stop blaming each other for “enabling” unethical corporations.
TW: capitalism and rambling on and on and on
i was in a discord server a while ago and i do not remember for the life of me what started this conversation, but we were talking about ethical consumerism and i stated that i try to consume as ethically as financially feasible for me and was told that was impossible because i consume kpop content, which wasn’t the point i was making. i don’t buy any merch/physical albums because im broke so music/youtube content is all i consume. even if you do, go off king. we are in a capitalist hellscape, do what makes you happy.
i just do not understand the moral grand standing rampant in leftism circles. it seems in an attempt to make themselves feel better, people will put blinders over their eyes to things they consume unethically (for whatever reason) and then shame you for the things you consume whether or not it is driven by financial difficulties, access, etc.
and in a way i am morally grandstanding by making this post, but i just want to encourage people to have empathy.
things are hard enough when the government is against us, and corporate entities are hell bent on screwing us over. don’t let bullshit propaganda from corporations and performative people on tiktok who act like they have never done a thing wrong dictate the things that keep you going.
kpop fans. buy the fucking album. collect the damn photo cards. go to the concert. there is nothing else to live for besides small wins.
there is supposed to be someone coming to try out my $700 chair… it’s been 20 minutes since they were supposed to be here… when am i supposed to give up…
Legend:
🟥Smut - MDNI (Explicit Sexual Content)
🟨Angst - MDNI (Emotionally Strong or Violent Content)
🟩Fluff - Sweet and Sugary Content ♾️ A bit of everything [The most dominant theme will be next to the infinity]
Back To Main Masterlist
🟥"Let Me Make You a Mommy" - Hyung Line | Maknae Line
🟩Remedies - OT8 x Reader
🟥2 a.m Texts - Ex-Boyfriend!SKZ
🟥Spicy Accident - BFF!SKZ
🟥Naughty or Nice -Boyfriend!SKZ
🟥Wet Dreams - Boyfriend!SKZ
🟥Can I make you a daddy? - Boyfriend!SKZ
🟥"You got me pregnant" - FWB!SKZ x Afab!Reader
🟥Sneaky Link with Brothers bff - FWB!SKZ x Afab!Reader
🟥Asking for "help" - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Who's Bigger? - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥"Your nails are too long" - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Compliments Gone Wild - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Who's Gonna Marry Me? - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Santa's Little Helpers - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Waxing Racha's New Hair - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥New Years Party - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Daddy? - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Hangover - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Birthday Plans - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥No Nut November - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Squirt?? - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Nudes? - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥A wet dream? ABOUT who? - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Who did it? - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟥Butt Stuff - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟩Jet2Holiday - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟩"Who asked me out first?" - Poly!SKZ Group Chat
🟩🟥Valentines Day - BF and BFF!SKZ
🟩Who told you? - BFF!SKZ
🟩Christmas - Dad!SKZ
🟩Solar Eclipse - BFF!SKZ
♾️Secret Boyfriends Texts - Bang Chan, Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, I.N
i’m terrible at doing laundry, i commit to a load and then either forget it get too lazy to take it to the dryer. OR i think im superman and do two loads and i’m too lazy to fold load number one, so i lead load number two to rot in my washing machine
Summary ⟅ Your boyfriends indulge in one of your deepest fantasies.
OT6 x Sub!reader / ⟣ SMUT / 2k ⟢
Warnings: pwp, masturbation, creampie galore, they all basically use reader as a cumdump, degradation, name calling, dirty talk, mild praise kink, gang bang ig?, can this be considered as bukkake?, breeding kink adjacent, penetration but NO FUCKING (walk with me), overstimulation, orgasm denial, kinda edging if you squint, (mild?) subspace, general filth
Lily's note — 🪷 cough i'm reader cough hi guys :D i have nothing to say enjoy my filthy fantasy
One thing you loved about your boyfriends was their willingness to indulge and their hunger to satisfy. You were convinced that if you wanted the moon, they would find a way to pluck it from the sky and gift it to you with a pretty pink bow wrapped around it.
The reality was that they'd never said no to anything you wanted to try, so you shouldn't have been nervous to ask them to partake in one of your dirtiest fantasies. But, still, the devil worked hard to convince you they'd find it weird, find you weird for wanting it and write you off as sick.
On the contrary, they'd been ecstatic, which was why you were on your knees and elbows, back arched to the ceiling, fully bare and waiting to be filled to the brim.
They stood around the bed, each one with their cocks in their hands, working and jerking themselves solely to the sight of your naked body positioned and ready for them.
The sounds, oh the sounds. The wet slide of their hands stroking all at different paces was music to your ears, creating a symphony of pleasure when their moans began filtering out. You could feel the heat of their stares searing into you. You would’ve given anything to see them then.
Taeyang, who used both hands, one to slowly pump himself, the other fondling his balls. He was wearing that familiar smirk you loved oh-so much, which grew wider when he saw you turn your head to try and peek at him.
Shota, whose thumb and pointer finger met to form a tight ring that he used to work his tip only, sliding over the pretty red head with quick, shallow thrusts of his wrist. His lips were pushed into a pout, the stimulation overwhelming him.
Intak, who was the most vocal by far, his whines spilling past his lips with little effort to stop them. He held his hand still in front of him, his hips snapping to fuck into the little pocket, his eyes locked onto your fluttering cunt to imagine he was sliding into your warm, wet heat instead.
Jiung whose hand was twisting over his cock, his pace frantic and uncoordinated. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, unable to slow down his movements with how delectable and ready you looked for them.
Jongseob who watched on with hooded eyes, his thumb rubbing circles over his slit, his focus absolute as he chased the high building in his stomach.
And Keeho.
Keeho who pumped himself with long, lazy strokes, his fist moving at an agonizing pace along his shaft, savoring every delicious inch of friction. His eyes trailed from the seductive arch of your back down to your spread thighs where you were presenting yourself so prettily for them.
He was the first to speak.
“Look at you…” his voice cut through the mess of sounds. “So eager to be used. Just a hole for us to empty into. Gonna breed your tight cunt, aren’t we?”
The effect of his vulgar words was instantaneous. You whined, high and needy, every last nerve ending lit on fire. Your clit pulsed weakly, the sight causing all of them to groan in unison, any restraint being exhibited fraying.
Intak was the first to break. He shuffled forward with a desperate whine and before you could really even sense his presence behind you, his cock was plunging into your soaked cunt with a single thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
“O-Oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he cried out when your walls clamped around him from the sudden intrusion, the pressure immediately sending him over the edge as he came, his release spilling hot and deep inside you.
He waited until he was sure that every last drop leaked out of him, panting, before pulling out and stepping back on shaky legs.
You didn't have time to mourn the loss of fullness because another cock was breaching your hole a second after, pushing you forward from how hard they slammed inside of you.
Jongseob hips met your ass before he pulled out halfway, Intak’s releases coating his cock and pooling at your entrance before he slid back in with a quiet, breathy moan. “Such a perfect cocksleeve…”
He held your hips still, his fingers digging into your skin as he threw his head back, drowning in the sensation as wave after wave of pleasure spread through his body. He rode out each pulse and eventually gave your hip an affection squeeze while removing himself from your soaked heat.
Your knees trembled, threatening to give out. You felt so full already from just two loads, your stomach clenching tight at the thought of having to take four more. You dropped your head to the bed, suddenly dizzy, your hand twitching to reach and satisfy the burn of your sensitive, untouched clit, begging for attention.
Just as you slipped a hand between your legs, Taeyang shot forward to slap it away.
“No, no, no, doll. Remember what you told us before?”
You whined, trying to rack your foggy memory for whatever he was talking about, but you were too blissed out to think properly. You shivered when he ran a hand over your lower back, tracing your spine with soft fingers.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ll help you remember.” He guided his cock to your hole, nudging it but not yet entering. “You said you only want to be used, and nothing else. No fucking, no pleasure...” He paused, letting the words sink in. “You're the one who wanted this. You’re the one who begged us to be used like a stupid toy, so take it.”
Any humiliation you felt was overpowered by pleasure when he pushed in just enough for your cunt to stretch around his tip. He eased you back the rest of the way, agonizingly slow, until you felt the spasm of his cock and heard his rough groan, his load stuffing you deeper and coating your walls.
“Three more to go,” he taunted while pulling out, kneading your ass with a rough hand before stepping back.
You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Jiung moved forward. He slowed down his strokes when he felt his orgasm rising so he could finish inside you, but the moment his eyes locked onto your creamed hole and the abundance of cum threatening to spill out, he let out a strangled moan, his hips jerking forward, hot ropes of his release dripping onto your ruined folds.
A desperate, shaking whimper escaped him and he quickly guided himself inside your heat to finish inside you. White stars clouded his vision, his torso convulsing, as he basked in the ecstasy of your silky, wet walls.
You couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend. You could only feel them use you one by one, your mind a fog of heat and fullness. You didn’t even realize that Jiung pulled out until a new cock slid through your folds, their tip nudging directly against your swollen clit.
Your body bowed, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you shuddered violently, the sparks of electricity overstimulating your sensitive nerves.
A chorus of objections sounded out behind you from the rest of them, scolding Shota for giving you the tiniest bit of pleasure.
“Sorry, sorry!” Shota apologized with a breathless laugh that made him sound not sorry at all. “Couldn’t resist. Just looks so pretty.”
You barely feel him entering, your used channel already stretched to welcome him with no restraint. He sheathed himself to his base, his eyes shutting tight when the lewd squelch of cum and arousal reached his ears. Seconds later, you felt that undeniable warmth for the fifth time, adding to the growing pool.
You tried hard to stop your body from trembling, but the pressure in your belly was too overwhelming. You felt tortured, like you were almost on the verge of your own orgasm but it was being dangled in front of you, just out of reach. Just as your knees were about to give in, a loud tsk had you straightening back up.
Keeho smiled at your responsiveness, approaching you slowly with those same, lazy strokes.
“Look at our cumdump, guys,” he said with a lilt of approval. “Stuffed so full. It’s already spilling out of you.”
He slapped his cock against your pussy before rubbing the head through the mess at your folds to coat himself, careful not to go too far like Shota had. You pushed back against him, a subconscious plea that he only chuckled at.
“Such a greedy whore. You still want more? After all they’ve given you.”
You whimpered, your fingers curling into the sheets, slurring out, “Want yours.”
Keeho couldn’t help the smug smile that splayed on his lips, pride swelling in his chest. “Look at you… you can barely talk. Is your stupid brain melted from being used?”
He reached down with both hands to spread your ass, opening your hole wider to him. He exhaled a shaky breath at the work of art, slapping one hand down on your skin causing your body to jolt forward, before he drove into you.
And even with everyone else stretching you open, he was so big, it still burned.
His fingers dug into your skin hard enough to leave bruises as he struggled to bottom out with a throaty groan. “F-Fuck—you feel so hot. Gonna give you more… just for our dirty slut, our broken toy.”
You felt every single pulse of his seed filling you deep, your thighs quivering when stayed there long after he’d finished coming, letting you feel every inch of him, letting your cunt mold to the shape of his cock.
Eventually, Jiung stepped forward, his hand resting on Keeho’s shoulder. “Come on, Keeho. We want to see.”
Reluctantly, Keeho pulled out slowly, letting you collapse forward, boneless and used. You felt strong hands turn you onto your back, spreading your legs wide, exposing the mess they’d made of you.
You squeezed your cunt tight, trying your best to hold it all in and savor the feeling for as long as possible despite the burning pressure, your body writhing uncontrollably.
Keeho rested his hand on your belly, pressing down gently, causing you to cry out, the sensation sending another torturous jolt of near-pleasure buzzing through you.
“Come on,” he cooed, trying to coax it all out of you. “Spill for us. Show us everything you took. Show us how good of a hole you are…”
Your body obeyed his command as you relaxed with a weak shudder. The cum flowed out of your spasming cunt in thick, white streams, running down your ass to drip on the sheets below you.
“T-Thank you… thank you…” you trembled out, your voice barely forming the words.
Your eyes fluttered, heavy-lidded and unfocused, threatening to close from the exhaustion of being used.
Taeyang laughed, loud and unrestrained, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re so fucked up for loving this, you know that?”
You could only manage a dazed, weak hum.
Jiung reached out to brush away the hair clinging to your damp forehead, marveling at the cum still spilling from your debauched hole. “How did we get so lucky to find you…”
When the flow of cum stilled, Jongseob stepped forward, his hand rubbing reverently across your thigh. “Keep pushing, noona. There must be more.”
You sucked in a shaky breath, your cunt clenching tightly before you pushed and the last bit trickled out weakly. You heaved out a last tired breath, turning your face to bury it in the pillow.
“I’ll clean her up,” Shota offered, already turning to the bathroom.
“No…” you sulked, the sound weak and petulant.
Intak couldn't believe it, a wide, giddy smile spreading across his face. “No? You want to keep us in? You want your pussy to stay ruined?”
“Don't worry, baby,” Keeho interjected. “We’ll stuff you everyday if you want. No need to be so greedy.”
His comforting voice faded in your ears before you could reply, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion as sleep claimed you.
you telepathically send me either a read through of your fics or just fic ideas you want to blabber on about while i put my sleeping mask on and absorb the information through a way that wont make my migraine worse?
i know it’s magic but i really do believe in you
Oh man I’ve been wanting this to be real for a while now being a fic creator would be SO much easier like yall cannot imagine half the shit I come up with that just cannot be transcribed…
when elon takes over the world and we are scared for our lives getting brain chips implanted, i’ll make sure that ours have been connected so you can do that🙂↕️
Summary: every night, Prince Jeon Jungkook finds himself swept up in a village girl's bakery where they share sugar and laughter, but one day, he stumbles across her injuries taken from defending helpless children and he spends the day tending to her, before unleashing his rage on the aggressors.
Genre/Tags: royalty au, romance, fluff, angst, comfort, feral Jungkook, down bad Jungkook
Word Count: 11.7k (I got carried away)
Warnings: blood, injury, lashings, violence, physical fight, (lmk if i missed anything)
Notes: I've had this in my head since we saw Jungkook in Mexico and I finally wrote smth with it. Genuinely had me kicking my feet, giggling when I wrote this btw. I was kind of between keeping this and making it a series but rn I have no idea what else to write with this so I thought screw it and just post this. Who knows... I might post more in this kind of setting but for now it's just this... hope you like it!
The scent of yeast, burnt sugar, and baked flour always hangs heavy in the midnight air of the kitchen. It's comforting, warm, familiar, and completely separate from the cold, stoned streets of the village beyond these walls, which encompass your life. You wipe a stray smudge of flour from your forehead with the back of your hand, leaning over the heavy wooden workstation to knead the first batch of dough for tomorrow's, well, today's morning rush.
Deep in concentration, you almost don't hear the bell above the back door, which lets out a tiny, muffled chime. But you don't even have to look up to know who it is.
"You're late," you say, keeping your voice flat, still pounding the dough, though a familiar beat of warmth thumps against your ribs. "Shouldn't you be tucked into your silk sheets at the palace by now, Your Royal Highness?"
"A gentleman is never late, sweetheart. He arrives precisely when he means to," Jungkook says, his voice a smooth, playful purr as he slips into the kitchen nestled behind the main bakery area. "And I told you to stop calling me that." He is dressed in his usual disguise, a faded, oversized linen tunic and dark trousers. The entire kingdom knows the face of Prince Jungkook, though few would expect him to be sneaking out of the citadel walls just to loiter in a dusty village bakery. He pushes his hood back, revealing strands of unruly dark hair and those ridiculously large, glittering doe eyes which you can't stare into for too long without feeling heat crawl up your neck.
You sigh, ignoring him as you turn around to face the pantry. You reach for a jar of imported cinnamon, but, of course, it is sitting on the absolute highest shelf, tucked away near the ceiling. You huff, stepping up onto your tiptoes, stretching your arms as high as they can go. Your fingers brush the base of the jar, but you cannot for the life of you get a proper grip. Suddenly, a broad, solid chest flushes directly against your back. All you feel is lean muscle as the heat of him radiates through your apron. Then an arm clad in faded linen reaches up over your head, his large hand wrapping around the jar. You will yourself not to let your eyes linger too long on the prominent veins running across his forearms to his hands.
"Need a hand, love?" Jungkook murmurs right beside your ear, his raspy late-night voice sending a shiver straight down your spine.
You drop back onto your heels, turning around within the small space he has trapped you in. His free hand comes down to rest casually on the edge of the shelf beside your head, effectively boxing you in. He looks down at you, a smug, devastating smirk playing on his lips as he hands you the cinnamon. Your fingers lightly twitch as they brush his.
"I had it under control, Crown Prince," you shoot back, tapping the jar against his chest to force him to take a step back.
"Right, maybe from over there you did, but from here, all I saw was you hopping up and down like a grasshopper," he teases before turning back.
And before you can swat at him, his hand shoots out toward the cooling racks. You attempt to block him with an elbow, but he uses his height advantage, leaning over to snatch a freshly dusted, warm beignet from the tray. Ones you had just made as a test batch, so the recipe was perfect for the morning rush. He pops the entire thing into his mouth in one go.
"Hey!" You glare, swatting at his arm with your flour-covered hand, leaving a stark white handprint on his dark sleeve. "Do you have any idea how early I had to wake up to prep those? The yeast has to rise for hours, Jungkook! Hours!"
Jungkook chews happily, closing his eyes in mock ecstasy. "Mmm. So worth it. You outdid yourself, truly." He leans his hip against your table, entirely too close, invading your space with the scent of the crisp night air and something rich, clean, and faintly expensive. He points a finger at a bowl of glossy chocolate batter. "What do we have here?" His eyes are lit with nothing short of mischief.
"Don't you dare-"
Too late.
He dips his index finger straight into the bowl, swirling it around before sucking the batter off with shameless, slow deliberateness. He locks eyes with you, a wicked, teasing tilt to his lips. "Sweet. " He pauses. "Just like the baker."
You feel the heat rush straight to your cheeks. "You are an absolute menace. I don't know why I keep letting you break into my shop. I really need to invest in a heavier deadbolt. Or tell the royal guards that their beloved prince is a little sugar thief."
"Because you love me," he says instantly, shifting his weight around the table to follow your movements like a shadow, or more like a separation-anxiety ridden puppy. "And because I am excellent company. Who else is going to help you with labour at one in the morning for the low price of sugar? Besides, the guards would never believe you."
"A public nuisance is what you are," you correct, though your lips twitch. You turn to a tray of unadorned cupcakes and sigh, handing him a backup piping bag filled with sweet vanilla buttercream. "If you're going to loiter, at least make yourself useful. Pipe the tops of those. Like this." You demonstrate a perfect, elegant swirl on one, pulling the tip up to create a flawless peak.
Jungkook takes the bag, his chest puffing out with entirely unwarranted confidence. "Easy. Watch a master at work. I've got great hand-eye coordination."
He grips the bag with way too much force, causing an explosion of frosting that lands on the cupcake, tilting precariously to one side like a melting snowman before sliding off the edge completely.
You burst out laughing, a bright, clear sound that echoes in the quiet kitchen. "A master? Jungkook, it looks like a squashed toad!"
"It's abstract! It has personality!" he protests, bumping his shoulder heavily against yours to disrupt your balance. He looks down at your laughing face, his own expression softening into something incredibly tender. His eyes track the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, capturing the exact shade of warmth in your smile. "See? I made you laugh. That’s worth at least three more free pastries tonight."
"In your dreams, thief," you scoff.
After a few minutes and many fails later, he gets the hang of it, leaving you to grab a heavy wooden spoon and begin vigorously beating a massive bowl of thick, stubborn cookie dough. You hate this part the most. After a long day, hours of selling and continuously running through the main shop and the kitchen, creating new batches and noting down special orders, the physical effort of the mixture, especially after the non-stop whipping of the meringues and the kneading of the dough, makes your wrists ache. Your movements slow slightly as you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow.
As Jungkook continues piping, he glances at your figure a few times, as if it's second nature, and tracks the sudden lag in your rhythm. His eyes soften, the playful posture shifting into something much more attentive, which goes unnoticed by you. He steps up right beside you, his hand sliding over yours on the handle of the wooden spoon. His palm is warm, broad, and calloused from sword training.
"Hey," he says softly, his shoulder bumping into yours. "Go check on the hearth. I think I smell burning."
"What? No, it's not, I just put it-"
"Just go check, stubborn," he cuts you off, smoothly applying just enough pressure to slide the bowl away from you.
Before you can protest further, he completely takes over, his muscular forearm flexing beneath his rolled-up sleeves as he beats the heavy dough with absolute, effortless ease. It's only when you reach the hearth, and you find your cake, in fact, not burning, that you realise he invented such a thing so you could rest your tired wrist.
You cross your arms with a small smile, and you lean against the counter, watching him work. "Look at you. Future monarch doing manual labour in a village kitchen. Oh, if the King could see you now, he'd strip you of your title."
"Let him," Jungkook grunts with a grin, not missing a beat as he whips the dough into a perfect, uniform consistency. "I'd make a fantastic baker's assistant. I'm strong, I learn fast, and I look great in an apron."
"You don't even have an apron on," you point out, laughing.
"An oversight you can easily fix," he shoots back, flashing a brilliant bunny-toothed smile that makes your heart do a ridiculous little flip. He stops mixing, sliding the perfect dough toward you. "There. Perfect. What's next, pretty lady?"
You roll your eyes at the name. "We need to pour this batter into the tins," you say, dragging a heavy ceramic bowl of vanilla batter and two circular metal tins toward the centre of the table.
"I've got it," Jungkook volunteers eagerly. He lifts the heavy ceramic bowl, and you try not to pay attention to the way his biceps strain slightly against the linen shirt. He tips it over the first tin, carefully pouring the thick, pale-yellow ribbon of batter into the centre until it fills it perfectly. He moves to the second tin, pouring the remainder.
Once the bowl is mostly empty, he sets it down and picks up a long spatula. He meticulously scrapes the remaining thick batter from the inside walls of the bowl, gathering a massive, delicious glob of it onto the edge of the spatula. He brings it up toward his face, his eyes lighting up as he prepares to lick it clean.
"Ah-ah-ah," you say quickly, swatting his wrist away. "No way. I did all the measuring for that batter. That's mine."
You grab the end of the spatula handle. Jungkook blinks, then a surprised, but competitive spark instantly ignites his doe eyes. He tightens his grip, tugging it back towards himself. "I did the pouring! And the scraping! Royal decree dictates that the scraper gets the reward."
"There is no such royal decree," you laugh, pulling the spatula towards your side. "You're abusing your power, Your Highness!"
"I am a prince, I can make up whatever laws I want to," he gasps dramatically, pulling back.
You step closer, using your leverage to yank on the handle. For a second, you are pulled completely into his space, your hands tangled together on the thin piece of wood, faces inches apart. You can see the faint amber flecks in his eyes and the absolute amusement radiating from him.
Jungkook looks down at your determined face, his gaze dropping to your lips before a wicked, triumphant grin splits across his face.
Suddenly, he completely lets go of the spatula.
Because you were pulling so hard, you stumbled backwards a step, clutching the spatula victoriously to your chest. "Ha! I win!"
"Do you?" Jungkook asks, his voice dripping with amusement.
Before you can answer, he reaches down and grabs the massive, heavy ceramic mixing bowl that still has a generous coating of thick batter stuck to the bottom and sides. He lifts it, completely sticking his face inside the wide rim, using his finger to swipe a massive glob of batter and popping it into his mouth.
"Fine, keep the tiny spatula," he mutters happily from inside the bowl, his voice echoing. "I have the motherlode."
"Jungkook!" You burst out laughing, completely scandalised. "You are a literal child! Get your face out of my bowl!"
He pulls his head out, a tiny dollop of yellow batter sitting right on the tip of his nose. He looks incredibly ridiculous and remarkably cute all at once. He steps closer to you, his eyes locking onto yours with an unbearable amount of playful intensity.
"You have something right..." you start, pointing at your own nose.
"Where? Here?" he asks, deliberately wiping his cheek instead, smearing it further.
"No, you idiot, let me-"
You step in, reaching up with your thumb to gently wipe the batter off the tip of his nose. The moment your skin touches his, Jungkook freezes. The childish playfulness drops away in an instant, replaced by a sudden, heavy stillness. His gaze drops, heavy and unblinking, tracking the movement of your fingers, then the curve of your jaw, and finally resting on your eyes.
The kitchen goes entirely silent. The only sound is the low, rhythmic crackle of the hearth fire. His breath is warm against your skin. You feel your own breath hitch, your thumb lingering against his nose for a second too long.
A slow, devastatingly tender smile stretches across his lips. He reaches up, his large hand gently wrapping around your wrist, his thumb rubbing a slow, comforting circle into your pulse point.
"You know, you're very bossy for a regular citizen," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a raspy, late-night register that makes your heart beat erratically against your ribs.
"And you're very compliant for a future king," you whisper back, trying to maintain your defences, though the proximity is making it impossible to think straight.
"Only for you," he says softly, his thumb continuing to trace your wrist. "I don't let anyone else order me around like this. I think I like it."
You clear your throat, gently pulling your wrist from his grip to hide the bright blush creeping up your neck. You turn away to hide your burning cheeks, reaching for a small plate hidden under a glass dome on the back shelf. "Shut up and try this. I've been working on it all afternoon. Consider it payment for your... impeccable assistant work."
On the plate sits a pastry you’ve been experimenting with: dozens of microscopically thin, crispy layers of golden dough, stacked high with rich, velvety custard and fresh cream sandwiched between them, dusted lightly with powdered sugar.
"What is it?" he asks, leaning over your shoulder, his chest practically pressed against your back again, completely erasing the distance you just tried to create.
"Just shut up and try it," you say, handing him a small fork.
He takes a bite. The audible, delicate crunch of the layers echoes in the quiet room, followed by the smoothness of the cream. Jungkook freezes completely. His eyes widen to twice their size. Without saying a word, he devours the rest of the pastry in two massive bites, nearly groaning out loud.
"Marry me," he says flatly. "I'm serious. Name the day. We can live right here in this kitchen. I will waive the royal dowry, I will fight the council, I don't care. I will do nothing but eat this and look at you for the rest of my days."
You laugh loudly, shoving his shoulder hard to create some space. "So dramatic." You reply back.
"So in love."
"So in need of therapy." You mutter back, turning to grab a handful of loose flour to dust the wooden surface, the fine white powder settling like mist.
The frantic energy of the kitchen slows down, settling into a comfortable, quiet rhythm that has secretly become your favourite part of the day. Jungkook works right beside you, his initial royal clumsiness giving way to a quiet focus as he tries to correct his piping technique, finishing the cupcakes, his tongue poking out slightly between his teeth in pure concentration.
Then, the kitchen goes entirely silent. The only sound left is the low, rhythmic crackle of the hearth fire and the heavy, rhythmic thud of your palms against the dough.
You feel a sudden weight on you, a gaze so intense it feels tangible against your skin. You glance up, a stray lock of hair falling into your eyes, and catch him.
Jungkook isn't looking at the cupcakes anymore. He is leaning his chin in his hand, his elbow propped on the wooden counter, his eyes fixed entirely on you. His gaze is heavy, unblinking, tracking the curve of your jaw, the sweat dampening the nape of your neck, the fierce determination on your brow. There is no trace of the boyish prankster in his expression right now; his eyes are dark, deep, and filled with an intense, quiet gravity that makes your breath hitch completely.
"What?" you ask, your voice dropping to a breathless whisper. You try to sound annoyed, but the slight tremor in your voice betrays you. "Is there flour on my face again?"
Jungkook doesn't blink. A smile stretches across his lips, his voice drops again, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "Nope. Just looking at something beautiful."
You feel the heat rush from your chest all the way to your hairline. You look down at your rough, flour-dusted hands, and a sudden, heavy wave of insecurity twists in your stomach. It’s a reminder that always haunts the back of your mind. He is the Crown Prince. You know his face, you know his title, and you know the vast, impossible chasm that lies between your worlds.
"You are a terrifyingly smooth talker, Your Highness," you say, your voice turning a little hollow as you force yourself to look back up at him. "I suppose this is the exact same poetry you feed to the high-born noble ladies at the palace court."
Jungkook’s smile falters slightly, his doe eyes tracking the subtle drop in your shoulders, his sharp instincts picking up on the sudden shift in your mood. "Noble ladies? Trust me, they don't care about poetry. Just titles and crown jewels."
"I'm serious, Jungkook," you say, huffing a breath but still kneading the dough on the counter. "Why do you even come here? You have an entire court of perfect, beautiful women at your feet. You should be spending your time there with them, not in a drab bakery."
You pause. The next words come out in a whisper you hope he doesn't hear. "You could be with women who actually know how to dance, with titles, who wear silk and velvet instead of aprons caked in dried dough. They don't smell like yeast and sweat."
But he does, and the playful demeanour completely evaporates from Jungkook's face. The silence returns, heavier this time, but thick with an undeniable warmth.
He stands up straight, stepping around the workstation table to face you. He moves with a quiet, deliberate grace. You keep your eyes down, focusing on the dough. Press. Then push. Then fold. Then turn. And repeat. Don't look up.
But he doesn't let you hide. He reaches out, his large, warm hands gently taking your wrists, halting your movements. His palms are warm and incredibly grounding.
"Look at me," he commands softly. You don't.
"Hey…" He trails off, voice unbelievably gentle, "Please?"
How can you say no to him?
When you finally look up into his eyes, you find them swimming with a fierce, profound sincerity.
"None of them." He pauses, "Are you." His voice is a low, intense whisper that rings clearly in the quiet kitchen. He squeezes your hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. "The court ladies are hollow, Y/N. They smile because they were trained to; they speak from rehearsed scripts; and they look at me like I'm a crown to be won, a stepping stone for their families. But you? This?"
He leans closer, head tilting down so your eyes are entirely locked. He wants you to feel how much he means every word.
"I'd rather be no place else. You're real. You're fierce, you're brilliant, and you look at me like I'm just a man. I don't want silk, and I don't care about their perfect poise. I want this. I want the smell of yeast and sugar, and I want to spend my evenings with the pretty little baker who threatens to throw rolling pins at my royal head."
Your heart hammers violently against your ribs, your lungs locking up under the sheer weight of his words. His eyes drop to your lips for a long, agonising second, and you think you might actually combust from the heat spreading through your veins.
Sensing the overwhelming tension and desperate to save your blushing face from melting, a familiar, wicked spark suddenly reignites in Jungkook’s eyes. He lets go of one of your hands and steps to the side.
Before you can even process the emotional whiplash, he blows a sharp puff of air across the workstation. A massive cloud of white flour erupts directly onto your face. You gasp, coughing, your eyelashes completely coated in white powder. Through the white haze, you see him throwing his head back, laughing loudly, looking immensely proud of his childish distraction.
"Oh, it is so on," you hiss.
You scoop up a massive, double handful of flour and throw it straight at his chest. It hits him with a satisfying, heavy thwack, turning his dark tunic completely white from collar to waist. Jungkook’s jaw drops in utter shock, his laughter cutting off. He retaliates by pinching more flour before sprinkling it over your head, coating your hair in white. You squirm, laughing as you grab another handful and go to move around the bench, but your shoes slip on the pile of flour that has accumulated on the floor, and you are sent plummeting to the ground. Jungkook is faster, though, of course, and he manages to hold onto you, one hand on your arm and the other firm against your waist as he manages to pull you back up.
"Falling for me already?" His lips upturn in a playful smirk.
You scoff, already pushing away from him, "You wish, rich boy."
You both laugh. And the next few hours continue like that. You love the back-and-forth; it calms you after a long day and prepares you for the next. You truly relish these moments, that is, until you gaze up and notice the sky outside, the dark midnight lighting slightly.
"You should get going, Jungkook, dawn's coming, and I should rest before prepping for the morning." You explain.
He whines, pouting his bottom lip in a way that makes him look like an oversized puppy, but he relents. He walks to the back door, pausing to look back at you, the playful smirk returning to his face as he pulls his hood back up over his dark hair. "See you tomorrow, my beautiful baker. Try not to miss your prince too much."
"Oh, that won't be difficult at all, Jungkook," you say, and he holds his chest, mocking a dagger struck through his heart, but you’re smiling wide as the door clicks shut, the quiet warmth of his presence lingering long after he’s gone.
The next morning brings a particularly bitter cold. The sun has barely crested the horizon when you set up the outdoor display rack, lining it with fresh, golden loaves of bread and warm rolls.
You return inside to tend to the ovens, glancing out the large front glass window. The village market is starting to wake up. The other store owners are sweeping outside their doors and beating the rugs. The stall owners are setting up their carts with small chatter amongst them, no doubt some high-class gossip they read in the papers this morning.
Through the glass, you also notice three small, shivering figures creeping toward your outdoor display. It’s the children who sleep under the alleyway awnings near the secondary square. They look emaciated, their ribs practically visible through their tattered rags, and your heart cracks slightly at the sight.
One of them, a little boy no older than six, reaches up and snatches a small loaf of bread. But before you can even open the door to tell them they can have it, even come inside for more, a harsh, booming voice echoes through the square.
"Thieves! Drop it!"
Two royal guards, clad in gleaming, heavy iron armour, march out from the shadows. They look bored, angry, and eager for a distraction. The children shriek, dropping the bread into the dirt as they try to scatter, but one guard lunges, grabbing the little boy by his scruff, lifting him completely off the ground. The child wails in terror.
The second guard unclips a heavy, thick leather lash from his belt, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. "A lesson needs to be taught. Stealing from the village market carries a heavy price, brat."
Your blood runs cold. You don't think. You throw the bakery door open, sprinting out into the freezing air.
"Stop! Stop, please!" you shout, throwing yourself into the scene.
The guard with the whip pauses, lowering his weapon slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Move aside, girl. These street rats are breaking the law. They require consequence."
"It's my bread!" you say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribs. "It’s my shop! I don't mind. I was giving it to them. They didn't steal anything, I swear."
The guard holding the boy sneers, dropping the child to the dirt, where he scurries behind your skirts, clinging on to them for dear life. "Do not lie to the Crown's authority, baker. We saw them take it. If you harbour thieves, you share their guilt. Now step away before we make an example out of you, too."
These guards are notorious. They are brutes, drunk on the microscopic amount of power the crown grants them over the poor villagers. You look down at the crying child holding onto you, burying his face in your skirts, and a stubborn wave of protectiveness washes over you.
"They are starving children," you say, your voice trembling but resolute. "If you must strike someone to satisfy your pathetic need for power... strike me. Leave them alone."
The guard with the whip cuts a dark, ugly glare toward you. "You want to take the punishment for a bunch of gutter rats? Fine by me. The law demands blood for theft. Now kneel."
You look around the square. A few villagers have stopped to watch, but they immediately look away, hurrying along, terrified of getting involved.
No one is going to help you. You don't expect them to.
You swallow hard, your knees hitting the cold, unforgiving cobblestones. You pull your hair to the side, exposing the back of your thin cotton chemise. You brace yourself, gripping your knees tightly.
Crack.
The first strike tears through the air and slices directly across your upper back.
A choked, agonising shriek tears from your throat. It feels like a line of liquid fire has been seared into your flesh. The sheer force of the blow knocks you forward, your palms slamming into the dirt. Tears sting your eyes instantly, blurring your vision.
"That's for the first brat," the guard grunts.
Crack.
The second strike hits, the leather biting into the exact same raw skin. You gasp, your lungs seizing.
"That's for the second."
Crack.
The third blow tears your chemise open at the side, the fabric ripping away as the leather draws blood. You press your forehead against the freezing ground, sobbing silently as you pray for it to end.
"And that's for the third," the guard sneers. He pauses, looking down at your trembling, broken form, but his eyes only gleam with a deeper cruelty. "But you opened your mouth to the Crown's authority, didn't you, girl? You think you can talk back to us?"
Crack.
The fourth strike is harder, delivered with the full weight of his arm. A ragged scream escapes your lips, your vision flashing white. The pain is blinding, radiating across your entire torso.
"And this one..." The guard chuckles, raising the whip one last time just to satisfy his own twisted amusement. "...just because I feel like it." He says low, only for your ears to hear.
Crack.
The fifth strike shatters whatever strength you have left. You collapse entirely onto the cold cobblestones, your chest heaving as deep, agonising tremors wrack your body.
They leave you there, laughing as they walk away. Slowly, agonisingly, you push yourself up. Your vision swims. You stagger back into the bakery, your hands shaking so violently you can barely turn the lock. You flip the sign on the door to CLOSED, then wince as you draw the thick curtains shut.
You stumble up the narrow wooden stairs to your small apartment on the second floor. In the tiny bathroom, you try to peer into the cracked mirror, but you can’t see the damage properly. Reaching behind yourself with a wet cloth, you touch the wounds, and a fresh wave of sobbing breaks out. It hurts too much. You can't reach it properly to clean it. Blindly, you wrap a clean strip of linen around your torso, pinning it clumsily, though you know it's too loose.
Exhausted, broken, and throbbing with a relentless, burning agony, you crawl onto your bed, burying your face in the pillow, letting the tears ruin the sheets.
Hours pass. Eventually, the sheer restlessness of the pain forces you out of bed. You can’t lie down comfortably, and you can’t sit up straight. You're exhausted. But you drag yourself back downstairs into the darkened kitchen. You decide not to open the shop today, you can't bear the thought of standing at the counter, but you need a distraction. You begin mindlessly wiping down the clean surfaces, moving like a ghost in your own home.
Jungkook is practically skipping through the crowded, muddy alleyways of the lower village, keeping the heavy fabric of his dark wool cloak pulled tightly around his face. Thankfully, his royal duties ended earlier today, allowing him more time with you. He did have to dodge three separate royal attendants, lie straight to his personal guard, and scale a crumbling section of the northern citadel wall just to sneak out today, but he didn't care. He would gladly scale the highest mountain in the land if it meant reaching your doorstep a second earlier than usual.
The only thing occupying his mind for the last twelve long, agonising hours has been you.
He is down bad. Mortifyingly, hopelessly, helplessly down bad.
Every time he closes his eyes during council meetings or listens to his father drone on about trade routes, he doesn't see crowns or maps. He sees the way your eyes crinkle into perfect, breathtaking crescents when you laugh at his ridiculous antics. He sees the faint, light dust of white flour that always seems to settle on the bridge of your nose. He wants to taste that layered cream pastry again, sure, but more than that, he just wants to hear the melodic cadence of your voice.
He wants to tease you until your stubborn pride flares up, just so he can witness that fierce, fiery spark in your eyes that makes him feel more alive than any royal decree ever could. He is a prince of the realm, surrounded by high-born court ladies who fawn over his status and offer plastic, practised smiles, but none of them holds a candle to the sharp-tongued, beautiful baker who looks right past his title and treats him like a normal man.
As he navigates the bustling market crowds, his inner monologue takes a heavier, more ache-filled turn. He is growing so tired of the midnight boundaries. He is tired of being the mysterious visitor who has to vanish before the sun crests the horizon. He wants more. He wants to be the one who wakes up next to you, watching the morning light catch your face. He wants to hold your hand in broad daylight, right in the middle of the crowded square, and dare anyone to say a word about it. He wants you to be his, entirely and completely, but he knows how fiercely independent you are, how hard you work for your little shop, and how you probably don't feel the same. So for now, he hoards these secret hours like a dragon guarding gold. And even if he has to keep this boundary with you for the rest of his life, be nothing more, he'll take that sacrifice if it means he gets to be in your presence, in your life, in whatever way you'll have him.
He turns the final corner into the main square, a boyish grin already splitting across his face, his heart does an eager little flip against his ribs. But the moment his eyes land on the bakery, his steps instantly slow to a halt.
The outdoor display racks are completely empty. The heavy linen curtains are drawn tightly across the front windows, blocking out the daylight. The wooden sign dangling from the brass chain reads CLOSED.
Jungkook frowns, a sharp, cold knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach. It’s mid-afternoon. The sun is at its peak. You never close the shop at this hour. Even when you were burning up with a fever last winter, you stubbornly dragged yourself down to the counter to sell bread, refusing to lose a single coin.
He hurries up to the heavy front door, his hand trembling slightly as he knocks loudly against the wood. "Y/N? Love? Are you in there? It's me."
Silence. The square carries on around him, completely indifferent to the sudden spike of adrenaline flooding his veins.
Panicking now, his breath catching in his throat, he rushes down the narrow, shadowed side alley toward the back entrance. He grabs the brass handle and turns it, fully expecting it to be locked, but to his surprise, it clicks open. He's going to have a few words with you about that. He slips inside instantly, shutting the heavy door quietly behind him to keep his presence hidden.
The kitchen is cast in deep shadows, completely devoid of the usual roaring hearth fire and bustling energy. The only light comes from a single, lonely candle burning on the centre island.
Then, he spots you.
You are standing by the deep stone sink, your back completely turned to him. Your shoulders are hunched forward, your movements incredibly slow as you mindlessly wipe a copper pot with a rag.
"Hey," he says softly, exhaling a long, ragged breath of relief as he drops his hood. "You scared the absolute hell out of me. Why are the front doors locked? Did you actually sleep in for once?"
You flinch violently at the sound of his voice, your entire body spasming as you drop the rag into the water with a dull splash. You don't turn around to face him. You remain entirely still, staring down into the basin. "Jungkook. What are you doing here? You shouldn't have come. The shop is closed today."
Your voice sounds completely wrong. It is hollow, strained, and entirely stripped of the vibrant, feisty warmth that usually greets him.
Jungkook's playful smile vanishes in an instant, his large doe eyes narrowing with deep, immediate concern. He takes a slow step closer, his boots clicking quietly against the floorboards. "Yeah, I noticed. Are you okay? You sound tired." He tries to inject a tiny bit of his usual playfulness into his tone, trying to coax a smile out of you as he steps up directly behind your frame. "Did you miss me so much this morning that you couldn't even focus on baking today?"
"Not now, Jungkook," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your shoulders hunch even further forward, your head bowing.
You slowly reach up with both hands, attempting to place a copper pot on the drying shelf slightly above your head. The exact moment your arms extend upward, your breath catches violently in your throat. A sharp, ragged, agonising wince escapes your lips, and your entire body shudders as you quickly drop your arms back down, your hands flying to clutch tightly at your own side to brace yourself.
Jungkook's protective instincts flare to a blinding degree. The sight of you in discomfort hits him like a physical blow to the chest. He reaches his hand out, his palm hovering just a millimetre above your trembling shoulder, desperate to touch you but terrified of hurting you. "What's wrong? Y/N, what happened?"
"Nothing," you say quickly, your tone sharp, laced with a desperate, stubborn defensiveness.
You finally force yourself to turn around and face him, but you immediately take two deliberate steps backwards, keeping a wide distance between your bodies. You force a terrible, completely strained smile onto your pale lips, though your lower lip is trembling. "I just... I was moving the heavy wooden grain table earlier, and I bumped into the corner. Hit my side pretty hard. It's just a nasty bruise, Jungkook. I'm fine. Really."
Jungkook doesn't buy it for a single second.
He steps right back into your space, his gaze sweeping over you like a hawk, analysing every single detail of your appearance. His heart aches at the sight of you. You look terribly pale, the healthy flush entirely gone from your skin. Your eyes are heavily red-rimmed and puffy, surrounded by dark circles, making it glaringly obvious that you’ve been crying for hours. And your posture is completely wrong: you are leaning slightly forward, your spine stiff as a board, breathing in tiny, shallow, calculated gasps as if expanding your lungs fully is a luxury you can't afford right now.
Seeing you in this state genuinely, physically hurts him. It feels like a cold blade is turning in his own chest; his stomach drops, and a suffocating wave of anxiety threatens to choke him. He hates seeing you vulnerable, hates the fact that something has stolen your bright energy.
He tries to keep his composure, forcing his voice to remain calm so he doesn't spook you, until you turn slightly to the side, attempting to step away from his intense scrutiny to grab a towel.
That's when he sees it.
Through the torn fabric of your shirt, along the side of your figure, he sees the clumsy linen bandage you had tried to wrap around your own torso, which has slipped completely out of place. A small, dark red stain of fresh, wet blood is seeping heavily through the white cloth, stark and horrifying against your skin.
Jungkook’s breath hitches violently in his throat. His blood runs cold.
"Y/N," he says, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, gravelly register, entirely stripped of all playfulness. "Why is there blood on your back?"
You freeze in your tracks, your hands tightening against the fabric of your apron until your knuckles turn white. You try to let out a casual laugh, but it comes out as a pathetic, broken sob that tears right through his chest. "Blood? Oh, don't be ridiculous. It's probably just cherry jam from the tarts. I am a baker, after all, I'm always covered in-"
"Don't lie to me," he commands. The tone is quiet, but it carries the heavy, unyielding authority of a prince who will not be denied.
Before you can utter another word of deflection, he steps directly into your personal space, erasing the distance between you. His large, warm hand moves around to your back, his fingers hovering just a fraction of a millimetre above the blood-soaked bandage. He barely, infinitesimally brushes the very edge of the cloth to see what lies beneath.
The slight, feather-light pressure is a catalyst for pure agony.
A choked, absolutely agonising groan tears from your throat. Your eyes roll back for a fraction of a second as a white-hot wave of pain flares anew across your nerve endings. Your knees completely buckle beneath you, your strength vanishing instantly as your legs give out entirely.
"Whoa- hey, look at me, I've got you, I've got you!" Jungkook panics, his heart leaping straight into his throat.
His arms shoot out in a blind reflex, catching you securely before your body can slam into the hard floorboards. He pulls you tightly against his chest, cradling you against his solid frame, his large doe eyes widening to twice their size with pure, unadulterated terror. He is hyper-aware of how fragile, how small you feel in his arms right now, your entire body trembling violently against him.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I've got you," he frantically whispers, his voice shaking as he holds you up. "Talk to me, please. You have to tell me what happened. You're bleeding."
You clutch desperately at the fabric of his faded tunic, your fingernails burying into the cloth as if it's the only anchor keeping you tethered to reality. The blinding pain, the hours of lonely exhaustion, and the sudden, overwhelming comfort of his warm, safe presence break the stubborn dam holding your emotions back.
You snap completely. You bury your face into the solid crook of his neck and break down, sobbing hysterically. Deep, painful, racking wails tear from your chest, echoing loudly in the empty kitchen.
"It hurts," you cry out, your voice breaking entirely into a raw shriek. "Kook, it hurts so bad, please... I can't bear it..."
Hearing you cry like this, hearing the absolute agony in your voice, completely breaks something fundamental inside Jungkook. A wave of sheer fury crashes over his soul. He sees bright, blinding red. He is the Prince of this kingdom, and someone in his village, under his family's rule, had dared to lay their hands on you. Someone had inflicted this kind of barbaric, sickening pain on the sweetest, most selfless person he knew.
He locks that rage away into a dark corner of his mind, storing it for later, because right now, your tears are the only thing that matters.
"Let me see it," he murmurs, his voice shifting into a soothing, incredibly soft contrast to the storm raging in his chest. "Let me help you, sweetheart."
"No, it's fine, just leave it, please go away," you sob, your stubbornness flaring up one last time through the tears. You weakly try to push his chest away, hiding your face from him. "You shouldn't be here. You're a prince, Jungkook. You shouldn't be seeing me like this... it's messy, it's fine..."
"Y/N," he says, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument, though it is dripping with an unbearable amount of love and panic. He gently but firmly cups your face with both hands, forcing you to look up at him. His own eyes are shiny with unshed tears, wide and desperate as he uses his thumb to wipe a stray tear from your wet cheek. "Look at me. Look into my eyes. I am not going to hurt you. I don't care about being a prince right now. I care about you. Let me see it. Please, don't do this to me. Don't push me away when I know you're hurt."
You look into his frantic, pleading eyes, seeing the genuine agony in his own expression caused purely by your pain, and your stubborn defences finally melt away. You nod weakly, letting your head fall against his chest.
"Let's go upstairs," he whispers against your hair.
He slides one arm securely under your knees and the other firmly behind your shoulders, lifting your body effortlessly into his arms. He carries you up the narrow, creaking wooden stairs as if you weigh absolutely nothing, his movements smooth and careful, ensuring your back never brushes against a single wall or doorframe.
He carries you into your small bedroom, gently setting you down on the very edge of your bed.
The bedroom upstairs is quiet, shadowed by the late afternoon light filtering through the linen curtains. You sit on the very edge of the mattress, your knees pulled slightly toward your chest, your fingers twisting and burying into the worn bedsheets. Every shallow breath you take feels like glass slicing through your skin. Behind you, the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft clink of a ceramic basin tell you that Jungkook is preparing to face whatever horror is hidden beneath your clothes.
"I'm going to pull the fabric down. Is that okay?" Jungkook’s voice is a low, trembling whisper. The playful, cocky boy from last night is completely gone, replaced by a man carrying a heavy gravity.
You nod miserably, dropping your head down.
You feel his large hands settle on the collar of your dress. His touch is so light it’s almost non-existent, his fingers shake slightly as he carefully guides the torn, ruined cotton down your arms. He doesn't pull; he coaxes the fabric away, millimetre by millimetre, ensuring the rough material doesn't catch on the open wounds. As the cloth falls away, exposing your bare back to the cool air of the room, you hear him let out a sharp, ragged intake of breath.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Five jagged, angry lines of destroyed flesh cross your skin. They are swollen, with a deep, bruising purple at the edges, and fresh blood has oozed out where your movement has reopened them. The clumsy linen wrap you had tried to apply is tangled and soaked through with red.
"Who did this to you?" he asks.
The question is delivered in a voice so quiet, so entirely devoid of warmth, that it makes you freeze. If you were to turn around, you would see the menacing glare of a monarch in his eyes. His jaw is clenched so hard the muscles flare against his skin, his knuckles white as he grips a clean cloth.
"The patrol guards," you whisper into the empty room, a fresh tear tracking through the flour dust on your cheek. "In the square this morning. Some of the alley kids... they took a loaf of bread from the display. The guards… they caught them. They pulled out the lash for them. They're just babies, Jungkook. They were hungry. They wouldn't have survived it. I couldn't just watch."
You take a trembling breath, crying out slightly as the movement pulls at your skin. "I told the guards I'd take it instead. Three for each child... one for talking back... and a fifth... because he felt like it."
A suffocating silence fills the room. For a long, agonising moment, he doesn't say a single word. You brace yourself, expecting him to call you foolish, to tell you that a simple villager should never interfere with the Crown's enforcers. Instead, you feel the soft, slow dip of the mattress as he sits down directly behind you, closing the distance between your bodies.
"You are far too good for this world," he murmurs, his voice thick and strained with an emotion so intense it sounds like it’s tearing his throat apart.
Then, you feel the cool, wet cloth touch the very edge of the highest welt.
You flinch violently, a sharp, broken gasp escaping your lips as your hands lock onto the bedsheets. But before you can pull away, Jungkook’s free hand comes around to rest gently on your uninjured hip, holding you steady with an iron-firm but incredibly soft pressure. He rubs gently at the bare skin on your hip.
"Shh, I know, love, I'm sorry. I've got you. I'm being as gentle as I can. Just breathe through it. Focus on my hand," he murmurs, his lips so close to your bare shoulder that his warm breath fans across your skin, offering a fleeting contrast to the stinging cold of the water.
His movements are agonisingly slow but deliberate, focused. He cleans away the dried blood, his fingertips occasionally brushing against your uninjured skin. The sheer intimacy of the act makes your heart hammer in a completely different way. He treats your body like it is made of the rarest, most fragile porcelain, his touch lingering over the curves of your shoulders as if he wishes he could absorb the pain into his own skin.
He reaches into the wooden cabinet on your wall and pulls out a jar of thick, green herbal salve. He rubs a generous amount between his palms, warming it up before he speaks. "This is going to sting at first, Y/N. But it will help the fire go out. Let me know if it's too much."
When his fingers make contact with the raw wounds, a whimper tears from your throat, and without thinking, you lean to the side, your head resting against his solid shoulder. Jungkook doesn't move. He accepts your weight fully, his chest pressing lightly against your side as he leans to the side to get a better angle. His fingertips are unbelievably soft as they smooth the thick ointment over the angry welts, working with a reverent, quiet rhythm.
Every time your body shudders with a sob, he pauses completely. He leans forward, pressing his lips in a soft, comforting breath against the uninjured skin of your neck, whispering broken apologies into your skin until the tremors slow down. It feels intensely, overwhelmingly private, a sanctuary built out of raw pain and an undercurrent of heavy, undeniable devotion.
Finally, he takes a fresh roll of clean white linen bandage. To wrap it around your torso, he has to slide both of his arms completely around your waist. He leans in close, his chest flushing against your uninjured skin, effectively enveloping you in a tight embrace. You can feel the heavy beat of his heart against your shoulder blade as he pulls the cloth snug, securing it with small pins.
"There," he whispers against your ear, his hands lingering on your waist, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your sides before he reluctantly pulls away. "All clean. The fire should start to fade now."
You slowly turn your head, looking at him over your shoulder. His doe eyes are dark, swimming with a profound, aching yearning that terrifies you in their intensity. He looks at you not like a friend, and not like a vagabond, but like a man who has just watched his entire world bleed.
"Lie down," he commands softly, his voice thick, pulling the heavy wool blankets back. "Don't sleep on your back, lie on your stomach. I'm going to go brew some tea for you, okay? Don't move an inch."
You are too exhausted, too thoroughly drained of strength to argue. You crawl into the centre of the bed, resting your cheek against the pillow, and he pulls the blanket over you before leaving.
Within minutes, Jungkook returns, holding a steaming ceramic mug. He sits on the edge of the mattress, his large hand gently lifting your chin to help you take a few sips of the warm, sweet liquid.
The warmth of the tea and the cooling effect of the salve make your eyelids incredibly heavy. Jungkook sets the mug on the nightstand and reaches out, his thumb gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his touch agonisingly tender.
"Thank you, Jungkook," you slurry, your eyes fluttering shut as darkness tugs at the edges of your mind. "For staying."
He leans down, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. He lingers there before pulling away and resting a hand over yours on the pillow beside you. "I will always stay," he whispers against your skin, his voice sounding far away. "Sleep now, my beautiful baker."
He stays with you, one hand stroking the back of your head, fingers toying with the strands of your hair, and occasionally massaging your scalp, his other hand firm on top of your own until you drift off. The moment your breathing evens out into a deep, heavy slumber, the lingering softness completely evaporates from Jungkook’s face.
He stands up from the edge of the mattress, his frame expanding to its full, imposing height as his expression hardens into pure, unadulterated ice. The boyish warmth that usually fills his dark eyes is gone, replaced by a vacant stillness. He looks down at you one last time, your pale face resting against the pillow, and leans over to press another gentle, feather-light kiss to your temple.
He quietly moves around the room, his boots making absolutely no sound against the wooden floorboards. He sets a fresh glass of water on your nightstand, along with a small plate of dried fruits and crackers he salvaged from your pantry. Beside it, he leaves a small piece of parchment, scrawling a quick note in his elegant, fluent script.
He writes in his usual playful tone, desperate to lighten your mood when you wake up, even if his own chest feels like it is caving in from pure malice:
Eat all of this. If I come back tonight and find out you haven't eaten, I'm going to steal every single pastry in the kitchen as punishment. Rest up, my pretty girl. I'll be back to cause more trouble soon~
He slips out of the bedroom, guides himself down the narrow stairs, and exits the bakery, locking the back door securely behind him.
The walk back to the palace is a blur of blinding, volcanic rage. He doesn't care about staying hidden anymore; he doesn't slip through the shadows or wait for patrols to pass. He cuts through the upper village like a wraith, his eyes fixed on the towering stone citadel ahead. People stare as he passes them, a path being made before him as people flock to the side, no doubt whispering about the stern look on his face.
He storms through the heavy iron servant entrances, slamming doors on their hinges, tearing off the faded linen tunic and throwing it to the stone floor like trash. Attendants and low-ranking guards rush to him, bowing in absolute terror at the sheer aura of lethal fury radiating from the young prince. They have never seen him like this.
"Get me my royal uniform," Jungkook barks, his voice ringing through the high stone corridors like a crack of thunder. "Now."
Minutes later, he is clad in the official armour of the high crest: a dark, structured jacket lined with heavy gold trim, epaulettes resting on his broad shoulders, heavy leather combat boots, and the royal insignia pinned sharply over his chest. He looks every bit the future ruler he was born to be.
He strides down the western corridor toward the main guard barracks. The heavy oak doors, reinforced with iron bands, don't just open; they slam against the stone walls with a violent, echoing crash as he kicks them through.
Dozens of off-duty guards and captains instantly freeze, dropping their dice and flagons of ale, snapping to absolute attention. The room goes dead silent.
"Who patrolled the main market square in the lower village this morning?" Jungkook demands. His voice isn't loud, but it is dangerously low, vibrating with a lethal, quiet edge that makes the hair on the back of everyone's necks stand up.
Near the back of the room, two guards exchange a nervous, sweating glance. Slowly, their armour clanking in the heavy silence, they step forward and bow deeply.
So these are the brutes who had stood over you on the cobblestones.
"We did, Your Highness," the lead guard stammers, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. "Is there an issue with the sector?"
Jungkook doesn't answer immediately. He walks up to them with a slow, agonisingly measured pace. The air in the barracks becomes completely suffocating, the temperature practically dropping as the prince circles them. He stops directly in front of the guard, who has a heavy leather whip strapped to his belt.
"An issue?" Jungkook echoes, a terrifying, dark smile tilting the left corner of his lips, though his eyes remain dead and vacant. He peers down at the guard, who is half a head shorter than him. He folds his hands behind his back, leaning in slightly. "Tell me about your morning patrol. I want to hear about how efficiently you enforce the King's law."
The lead guard swallows hard, his throat bobbing nervously. "It was... a routine patrol, sir. We apprehended a group of street rats attempting to steal from the market stalls. We administered the standard physical deterrent to ensure compliance with crown regulations."
"A physical deterrent," Jungkook repeats, his tone almost conversational, entirely too calm. "And tell me... did these so-called street rats take the lashes?"
The guard shifts his weight, his iron greaves clanking with the movement. "No, Your Highness. A local villager stepped in. A peasant girl from the bakery. She obstructed our duty and offered to take the penalty in their stead. We accommodated her request to maintain the crown's authority in the square."
"You accommodated her," Jungkook whispers. His jaw clenches so hard the muscles flare violently against his skin. His fingers curl into tight, white-knuckled fists behind his back. "Five lashes. Is that correct?"
The second guard, thinking the prince is merely verifying protocol, chimes in, "Yes, sir. Three for the stolen goods, one for her insolence and talking back to the guard, and... one extra, just to ensure she remembers her place beneath the law."
The mention of the fifth lash, the one delivered purely out of sadistic amusement, shatters the final thread of Jungkook's restraint, leaving behind a monster driven by pure, protective devastation.
Without a single syllable of warning, Jungkook’s right fist shoots forward.
Crack.
His knuckles connect squarely with the lead guard's jaw with an inhuman amount of force. The sheer momentum of the blow rips the heavily armoured man off his feet, sending him flying backwards. His body crashes into a heavy oak table, splintering the thick wood into raw kindling before his armour skids across the stone floor, a spray of dark blood erupting from his shattered mouth.
The second guard gasps in pure shock, his eyes widening in horror as his hand flies to the hilt of his sword in a blind, conditioned reflex.
"Touch that steel," Jungkook roars, stepping into his space instantly, "and I will take your hand off your wrist."
Before the guard can even process the threat, Jungkook's royal combat training takes over. He intercepts the man's arm, his grip clamping down on the wrist like an iron vice. With a brutal, fluid twist of his upper body, he snaps the guard's wrist backwards. The bone pops with a sickening, wet crunch, forcing a loud, piercing shriek of agony from the man's throat.
Jungkook doesn't stop. He drives his knee directly into the guard's stomach, crushing the wind out of his lungs, followed by a heavy kick straight to his chest plate. The metal dents inward with a loud clang, and the guard goes sailing through the air, crashing hard onto the stone floor, coughing up strings of bright blood as he rolls onto his side, clutching his broken arm.
The rest of the barracks stands paralysed. No one moves. No one breathes. To strike a royal guard is treason, but when the attacker is the future King, and a man who can kill with his bare hands, the law belongs entirely to him.
Jungkook turns his gaze back to the first guard, who is desperately scrambling backwards on his hands and knees like a terrified, wounded animal, leaving a trail of blood on the floor.
Jungkook walks over to him, his heavy leather boots thudding rhythmically. He stands over the grovelling man, then reaches down, grabbing the guard by the throat and the collar of his iron breastplate. With a guttural growl of pure, unadulterated rage, Jungkook rips the man completely off the ground, slamming his back against a massive stone pillar.
"Who do you think you are?" Jungkook hoarsely whispers, his face inches from the guard's bleeding, trembling features. He tightens his grip on the man's throat, cutting off his air until the guard's face begins to turn purple. "You wear my family's crest. You carry weapons funded by my treasury. You eat food provided by my citizens. And you use that power to strike an innocent, defenceless woman in the streets?"
"Your Highness- p-please-mercy…" the guard chokes out, tears of genuine, paralysing fright mixing with the dark blood pouring down his chin. "We didn't... we didn't know she was... we didn't know..."
"You didn't know what?" Jungkook roars, slamming him against the stone pillar a second time, cracking the mortar behind his head. "That she has a name? That she feels pain? That her life is worth infinitely more than your pathetic, miserable existences?"
He weakens his grip just enough to let the man gasp for air, only to drive a brutal left hook directly into the guard's ribs. The sound of fracturing bone echoes clearly in the silent room. The guard lets out a strangled sob, his head slumping forward.
Jungkook grabs him by his hair, forcing his head back up so he has to look into his eyes, eyes that are currently completely devoid of mercy, cold and dark as a winter grave.
"Listen to me very carefully," Jungkook whispers, his voice dropping into that lethal, quiet promise that chills everyone in the room to the bone. "If I ever see either of you set foot in the lower village market again... if I ever hear that you so much as look in the direction of that bakery... I will ensure you are stripped of your titles, thrown into the deepest dungeon beneath this palace, and I will personally pick up the leather lash and show you what five strikes feel like when delivered by someone who actually knows how to use it. Do you understand me?"
"Yes... Yes, Your Highness... Forgive us... Forgive us..." the guard weeps, his spirit completely broken, pressed flat against the cold stone.
Jungkook shoves the guard away in utter disgust, letting his limp, groaning body slide down the base of the pillar into a pathetic heap.
The prince stands up straight, slowly adjusting the cuffs of his dark royal jacket, his chest heaving with heavy, deliberate breaths as he reins in his wild adrenaline. The fury still burns hot in his veins, but his composure returns like a heavy curtain falling over a stage. He looks around the barracks at the rest of the silent soldiers who are still locked at attention, none of them daring to even blink.
"Clean this pathetic mess up," Jungkook barks coldly, casting one final, disgusted look at the two broken men on the floor. "And remember exactly whose crest you wear. If any of you forget your duty to protect our people, I will personally remind you."
He turns on his polished leather heel, his golden cape snapping behind him, and storms out of the barracks, his mind already racing out of the palace gates and straight back to your quiet, shadowed bedroom.
The bright, warm rays of the morning sun pierce through your thin linen curtains, casting long, golden bars across your bedroom.
You slowly blink your eyes open, your body instantly tensing as you brace yourself for the white-hot, agonising fire that had consumed your back yesterday. You hold your breath, carefully shifting your weight to test the movement, but to your absolute surprise, the blinding agony has receded into a dull, thoroughly manageable ache. The throbbing is heavy, a reminder of the guards' cruelty, but it no longer cuts your breath short. The cooling herbal salve Jungkook applied worked absolute wonders overnight.
You slowly press your palms into the mattress, pushing yourself up into a sitting position, your eyes immediately darting around the quiet room.
Jungkook.
He is gone. The space beside your bed feels entirely empty, the cool morning air still carrying the faintest, lingering hint of his crisp, rich scent.
A heavy wave of emotion hits you as you sit there in the morning silence, the blankets pooled around your waist. Your mind drifts back to the blurry memories of yesterday. You remember the sheer terror in Jungkook's eyes when your knees had buckled in the kitchen, the way his strong arms had snapped around you before you could even hit the floor. He had held you so tightly against his chest, as if you were something incredibly precious he couldn't bear to see broken.
The memory of his touch makes your skin tingle beneath your bandages. He is the Crown Prince of the realm, a man born to be served, and yet he spent his hours kneeling on your floor, on your bed, cleaning your wounds with trembling hands, and whispering soft, broken apologies against your skin every time you whimpered in pain. The sheer, intoxicating intimacy of him wrapping the linen around your waist, pulling you flush against his solid chest, plays on a loop in your head. It sends a strange, dizzying heat curling deep into your stomach, a mixture of profound gratitude and a budding, terrifyingly deep affection.
You turn your head towards the nightstand. There sits a fresh glass of clear water, a small plate neatly stacked with dried fruits and crackers, and a folded piece of parchment. You reach out, your fingers tracing the crisp edges of the paper before unfolding it. Reading his messy, hurried handwriting, a genuine, breathless laugh bubbles up in your chest.
The ridiculous boyishness of his threat instantly cuts through the lingering shadows of yesterday's trauma. Even when he is trying to be authoritative, he can’t help but be the same teasing menace who steals your cake batter. You smile, dutifully eating every single cracker and dried fruit on the plate, feeling the energy slowly returning to your limbs, before drinking the water down to the very last drop.
Exhaling a long, steady breath, you carefully slide off the bed. You find a loose, lightweight, clean dress in your wardrobe and slip it over your head with meticulous care so the fabric doesn't rub harshly against the fresh dressings. You feel remarkably better; the deep, uninterrupted rest has done wonders for your body and mind.
Marching down the staircase, you are determined to open the bakery today. You refuse to let those guards steal your livelihood or intimidate you out of your own shop, and you certainly can't let your regular village customers down two days in a row.
The kitchen downstairs is dead quiet, smelling faintly of the chamomile tea Jungkook had brewed for you. You walk straight to the front door, unlocking the heavy brass deadbolt, and pull the thick curtains back to let the brilliant morning light flood the room. Bracing yourself, you push the front door open and step onto the threshold to set up the outdoor display.
The moment your boots clear the frame, you freeze completely in your tracks.
Sitting proudly on the wooden bench right beside your shop entrance is an overflowing bouquet. It is massive, easily the size of your entire torso, completely taking over the small wooden bench. But as you take a slow, hesitant step closer, your brow furrows in sheer confusion.
The flowers aren't real.
You lean down, your breath catching completely in your throat as your eyes scan the arrangement. They are meticulously, beautifully handcrafted entirely out of soft, colourful yarn. Dozens upon dozens of intricately crocheted roses, delicate lilies, and bright daisies, amongst others, which are woven together with an unbelievable amount of patience, care, and precision. The bouquet bursts with vibrant, warm shades of pastel pink, sunny yellow, and rich cream, completely immune to the biting morning frost.
Tears instantly spring to your eyes, a sudden, heavy wave of emotion tightening in your chest until it's actually hard to breathe.
You are, unfortunately, severely allergic to real flowers; the pollen makes your eyes swell shut, and your lungs feel heavier within minutes. It is a small, trivial detail you had mentioned to Jungkook months ago, a passing, light-hearted remark made at two in the morning while you both sat on the kitchen floor giggling over a tray of accidentally burnt sugar cookies. You hadn't thought twice about it. You had assumed he forgot it the second the words left your mouth.
Yet here they are. Flowers that will never wither, flowers that can never trigger your allergies, flowers made with a level of dedication that a person can only give when they are entirely, irrevocably devoted to someone. Only a handful of people in the world know that secret about you, and your royal visitor remembered every single syllable.
Tucked precisely into the centre of the soft yarn roses is a small, heavy piece of parchment. You reach out, your fingers trembling violently as you pull the note free from the stitches and unfold it.
I heard real flowers make you sneeze.
These will never wither, and they will never hurt you.
I'll be there tonight. Don't lock the back door.
- J.
p.s. leave out some extra cookies, please <3
You press the heavy paper firmly against your chest, right over your thundering heart, staring out into the bustling village square. A silent tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the light dust of flour on your skin, but a bright, genuine smile graces your lips.
Yesterday, you felt completely alone, broken and humiliated on the cold cobblestones while the world looked away in fear. But today, clutching this note, you feel safer, more cherished, and more protected than you have ever felt in your entire life.
You find yourself glancing up at the morning sun, already tracking its slow path across the sky, a deep, restless yearning settling into your very bones. For the first time in your life, you find yourself utterly despising the daylight, wishing the hours would fly by in a breathless blur. You can't bring yourself to care about the flour, the dough, or the baking today. All your heart can focus on is the ticking of the clock, desperately waiting for midnight to fall so you can hear that muffled chime, the click of the door, and fall back into the familiar step with your prince.
Summary: Everyone thought finding your soulmate meant the start of your happy ending, but when yours happens to be an idol in one of the biggest kpop groups in the world all the secrets and the lies get too much. So you make a choice to put yourself first and leave. Four years on, you pick a random holiday destination to enjoy some time for yourself and who should you happen to run into?
Rating: 18+ (mature) NSFW
Genre(s): soulmate au / idol au / non idol reader / exes to lovers / angst / fluff / smut
Warnings: Talk of heartbreak, relationship break down and mentions of depression related to this / loss of close friendship / oral sex (female receiving) - not detailed / P in V unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) / creampie /
Word count: 6.5k
Beta: @lo1k-diamonds thank you so much for your always helpful suggestions
Banner and moodboard: by me
A/N: This is for @lapydiaries annual summer event 'An unexpected journey'
Taking your first mid-morning walk along the beach since you arrived here — toes sinking slightly into the warm sand and the cool breeze blowing gently through your hair — is the much needed break you'd been after. Something about the sun caressing your skin and the sea salt air makes you feel instantly rejuvenated.
Book in hand, you head to the coffee shop you'd seen when the taxi dropped you off at the apartment late last night. After a delayed flight and a stressful time at the airport locating your luggage, you wanted nothing more than to get into a comfortable bed and had definitely not felt like exploring. But after a good night's sleep, you were more than ready to begin this well deserved holiday.
The decked seating area on the beach looked like the perfect place to get lost in the pages of your novel, with a drink and a pastry. There were a few people already seated; two women chatting and giggling animatedly with each other, a couple holding hands as they looked at something on a phone and two men with their backs to you, sitting together looking out at the sea view.
Climbing up the wooden steps, you throw your flip flops down, wiping the sand off your feet before sliding them back into place and heading inside to make your order.
With the aroma of your coffee filling your senses and comforting you in its warm embrace, you relax into your seat, letting the gentle breeze dance around you. And just as you begin to fall deep into another world, you hear your name from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, expecting to see an interaction with someone that is not aimed at you, but instead frozen in shock to find yourself looking into the eyes of someone very familiar. Your heart, feeling like it's been jump started, hammers away loudly in your ears as you stare into the large, doe eyes of Jeon Jungkook.
“Kookie?” you say quietly as you stand and place your book back down on your table.
His beaming grin has you mirroring him with your own; he always had that effect on you.
“I can’t believe it's you!” he says, pulling you into a hug, and as soon as you squeeze your arms around his neck, he lifts you off the floor and spins you around. When he returns you to your feet, you're giggling and pinching his cheeks, making him blush a little, but he doesn’t pull away, just stares at you in the same wide-eyed manner as he always used to.
Oh, fuck. Is he with him? The sudden thought has you frozen in place as your eyes dart around, landing on everyone you can see, searching for that familiar blonde hair amongst them.
“It’s ok,” Jungkook starts, “he’s not here.”
You release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, and just that sentence is enough to have you relaxing again.
You take him in, broader than the last time you saw him, his muscular arms particularly noticeable in his tight t-shirt. No longer afraid to have his tattoo on show, you notice appreciatively.
“Come, sit, join me,” you say, taking your seat again and pointing to the empty chair beside yours, glad when he takes you up on the offer. “What are you doing here?” you ask, leaning forward eagerly, wanting to hear about everything you've missed.
“We’re shooting a music video for the lead single on our new album,” he says proudly, the wood of his seat creaking as he leans back.
“I have heard about the highly anticipated new album.” You grin as you bring your coffee cup up to your lips to take a sip.
Raising an eyebrow at you, he tries to rein in his smile but fails miserably. “So, you've been keeping tabs on us, then?”
This makes you chuckle, what did he expect? “Of course. I loved your album too, I listen to it all the time.”
His eyes widen and mouth forms into a small ‘o’, and it makes you giggle. “You listened to Golden? What's your favourite song?”
Why did this feel like a test? No matter, you would pass with flying colours. “Easy, either ‘standing next to you’ or ‘Yes or no’.”
He smirks playfully. “Ok, well, don't I feel special.”
Shaking your head at him, a thought suddenly had a rock settling in the pit of your stomach. “If you're here for the new album, that means Jimin is here too?”
He grimaces awkwardly, and a seriousness falls over his face as he studies you. “Yes, but he’s back at our hotel, training. You won’t see him here, don’t worry,” he insists, putting his hands up in surrender, attempting to ease your concern.
You fly halfway across the world, picking somewhere completely random and yet you end up in the same city as the person you’ve been avoiding for the last four years. If you were honest, are you even surprised at this point? Soulmates are drawn to each other, after all.
“How long are you here for?” he asks, fiddling with your napkin, the habit of fidgeting clearly still very prominent. Not that you've ever minded it.
“Ten days, you?”
He smiles at you hesitantly. “Just a week.”
A week. A week of looking over your shoulder and searching for his face in every person you pass. “Great,” you mumble to yourself, but when you look up and see Jungkook's sad expression, you know he caught it, and it's as if someone punched you in the gut. Guilt consumes you and a large knot forms in your stomach. “I'm sorry, Kookie, I really am happy to see you.”
Placing your hand on top of his, he grabs it and squeezes your fingers, giving you a false smile. “There was a time when we were friends,” he starts, avoiding your eyes and staring at the napkin he's ripped up into small pieces. “Do you remember how close we were?”
You nod, your lower lip trembling with the thoughts of everything you miss. “I'm sorry, I should have stayed in contact with you. I wanted to - I just…” your voice trails off, not even sure what to say at this point. Four years is a long time, how can you justify that?
“Hey, it's ok,” he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, “I understand, I do. I know how hard it was for you to walk away. I just…I miss you.”
His words slice into you like a fast knife, so quick you barely saw it coming, and without warning, a tear escapes and trails slowly down your cheek. He sits up, sliding his chair closer to you and wipes it away with the back of his hand. “I'm sorry, please don't cry, I'm not trying to upset you,” he panics.
“I know.” Squeezing his hand tighter, you admit, “I miss you, too.”
“Jungkook,” the security member with him steps in apologetically, “we should be getting back, you'll be late for the schedule.”
He nods before turning back to you and rolling his eyes. “The dreaded schedule.” He lets out a lengthy sigh and stretches his neck, making it click. “Meet me back here tomorrow morning? I'll have more time, and we can have a proper catch up?”
Thinking it over, you know the answer before you've had a chance to weigh up the pros and cons. You can't say no to him when he's looking at you so happy and hopeful. “Sure. That would be nice.”
When he stands, you join him, and he quickly pulls you into an embrace. “I'll be here at eight,” he says quietly, holding onto you for a moment longer.
You nod into his shoulder. “I'll be here.”
He pulls back, smiling at you and pressing his lips briefly to your forehead. “It's so good to see you.”
You cannot describe the overwhelming, safe, familiar feeling he brings you.
From the moment you and Jimin had started dating, and you met Jungkook, you had instantly clicked in a different way than with the other BTS members. You and Jungkook were as close as siblings; you teased him like a younger brother, and he looked up to you like an older sister, always confiding in each other and being that shoulder to cry on in your toughest times.
The night you'd had enough and made the impossible decision to leave Jimin, Jungkook was the one who ran to your side and cradled you in silence while you cried.
He stayed at your house for weeks, cooking to make sure you were eating, forcing you to get up and do things when you were catatonic. But the two of you remaining so close made it impossible to…there isn't a word for it. Move on? How can someone move on from their soulmate? They can't.
When you find them, everything clicks into place, you become bound to one another, your souls intertwined forever. When you were with Jimin, you could breathe, you felt whole, you were happy…until you weren't.
Being the soulmate of an idol comes with its own cost, one you were more than willing to pay, for a while anyway. But after three years living your life with him, you had left.
If someone had taken a knife and stabbed you in the heart, it would have been less painful than what you felt, and so many times you ended up back at his door. Each night, comforting each other in the darkness, lips on his, body to body, searching for answers you were never going to find. And each time you left, it was torture.
Jungkook had stayed because he was worried. He went between you and Jimin, consoling both any chance he got, until you realised how unfair it was for him to be stuck in the middle. He was exhausted, dark circles permanently under his eyes, no time for anything other than the two of you. He neglected his training, his work, himself. Once you realised that, it was a huge wake up call.
You found an apartment in another country and left. You said your goodbyes to Jungkook, a final nail in the coffin and didn't look back, knowing him and Jimin would be better off without your presence hindering their lives. You plunged head first into your new city, new career, and new life for yourself. An incomplete one but a life nonetheless.
To find yourself back in Jungkook's presence has reminded you, not only of everything you miss but of everything you left behind. And you were not ready to go anywhere near that world. But being around Jungkook felt safe, comforting and loving. Things you have not felt since you left four years ago. You could enjoy it for one day, right?
“I have to go. Sorry.” He gives you a beaming grin and heads off down the wooden steps and onto the beach.
“Kookie?” you call out as quietly as you can as you follow him to the steps.
He pauses and turns to you.
“Please don't tell Jimin I'm here.”
His face falls, and he looks off, a worried expression furrowing his brow. “I can't lie to him.”
You sigh, hating the position you're putting him in, but you have no other choice. “It's not lying, you're just not mentioning it.”
He gives you a curt nod, turns and jogs off along the beach with his security, leaving you with a rock in the pit of your stomach, having a feeling you won't be able to avoid seeing Jimin the whole week.
*
After a lovely meal in a restaurant on the seafront overlooking the ocean at sunset, you went back to your bed a little tipsy, enjoying your dinner with more than a couple glasses of wine. With your eyes heavy and begging for sleep, it wasn't long before you were pulled under its blanket and dreamt of Jimin. This was a regular occurrence, but the time between dreams of him has been growing longer recently, much to your relief and simultaneous disappointment.
When your eyes snap open to the bright morning light streaming through the thin curtains, a familiar ache in your chest makes you curl up into a ball and hug your knees.
Seeing his face behind your eyes every time you close them, and the feeling of his lips against yours felt so real, you could almost taste him. Licking your lips, you attempt to savour the moment before the fog of sleep completely dissipates, leaving nothing but the harsh reality of life without him.
Glancing at the time on your phone, you have an hour before you meet Jungkook. Maybe a morning swim in the ocean would start your day off nicely.
Throwing off the covers, you head into the bathroom to brush your teeth, shower and change into your swimming costume. Then, grabbing your towel, you rush off outside, trying to leave all thoughts of Jimin behind and back in that bed.
The whole stretch of sand as far as your eye can see is pretty empty, only a handful of people are already out. Finding a spot to leave your towel and belongings is easy on the vacant beach, then you race off into the water. As the tide laps over your feet, you give yourself a moment to adjust to the temperature; not freezing but not warm yet either, before heading further in. By the time the water’s up to your waist, it almost takes your breath away, but the bright sun, already fairly high in the sky, warms your skin. Diving in, you swim through the gentle current. There's something different about being in the ocean, something that makes you feel at peace. When you start to get really tired and out of breath, you turn on your back and float, staring up at the sky and searching for shapes in the clouds.
“Care for company?” You recognise Jungkook's voice instantly and sit up to tread water as he glides towards you.
“You're early,” you reply with a grin.
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Are you still as good a swimmer as I remember?”
“No,” you say, shaking your head, “I'm better.”
He arches a brow at the challenge. “Alright, first one to touch that buoy wins.” He points to the bright orange marker ahead.
Grinning widely, you agree, “You're on. Three, two, one, go,” you countdown quickly, hoping for a headstart, but he's on your tail in an instant. You remain in the lead up until a metre from the finish, and he swoops past you. But determination takes over, and you find yourself grabbing his shoulders and clambering onto his back. He shouts out to you and tries to knock you off, but this only makes you cling on tighter as you burst out laughing. He chuckles as his head sinks below the surface until he finds his bearings and powers through the water with you on his back, leaning forward, legs tight around his waist. Just as he's a foot away from the buoy, you lunge forward at it, touching it a couple of seconds before he does.
You erupt into cheers, watching the grin on his face broaden further.
“You cheated, that doesn't count,” he argues, splashing you in the face with water, making you gasp.
“I beg to differ, all you said was ‘first one to touch the buoy’. There were no specifications or rules, therefore - technically, it was not cheating.”
He rolls his eyes, a silent admission of his defeat, but before you can say anything else, he lunges towards you, grabbing you around the waist, lifting you and throwing you back into the water.
After a few minutes of playing around in the water, you both begin to head back to the shore.
“I came here early hoping to catch you,” he says, still trying to catch his breath as you wade through the water together. “I can't join you for coffee anymore, sorry.” He winces.
Nudging his shoulder, you say, “Hey, that's ok, I know your schedule must be crazy. Playing around in the sea will have to suffice.”
He looks down at his feet as you walk slowly out of the water, his whole demeanor no longer relaxed and carefree like he was in the ocean. His shoulders are tense, and he won't meet your eyes. Your stomach sinks, a thought lurking deep in your mind that churns away inside. “What is it, Kookie?” you demand.
He sighs. “I wasn't going to say anything, I promise,” he starts rambling, “but they all knew something was going on. They thought I'd met my soulmate, so I had to tell them. I'm so sorry.”
And just like that, the niggling thought that had been troubling you since you saw Jungkook yesterday became a reality.
“And, well, Jimin really wants to see you.”
“No,” you say, staring at him flatly. “I can't.”
He grimaces then and looks up guiltily towards the beach. Following his gaze to where you left your belongings, the world around you seems to stand still as your eyes connect with Jimin, and my god, did he look even more beautiful than you remembered, your dreams had not done him justice. His shoulder-length blonde locks, much longer than when you last saw him, move in the gentle morning breeze and suit him in a way you couldn’t have imagined. His plump full lips pull up into a smile so devastating, your knees wobble slightly as you remember the way they felt against yours in the dream you had last night. But you can’t return it. You’re already in panic mode, fight or flight. Your legs are powering you forward against your will, feet slapping against the surf and sinking into the wet sand with each step. Your heart, pounding so hard it hurts, desperate to be reunited with its other half, but you can’t do it. You can’t go through it all again.
Jungkook tries grabbing your hand, but you pull away, even after he calls your name. You can’t stop, your feet charging forward with a purpose: to get you the hell out of here.
You glance at Jimin. His smile has vanished, replaced with a worrisome brow, even his security is watching you, full of concern. When you're a couple of metres away, Jimin says your name, and it makes you pause for just a moment. It's long enough for Jungkook to swoop in front of you, hands on both your arms, and his big, dark eyes searching yours.
“I'm sorry,” he says quietly, “but I couldn't keep this from him.” He pulls you against his chest and holds you so tight you almost feel like you're not falling apart.
“I care about both of you, and I know how much you are hurting,” he whispers. “I've seen how much he's hurting, every day, and how much he misses you. Please, just hear him out.”
Closing your eyes for a moment, you think about the love of your life standing only steps away from you. You think about when you left; you didn't even say a proper goodbye, you simply said everything in the form of a letter and were gone, shutting him out completely because you couldn't deal with more than that. Maybe you owe him that much, the chance to say goodbye, the chance for closure, even though it's impossible. But then you also think about Jungkook, how he's stuck in between you both, and after everything he's done for you, you would do anything for him.
And so you nod. “Fine,” you mumble against his chest, and he releases you, looking so relieved that he looks like he might cry.
“Thank you,” he says, kissing your forehead and waving Jimin over.
Taking a deep breath to try and calm your frantic heart, you watch as he hesitantly closes the distance between you. A shy smile on his face, reminding you of that boy you first met years ago, insecure and unsure of himself but so sweet and endearing all at once.
“You can walk me back to my apartment, which is just there.” You point a little way down the beach. “That's it, nothing else,” you insist.
He nods and puts his hands up in surrender. “I hear you, I just want to talk, that's all, then I'll leave you alone.”
You know you can trust him, but can you trust yourself? Are you strong enough to hold onto your decision? You didn't feel it at this moment, not with his sweet face staring back at you so full of love. But you push that aside and throw on a shirt over your bikini before grabbing the rest of your stuff you left on the sand.
“Do you want me to stay?” Jungkook asks, eyes flitting between you both.
You look to Jimin, who gives you an encouraging smile. “If it makes you feel better, I'm fine with it.”
You and Jimin alone — the thought terrified you, but you need to strap your big girl boots on and face this. Besides, you've put Jungkook through enough.
“No, it's ok. I'll see you later, maybe?”
He nods. “I'll call you.” He gives you a grin before running off down the beach with his security, and suddenly the atmosphere changes. The air around you becomes thick and heavy, and you're sure the sun has disappeared behind the clouds, leaving a grey cast across the beach that doesn't match the warmth in the air.
Jimin walks over to his security, looking on a stone’s throw away, and has a quiet word with him, sending him away before returning to you. “Shall we?”
Nodding, you lead the way back along the sand towards your apartment. The silence is so tense it's almost choking, and in a panic, the words are out before you've fully thought about them, “What is it you want, Jimin?”
He smiles sadly, staring down at his feet. “I came to find you, you know, after you left. Four times.”
His admission stuns you and makes your feet pause.
“What? When?”
He sighs, “Every year, around the anniversary of the day we met, I'd fly to the States.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly sheepish. “I contacted someone to track you down – sorry, now I'm hearing it out loud, I realise how stalkerish that sounds.”
You let out an amused breath through your nose, unable to do more than that while still reeling at this information.
“So, if you knew where I was this whole time, why didn't you…” Your thought trails off, trying to make sense of it.
He shrugs. “I was…scared. You had already left once. And I understand why, I really do, I never blamed you for that. But the thought of knowing it was really over, of not being able to hope that you'd come back, felt too much.”
“So, every year you came to find me and then what? You'd go home?”
His cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, that makes your heart beat a little bit faster, and he gently moves the sand with his sandal. “Every year I came, it was with the intention to beg you to come home. I'd build myself up, so sure I could do it. I'd wait until I saw you; walking home from work, going to a coffee shop, taking a walk along the river. But as soon as I'd see you, more beautiful than ever, so light and free with this new life you created, I couldn't bear to come in and ruin it. I'd imagine you going home to someone who treats you good, someone who'll move heaven and earth just to see you smile. I'd think about your job, and how you dreamed of that long before we met and worked so hard to get it. I couldn't come in and ask you to stop your whole life just for me.”
You frown, confused and irritated. “Let me get this straight. You came all that way and ran off like a scared little boy?”
He flinches at that, looking uncomfortable, eyebrows turned up in confusion as this conversation clearly isn't going the way he thought it would.
“Instead of actually doing better and offering me a proper relationship, you just left again?” Your eyes search his desperately, looking for answers, but all he looks back at you with is anguish and helplessness. “You are so full of excuses, Jimin. You always have been.”
With that, you turn and begin walking again, but he grabs your hand. “No, wait, please.”
You stop, with your back to him and your eyes focused on your apartment, and give him a minute to continue, hoping and wishing he can get this right.
You want to come home to him, you always have. You want him to be there when you get home, but you deserve to be treated right, not tossed aside as if you don't matter.
“Please, it's different this time,” he pleads, and you let out a bitter laugh.
“I’ve lost count of how many times you've said that. It's never different, Jimin,” you sigh, pulling your hand out of his and stepping away, needing to put some distance between you as you can feel yourself being pulled back in. Just being in his presence is hard enough, but looking into his pleading eyes is almost too much to stay strong.
“Baby, please, I mean it this time.” He reaches out to you again, capturing your wrist and gently pulling it back towards him. “I can't live without you anymore.”
With his words, a dark cloud rolls across the sky, hiding the sun and covering the two of you in a grey cast. Your eyes dart to the water; suddenly, the waves are choppy, and the surf creeps faster up the sand than when you were just in it. The few people who had been on the beach were quickly vacating, giving you an uneasy feeling inside. The sand dances along the beach, making elegant patterns as it moves in the brisk breeze that's whipping your hair around your face.
A rumble in the distance draws both your attention upward, staring up at the gloomy sky, before he returns his focus back to you, stepping forward and leaving only a hair’s width of space between you.
“I will do whatever it takes to have you in my life,” he says, the words so intense you almost believe every single one. But you've been here before, and you know better. “I'm sorry,” he continues, taking your hands in his, and this time you don't pull away.
As you stare back into his desperate, pleading eyes, you feel your resolve start to falter. Something about the way he's staring at you and the need you see there that makes that wall you've built start to crumble.
“I'm sorry for all the times you felt like you weren't good enough.” He continues, “I'm sorry for not listening to your needs. I'm sorry for all those nights you waited up for me, and I didn't show. I'm sorry for hiding you and lying about you to everyone who asked, even other idols, when I knew how it hurt you. I'm sorry for not appreciating you enough because I expected you to always be there. I'm sorry for letting you walk out in the first place, I should have fought harder. But I have changed and I will continue to change, to be better, not just for you but myself.” He pauses to take a breath, eyes brimming with tears that yours surely mirror. “And I know that I don’t deserve another chance of you loving me, but I'm begging you,” he lands on his knees in the sand with a thud, “please, give me one last chance to prove things will be different and that I can be the man that you deserve.”
As he looks up at you, a tear finally breaks free from the dam and runs slowly down his cheek and as it does, a drop of rain lands on your head, then another and another. Suddenly, the drops are pelting down from the sky so hard around you, the landscape is but a hazy blur.
Collapsing to your knees, you can't help but reach out and wipe that tear away with your thumb. And as you do, he leans into your touch, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. The touch of his skin has your fingers tingling, a current running from him through to you, an invisible rope pulling you in again, just as his arms snake around your waist to keep you there. You can't deny how good it feels to be here, in his embrace, feeling all worries and concerns melt away into the background. Deciding to listen to your heart, pounding so loud it's practically screaming at you, instead of your head, full of questions you can't answer yet.
Water pours down your faces, but you don't care, all that matters at this moment is you and him. A flash of bright light across the dark sky is the green light you both need as he captures your lips in a fiery kiss so heated that even the devils at the gates of hell would be jealous. Thunder rumbles loudly around you, but all you can focus on is the way his hands feel against your back, holding you firmly against his hard body, and the way his lips feel exploring yours. You let yourself fall back into your bubble of love with him, even if it's only for tonight. Slowly, your guard comes down, and you find yourself exploring his mouth more fervently as if he could disappear at any moment, just like he did in your dream last night.
The taste of his lips is better than your memory has kept all these years, and when his tongue slides across yours, it lights a fire in you more powerful than a thousand suns. You're breaking the kiss and getting to your feet in an instant, pulling him up and leading him quickly to your apartment.
Shutting the door behind you, quelling some of the storm outside, you stare at each other fixed in place. The air around you is so charged you can practically hear the buzz of electricity between you, you can feel it pulling you closer, drawing you in. He moves towards you, every slow step deliberate and giving you an out, but you don't want it. You need him.
Both of you dripping, clothes see through and clinging to skin, now feeling too tight and uncomfortable. He fingers the buttons of your shirt before he peels it away from your skin and lets it drop with a slap on the wooden floor.
You follow his movements as he circles around behind you. When you feel him pull on the ties at the back of your bikini, your already pounding heart picks up pace. His fingers trace lightly across the skin of your back, sending a ripple of goosebumps down your spine, as he returns to you. He stares at you with a want so powerful you can feel it, a heat radiating from him that teases your skin. He pulls at your bikini top stuck to your breasts, and it joins your shirt on the floor. Your nipples harden instantly as the cool air hits your wet skin.
His fingers go to your hips, at the ties on your bikini bottoms. You're growing impatient to have him touch you, really touch you, to make you feel the way he used to, but at the same time, you can't take your eyes off him. He pulls at the strings on both sides and then tugs them down before taking a step back and marvelling at your naked body with an anguished brow, teeth finding anchorage in his plump bottom lip.
“God, I missed you, baby,” he sighs, closing the space between you both and pulling you against him. He kisses you, softly this time, savouring the moment.
His hands roam your body, tracing every curve and making you shiver with desire. You mould against him perfectly, but the layer of fabric between your flesh frustrates you.
Your fingers race to his buttons with none of the patience he displayed, but with your hands trembling, the task feels impossible. You growl to yourself and opt for ripping the shirt off him instead. The buttons splat out all over the room, clicking against anything they hit.
He pulls back, surprised. “This shirt cost me a lot of money, but that is so fucking hot.” His mouth captures yours again as he fumbles with his shorts, and you try to help as he pushes you towards the bed. A mess of hands and fabric, the desperation between you both so intense, you feel like you can't breathe.
As your back hits the cushioned mattress, he falls with you, his weight above you and his naked flesh against yours, taking you back to a time when you would get lost with him for hours, exploring every part of each other. Surprising how, in one moment, you can be back there again.
You feel his erection at your entryway, begging to be let in. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you use your feet to coax him inside you. You're so needy for him, he has no problem sliding inside. As he begins to move, each thrust sending a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to you that makes your heart swell each time, his lips move along your jaw, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Say you'll stay with me.”
Your moans echo in the quiet room, much louder than the rain beating against your windows.
“Please, baby, say it,” he groans against your throat.
You can't think, let alone speak. All you want is him, every day, for the rest of your life. You can't possibly live without him now.
He picks up his pace, hips angling at just that perfect way you like, reaching just the right spot that makes your toes curl.
“Say you're mine, please,” he breathes.
As your insides pull tight, your breath ragged and heart racing, you call out his name as you unravel around him and tell him what he's so desperate to hear. ‘I’m yours, Jimin, I'll stay.”
With that, he releases himself inside you as he peppers eager kisses down your neck, and as his movements slow, he collapses on top of you, holding you tightly. He slides out of you, settling between your breasts.
“I'll talk to the company about releasing a statement,” he says gently, but in your blissed out haze, you can't make sense of his words.
“What are you talking about?” you say as you stroke his hair.
He lifts his head up to look at you. “A statement announcing I've found my soulmate.”
Your recovering heart suddenly slams back into overdrive, pounding so hard, you know he can feel it as he leans his chin on your chest. “Jimin, you can't be serious.”
He smirks at you with a one sided smile that has your core clenching around nothing. “Let me show you how serious I am.” He replies as he begins a trail of kisses across your breasts and down your stomach.
After hours of endless leg shaking ecstasy, desperate pleas and calling out names, you fall curled up against him, leaving the worries of decisions as a problem for later.
*
Waking from the deepest sleep you've had in a while to orange sunlight streaming in through the window, flashes from this morning play behind your sleepy eyelids. Your lips swollen from kissing, your muscles aching and your core sore but in the best way possible, you reach out to the other side of the bed to pull Jimin close, but your searching fingertips find nothing.
Your eyes snap open and look frantically around your apartment, could he have left already? Did he mean anything he said?
Your stomach twists anxiously at the idea of having to start life again without him, but in the midst of your spiralling thoughts, you hear a murmur of a voice in the distance. Your eyes are drawn to the double doors overlooking the beach, left ajar. Through the thin white curtains, you can see a figure standing on the porch.
Climbing out of bed and covering your naked body with your long white shirt, you wrap it around yourself and step outside. This morning's thunderstorm is a distant memory, the sand is dry and the sun hot and setting below the horizon, and the calm sea lazily laps at the shore.
Jimin stands on the porch staring at the ocean, phone at his ear, leaning on the wooden railing, his open shirt billowing in the breeze, looking picture perfect.
“Yes, ok, thanks,” he says before hanging up. Your arms wrap around his waist, pressing your cheek to his back, and he instantly holds your hands tight to keep you there.
“Good evening, beautiful,” he says gently.
“Hi,” you reply, smiling against him. He turns in your grasp, giving you the opportunity to hook your fingers behind his neck and him an excuse to grab your rear.
“I thought you'd left,” you admit, feeling a warmth tint your cheeks.
He looks pained for a minute before hooking your chin up to meet his eyes. “Without saying goodbye?”
You smile sheepishly, a sadness beginning to creep in at the thought of him leaving. Any moment yet, he'll announce he needs to go or he has a schedule, some parting excuse.
“I take it you haven't checked your phone yet,” he says, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
This makes you frown, what on earth could he mean?
“No,” you reply, bewildered.
“Maybe you should,” he says, fighting a smirk.
Breaking the embrace, you head back into the bedroom, looking in the obvious places for it, and quite quickly, you become frantic. Where the hell is your phone?
Suddenly, you spot it on the floor, sticking out from under the bed, and make a dive for it. Unlocking it, you see a usual amount of notifications, but it was the news headline that sat at the top that had your entire focus:
“Global BTS superstar Park Jimin finds soulmate.”
Your heart swells like a balloon in your chest, fit to pop as you click on the story and read.
“He's officially off the market, army!”
The tagline makes you laugh as you skim through the words. You aren't mentioned by name, but you aren't a secret anymore.
“We've not been told what that means for Jimin specifically, but in the statement released by Hybe earlier today, they assure army all members of BTS will remain together and continue preparations for the upcoming album release and world tour.”
Jimin's hands find your hips and turn you to face him. He takes the phone gently from your grasp and throws it on the bed. “I love you,” he whispers, touching his forehead to yours. And for the first time in a long time, you feel completely at peace. Everything feels how it should be, and you can't wait to start your life with him, however that might look.
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