, smoking, brief mentions of drugs, OC and JK are petty af, lmk if I forgot smth word count: 15.2k

a/n: Part 1 is finally here 🎉 This fic is going to be my comfort story. It's relaxed for me but also quite new in the way I'm telling it and the length. I hope you like it and enjoy it as much as I do writing it 💕

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 02

You’ve never been much of a risk taker. That’s just not who you are. You've always believed in playing it safe, thinking it’s better to be cautious than to end up regretting a choice. But living that way has meant you’ve missed out on the grand adventures that others your age fondly reminisce about. In fact, this cautious attitude is exactly what ended your last relationship.

Jungkook, your ex, was the definition of a thrill-seeker, the kind of adventurer you read about in stories. He thrived on excitement, and in the beginning, he managed to pull you into his world, convincing you to join him on his smaller adventures. You’d go camping with him or ride along on his motorcycle. It wasn’t much, but for you, it felt like a lot. You were doing things you’d never willingly do on your own. For him, though, it wasn’t enough. And you knew that. So, rather than holding him back any more than you already had with your shy, introverted, no-risks-please kind of persona, you ended things.

Did you regret it? Both yes and no. Yes, because letting go of the love of your life hurt more than anything. And no, because you knew it meant Jungkook could finally live the way he always wanted, without restraint. Watching him happy, embracing life to its fullest, was what you wanted for him. But when he decided to travel the world right after the breakup—the thing you two had dreamed of doing together—it stung deeply.

Jungkook had always been the rational one, even if he was emotional at times. He understood why you made the decision you did, and though it hurt him as much as it did you, there was nothing more to say. When your words were final, that was it.

It didn’t help that you couldn’t stop yourself from checking in on him, stalking his social media to see him living his best life. Each post only made you feel worse, insecure about the choices you’d made. So, in a moment of frustration, you decided to turn things around. You would live on the edge, too. You’d make "risky" your new middle name.

You started small. Baby steps. You poured your glass of water right up to the brim, nearly overflowing, and then picked it up to drink, knowing full well there was a 99% chance you’d spill it. But you didn’t care. You lived dangerously now, and besides, hydration is key.

Next, you let your phone battery drop to 1%, watching the screen dim, your palms sweaty with the urge to just plug it in. But you resisted, holding out until it died completely. Of course, you rushed to charge it afterward, but you’d never admit that part.

Things escalated. You started crossing the street when the walk sign only had five seconds left, sprinting to the other side like a madwoman, just barely making it before the light changed.

But what really pushed you over the edge was seeing Jungkook’s latest post: him, laughing and carefree, with an unfamiliar woman by his side.

That’s when you signed up for skydiving, bungee jumping, and even got your motorcycle license. It was fun—really fun. But doing it all alone felt hollow. Without someone to share those experiences with, the thrill didn’t last long.

As winter approached, you found yourself at your cousin Yoongi’s apartment, practically begging him to join you on your latest venture—a two-week stay at a ski hostel to learn snowboarding.

“I’m not doing shit,” he said flatly, not even looking up from the couch.

“Pretty, pretty please, Yoongs.” You threw your best puppy-dog eyes at him, hoping for a miracle. Kneeling on his carpet, which was nowhere near plush enough to make this comfortable, you added, “I’ll do almost anything you want if you come with me. Pleeeeeease.”

“Everything?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Almost everything,” you clarified.

“Nah, I’m not going. Leave me alone.”

At that, you got up and threw yourself onto the couch beside him, clinging to his arm like a child. You put your face right up next to his, pouting dramatically. “Pwease, Yoongi oppa?”

“Ew, don’t call me that,” he said, surly grimacing in disgust.

“Okay, but only if you come with me! You won’t have to spend a cent. I’ve already paid for everything. Please, please, please.”

Yoongi sighed, and you could see him starting to waver, shooting you the occasional side-eye. “You’ll cover everything?”

“Everything,” you repeated, your eyes sparkling as you sensed victory.

“Fine.”

“Yesssss! I love you!” You kissed his cheek loudly, and he shoved you away with exaggerated disgust, though you knew he secretly enjoyed the affection. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 4 a.m. Pack your bags!”

“4 a.m.?” he groaned.

“Yup! See you then! Bye!”

“I never agreed to go that early! Hey, no! Wait—”

But you were already halfway out the door, knowing that if you stuck around to hear any more complaints, he’d change his mind in an instant.

Day 0

"I'm sure it's here... somewhere," you mumble desperately, trying to navigate your small, old car through the frosty streets of this tiny town. It's not that you're a bad driver, but Tony—your car, named after Iron Man—is getting on in years. With no power steering, driving these treacherous roads is far from enjoyable. Especially with a grumpy, moody Yoongi sitting beside you, not letting you think for a minute.

"I doubt that. You've got us stranded somewhere civilisation hasn't even reached."

"Oh, come on, I know it's here. And it's not as desolate as you're making it out to be! We saw another car, like, 20 minutes ago."

But Yoongi's right. You're no longer sure if you're heading in the right direction. Your phone died hours ago, leaving you without navigation, and there's been no sign of life for miles. You're hoping for a miracle—or at least that your memory of the route isn’t completely off—because the petrol’s running low. You've turned off the heater in the hopes of making it to the hostel without having to walk, but that means you’re both freezing, and Yoongi’s seconds away from murdering you. Not that there’s much left of your blood to spill, as the cold has probably frozen it solid by now.

"I regret agreeing to this, you know?"

"You've told me that already. Like, four times in the last... what? Five minutes?" Your teeth chatter uncontrollably, and you can’t help but silently agree with Yoongi, calling yourself all sorts of names for coming up with yet another idea that’s entirely out of character for you.

"And I'll keep saying it until we arrive. If we ever do." Yoongi’s breath fogs up as he speaks, and when Tony stutters—a sign that it’s running out of petrol or sheer willpower—you feel like you’re about to cry.

The snow hasn’t let up, towering in piles along the narrow street that seems to climb uphill endlessly. At this point, you’re not only terrified of being stranded but of Tony giving out and sliding all the way back down. All you can do is pray. Pray that this journey turns out better than it started, because, frankly, there’s not much that could make it worse.

"Wait, can you see that building?" You lean forward, nearly pressing your nose against the steering wheel, squinting to get a better look at the dark, blurred shape in the distance. Your windscreen wipers are losing their battle against the snow and frost, getting stuck midway, making visibility even worse. "Can you read the sign?"

Yoongi grumbles something inaudible as you both roll down your windows simultaneously, peering outside—not because it isn’t cold enough already, but because there’s no way to keep driving with a snow-covered windscreen. The freezing air and snow immediately assault your face, biting at your cheeks, nose, and everything else. Your nose starts running mercilessly, your eyes sting with tears that freeze on your lashes, making it nearly impossible to keep them open.

Yoongi’s not faring much better. His short hair, while practical, leaves his ears exposed to the cold, turning them bright red in an instant. Yet somehow, he’s still able to swear profusely—though you’re not sure if it’s aimed at you or the weather.

"It says ‘dinosaur,’" he spits out into the biting air.

"Yes! It’s ‘Dionysos!’ We’re here! I told you we weren’t lost." You regret smiling immediately, as the cold stabs at your teeth, making you fear they’ll shatter into a million pieces.

"Just park the fucking car."

As you manage to crest the hill, a small but beautiful town comes into view, beginning with the quaint little hostel you booked. And after you parked Tony right in front or it, you somehow manage to force the car windows back up, the frozen mechanisms protesting all the way with deafening screams. But you don’t care. With aching, frost-bitten limbs, you leap out of the car, grab your bags from the boot, and bolt inside the hostel, Yoongi practically bulldozing past you to get in.

Your arrival is marked by a tiny bell hanging over the entrance. While it’s not Christmas yet, the decorations for the advent season are in full swing. But most importantly, it’s warm. So wonderfully warm that you can’t help but take a deep breath, letting the heat thaw you from the inside out, as you discreetly wipe your nose on your sleeve.

"Oh, hey!" A man behind the reception desk greets you immediately. His glasses sit low on his nose, and a ridiculous Christmas jumper stretches across his tall frame.

"Hi! I’ve booked a room for two weeks. It’s under the name..."

Before you can finish, the man interrupts, saying your name. You glance warily at Yoongi, who, as expected, doesn’t care in the slightest. He’s already parked himself by the fireplace, looking like a cat forced to endure the cold for far too long.

"You’re our only guest this season." The man laughs uncomfortably, clearly sensing your suspicion.

"Oh." That’s all you manage, throwing another helpless glance at Yoongi, who remains completely uninterested.

"Yeah, I can’t compete with all the amenities that new hotel chain offers," he adds with a shrug.

"Oh! That’s a shame." You step forward, genuinely sorry to hear about the plight of small businesses, struggling to survive against the corporate giants.

"It is what it is. But I’m glad to have you here." He flashes you a dimpled smile, his perfectly aligned teeth momentarily dazzling you. "My name’s Namjoon, by the way. I’ll be your landlord, caretaker, cook, and whatever else you need during your stay. Just let me know, and I’ll make it happen."

You shake his hand, startled by how cold your fingers still are. "Thank you so much, Namjoon! You already know my name, but this grump glued to your fireplace is Yoongi."

"Honeymoon?" Namjoon asks, with a teasing grin.

"Ew, no." Yoongi’s voice drips with disgust, and he doesn’t even flinch under your glare.

"What he means is, no, we’re cousins, spending the holidays together."

"Forced to spend—"

"Willingly."

"Threatened to—"

"Shut up, you agreed! Don’t make me look like an idiot."

"You nearly killed us."

"Oh, I did not! Stop lying."

Namjoon clears his throat, cutting off your bickering. You both turn to him sheepishly, like children being scolded by a parent. Your cheeks are burning, not just from the warmth but from the embarrassment of your argument.

"I’ll give you a tour of the place, then?" Namjoon offers, smiling warmly.

"Yes, please," you reply, eager to move past the awkwardness as soon as possible.

Yoongi struggles to tear himself away from the fireplace, but eventually, both of you follow Namjoon, who remains all smiles despite your rather unorthodox arrival.

“So, this is the main area. You can relax by the fireplace whenever you like—it’s lit all the time,” Namjoon says, glancing at Yoongi, who still seems transfixed by the flames. “To the left are the rooms. There are only three, and yours is at the far end. I took the liberty of choosing the honeymoon suite because, well… you know what I thought. But honestly, it’s the best room here, so it’s no big deal.”

You swallow the urge to ask if it’s possible to have two separate rooms, but you’re running low on cash. Since you’ve become Yoongi’s unofficial sponsor for this trip, two rooms are out of the question. You just hope Yoongi has somehow outgrown his relentless snoring from childhood because, God forbid, you’ll be at your wit’s end if he ruins your sleep for two whole weeks.

“And to the right is my private room and the dining area. Any allergies I should know about?” Namjoon asks.

“No,” you and Yoongi reply in unison, sounding like textbook tourists. Not that you aren’t, but you’d rather it wasn’t so obvious.

“That’s good to hear. These days, everyone seems to have some kind of allergy or gut problem. I really don’t want to have to drive you to the hospital; it’s quite a distance from here…”

Namjoon stops mid-sentence, realising he’s rambling. You’re still standing there, bags in hand, coats on, now sweating from the warmth. You can only hope your body doesn’t rebel from the extreme change in temperature.

“This way, please,” Namjoon says, leading you towards your room. He swings the door open ceremoniously with an old-fashioned key in hand, and you and Yoongi follow, your heavy boots and coats disrupting the otherwise serene, festive atmosphere.

“Wow,” Yoongi murmurs, and it’s truly a sight that will stay with you forever.

It isn’t the room itself that takes your breath away, but the view. The wall facing the mountains is made entirely of glass, offering an uninterrupted view of the snow-covered slopes from peak to base. The storm has lessened without you noticing, revealing thick, heavy snowflakes gently falling, while the sun breaks through the grey clouds that shadowed your entire journey.

You watch as skiers and snowboarders carve their way down the mountainside, zigzagging effortlessly through the untouched snow. At the foot of the mountain, families are building snowmen and riding sleighs, laughter and joy visible even from this distance. It’s in moments like these, during those once-in-a-lifetime experiences, that your thoughts drift back to Jungkook. You find yourself wishing that things had turned out differently, that he could be here to share this with you.

You shouldn’t feel sad about it. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him, especially when he’s clearly moved on. Your relationship feels as distant and forgotten as a book written centuries ago—once beautiful, overflowing with fairytales too good to be true, but now irrelevant, no longer suited to withstand the test of time.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Namjoon’s voice pulls you back to the present, and for that, you’re grateful. Yoongi wouldn’t understand your feelings, and even if he did, he wouldn’t indulge your nostalgia over a past relationship—especially because it was your first and last.

“It is. Thank you for giving us this room, Namjoon. It’s more than I ever expected.”

Yoongi tosses his bag onto the floor by the bed, shrugs off his coat and shoes, and immediately flops onto the bed, his gaze fixed on the view.

“No worries, really. There’s a phone and a card with my number on it by the nightstand. If you need anything, come to reception. If I’m not there, knock on my door—I’m happy to help.”

Namjoon’s kindness and humility stir something in you. He’s incredibly good-looking, tall, and there’s something about his calm and friendly manner that makes you feel at ease. As he smiles at you, his dimples showing, you wonder if perhaps you might let yourself indulge in him a little—let him be the warmth you’ve been missing.

But for now, you’ll settle in. Let the next two weeks pass without forcing anything. You want to be swept up in whatever comes your way.

“I’m really happy I booked with you, Namjoon. You’ve been so kind, and this room is perfect. Thank you again.”

“Anytime.”

Your eyes linger on his for a moment longer than you’d admit was necessary, and you seize the opportunity to ask him a few more questions just to keep looking at him.

“So, I booked a snowboarding course through you. That starts tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, the instructor’s a friend of mine. He’ll be staying here too but won’t arrive until right before your lesson. You booked the classes for a full week, correct?”

“Yeah, I thought a week would be enough, and we’ll practice on our own after that.”

“That should work well. He’s great at what he does and an excellent teacher. But if you need more help, he’ll still be around for the rest of your stay.”

“That’s good.” You’re only half-listening. Namjoon’s dimples and kind eyes are distracting you too much to focus on his words.

“Oh, before I forget—anything in town worth seeing? I’d love to stroll around today since we’ve got no schedule.”

“I’m not leaving this room,” Yoongi mutters, his voice dripping with boredom, but neither you nor Namjoon pay him any attention.

“Hm, there’s not a lot, but you should visit ‘Jimin’s Pastries.’ He supplies my bread, and his pastries and coffee are to die for.”

“That sounds perfect. I think I’ll check it out straight away—I’m starving,” you say with a bashful laugh. “You coming?” You ask Yoongi coldly, knowing the answer.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself. So, how do I get there?” Immediately you turn back to Namjoon.

“I could show you?”

There’s a slight hesitance in Namjoon’s offer, but it only makes him more endearing. You smile genuinely, feeling a little more charmed than you’d like to admit. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great, let’s go then.” His easy-going nature doesn’t falter, even when Yoongi calls after you, “Bring me back some food!”

There’s no need to answer; the door to the room has already closed behind you, leaving Yoongi behind as well.

“I’ll just need to fetch my coat real quick.”

You follow Namjoon to the reception, your eyes drawn to the way his hips move with each step, the subtle flexing right in front of you. It’s not as if you objectify every attractive man you meet, but Namjoon clearly takes care of himself, and there’s nothing you can really do. After all, you’re no saint, and Namjoon is definitely one of those reasons you’ll never take a vow of celibacy.

He doesn’t take long to return, emerging from his room with a rather thin coat hugging his body, making you feel a little ridiculous in your thick down jacket. But there’s no way you’re changing now.

Ever the gentleman, Namjoon holds the hostel door open for you with a small smile, and you thank him silently as the bell above the door chimes again softly. You don’t let your thoughts drift too far—don’t let them wander back to that time when Jungkook told you he always thought he’d meet his soulmate when he heard a bell the first time he saw them.

Because you’re sure that’s just folklore, just a whimsical story, something for entertainment. And even though Namjoon seems like someone nice you could spend time with, the fanciful idea that he might be your soulmate because of a little bell is absurd.

Outside, the cold hasn’t let up one bit, though the storm and heavy snowflakes have finally ceased. But this time, you welcome the chill, grateful for the contrast to the stifling heat of the hostel and the layers you’re bundled in.

You walk side by side, heading deeper into the small town, and now that the air is clearer, you notice fairy lights strung across the street, bare trees decorated with quaint Christmas ornaments, and every house and shop adorned for the season.

“So, how long have you been running the hostel?” you ask, unwilling and not comfortable nor confident enough to let the silence stretch for too long, opting for small talk that feels so much more safer.

“It’s been a few years now. I took over when my father couldn’t run it anymore.”

“That’s a responsible thing to do. I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

You hadn’t noticed before, but Namjoon’s hair isn’t black at all. Now, as the sunlight reflects off his soft-looking strands, you realise it’s a dark brown, making him look much younger.

“He is.” Namjoon smiles bashfully, glancing down briefly as though to hide a slight blush. “I just hope I can keep things going as well as he did.”

“I’m sure you will. The place is lovely.”

“Thanks. But what’s really lovely is Jimin’s, which is right here.”

Namjoon gestures towards a small shop you hadn’t noticed before, stopping just a short walk from the hostel. You realise now that everything in this tiny town is within easy reach, which you find very convenient.

And he’s right, ‘Jimin’s Pastries’ looks jut as charming as the hostel. The building is old but beautifully restored, its large windows inviting you in without detracting from its historic charm, as though it’s withstood the test of time. The large windows must be new, but you suspect the struts are original, as is the interior you can spot from outside, and it makes you marvel at it instantly.

Namjoon leads the way inside, once again opening the door for you to step through first. Again, a soft chime rings above the door, and the first thing you see is a man behind the counter, slightly shorter than Namjoon, with a smile as radiant as the sun itself, his eyes crinkling into crescents, making him look oh-so-youthful and impossibly welcoming.

“Hey, hyung! Who’s this you’ve brought with you?” the man asks brightly, his voice as musical as a singer’s.

“This is ___, she’s my guest for the next two weeks. ___, this is Jimin.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Please, take a seat, make yourself at home! Namjoon, the usual?”

“Yeah, and some of your magic pastries. We’re starving, right?” Namjoon offers you a seat after taking your heavy coat, which you accept with a shy smile, feeling unaccustomed to such attentiveness.

“Yes, that sounds great. Thank you.”

“And what would you like to drink, ___?”

You squint up at the menu hanging above the counter while Namjoon takes his seat across from you after putting your coats on a rack near the entrance, but Jimin doesn’t give you much time to decide.

“Oh wait, I’ll bring you my special.”

With that, he sets to work, moving quickly around like a busy bee, and you take the opportunity to absorb and soak in the cosy, homey atmosphere.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Namjoon whispers over the sound of coffee beans being ground, leaning in slightly, his elbows resting on the table.

“It is. Thank you for showing me this place. I can’t wait to try everything—it all looks so delicious.”

The display of cakes and sweets is overwhelming, filled to the brim. The macarons, in particular, seem to call out to you, their bright colours practically begging to be tasted, looking almost too perfect to be real, knowing that you have to try them.

“I hope you like it as much as I do, or else I won’t know what to serve you for breakfast.”

You can’t help but giggle with Namjoon, his demeanour so warm and charming it’s impossible not to feel at ease.

“Here you go!” Jimin sings as he walks over with a tray nearly overflowing with pastries, balancing so many that even if you hadn’t eaten in days, you’re sure that there would still be leftovers. But you you’re not about to complain, secretly pleased you’ll get to taste almost everything on offer.

“The usual for Mister NJ, and here’s yours, beautiful,” Jimin winks cheekily, handing you a cup of coffee off the tray. You try to suppress the shy blush creeping up your cheeks. It’s really been a while since anyone’s flirted with you like this, and even if it’s maybe just playful, it’s not unwelcome, but simply unexpected.

“Thank you.”

You’re a bit surprised when Jimin pulls up a chair to sit between you and Namjoon, but thinking about it, it makes sense. There are no other customers at the moment, shop being completely empty except for you three, and it’s clear he’s close friends with Namjoon. Besides, you don’t mind; in fact, it’s comforting to be making these friendly connections, especially if you’re going to be here for two whole weeks. Maybe if these two weeks go well, you could see yourself coming back here one day.

Sensing the expectant looks from both men, their eyes flicking between your face and the cup of coffee in your hands, you finally take a sip—and are immediately thrown back to memories of Jungkook. The momentary peace you’d found is shattered as the familiar taste hits you. The coffee is good, wonderful even, just as perfect as you expected from Jimin’s first impression, but it tastes exactly like how Jungkook used to make it for you, though serving it in a normal cup seems rather…interesting now.

But Once, you loved the aftertaste of sweet iced Americano, loved the aftertaste after Jungkook had put his lips on yours. But now you’re alone. Now, you’re without him, and there’s nothing you can do but swallow it down, hoping your expression doesn’t give you away—hoping they don’t see how broken you really are and that you’re lying. Lying that you’re not stuck in an all time low for years now, lying that you’re not trying to fix your pride since.

“Wow, it tastes amazing!”

But both men jut blink at you now, and it’s only then that you realise your hands are trembling slightly, and that the smile you’ve tried so hard to put on doesn’t feel as genuine as you’d hoped.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin’s uneasy in an instant, his brow creasing. “Don’t you like it? Would you prefer something else?”

They both look rather too concerned for their own goods now. Jimin, too, tries to take the cup from your hands, but you hold it closer to you. It’s kind of sweet how strangers seem so empathetic towards you, and it somehow soothes the ache in your chest, even if it’s only a little, but not quite enough to make you forget.

“No! It’s perfect. I swear. It’s just that it reminds me of someone who’s no longer in my life.”

“Oh, my condolences.” Namjoon stretches out his hand, resting it gently on your lower arm with sad eyes.

“No! Oh gosh, no, it’s my ex. He’s alive, we just broke up.”

While Namjoon’s face falls into an embarrassed, crooked smile, taking his hand away, Jimin’s lights up like the fairy lights outside in the dawn. He wastes no time sliding closer to you, his wooden chair squeaking lightly on the tiled floor.

“Oh, tell me about it. Was it recent?”

You want to say yes, because even though it’s been a while since the split, it still feels like it was just hours ago. But at the same time, the time spent apart from Jungkook feels like an eternity, too unbearable to survive, really.

“Uhm, no, it’s been years, actually.”

And that shifts the whole room into chaos. Jimin doesn’t miss a beat before suggesting, “You just need to get properly dicked down, one good time.”

Namjoon looks even more embarrassed, trying in vain to get Jimin to shut up, while you sit there watching them argue about whether or not Jimin’s suggestion is the right way to help you forget your ‘scruffy ex’—his words, not yours or Namjoon’s.

“Actually, I’m not really interested in finding someone new at the moment.”

“See! I told you! Just let her be!” Namjoon leans back in his chair with a proud, triumphant smile on his face, crossing his arms as if he’s known you for years, which, obviously, he doesn’t. His glasses slide down his nose, making him look less convincing than he should.

“Oh, shut up, she just doesn’t know it yet. Maybe we could set her up with C. I think they’d look cute together.”

“I don’t know, man, you’re kind of right, but he’s not looking for anyone either.”

“That’s perfect! Wait, tell me something about yourself, I need to check if you’d vibe with him.” Jimin again leans in close, his elbows resting on the table between you, hands framing his chiseled jawline as he looks at you with sparkling, excited eyes.

You’re not sure what’s just happened, or who this ‘C’ is. And especially, you’re unsure how to answer the request to ‘tell them something about yourself’. Do you tell them about the introverted self you once were or maybe still are deep down? Your default so to say? Or do you describe the ‘new’, in your opinion uncomfortable self you’re desperately trying to become? At this point, you’re not even sure who you are, and the realisation exhausts you more than the drive here did.

“I…hm…I’m more the type of person who’s calm and doesn’t like a lot of adventures or risky things. So, I don’t think there’s really anyone out there who could handle that.” Yeah, great way to spark someone’s interest—talking down on yourself should definitely be added to your list of traits.

“Oh, that’s perfect. C’s been out of his mind for years. He definitely needs someone to balance him out. The dude’s mental.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, eyes flickering between Namjoon and Jimin. If he’s mental, why would Jimin want you to get involved with him? You’ve got enough of your own problems; babysitting a potential partner is the last thing you want to do.

“Oh no, he’s not mental mental, just a bit too reckless. He’s searching for something no one really understands. I reckon he’s just looking for love, or to be loved, but he’s obviously not finding it.”

“Oh... I see…” You nod vaguely, trying to piece together the information being thrown at you without getting whiplash. “But, uh, who is C, exactly?”

“He’s your snowboard instructor, actually,” Namjoon chimes in. From the look on his face, he’s completely on board with Jimin’s idea as well.

“And his name is C?”

“We call him that. It’s short for BSC, which is short for Babystarcandy.” Jimin beams at you, as if this explanation makes perfect sense.

“I reckon that’s not his actual name?” You deadpan.

“Gosh, no! That would be ridiculous.” Jimin waves his hands exaggeratedly while Namjoon chuckles. “His actual name is—”

The loud ringtone of Namjoon’s phone makes all three of you jump, Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” blasting from his coat.

“Sorry, I’ll just get that.” Namjoon stumbles off his chair, tripping over his own feet. He grabs his coat at the last moment, pulling it to the floor with him as the hook breaks under the weight.

“Not again,” Jimin sighs, rubbing his eyes with both hands as he sinks further into his chair. “I swear to God, one day—”

“Why am I calling myself?” Namjoon wonders aloud before quickly answering, “Hello?”

You can’t hear the other side of the conversation from across the room, but Namjoon doesn’t seem confused for long. He responds joyfully, “Of course. We’re heading back now... sure... bye.”

“You’re going to pay for that repair,” Jimin mutters as soon as Namjoon hangs up and gets to his feet, tucking his phone into his trousers and pulling on his coat.

“Of course, I always do. That was Yoongi, by the way. He’s hungry and wants us to bring him food. Sooo, could you pack up all the pastries?”

“Yes, of course!” Jimin jumps up immediately, gathering everything together while you watch longingly as he takes the macarons too. But you’re not too sad—you’ll just gobble them as soon as you’re back in your room.

You stand, finishing your coffee in one go, knowing that even though you can taste the caffeine from how strong it is, it won’t do much once your stomach’s full. You’re simply too knackered after today to stay awake longer than necessary.

“Yoongi called you from your hostel phone?”

“Yeah, he didn’t know another way.”

“I can’t with him; he’s so shameless sometimes.” Namjoon helps you into your coat, a gesture you’d like to get used to again—the simple act is just too sweet not to fall in love with.

“Ah, I don’t mind. I like people like him; they’re always honest.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Here come the treats!” Jimin sings as he swings open the door to the back room. The pastries are now securely packed in a paper bag, which he hands to you. “Thanks for coming by, and make sure to come tomorrow too. We’re not done talking, especially after you meet C in person!”

You can’t help but laugh with them both. It’s refreshing to feel joy and fun around you without having to put yourself at risk with some nonsense activity. But if you’re honest with yourself, you wouldn’t have met them if it weren’t for that very activity.

“Thanks, Jimin. I appreciate it. And we’ll see if I’m still alive after tomorrow.”

“You will be—C will take good care of you,” Jimin winks again, and with that, the door chime sounds as Namjoon opens it for you. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” you and Namjoon say in unison, stepping into the cold night as the wind bites at your face again. The fairy lights now illuminate the whole street, ornaments reflecting their red and gold hues, looking like something straight out of a film. Children are still up, playing in the snow and running around, while couples stroll along the pavement.

It’s a scene you wish you could see every day, and as you make your way back to the hostel with Namjoon by your side, you can’t help but glance up at him now and then as he talks about the small details of the town’s history, C and Jungkook momentarily forgotten.

Day 1

You regret bringing Yoongi with you. So much so, you want to cry and never stop.

It’s not like he’s bad company—not all the time, anyway—but sharing a room with him puts everything into perspective. His snoring hasn’t lessened one bit since childhood; in fact, you’re pretty sure it’s gotten worse. There’s no way you’ll get an ounce of rest if you keep sleeping in the same room, so you decide to ask Namjoon at breakfast if there’s any chance you can switch to the other spare room.

Lying awake all night until Yoongi got up at ass o’clock, leaving the room with his laptop and other gear, had you contemplating every life decision you’ve ever made, including the ones yet to come. Isn’t it ridiculous what you’ve got yourself into again? Sure, you’re kind of sporty, but when it comes to risky sports like snowboarding, you’d much rather watch others do it than try it yourself but here you are.

You’re sure if Jungkook had seen the way you’ve been living these past few years, he’d laugh. Not that he’d ridicule you—he’s not that type—but you’re certain the clown you’ve become would disgust him as much as it disgusts you.

You’re not sure if it’s healthy to still be so hung up on your ex, or if it’s just normal when you’ve lost the love of your life. Normal in the sense that every thought circles back to him, like you’ve taken the fall for some drug called Jeon Jungkook.

You’ll probably have to search the internet for a rehab clinic that specialises in self-inflicted heartbreak because after this adventure, there’s no way you’re doing anything like this again. Enough is enough. Especially when there’s possibly, just maybe, a potential partner—someone cozy and inviting, like Namjoon—who might actually like you for who you really are.

It’s still early, but you need to get up and grab some breakfast, knowing today’s course will be physically draining if you attempt it on an empty stomach. You’re certain that dragging Yoongi out will take extra time you don’t have to spare. The thought of making a bad first impression on C terrifies you, not only because he’s a stranger, but because, as Namjoon said, he’s coming here just for you.

Groaning, you force yourself out of bed. The room has cooled slightly overnight, which wasn’t a problem under the thick duvet, but now you can’t seem to handle the cold as well as you usually do. Rushing into the en-suite, you’re first greeted by the warmth of the heated floor, and then by the horrifying sight of your reflection.

“Please, don’t,” you plead, as if your reflection could magically change the image of your swollen face, a result of the ridiculous amount of pastries you munched last night. Your dark circles look more like war paint than the result of a restless night—a far cry from a cute quirk.

There’s no point in using much makeup, not when you’re going to be snowboarding—or rather learning how to—all day, so you settle for a bit of concealer. It takes a lot of mental pep talk to leave the blush behind, knowing the cold will soon give you rosy cheeks and a red nose the second you step outside the hostel.

Getting dressed is a bit easier; you throw on some thermal black gear, braid your hair into two sections, and leave the room in search of either Namjoon or Yoongi.

It’s no surprise to find Yoongi by the fireplace again, empty plate and coffee nearby, but seeing Namjoon beside him—Yoongi clicking away on his laptop while Namjoon raps into a microphone—leaves you speechless. There’s a whole side of Namjoon you hadn’t seen before. Sure, you only met him 12 hours ago, but you never would’ve imagined, in a million years, hearing him angrily spitting line after line. And despite his usual softness, this harshness leaves you nearly gasping for air.

What are you supposed to do? You’ve always had a weak spot for bad boys, men who exude confidence. And Namjoon is definitely giving off that vibe right now.

“Oh baby, what’s your name?”

The whimper that escapes your mouth is so embarrassing, especially when both men look up at you—Namjoon halting mid-rap—that you can’t, for the life of you, figure out what’s wrong with you. Are you really this pathetic, or was Jimin right all along? Maybe you just need a good shag to recalibrate your brain to normal. It’s been years, and considering the state you’re in now, something’s surely got to change.

You muster whatever dignity you have left and greet them as casually as possible, “Good morning.”

Yoongi, ever the ray of sunshine, doesn’t bother turning away from his laptop, clicking away as if you’re just a fly that’s wandered in. But Namjoon? He meets your eyes with a smile that could rival the dawn itself.

“Morning! Ready for breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

You’re smitten, and there’s no hiding it as he leads you to the dining area. A table is already set, and you recognise Jimin’s bread in an instant. Knowing how hungry you are after your late-night binge, you waste no time sitting down, your eyes glued to the treats and toppings on offer.

“Fancy a coffee?”

“Black would be perfect!”

“Not a sweet tooth?” Namjoon jokes, pouring you a cup from the thermos flask, the rich aroma battling with the scent of the food.

“Not in the morning.” You smile up at him.

“Probably because you’re sweet enough straight out of bed.”

His wink nearly makes you faint, and it’s clear that while Namjoon’s good with his tongue when rapping, he’s also very smooth with it. You wonder if…

“I guess so,” you mumble, too flustered to look him in the eye now.

He chuckles quietly and sits opposite you, not bothering to eat himself.

“Not hungry?” you ask, feeling a bit more composed as you distract yourself by preparing your breakfast.

“Nope, I just ate. Just wanted to keep you company.”

“That’s nice of you, thanks. I really hate eating alone, though I do it almost every meal. So, I appreciate it.”

“No worries, I’m happy to keep you company.”

“So, you rap?”

A lazy smirk forms on Namjoon’s face, his head tilted up slightly, and you know full well he’s aware of what he did to your hormones minutes ago. He only hums in confirmation.

Cocky. But you like it, and it suits him. You just hope he’s not too confident—that would be a massive turnoff.

“Side hustle or hobby?”

“Hobby, but Yoongi’s been putting a bee in my bonnet, to be honest.”

“He’s persistent when it comes to talent.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m talented, but he’s a dope producer. I didn’t recognise him at first, but man, I’m lucky to have him here. A literal world star staying in my hostel. I’m gonna have to make a wall of fame or something.”

You snort at that because as ridiculous as it sounds seeing Yoongi on a ‘wall of fame’, Namjoon’s not wrong. Yoongi is world-famous, though he prefers to keep a low profile, which you admire. Well, most of the time. Him being this tight with the expenses of the trip leaves a bit of a sour taste in your mouth—not caused by the coffee, that’s for sure.

“Are you famous too, by any chance?”

You snort again, “You wish.”

“Shame.”

“Tell me about it. Even though I’m the broke one, I’m still the one sugar-mommying him,” you mumble through your bites, not wanting to waste time without filling your stomach.

Namjoon’s laugh lights up the morning even further, and you’re all too glad you booked this hostel. It would’ve been miserable spending your time alone while Yoongi’s off doing his own thing every chance he gets.

“Any chance of getting a separate room?”

“Why?”

“I can’t spend another night lying awake because of Yoongi’s snoring.”

You look at each other, and suddenly the inconvenience doesn’t seem as bad as it did all night. Namjoon’s laugh is going to be your secret weak spot from now on.

“Sure, I’ll just move your luggage if you haven’t unpacked yet.”

“That’d be great. Thanks so much.”

“No worries.” Namjoon watches you for a bit while you eat, like it’s the most fascinating thing happening to him.

You don’t mind at all—it’s not awkward—but you can tell you’re running out of time by how slowly you’re eating.

“When do we have to leave? Is C here already?”

“Yeah, he got here a few hours ago but went straight to the slopes. You’ve got a few more minutes. I’ve sorted out some gear for you at Hope’s. He’ll give you everything you need for the week.”

It’s a relief knowing Namjoon has thought of everything, especially since you’re not fond of surprises or poorly planned outings.

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

“It’s my job, ___.” He winks at you again, and if you weren’t so focused on shovelling food down, you’d probably melt into your seat.

“All done,” you mumble through your last bite, crumbs shamelessly falling as you stand up.

“Perfect timing. I told Yoongi how to get to Hope’s; it’s not far.”

Not wanting to thank him yet again like a broken record, you just nod and follow him to the main room, where Yoongi’s already by the door, waiting. You’re not sure why he’s so eager when he didn’t even want to come in the first place, but you don’t dwell on it as you say goodbye to Namjoon and head out, Yoongi handing you your coat.

The walk to Hope’s? You’re not really sure despite Namjoon mentioning the name twice, but to the guy who runs the ski and snowboard equipment hire shop indeed isn’t far.

As soon as you step into his shop, you’re hit with the sight of all kinds of winter sports gear and old-school rap blaring at full volume—likely coming from some speakers behind the counter where the seller greets you.

“Hey! How can I help you?”

“Hey, we’re guests of Namjoon and—”

“___ and Yoongi! Of course, Namjoon’s already told me! I’m Hoseok!”

“Weird.”

“Shut up,” you hiss at Yoongi. “That’s perfect. It’s our first time, and there’s no way we’d know what we need.”

“I’ve got you. Just follow me, I’ll start by getting the right boots for you.”

“Thanks.”

There are so many boots in all sorts of colours and sizes that you’re not sure if they’re all for hire or if some are for sale, but it doesn’t really matter. There’s no way you’re going snowboarding again after these two weeks, so you’d gladly pick whatever’s the comfiest.

Yoongi, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to share that thought, picking out the most expensive-looking boots. Truth be told, they do look the fanciest, and if you were as loaded as him, you’d go wild too. It’s with a jolt that you remember you’re the one paying for all this, and there’s no way you could afford the ones Yoongi’s holding up to inspect.

“Put them back,” you hiss, slapping his hand, scolding him for being so careless with your expenses.

“Ouch, that’s rude.”

“I’m not paying for them. Put them back before you damage them and I end up bankrupt.”

“So, what sizes do you usually wear?” Hoseok interrupts, completely unfazed by your bickering.

“Seven and a half.”

“Three and a half.”

“Dwarf.”

“Bigfoot.”

“I’ll bring you one size up,” Hoseok says with a smile. “Any particular colour you fancy?”

“Purple.”

“Black.”

“Got it, I’ll be right back.”

He leaves you both at the rack, disappearing behind a curtain into the back room.

“Could you stop embarrassing me, please?”

“I didn’t do shit, ___. Stop whining.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Need I remind you I’m doing you a favour here? Where’s the respect?”

“Sorry, oppa,” you bat your eyelashes at him mockingly.

“Say that again and I’m leaving.”

“How? Tony’s petrol’s empty. You’re going to walk home?”

“Bet.”

Just as you roll your eyes, Hoseok returns with two shoeboxes and two helmets, placing them down on a bench.

“I’ve brought you brand new ones. There weren’t many in your sizes I’d be comfortable renting out.”

Yoongi and you sit on opposite sides of the boxes while Hoseok removes the packaging from the new boots. Yours are purple, but just the laces and stitching—the rest is black, which gives them a more grown-up look compared to kids’ shoes. You fall in love with them instantly and eagerly grab one to put it on. But no luck.

Even though they’re fully open, you can’t seem to get your foot inside, despite your efforts. You stomp on the ground, pulling at the boot with both hands, but it’s no use. Yoongi, of course, isn’t struggling at all—typical, he’s good at everything.

“Here, let me help,” Hoseok kneels in front of you, securing your calf and the boot, angling the heel to the floor. “Now stand up and push your foot in.”

You do as he says, and with a soft, satisfying ‘plop’, your foot slides in without a hitch. “Thanks! That was easy!”

You repeat the process with the other boot, tightening the laces and clasps, then stand to take a few steps. You stumble slightly, not used to the weight and bulk of the boots, but soon get the hang of it.

“They need to fit quite snugly. When you’re fully geared up, make sure to fasten them as tight as possible. Otherwise, you’ll go flying, and your board will stay on the snow.”

“Oh. Right. Okay. Yeah, sure.”

You don’t like this. You don’t like the idea or the mental image of being catapulted out of your boots while your snowboard says c’est la vie.

To your amazement, the helmets Hoseok picked for you and Yoongi fit perfectly as well.

“If you’re feeling good, let’s get you sorted with snowsuits, yeah?”

You nod and attempt to follow Hoseok, but Yoongi pulls you back down onto the bench, your ass hitting the hard surface with a rather painful thud.

“Take them off, idiot. How are you going to get a suit on with those still on?”

Ugh… it’s obvious, really, but you’re too stressed and anxious about snowboarding to function properly. It’s in moments like this that you start spiralling, regretting your decision all over again. You’re not sure what gave your thoughts away, but Yoongi seems to notice the shift in your mood, as he rests a hand on your knee.

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m here. Don’t stress.”

You lock eyes with him, and you can see a bit of regret there. It’s normal for you two to bicker and take the piss out of each other, but it’s also normal for you both to care. You love each other, like cousins do, and part of you regrets ever thinking you’d made a mistake by bringing him on this trip. Because honestly, there’s no one else in your life right now you’d rather do this with.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s all good. You’ve got this, okay?”

You just nod, loosening the clasps and laces to take the boots off and helmet, then walk in your socks over to where Hoseok is rummaging through racks of snowsuits.

It doesn’t take long for Hoseok to get your right sizes and for Yoongi to disappear into the changing room first. You’re not really sure how to start a conversation with him, but thankfully you’re saved by the shop’s phone ringing.

“Excuse me,” Hoseok smiles politely, walking towards the counter where the phone is obviously placed.

“Hope’s, how can I help you?”

You hold the snowboard jacket in front of your chest, admiring its intricate design in the mirror hanging in front of you, trying not to obviously listen in on the call.

“Jaykaaaaay.”

You freeze, the nickname ringing all sorts of alarm bells in your head. There’s no way it’s Jungkook; like, literally, there might be a million other people with that nickname. You need to calm down somehow, because if your anxiety rises any further than it already has, you’re sure you’re going to die from heart failure.

Hoseok’s repeated and drawn-out calling of this nickname doesn’t help in the slightest, and you reckon that if he repeats it one more time, you’d punch him in the face, even though you’re so not the type to be violent. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Thankfully, the cheerful shouts stop, and Hoseok listens in until he locks eyes with you, a smile forming. You try to figure out if all the people in this town have such perfect teeth, if there’s a dentist who works magic, or if everyone just has perfect high-end genetics you could only dream of.

“Yeah, they’re here at the moment.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. What do Yoongi and you have to do with this phone call?

“Just a few more minutes. I’ll send them to the beginners’ hill when we’re finished, yeah?”

Okay, hold up—it must be the instructor on the other line, and Namjoon and Jimin called him C, but Hoseok just called him Jaykay, which has nothing to do with C nor BSC. Was it even BSC? Anyway. There’s a very real chance that it’s definitely not Jungkook, because, shame on you, you’ve seen him post a picture from Hawaii last night on socials, which, obviously, isn’t here.

You don’t feel the need to ask Hoseok who it was or what’s going on with these multiple nicknames. For all you care, it could be a 50-year-old, and you’re stressing yourself out for nothing.

Hoseok comes to your side after he’s hung up, and Yoongi emerges at this moment too, though he’s not modelling his snowboard suit but has it draped over his arm.

“Fits,” is all Yoongi says, nodding once in Hoseok’s direction.

“Perfect, now it’s your turn.” Hoseok gestures for you to the changing room, and you don’t waste any more time. The faster you’re out of here, the faster this day is over, and that’s all you want as the snowboarding course gets closer.

“Thanks,” you mumble, searching for Yoongi’s eyes for just a little more reassurance, but he’s already too busy having a normal and civil conversation with Hoseok, something you wish he’d do more often with you.

There’s not much room in the changing room, especially when the snowboard trousers are this wide and baggy, so you fall against the walls multiple times, trying not to faceplant onto the floor.

“You good?” Hoseok’s voice is heard from outside, and it’s so unbelievably embarrassing realising that Yoongi had no struggle trying the clothes on because there wasn’t a sound coming from him. Not because the walls are thick or soundproof—no, because he’s simply doing well, like every human being should.

“Yeah!” you call, hoping that the high-pitched tone of your voice doesn’t give you away. But who are you kidding? There’s the low but unmistakable giggle and some mumbled words from Yoongi, followed by Hoseok’s shrill laughter.

You’re going to kill Yoongi, going to push him down the hill and watch him become a snowball and crash into the abyss of a glacier. Stupid moron—you should have left him at home and come alone, and the sharp tug of your jacket’s zipper punctuates your resentment perfectly.

The anger fades as fast as it came, because you look like the coolest professional snowboarder on earth. You twist and turn, make a bum-check, but realise there’s not much to see in these oversized clothes. Still, you feel good in them, especially as your body heat multiplies, which is the best sign that you’ll survive all day in the snow.

Knowing you’ll have to leave as soon as you’re finished, you take the jacket off and rip the price tag away. After undoing the trousers and doing the same, you don’t care if the gear is expensive. Even if so, you’d still use it for sledging or in case of a blizzard or something. You’re sure you’ll get creative with its use.

Sipping everything back up, you collect your down jacket and step out of the changing room, not as elegantly as usual, but more with a rustle and a slight swaying due to the fabric. You can’t suppress the smile that grows on your lips, Yoongi and Hoseok looking equal parts amused and approving of your appearance. You’re all going to get a good laugh out of it when you’re wearing the snowboard boots as well, and that’s all you need right now—humour to suppress the anxiety.

Two snowboards are already lined up. Hoseok helps you into the boots again, while Yoongi masters dressing himself like a real grown-up.

“C’s going to adjust the boot holders on the snowboards for you, so you can just take them with you as they are. They fit your height. And you can leave your shoes and jackets here and collect them whenever you’re finished for the day.”

“That’d be great.”

“Thanks, Jwe-Hope.”

You side-eye Yoongi. Why’s he getting soft with Hoseok? And why does he give him yet another nickname, as if the man doesn’t already have enough?

“No prob, Yoongi hyung,” Hoseok says in an exaggeratedly playful tone, while Yoongi dabs him goodbye.

You’re fascinated by how Hoseok managed to melt the ‘Ice King’s’ heart in the few minutes you were away, and it’s even more fascinating how Yoongi just heads for the door without you even having paid yet.

“Yo, wait! I need to pay!”

“Yep, I’m outside having a smoke.”

There’s nothing you can do as Yoongi leaves without even turning back, your shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I’d like to pay, please.”

Hoseok nods with a smile and you follow him to the register. He scans one tag after the other, the price skyrocketing while your bank account starts to scream in the background.

“That’ll be 899 dollars,” he beams.

Your smile is wobbly, as is your hand as you hand over your credit card, knowing that this trip will be more expensive than you ever thought.

“Thanks again, Hoseok.”

“No problem, and please call me Hope.”

“Sure, Hope,” you say, securing your credit card in the inner pocket of your jacket. “Have a nice day, and see you later.”

“See ya, bye!” He waves enthusiastically as you head for the door, interrupting Eminem’s Godzilla with your stomping and rattling. How ironic.

Yoongi’s leaning against the shop’s wall as you step outside, just about to take a drag of his cigarette as he notices you glaring at him. Snatching the cigarette from his lips, you take a drag yourself.

“Thought you quit.”

“Give me a break, I need to calm my nerves.”

“Reckon some coke would be better, you’d feel invincible and wouldn’t be scared shitless.”

“Reckon you could just shut up, yeah?”

He just laughs as you give him his cigarette back and make your way to where you assume the slope is.

“This way.”

You stop in your tracks, taking a deep breath with closed eyes. You don’t want to go off at him again; you’ll need every ounce of energy, and wasting it by bickering isn’t the way to go.

Reluctantly, with the snowboard and helmet awkwardly clasped in your hands, you manage to follow Yoongi, though walking on asphalt is rather uncomfortable in these boots, though the walk might be again very short.

True to that, arriving in a few minutes at the beginner’s hill is a bit sobering. The hill’s neither high nor steep, even kids with sledges would probably call it boring, but you don’t mind one bit. Honestly, it’s perfect for you. No real chance of getting hurt and ending up like one of those cute little animals from Happy Tree Friends.

Off to the side, there’s the lift access and the main slopes, with skiers and snowboarders already queuing up for their first or maybe their nth lift of the day.

One snowboarder shooting down the steepest hill, which just so happens to be the only one of its kind, catches your attention. He’s dressed head-to-toe in black, and the way he moves is hypnotic. You can’t help but think he must be a pro, maybe even an Olympian.

“Look! He’s so good.” You point him out to Yoongi, who shifts from looking bored to mildly impressed.

“Why’s he coming our way, though?”

“No way.”

But it’s true. He’s definitely your instructor. And not some fifty-year-old guy, either. There’s a lump in your throat you can’t quite swallow, especially because this guy’s height seems just a little too familiar… maybe too much like Jungkook’s. As far as you remember, at least.

You try to reason with yourself. Tell yourself there’s no way this is happening, because he’s got to be in Hawaii—Instagram stories and TikToks made that pretty clear, playing the role of a drunk uncle on family gatherings who can’t keep personal matters shut. You cling to that thought as the man stops a few feet away from you. You cling to it when he takes off his helmet, revealing just a black balaclava. You cling to it even when his eyes give him away.

But when he pulls off the balaclava, all you’re left with is the crushing realisation that you’re absolutely, without a doubt, screwed.

“Hey.”

Jungkook’s voice hasn’t changed much—maybe it’s a little rougher, could be also just from the cold—but it’s still the sound that makes you want to cry. Or run. Honestly, either would work right now.

His eyes lock onto yours, and all you can do is stare, wide-eyed, as if he’s some unreal figure, like a fairytale character suddenly brought to life.

You’ve watched Jungkook mature over the last few years—not in person, but still. You’ve seen the piercings he’s got and the tattoos currently hidden beneath his gear and gloves, and you’re suddenly more than aware that even though he was perfect back then and you shouldn’t have persuaded him to get piercings and tattoos, he’s become the one man you always knew he would be, if not more.

“S’up,” Yoongi just nodding.

That makes Jungkook glance at him, almost as if he’s only just noticed he’s standing there. A small frown forms on his face, but it disappears just as quickly as it came, and he holds out his gloved fist for Yoongi to bump.

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, your instructor.”

“Min Yoongi.”

“The producer Min Yoongi?”

“The one and only.”

Jungkook glances back and forth between you and Yoongi several times, and it dawns on you—he doesn’t know you and Yoongi are cousins. Yoongi was abroad the entire time you were with Jungkook and only came back right after the split, so of course, he never met him. And this… this is something you can work with. Maybe you can use it to keep Jungkook at arm’s length, or at the very least, avoid a complete emotional meltdown if Jungkook’s indeed moved on.

So you laugh softly and link your arm with Yoongi’s, resting your head on his shoulder, who just looks down at you, clearly confused by your sudden affection but, to his credit, says nothing. He knows you well enough to trust there’s a reason behind it.

“___.”

“Jungkook.”

“You two know each other?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s my ex.” Jungkook’s smile isn’t the warm, beautiful one you remember. No, it’s that slightly unhinged smile, the one with his head tilted just so, and it makes you silently gulp.

“That ex?” Yoongi asks, even though he knows full well there’s only one. You reckon he caught on quickly to the game you’re playing.

You hum in agreement, but Jungkook can’t help himself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Luckily, Yoongi knows how to steer a conversation. “Aren’t we supposed to be learning how to snowboard?”

There’s a brief pause, and you see the way Jungkook’s nostrils flare slightly as he takes a deep, calming breath.

“Yes, sorry. Let’s get started.”

Jungkook bends down to unclip his boots from his board and stands up again, tossing his board into the snow so it sticks upright. Yoongi follows suit, shoving his board into the snow like it’s second nature. You try to copy them but fail miserably, wondering how they made it look so easy when the snow’s this solid.

“Here, let me help.” Yoongi, surprisingly, helps you without his usual snarky comments about your lack of strength.

“Alright,” Jungkook claps once to grab your attention. “Before we get into any of the fancy stuff, let’s talk theory. Snowboarding’s all about awareness. It’s not just physical—you’ve got to keep your head in the game.”

“Awareness? Like, where you’re looking?” Yoongi asks dryly, acting dumb you know he isn’t.

“Exactly. Where you’re looking, where your body’s pointing,” Jungkook gestures bizarrely between you and himself, barely glancing at Yoongi. “That’s where you’ll go. Simple as that. If you’re distracted—by, say, something or someone—you’ll lose focus. And losing focus means losing control.”

Yoongi, unfazed, just rolls with it, clearly enjoying the little drama Jungkook seems keen to stir up. “Makes sense. Keep your eyes on the path ahead, yeah?”

“Exactly, mate. Eyes forward, always. But it’s more than just looking. It’s feeling the terrain beneath you. Even when you’re standing still, you’re never really still. You need to sense the environment. Be present, y’know?”

You nod, though in reality, you’ve got no clue what he’s talking about.

“Some people, though,” Jungkook continues, “they get distracted easily. Head in the clouds. Or… elsewhere.”

Oh, you’re not letting that slide. Whether he’s jabbing at you, Yoongi, or both, you’re not having it. “Could you just explain the theory without the snide remarks?”

Jungkook’s taken aback, holding both hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, just trying to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

You just shake your head, and he carries on.

“Right. Balance—this is key. It’s all about your centre of gravity. Too stiff, and you’ll fall over. Too loose, and you’ll just flop around.”

“Don’t want that, do we?” Yoongi smirks, clearly challenging Jungkook to keep his little act going.

“No, mate, you really don’t. Trust me. You need to find that sweet spot—controlled, but relaxed. Kind of like…” he glances at you, “when you’ve got things under control in your life, but you’re still going with the flow, yeah?”

Your eyes narrow at him, but you bite your tongue. There’s no point in calling him out when Yoongi’s clearly enjoying winding him up.

“Sounds like life advice, that. Keepin’ balance, goin’ with the flow.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Jungkook mutters under his breath, “Not that everyone takes it to heart.”

Oh, no, he did not just say that. You never expected Jungkook to be this petty. He’s the one who moved on first. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing. Anyway, let’s get warmed up. Let’s do some exercises using the hill.”

You thought that ‘warming up’ would mean some jumping jacks and stretching, but oh, how wrong you are.

Jungkook has you and Yoongi running up and down the beginner’s hill without regret, and honestly, you can now confirm—it’s very much steeper than it looks.

While Jungkook just looks on, you and Yoongi can’t stop laughing and joking about how you are both panting like you’d just run a marathon, earning you multiple scoldings from Jungkook to stay focused. Not that it matters much, considering the only thing worth focusing on was trying to catch your breath—you nearly passed out twice at this point.

Despite Yoongi also being knackered, he still holds up better than you, but you can’t help but to clap him on the ass with a sarcastic “atta girl” more than once, which not only annoys him but seems to make Jungkook’s jaw clench in irritation too.

After what feels like the tenth climb, Jungkook finally calls it, walking towards you. “Enough. Short break.”

You and Yoongi groan in relief, collapsing onto the snow, letting your breathing slow down gradually. Only now, as you lie there exhausted, do you notice how beautiful the day is, the sky almost completely clear of clouds. From the position of the sun, you reckon it’s close to lunchtime, your stomach already growling in gratitude at the thought of food after all this exercise.

Turning your head to the side, you glance over at Yoongi, who’s also lying on the cool snow, admiring the sky. Suddenly, you feel sentimental. You really hit the jackpot having him as a cousin—he’s probably the most reliable person you know. It’s moments like this, especially when he turns to look at you with those soft eyes and that warm smile, that remind you how much you appreciate him. Reaching out, you intertwine your hands, knowing he’ll understand the rare moment of affection and let it happen for once.

“Thanks for doing this with me.”

“Anytime.” Yoongi squeezes your hand, his gummy smile spreading across his face, a trait he’s clearly inherited from his dad.

Jungkook’s rather aggressive throat-clearing reminds you that you’re indeed not alone. Your petty ex is standing right there, looking as irritated as he’s been all day.

“Let’s do some stretches, then we’ll get on the boards,” he says, trying to mask his annoyance but clearly fails.

You and Yoongi drag yourselves up, lining up in front of Jungkook like school kids, who’s about to demonstrate some stretch when, in the distance, someone calls out Jungkook’s nickname—one you’ve found increasingly odd now.

“C!”

There’s a beautiful woman running towards him waving energetically, the same woman you saw in pictures with him on social media.

“Hara!” Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop her up when she’s near, lifting her off the ground as they giggle together.

You’d never admit it, but the sight makes you feel physically sick. You’d rather gouge your eyes out than watch this scene unfold ever again. At least you’ve made Jungkook believe you’re with Yoongi—otherwise, you’re not sure how you’d survive the fresh stab to your heart.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here?” she scolds him playfully, tapping his arm while he still holds her hands.

You can’t bear the sight of his eyes sparkling for someone else, so you turn to Yoongi, who’s raising an eyebrow at you, silently asking if you’re okay. There’s no need to respond. You both know the truth—you’re still not over your ex. But what could you have done? Begged him to take you back before he found someone else? No. That’s not who you are, and you wouldn’t have stopped him from living the life he clearly enjoys now.

But seeing him today, seeing how hurt he is just by the sight of you—or rather, you with someone else—makes you uneasy. Especially when Hara is being overly affectionate with him.

“Oh, how rude of me. I’m Hara.” She turns to you, extending her delicate hand. You briefly consider ignoring her, but you decide to be the bigger person. Unlike Jungkook, who’s been cold all day, you take off your glove and shake her hand, introducing yourself politely. Take that, Jungkook.

She moves on to Yoongi, and after he introduces himself, her face lights up like a kid at Christmas.

“Oh my God! I’m such a fan! You’re, like, the best producer ever!” she gushes, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to burst out laughing at the sour expression on Jungkook’s face.

You: 2, Jungkook: 0.

“Really?” you ask with a mischievous grin, keen to twist the knife further. “Oppa, you should definitely sign something for her, don’t you think?”

Yoongi shoots you a look that could kill, but he simply smiles, his eyes betraying all the curses he’s silently aiming at you. “Of course.”

Still clutching Yoongi’s hand like it’s a lifeline, Hara turns her head back to Jungkook. “Oh my God! Did you hear that, C?”

“I heard,” Jungkook replies through gritted teeth. “Why are you out here in the cold, by the way?”

“Oh, right. I came to tell you that Namjoon’s arranged lunch at Tae’s.”

“That’s nice of him,” you sing sweetly, unable to resist adding a little extra honey to your voice. Everyone else gets your praise, everyone but Jungkook. Maybe you’re just as petty as he is, but you’re not backing down now, especially not when you can see his patience fraying by the second, his eyes dark with annoyance. A reaction is a reaction at this point.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Hara continues, turning and clinging to Jungkook’s arm and batting her eyelashes at him, “can you pretty, pretty please come to Jin’s tonight and tomorrow? We need help getting everything ready for the party in two days.”

It’s odd seeing Jungkook so easily swayed by her, the kind of behaviour you never thought he’d entertain. But maybe he’s changed, or maybe you never knew him as well as you thought.

“Sure, anything for you.”

Yep, you’re definitely going to throw up in the snow.

“What party?” Yoongi pipes up, earning himself a mental kick from you. There’s no way you’re attending a party where Jungkook will be.

“An early Christmas party! You’re both invited, of course. From what I’ve heard from Jimin and Namjoon, you two fit right in with everyone here,” she giggles.

For once, you and Jungkook seem to be on the same page, as he starts, “I’m sure they’ve got better—”

But for what feels like the hundredth time today, Yoongi interrupts, “No, we’d love to come. Thanks for inviting us.”

That crazy smile Jungkook had earlier is now plastered across your face as you look at Yoongi. Despite the silent argument raging between you two, you can’t help but trust him. Whatever plan he’s concocting, you have no idea, but you’re sure he’ll fill you in when you’re back at the hostel, alone.

For now, though, you trust him, because what else can you do?

"Let’s head to Tae’s then."

“With the boards?” you ask dumbly, because there’s no way you’re carrying your board across town.

“No, just leave it here and see what happens.” Jungkook smiles, a grin that instantly vanishes when Hara punches his chest.

“What’s with you? Be kind.”

“Sorry, noona.”

Ooh. So he’s with an older woman. Who’d have thought? It shouldn’t get under your skin this much, but it’s been a crap day, hell, even some crap years, and there’s nothing you can do to undo every thrilling experience you wish you hadn’t gone through because of him.

“I’ll help,” Yoongi mutters, grabbing not just his snowboard but yours too. If there’s one thing you could do to repay him for this gesture, it’d be to name him the sole recipient in your will. Not that you’ve got much to leave behind, but the thought counts, right?

You hadn’t expected ‘Tae’s’ to be a cabin on the slopes nearby, nor did you think it’d be a luxurious home rather than a restaurant. As you approach the door, you’re impressed—there’s no sign of it being some kind of inn as Hara rings the bell.

It doesn’t take long for someone to open the door, wearing nothing but some slacks and an open bathrobe, showing off his tanned, chiselled chest.

“C!”

“Tae!”

The two men pull each other into a bear hug, patting each other’s backs like they’re trying to knock the wind out of each other. Male friendships—you’ll never get them, and honestly, you’re glad you were born a woman with every violent tap.

When they part and Tae gives Hara a few friendly kisses on the cheek, you notice she’s just as comfortable with him as she is with Jungkook. Odd.

Then Tae turns to greet you and Yoongi. His eyes widen when he spots Yoongi, and a huge, boxy smile spreads across his face, so wide it looks like his face might split.

“Hyung!”

“Taehyung,” Yoongi replies, sounding strangled as he gets crushed in the taller man’s arms.

You’re torn between being amused by the visible disgust on Yoongi’s face as he’s squashed against Taehyung’s bare chest or offended that Yoongi never mentioned he knows someone who lives here.

“Please let me go.”

“Sorry, hyung, it’s been ages! How are you?”

“Good.”

“Ah, I’m doing well too, hyung, I’ve missed you.”

“I can tell.”

It’s amusing how Jungkook and Hara are a bit thrown off by Yoongi’s coldness, but as far as you can tell, both you and Taehyung know it’s just Yoongi being his little ray of sunshine. He’s genuinely happy to see Taehyung again, even if he doesn’t show it openly.

“And who’s this Miss Universe you’ve brought along? Are you on your honeymoon?”

You don’t have a chance to answer when Taehyung turns to you, because frankly, his intense gaze and barely-dressed body in the cold are a bit overwhelming. It’s kind of bizarre that he’s standing there in the open, half-naked, while the rest of you are bundled up for the weather. You force yourself not to check if his nipples are hard and instead stretch out your hand politely.

“That’s ___.” Yoongi’s voice is heard.

But Taehyung ignores your outstretched hand and steps forward, pulling you into an embrace and kissing your cheek, completely throwing your composure out the window.

“Are you two dating?”

You glance at Yoongi over Taehyung’s shoulder, both of you equally unsure how to answer. Yes, you’re pretending, but outright lying is something neither of you is comfortable with.

“We’re—” you start to say, dragging it out, but thankfully, for reasons you can’t quite grasp, Jungkook grabs Taehyung’s shoulder, pulling him away from you and cutting in. For once, you’re grateful for Jungkook’s stupidity.

“Let’s get inside. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Yes, right! Come in, come in.”

Entering Taehyung’s place is nothing short of wild. The grand open space is filled with dubious art pieces, the kind where you’d rather not know the price tag.

It doesn’t take long to kick off your snowboard boots and gear, leaving you in your base layers. Despite the warmth inside, the sudden shift in layers makes you shiver slightly, especially since there’s nothing in your stomach to keep you warm.

Following Taehyung further inside, you let your eyes wander, and you can’t help but stop when you spot the massive dining table, looking more like something out of a castle. It’s not the Korean BBQ on it that catches your attention but rather the chairs lined up around it. They’re shiny black. Not so unusual, except for the fact that they’re shaped like the backside of a person—naked, at that.

Yoongi, absolutely unfazed, just grins and gives you a light shove on the lower back to keep you moving.

“I hope you’re hungry. I brought plenty, so don’t feel like you’ve got to be all posh and eat like a bird.”

Rounding the table, you sit down beside Yoongi, while Hara joins Taehyung on the other side of the table. Why Jungkook chose to sit next to you, when there are thousands of other free chairs, is a mystery you’re not eager to unravel. Especially when you shoot him an irritated look as he sits down, and he just smiles like it’s the most normal thing in the world—as if the two of you weren’t split ages ago.

Not wanting to dwell too long on that and because you’re intestines are eating you alive at this point, you turn to your host.

“Thanks for having us, Taehyung. I’m starving after being tortured all morning.”

Everyone laughs at your comment—except Jungkook, who tries to nudge your ribs with his elbow, but you dodge, still somehow familiar with his antics.

“I didn’t torture you.”

“You did,” Yoongi mutters, boldly reaching for the meat to throw on the table grill, which has been sizzling away since you sat down.

“C always tortures people, nothing new,” Hara remarks, and Jungkook looks more betrayed than the day you broke up with him.

“You’re mean, noona.”

“‘You’re mean, noona,’” you mock him, cringing at yourself even as the words come out. It disgusts you how petty you’re being, and you recoil from it inwardly. The others don’t seem to share your sentiment, laughing at Jungkook being moody.

“Oppa, how do you know Taehyung?”

“Please, just call me Tae.”

“You remember the paintings in my studio? He’s the artist.” Yoongi answers you casually, though you can sense how much it bothers him being called oppa.

“No way! That’s so cool!” You gush, letting your eyes drift to the artwork hung on the walls as Yoongi adds food to your plate, much to Jungkook’s annoyance, which he makes clear with a side-eye.

“Aww, it’s not much.”

“Shut up, you’re amazing,” Hara scolds Tae, and you can’t help but think that, under other circumstances, you’d probably want to be friends with her. She seems funny and genuinely nice, which just makes it suck more the longer you dwell on it.

“I’ve been looking for a painting to hang above my bed for ages, but I can never find the right one,” you mention, trying to steer the conversation as far away from Jungkook as possible.

“If something catches your eye, you’re free to have it, ___.”

“Really?!”

“Don’t spoil her; she doesn’t deserve it,” Yoongi jokes, and you know he’s kidding with the way his eyes flit to you.

“Wow,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, but before you can respond, Taehyung cuts in.

“Why? What did she do?”

Oh no. Yoongi wouldn’t… but of course, he does.

“Little Miss Adrenaline here has been dragging me to most of her adventures since I got back from the States.”

“That’s not true. It’s only been a few,” you try to save face, but it’s hopeless with Yoongi being both your closest ally and worst enemy.

“So bungee jumping, kite surfing, and now snowboarding isn’t ‘most’?”

“No! I’ve done plenty without you, stop lying.”

“But it was enough.”

“They’re bickering like an old married couple,” Hara laughs, clearly torn between which of you to watch.

“It’s not enough—you’ve left me on my own more times than I can count!”

“At least I was there when you whined beforehand and came back all fuzzy after.”

“How noble of you.”

“You don’t seem like the thrill-seeker type, no offence,” Taehyung adds when Yoongi doesn’t come back with a retort.

“Well, sometimes you’ve got to step out of your comfort zone.”

“Yeah! Look at you, trying snowboarding all bold and brave! Kind of like all the things you said you weren’t into when we were dating.”

The table falls into a deathly silence. Jungkook’s words ring out in the open space, echoing painfully in your heart and being. You’re stunned, utterly speechless at his outburst—it’s so unlike the Jungkook you knew. You don’t know what to say, and thankfully, Yoongi spares you the need.

“Want some more meat?”

“Yes, thank you.” Your voice is quiet, too low to betray the trembling in it, but you’re sure everyone feels the hurt radiating from you. You don’t want to feel like a kicked puppy, but somehow, because Jungkook still means so much to you, it stings deeply.

The conversation between the others resumes, though you and Jungkook remain silent for the rest of the meal, though you reckon he doesn’t regret anything.

You learn that Hara is the same age as Yoongi, and that Taehyung is a bit older than Jungkook—though only by two years.

Even though you haven’t recovered from Jungkook’s jab just yet, you start to enjoy the food, feeling more energised than you did this morning. Jungkook, however, is still steeped in his pettiness, especially when Yoongi helps you tear a perilla leaf off the stack.

It shouldn’t be a big deal, but the constant negative energy from Jungkook is draining you to the point where you’re not sure you’ll even make it back outside for the snowboarding session.

Luckily, neither Yoongi nor Jungkook seem to mind dragging the day out here at Taehyung’s place. Hours pass, and after Tae makes you his special smoothie for your ‘sure-to-be-sore muscles,’ and Hara spills all the gossip you never knew you needed, it’s clear the snowboarding course is off for today.

While Tae and Hara clean up the kitchen, and Yoongi and Jungkook, to your surprise, get along enough to talk shop about music, you take the opportunity to admire Tae’s paintings, hoping to find one that fits what you’ve been searching for.

There are several abstract pieces, bold in colours and strokes, but they feel too chaotic, making you feel restless. You’re about to give up when your eyes land on a smaller piece above the fireplace, drawing you in immediately.

It’s beautiful—abstract as well, but with muted colours. You think you can make out flowers, or perhaps there are angels. You’re not sure, but the painting exudes a calm, controlled aura that you can’t tear yourself away from. Reading the title on the little card in the corner, you see “All of My Good is Yours.” It’s poetic, and it speaks to you on a deeper level.

“You like it?” Taehyung asks, stepping up beside you, hands in the pockets of his bathrobe. With his tousled hair and laid-back vibe, he looks every bit the artist.

“Yes, it’s lovely.”

“You want it?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.”

“Of course you can. I’d be happy to gift it to you.”

You smile softly, thanking him as you admire the painting once more, already picturing it above your bed.

“What’s the title about?” you ask, curious about the story behind the piece.

“C? Come over here real quick.”

You’re more than confused when Tae calls for Jungkook, not understanding the connection between him and this painting. You just hope the confusion isn’t written as plainly on your face as it is on Jungkook’s when he approaches you both, stopping just short between you and Tae.

“S’up?”

“What’s the title about?”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker nervously between you, the painting, and Taehyung. “Why are you asking?”

“I gifted her your painting,” Taehyung beams, completely unaware he’s just dug your grave and pushed you in.

The laugh that escapes Jungkook is anything but friendly, his eyes filled with what looks to close to hatred as they land on you.

“Of course,” he breathes, then eventually explains with a disdainful smirk, “it’s about a lover who knows he can’t live without the other.”

You’re shocked to the core. Was this painting meant for Hara, and it ended up at Tae’s by mistake? Or why would Jungkook paint something so meaningful in the first place? You can’t handle it after learning the meaning and that he painted it, even though it’s exactly what you’d envisioned.

You take the hit anyway and say, as neutrally as possible, “I guess I shouldn’t take it then. It feels too personal.”

“Why?” Jungkook scoffs. “It was supposed to be yours anyway.”

Jungkook turns around at that, leaving you gaping after him. It’s not just his mood swings but also his remarks that are giving you whiplash at this point, and seeing the equally shocked expression on Taehyung’s face, you reckon Jungkook isn’t usually this bitter.

“Well…”

“Well…” Taehyung echoes.

“Still want it?”

Do you? You’re not sure anymore, but maybe there’s enough time to figure out if you can look past it all and take it home.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Sure, just let me know, and I’ll pack it up for you.”

“Thanks, Tae. You’re too kind.”

“No worries.” He smiles as he walks back with you to where the others are lounging on his massive couch.

You don’t even have the chance to sit before Yoongi stands up and nudges you back to your feet. “We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

“I want a nap.”

“What about the course?” Jungkook chimes in.

“Tomorrow, mate. Today’s done.”

You’re grateful Yoongi made the decision for you because you wouldn’t have been able to say no to either Jungkook’s company or the course itself, even though both aren’t exactly the healthy pastime. But looking outside, with the late afternoon light fading, going back to the slopes doesn’t seem as inviting as it did earlier.

“Aight,” Jungkook says, clapping his hands on his thighs as he stands up too, completely unfazed by your puzzled expression.

“Wait, we need to get our stuff from Hope’s,” you call after Yoongi, who’s already slipping into his boots.

“I’ll call him and let him know you’re coming tomorrow,” Taehyung offers.

You’re not sure if it’s rude of you to leave it like that, but you thank him anyway, hoping it won’t be a big deal.

Everyone’s getting dressed in seconds, and once again, you’re struggling with your boots while everyone else watches. You try not to let the embarrassment show, but there’s no stopping the blush. Even when you throw pleading glances at Yoongi, he doesn’t offer any help.

“Let me help.”

Jungkook being the one to help is something you never expected after how the day has gone, but you’re grateful nonetheless. He bends down, and like Hope earlier, he takes the boot and your calf in his hands.

It’s nostalgic, him touching you, helping you when you’re the damsel in distress, and it makes you think about how different things would’ve been if you’d stayed by his side. You’re not sure how to feel—sad or angry. But who should you be angry at? Him? For moving on? Or yourself? Or maybe at Yoongi, for not stepping up like a cousin should in moments like this?

“Thank you, Kook.” You hadn’t meant for the nickname to slip, hadn’t wanted to see Jungkook’s starry eyes locked onto yours as though you’ve broken his heart all over again. But what’s done is done, and there’s no taking it back now. Not even the nickname.

“Thanks for having us, Tae.” Yoongi gives him a quick dab, and after Jungkook does the same, and you say your goodbyes, you leave with Hara.

You try to stay close to Yoongi, avoiding the other two. You don’t even have the energy to scold him for not helping you earlier. And while you walk silently towards the hostel, Hara takes a different route to wherever she’s staying.

You don’t ask, and you definitely don’t watch as she kisses Jungkook’s cheek as if they won’t see each other later at Jin’s. It’s different from how she kissed Taehyung, and you’re pretty sure even if they’re not officially dating, they’re at least sleeping together. The thought stings though.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach Namjoon’s hostel, Jungkook, maybe for old time’s sake, opens the door for you to step in first, and when the door chime rings, you both glance up at the same time. There’s none of the old playfulness in his gaze, just a sadness you wish you’d never seen. You reckon it’s all just old feelings resurfacing—thoughts of the good times, ignoring all the things that went wrong.

“Hey! You’re back!” Namjoon calls from behind the reception desk, flipping through some books as the three of you stomp inside with your snow-covered boots. Just hours ago you thought his smile and laugh would be your weak spot, only to fade into insignificance after Jungkook’s presence. “How was it?”

“I’m still alive,” you and Yoongi mutter in unison, bringing a small smile to your lips. It’s not much, but it’s all you can muster right now.

“Told you C would take good care of you both.” Namjoon laughs while Jungkook shrugs off his jacket. He’s probably too warm already, like he always is.

“Your luggage is—”

“In our room, thanks, Namjoon.” You hope he catches the hint as you give him a crazed look, willing him to stop talking.

“Right, in your room.”

To his credit, Namjoon’s clearly confused, and he’s got every right to be, but he plays along, which is exactly what you need right now.

“I’m taking a nap. Bye.”

“Bye!” You wave at Namjoon, following Yoongi in a desperate bid to escape spending another minute with Jungkook. It feels rude, the way you’ve treated Namjoon, but you hope he’ll brush it off as exhaustion.

You just want a bath and then to crash, even though it’s still early evening. It doesn’t matter that Yoongi’s snoring will probably keep you up; as long as you don’t have to face Jungkook again today, that’s all that matters. Especially when you see him entering the room across from yours as you close the door to the honeymoon suite, knowing that he’ll be off to be with Hara any minute.

masterlist • 02

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @leah-rose03

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zeedist · 1 month ago

Text

MAD AT HIM .ᐟ — ALHAITHAM

when you're angry at him : summary: you're mad at him. he wants to die. that's it. sfw !! fem!reader x alhaitham, academic setting, several mentions of "i want to die" but playfully [i am not sure if that should be warned, but now you know] word count: 1.2k proofread: yup.

“Hey, Alhaitham,” the blond calls for him. Kaveh squints his carmine eyes, looking at his usually collected friend spilled on the table, head buried in his arms. He forms a question —though it lingers more in him being weirded out rather than worried, “Are you sick?”

He hums. He feels sick.

“Yeah,” the gray-haired agrees. With a tilt of his head, Cyno calmly remarks, “You look like shit.”

He grumbles. He feels like shit.

Elongated black ears perk up and twitch the slightest, interest peaking at his clearly disheveled state as Tighnari agrees, “Yeah, you look like you are about to die.”

He doesn’t make a sound. He feels like he is about to die.

Eyeing him sideways while placing down a card, the dark-haired ventures to ask, “Did you mess with that weird rat you showed me last time?”

He lets out an offended pff. Like hell he was stupid enough to touch that fucked up rat —one that you, in the kindness of your heart, took in to heal and take care of; and one he couldn’t wait to chug back into the wild. Seriously, that thing was weird.

“Of course not,” Tighnari reads through his muffled sound, guessing again, “You caught a cold?”

“That would be a first,” Cyno remarks as he makes his move, chuckling with satisfaction when the blond complains before taking four more cards from the deck.

“Gah, I was so close to winning,” Kaveh grumbles as he organizes his cards, settling them down. Without resistance, he takes the deck from the miserable man’s hand and plays his turn for him. After double blocking the other two, he smiles smugly and returns to his own deck. Only then does he add to their conversation, joking lightly, “It isn’t like the world is ending, or like your girl is breaking up with you, so what makes you like this?”

Alhaitham makes a sound between laughter and crying. The first thing is happening currently. And if the second ever became a reality, he would have been on raw knees begging for a second chance or he would be digging a hole to bury himself alive in. Maybe both, in that order.

The other three continue their game —taking turns to play his part—, trying to nudge a response out of him with questions and little jokes. After several attempts and only receiving incoherent and downcast grumbles as a reply, they gave up on trying to make him speak it out. Minutes smoothly pass, the round ending with Kaveh holding half of the deck. Their conversation starts drifting from their days to their current projects, still trying to rope in Alhaitham with questions he only shook his head to. In the end, it’s Tighnari that carries the dialogue, sharing about a research that he is carrying out about a newly discovered sub-species of a fungi.

And it isn’t that he’s arrogant or an attention-seeker, Alhaitham simply can’t place the turmoil inside of him with words. How is he even supposed to explain the pit in his stomach right now?

His entire existence [you] crumbles into dust, disintegrating like fragile debris slipping through weakened fingers [ignoring him] as if the universe itself is conspiring to forsake him. All because of one unforgivable misstep —a moment of tragic weakness when exhaustion claimed him [he dozed off in the library when he was supposed to meet up with you] and made him fail you. Now, the very foundation of his world is unraveling, rotting from the core, decaying into nothingness beneath the weight of his regret.

He decays. He rots. He hopes he dies.

Only when Tighnari comments to him that he should bring you along to hear to his presentation, Alhaitham lifts his head, hands dragging across his face as he mumbles out with a hoarse voice, “She is upset at me. I think I should go die now.”

“Oh, what did you do?” Kaveh asks, sincerely worried now. Though his hands keep mixing the deck of cards, preparing to deal them for another round.

“I didn’t sleep at all last night and passed out when I was supposed to see her,” he replies, sounding so miserable even he cringes at his own roughened voice. But he continues, knot on his throat as he grimaces, “And now she won’t even reply to my messages.”

“Oh shit,” Cyno comments, very helpfully.

“Have you tried looking for her?” Tighnari offers, very helpfully. His brows are furrowed, but he doesn’t exactly look panicked, “I am sure she will understand if you apologize sincerely.”

“I left her waiting for so long,” Alhaitham sighs, heavy and annoyed with himself, flopping his head back down to the table and lamenting, “And I never showed up. I want to die.”

“If you do, can I perhaps keep your body for study purposes—”

“Cyno!”

“What? I can't stop him, look at him, Nari.”

The ever composed student with a straight posture and grades, slumped and sulking as if he prayed the ground would split and swallow him straight to hell. Time doesn’t allow him too much of his self-hating session, though, as the break reaches its end and the shattering sound of bells ringing throughout the cafeteria announces it.

Kaveh sighs as he gathers the cards he just dealt back into their deck —an elegant way to refer to the barely-holding together package it originally came with. It now held on masking tape and their suffering. He stuffs the item inside his briefcase, locking it with a click before he stands up. With a low sigh, he offers his miserable friend a pat in the shoulder, “It’ll be okay, you guys will talk it out. Gotta go now, my professor will skin me alive if I arrive late again. See ya!”

Alhaitham manages to murmur a goodbye right as the blond waves and runs away. Always rushing, always late. Tighnari found this amusing again, chuckling at that as he collects their trash from the table to throw away on his way out. With a pat on the shoulder and a gentle smile, he tries to reassure him with, “It’s not unfixable. Think it out and apologize.”

He thanks him for his sincere words, though his chest stirs with an unhappy feeling. It isn’t fear, he isn’t afraid. Your relationship had been going strong since the first moment, steadily growing closer with everyday you spent together. He trusts you, trusts the bond you share. He can say he loves you now. Which is precisely why it breaks his heard so much to fail you like this.

Cyno watches him returning to his sulking form, sighing heavily while brushing his hand through faded locks. He’s torn, not knowing exactly how to comfort or advise him, so he does what he can. With a nudge to his arm, he asks, “Want me to walk you to your next lesson?”

Alhaitham remains silent for a second, before grumbling, “The love of my life is mad at me. I’ll die now, thank you.”

#alhaitham x female reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x you #imagine if you aren't replying because you are working in a lab with no phone #the poor man #🌱﹕academia days

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clockwayswrites · 8 months ago

Text

City Pigeons Part 12 CW: blood, past trauma and experimentation

Jason could almost go to sleep. He wouldn’t, not when he was the only Bat in the apartment, but it would be so easy to. Danny made a really good weighted blanket.

It seemed once the kid got over touching someone, he basically became a koala. Cass and Danny had spent the morning wrapped around each other on the couch. Cass was playing one of her weird clicking games and Danny, blue bear in his lap, was scrolling through articles on the tablet that Tim had brought him the other day.

Now, though, Cass was out on a snack run and Danny had slowly slumped over until he was laying across Jason. It wasn’t minded. Jason could admit he still had some trouble with touch himself, but it was easy to be there for Danny like this.

The problem was, Jason needed to get back to Crime Alley for at least a few nights. He was already past when Red Hood should have made an appearance. It he didn’t go back soon, rumors were going to start that he was dead. Again.

Jason waited for Danny to start searching for a new article to read to ask, “Are you alright with meeting someone soon?”

He didn’t expect Danny to tense like he did.

“Robin?”

“No, Dandelion,” Jason said, stroking Danny’s white hair. “N talked with Robin and he knows not to stop by like that without warning. We’ll have him over when you’re comfortable but not before.”

“Okay. Sorry. I don’t mean to…”

“None of that. He freaked you out,” Jason said. “I know he didn’t mean to, and from our guess it’s not his fault how he feels like to you, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t. It’s okay to set boundaries.”

“He… doesn’t feel weird to you?”

Jason sighed. “No. I guess I don’t sense it. I didn’t know you had died until you told me.”

“Oh.” Danny’s voice was small and quiet.

“But I knew that I had died— the others know it’s too,” Jason was quick to add. “It’s alright that you died. No one will think differently of you.”

“They might. It’s… you’re different than me, I guess.”

“I don’t know, because I don’t know what happened to you, but I actually hope so. The way I came back wasn’t pleasant.” Jason had to take a breath before he continued. “I was murdered by a rogue in town called the Joker. I woke up… we’re still not sure when exactly, but somewhere about half a year later. I didn’t have any of my memories, but I still had most of my injuries.

“I was picked up by some people you might hear us refer to— the League of Assassins. They put me back together about a year after my death by tossing me in something called the Lazarus Pits. Those things come with a price though, one that I’m still paying. Coming back was… hard, in a lot of ways.”

“Oh,” Danny said. He clung a little to Jason’s shirt, like he wanted to make sure Jason was still there. It was a feeling Jason understood all too well. “I, um, don’t think I’ve ever stayed really dead for more than a minute or two. At least not like… not like you were.”

Jason rested his hand on Danny’s back, feeling him breath. Feeling him… feeling him not breathe.

“…Danny?”

Danny clung tighter to Jason’s shirt. “Go ahead, ask.”

“Are you… somewhat dead right now?”

“Yes.”

Just one word. A simple answer.

“Okay. That’s— okay. I’m glad there’s a reason that you’re not breathing,” Jason said and pressed a kiss to the top of Danny’s head as he tried to calm his own pounding heart.

“I think B.B. knows. I usually… it’s habit to breath but sometimes I forget and—”

“She’s good at noticing things.” Jason would have to talk with her. “But that goes to what I said, right? None of the others will thinking of you differently.”

“Even if…”

“Even if anything.”

Danny sat up and Jason resisted the urge to reach for him. It took him a moment longer to release Jason’s shirt. Jason sat up slowly and waited for Danny to get the words out he was obviously working on.

“Can I show you?”

“Course.” Jason braced himself for anything.

“It might be bright, close your eyes.”

The flash still shown through Jason’s eyelids.

“Oh.” Danny’s voice wavered horribly. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Danny?” Jason was reaching forward even as he opened his eyes.

It was good he did.

He had to catch Danny as he wavered dangerously. Danny’s who hair was black. Who’s eyes were blue. Who looked all the more like Bruce’s son. Who was bleeding red.

“Jesus and Mother Mary,” Dick cursed, resting his forehead against his wrist’s.

Cass came over and peeled the bloody gloves off for him. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Dick wheezed.

“Badly.”

Jason barked out a laugh at that. It was unstable in a way that reminded the room of worse days.

The door banged open and they all jolted, everyone but Cass, who was better than that, and Danny who was still out cold.

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” Tim rambled. “Is he stable?”

“Yes,” Cass answered. Her voice was calm, but but Duke could see the way that she fidgeted. For anyone else it wouldn’t be called fidgeting, but the way that she untied and retied and untied the trash bag in his visions told Dick otherwise.

Cass was as worried as the rest of them.

“Signal?” Tim asked. He came into the room, tablet already pulled up to record everything.

“Hard for me to say,” Duke said with a little shrug. He wished he could say, but he was still trying to understand what he was seeing. “The guy is… he’s like no one I’ve ever seen before. But I think he’s getting stronger.”

“That’s— holy fuck.” Tim paused as he finally got a look at Danny.

“Really looks like the old man like this, doesn’t he?” Jason asked. He was trying to hide how his hands were trembling by keeping his arms crossed. Everyone in the room let him pretend.

Duke sure wouldn’t have wanted to be the one Danny collapsed on like that. It was bad enough being the third one there as he swung over from his patrol. The cuts had still been appearing on Danny’s skin, ripping him apart like he was nothing.

He didn’t look much better all bandaged up.

“I think the cuts were ones he must have sustained before changing forms before he even met us,” Duke reasoned. “They… felt old.”

Dick rubbed at his face. “So the whole time they were there just waiting to bleed?”

Jason laughed again. “Waiting for him to be alive again.”

Slowly, Dick dropped his hands and looked up at Jason. “Jay?”

Okay, so they were at the point of forgetting cape-names now. That was a great sign.

Confusingly, Jason looked to Cass, who actually fidgeted.

“He doesn’t breathe. He does, not always. His heart beats, not always. It is like he…,” she twisted her hand as if trying to grab onto the right word. “Like he relaxes and forgets.”

Well that was weird. Dick nodded to the monitor that he had helped hook up. “He’s breathing right now and the monitor says his heartbeat is hella slow, but steady.”

“This is his alive form, I think. More alive form,” Jason said with a shrug. “His other form is his more dead form. He said he’s never stayed ‘really dead’ like I was. I think ‘really’ was the important word in that. He stressed it like it was… a technically or some shit.”

“Or a loophole,” Tim said. He was watching Danny with his head tilted just slightly to the right.

It was a pose that had Duke straightening up in attention. “What do you see that I can’t?”

Tim glanced at him and then back down at Danny. “The scars don’t match.”

“Ti—Red, please just say it,” Dick pleaded, exhaustion hanging on his words.

“Sorry, I was. I mean, the scars he has now don’t exactly match the scars he had in his— what are we calling it? Dead form?”

Jason flinched.

Dick’s eyes flicked from Jason to Tim. “Let’s go with… ghost. Undead, you know?”

Tim continued on valiantly. “His scars don’t match with what he had in his ghost form. There are a few like around his neck that I think are one-to-one and a lot of them are in the same place from what I can see and might be the same? I’d have to take photos and compare. But… he has more in this living form, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, right, so that’s a thing,” Jason said. He slid down the wall he was leaning against until he was squatting. He hung his head between his knee and wrapped his hands around the back of his neck.

Duke could see Jason passing out with enough probability that he slipped out of the room to grab some sour candy for Jason and an icepack for the back of his neck. Being honest with himself, Duke could use the moment out of the room. It was a lot to deal with.

Man, someone would have to do something about the bloody couch too… Dick sighed and took the time to send a message to Babs about it as well as an update. Knowing her she had a list of all the furniture in all the safe houses and could get a slipcover ordered on same day delivery. At least he hoped so. Everyone was taking this pretty hard and they didn’t need the reminder.

Duke figured the bad reaction was pretty fair though, they had thought that Danny was getting better and now his healing was going to be set back. Dick would be guilty because he hadn’t been here, Jason going through his issues about kids and violence and death, and Cass already counted Danny as family. She was never good when family was hurt. It was even worse that Danny should have been safe, he was under their watch.

Duke set the pack of candy and ice pack down next to Jason’s foot, close enough that he should be able to feel the cold, and backed up to his corner. It was best not to touch right then. He wasn’t afraid of Jason ever hurting him purposefully, but he was also very aware for Jason it might not always be purposeful.

Cass joined him, leaning against his side, and Duke wrapped an arm around her. Tim was tapping away on his tablet, mostly muttering to himself, but Dick had gotten up to peer over his shoulder.

Jason tore open the packet of candies and popped one in his mouth.

They’d be okay.

It would take work, but they were Bats. They were stubborn.

Dukes wrist buzzed. The tracking number for slipcover flashed across his hud. It would be there by 9 pm.

They’d be okay.

Everything hurt. Everything ached all the way down through his skin and muscled and bones. His breath caught in his chest, ragged and frayed like his lungs were full of shattered glass.

He tried not to make a noise.

He tried to stay quiet.

They would notice him if he made a noise. He couldn’t take any more attention. He didn’t think he’d survive more attention. God, that thought was almost enough to kill him. Once he would have done anything for his parents attention and now—

There was a hand in his hair. It was gentle.

Oh, he was crying.

“…going to be okay. We have you, Dandelion, and we’re not letting them touch you ever again. The two Reds will make sure it can never happen again. Once you’re better they’ll take a little road trip.”

That was… that wasn’t… a sob broke through Danny’s lips and he didn’t stop it. He didn’t even try.

He wasn’t there.

He could make noises.

He was safe.

“Danny? Hey, are you awake.”

Danny nodded as much as he could manage.

“Hey there,” Nightwing said, voice so kind that it just made Danny cry harder. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Danny shook his head.

“Okay, that’s okay, thank you for answering me Danny. How’s the pain? Um, squeeze my hand once if it’s okay, twice if it’s really bad.”

Danny squeezed it three times.

“Really, really bad, huh? Okay. Okay… we can give you some pain meds through your IV. We have you on a saline drip because you looked really bad. We didn’t want to give you any meds without your consent though. Are you alright with some pain medication? Once for yes, twice for no.”

One squeeze.

“Okay, let me go—”

Danny clung to Nightwing’s hand a tightly at he could. His breath stuttered around the glass.

“Not leaving, Dandelion. I’m going to text Red Robin, okay? He’s in the living room. Hood and B.B are out… running an errand. They’ll be back soon. I’ll text Red and he’ll bring the pain meds.”

Danny nodded. Nightwing shifted around, but didn’t let go of Danny’s hand. The breathing calmed, got easier. Danny let out a slow breath.

“Hey Danny,” a new voice said. “The medication will make you feel fuzzy and maybe disoriented. You’ll probably sleep a lot. We don’t want you to wake up panicked. Is there anything we can do to help you know you’re here with us and safe?”

“Bear,” Danny croaked. He wet his lips and tried to continue. “Smells that aren’t… Touch. Warmth.”

“Red will get your teddy bear as soon as the meds are hooked up and we’ll work on the other things. One of us will always be here with you,” Nightwing said.

Danny squeezed his hand again.

“Okay. We won’t leave you alone, Danny, we’ll keep you safe. You’ll be okay.”

Danny trusted that.

It was surprising.

He didn’t think he could trust anymore, but Danny trusted that, trusted them.

The warmth of that thought followed him back into the black.

---

AN: This all Danny's fault, not mine! He decided to reveal his form early and then... welp.....

...Stay delightful, darlings?

#dp x dc #batpham #city pigeons

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romanteacism · 3 months ago

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Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Fallen

Synopsis: As you fell, so had your knight, Ser Aemond. Warnings: None (yet), Realization, Mentions of Injury, Fluff, Aemond Concerned PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: 🤭

“Are you certain you know how to ride on horseback, princess?” Aemond asked as you scratched the horse’s chin. You had gotten approval to ride out in the woods, but your knight must come with you. “Of course!” You say, not fully paying attention to your knight as you coed at the horse, bringing a carrot to its mouth. “I still do not understand why you would want to venture to the woods; there is nothing there,” Aemond muttered, stepping closer to you and offering a cloth to cleanse your hands that had traces of the animal’s drool. “Because I am growing tired of just always being in the gardens or my solarium! I want a change of scenery— and the fresh air would do us both good,” You explained. Ser Aemond wiped your hand with a cloth; his usual strong touch turned delicate as he held your hand.

You secured your foot on the saddle’s stirrup and tried to hoist yourself and mount your horse. Aemond watched you for a moment, resisting to let an amused smile twitch on his lips as you struggled to perch yourself upon your mount. Aemond bit his tongue as he wanted to laugh. You practically draped half of your body upon the horse before he finally sighed and helped you on your saddle. He placed his hand on your waist and effortlessly lifted you onto your seat, and you tried to ignore the flutter in your chest as Ser Aemond’s hold on you lingered for a moment. “Thank you,” You smiled and smoothened your dress.

Aemond gave a nod and mounted his horse, eyeing you with apprehension as he was not sold that you truly knew how to ride on horseback. Aemond parted his lips to voice out his concern, but before he could do so, you speeded out of the stable and into the woods. “Princess!” Aemond yelled, and he urged his horse to catch up with yours; you only laughed in glee at the chase you and Ser Aemond took part in. “Princess— slow down!” Aemond yelled, gritting his teeth as he tried to speed up his mount. “But where’s the fun in that?” You laughed, turning to another direction in order to gain speed and best your knight, who was determined to catch up with you.

You looked behind you, glancing towards your knight, who was gaining speed with a determined look in his eye. You laughed once more at the seriousness on Ser Aemond’s face; you were too distracted by looking upon your knight and the gap between the two of you that you had failed to neglect that you were riding towards a fallen tree. Dread washed over Aemond as he heard you yell and watched your horse throw you off its back, you landing harshly upon the hard ground. “Princess!” Aemond yelled and hastily dismounted his horse, running towards you, who lay on the ground, eyes closed, and lips parted, and seemingly unconscious. “Princess… oh gods,” Aemond breathed out, cupping your cheek, looking if you had a wound that he must tend to immediately.

You peeked through your lashes as your knight cradled your frame, biting down on your tongue to hinder your laughs at the absolute horror in his eye. Aemond moved to carry you to his horse, ready to face the rage of your brother and the guilt of failing to protect you, when he suddenly heard quiet, repressed giggles leave your lips, confusing him momentarily. “Oh, you should see your face,” You laughed, your whole body fluttering with each gleeful soundthat escaped your lips. You didn’t even bother to move away from your knight’s hold, nor did he dare to steal it away. “That wasn’t funny— you could have died!” Aemond exclaimed, looking down at you, who played in his arms, trying hard to stifle your laughs.

You shook your head and smiled up at your knight, who had a deep scowl on his face. He was still filled with panic as he had to witness you being thrown off your horse. “You could have hit your head or—“ You breathed out a laugh as your knight was ready to scold you once more. “But I didn’t.” You smiled and finally decided to move to sit up. You tried to move your arm, and the moment that you did, the large smile on your lips disappeared and your face contorted in pain, alarming Ser Aemond once more. “What is it?” Aemond asked, moving impossibly closer to you. “I— I think it’s my arm,” you say as you try to move it once more, but you only wince as a sharp pain overcomes you. “Do not move,” Aemond gritted, unable to watch you in pain. He assessed the limb and swallowed thickly at your mangled arm, in disbelief at how long it took you to feel the pain of the broken appendage.

“You broke your arm,” He muttered the obvious and turned to you, who was trying your best not to let your discomfort show, but the welling tears in your eyes and the quivering in your lips were enough to tell that you were filled with pain. Aemond took off the cloak of his armor and made a makeshift sling for your injured limb. You winced, and a whimper left your lips as Ser Aemond slowly lifted your arm to secure it in place with his cloak. “Not so amusing now, is it, princess?” He could not help but mutter as he tended to your injury. “I’m sorry,” You say lowly, and Aemond feels guilt as he realizes he only added guilt to your discomfort. Aemond sighed, bundled you in his arms, and lifted you towards his horse. He gently placed you on to sit upon its back, placed himself behind you, and wrapped his arm around your frame to secure you.

When you reached the castle walls, Aemond was quick to bark at a fellow knight to fetch you a maester. “Calm down, you’re setting them into a panic,” You say as you realize a crowd began to form, men running around to fetch every maester they could find. “You are injured; that is enough of a reason to panic,” Aemond said, lifting you from the horse and carrying you in his arms again. “I can walk, Ser Aemond. I did not break my foot.” You muttered as he rushed through the halls in search of a Maester.

“What happened to you?” Your brother fretted as he caught you and your knight in the halls, going along with the pace of Ser Aemond as he headed toward the Maester’s hall. “My horse threw me off,” You say, your arm clutching tightly upon your knight’s shoulder as he sped through the halls. “I told you to pay attention when you are riding! Thank god nothing else grave happened to you!” Your brother sighed as you reached a Maester, Ser Aemond placing you gently upon a seat.

He stood by your side, digging his nails into his palms as he watched the Maester tend to your injury. Your heavy breathing and pained whimpers were the only things heard in the chambers, echoing into your knight’s ears whose great empathy towards you made him feel your pain as well. “Might want to bite on this, princess,” The Maester said delicately, slowly bringing a cloth to your lips. “Why?” You asked fearfully, turning to your brother and then Ser Aemond. “We must return your arm back into its socket… it will hurt, princess— but only for a short while.” You paled at the words, fear in you multiplying, and you took hold of your knight’s arm out of habit.

Aemond pursed his lips as you bit down on the cloth, and he switched his arm with his hand for you to hold. Your grip was deadly as you waited for the maester to do what was needed, and Aemond could only stare at your clasped hands as he could not bring himself to look upon your distressed expression. Your brother looked away and tightly closed his eyes as your muffled scream echoed through the room as the maester fixed your arm.

“You’re fine, princess… It’s over,” Aemond whispered, kneeling beside you and trying to soothe you. You could only look upon him with your teary eyes as you felt like you could faint because of the pain. “How long until it heals, maester?” Your brother questioned. At the reminder that the prince was there, Aemond reluctantly let go of your hand and placed a more respectable distance between you. “A moon… perhaps two,” The maester answered, bringing a tray closer to you, urging you to spit out the cloth between your teeth. “You will take no part in strenuous activities, princess… and I’ll advise a day or two of bed rest in risk that you might dislocate your shoulder and add more to your injured arm.” You nodded slowly, turning to your brother whose concern had mixed with his anger at your carelessness.

“What were you thinking?! I knew I should have not let you go out for a ride!” Your brother exclaimed as you and him, along with your knight, walked down the halls of the keep. “You cannot just lock me in this castle,” You sighed, and your brother scoffed. “I could try,” he muttered and went back to scold you about your actions. “Enough!” You grumbled with a stomp of your foot as you reached your chambers. “I already feel bad enough— I do not need you to recollect my mistake! I did no such thing when you broke both of your legs years ago! I didn’t berate you for your carelessness of climbing out the window! Instead, I only helped you in your recovery!” You glared at your brother, who was rendered speechless. You rolled your eyes and entered your chambers, and Ser Aemond cautiously moved to stand on his post, tenseness in the air as he had never seen you speak in such a way towards your brother.

“I’m fine, Ser Aemond, it’s just one arm,” You say as your knight tries to assist you to your bed, your brother moving his post from the outside of your door to the inside just in case you need help in the middle of the night. “Even so, princess,” Aemond said as he glanced towards you, satisfied that you were tucked in bed and all that you needed was just by your bedside table. “You all have to stop treating me like an invalid— earlier today, the maids tried to spoonfeed me my breakfast; I have another arm!” You grumbled and tried to get comfortable in your bed as your knight returned to his post by the door, both of you still having a view of each other, though there was a sizable distance between the two of you. “Well, you technically are…” Aemond mused and saw your scowling face staring at him, pushing down his urge to smirk at the look you gave him. “Good night, Ser Aemond.” You sighed and blew out the candle, but the light of the hearth still illuminated the room, giving Aemond enough light to look upon your sleeping frame.

“Ugh!” You grumbled as you sat in your chair, looking upon the empty canvas. “What is it, princess?” Aemond asked, quickly going by your side as you sat upon a window with the intent to paint. “The paint won’t come out of the tube!” You sighed, frustrated that you had started the hindrance your injury had caused in your daily life. “Let me,” Aemond took the tube from our hand, letting your fingers brush. “Thank you,” You smiled as he took hold of your paint pallet, never moving away from your side because both of you knew that was his rightful place.

“Again, I can still walk, Ser Aemond,” You sighed as your knight wrapped his arm around your waist to assist you down the stairs. “You are imbalanced at the moment… and let’s be honest, even when you weren’t injured, you tend to trip— wouldn’t want to add to your current broken limb.” Aemond teased you, and you breathed out a laugh. “You should be resting,” Aemond advised as he followed you to the gardens. “I should say the same thing to you— you don’t even sleep at night,” You say as you would wake in the dead of night only to see your knight fully awake as well. Aemond raised his brow, “And how do you know that?” He questioned, and you shrugged, quickly regretting the action as a throb of pain shot through your shoulder.

Aemond was ready to voice his concern, but you quickly departed from his side as a tot in the gardens caught your attention. Aemond quickened his steps and found you behind a bush with a child clinging to your leg. “Oh, you’re so adorable!” You gushed and knelt to be at eye level with the little child, who only grinned. Aemond trailed closer to you, who sat with the child by the edge of a stone flowerbox. Trying to hold a conversation with a tot who only babbled and looked at you with awe— just like everyone you meet.

“Look, a butterfly,” You smiled and stretched your uninjured arm for the insect to rest on your finger, carefully bringing it down so the child could also inspect it. Aemond licked his lips, an odd warmness spreading to his chest as he watched the scene. His mind began to spin— imagining you with a child of your own. He tried to resist thinking of such matters— most inappropriate for what he would hold no consequence for when it came to your future child. But still, his mind began to wonder. Will your child perhaps be a girl or a boy? Will they have your dazzling eyes or radiant smile? Will they perhaps inherit your hair or his unique ones? With that thought, Aemond choked at his own spit; scolding himself for letting his thoughts stray to such— most unseemly.

Aemond was brought further from his thoughts as he heard your shocked gasp. He quickly focused all of his attention on you, who looked horrified at the child you coed at just earlier. He turned to the tot and saw the body of a ripped butterfly in his hands, grinning wildly and laughing at what he had done whilst you moved towards your knight in dismay— in disbelief as to how a seemingly innocent creature harmed another.

You clung to your knight’s arm tightly as the child began to clap their hands, further mangling the once pretty and fluttering butterfly. “Oh gods,” You said in shock, the child running away, proud of what they had done. “How… why…” You stuttered, making Aemond sigh, your care for a mere insect endearing you further in his eye. “They do not know any better, princess,” You knight explained, glancing towards his arm, which you tightly clung to. “But still! Why would they want to harm such a harmless and pretty thing!” You exclaimed as your knight led you to your usual spot in the gardens, hoping your afternoon refreshments would calm you down.

“Again, princess, they are not aware of their actions.” Aemond further explained, helping you down in your seat and looking around for a squire or maid to help you with your tea. When he could not spot one, he took the liberty to help you, making your usual cup that he had memorized to make as he had watched you do it repeatedly. “You should join me, Ser Aemond.” You say, gesturing towards the empty seat next to you. “That is most inappropriate, princess,” He reminded, and he watched you roll your eyes. “Come now, no one is around, and I’m well aware that you are tired as well.” You urged but your knight shook his head, almost finished fixing you a cup of tea.

“Fine, you can choose not to drink, but at least sit.” You say, pleading with him with your eyes. Aemond sighed as he felt his chest warm further at your concern. No one has ever shown him such great regard for his well-being— with you always reminding him to eat or rest; at the beginning, he believed it was all a ploy, but he quickly realized that that was just you. You always cared about him and anyone else’s well-being— a rare trait. “Thank you, princess. But I am fine,” He insisted, moving to stand beside you instead of behind.

When night came, Aemond once again stood in his post by the door inside your chambers, listening to you babble and recount the day’s activities, though he already knew it all because not once had he left your side. “You know you could sit down, Ser Aemond; no one is here to pass judgment whilst you rest.” You say as you settle further into your bed. “I’m fine, princess,” He said once more. He heard you sigh, and he furrowed his brows as you suddenly stood from your bed, walking to him, who stood by the common area of your chambers. “What are you doing?” Aemond questioned as you tried to pull on an armchair, bringing it towards your knight’s post. “Princess, you might strain yourself; go back to your bed; you must rest.” He scolded, trying to hinder you. “You must rest as well— I practically do nothing all day while you are always on your feet watching over me. You must at least rest during the night.” You say as you successfully placed a chair on his post.

You motioned for him to sit, but your knight stubbornly stood his ground— forever taking his duties too seriously. “Just go back to bed, princess,” Aemond sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not until you sit. I’m not asking you to sleep; just— rest, even for a short while.” You sighed as Ser Aemond shook his head once again. “I will not sleep until you sit upon this chair,” you say, growing amused as your knight rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation. “Fine,” He gritted, reluctantly sitting upon your armchair that you sat upon when you read— the upholstered fabric smelling faintly of your scent. “Wasn’t so hard now, was it,” You smiled, satisfied as you had convened your knight, but he only gave you an uptight look.

You returned to your bed, turning to your knight once more to make sure he did not stand once again. “Good night, Ser Aemond,” You sang and blew out the candle, “Good night, princess,” You hear his low reply, drifting into sleep with a small smile on your lips. Aemond still sat upon the chair, gazing upon your sleeping frame. He would never admit it, but the toll of his duties was slowly overcoming him. What seemed to be a small gesture for you meant so much more for your knight, who finally found respite as he eased further into the chair that smelt of you.

As the night progressed, Aemond rested but was still fully awake and gazing upon your frame deep in slumber. His mind recalled each and every interaction he had with you as he had become your knight six moons ago. He recalled each gesture, each jest, each laugh you had shared with him, and though Aemond tried to resist it, he finally accepted the truth that he, just like you, had fallen as well.

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