Roses and Ivory

You’d been talking to this dude over text off and on for over a month or two after matching on a shitty app that you only used when you sought out instant gratification. Truthfully, you didn’t think anything would come of it, offhandedly throwing the invite out like a bone for a dog– and he actually pulled up. He was cute enough. Tall and dressed well. For tonight, he would suffice. Chanhee nudges you conspiratorially as the space between you and your date shrinks. You wave him off with a self-assured smile, murmuring that you’ll catch him inside before hitting the man across you with one of your winning glances.

“Hey.” 

There’s a seductive lilt in your voice while you stretch your arms out to welcome him with a hug. Your nostrils fill with the heavy scent of whatever cheap cologne he drenched himself in, causing you to smirk and let out a flirtatious giggle. You always found it so cute when you could tell a guy was pulling out all the stops to impress you.

“You look stunning.” You hear him compliment you in a low mumble as you pull away from the embrace, and your thank you is coated in sugary, sweet dalliance. 

His eyes shamelessly travel up and down your figure as if he’s appreciating a Greek sculpture. Allowing him to check you out a little more, you shift your weight to one leg and rest a hand on your hip patiently.

“Whenever you finish, I have people I’d love to introduce you to.” Your banter is cheeky, contrasting your calm and placid facial expression as if he had little effect on you. Which, in all honesty, he didn’t. 

-

Sangyeon’s take on a restaurant is unique. The second you step inside, it’s like you’re inside a bubble of luxury with a mix of whimsy. The low hum of chatter surrounding you dissipates as your eyes flit to the ceiling first, scanning across the large, elaborate, bright white neon sign hoisted above the patrons instead of traditional hospitality lighting. The characters pull you forward as you read the saying, craning your neck in order to catch the entire cliche food-related quote.

“Eat great food with even greater friends, huh?” Chanhee sidled up to you, popping back into your view, and you beamed back at him in response. “We should probably follow his instructions then, hm?” you reply through a giggle. 

The man beside you looks around awkwardly, and your friend flashes you a knowing look with an astute smirk to match. “Hi, I’m Chanhee.” He says, stretching his arm out to the new guy who seems too absorbed in the lighting design overhead to pay him any mind. The two of you communicate wordlessly while Chanhee smoothly plays off being ignored by your date. A beat later, he announces that he needs to steal you away for a moment, and the man is left to stand alone in a room filled with people he doesn’t know.

You’re get brought to a far corner of the restaurant where glass panels with neon signs slotted between them separate the line of booths from one another. The specific sign behind Chanhee’s head is a kitschy illustration of a cat eating a bowl of noodles, and the cat’s ears perfectly align with his head. 

“Sangyeon made this place very Instagrammable,” you observe with approval while scoping the restaurant out from this new angle.

Chanhee hums at your remark, looking around before his eyes fall back on you.

“Juyeon’s here.” 

His words come out very frank, but you know he’s gearing up for a lecture. You meet his gaze, lips curling upward into a crooked smirk before you respond. “Oh yeah?” 

“Oh yeah?” He mimics your voice perfectly. “Now you’re playing me like I’m on your roster.” He replies dryly with a short-lived chuckle.

“I mean, yeah. It makes sense that he’d be here— 

He snips your sentence before you can bullshit further, eyes cutting towards the man you brought with you. “So why’d you bring some random ass guy as your date? Everyone knows about you and Juyeon. What the fuck?” 

“There really is nothing to know. We aren’t anything aside from two people who’ve slept together on occasion— 

Chanhee steams on, trampling over your words with a side-eyed glance. “And will continue to.”

You shrug, tongue darting out to wet your top lip. “Perhaps.” You smirk, and so does Chanhee.

“Probably tonight,” he counters, punctuating his message with a gesture towards Juyeon. It looked like he was coming your way, but his path curved, and you both watched him disappear toward the bar. You shrug, unbothered.

“Or tomorrow night.” You comment, meeting Chanhee’s gaze with pure mischief sparkling in your pretty eyes.

His smile twists to mirror your cheeky grin. The two of you dissolve into a fit of laughter, Chanhee slapping the table in his signature added effect. “Ooou, you really are a cold-blooded slut. Love that for you.”

“Learned from you,” you toss back with a giggle. “More importantly, though, we all came here to celebrate Sangyeon. It’s not every day that your friend opens a restaurant and hosts an exclusive dining experience with all your closest friends—

“And some random ass man.” Chanhee reminds you. He wouldn't be himself if he weren’t on your case.

You smile sweetly at your best friend. “You’re annoying. I can behave. Juyeon can behave. It’ll be fine.”

-

Your date sits beside you as you wait for your drink, droning on about his plans for the upcoming work week while you occasionally hum along in response. You couldn’t remember when you’d asked for this many details about his career path, but here he was, showering you with tech industry terms and company name drops. You were starting to wonder when someone proclaimed so intelligent would catch on to your lazy responses.

“Yeah, wow. That’s crazy. You’re so cool,” you say, giving off an extra bubbly vibe as you continue to stroke his ego. 

A pretty cocktail gets slid your way finally, and you gingerly take a sip while you allow your date’s boring words to assault your ears. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Juyeon pass by, looking like a blur of sex appeal, but your eyes remain on your date. Even as he sits down on the free barstool beside you— even as the urge to check Juyeon out surges through your body… you listen to the random-ass tech man beside you.

“Can I get two beers?” You hear Juyeon ask, and his voice sounds so velvety smooth in your ears, but you don’t react, keeping your composure while nodding to your date.

“Mm, wow, that’s so interesting.” You say, eyes going wide as you bob your head. “I think it’s so cool that you have a job like that,” you add, throwing out another compliment as you alternate between replies.

“I mean— no, I don’t know anything about the field, but still, lots of people, letters, and numbers seem to be involved. It definitely sounds like a job. I also have a cool job whenever you want to hear about it.” You passive-aggressively state, taking another sip from your cocktail. This cocktail was giving you a better experience than your date and most likely tasted better, too.

You overhear Hyunjae and Juyeon talking, ears going supersonic as you pick their familiar voices out over the buzz of conversations encompassing the bar.

“What about her?”

“I’m good.” You hear Juyeon reply, and curiosity rises within your chest.

“You’re lying to yourself. When are you going to move on? All these people, and you're hung up on a chick that came with some wet blanket as her date. You’re going out sad. It’s hard to watch.”

Hyunjae’s words have your lips curling into a haughty smile that your date weirdly copies. “What?” He asks, and you blink in confusion. He boldly leans into you, whispering in your ear, and your senses get bombarded with his cologne. “You wanna get out of here?” 

You can barely contain your disgust as you speak. The taste of his pungent fragrance lingers on your tongue as your tone goes sweeter and lighter to compensate for the way he’s just cemented, giving you the ick. “You know, I think I’d really like to stay for dinner. If you need to leave, though, don’t let me stop you.” He visually tenses and relaxes before your eyes. “You’re right. We should at least stay for dinner. This is your friend’s big night, right? I’ll find us some seats next to uh…

“Chanhee.” You disinterestedly finish for him, shifting on your barstool. “I’ll bring a round of drinks. Catch you in a bit.” Your attention is turned away from him before his presence leaves your personal space as the bartender saunters over to take your order. 

Alone, you take a moment to look around the bar. Keeping with the theme, there's a neon sign on display behind the two bartenders. Pendant lights are scattered along the seating area, creating small, intimate sanctuaries every two barstools. You look up at the pendant between Juyeon and yourself before your eyes settle on his form. He looks as good as always, hair framing his forehead, and when he looks at you, your breath is stolen. Hyunjae must have walked off, and you won’t let your opportunity go to waste.

“You look nice.” You try to charm, sending a glowing smile his way.

“Don’t start.” He shuts you down, sounding curt.

“What? I’m just being nice. What happened to polite formalities?” Your glossy lips poke out into an exaggerated pout, and Juyeon rolls his eyes as if he’s troubled to even look at your face.

“That’s the thing, though. It starts with you being nice to me; then I have to be nice to you. Next thing I know, you’re cumming on my fingers in the backseat of my car. That’s our formality.” He holds your gaze, daring you to devise a counterpoint, but you don’t.

You shrug, lips spreading into an audacious smirk. “Sounds rather polite to me.” He gives you a look that lets you know you're running on thin ice, and you fold. “Don’t be mad at me, Ju.”

Juyeon downs the last few swigs of his beer before setting the brown glass bottle down on the counter and getting up. “What's there to be mad about? ‘s not like we’re together. Enjoy your night.”

-

The air surrounding the lengthy dining table buzzed with palpable energy as everyone sat together, waiting for the dinner to commence. Sangyeon makes a toast accompanied by a heartfelt speech from the head of the table, addressing his family and friends with gratitude. Juyeon half listens, raising his glass on cue when he sees your hand raise out of the corner of his eye. He puts the flute glass back down while casually sneaking another look. He’s putting more mental energy into not glancing your way than he’d like to let on, and still, he’s unsuccessful. It’s just that seeing you flanked by your date and Chanhee— the way you lean into your friend who whispers into your ear with a smirk splayed on his lips, the look your date gives you as you eagerly chat him up, your hand teasingly pushing the man’s chest while you laugh at something he’s said, the coy glance Chanhee gives you before you pick up your phone to continue some exclusive, silent conversation— pisses him off. The minor details compound on top of each other until envy grips his throat tight, and his lips slump into a frown for a hot second before Hyunjae pokes him in his ribs.

“Dude. Stop fucking looking.”

He opens his mouth to lie, to say he wasn’t looking at you, but there’s nothing to gain by lying to the older. His eyes rip away from your form while he picks up the glass of champagne in front of him. He downs the bubbly drink in one go, signaling for a server to bring him another when he’s placed the glass on the table.

“Chill out, hyung. Drinking and jealousy never mix well,” Eric warns, eyes round in concern as he places his hand on his friend’s shoulder, but Juyeon brushes his words off along with his hand while another drink gets placed before him.

“Leave it, Eric. This is y/n, we’re talking about. He’s a lost cause. We’d all be.” Sunwoo chimes in, and Hyunjae’s scoff is heard loud and clear. “I wouldn’t. Diversify your investments, and you don’t catch feelings.”

Sunwoo leans forward against the table, craning his neck to make eye contact with Hyunjae. “Investments? Are we talking about the stock market or women? You sound worse than y/n. Maybe you two belong to—

The glare Juyeon shoots the younger wires his mouth shut. Hyunjae shakes his head in amusement, directing his gaze to the lady in question before turning his regard back to his friend group, intent on clarifying his statement. “All I’m saying is, if you invest all of your time into one person, then no shit— you’re going to catch feelings. Look at Juyeon. All those late nights and early mornings add up. Now he’s hung up over someone that won’t commit because she’s too busy diversifying.” There’s a huge, boyish grin etched into his features as he drags out every syllable of his last word.

Eric nods as if he’s listening to a message from a prophet while Juyeon sighs in faux exasperation. “How’s the saying go? The bitchless, leading the bitchless?” he jokingly quizzes through a chuckle, reaching for his glass once more.

“Hey, Juyeon. Where’s your girl right now?” Hyunjae challenges him back, and their entire side of the table erupts into laughter.

- 

There’s not much talking once the dinner starts, just the occasional praise for each new dish that graces everyone’s table setting. Aside from the murmurs and whispers, the sound that remains constant is the scraping and clatter of silverware against ceramic. A good dish could silence a room– that was the beauty of excellent food, and Sangyeon’s menu was no exception. You were too busy eating to chat, communicating through pointing at your plate, and humming in satisfaction as delightful flavors and spices lovingly embraced your tastebuds. The dish that you’re currently sharing with Chanhee was beginning to look sparse. Both of you kept picking up piece after piece of an appetizer you are confident will become a main attraction for future patrons. You notice that your date’s plate is already bare, causing you to pick up the small tasting menu that rests by your champagne flute with intrigue.

Scanning the embossed cardstock briefly, you hum in anticipation. “Guys, there’s so much more to come.” You note, trading the menu for your drink and taking a sip of the sparkling beverage. As you relax into your chair, your eyes casually gloss over Juyeon’s empty seat at the table. You must have been too engrossed in your food to notice him get up. Your head swivels towards the bar, and he’s not there either. Playing it off, you let your gaze fall to your phone and pull it into your grasp.

You were tactful in your approach– smoother and far less evident than Juyeon was about keeping tabs on you. You’d caught him staring at you a few times, but it’s not like you could call him out. Blowing his cover would indirectly force your hand; you were looking at him just as much as he was you.

“I’ll be right back,” you announce to no one in particular, pushing your chair back to search for a restroom.

The corridor where the restrooms reside is long and wide. You wander through the expanse of the hall slowly, eyes catching on the extravagant amount of decor mounted to the walls. If Sangyeon used an interior designer, this was the space where they decided to let go of their inhibitions. The deep navy blue paint color on the walls could only be seen in glimpses, peeking out around the array of mirrors and wall art that embellished the spacious aisle. Surprisingly enough, this area didn’t harbor a single neon sign. 

You pause, looking at yourself in one of the many mirrors on the gallery wall. This particular mirror has a reflective chrome frame in an organic shape that reminds you of some of the inspo pictures you’d seen on your Pinterest feed. After messing with your hair, you reapply gloss to your lips and queue up your phone to take a picture for your story. 

After snapping a few shots, you swipe through the pictures, making sure the aesthetic aligns with what you usually post. With a sultry pout on your lips, you lift your arm above your head to take another picture from a different angle— this one for your close friends. You’re so busy fiddling with the positioning (intent on using a mirror behind you to make it look like there’s an infinite number of your clones in the picture) that you overlook your small audience of one until after you’ve updated your stories.

There’s a hint of a smirk playing along Juyeon’s lips as he makes a show of pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Hot,” he comments, eyes downcast while he swipes his finger across his phone’s screen. Your phone vibrates in your hand, and when you see the notification, you snort. “Wow. Fire emoji. Way to stand out amongst the crowd, Ju,” you praise, tonality laced with sarcasm. 

Coming over and standing in front of Juyeon, you tilt your head back to meet his gaze. There’s a twinkle of longing in his eyes that you don’t fail to notice, and you pounce on it. Taking another step closer, you feel that comforting sheen of warmth caress your skin as you infiltrate his personal space. You’re close enough to kiss him— a tippy toe’s length away from erasing the gap that hangs between your lips. “Wanna come over tonight?” 

“No.” He was being short with you again. Yet his following action contradicts the rejection he’s just doled out to you. His large hands feel you up, one smoothing over your skirt while the other grazes the exposed skin of your midriff. His fingers lazily dance along your skin and plucks at the chain circling your waist. “Please?” You ask, melting further into his grasp and the familiar comfort Juyeon’s hands provide. He shrugs, relinquishing you from his hold, and you watch him simmer with his thoughts. 

There’s a rising commotion coming from the front of the restaurant, indicating what you can only assume is the next course coming out. Juyeon takes a step away from you, looking down the hallway briefly before redirecting his attention your way. “Seems like you’re already booked, and I’m not in the mood to share tonight.”

You sigh, ready to move past the matter. “I’m not going to sleep with him, Juyeon… there’s no second date for this guy.”

“Okay.” Juyeon pats your shoulder, movements stiff like he’d just finished speaking with an acquaintance he’d awkwardly ran into at the grocery store. 

You’re unable to discern the message behind the impassive facial expression he regards you with. The pang of an emotion that you’re not accustomed to pierces through your chest as you watch him walk away without sparing you a second glance. Surrounded by the wall of mirrors and trendy art pieces, you start to question your decision-making skills. For a moment, you stand there wondering if you’ve taken things too far…

-

It feels like Juyeon is punishing you for the next few days, but the further you get away from the dinner party, the more you wonder if he’s ghosting you.

The pang that you felt that night doesn’t go away. As a week goes by, you become certain that this is what your body is going to feel like from now on— walking around with the ache of guilt in your chest. There’s also a weight of uneasiness that settles into your stomach that no amount of delusional positivity could subdue. The weight gets nearly unbearable when you reflect on how categorically wrong you are. 

You text Juyeon twice asking to talk, and you reply to his stories a few times before it becomes glaringly obvious that he’s ignoring you. 

Your message thread with him slips further down in your phone as more days blur past. Your interactions hit their peak with Juyeon’s occasional reaction to a picture you post— none of them are shots of yourself. Somehow, your brain blows this observation out of proportion, and you find a new sublevel to wallow in.

At the three-week mark, you begin to picture a life where Juyeon really doesn’t forgive you—one where he never responds to your texts nor answers video calls—forever fated to orbit each other cautiously at every mutual group hangout. A life where you don’t get to flirt with him at parties or climb into the backseat of his car at the end of the night. The agony of becoming an outsider to your connection with him until you’re seen as nothing more than a stranger, a friend of a friend. Then, eventually, you’ll wake up to a reality where you don’t know anything about him at all.

Chanhee’s diagnosis and solution to the matter is that “you’re lovesick and in need of dick.” For once in your friendship, you don’t try to argue against his take, but his phrasing leaves a lot to be desired. 

Most of your idle time is spent thinking about Juyeon. You were debating with yourself over whether you should text him or not. Wondering what he’s up to and then checking his or his friend’s stories, looking for clues. Reflecting on just how deep your feelings are for him and how badly you’ve fucked up by being a noncommital little shit.

Currently standing in your kitchen, you watch a pot of water begin to simmer on your stovetop. Your chin rests in your hands while you count the tiny bubbles forming at the bottom of the pot, trying to keep your mind off of him. It’s not an easy feat, not when your kitchen is indirectly filled to the brim with memories of Juyeon. 

When you first moved into your own apartment, you had a solid determination to teach yourself to cook, more so out of financial necessity. Takeout was beginning to look more like a luxury you couldn’t afford than an expense you could consistently maintain. This kitchen is where the lines between Juyeon and yourself began to blur. Though you haven’t done it in a while, there was a time when you’d video chat with him every time you’d attempt to cook dinner. In hindsight, maybe you should have been calling Sangyeon, but at the start of your friendship— before it had been unanimously determined that Juyeon was the worst cook of the group, he’d keep you company. You’d call him, and he’d give you moral support and amateur-level cooking advice. 

There were times when the recipes were easy, and you’d spend time casually chatting with him about whatever came to your mind. Often, especially in the beginning stages, he watched you without judgment as you demanded pots of water to boil faster or whined about how badly you wanted to abort the mission to pick up fast food. Where Chanhee would surely enable you, Juyeon would gently push you forward. Thinking about it now, a rush of butterflies settles into your stomach, and a small smile turns your lips upwards at the corners.

Maybe you should call him.

The pot before you finally reaches a rolling boil as your mind drifts to the first time you made a meal good enough to share. It was the one time when Juyeon had been busy and couldn’t hold your hand through the process. 

That evening was unexpected in a lot of ways. When you called him a second time on a whim, you didn’t think he’d answer. You didn’t intend to extend an invitation to him when you’d got him on the phone, excited to brag about your culinary accomplishment. You didn't expect him to accept your offer to come over and eat dinner with you. Nor did you anticipate said meal would get abandoned, lying perfectly plated and cold on your small dining table as the night developed in a way that neither of you could resist.

Your gaze cuts to the kitchen floor, and you shiver as the memory plays vividly. It’s as if you can feel Juyeon all over you again, and your body floods with warmth. Your grip on the wooden spoon in your hand grows tighter until your palm hurts. A few breaths later, the spoon clatters onto your countertop as you ditch it in favor of your phone, and your fingers seem to move on their own…

When you see yourself on the screen, your eyes widen in shock while you straighten the collar of the oversized sleep shirt you're wearing. Next, you frantically tame as many strands of your hair as you can— but Juyeon gives you no time at all. His face comes into view, and your arm freezes mid-air. If you had an ornate declaration to recite, it’s gone.

“Mm?”

Hearing his voice prompts you to blink slowly, eyelashes fluttering as your mind hard resets and your arm lowers. Juyeon stays quiet, shifting on his bed until his head rests in his palm. He watches you for some time before his eyebrows raise, fueled by impatience and curiosity.

Your voice edges on the side of pleading as you finally speak. “Can you come over?”

Juyeon hasn't seen this side of you before. His face relaxes into a smirk. “Why?” You turn off the stove and shuffle over to your sofa, tucking your foot under your butt as you mull over what the answer is to his question. “I— I want to talk to you about something.” His facial expression goes impassive again as he replies. “Okay. You have me now. I’m not coming over just to hear you say sorry.” 

Usually, you’d have some flirty comeback, but as you look at Juyeon through the screen, the ache in your chest gets replaced with a deep yearning. It’s silent for a few beats as you swelter in the intensity of your emotions. 

He refuses to budge, waiting for you with his lips pursed to conceal the smug look shaping his features. With a sigh, you concede. “Please? I am so sorry, Juyeon. What I did was rude as fuck. I want to apologize to you and much more. I’ve been thinking a lot, and I’ve realized some… things, and I’d like to talk to you about these realizations.” His eyes soften around the edges, and his lips rise into a sweet smile before his demeanor recomposes. If you blinked, you’d have missed the emotions that showed through in his gaze. “Why me? Isn’t that what Chanhee is for?” 

This time, you chuckle, mimicking the endeared look he sends you through the screen. “Don’t make me do it over the phone, please? I’ll make it worth your while.” You hold your pinky up, “I promise.”

“Oh, yeah?” Juyeon asks, tone falling lower as he sits upright. You nod, and he disappears from your view for a moment or two, leaving you to stare at his ceiling fan. “Are you still gonna look like that when I get there?” His question catches you by surprise, nose scrunching in confusion. “I mean… yeah? I already showered.” He pops back into view with his bright smile filling nearly half of your phone’s screen. “Good. Be there in twenty.” 

The call ends, and you look down at your clothes. Your shirt was actually one of Juyeon’s that he’d left behind ages ago. The fuzzy Hello Kitty shorts and the matching socks make you cringe, but you decide not to change. Nothing screams ‘I want to be in a committed relationship with you’ like childish pajamas.

Your motivation to cook is gone, swapped out for anticipation of Juyeon’s arrival. You make a weak attempt at straightening up your apartment to make the wait easier, aimlessly walking through your living room to pick up stray blankets and tote bags. Lighting a candle, you head back into the kitchen to put away the remnants of good intentions that linger on your countertop. Lukewarm water gets poured down the kitchen sink, and the stainless steel pot and wooden spoon get washed and put away. You pull out two glasses and fill them with water before leaning against the counter and taking a few sips. 

Gears start to turn in your head, funneling your array of feelings into words and then sentences. Before long, you fully grasp what you’d like to tell Juyeon. You’ll start with another apology and then confidently segue into the rest. No games, no stalling— no vague responses, just honesty and transparency.

A knock at your door rouses the butterflies nestled in your stomach, and you practically skip towards the sound. When you see Juyeon standing in your doorway, a smile stretches along your lips. He’s dressed cozy in what seems to be fleece, plaid pajama bottoms, and a faded black tee that you’re sure never sees the light of day. His hair is as messy as yours. “Hey,” he says through a smile that causes you to break eye contact, a simper curving your lips. He did wonders to your heart, effortlessly claiming the organ without warning. 

“Hey, there’s drinks on the coffee table,” you lamely reply as he crosses the threshold, closing your front door. Gentle hands cradle your face the moment you turn around, pulling you into a kiss. His lips found yours before you could properly reach the living room, the kiss turning heated instantaneously. 

Once you start, it's hard not to fall under the love spell Juyeon’s lips cast. A contented sigh leaves you, and his tongue slips into your mouth at the opportunity. His hands pull away from your face to hold your waist, pulling your body flush to his as your arms loop around his neck. You allow yourself a few more moments, rolling your tongue against his. Sharing impassioned kisses. Every part of you missed him; it gets displayed in the way you go pliant in his hold. Finally, you're crowded by the signature scent of him. It’s his familiar warmth that blooms against your skin. His lips that meld perfectly with yours… So you savor making out with him like this after what feels like so long.

The trance you’d been put under breaks when you pull back to catch a breath. Juyeon barely gives you a second, fed by his own voracity, as he chases after your lips once more. You dodge, leaning back to look at him. “Wait— I wanted to talk. You’re distracting me.”

He shrugs and wets his kiss bitten lips before speaking. “So talk.” With that, he leans back in to kiss your neck, and you bite back a whimper. Trying to steel yourself, you take in a sharp inhale and promptly exhale. All the while, you feel Juyeon’s hands move, roving over your curves. “I’m sorry, Juyeon. I’ll never do that to you again.” It takes everything to keep your voice even, eyes falling closed as he glides his lips across your throat. “I know.” He comments, breath fanning over your skin, and you squirm where you stand. 

“I…” you trail off as heat travels up your torso and goosebumps race up your skin. 

Juyeon halts his movements, fingertips pressing indents into your ribs. “And?” He urges with a murmur, walking you backward towards your living room. You look up, meeting his gaze right as the back of your thighs touch the arm of your sofa. “I like you way too much to jeopardize what we have. I just want to be with you.” You declare your statement with confidence and a rapidly thudding heart.

“Uh-huh.” He leans in, smirking into another kiss that you reluctantly avoid.

“Juyeon! Ar-aren’t you going to respond to what I’m saying? Do you feel the same way?” You needed to know if Juyeon was hearing you. Needed to see if he wanted the same thing out of this as you. He chuckles, pulling his arm out from underneath your shirt to cup your face in his hand. There’s nothing but pure amusement radiating from the smile he graces you with. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up. Seems like you did, right?”

“Oh. Y-yeah.” You reply, relieved. This time, when he dips his head low, you relax, letting your body handle the rest. 

Juyeon’s hands are everywhere. Running along your inner thigh. Caressing your torso. Dipping beneath your elastic waistband. Your lips trace his jawline before you feel your shorts and panties yanked down. Cool air hits your bare skin, and a shiver ripples through your spine. You’re placed on top of the sofa’s armrest as he captures your lips again, tongue opening your mouth to him hotly. The kiss is galvanizing, making your legs fall open on their own volition. His hand promptly makes its home between your thighs, teasing you with a barely-there touch. You whine against his lips, stomach fluttering in anticipation of his wandering hand. 

Juyeon pulls away from your mouth, looking at you with a lust-lidded gaze and a lazy smile. “What do you want right now?” voice dulcet while he asks, beginning to toy with the wetness that clings to your pussy. Your eyes trail down to his lower half, greedily tracing the outline of his dick. “Y-you,” the answer comes out of you quickly, tone rife with need. 

Strings of your arousal keep you connected to the sofa and his long fingers. For a short moment, all you hear is your soft breathing and the salacious sounds of him playing with your pussy. The look Juyeon regards you with is one of intrigue and mirth. “Show me what you mean,” he offers, starting to rub your clit slowly with featherlight pressure. You playfully roll your eyes. Angling your hips, his hand stays motionless while you work for the friction that you so desperately crave. After a few half-hearted grinds, you realize he won’t make things easier for you. 

The smirk Juyeon wears incites the brattiness that you reserve for moments like this. You look at him with pleading eyes, opening your mouth to complain, but damp fingers keep you silent. Your tongue swirls around the digits, and a satisfied hum dissolves within the small space between your bodies. “You want these, don’t you?” He asks, watching you taste yourself in earnest. You respond by spreading your legs wider, tilting your hips up in hopes that he won’t tease you even though you more than deserve it. Pulling his fingers away, he returns his hand to its former place with a sick grin curving his lips. “Words, baby. You gotta communicate.” He prompts through a soft murmur while his hand hovers over where you want him most. 

Turning your head away from him, you pout as you try to hold on to your last few shreds of dignity. You mutter the words out quickly with an attitude, and Juyeon shakes his head in disappointment, grabbing your face with his free hand for added measure. “Look at me, baby. Ask nicely. You can do it.” He orders, fingers grazing through the tacky wetness that continues to pool towards your center.

“Yes, Juyeon. I missed you. Wanna cum on your fingers first. Please?” You plead, feeling your pride and dignity slip through your grasp and into his hands. 

Slipping his arm around your waist, Juyeon presses a kiss to your lips. “You missed me?” He teases, pressing into you finally. “Is this what you thought about, hm? Realized you love my hands too much to lose me?” You let out a moan before shaking your head no in response. “Words.” He reminds you, sliding his fingers in and out of you slowly. “N-no. I– I thought about…” your train of thought derailed as Juyeon’s fingers arched and brushed against a spot you had neglected for nearly three weeks.

“Uh-uh. You thought about what?” He pries, not letting you off the hook as his hand moves against you. “How you never shut up,” you answer sarcastically, face contorting from the sparks of pleasure that play with your nerve endings. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” he tosses back, forgoing punishing you to steal a kiss off your lips. 

Your pussy is snug around the digits, juices collecting in Juyeon’s palm as he continues his ministrations. Eyes falling shut, a throaty moan passes your chest. You bring your hand up, grabbing a fistful of his shirt while you relish the delicious push and pull of his slender fingers. Your hips roll into his hand, meeting his thrusts as your muscles tense up. 

Nobody else knew your body as well as he did. Juyeon’s movements are instinctual and precise, catching the cluster of nerves within you easily. He adds a third finger, and your head lolls forward. You can barely get his name out, the noun blending into a moan when it reaches the tip of your tongue. Before you can brace yourself for it, you’re cumming. It rips through you, right down to the ends of your nerves. You cry into his chest as the orgasm swallows you whole and strips you bare. Your grip on his shirt loosens, and your arms fall slack by your sides. His hold on you tightens, keeping you stable as he strokes your high along with the steady drag of his fingers.

Once you’ve had enough, you close your legs around his arm. You smile, caught in a daze, as you gradually return to your senses and regain strength in your limbs. “Happy?” He jokes with a cocky smile, and you nod in response. Sliding off the sofa, you lace your fingers through his as he leads toward your bedroom. With a last-minute thought, you reach out, swiping a glass of water off the coffee table just in case.

As you place the glass down on your nightstand, Juyeon pulls his clothes off and goes over to your bed. Your pussy throbs at the sight of him, cock hanging hard between his muscular thighs. 

He watches you while you take your shirt off, running his tongue across his bottom lip. “C’mere,” he directs, giving you space to crawl in between his legs. You look him up and down, mouth watering as you settle down right in front of his cock. Wetting your lips, you press a kiss to his length. He rubs his head against the soft swell of your bottom lip before you open your mouth wider. “You know what to do.” He urges gently with eyes fixed on your lips. 

Your tongue runs over the bead of precum that pools at his tip. You tease him deliberately as you wet his length. Dragging your tongue over his hard cock repeatedly while you watch his face scrunch up and his eyes close. When Juyeon’s had enough, he pushes your head down, and you eagerly oblige. Your lips close around the crown of his cock as you slide down his shaft before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hips buck up, chasing after the wet heat of your mouth as he pushes your head down again. You hum around him, buzzing with satisfaction as you sink onto him again. 

A mix of spit and precum dribbles down your chin and hand as you work his dick. Tightening the softness of your mouth around him, your cheeks hollow, you pluck your first grunt out of Juyeon’s chest. Your eyes flit up, seeing his muscles go taut in anticipation as you glide down his length again. You keep your tongue flat against the underside of his cock with every bob of your head, and eventually, he gets noisy— just how you like him. 

Fingers dig into your hair as Juyeon lets out a particularly shaky exhale. You’re pulled off of him before you could start choking on his cock. “Juyeon, I’m busy,” you huff, lips slick and swollen as you meet his gaze. His face and neck flushed, sweat clings to his forehead, and your eyes sparkle in delight. “Oooh, were you about to cum?” You coo, toeing a dangerous line as you pump his hardness slowly. “You missed me sucking your dick?” You teasingly add just as he forcefully pulls you into his lap. 

“Shut up,” he murmurs, melding your lips together while you straddle his hips and reach into your nightstand for protection. 

Placing the condom into Juyeon’s hand, you direct your attention to his neck. The crinkling of foil reaches your ears as you move your lips down his throat and along his collarbones. You sprinkle sweet kisses across his tanned skin until you feel his hands wrap around your waist, and you get deftly flipped onto your back.

Juyeon cages you between his toned arms, dipping his head down to place a heated kiss on your lips. Your arms make their way around his neck, pulling him closer to you as he drags his tongue across your bottom lip. You get lost in the depths of his mouth once more, exchanging sloppy kisses between pants and moans. His teeth sink into your lip, and warmth floods through your body. He feels stiff and heavy against your center, and your hips tilt upward in need. He takes the hint. Sitting upright, his hands go to rest on your knees before he pushes your thighs farther apart. He gathers as much saliva as he can inside his mouth before his lips part, and you watch as it slowly lands on your cunt— not that you need it. With his cock in his hand, he runs his length along the sticky, wet mess between your legs. 

After what feels like a year's worth of teasing, Juyeon finally slips inside, and you moan at the fullness. “How do you need me, baby?” He asks, adjusting his hands to grip your thighs. You whimper, sinking your teeth into your lip while you stretch your legs into the air. “Harder,” you breathe out, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He lays into your request, moving his hips with precision. He fucks you slow but potent, hips banging into yours with every thrust. His hands wrap around your legs, using them as leverage as he shakes a cry out of your body. Your eyes flutter closed as desperate pleasure laps at your skin and sets your nerves on fire. You try to snake your hand down to your needy clit, but he catches your hand in his. Lacing his fingers through yours, he leans forward. Your arm gets pulled above your head as he hovers in front of your face. “Did your boyfriend say you could do that?” 

Your face scrunches up, “Is this how we slap a title on us? With you scrambling my insides?” His lips stretch into a smirk, “Kind of fitting, if you ask me.” You roll your eyes, but the smile that curves your lips tells your true feelings. “Faster,” you instruct, and your legs get pushed back until your knees nearly touch your cheeks.

Juyeon’s hair dances on the edge of your forehead as he picks up the pace. “Fuck,” you moan. The word is so elongated coming from your mouth that you never finish it. You choke on a whine as he drives cock deeper, bullying the sensitive spot within you. All you can do is melt further into your bedsheets. The coil nestled in your stomach gets wound tight, your muscles contract, and your chest dramatically rises and falls. You tighten around him spasmodically as ragged, uneven breaths mix in the tight space between you two. Trying to form words, your lips curve around his name, but the only sound that comes out of your mouth is a depraved whimper. His grip on your hand loosens and slides down your arm towards your hips.

Before you can conceptualize what’s happening, you get flipped onto your stomach, and there’s stinging heat spreading across your ass cheek. 

Juyeon smacks your ass again and again as moans flow out of you ceaselessly. He plunges back inside, throwing his full weight into his thrusts. His hand travels up your back and into your hair, curling his fingers around the strands and tugging hard. You gasp and pant, feeling every last breath inside of you being pulled cleanly out of your lungs. His firm chest meets your back as he tilts your head back, exposing your neck to him, and his lips attach to the bruised skin. Your fingers scramble for purchase, gripping the sheets tight as your greedy hole takes all that he offers you. You wanted him to move in. To quit his day job and dedicate his life to fucking you like this every single day. You needed to stay like this forever, pinned down with his cock tucked deep inside your pussy. A gargled version of his name passes your lips as you lazily meet his thrusts. “Oh, shit,” you rasp, tears pooling in your eyes while your senses are overloaded by his cock. 

You hang on the precipice of an orgasm, skin growing hot as moan after moan hiccups out of your throat. Juyeon’s voice registers in your ears. “This is all I thought about that night. Fucking. You. In front. Of that stupid. Fucking. Dude.” He admits through gritted teeth, punctuating each word with harsh pounding. “You belong to me.” He adds, and you whine, loving this newfound possessiveness. “I belong to you,” you brainlessly repeat, voice muffled by your sheets.

He pulls out, switching your positions until you sit in his lap. “Say that again,” Juyeon orders, pulling you down onto his cock as your thighs press against his. “I belong to you,” you chant through a moan. 

You let your hips roll, bouncing on his cock as you chase after another high. His hands map your curves, grabbing hold of your tits and pulling you close. His fingers dig into your supple skin, squeezing your breasts while he snaps his hips up. Your mouth opens up for him, fueled by your dire craving to cum. 

His soft moans and gasps die on your tongue as you ride him, sliding up and down his length. You feel Juyeon’s hands travel down to your stomach. He holds you still, slamming into you with a devastatingly brutal pace, and your body starts to shut down. Your vision tunnels, and your sense of touch heightens. Sweat runs down your neck and chest in rivulets, and you shiver at the sensation. You feel every drag of his cock, stretching out your cunt and barreling towards your g-spot. Then you’re cumming, clenching around him hard while he ruts into you with rapidly disintegrating restraint, thrusts growing sloppy.

When you finally come down, Juyeon’s arm is looped around your waist, and you’re resting on his sweaty chest. “Are you going to make me leave now?” He asks, breathless, and you shoot him a bewildered glance. “Juyeon. After that? You deserve a key to my place,” you kid, with an airy laugh. 

“All jokes aside, no. I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay with me forever.” And you mean every word. 

-

In the morning, you wake up to an empty bed, and your heart sinks into your heels. You blindly reach out for the glass of water left on your nightstand, but your hand touches the air. Sitting up, confused and viscerally heartbroken, you heave yourself out of bed and onto your feet. You drape your comforter around your naked body and pad out into the living room to grab yourself some water.

The sights before you quell your tender heart. “What are you doing?” You ask, eyeing Juyeon with a joyful smile. He’s wearing nothing but boxers, and it looks like he stole a pair of your socks, but you keep your reactions to these minor details close to your chest. “Making my girlfriend breakfast,” he says, keeping his eyes on the pan in front of him as he raises a glass of water for you to see.

You snort, but your heart squeezes behind your rib cage, “Since when can you cook?” You tease, coming around to lean against your counter and take the glass, eyes full of adoration as you stare at the man before you. 

Your hands began to tremble as you dragged the video that you had just recorded into the dropbox on the website, and you mentally battled yourself to click send. 

It shouldn’t have been too hard for you, especially when you have been doing this almost every day for the past couple of months, especially when the sender was your very own sugar daddy who had been sending you more than enough money to survive on a daily basis. 

You met Hyunjae online, and it took a while for you to accept that he’s not someone you would consider a stranger, let alone report to the authorities. Well, at least when you finally convinced him to actually send you pictures in real time to prove that he’s not lying about his true identity. 

Getting a random message from a stranger online seemed scary, but you definitely couldn’t dismiss the fact that he was willing to pay you ten times more than your part-time job at your local coffee shop downtown. You were struggling to pay for your university fees as you finally reached your last semester, and you were this close to taking on another job to pull through if you hadn’t met Hyunjae. 

What was interesting, or rather strange, was that he wanted you to record videos of yourself and send them to him weekly.

Erotic videos of yourself, to be exact.

That idea freaked you out because, for one, you had never lost your virginity, nor were you knowledgeable in conducting any of these sexual acts at all. Second, where and who were you going to go out to be able to find and convince them that you were practically planning to film an actual sex tape with? And of course, you weren’t particularly fond of posting your nude body out there on the internet for everyone to see. 

But before you could even start rejecting the male’s offer as you blabbed out all the potential things that could go wrong, he reassured you that the videos are just meant for him, and you don’t have to film them with anyone else. All you had to do was set up a camera in front of you, pleasure yourself and send the clip to him every weekend, and he would then transfer the agreed amount of money to your bank account. 

You weren’t too sure of the idea and knew from the back of your head that this all felt so wrong, but the temptation of the large sum of money he was willing to pay was too hard to resist, so you told him that you would try it out first to see. 

And he respected your decision, as well as reassuring you that you can always back out later if this isn’t something up your alley. 

The very first time you did it, it felt awkward to say the least. Even before mustering up the courage to record yourself, you had actually gone online and done a little bit of research on what was considered doable for your first-ever sex tape for Hyunjae.

There were definitely many ones that were a little too intense for your liking, especially on your first try, so you decided to choose the most tame amongst them before you began playing out the whole scenario in your head for a couple of days.

The moment you finally recorded yourself doing the act, it felt strange yet so good. You definitely discovered many things about yourself that you didn’t know even existed, especially in certain spots where you felt a lot more sensitive than others. 

It took less than a minute for Hyunjae to reply to your message when you first sent your video to him. Instantly, a large sum of money was transferred into your bank account. Feeling satisfied with your little accomplishment, you decided to try it out a couple of times to get the feel of it. 

Eventually, a month had passed, and you gradually increased the number of times you sent videos to him. What used to be a weekly habit was reduced to sending one every 3 days, and eventually every day from the start of this month. 

Hyunjae made sure that he had an actual conversation with you as well—giving you feedback on how you could do this particular action better or even suggesting new ideas that you could potentially try out the next time. But what really intrigued you the most was his praises—and god, how much those words sounded so sweet to your ears. 

Over time, both of you began talking a lot more than just about sex, and eventually got to know more about one another as well. Hyunjae would send you random photos of his daily life through text, and you did the same with yours. Eventually, you’ve come to realise that he’s actually a pretty goofy guy who loves random cute plushies that you would come across whenever you’re out with your friends. 

There are times when he would whine and actually send you messages that definitely did not seem to have come from a grown adult like him, where he would send you multiple crying emojis and begging you to buy it for him instead.

This childish side of him was lovable, and you giggled whenever he acted in such a way, but it also turned you on when he would suddenly switch to being this cold, yet dominating side whenever you would send your little gifts to him.

As you came back from reality and finally mustered up the courage to hit send, it took him less than 10 seconds to send you back a reply. But this time, it was something that was a lot different from usual, and your eyes widen the moment you read through his messages a couple of times, just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.

🐻: shall we meet up in person real soon? 

You immediately started panicking. Being his little sugar baby was one thing, but meeting him in person? God, how your fingers started trembling as you struggled to come up with a proper reply. 

So many questions ran through your head: what exactly will he look like in person, to if he was genuinely as nice as he was online. Part of you wanted to meet him, yet another part of you was scared and reluctant, because if there was one thing your parents had taught you well, it wasn’t always safe out there. 

But before you could even think of a response, Hyunjae immediately sent you the date and location and a rather unusual request. 

🐻: i would love to see you dress up in pink with ribbons tied neatly through your hair. 

🐻: see you then :) 

As you read through that last message a couple of times, you finally threw your phone towards your desk before plunging yourself down onto your bed—burying your face and screaming into your pillow.

Oh god, what will I do now?

The dreaded date has arrived as you stood in front of the designated hotel sent by Hyunjae a week ago. You already knew that some passersby were giving you the looks, and you weren’t too fond of that idea. Ducking your head down the whole time as you tap your feet on the ground, you constantly prayed in your head, hoping that Hyunjae wasn’t just all talk and he really was on his way to you.

Just as 20 minutes passed, you suddenly heard loud footsteps approaching towards your right, and you looked up to see the very same man you had been waiting for. As your intuition was right, he was definitely a lot more attractive in person: his dark brown hair parted towards the side as he wore a black leather jacket paired with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

When he finally stopped right in front of you while catching his breath, he quickly shoved the flowers straight towards your face, bowing down a couple of times while he was at it to apologise profusely towards you.

“I-I’m so so sorry- the train got delayed and I had to go pick up the order I made for these flowers and-” 

“Oh my god! Don’t be, I just got here not too long ago as well,” you reassured the male, but he was able to wipe off that little lie you had just made towards him.

“My dear, Y/N. You don’t have to lie to me, and I should be the one who’s all embarrassed for making a lady wait,” he grunts before running his hand through his hair. And god, did that simple action make him look hot as hell. 

As he finally composed himself, he reached out his arm towards you, signalling for you to tag along as you both finally entered the booked hotel room. “Sorry for making you wait, my princess. Shall we finally go and have some fun?”

It was then you finally realised why on earth Hyunjae wanted you to dress up the way you did for tonight. 

As you examined the room, you could see that Hyunjae had picked a themed room for both of your visits for the night. It was a dollhouse room: covered with dusty pink wallpaper with a few toys that would satisfy the occupants of this room.

You already knew that you both were going to go down with some kinky shit the moment he had you dress up in pink, but definitely not like this. 

Hyunjae made sure to get you all comfortable before you could even think about sex: prepping you a hot cup of tea that was provided and letting you sit comfortably on the bed. As time quickly flew by and you two were comfortable enough, he slowly approached you before taking a seat right next to you. Gently, he snakes his hands onto your neck before pulling you in for a kiss.

The kiss was soft and sensual at the beginning: pleasuring you with soft yet hungry kisses and giving you time to adjust to his pace. His lips tasted like strawberries, and you knew that he probably went along with the pink theme that he had in his mind. As he had expected, you did not reject his touch and let yourself loose as you let him take full control of everything.

It all felt like a haze, and you were so mesmerised by his beauty and demeanour that you couldn’t pull yourself away from his grasp. 

Slowly, he moves his hands down to give your breasts a gentle massage, before going down underneath your dress to rub your already wet underwear. Hyunjae smirked in between your kisses, and he quickened his pace as your pants finally turned into soft moans. 

“I love how you’re so sensitive, Y/N,” he chimed, taking a few breaks between kisses to stare down at your now red, burning hot face as tears formed in your eyes. 

Just before you could even climax, Hyunjae abruptly stops as he stands up to pull one of your pink ribbons away from your hair to tie both of your hands behind your back. You were flabbergasted by that sudden action, but he was too distracted to even hear you ask what was even going on in his head. Followed by that, he pulls away another ribbon from your hair and positions it in between your thighs—hurriedly yanking down your wet underwear and tossing them aside. 

He then places the ribbon right underneath your wet, dripping clit and commands you to sit before he started pulling the ribbon back and forth. The friction from the fabric was now rubbing your clit, and god, did that stimulated you good.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, desperately wanting to cum at this point, and you knew from the look of his face he was trying his best to drag this out as long as possible—wanting to make you cry out to him more than you were right now. 

“H-Hyunjae…p-please…” You mumbled, trying to get his attention and wanting him to cut the act and get straight to the point.

“Hmm? What’s that, princess? I won’t know unless you tell me what you want.” 

“I-I want- Hngh-” 

“Yes, tell me, babygirl. I’ll give you anything you want.” 

“F-Faster…please…” You begged as your teardrop finally drips down from the corners of your eyes. 

Hyunjae smiles, and it does not belong to the goofy guy who would beg you throughout your texts for you to buy him the latest jellycat doll that was available on the market. 

No. This was your sugar daddy: the one who counted on you to make sex tapes for him once every couple of days for his own gratification. 

“Now that’s my good girl,” he winks as he quickens his pace, rubbing it faster and harder, which makes you scream in agony. “I just love messing with my little princess.” 

During the heat of the moment, he reconnects his lips with your bare skin—leaving a trail of kisses from your neck all the way down to your collarbone before he started sucking on them to make sure that he was going to leave a bright, red mark where it would be extremely visible. 

You, on the other hand, were suffering from the consequences of his actions. Tears continued pouring out as you finally felt a little knot form within your stomach, and it only took Hyunjae a few more attempts before the hot, warm liquid started flowing from your thighs down onto the bed. He simply smacked his lips before taking that very same wet ribbon and placing it right onto your lips, making you taste the aftermath of your own hard work.

“Tell me, how does it taste? Do you like it?”

“V-Very m-much…” You mumbled while biting the ribbon before he finally pulled it away from your lips. Though he wasn’t done, and this time he gently pushes you down before he positions himself behind you, and that’s when your eyes widen in fear. 

An unzipping noise was heard, and you knew exactly what it was without having the need to turn around to look. And frankly, you couldn’t have done that since your hands were still tied behind you, and you could only mentally prepare yourself for what was to come. 

Just as you had expected, his tip has just lightly brushed through your dripping wet clit before your entire body squirmed for a second. Hyunjae had to lean forward and whisper into your ear to reassure you that he would be gentle and take good care of you. With one hand gently massaging his tip at your entrance, his other one came down to caress your cheeks as he reconnected his lips with yours. 

Turns out he did kept his promise, and he waited until your body was no longer stiff with fear before he slowly pushed his member into you—causing you to yelp much louder than you did before. 

“Shh…everything is okay, babygirl. Just trust me,” he cooed as he kissed your cheeks softly before pulling himself back up and resting both of his hands on your waist. It didn’t take long for him to slowly pick up his pace, and he moved one of his hands onto your hands as he began pulling them backwards—making your body move up slightly and giving him a lot more room and pressure to thrust within you.

“God- You’re - So- Tight- Y/N-” Hyunjae grunts as he applies a tad bit more pressure each second. It was then you felt like your walls were legitimately breaking apart, and god knows how much longer you can take his cock anymore. 

Grunts and moans filled the entire room, and the bed shook vigorously, to the point you were starting to worry if it would even collapse with the amount of pressure he was exerting. The once soft and demure Hyunjae was gone, and he was now a beast. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” Hyunjae grits his teeth before he finally filled you up completely—all of the extra liquids oozing out from your clit and they continued dripping down your thighs to the bed. You were a complete mess from that whole ordeal, and you finally heaved a sigh of relief when you finally came down from your high.

But you wished that you had held onto that thought for now. 

Without even pulling out his member, he abruptly turns you around and snakes himself over your hands so that they were now wrapped around his neck as he lowered himself down to the point that you could feel his breath on yours. 

If you thought what just happened a minute ago was bad enough, you were in for another ride as you’re practically locked under Hyunjae’s grasp. The male simply licks his lips before responding with a sly smirk on his face. 

“My babydoll is such a good girl, and I believe she deserves another round.”

A/N: suddenly i've forgotten how to write smut so pls bear with me 😭

masterlist

“relax y/n, how else am i going to fit if you keep squeezing so tightly?” sungchan chuckled behind you, rubbing the lower part of your back as you trembled underneath his fingers. your nails dug into eunseok’s chest beneath you, cock throbbing but forced to stay still through your pussy’s repeated clenching on him.

it was a really funny situation, truly it was. your boyfriend’s two best friends knew he was going to be out of town, traveling out of the country for a family trip that you couldn’t attend. they knew it as they knocked on your door tonight, and definitely knew it as they sat on your couch and made themselves comfortable. you were well aware they had an eye for you, it was a conversation you had with shotaro multiple times (it resulted in giving him all the reassurance you possibly could, convincing him that you’ve never had the urge to entertain their interest in you as you were only committed to him).

so you questioned why it was so hard to deny them— why you couldn’t decline eunseok’s call the night before after dropping your boyfriend off at the airport. you questioned why you spent the next 24 hours beating yourself up for agreeing to have them both come over under the promises that shotaro would never find out. “it’ll just be this one time, just to get it out of our system. did you think we wouldn’t notice the way you only looked at us during practice?” you remained silent until sungchan’s laugh broke through the line after eunseok’s question, “you would think her focus would be mainly on shotaro, considering he’s the best dancer out of all of us,” he added from the back.

you didn’t have the space in your head to think about shotaro in this moment, with eunseok beneath you on your bed. his hands held your waist as you laid above him on all fours: hands shaking, grabbing onto his shoulders to stabilize yourself and trying your hardest to relax. “let me fuck her for a bit, maybe she just needs to be stretched more,” eunseok groaned and threw his head back, growing impatient with the cockwarming-situation he’s being forced into by sungchan. “what do you think i’m trying to do? it’s not my fault she can’t relax,” sungchan’s voice ringing in your ears while you situated your head onto the crook of eunseok’s neck, the embarrassment of being so vulnerable and open was finally hitting you.

“that’s it, finally letting me in,” sungchan spoke a lot softer than he had in the past half hour that they’ve been here, stuffing two fingers into you to prepare you enough to take them both. arching your back, you pressed yourself onto sungchan’s hand, reaching his palm as you took his fingers deeper. “m-more,” you gasped, eyes shifting to the back of your head and eyebrows furrowing at the intrusion. “that’s no way to ask him, pretty girl. try again,” eunseok tutted, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and grabbing your chin to force your gaze onto his. “p-please ‘chan, i-“ you were interrupted by another finger being added, “fuck,” you cried out, the sensation starting to feel overwhelming. “you doing okay? let me know if you want to tap out,” he asked from behind you, pumping his fingers and holding you still on eunseok’s cock (which you felt every throb from him).

“no!” you shook your head, eliciting a laugh from both of them. your mind was racing, on one end you wanted more– wanted sungchan to squeeze himself in already so you can feel them both. the other end was questioning whether or not this was a good idea, the stretch causing a burn that should have probably turned you away, but already being as cock-drunk as you were instantly shut that idea down. you didn’t have too much time to simmer in the thoughts pooling in your head, completely missing the sound of sungchan ripping a condom open, missing the feeling of his spit hitting where you wanted him the most, missing the hand that arched your back even lower while he lined himself up against you.

your distractions were shooed away once sungchan started to cut through the tight fit of you and eunseok, a sharp breath slipping out from the boy beneath you at the sudden pressure. your loud whine echoed off the walls in the room, tears welling up and threatening to come out from the way you were being opened. “i’m going in slowly, you let me know if you need a break, yeah?”

“please k-keep going,” you really tried taking more of him, pushing yourself back until sungchan’s hands gripped even tighter on your hips and eunseok’s hand found its way back to your face. “don’t do that. you’re going to hurt yourself,” his hands squeezed your cheeks together tightly, watching as you nodded in sync with the tears that were spilling against your efforts to keep them in, your sniffles quieting down with each deep breath you took.

“you mind if i take a photo of this, doll?” sungchan moaned, finally bottoming out and feeling as your warmth took him in whole. you were about to shake your head, eyes widening before he added, “poor eunseok can’t see how pretty your pussy looks taking two dicks at the same time. all that effort it took him to lay still, don’t you think he should see?” you shyly nodded in agreement, hearing the shutter sound from his phone while he took the photo.

“s-so full fu-fuck,” you were completely fucked out at this point, both sungchan and eunseok being a mess of groans as they started to pick the pace up- thrusting deeper as your body adjusted to them.

“i wish i could pay money to see the look on his face when he gets back and sees how stretched out we left her,” eunseok laughed, looking up at sungchan.

“think i might just send him the photo i took next time he pisses me off.”

When you were young, your mother sent you to the kingdom’s castle for your protection. Riots in the town were growing to become a casualty due to the lack of food to keep the townspeople afloat. The local baker, Minjun, offered to take you off your mother’s hands, as long as you would work for free and refrain from complaining.

He needed a sturdy wolf who could follow orders well, and your mother was lucky enough that you were even tempered. You left your home when you were just shy of your eighth birthday, following this stranger to the castle you always dreamed about.

Every little girl imagined what life could be like as royalty back then. You were not concerned yet over the politics the kingdom carried or the fact that the king was withholding goods that the people rightly deserved.

You simply longed to be a princess while you holed up in the kitchen of the castle, rolling dough until your hands began to ache.

Sometimes Minjun allowed you to soak in the sun for a few minutes, but you were never to stay outside for more than an hour. You didn’t know it then, but you later learned that this was to protect you from the wandering eyes of the castle.

Omegas were even more scarce during those days, and although there were laws set in place to protect underage omegas, Minjun was always careful. You didn’t really know the difference between alphas, betas, and omegas when you were a child. All you did know was that you grew up solely around betas, and your mother told you that being an omega made you special.

One day you were a bit too restless, straying farther than normal when Minjun granted you permission to take your afternoon walk. You spotted a pond nearby, and the country girl in you longed to see the fishes. You didn’t realize there was already a boy hovering over the water with armed guards surrounding him.

You gasped when a hand tangled into the back of your shirt, and you looked up to see a man sneering down at you.

“What do you think you’re doing, little omega?”

You peered over to witness the boy staring at you with a curious gaze. It was the first time you felt a tug in your chest, pulling you towards the direction of this stranger. He must’ve felt it too, since he started trekking towards you.

He was stopped by the four guards next to him, laying a protective hand on his chest.

“You can’t go near her, my prince. We don’t know who she is.”

Then you heard Minjun frantically calling your name, sprinting across the royal gardens to retrieve you. He bowed apologetically.

“I’m so sorry,” he said as he wrenched you away, holding you protectively by his side. “She’s my helper in the kitchen. I didn’t know she went off exploring.”

The guards did not seem convinced by his explanation. One of them barked in reply, “Don’t take your eyes off of her again. And it would do her some good to learn the royal customs. She didn’t even greet the prince upon arrival.”

Minjun offered his promises of educating you before leading you back. You kept your eyes locked on the boy the entire time, confused by the fuzzy feeling stirring in your chest.

Minjun scolded you that day for your behavior, and your brief periods of afternoon walks were taken away. You couldn’t shake the vision of the boy near the pond after that, daydreaming about him until the end of the year, when Minjun brought you back home.

You threw yourself into working for the bakery in town full-time, earning the nickname as Minjun’s prodigy. You learned to push the image of the boy to the back of your mind and focus on the potential of your future. Minjun wasn’t getting any younger, and he needed to elect someone to take over his position. Now in your twenties, your only focus is to master your craft.

“Watch out!” You call, balancing a tray of fresh bread as you pass by Donghyuck’s frame.

He grumbles when you nearly knock into him. “Why wouldn’t you let me help you with this batch? I promise I’m starting to learn!”

Although you’re wholly dedicated to the bakery life, Donghyuck needed any penny he could get to feed his family, which landed him here. He isn’t exactly gifted when it comes to baking, but he’s willing to try despite his many mistakes.

“Because this one actually needs to be edible enough to serve, Hyuck,” you reply, ignoring his scathing glare. “And the shop is about to open at any second. Can you please monitor while I fetch the cupcakes from the back?”

He gruffly nods, and you brush your hair away from your face as you shuffle into the kitchen. It’s better for Donghyuck to be away from the action anyways so he doesn’t look like such a mess. Flour covers every part of your hair and shoulders, and the apron tied around your waist barely helps deflect the ingredients coated over your skin.

In the midst of piping the cupcakes, you hear Donghyuck’s startled voice echo from the front of the store.

“Y-Your highness! Welcome i-inside!”

You freeze at the greeting. The bakery is hidden far enough inside the town that you never receive any royal visitors. The king and queen almost never liken themselves to the commoners and all royal guests are always escorted directly into the castle.

You quickly stride towards the front, gasping when you catch a glimpse of who Donghyuck is bowing to.

The same glimmering eyes of the boy you dream of every night stare back at you. You swallow, dropping into a curtsy at his presence.

“My prince,” you say, heart beating wildly in your chest.

He’s flanked by two guards, who stand protectively near him while scanning the area for any sign of danger. It’s far too early for any other customers to witness their prince casually out and about, but you suppose that must be his intention.

“Please,” the prince’s soft voice murmurs. “No need for formality. I’m just here to try a piece of the best desserts in the country.”

You flush at his compliment, nudging Donghyuck harshly with your elbow. The beta gets to work immediately, asking the prince what he would like to try from the current selection. You start to totter back into the kitchen, but the prince’s voice interrupts your movement.

“May I ask what the head pastry chef recommends?”

Your lower lip trembles under the attention of the alpha. Your omega instinct has the hair at the back of your neck standing tall, fueling the urge to submit to this man. The ball in the center of your chest tightens, pulling towards him like an unspeakable tether.

You haven’t seen him since that day near the pond yet your body’s reaction to him hasn’t changed. His alpha calls out to your omega.

“Our croissants are a popular choice,” you reply, attempting to steady your tone so he doesn’t notice how your hands are shaking. “I worked on them myself last night.”

The prince grins as if he’s proud of your accomplishment, and the omega inside you purrs at his approval. He promptly tells Donghyuck, “I’ll take the whole stock.”

“T-The whole s-stock?” Donghyuck stutters, glancing over at you to wordlessly ask, Can he do that?

You nod once, helping him pack up the goods to relinquish them over to the prince. When your hand brushes against his as you’re delivering the box, you gasp at the shock of electricity that runs up your arm.

The guards react briskly, stepping in front of the prince to block him from whatever seemed to cause your surprise.

“Sorry, your highness,” you say meekly, embarrassed by your behavior. “I don’t know what came over me.”

He pushes his guards away, glaring at them and warning them to back off. He takes the box from you, the corner of his lips lifting up sweetly.

“Call me Jaemin. And you never have to apologize to me.”

You could get lost in his eyes for days, but the moment is broken when one of his guards roughly tugs on his arm.

“We have to get moving, my prince. The townsfolk will wake soon.”

When Jaemin departs, you feel like a piece of your heart follows him. Donghyuck is dazed, speculating to himself if seeing the prince was actually real or a figment of his imagination. You return to the kitchen with a hand over your chest, trying to calm your racing heart.

—

You never learned what it truly means to be an omega.

Your mother used to say it’s what made you special, but as you grew older and became more of a center of influence within the town, she convinced herself that you were cursed into a life as an omega. She bought suppressants in the dark market for you to conceal your true self. The pills prevented betas from catching a whiff of your scent, although your mother could not afford suppressants strong enough to ward off alphas.

The omega population was dying at an alarming rate, and it was known that alphas were beginning to kidnap omegas on the street to shelter them away. Your mother’s greatest horror was losing you completely, waving you goodbye in the morning for your day at the bakery and never seeing you again afterwards.

She especially fretted over the powerful alphas who had connections in important places. Luckily, any alpha of high ranking was called to serve the kingdom, placed on the front lines of battle to defend your country.

Your mother bathed in the reassurance of knowing you wouldn’t be targeted by any alphas at the small bakery in town as long as you took your suppressants.

You guess that she never expected the prince to carve out time every morning to see you.

“My prince,” you say as soon as the chime of the door rings to indicate his entrance. No other customer is as early as him and Donghyuck has become so frightened of Jaemin’s frequent visits that he’s offered to knead dough during opening hours, which he would usually conjure excuses just to avoid the task. He’s scared of Jaemin losing his temper and sentencing him to exile, which apparently, Jaemin’s father has been known to do to citizens he disagrees with. “What can I get for you today?”

Some days, Jaemin’s lucky enough to sneak away from his guards and speak to you privately. It’s in these moments when your heart burns for him, desperate to be as close to him as possible.

You lean over the counter, eyelashes fluttering as he smirks at you.

“Depends on what you’re offering.”

Heat coils low in your belly. You’ve never felt this way for anyone before, alpha and beta included. Your only goal in life has been to help this bakery flourish, but whenever you see Jaemin, you also envision a ring on your finger and pups running circles around you.

But then you remind yourself that he’s next in line for the throne, and there’s no realistic future where you would ever be the queen sitting next to him.

You stand up straight, ignoring the way his eyes dim at your reluctance to play along.

“The muffins have been garnering more attention lately. We sold out of them yesterday when we were only halfway through the day.”

“I’ll take the lot then,” he says.

You learned one day after asking him out of curiosity that Jaemin would give out the pastries he purchases to people on the street to feed their overwhelming hunger. Donghyuck tells you it’s retribution considering Jaemin’s father is the reason why people are dying of starvation in the first place.

You box up the muffins for him, ready to mumble your goodbyes when he blurts out a question you’re not ready to hear.

“Have you ever been educated regarding soulbonds?” He asks with a hopeful twinkle in his eye.

You tilt your head in confusion at the unfamiliar term. “Soulbond?”

He opens his mouth to reply but then his guards are rushing in, out of breath as they double over.

“Your highness, we’ve been searching for you.”

Jaemin grits his teeth, displeased by their appearance. He arches closer to you before his guards wrench him away.

“Promise me you’ll look into it. Read about the effects of the soulbond and how it seals alphas and omegas together.”

“O-Okay,” you whisper, unsure of why he’s broached this topic with you.

During your lunch break, you scurry over to the library across the street. The lovely beta worker waves you in, making small conversation about how the bakery is holding up until you excuse yourself to browse the omega section. There aren’t many options to choose from, since the lack of omegas in the country also meant a decline in omega writers.

The title of soulbonds catches your eye, and you pull the book from the shelf without hesitation. The beta who checks you out doesn’t prod into your choice of novel, willing to look the other way with a promise of a free muffin in the near future.

When you return home, you confine yourself to the walls of your room. You flip through the pages of the novel with peaked interest, soaking up every word.

Soulbonds are the rarest form of connection between an alpha and omega.

Although history attests to only three soulbonds known in existence, many theorize that soulbonds are much more frequent than the public may believe. The common sign of soulbonds is the draw of their heart. An alpha’s base instinct will be to protect their omega, but also love and cherish their needs and wants. An omega’s base instinct will be to submit to their alpha, but also love and cherish their needs and wants.

Separating soulbonds can inflict pain on both the alpha and omega. If they are knowingly mated and pushed apart, it can lead to a state of distress and acts of violence against those caught in the crossfire.

Soulbonds cannot be broken. Once the omega is marked with the alpha’s bite, it secures their fate and ties their souls together.

To complete the soulbond, the alpha must sink their teeth into their omega’s neck with their knot inside their omega’s-

You slam the book shut, your heart beating so loudly that you can hear it vibrating in your ears. You can’t stop the influx of images of Jaemin hovering above you, eyes pulsating with need as his cock sits snugly inside your pussy. You imagine his knot inflating until he’s locked completely inside you, leaning down to mark you officially as his.

Although you tire yourself out that night with your hand in between your legs, you know the dream of Jaemin being your soulbond is nothing but a fantasy.

—

“I can’t serve him! What if he threatens to have me tortured in the basement of the castle?”

You roll your eyes at Donghyuck, retrieving your tray of cookies from the oven. You fan out the smoke, wiping your hands on your apron before you dash to the other end of the kitchen to resume stirring the brownie mix. Donghyuck watches you with a pout the entire way.

“Hyuck, please. I’m asking you for this one favor. I just can’t face the prince right now.”

“He scares you too, doesn’t he?” He asks with a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “It’s okay to admit it. We all know what his father has done.”

To be honest, you don’t know the extent of the king’s wrath. You’re aware he’s not popular in the slightest with the people, favoring trade deals and military propaganda instead of looking out for his country. He’s a brash alpha who hasn’t bothered visiting your town once, and you assume he’s likely not clued in on his son mingling with the townsfolk so openly.

“Sure, Hyuck,” you concede, lying through your teeth because you want to cease his line of questioning. “I’m scared of the big bad king.”

He finds victory in knowing he’s justified in his terror, breezing past the ache in your voice since you won’t receive your alone time with Jaemin today. He handles the front of the store as a courtesy to you. You lose yourself in baking, switching your mind off from soulbonds and princes.

It isn’t until you hear Jaemin’s voice that your resolve starts to waver.

“Is she not in today?”

There’s a concerned twinge in his tone that has your heart melting, nearly forgetting to don an oven mitt when you pull the brownie mix out.

“She’s working in the back. We’re behind on orders,” Donghyuck answers smoothly. “I can help you with whatever you need today, your highness.”

“I need her,” Jaemin replies with more urgency. “I need to see her and know that she’s okay.”

Donghyuck stutters at his unexpected persistence. You cross your fingers, hoping that his quick wit will be enough to save you from facing the prince.

“S-She’s okay, your highness, I assure you. I spoke with her less than five minutes ago. We are terribly behind on orders and unfortunately, I’m not as skilled as her when it comes to the art of a mean brownie.”

You stretch your head out to listen to Jaemin’s retort, but you’re startled when you hear shuffling come in through the back door. A haggard Minjun enters, yawning into his palm when he strides inside the kitchen.

Since you became his prodigy, Minjun has shown up to the bakery less and less, entrusting you to keep things afloat in his absence. He doesn’t speak much about his personal life, but you understand that his wife’s health is in poor condition and he’s the only one available to help her. He pops in every now and then to check on you, and you swear at whoever in the clouds above must be taunting you that he decided to choose today of all days to drop by.

“Minjun,” you squeak. “You’re here.”

He hums in acknowledgment. “I thought I would help you with the cake orders today. Where’s Donghyuck? I’m shocked he’s not back here, offering to taste the frosting.”

“He’s out front,” you reply, hoping your expression doesn’t give away how nervous you are. “Just speaking to an early bird customer.”

Normally, Minjun would let it go and brush off your bouts of odd behavior, but the sharpness of the morning dew must be kicking his focus into gear. He narrows his eyes at your flushed appearance and the way you’re clutching the kitchen towel as if your life depends on it.

“What’s wrong?”

Then Jaemin’s agitated voice pipes up again, filtering down the hallway and into the kitchen. “Did she tell you she didn’t want to see me? Is that what this is about?”

Minjun is disturbed by the presence of the stranger, and before you can warn him not to investigate, his feet are already moving towards the entrance. You keep your back to the wall, clenching your fists together and praying that your mentor doesn’t blow your cover.

“My prince,” you hear Minjun greet, stunned by the revelation that royalty is standing in the middle of his bakery. “Forgive me, I was not expecting for your highness to stop by today. May I help you with the pastries?”

“I want to speak to your head chef. I need to see her,” Jaemin repeats, disregarding his formalities.

You squeeze your eyes shut, convinced that Minjun will grab you and drag you in front of the prince any second now. You’re certain he does not want to earn the reputation of the shop in town that denied the prince’s requests, especially considering what you’ve heard about Jaemin’s father.

You’re about to step out of the shadows and face your fear when Minjun harshly replies, “I apologize for not being able to oblige to your needs, your highness, but my head pastry chef is occupied with her work. I will not force her to appear in front of you simply because it is something you wish for.”

Silence ensues in the main room and your pulse quickens with panic. Maybe Donghyuck was right — maybe denying Jaemin could lead Minjun to a swift and painful death as punishment.

But somewhere deep down, your omega knows your alpha would never permit such brutality.

Your alpha. You scoff and scold yourself for allowing the admission to slip, even in the safety of your mind.

“Alright,” Jaemin replies, his voice strained from surrendering to the beta. “I-I’ll come back tomorrow. Please let her know I never meant to cause her harm.”

“I’ll pass on the message, your highness.”

When the door slams shut, a part of you aches at his absence. Your back slides down the wall as the steady rhythm of your chest starts to regain its tempo. You hear Minjun instructing Donghyuck to stay in his spot when he returns to you.

He stares at your crumpled form, exhaling loudly. “I never thought the prince would return for you. You should have told me sooner that he was making frequent visits.”

His statement launches you in a spiral of confusion. “Return for me? You know about his- his- his feelings for me?”

“My mother was an omega,” he shares, leaning against the fridge with a sigh. “And my father was an alpha drunk in love. I can recognize the look of a soulbond from a mile away.”

You burst into tears, weighed down by the fact that someone else finally knows what you’re going through. The emotions bubble to the surface before you can stop it from overflowing.

“I don’t know what to do, Minjun,” you weep into your palms. “He’s a prince! He’ll be the most powerful man in the country. I can’t be his soulbond. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!”

He takes pity on you, kneeling down to tear your hands away from your face. “A soulbond is a beautiful thing, child. I know it’s dangerous for you, especially once people discover you’re an omega, but I promise it’ll be the most fulfilling reward you’ll ever experience in your life. I saw a glimpse of it out there. That alpha prince is willing to fight for you, come hell or high water.”

“And what about his duties to the crown?”

He shakes his head. “No obligation, big or small, can keep soulbonds separated from one another. I still have a few connections in the castle. Let me see what I can discover regarding the prince’s responsibilities.”

You sniffle, warmed by his care for your current state. “Thank you, Minjun.”

He strokes your head lightly. “You’ll get your happy ending. Your alpha would never have it any other way.”

—

You haven’t seen Jaemin in two weeks.

You’re granting Minjun enough time to contact the castle staff and learn how much chaos you’ll bring into Jaemin’s life if you reveal your secret. It pains you every time Jaemin enters the bakery to see Donghyuck standing behind the counter, but you know that taking precautionary measures will benefit the both of you in the end.

Your omega, however, is restless. You toss and turn all night to no avail, yearning for your alpha to hold you tightly in his arms and never let go. Donghyuck notices the bags under your eyes but is smart enough not to comment on it.

You don’t anticipate how desperate Jaemin really is to see you. You assume he’s not faring much better from the separation but you’re startled when you’re confronted by him as you’re closing down the bakery for the day.

“Jaemin!” You squeal, holding a hand over your heart when you lock the back door, spinning around to see your alpha looming behind you. It’s only the two of you in the alleyway and you push your back against the wall. “W-What are you doing h-here?”

He only visits during the day, so you’re bewildered by him as the sun disappears past the skyline with no guards in sight.

“You’re upset with me,” he says, taking a step forward. His eyes are filled with a sorrow that tugs at your heartstrings. “And I want to apologize for whatever I’ve done to disappoint you.”

“You haven’t,” you immediately respond, distressed by the fact that your alpha has been unsettled by your behavior. “You haven’t, my prince. I’m just trying to figure a few things out right now.”

“Why can’t we figure them out together?”

He strides over until he’s cornered you against the wall, but you don’t feel suffocated in the slightest. In fact, your omega is pleased for the first time in weeks at having him so close. His eyes dart down to your lips and your willpower collapses.

“I’m the wrong omega to be your soulbond, alpha.”

His gaze darkens. “Never say that again. You’re perfect for me.”

“You need a princess,” you whisper, lost in the glimmer of his orbs. “A pretty princess who knows how to handle royal customs and procedures. I’m just a baker, alpha. I’m not the right fit for the crown-”

You squeak when his lips crash into yours. Your body instinctively slackens in his embrace, and your hands squeeze his biceps to balance yourself. Although his lips are soft against yours, his touch is anything but. His tongue slips past the opening of your mouth, licking into you until your body sings for him.

“Alpha,” you whimper as he greedily devours you. You’re distinctly hyper aware of where the two of you are, and if you know the prince, then you know his guards are scouring the streets to find him. “Alpha, w-we can’t.”

“Does your mother still live with you?” He asks, ignoring your pleas. His breath fans over your face. “Or do you live alone?”

You thrum with desire. The thought of your alpha taking you home and claiming you as his will likely haunt your dreams tonight.

“Alpha, we can’t.”

“Why?” He murmurs, kissing down your neck and feeling your pulse quicken under his lips. “You don’t want me, omega? You don’t want to take your alpha’s knot?”

A long whine draws out of you. “You’re not playing fair,” you complain, even though you’re both fully aware that you don’t mean it.

“Maybe I should just take you here,” he teases, and your breath hitches when his teeth graze over your mating mark. “You would probably like that, wouldn’t you, omega? Stuffed full of your alpha’s seed while he marks you as his forever?”

“Jaemin,” you gasp, losing your common sense with each passing second. “I’m not going to chain you to me when we both know how the country will react. How your father will react.”

That seems to snap him out of it. He pulls back from you as the cloud of lust begins to lift.

“How do you know about my father?”

Donghyuck’s frightened expression flashes through your head. “I’ve heard stories,” you say carefully. “And I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

He cups the sides of your face gently. “I don’t want you worrying about him. He means nothing when it comes to us. He doesn’t get a say when soulbonds are involved. I plan on writing it into law as soon as he hands over the crown.”

You blink in confusion. “A law for soulbonds?”

“Protecting soulbonds should be our most sacred law. When you’re away from me, when I don’t know where you are or how you’re doing… it drives me over the edge. I can’t think for the rest of the day unless I know you’re safe. No soulbonded alpha or omega should have to feel that way ever,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. “I miss you like crazy when you’re not with me, doll. I don’t want to be apart from you again.”

“But your father-”

“He’s old and brittle, unpopular with the people and days away from losing his title over his selfishness. Soon enough, I’ll be the king calling the shots. I will direct my attention back towards our citizens and win their favor. My father won’t get to speak on any matter regarding you,” he says firmly. “I’m going to protect you, omega. I want your happiness above all else.”

The pessimistic part of you doesn’t believe Jaemin can pull it off. The royal family has never wed outside of their class. Regardless of the townspeople’s love for your baked goods, you can’t imagine a world where they would accept a commoner as their queen.

But your alpha is optimistic, and you would do anything to keep his sparkle alive.

“Okay, alpha. I trust you.”

You hear his guards in the distance, calling his name with fervor as their footsteps echo throughout the town square.

He sighs and offers you one last kiss before he departs.

“Promise me you’ll stop avoiding me. That beta worker in there is starting to run out of excuses for your absence.”

You laugh fondly, recalling how Donghyuck told Jaemin this morning that you were away because you had to help a friend with a broken pinky.

“I promise. Can you promise that you won’t stir up any trouble over me?”

He’s lying through his teeth but you excuse him.

“I promise, omega.”

—

Despite seeing Jaemin in the early hours of the morning, your omega is still not content by the brief visits when you return home the following week.

Donghyuck is grateful that he no longer has to dodge the prince’s questions of your whereabouts. Minjun is skeptical, however, aware of you heading down a dangerous path with no clear answers. Oddly enough, he trusts Jaemin since the soulbond wouldn’t allow for you to be hurt under his watch. It’s the crown’s reaction to you that Minjun’s not able to predict.

You curl into a ball in the middle of your mattress, recalling the timid conversation with your mentor.

“The king places quite a burden on the prince’s shoulders. He’s exactly what Donghyuck is so afraid of — aggressive, selfish, and punching well below his weight when it comes to running this kingdom. The staff are fond of Jaemin because of his kindness but they’re afraid that time will harden his heart. The queen is no longer in charge of any civil duties. The king has relocated her to the furthest end of the castle. The staff believe that the king won’t hand over the crown so easily to his son. He’ll go down fighting.”

“And his son being soulbonded to a bakery girl wouldn’t help the issue,” you finish for him, ripping a brownie in half in the midst of your anger. You’re frustrated on behalf of your alpha, hating that he’s being subjected to mistreatment behind castle walls while you draw butterflies with icing on red velvet cupcakes.

“You can’t afford to think that way,” Minjun says, attempting to soothe the burn. “Jaemin wouldn’t want you to think that way.”

You sigh, burying your head into your pillow to try and shake the thoughts away. If you begin heading down the black hole of reasons why you’re all wrong for Jaemin, you’ll never dig yourself out.

A rattle at your window has your blood running cold. You throw your covers away, searching for the source of the noise when you spot Jaemin’s eyes peering through the glass.

“Jaemin?” You hiss in surprise. You stumble towards the window, unlatching and pushing it open for your alpha to climb inside. When he lands on his feet, you swallow at how his large frame engulfs your tiny bedroom.

“Cute,” he murmurs as he glances around. “Why is everything about you so cute?”

You flush, pulling down the hem of your nightdress shyly. “What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

His fingertips graze over your cheek. “You haven’t been sleeping well. My alpha’s been worried.” You stutter over an excuse but you’re stopped by his lips brushing over your chin. “And I’m the prince who will inherit this land. It’s not difficult for me to locate one address, doll.”

“My mother’s sleeping in the next room,” you blurt out, your heart rate quickening at the thought of being caught with him. If your mother was worried about alphas, she would definitely lose her mind to the sight of the prince kissing you in her house.

He chuckles. “I know she is. Why are you so worried, doll? What do you think I plan to do with you?”

You stammer shamefully, afraid to admit how lewd your thoughts really are about him. But he’s closing the gap before you can dwell on it any further. His lips chase yours in a heated tangle, pressing his warm skin against your own. Your omega purrs, satisfied by your alpha catering to your needs.

You gasp when he envelops you in his arms, guiding you to the bed until your back hits the mattress. Although he attested to being here under innocent pretenses, his hands grip your waist possessively, stealing every breath that releases from your lips.

“Alpha,” you whine, your core thrumming with an ache for him to fill. “Alpha, please.”

He groans. “I can’t knot you here, omega. Your mother will catch the scent.”

You’re struggling to remember who your mother even is since your mind is filled with thoughts of your alpha. The mating mark on your neck throbs in pain, begging for Jaemin’s teeth to sink into it and complete your soulbond.

Your previous grievances over ruining his fight for the crown disappear, replaced with unbridled lust for your alpha’s knot to be stuffed deep in your womb.

“Please, please, alpha,” you plead. “I need you inside.”

He grunts at the sound of your beautiful whimpers. He digs his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent to appease his alpha.

His voice cracks when he questions, “Does your mother keep suppressants in the house?”

You nod. “Yes, to ward any betas off from my scent.”

“Where?”

“Bathroom. Top shelf of the cabinet.”

He detaches from you, and you whine pitifully when he tiptoes out of your room and down the hallway. Your body feels like it’s on fire from his touch, and you swiftly tug your nightdress over your head and onto the floor. You hear him rummaging around in the bathroom and you can only hope your mother has succumbed to a deep sleep to avoid an awkward conversation about why the prince of the kingdom is rifling through your personal cabinet.

Your mind becomes addled with adoration for your alpha, sinking you deeper into a blurry state of mind. When Jaemin returns to see you, you’re incoherent and completely undressed, reaching for him with bleary eyes.

“Fuck,” he curses, using a handful of towels to block the gap in your door and prevent your scent from wafting into the rest of the house. “Doll, I think you’re going into heat.”

“Alpha,” you mumble as your eyes start to water. “Alpha, please.”

Once he feels that the door is blocked enough, he returns to you and hands you your bottle of suppressants.

“No,” you hiss, knocking them out of his palm while he stares at you in shock. “No, alpha.”

The idea of taking suppressants to disguise your scent from anyone suddenly sickens you. You want them to smell the combination of you and your alpha, especially when you’re in the throes of your heat.

“Omega,” he says sternly, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him using his alpha voice. The vibrato locks up your spine, forcing your omega to listen. “If your mother finds out that I’m in here with you, she won’t let me help you through your heat.”

You arch forward to meet his gaze head on. “Then get rid of her.”

You’ve never felt so emboldened before. Jaemin growls, curling a hand over your throat to pin you against the mattress. You never waver, challenging him with a mischievous glint in your eye. Your omega is determined to get your way, whether your alpha likes it or not.

“Stay here. I’m going to deal with your mother before I come back to dole out your punishment.”

He scrambles out your window, likely to call his guards and conjure up an excuse as to why your mother has to evacuate her own home this late at night. The heat doesn’t subside when he leaves, and your fingers wander down to your core to seek relief.

You barely register your mother’s frantic questioning down the hallway when the palace guards wake her. Two digits sink into your pussy when they escort her out the front door. Your hands tangle into your hair, thrashing on the bed as your heat continues to burn into your flesh.

You adjust your stance, laying face down on the pillows and hoisting your hips into the air in the perfect breeding position. Your cunt is directly in the view of whoever walks through the door, and you thrust three fingers into your sopping hole to alleviate the pain. It’s not enough to fulfill you, and you crave Jaemin’s knot desperately.

“Alpha,” you cry, hoping he can hear your whines outside. “Alpha!”

He storms through your bedroom door at the call of his name. He snarls at the sight of you presenting yourself to him. You glance back at him with tears running down your cheeks.

“Please, alpha. I need you.”

He’s quick to mount you, retracting your fingers and running his tongue over them to taste your wetness. You moan as you watch him.

“Filthy little omega,” he growls. “I leave you for one second and you’re trying to take what’s mine?”

“I’m sorry, alpha,” you blubber, unable to stop your rollercoaster of emotions. “It hurts. I-I need you.”

“I know you do,” he replies, shushing your cries. “Don’t worry, omega. Your alpha will take care of you.”

Your omega relaxes at the assurance. Your eyes follow him when he slumps down on the bed, lining up to face your dripping cunt. You mewl when he starts to lick at your slit, gathering your juices on his tongue. Slick pours out of you like it never has before, running down your thighs and staining the sheets.

You sink deeper and deeper into the animalistic wants of your heat, offering yourself up to your alpha and allowing him to do what he pleases. He drinks from you until the room swirls with a mix of your scents, appeasing your omega.

When you cum on his tongue, your body extends you a small break before launching you into thoughts of your alpha’s knot. Eventually, the only image swirling in your head is the base of Jaemin’s cock inflating inside you, locking you together while he claims you as his soulbonded omega forever.

You no longer have to beg for him, as he becomes attuned to what you’re craving. He rises to his knees, discarding his clothing to the floor. You gape at the sight of his hardened length at full mast. He’s big, his cock slapping up proudly against his stomach as he tries to wrap a hand around himself. He’s so thick that he fails to close his fingers together, and your mouth waters in anticipation.

He keeps one hand on your waist, holding you firmly in place. “Is this what you wanted, omega?”

You nod wildly until your neck begins to strain. “Yes, yes, alpha. Please.”

Your jaw drops open when he slowly eases his tip inside of you. The stretch doesn’t burn as it’s supposed to, and you credit your overflowing slick as the reason. You’re astounded when he bottoms out. You’ve never felt so full, and your omega hums in contentment. You think you could die happy with your alpha’s cock nestled in between your legs.

“Pretty omega,” he coos, watching your expression carefully. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”

“It’s g-good, alpha,” you murmur deliriously. “You’re s-so good.”

He chuckles, thrusting into you until you’re both feral with desire. You gasp into the crook of your arm when his cock beats into you. His grip moves to scratch at the base of your scalp, tugging your head upwards until he’s leaning over and spitting into your mouth. You swallow for him, showing him the evidence by sticking out your tongue. He grunts in approval.

When the pleasure starts to build too rapidly for you to fully grasp the situation, you claw at the sheets, attempting to move away.

“No, you don’t,” he barks, locking you in place by crushing you underneath his weight. You whine and shudder, your emotions lurching at the hypersensitivity. “You’re staying right here, omega. You’re going to lay down and take your alpha’s knot.”

It’s not remotely possible for him to be deeper inside you. He’s pushing and pushing while your breath gets knocked out of your lungs. You’re certain you’ll never feel this way with anyone else. This mind numbing exhilaration is only meant to be experienced with your soulbonded alpha.

“Mark me, alpha,” you whisper, outstretching your neck to him. “I want to be yours.”

Your common sense is buried somewhere in your chest, struggling to get out. Deep down, you know that it’s an idiotic move to be mated before you’ve even discussed the consequences in detail. This will bind Jaemin to you for life, which may force the king’s reluctance to hand over the crown.

But fuck, the only thing you want at this moment is your alpha’s knot and his bite.

As his knot swells and swells inside of your pussy, he leans over to sink his teeth into your neck. Blood drips down your collarbones as your eyes roll to the back of your head. You gush around his length when he seals your fate permanently.

Ropes of cum fill you until it’s spilling out of your cunt. The strings of your heart tie together, latching in place to signify your bond to your alpha. You feel whole for the first time in your life.

You stay pressed together when he withdraws his teeth, licking up the leftover blood spilling from your wound. Your eyes flutter shut, lulled into a safe space with your alpha here.

You temporarily wake up to hear chatter outside your door, distinguishing Jaemin’s voice above the others.

“I don’t care what your orders are. My omega’s in heat and she’s my soulbonded mate. I would rather kill every single one of you than leave her.”

A shaky voice replies, “Your highness, your father’s about to wrangle a search party together. We’re not sure how much longer we can hold him off.”

Your alpha scoffs. “When has my father ever cared about my whereabouts?”

“We’ve received a visitor, my prince. Princess Chaeyoung has finally arrived at the castle.”

Jaemin roars. “And he thinks I’ll abandon my omega for a beta girl I don’t even know?”

“I-I’m just delivering his h-highness’s message, m-my prince!”

A few more words are exchanged between your alpha and his guards in hushed, violent tones. You calm your racing heart at the idea of Jaemin returning to the arms of a princess by the time he re-enters your bedroom. He lays back down by your side, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist and pulling your back snugly against his front.

“What was that all about, alpha?” You inquire in a meek voice.

He kisses down your neck, licking at your permanent mark. “Nothing you should worry about, doll,” he says, curling a hand over your inner thigh and spreading your legs open. You moan when he eases his cock back into you, your heat starting to flare up again at his touch. He hums in your ear. “Nothing you should worry about at all.”

—

When Minjun reveals to Donghyuck that you’re an omega, the beta doubles over in laughter.

“She’s not an omega! I would’ve noticed, I’m not that dumb.”

But when you quietly step into the bakery’s kitchen with Jaemin’s mark over your neck, Donghyuck’s jaw drops to the floor. You smile softly at Minjun, slightly ashamed of your impulsive behavior.

When you were absent from your shift on the first day of your heat, Minjun started hanging up photos of you in the town square, asking if anyone had seen you. Then your mother had come running down the block, screaming for Minjun’s help as the palace guards had invaded her home overnight. It was easy for Minjun to fit the puzzle pieces together after that.

You flush, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I can still stick around to help in the back.”

Minjun raises an eyebrow while Donghyuck tries to pick his jaw up.

“Yeah? And how would your alpha react to that?” Minjun asks.

You think of how you had to peel Jaemin away from you this morning. His protective stare never wavered when he watched you get dressed, and you promised him you would only be dropping by to hand in your resignation.

You swallow. “I can be very persuasive.”

“You’re not putting yourself in danger so you can bake cupcakes. That’s ridiculous. I’ll work with Donghyuck to improve his skill,” Minjun says with no room for argument.

Donghyuck blinks at him, astonished that Minjun believes Donghyuck has any chance of becoming a better baker. You’re nearly about to insist that you can return to work as normal, but then the back door is cracking open and your alpha strides in.

He’s immediately at your side, nudging his nose into your temple and inhaling your scent. Donghyuck pales at the sight of him.

“You were gone for too long,” your alpha complains. “Come on. The guards are outside.”

You throw another apologetic look towards your mentor, but he waves you off and throws an arm over Donghyuck’s shoulder. You bid them farewell before following Jaemin outside where his armed guards are patiently waiting.

None of them make eye contact with you when you slip into the carriage next to your alpha. You fiddle with your hands when the horse trods in the direction of the palace.

“I’m nervous, alpha,” you whisper, avoiding the blatant gawking of the townspeople as you ride by.

Jaemin waves to them in his royal fashion, intertwining your hands to demonstrate his claim over you. You internally giggle at your alpha. As if the mark isn’t enough proof that you belong to him.

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” he assures you in a soft tone. “I have already directed the staff to move your belongings from your mother’s to our wing of the castle. We offered your mother the spare room as well, but she’s still recovering from the news.”

You think of your mother and how you haven’t gotten a chance to explain any of this to her. One of the guards revealed that she hadn’t taken it lightly when they broke the news of what you and Jaemin were getting up to behind closed doors. She was fearful of what could happen to you within the controlled walls of the kingdom.

You were no longer a young girl with an escort and underage omega laws to protect you. You were now an omega claimed by an alpha who would become the next king, placing the biggest target across your back.

But your nerves have been calmed by the optimism of your alpha, who sees nothing but good outcomes for you both. He chatters away during the entirety of the carriage ride, easing your anxious nature by the smoothness of his voice.

“The pond where we first met is still there. It’s become my personal project to ensure it thrives and flourishes. We’ve been planting flora and fauna there in preparation for your arrival.”

“You never told me how you found me again, alpha,” you say, tracing lines over his fingertips. “I was amazed when you showed up at the bakery.”

He smiles, kissing you on the cheek. “You never left my sight, doll. I’ve been guaranteeing your safety ever since you left the castle. Who do you think sold your mother those suppressants for half of its worth?”

You grin at his attentiveness. He’s shown you time and time again that the universe linked you to the perfect alpha. You kiss him and caress his cheek.

“I love you, alpha.”

“I love you more,” he replies instantly. He lays a hand over your stomach and smirks. “I hope you’re pregnant with our pup already, doll.”

You swat his hand away playfully. “One thing at a time, alpha.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest when the carriage approaches the palace gates. The staff greet Jaemin warmly, staring at you curiously while your alpha helps you down. Workers swarm you to help you shrug off your coat and Jaemin asks them about dinner arrangements for tonight.

“Your highness, the king has requested your presence in his chambers upon arrival.”

Your alpha grits his teeth. “Well, he has to wait until I’ve properly shown my omega around our quarters.”

The staff member nods, not willing to strike up an argument with their beloved prince. You trail Jaemin’s footsteps through the castle, astonished by the stunning architecture and respect from the workers who bow in your presence. You huddle closer to your alpha, and he grips your hand tightly in his, kissing your forehead when he senses your uneasiness.

“Here is your remodeled quarter, my prince.”

You exhale sharply at the large room that you can now call yours. It’s bigger than the size of your mother’s house, and Jaemin chuckles fondly when you release his grip to explore.

“Leave us,” he murmurs to the staff, and they bow their heads before departing.

Your eyes drink in the fireplace at the south wall, and you recall the winters where you and your mother would have to gather as many blankets in your arms as you could to seek warmth. The space is decorated head to toe in sleek, velvet furniture, cozy enough for you to curl into a ball and take a nap on the lounge chair by the fire. The four poster bed is the centerpiece of the room, dressed in silk sheets fit for a royal.

You squeal when you’re thrown onto the mattress, your alpha drinking you up with hungry eyes.

“Alpha, your father said he requested your presence,” you remind him, but you know there’s no stopping Jaemin once he’s started.

“And I don’t care what he requests. I want to ravage my omega in our shared bed. Is that okay with you?” He says with a playful raise of his eyebrow.

You giggle. “As long as I don’t get you into trouble, alpha.”

You stay tangled in the sheets while your alpha scatters love bites across your neck, knotting you until your womb is filled to the brim with his seed.

If this is what paradise is like, then you truly never want to leave.

—

Jaemin doesn’t part from you until you’ve squirted around his length at least three times.

He wraps you in the blankets when he’s finished, letting you sleep while he instructs the guards posted at the door to watch over you. He’s annoyed as he strolls down the castle hallways, turning each corner until he arrives at his father’s door. He would much rather be in bed with you than put up with this nonsense, which the guards can sense as they let him through without question.

When Jaemin enters his father’s room, the king is perched at his desk. Jaemin has no doubt that his father is writing letters to encourage neighboring leaders to side with him instead of his son for control of the crown.

“Father,” Jaemin greets dully, not bothering to bow in his presence.

The king’s jaw clenches at the sound of his son’s voice. “I see you’ve brought that commoner girl home,” he says, and Jaemin’s alpha instincts stir to defend you. But he knows that’s exactly the kind of reaction his father wants, so he bites his tongue and allows the comment to pass. “Your mother is appalled that you would exhibit such egregious disrespect towards the throne.”

“My mother?” Jaemin cackles. “The same mother you sent away because she had an opinion of how this kingdom should operate? How the people shouldn’t have to beg for food to survive? How thousands of their sons are perishing away on the battlefield for your senseless war?”

His father’s fist collides with the hardwood roughly, baring his teeth at his son. The two alphas challenge each other, even though they both know who would come out the other side victorious.

Nobody can stop an alpha once their stake over their soulbonded omega is put into question. Jaemin would fight to the death for you, and his father is well aware of that.

Jaemin approaches him with a fire behind his eyes. “This is how we’re going to handle this — I’m going to spend the next few weeks showing my omega around her castle and get her acquainted with the staff. Then, when we’re both ready, you will concede the crown over to me and I will rule with her by my side.”

His father has the audacity to roll his eyes. “You’re a child. The kingdom will see how inexperienced you are and how you’ve tainted the royal name by letting a commoner rise to power.”

Jaemin roars at the second insult intended for his omega, and for the first time, his father flinches at the sound. Jaemin has never felt more powerful until this moment. The buzz of his alpha’s control courses through his veins.

“The kingdom will see a benevolent prince who’s done nothing but fed them with the earnings from his own wallet while his father feasted selfishly in the castle. Don’t forget that I’ve been the one out there with the people, listening to their troubles and showing them the good that can come out of the throne. They’ll riot in the streets if you try to replace me,” he says, watching the color drain from his father’s expression. “And they’ll love their queen, who has been a center of grace for the community since she was a young girl. Don’t start a fight when you know you can’t win.”

He leaves his father’s study, irritated by having been pulled away from you for so long. The guards stand stiffly near the door, likely eavesdropping on the entire conversation. They bow their heads in submission to the prince, and Jaemin wonders if they know how much the dynamic has changed already.

On his way back to your shared chambers, a beta girl throws herself in front of him, dropping into a curtsy and blocking his path down the hallway. He’s a gentleman, but he’s very close to losing that title if one more person tries to stand in between him and his omega.

“Prince Jaemin,” she greets, her delicate face contrasting the gaudy jewels decorating her neck. He guesses this is the princess his father imported to thwart him away from you. “I’ve been patiently waiting for your arrival.”

He grunts in response as his patience wears thin.

She continues, “I’ve heard an abundance of rumors regarding your striking features but it seems they haven’t done you justice.”

“I’m busy,” he promptly replies, attempting to sidestep her.

She’s faster than him, following his movements as she stands far too close to his figure. His alpha snarls at the obvious disregard towards his omega. This beta girl could never be you, and it’s shameful that she thinks she could even come close.

He takes a step back. “I suggest you learn your place here. When I say I do not have time to speak with you, I can assure you I’m not tugging on your leash.”

“I understand, alpha,” she replies submissively. “But I’m afraid I haven’t been given a fair chance to prove myself. My mother sent me here with every intention of me returning as this kingdom’s queen.”

“You’re gravely mistaken if you think you have a chance against my soulbonded omega,” he laughs, ignoring the way she winces at the statement. “Which, speaking of my omega, you are keeping me from caring for her. I don’t think you would like to stick around if this issue continues to persist.”

The princess finally steps out of his way, sensing she has lost the battle. Jaemin doesn’t offer her a second glance as he storms through the castle and back to your room.

Luckily, you’re still sound asleep in bed, and he coos at how domestic you look. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, licking at your mating mark while his alpha preens in delight. You’re warm against his chest, and he thinks he could stay in this moment forever.

“Alpha,” you murmur, your voice heavy from drowsiness.

He shushes you gently. “Go back to sleep, omega.”

“I’m not sleepy anymore.”

He groans when you roll your hips against him. He can smell your arousal wafting through the air. His alpha perks up, drawn in by his omega begging for him. His mind drifts into a need to claim, breed, and get you whimpering for him until there’s no other thought in your pretty head.

He speculates on if your heat ever even stopped with the way you two keep going at it.

His lips envelop yours, savoring your taste by swirling his tongue around the inside of your mouth. When you catch the unknown scent of the beta princess lingering on his clothes, your nose twists in disgust as you pull away from him.

“Why do you smell like that? Who were you with?”

Your eyes flash with envy and he smirks, nudging his nose against your jaw. He loves that you get jealous over him because it means that you want him all to yourself. He also thinks it’s sexy when you become possessive, allowing your omega instincts to wash over.

“That beta princess is still here, thinking I’ll somehow change my mind and run to her,” he says with a clear disdain in his tone. He can feel the waves of anger rolling off your form. “Don’t worry, doll. She knows now she could never compare to you.”

But when he reads the insecurity spread across your face, he worries he hasn’t been taking care of you properly.

“Maybe she would be a better fit for you,” you say with a pout, which he kisses away.

“You know you’re my perfect fit,” he replies, losing himself in your scent. “How many times do I need to knot you for you to understand that, doll?”

You bat your eyelashes, taking the bait. “One more wouldn’t hurt.”

He doesn’t care if the whole castle hears your moans when he mounts you, driving his cock snugly into your cunt. You welcome him with open arms, whining into your pillow as he fucks you senseless. His lips never leave your body for a second, dragging against your skin so that you never doubt that he only wants you.

“You’re so big, alpha,” you mewl when he leans over to spit into your mouth. “I want your knot. I want to feel it stretching me out.”

His alpha urges spin out of control at your confession. “Yeah, doll?” He grunts as his hips jerk forward. The squelch of your pussy blasts throughout the room every time his length pushes past your folds. His hand snakes towards your front to spread over your belly, and it’s the dream of you being swollen with his pups while sitting on the throne that has him pounding into you harder. “You want my knot? Do you know what will happen if I keep knotting you like this? If I keep filling you with my cum until it spills out of you?”

“Please, alpha,” you say, voice thick with lust. “Please breed me. I want to carry your pups. I want to show that beta princess that you’re all mine.”

He sinks his teeth into your mating mark again when his knot inflates, pouring his warm seed into you until it’s dripping down your thighs. You tighten around him, mixing his cum with your own juices, panting heavily from the way your alpha can unravel you in seconds.

“Good omega,” he praises when you take his knot so easily. It’s almost second nature to you now, the way you two snap together like puzzle pieces. “I’m always going to love you, doll. And only you.”

“Until we have our pups?”

He chuckles at the innocence of your question, brushing away the hair sticking to your face to kiss you softly.

“Until we have our pups. Then I’ll love and care for them as much as I love and care for you.”

—

You hate being away from your alpha.

You never imagined you would be in this spot, surrounded by handmaidens who bathe and clothe you in the heart of the castle. They’ve been very cordial with you, relaying fond stories of the prince and his goodwill.

You’ve been at the castle for over three weeks now, and your lovely honeymoon with Jaemin had to come to an end after he caught the rumors of the king preparing for war against his own son. Your alpha is usually absent during most hours of the day, strategizing with his allies on how best to take down his father. He leaves you protected with your handmaidens and a handful of guards, worried his father will try to hurt you for the sake of keeping the crown.

Everyone in the castle is well aware you and Jaemin are soulbonded mates, if the mark on your neck is anything to go by. It’s a benefit and a weakness to you, for the staff has officially accepted you as their future queen but they possess the knowledge that if anything were to happen to you, it would greatly impact Jaemin. You’re fearful that the king will take advantage of this, and you fret over your alpha’s health nearly every second of the day.

“Did you remind the prince to eat his lunch?” You ask your nearest handmaiden, who smiles and nods while she pulls up the silk dress over your torso.

“Yes, my lady. I also conveyed your anxiety over him not eating,” she replies, and you swallow your concern. “Based on the latest report, the prince scarfed down every last piece of his meal.”

You grin in approval, your omega satisfied by your alpha following your orders. You’re about to question if she’s heard any gossip over the progression of Jaemin’s plan, but a sudden spike in your stomach has you lurching forward. You empty the contents of your stomach onto the floor and you hear your handmaidens gasping around you, holding back your hair and calling for the doctor.

“My lady, my lady,” they say as they run around the room while a few of them lift you from your dressing chair and help you to your bed. Some of them begin to discuss how to clean the sick from the floor without making you more nauseous by the smell.

You groan, confused by where this bout of sickness originated from. You’ve been in perfect health since arriving to the kingdom, especially under Jaemin’s care. Perhaps your omega is reacting violently to your alpha being away for so long.

The harsh whispers of your handmaidens continue.

“We should call the prince!”

“Are you joking? We were the ones placed in charge of caring for his omega, and he’ll be far from pleased to see her in this state. Let’s wait for the doctor to make a proper diagnosis.”

“But what if it’s serious? The prince would want to know!”

“Don’t call him,” you mumble, throwing a hand over your eyes to block the light. “I’m fine, I’m certain this is a temporary illness. He should be focusing on obtaining the crown.”

A few of the handmaidens murmur in disapproval but they don’t go against your order. The royal doctor arrives within minutes, rushing to your bedside and taking your temperature. You sigh while he works, already feeling bile start to climb up your throat again.

When he finishes his examination with a smile, you tilt your head in confusion at him.

He claps his hands together joyously. “I’m proud to share the news of your pregnancy, my lady. It seems you’re already beginning to experience the signs of your morning sickness.”

The words fail to register with you completely. Your jaw drops as your body goes still, all while your handmaidens begin cheering at the news.

You should have expected this to happen, considering all you and Jaemin discuss these days is having pups. When he’s not inventing new battle strategies, he’s usually deep inside your womb, knotting you until he’s pleased with how much of his cum drips out of you.

Then, the euphoric feeling spreads from your toes to your head before you’re giggling from happiness. The room exalts with the news before someone has the right mind to fetch your alpha.

While you wait for Jaemin, the doctor tells you what to expect over the coming months and how your strength must be the staff’s utmost priority to prepare for the future ruler of the crown. His advice is stopped, however, when the prince rushes into the room.

You beam at the sight of him, sitting up against the headboard, excited to share the news. The workers sense the wordless command of their ruler, filing out to give you space until only you and Jaemin are left.

He’s on the mattress in a split second, pushing his nose against your jaw and inhaling your scent.

“I heard you were sick,” he says, disturbed by the thought. “What’s wrong, doll? What did the doctor say?”

You’re grateful to the staff member that left to inform him, leaving out the big news for you to share with your alpha.

“I’m perfectly fine, alpha,” you laugh at the bewildered look on his face. You adore the way your alpha frets over you, and your fingers smooth out the lines creasing over his forehead. “I’m better than fine, actually.”

“You’re sure?” He says, cupping your cheeks in his hands and glancing over your features to see if anything is amiss.

You gently take his hand, moving it away from your face and placing it over your stomach. He stares at you, disoriented by the contrasting information from his guard of your sickness to your cheery demeanor.

“You did it, alpha,” you say, hoping he’ll understand. “We did it.”

It takes a few seconds, but eventually, Jaemin’s eyes soften and his expression crumbles. He darts his gaze between your belly and your smile, taking in the fact that he’s going to be a father.

“Omega,” he murmurs, tears welling in his eyes. “Omega, it’s true?”

Tears stream down your cheeks when you nod. “It’s true. We’re going to have our pups.”

You spend the rest of the evening wrapped up in your alpha’s arms, laughing in bliss together as he speaks gently to your stomach, telling your child how they’ll be drowned in love.

—

You’d normally be embarrassed by how you struggle to step down from your carriage, but the overwhelming size of your belly prevents you from seeing your toes. The nearest guard helps you into Minjun’s arms, and your former mentor welcomes you with a blinding smile. Donghyuck stands behind him with a wary gaze, eyeing the guards on the street carefully.

“Welcome home,” Minjun says, helping you inside the bakery.

The smell of fresh pastries hits you like a tidal wave, and it makes you realize how long it’s been since you’ve last visited. Everything still looks the same, and you wonder if the townspeople have adjusted to the way Donghyuck has started to bake their beloved goods.

You insisted on dropping by before you give birth, which launched your alpha into a protective frenzy as he carries out the final battle against his father. The castle has practically devolved into a war zone, with you secluded in your room for weeks and Jaemin returning when the sun has set over the horizon. Obviously, it hurts him to be away from you, especially this late into your pregnancy, but the king hasn’t relented on his stake for the throne and the people are growing weary of the internal commotion.

Food supplies haven’t improved due to the king’s stubbornness, and soldiers are perishing away, whether it be in castle walls or out on the battlefield. You can no longer stand by and watch it happen, convincing your alpha to let you feed the civilians by getting back into the kitchen. You took the political standpoint, understanding you could garner their favor towards Jaemin if they witnessed his omega cleaning up his father’s mess. He couldn’t argue much after that, but he did enlist a handful of his militia team to join you in case of any danger.

“Are you sure it’s safe for you to be baking right now?”

You twirl when you reach the back of the kitchen. The late nights of stirring batter and piping cupcakes wash over you, and you’re giddy from returning to what you love.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, brushing off his worries and laying a hand over your stomach. “Trust me. Jaemin wouldn’t have let me leave if it wasn’t safe.”

The line out the bakery door wraps around the building after the townspeople hear their future queen will be feeding them with no charge. You fall into your old rhythm inside the kitchen, with Minjun assisting you as Donghyuck controls the influx of orders.

Minjun chats with you as you work. “Jaemin must be overjoyed by your pregnancy. I’m only sad to hear that the king won’t relent in his unrealistic claims.”

“He’s stubborn,” you sigh. “And Jaemin is trying his best. The twins have definitely become his main motivation to keep pushing through.”

“Twins?” Minjun asks with raised eyebrows. “That’s wonderful! I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” you say with a laugh. “I actually think Jaemin was hoping for triplets.”

“Of course he was.”

You roll dough until your hands ache, giggling with Minjun when he recants stories of his slow teaching sessions with Donghyuck. The man in question comes storming in when the rush hour hits its peak.

“There’s too many out there, I’m starting to forget what they’ve ordered,” Donghyuck whines.

“Alright, alright,” Minjun concedes. “Let’s switch. Just try not to burn anything this time.”

Donghyuck sticks out his tongue childishly at the remark. Minjun moves to the front to handle the townspeople and you turn your back to start pouring the brownie mix into the oven tin.

“I’ve heard your baking skills have started to improve,” you say to Donghyuck with a smirk painted on your lips. “Minjun tells me you’re getting better and better at frosting the cakes.”

He remains silent, which is unusual for his character, and you spin around to question him. You gasp when a sharp knife is thrust towards your chest. You dodge the attack in time, screaming for your guards as you protectively cradle your belly.

They storm in and seize Donghyuck while the beta apologizes profusely.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! He made me, I swear!” Donghyuck pleads as the knife clatters to the floor and your guards restrain him. Donghyuck chants your name apologetically. “I didn’t want to, I’m sorry!”

Minjun rushes back when the chaos unfolds, flocking to your side and checking for any injuries. You’re stunned, holding a hand over your beating heart as reality sinks in that Donghyuck attempted to murder you.

Your head guard speaks in a commanding tone. “Take him to the palace jail for questioning. Inform the prince of the incident right away and secure the lady.”

“Wait,” you croak before they can carry Donghyuck out. When you look into his eyes, you see the young boy who would open the bakery every morning with you. You see the mischievous expression he makes when he eats your chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven. You see the boy who supports his entire household on his meager salary. “He didn’t mean to do this. I know he didn’t.”

“My lady,” the head guard starts, knowing he has to follow protocol.

“She’s right, I didn’t!” Donghyuck whimpers. “The king made me. He threatened my family!”

Your heart fills with concern over him, but the head guard exhales at the admission.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but we have to take him in either way. The prince will decide the best direction for his subsequent punishment.”

Your cries go unanswered as they escort Donghyuck out the back door. Minjun rubs your arm in comfort, a pained expression clouding his face. He leaves you in the kitchen temporarily to shut the bakery down for the day, citing an emergency for the unexpected closing.

The remaining guards hover over you, waiting for you to compose yourself. You grip the edge of the kitchen counter, taking deep breaths. You know Jaemin won’t punish Donghyuck too harshly if you ask, but the feral part of your alpha will roar for the safety of his soulbonded omega.

“My lady,” one of the guards pipes up. “I apologize, but we must escort you back to the castle as soon as possible. We are flying blind on if that was the king’s only attempt to assassinate you. There could be others threatening to oppose the safety of the crown.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped in the arms of your alpha.

“What about the people? Who will feed them?”

“I will,” Minjun replies when the last of the customers have left. “We still have plenty left over to hand out. Please, go back to the castle and get some rest. You should have never been put in this position, and I’ll take full blame.”

You shake your head. “No, Minjun, I can’t let you-”

He holds your shoulders firmly. “You can and you will. As much as I love having you here again, your duty is to your alpha and the pups you’re carrying. I should have recognized how antsy Donghyuck was behaving this morning. I should have confronted him.”

“He’s lost and he’s scared,” you say, vouching for the man you used to call your friend. “You know he’s always been terrified of the king.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to attack you,” Minjun states fiercely. “Go home and let your alpha dole out the appropriate consequence. Take care of your pups first.”

The guards stay on high alert during your ride back to the castle. The townspeople wave at you when you pass by, thankful for your gracious actions and deeply unaware that you almost lost your life in your quest to feed them. You display the rehearsed smile you’ve been practicing for weeks, bidding them goodbye and promising to visit again soon.

Your alpha is on a rampage when your carriage passes through the castle walls. He lifts you out easily, gathering you in his arms and inhaling your scent to calm him.

“It’s okay, alpha,” you soothe. “I’m okay. The pups are okay.”

Jaemin is shaking with an anger you’ve never seen before. “I’ll kill him,” he whispers into your hair, afraid to let you go. “I almost lost you.”

You wipe away his tears, cradling the sides of his face in your palms. “It wasn’t Donghyuck’s fault, alpha. He was scared for his family.”

“He almost took away my family,” he says through gritted teeth. “Fuck. Doll, you’re never leaving without me again, do you understand? I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“I know, I know,” you shush his cries, conscious of his changing emotions. You can’t imagine the pain he must have felt when he was delivered the news. “It’s okay, alpha. We’re okay.”

Jaemin carries you back to your chambers, keeping a tight grip on you in fear of someone taking you away. He bites your mating mark when you’re in the comfort of your own bed, and the seal of the bond sends a wave of calmness to you both.

He’s still fighting the battle between his anger and his sorrow, and he lays with you in bed for the rest of the day, which is the first time in weeks you’ve spent so much time together.

“My omega,” he whispers into your skin, assuring himself that you’re here with him. He scatters love bites across your skin to ease his alpha’s fury. “I’ll protect you, my omega.”

“You’re a good alpha. We’re safe with you.”

It isn’t until the complete darkness of the night that he shares with you, “I ordered a kill strike on my father.”

You gasp. “Jaemin-”

“He tried to kill you. He tried to kill a soulbonded omega. Murdering you would have effectively ended my own life. Even the thought that you were put in that position has me going insane,” he growls, resting his forehead on your bulging belly to calm himself.

He can hear the thump of your pups’ heartbeats, and it reminds him how easily this life can be taken away. It’s too much to bear, and he sits up to undress his lower half. His rage quells slightly when he’s seated deep inside you, watching you tremble underneath him.

“Alpha,” you choke out as his cock stretches out your puffy folds. “He’s still your father. Someday you might regret this.”

“I won’t. Not when my omega’s life is on the line. Don’t worry, doll. I told them to leave him hanging on the edge for me so I can deliver the final blow.”

Your mind is clouded when his length beats into you. Since you hit your third trimester, it seems as if you’re wet almost all the time. Slick drips down your thighs during random parts of the day, begging for your alpha to fill you. Because of Jaemin’s war against his father, you spend most nights craving him, thrusting your fingers into your pussy until your wrist aches.

When you have the real thing in front of you, it’s the only image you want to think about.

He hooks your knees over his arms, angling himself until he’s locked you deep in a mating press. If you weren’t currently pregnant, you’re certain tonight would be the night Jaemin would ensure you were bred properly.

“You’re so big, alpha,” you whine with tears in your eyes. “You fit me so well.”

“My precious omega, I’ll never love anyone but you,” he mumbles, directing his hips forward. “You’re mine forever, doll. I won’t let my guard down like that again.”

Your alpha knots you twice that night, etching promises into your skin for your safety until the sun peeks through the curtains. When you’re exhausted beyond belief, he leaves you to handle his father for once and for all.

No one threatens the life of his omega.

—

Jaemin will admit he’s somewhat of a sadist.

He doesn’t exhibit the traits of a sadist that often, due to the disapproval he would receive from the public. In their eyes, he’s a cheerful prince who wants to resolve their every problem.

But as he stares at the man who raised him, the man who has nearly discarded Jaemin’s entire reason for living, he wants to peel this man’s skin off until he’s begging for his son to grant him mercy.

His soldiers have already done a number on the king at Jaemin’s request. His father writhes in pain while Jaemin watches fruitfully, his alpha pleased by the turn of events.

“I bet you wish you had just given up the crown when I asked, hm?” Jaemin says, leaning down until he’s face to face with the king. His father is currently restrained to the throne, blood dripping from his forehead while he struggles to break free of the chains. “Instead, you wasted the kingdom’s resources by prolonging this useless civil war. But guess who ended up victorious anyway?”

His father has the audacity to smile. “The people will never respect you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. They never respected you.”

His nearest commander hands Jaemin a long blade. The prince examines it carefully, pondering over your words from the previous night. Would he regret killing his father?

He remembers how the mere presence of the king is a threat to your life, for anyone who supports him will constantly crave your death. No, Jaemin needs to make a statement. He has to tell the world that he will slaughter any being who wishes for your demise, including his father. You’re Jaemin’s whole heart, and he couldn’t live without you.

He lines the tip of the blade to his father’s chest, and the king barks in laughter.

“I hope she’s worth it. I hope she’s worth killing your own father and taking a throne that you don’t deserve. Omega bitch.”

His alpha doesn’t hesitate then. Dozens of soldiers stand by as the king’s life is taken by his son. They drop to one knee to bow to the new king, and Jaemin clenches his jaw when he withdraws the sword from his father’s corpse.

“My king,” the soldiers echo in submission.

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Clean this up. And communicate to the queen’s handmaidens that they must prepare her for the coronation.”

He flees the room, disgusted by the sight. The workers scatter into a flurry, switching their gears from the mindset of war to a new era of leadership.

Jaemin just has one more person he needs to deal with.

Donghyuck is a weeping mess in his prison cell, shackled with his arms and legs tied together. His eyes widen when he catches the view of the prince storming towards him. He backs up into the farthest corner of the cell, afraid to accept his fate.

Jaemin glares at him. “The only reason I’m not burning you at the stake is because my omega asked for my leniency.”

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck blubbers. “I needed to protect my family. I never meant to actually hurt her! Is she okay?”

Jaemin has to think of you in order not to maim this beta. How dare he inquire after your health when he was the one who put it at risk?

“You’ll return to your house in the countryside. I will handle your family’s debts, but that means you will in no way come in contact with my omega or her bakery ever again. You are to stay out of the public eye. If I catch wind of you stirring up trouble, I won’t allow my omega to convince me of your innocence a second time.”

Donghyuck drops to his knees, sobbing as he clutches his hands together.

“Yes, my prince! I promise you will never see me again, I swear this to you.”

Jaemin bares his teeth. “I’m the king now, and you will refer to me as such.”

“Y-Yes, my k-king!”

—

The celebration of the new king and queen is delayed by your water breaking unexpectedly before coronation day.

You deliver a pair of healthy twins, a boy who shares your features and a girl who inherits Jaemin’s smile. Your alpha is over the moon, starry eyed for his pups while you watch him lovingly.

The kingdom accepts Jaemin’s reign with open arms, delighted that they can lay food on their family’s tables without worry. Your mother even accepts his ruling, finally taking her spot in the castle that Jaemin offered her months ago.

You find solace in baking in the palace kitchen, returning to the place that Minjun brought you to when you were just a pup. The people flock to the castle on Sundays, where you invite Minjun to eagerly hand out your beloved pastries.

Your fairytale life with your soulbonded alpha is perfect. You just didn’t quite expect he would want to expand your family so quickly after the twins are born.

“Jesus, alpha,” you whimper as Jaemin’s cock pummels into you. Your fingers grasp onto the armrests of the throne chair, arching your back for your alpha to fuck into you harder.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, and you’re grateful that Jaemin commanded everyone to leave the throne room before he staked his claim on you. Judging by the sizzle of the fire behind his lids, you would guess he’s verging on the edge of his first rut since you gave birth.

Giddy laughter bubbles up your throat when he nips at your shoulder playfully. “Does that feel good for you, omega?” He hums, circling your clit until the nub is sore from his ministrations. He buries his cock inside your tight cunt while you moan for him. “You love it when your alpha takes care of you, hm?”

You lay your head on the velvet seat of the throne, drunkenly smiling as he continues his sensual rhythm. Your tiara tumbles off your head and clatters to the ground, but the both of you don’t even flinch at the sound.

“I can’t wait to get you pregnant again. I never got to worship you when you were carrying the twins,” he sighs, and you remember those late nights when you would have to attempt to pleasure yourself. He rolls his hips until you feel the ecstasy thrumming in your veins. “I’m not letting that happen again, doll.”

“The twins are barely a month old,” you point out, but he shrugs mindlessly.

“Too long, if you ask me. This perfect pussy should be bred at all times, filled with my cum until it’s dripping out. There should never be a day where I’m not inside you, doll.”

He batters into your cervix until obscene moans echo through the air. The guards and your handmaidens outside can probably hear everything, but your dignity is the last thing on your mind.

He takes complete control over your body, tangling his hand through your hair and spitting over your face. You whine and present yourself as a good omega, letting him abuse your pussy until the throne room is loaded with the stench of your two bodies colliding together. No matter how many times you take him, it always feels like his goal is to split you in half with his length.

“My king, please,” you cry. He drills into you with long, languid strokes. “I can’t take it anymore-”

You scream when your climax hits you hard. Your thighs shake as your pussy gushes over his cock, spurting your juices onto the floor. Your cunt greedily clenches down around him, causing the final straw to break for Jaemin.

His teeth descend into your mating mark when he knots you, and you welcome the familiar fuzzy tenderness from your alpha holding you close.

“I love you, my queen.”

You giggle as he swipes away the spit coating your face so he can kiss you properly.

“I love you too, alpha. Now let’s move you to our bedroom before your rut really hits.”

You always had a strong grip on your life. Sober mind, education focused, you made sure you had a good reputation and always had a strong sense of self preservation.

You never felt tempted to drink or do drugs, you never cared much for parties or anything more than hanging out with friends. You got along with plenty of people, even those who were partygoers. They didn’t mind your lifestyle, hell, when you felt pressured to buy drinks with friends they didn’t mind downing them for you.

You had a strong will and you were confident in that. Your sense of person never felt swayed by anything, not by expensive luxuries, not by salacious experiences, not by appearing to be something grander than yourself. You were stubbornly yourself. Lucid, sober, and a follower of your specific morals.

That was until you met Sungchan.

He was something so different from anything you’d seen. Tall and muscular, nice cologne, he had a sweet face and a sensual body. And what made it worse was that you never paid any mind to him at first.

He was just someone you worked with. Nothing more, nothing less. You two got along well, he was never pushy or flakey. You both collaborated well, never doing more or less with each other in group work. You admired his work ethic, you assume he felt the same towards you. He’d notice how busy you’d make yourself, occasionally leaving you something on your desk between your few breaks.

Then one day you just saw it. He was broad and strong, gentle hands with a strong body. He still had that cute smile on his face, his cheeks lifting his eyes into those half moons. His wide smile  showing off his round cheeks.

And you felt all of your self preservation, everything you ever confidently strutted, shatter into pieces. The tinted lens of your ego faded and you were left with an almost soul-crushing attraction. Every ounce of temptation gravitated towards him. Sungchan grew intoxicating, you heard his voice from offices away, smelt his cologne from feet away.

This was far from some office crush, your thoughts were plagued by him: glancing at his hands and thinking on them trailing up your legs, hearing him groan from lifting some heavy boxes and thinking of how he’d grunt into your ear as he entered your core, you’d get faint whiffs of him passing by and think of how your sheets would be drenched in that scent.

You felt it the hardest when you finally caved in and touched yourself thinking of him. Your sweater had been left at the office one night, Sungchan was quick to help you find it. It smelt strongly of his cologne. You had no idea how, but you kept it close to your face as you came again and again.

Everything was heightened, especially when you caught him out of work hours. Meeting him in a random bar was not your intention. You were there with friends while you watched a band play, Sungchan just happened to also be there. And he happened to walk up to you while your friends went to get drinks. You could smell his scent, head almost spinning from the idea of him, before hearing his voice speak out.

“Y/n?”

You turned to your side to see Sungchan walking over.

“Sungchan, hi.” You smiled.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here, do you come often?”

“No, my friends wanted me to come with them.”

“Your friends?”

“They’re getting drinks right now.” You glanced over to the bar and saw them idly standing while you talked to Sungchan.

“You look really nice, I just thought I’d come over to say hi.”

I look nice?

“It’s nice to see you.” You smile.

Sungchan walked back as your friends made their way to you.

“Who was that?”

“Coworker.” You respond, you feel your senses heighten a little, more perceptive of him possibly watching you.

“You should hook up.”

“Hook up?” You leaned in to ask.

“He’s hot. If he’s walking up to you in a really pubic area, he’s gotta be into you.”

That wasn’t what you needed to hear. You were already horribly into him and you’d already spent so much self control stopping yourself from doing something embarrassing at work. But here? Oh god, you’re gonna make a fool of yourself.

“You’re insane, we work together, we can’t.”

“Y/n the responsible.” Your other friend commented.

And in spite of your self control, in spite of your reputation as the responsible one, in spite of ever so boldly crowning yourself as someone unmoved by temptation, someone so strong-willed  you can hold yourself back from seduction of my measure. You found yourself trapped and caught by Sungchan.

Despite your methodical and calculated memory, always used to remember and carefully plan work projects, you’re dumbfounded as Sungchan entered your apartment. His plush lips moving against yours as his hands held you firmly against his chest.

You only drank water, at most some soda, at the bar. Your mind was pounding, body moving in a stumbling manner, you were sure Sungchan thought you were drunk. And despite whatever excuse you could give to change his mind, the only bender you were on was on him. Finally feeling him and giving into your desires.

“God, I need you.” He groaned.

You stumbled your way to your bedroom, Sungchan crawling on top of your as his lips and teeth painted your skin. His hands were rough but warm, feeling and exploring your body. His hands were quick to remove your top, yours took a bit longer for his but you got the job done.

Before you knew it his hands were on your shorts.

“You’re clean, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, I haven’t had sex in forever, clean test.”

“Cool, same here.”

Sungchan kissed you as he began unbuttoning your bottoms. Your hands cupped his face as he teased your clothed clit. You gasped and he pushed his tongue into your mouth. His hands pulling your shorts and underwear off before sinking his fingers into you.

“Sungchan.” You moaned.

He began pumping into you, his thumb grazing your clit at his fingers stretched you out. God, they were huge. You were cumming before you knew it, your walls clenching around his fingers as he was sucking a hickey along your collarbone.

“You’re so pretty.” He said.

“You’re quite pretty, as well.”

He smiled bashfully.

“Is it okay if we have sex?” He asked, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“I don’t have any condoms.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m on the pill, though.”

“Are you okay with that?” Sungchan rubbed your arm as he asked you.

“I don’t mind.” You leaned over and laid a peck on his shoulder.

He lifted your chin and kissed your lips. He made quick work of his pants before rubbing his length along your folds, you grabbed at his dick to align him at your core, slowly jerking his length to get an idea of how big he was. You sighed and groaned as he slowly pushed into you.

Sungchan was careful, only pushing his tip in before sinking an inch or two more. He slowly drew back before adding another inch or so until he was fully sheathed inside you.

You felt incredibly full, he somehow fit a giant inside you. After some time, Sungchan asked if he could move.

“Go ahead.”

He pulled out before slowly pushing back in. Your hand flew to your clit, Sungchan drew back as he watched how his dick was being swallowed by your pussy. His large hands holding onto your hips as his eyes flicked between his dick pushing into you and your fingers circling your clit.

He leaned forward, thrusting a little faster.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

You smiled at that comment, seeing his eyes screwed tight at the sensation of your pussy.

“Maybe you’re just fucking huge.” You comment.

He chuckled a little, “Maybe both.”

He leaned closer to you, lips reattaching as he went faster. You groaned against him, feeling your core grow tighter. He’s gonna make you cum so quickly.

It didn’t take long for you to clench around him, his dick was huge and quickly hit spots you were surprised even existed. And the way you squeezed around him, it took no time for him to start cumming inside you.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Sungchan pulled out quickly, shooting his semen onto your vulva and bedsheets, which was better than inside you.

“It’s fine.” You were barely calming down from your orgasm, far more concerned about how empty your core felt without him inside you.

You both quickly fell asleep and when morning came the uncomfortable hookup conversation also came.

“Well, we both are attracted to each other, so who cares.”

“Who cares?” You asked, feeling your morals come back to your sober mind.

“We can get to know each other, maybe we can even date.”

“But-” You started.

“Not at the office.” He said.

You nodded.

“I don’t mind going on dates or even just hooking up. Oh, but do you?”

“I don’t really care.” You responded, “If we date we can date, if we keep this as an occasional thing, so what.”

Sungchan sighed in relief.

“We can navigate this whole thing later. But definitely not-”

“Definitely not at work.”

And your lines were drawn, everywhere was fair game outside of work. You thought that’s be true.

Almost anytime you were alone together, even when you were by yourself, Sungchan found a way to tease or rile you up. Even when he drew the lines.

Sorting through files and moving them into online pdfs, you could feel his eyes watch you as he’d find an excuse to get closer. It wasn’t hard to tell when his cologne always gave him away but he still shocked you every time he’d sneak up and startle you or whisper something into your ear.

“Sungchan, I’m a bit busy right now.”

“You can multitask, we’re just talking.”

You shot him a look before gathering your files.

“Are you planning on going back to that bar?”

“Not really.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head.

“Not a big drinker, so unless theres some show, I’m probably gonna take a rain check.”

You boxed your files before making your way back to your desk.

“You don’t? Oh.” Sungchan caught on.

Not only were you more straight lace, but you probably had few vices. Namely: Him.

“Oh?” You repeated.

“I see. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you to your files.”

You shot him a confused look before continuing your work. And did you work. You weren’t the only hard worker, and you didn’t work harder than necessary, you were one of plenty. But you did work hard for gaining extra time off, being one of the higher-ups in terms of your main team, you did have more responsibilities and that mean more leisures.

You often stayed after work, gaining plenty of vacation days and leniency with your bosses.

“You’re still here?” Sungchan asked.

“I’m a busy woman, huh.”

“Too busy, c’mon.”

“Huh?” You asked.

Sungchan helped you to your feet, helping tidy your space and getting you out of the office faster.

“I’m fine, Sungchan.” You said.

“You’re overworking.” He stated.

“Allegedly.”

“Let’s go, we can relax and get away from work.”

You scoffed, “Where?”

“I know places.”

And Sungchan made it his priority to make you relax more. Cafes, movies, dinners, concerts. Anywhere to keep you from work, he saw you as a burnout waiting to spark. And as much as he could lean you into relaxation and away from work, he couldn’t always get too close. He’d see you leaning against your door frame, door almost shut, cutting off his view inside your apartment as you had a guilty look on your face.

“We have work tomorrow, I’d like to get some extra hours to sleep.”

“I have an appointment tomorrow.”

“I’m busy later.”

But a few times he was able to get you to open your door to him. He’d follow you in, sometimes you’d relax on your couch, sometimes you’d go straight to your bedroom.

But those nights, feeling your lips wrap around him, or his fingers deep inside you. Nights of what felt like endless rounds of pleasure as Sungchan perfectly lifted your legs or maneuvered you in the right position. Feeling your fingers grip onto his back and shoulder blades as he rocked into you, holding you by your waist as your head leaned to the side, moaning and sighing from the pleasure he was giving you.

He even noticed your nightstand having a box or two of condoms.

Anytime you gave an okay to Sungchan, it’s like he’d run straight to you. Kneeling on a bended knee as he was asking for your time, you almost felt guilty, like your time was just so precious you couldn’t have some romantic relationship go on but you also needed time to adjust to this.

This wasn’t something that plagued your thoughts, but you couldn’t help but ponder it, from time to time. You should be more lenient but you have priorities and routines. You’d love to but it just needs time; you need time.

“Y/n.”

You looked up to see Sungchan. Him, slouching over your desk as he smiled at you.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

He leaned in lightly, “Are you free later.”

“I might, not sure.”

Is this the time to be more open?

“It’s Friday, you better be free.” He laughed.

“Why? Are we discussing what we promised not to discuss at work?”

“Maybe.”

You gave him a look, sharp eyes with a lopsided smirk on your lips. Stern but playful, or so you hoped it looked like that.

“Sure, I probably have some free time.”

Sungchan leaned away, an accomplished look on his face.

“After work.” He whispered.

You carried on with your work, typing and scheduling. Entering old data into your company’s new system before the day came to an end. You let the main floor empty before making your way out, Sungchan often followed this rhythm, wanting a more discreet way of being near you despite his usual interest in leaving sooner.

“There’s this new restaurant downtown.” Sungchan said.

“A Friday night dinner? Interesting.”

Arriving, you looked around the restaurant, seeing the larger and smaller details of the place. It was nice, they served good food, good waitstaff, but you just had a feeling that Sungchan was going to plan something.

When you got home, you weren’t worried about letting Sungchan in. Your previous thoughts about being too far from him were plaguing you.

“This is, like, the fastest I’ve gotten into your place.”

“Huh?” You ask.

“That I’ve been allowed in.”

“I-” You tried finding your words.

“It’s nothing,” He said, “I don’t mind.”

“I’m just not used to this kind of thing.”

“Dating?”

“Long term.”

“Ah.”

You were grateful Sungchan could put up with you. You’ve only been on passing dates when it was convenient. Nothing was ever permanent, only temporary, and you didn’t mind that before when every single person was a business major. But he was different.

“You’re really nice.” You say.

Sungchan perked up, “I am?”

“Don’t think many other people could put up with me.”

Sungchan laughed, “Not as strong as I am.”

Your night continued on, mostly talking and relaxing. Slowly it turned midnight and after, you were still chatting and wanted to continue.

“You can stay over if you’d like, I don’t mind.”

“Really?”

“Of course, you’ve stayed over plenty of times before.”

You showered before him, showing him where your spare toothbrush was, helped find some oversized shirts you had. You were drying your hair, almost done, as he walked out of your bathroom.

“You should talk to your landlord about your water pressure.”

You groaned, “I’ve been, he just hates fixing that for any tenant! He’ll do anything else, even floors, but never the water.”

Sungchan sat on your bed, shaking his towel on him to dry his hair.

“Even water boilers?”

“He occasionally does that.”

You moved to your bed, relaxing against your mattress as you two continued talking. Sungchan was able to dry most of his hair before relaxing, he was staring at you as you talked, eyes flickering from your eyes one beauty mark to the next, looking at your cheeks.

“Are you alright?” You asked.

“Can I kiss you?”

You were a little surprised at the question, “Sure.”

Sungchan leaned over, lighting hovering over you, as he laid a light kiss on your lips. Then another, savoring the way your lips meld against his. Your hand cupped his face, thumb lighting rubbing against his cheek as his hand moved to your waist.

“You’re addicting.” He muttered between kisses.

You smiled, feeling him move down to your neck as you said, “I should be the one saying that.”

Sungchan nipped at your neck and collarbones, letting his tongue glide against your pulse before latching onto the skin. You felt yourself gasp, melting under him as he began marking you.

“We can have sex, right?” He looked up at you.

“We have to have sex.” You groaned.

Sungchan smirked before going back to suck on your skin, his hands pulling your nightwear off before moving further down. His hands holding your breasts as he kissed lower and lower, every few kissed he’d graze his teeth against your flesh, lightly nipping the skin to catch you off guard. Make you always anticipate his next move.

Lowering to your core, his left hand tweaked at your nipple as his right began removing your underwear. Slowly pulling them down your legs as he moved his right hand back up to your breast, his mouth carefully pressing kisses against your shaky thighs.

You held his hands in place, well, not in place but just held them. Moving from the back of his palms to his wrists, feeling his skin and trying to ground yourself as you felt his tongue slide against your core.

“Sungchan.” You moaned, feeling your hips lift upwards.

He followed your hips, never wanting to separate from them. He looked up at you, seeing your flustered face and knitted brows, how needy you were for him. He pushed his face inward, rubbing his nose to your clit as he lapped at your entrance. He was reveling in your moans and noises, every one making him more eager to please.

His fingers rolled against your nipples, teasing your bud before rolling away from them. Sungchan enjoyed how tightly you’d grip his wrist as he moved away from them.

“Sungchan.” You moaned.

He hummed against your core.

“Sungchan.” You repeated.

He looked up.

“I need you inside me, mmm, I need to feel you in me.”

He gave one last long stripe upwards before crawling up. He removed his bottoms and grabbed at one of your condoms. You always insisted on rolling them on him, lightly jerking him before he aligned with your entrance.

Feeling him stretch you out was amazing. He was long and thick, sometimes you could feel he never quite fit, thankfully tonight wasn’t one of those times. His pelvis was almost ground into yours, fully in and fully stretching you out.

You could feel yourself panting, eyes glazed over with some kind of animalistic arousal. This was never something before, not before Sungchan.

“You can move.”

Sungchan shook his head, “Not yet.”

You whined as he stay in place a little longer.

He leaned down, “I know you wanna feel me, so badly, but you have to be patient. Where did that patient girl go?”

You clenched around his words, feeling his lips press into your jaw and neck before sliding out and back in.

“K-keep going.”

Your whole body shook, feeling a desire you’ve never felt before. His fingers moved down to rub your clit, making everything feel heightened and sensitive. Nothing was certain, everything was anticipated and echoed shockwaves throughout your body.

“Right there.” You moaned.

“Here?” Sungchan gave a hard thrust to a certain spot, making you almost scream in pleasure.

“Right there.” He repeated.

He angled himself to perfectly hit every right spot with his heavy fingers rubbing your clit while you were wriggling in your sheets, overwhelmed by the pleasure he could bring you.

“Sungchan.” You moaned.

“Are you close?”

“So close.” Your eyes shut close.

Sungchan sped up, holding onto you as moved faster.

“Look at me.” He said.

You opened your eyes, soft pants escaped your lips as you looked up at Sungchan.

“You’re getting closer?”

“So close.” You mewled.

His hips continued pounded against you, his length hitting deep inside.

“Right there, fuck, Sungchan, there.”

You kept your eyes open, being an immeasurable feat as you felt your core clench around him. Breathing getting caught in your throat as you felt him continued thrusting inside before stilling, flushed against you.

He stumbled forward, almost falling on you. His own orgasm hitting him intensely. He stayed still for a moment, carefully sliding out before throwing his condom away.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He pushed his head back into your neck.

“We can go again.”

“You can go again?” He asked, smirking against your skin.

“I always can, not so sure about you.” You teased.

Sungchan nipped at your shoulder, leaning over to grab at another condom to continue your night.

You never learned what it truly means to be an omega.

Your mother used to say it’s what made you special, but as you grew older and became more of a center of influence within the town, she convinced herself that you were cursed into a life as an omega. She bought suppressants in the dark market for you to conceal your true self. The pills prevented betas from catching a whiff of your scent, although your mother could not afford suppressants strong enough to ward off alphas.

The omega population was dying at an alarming rate, and it was known that alphas were beginning to kidnap omegas on the street to shelter them away. Your mother’s greatest horror was losing you completely, waving you goodbye in the morning for your day at the bakery and never seeing you again afterwards.

She especially fretted over the powerful alphas who had connections in important places. Luckily, any alpha of high ranking was called to serve the kingdom, placed on the front lines of battle to defend your country.

Your mother bathed in the reassurance of knowing you wouldn’t be targeted by any alphas at the small bakery in town as long as you took your suppressants.

You guess that she never expected the prince to carve out time every morning to see you.

“My prince,” you say as soon as the chime of the door rings to indicate his entrance. No other customer is as early as him and Donghyuck has become so frightened of Jaemin’s frequent visits that he’s offered to knead dough during opening hours, which he would usually conjure excuses just to avoid the task. He’s scared of Jaemin losing his temper and sentencing him to exile, which apparently, Jaemin’s father has been known to do to citizens he disagrees with. “What can I get for you today?”

Some days, Jaemin’s lucky enough to sneak away from his guards and speak to you privately. It’s in these moments when your heart burns for him, desperate to be as close to him as possible.

You lean over the counter, eyelashes fluttering as he smirks at you.

“Depends on what you’re offering.”

Heat coils low in your belly. You’ve never felt this way for anyone before, alpha and beta included. Your only goal in life has been to help this bakery flourish, but whenever you see Jaemin, you also envision a ring on your finger and pups running circles around you.

But then you remind yourself that he’s next in line for the throne, and there’s no realistic future where you would ever be the queen sitting next to him.

You stand up straight, ignoring the way his eyes dim at your reluctance to play along.

“The muffins have been garnering more attention lately. We sold out of them yesterday when we were only halfway through the day.”

“I’ll take the lot then,” he says.

You learned one day after asking him out of curiosity that Jaemin would give out the pastries he purchases to people on the street to feed their overwhelming hunger. Donghyuck tells you it’s retribution considering Jaemin’s father is the reason why people are dying of starvation in the first place.

You box up the muffins for him, ready to mumble your goodbyes when he blurts out a question you’re not ready to hear.

“Have you ever been educated regarding soulbonds?” He asks with a hopeful twinkle in his eye.

You tilt your head in confusion at the unfamiliar term. “Soulbond?”

He opens his mouth to reply but then his guards are rushing in, out of breath as they double over.

“Your highness, we’ve been searching for you.”

Jaemin grits his teeth, displeased by their appearance. He arches closer to you before his guards wrench him away.

“Promise me you’ll look into it. Read about the effects of the soulbond and how it seals alphas and omegas together.”

“O-Okay,” you whisper, unsure of why he’s broached this topic with you.

During your lunch break, you scurry over to the library across the street. The lovely beta worker waves you in, making small conversation about how the bakery is holding up until you excuse yourself to browse the omega section. There aren’t many options to choose from, since the lack of omegas in the country also meant a decline in omega writers.

The title of soulbonds catches your eye, and you pull the book from the shelf without hesitation. The beta who checks you out doesn’t prod into your choice of novel, willing to look the other way with a promise of a free muffin in the near future.

When you return home, you confine yourself to the walls of your room. You flip through the pages of the novel with peaked interest, soaking up every word.

Soulbonds are the rarest form of connection between an alpha and omega.

Although history attests to only three soulbonds known in existence, many theorize that soulbonds are much more frequent than the public may believe. The common sign of soulbonds is the draw of their heart. An alpha’s base instinct will be to protect their omega, but also love and cherish their needs and wants. An omega’s base instinct will be to submit to their alpha, but also love and cherish their needs and wants.

Separating soulbonds can inflict pain on both the alpha and omega. If they are knowingly mated and pushed apart, it can lead to a state of distress and acts of violence against those caught in the crossfire.

Soulbonds cannot be broken. Once the omega is marked with the alpha’s bite, it secures their fate and ties their souls together.

To complete the soulbond, the alpha must sink their teeth into their omega’s neck with their knot inside their omega’s-

You slam the book shut, your heart beating so loudly that you can hear it vibrating in your ears. You can’t stop the influx of images of Jaemin hovering above you, eyes pulsating with need as his cock sits snugly inside your pussy. You imagine his knot inflating until he’s locked completely inside you, leaning down to mark you officially as his.

Although you tire yourself out that night with your hand in between your legs, you know the dream of Jaemin being your soulbond is nothing but a fantasy.

“It pays the bills, hon,” you muttered, squinting at your screen as your fingers tapped briskly across the keyboard. “Suck it up.”

You really shouldn’t be complaining. You took the job willingly, and the pay wasn’t bad. Twenty bucks per thousand words. And with this blogger, you were locked into writing at least 15,000 words every three weeks. A walk in the park—usually.

Except on days like today.

You had five days left to finish the latest fic. This time, you and your employer had agreed on a 20,000-word college AU starring someone named Anton Lee. Easy enough, if not for the fact that you were completely out of inspiration.

You weren’t a procrastinator, not by nature. That was how Jasmin had managed to milk two full-length fics out of you each month. But every now and then, you’d hit a wall. And today, the wall was Anton.

Still, you had to ‘power through’—so Jasmin said.

“Your mind is a bottomless vault of infinite ideas and masterful works,” she told you this morning when you called to confess your writer’s block. “Writer’s block is just your brain taking a quick nap from the alternate universes you’ve built brick by brick out of literally nothing but your genius. You got this. I believe in you.”

Of course, Jasmin, your employer, had an eloquent tongue. She used to post her own original works before the blog blew up, and she needed someone else to crank out 20k-word epics about emotionally constipated idols falling in love at college. Hence, you.

“Come on, Anton!” you groaned at your screen. “Say something already!”

You stared. Typed a line. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too.

Eventually, you slumped back in your chair, peeled your fingers off the keyboard, and slammed your laptop shut with the force of someone about to dramatically quit their job.

You met someone’s gaze the moment you slammed your laptop shut.

He was mid-step toward a nearby table, a to-go cup in one hand, and your sudden outburst had made him pause, blinking at you like a deer caught in high-definition LED headlights.

You blinked back. He looked vaguely familiar. You tilted your head at him, trying to place where exactly you’d seen him before. He looked like someone you’d passed a few times in the same space but never actually acknowledged. You were pretty sure you'd seen him sitting at the corner table with an Iced Americano and something on his screen that made him smile to himself.

Meanwhile, he stood frozen for a second longer, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction—like maybe you’d scream, or ask for a selfie, or launch into an unsolicited compliment about his jawline.

But instead, you said, “...Sorry. Did I scare you?”

That broke whatever spell he was under. He smiled, a little sheepish. “A little. But it’s okay. That was a pretty solid slam.”

You raised your coffee cup in mock salute. “Creative frustration.”

“I figured,” he said, stepping past you toward his usual spot by the wall. He sat down, took a sip of his drink, and pulled out his phone—but not before casting one last glance your way.

You turned back to your now-shut laptop.

You didn’t know his name, but you’d seen him around from time to time. Always past ten. Always quiet. A hat or hoodie on, head ducked low. He was probably a student. Or a night-shift worker. Or someone who just hated mornings as much as you did.

What you didn’t know was that he’d noticed you too.

Sungchan had been coming to this café occasionally, drawn by its ambiance, the indie jazz playlist, and the simple fact that no one ever bothered him here. Least of all you.

You, who was always glued to your screen, typing like your rent depended on it. You never spared him more than a glance. Never whispered about him or sneakily took a photo. He liked that.

He liked it so much, in fact, that he’d started timing his late-night coffee runs to match yours. Not on purpose. At first.

And now here you were, laptop finally closed, looking at him like he was just some guy who got caught in your dramatic breakdown. Which—he kind of was.

Sungchan smiled and lifted his cup in acknowledgment of you. You smiled back just as you were standing up to pack your things away and leave.

Funny. You’d never noticed how nice his smile was until now.

You didn’t mean to start talking to him. It just happened.

He was in line behind you at the counter the next night when the barista told you they’d run out of oat milk, and you turned around to groan dramatically into the nearest stranger’s personal space.

“Oh my god, this is the third time this week,” you said. “Being lactose intolerant is the worst.”

The guy behind you wearing a ball cap, hoodie, and a handsome face, chuckled. “Maybe the universe wants you to build tolerance.”

You squinted at him. “Tried that. It was a disaster. Trust me.”

He smiled. “Then I guess you’ll have to suffer with almond milk like the rest of us.”

That was the first real interaction. It was short and mostly unremarkable. But when you sat down at your usual spot later that night and saw him settling into the table across from you, you gave him a polite nod. And he smiled like he was hoping you’d notice.

The next time, it was raining, and he asked if he could share your outlet. And the time after that, he asked your name.

You told him without much hesitation. “You?”

“Chan.”

“Chan?” you repeated, waiting. “Chan what? Just Chan?”

There was a pause. His gaze flicked to his phone screen, which had just lit up with a message from someone. “Song,” he said quickly. “Chan… Song.”

You stared at him. “Chan Song?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It’s Korean.”

“I figured,” you replied, shrugging. You took a sip of your drink to hide your amusement. “Well, Chan Song, welcome to the sad people café. Everyone here’s avoiding something. Deadlines, heartbreak, lactose.”

He grinned. “What are you avoiding?”

“Deadlines. And dairy, apparently.”

“Good combo.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

He looked like he wanted to lie, but then shrugged. “Just insomnia.”

You nodded in understanding, even though something about his face still itched at your memory.

You didn’t think much of him for the next three days—too busy cramming 20,000 words into a fanfic you still weren’t sure made sense. One night, he said hi, and you said hi back, but that was the extent of it.

Until, finally, you looked up from your laptop—and at the same time, he lifted his head from his phone. Your gaze met. You didn’t speak.

You raised your cup. He raised his back. Then you exchanged smiles before you went back to your work.

The whole night, you were so deep into your writing that you barely noticed the world around you. It wasn’t until a plate landed next to your laptop that you looked up and blinked in confusion. It was a pastry with a paper napkin folded neatly beside it.

Your gaze followed the hand that had placed it down.

Chan was already zipping up his hoodie, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder, clearly on his way out.

You opened your mouth. “What’s this?”

“You looked like you needed it,” he said with a small grin. “I saw you eat the same one last week. You mumbled something about ‘crisis carbs.’”

Crisis carbs. Right. 

You looked at him again, a little stunned. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, already backing toward the door. “Good luck with… whatever it is.”

Two days later, you were a new person. Your deadline was met, the fic submitted, the invoice sent. You’d even replied to Jasmin’s unnecessarily emotional ‘thank you’ voice memo with a heart emojis and treated yourself to a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in a week.

Tonight, the café was quieter than usual. But the soft drone of the espresso machine and a slow playlist of lo-fi piano wasn’t any less therapeutic.

You didn’t come to write. You weren’t even pretending to write. You were just sitting there, enjoying your overpriced drink and the feeling of having absolutely nothing due.

So when Sungchan walked through the doors, you noticed him right away. This time, you waved first.

He raised an eyebrow, amused, but made his way over anyway.

“Wow,” he said, looking at your closed laptop. “No laptop tonight? I almost couldn’t believe it was you.”

“Deadlines are dead,” you announced dramatically. “Long live the part where I get a whole week of being idle.”

He laughed and slid into the seat across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “So what is it you write, exactly?”

You took a sip of your drink, leaned forward, and smiled. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yeah, why not?” he replied, smiling. “Is it fiction?”

“Fanfiction,” you said bluntly, watching him for the usual wince or awkward pause.

But he didn’t flinch. He just blinked. “For what? Books? Movies? Musicians? Anyone I’d know?”

You squinted at him. “I mean… probably? They’re a K-pop group.”

“Oh.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “Which group?”

“RIIZE.”

He choked on his coffee and started coughing hard. Alarmed, you sat up straighter. “You okay?”

“Yeah—hot coffee,” he managed, rubbing his chest with the back of his hand. “So… uh, you like them?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I don’t actually follow them.”

His brows furrowed. “But… you write about them?”

“Yup. I treat them like original characters, pretty much. It’s all AU stuff. College tropes, office romances, vampire boyfriends. That kind of thing.”

You figured he was just curious, like most people. So you kept talking.

Jasmin’s fanfic blog was dedicated to RIIZE—a group that, apparently, was popular. And it’s not like you lived under a rock. You knew K-pop existed. You’d heard of BTS and BLACKPINK. You even followed Jennie on Instagram. But you didn’t care much for the industry, and what little you did know came from the occasional trending tweet or article.

“I’m confused,” Sungchan said, laughing softly.

You gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I’m actually just the ghostwriter. It’s not even my blog—I get paid to write that stuff.”

He blinked. “Wait, someone pays you to write fanfiction?”

You smirked. “It’s a very popular blog, Chan. I’m talking ten thousand followers. Twenty-thousand notes per post. That kind of popular.”

He leaned back, trying to wrap his head around it. “But… why would someone pay for something people can just read for free?”

You laughed. “That’s the thing. She’s not paying me for the content. She’s paying me to keep up the content. The blog pulls traffic, and that traffic drives her Etsy store. She sells handcrafted RIIZE merch, advertises through the blog, and makes real money off it.”

Sungchan’s expression shifted from confusion to dawning comprehension. “So the blog is basically her marketing campaign.”

“Exactly.” You showed your phone to him, toggled your screen, and scrolled through posts under the ‘riizefanfic’ tag. “See this? Your average Tumblr fanfic gets around 1,000 to 3,000 notes. That’s considered decent.”

He nodded, eyes scanning the dashboard as you toggled to your employer’s blog next. You missed the way he froze when your arm brushed against his.

You pulled up a random post. “And this one? Over 30,000. That’s a lot of people.”

He nodded again, just as you scooted away. He cleared his throat before saying, “Still doesn’t explain why she’d pay that much for a ghostwriter. She’s not making money off the posts directly, right?”

“No. That’d violate fair use. But indirectly? Absolutely. People love her work—well, my work, technically—and that love turns into support for her shop. And if you know anything about custom merch,” you added, sipping your drink, “you’d know it’s not cheap to make… or buy.”

He gave a small laugh and leaned back. “Wow. That’s actually kind of brilliant.”

You smiled. “It is, isn’t it?”

He was quiet for a moment, just watching you look at your screen. Then he asked, “Why don’t you just make your own blog? Post your own stuff?”

You looked up from your drink, already knowing this question would come. “I could,” you admitted. “But there’s no point.”

“No point?”

You leaned back in your seat. “First of all, I’m not a fan of RIIZE. Or any K-pop group, really. So I’m not writing these stories out of love for the group—I’m writing them because it’s a job. That’s reason one.”

He nodded slowly. “And two?”

“Two is the hype,” you said simply. “Jasmin already has a huge following. Ten, maybe fifteen thousand regulars, not counting the casuals who reblog. When she posts something, it blows up by default. I could post the exact same fic on my own blog and it’d probably get a hundred notes. Maybe two hundred if I begged.”

Sungchan let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Lastly, and most importantly,” you said, raising a brow, “is that Jasmin pays me. If I made my own blog, that same fic would be up there for free. And no offense to RIIZE or their fans, but I don’t care about them enough to write 20,000 words for free.”

That was the most honest answer you had. You weren’t trying to be rude. You just didn’t see the point in devoting hours of effort into something you didn’t believe in—unless there was compensation.

Sungchan didn’t respond immediately. He just stared down at the rim of his coffee cup, brows knit.

“…That’s oddly upsetting,” he said after a moment, scoffing in a self-deprecating way.

You tilted your head, surprised. “What is?”

He hesitated. “Hearing you say you don’t care enough about RIIZE.”

“Oh, I don’t care about them at all!”

Sungchan’s chuckle came out strained. “Okay. I heard you the first time. It’s just… I don’t know. The idea of someone writing about people—real people—like that, but not actually caring about them is kinda sad.”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. “It’s not personal,” you said after a pause. “It’s just work.”

“I know.” He looked away, but you could still see the slight pout forming on his lips.

You frowned. “Stop it. I feel like I’m hurting your feelings.”

He smirked faintly. “Why would you be hurting my feelings?”

“Exactly! It’s not like I’m saying I don’t care about you.” You chuckled incredulously. “But you’re scoffing and pouting, like, are you RIIZE or somethi—”

You paused, seemingly coming to a realization. You stared at him, mouth gaping open. Sungchan straightened in his seat, bracing himself for the words that were about to come out of your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you blurted, hand covering your mouth in shock. “Chan, are you...”

Sungchan could feel his heart picking up pace, beating harder and harder the longer you stared at him, holding back on blurting out exactly what—or who—he was.

“...Are you a BRIIZE?”

Sungchan choked, turning away to cough into his hand. You reached over and patted his back, frowning. “You okay?”

He cleared his throat and recovered. “BRIIZE?!” he croaked, blinking at you with wide eyes.

You nodded, completely serious. “Yeah. That’s what RIIZE calls their fans.”

Sungchan laughed in disbelief and then cleared his throat again before leaning on his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “So you know about BRIIZE but don’t know the members?”

You shrugged. “I don’t see how those correlate. Jasmin calls herself a BRIIZE all the time, of course, I’ve heard it.”

Sungchan chuckled, shaking his head as he scrambled to change the subject.

“So you don’t…” he gestured vaguely, “…look them up? Just to see what they look like before writing about them?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I did once. But I don’t like doing that.”

“Why not?”

You sat back in your chair, fingers curled around your mug. “Because I write mostly on inspiration. And I like to think I’m writing for my own renown, not someone else’s fantasy. It’s important to me that I don’t picture someone else’s face in the image of a character I created. Especially not a guy—or guys—I know nothing about.”

Sungchan tilted his head. “Wouldn’t it help, though? Having a visual?”

“I have all the visuals I need right here,” you said, tapping the side of your head with a small grin. “Trust me. My brain’s got better casting than Netflix.”

He laughed. Genuinely. Then leaned forward a bit. “So if I told you I knew RIIZE… like, personally…”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’d say good for you, and tell you I know Beyonce. She’s on my speed dial.”

He grinned, but didn’t push. “Fair enough.”

Sungchan: guys wake up. she writes fanfic. about US. she doesn’t even like us 😭 Shotaro: wait WHAT who is she send her @ Anton: is this the café girl again? Sungchan: yes. her. she thinks i’m just some guy named Chan Song Also she thinks i’m a BRIIZE 💀 Wonbin: Chan song? You’re joking that’s the fake name you used? Eunseok: Chan Song. Sungchan LMAO Anton: dude he used ur last name lol Eunseok: YOOO?? WTF! Shotaro: wait so she writes about US but doesn’t KNOW it’s YOU while TALKING to YOU this is like a fanfic inside a fanfic Sungchan: guys this is not funny i think i like her Anton: don’t simp. Investigate. Sohee: does she write good stuff tho 👀 Sungchan: its literally so good I think I fell in love with myself reading one I'm scared Shotaro: bro Eunseok: bro 💀 Anton: she could be lying. stop seeing her Sungchan: idc she's cute Wonbin: btw when are you flying back? Shotaro: he hasn't even been gone a week clingy ass

He was just about to type another reply when a shadow fell over the table. He glanced up and nearly dropped his phone.

“Hey,” you said, smiling as you slid into the seat across from him. “You’re uncharacteristically early.”

Sungchan fumbled with his phone, locking it so fast it almost flung out of his hand. “Oh—hi. Yeah. No. I mean—yes. Early. Breakfast. I’m getting breakfast.”

You raised a brow at him, amused. “It’s noon.”

“Brunch,” he said quickly, coughing into his drink.

You sipped your drink, watching him with a soft laugh. “Cool. Me too.”

Sungchan tried not to look like he was malfunctioning. The words “i think i like her” were still visible in his recent messages, glowing up at him from his screen.

You sat there scrolling through your phone for a minute, while he watched you cautiously. Then, clearing his throat, he broke the ice.

“So, um,” he began, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, “I read one of your works last night.”

You blinked. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “It was really good. The one where this college guy was childhood friends with the girl and had been in love with her since they were little?”

“Oh, the Jung Sungchan one,” you replied, smiling proudly.

“Right, that one.” Sungchan shifted in his seat, trying to act casual. “That version of, um, Sungchan, is super flirty. But it was a great story.”

“Thank you,” you said, pleased. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?”

“I’m not,” he said quickly, then paused. “I just wanted to check out your work, which, by the way, your stories are… engaging. And interesting.”

You chuckled, sipping your drink. “You think my version of Sungchan is too good to be true?”

“No, no,” he insisted. “Just… maybe a little bold. His game was unreal. No one I know is that smooth.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well. That’s fiction for you.”

“Anyway, I gotta learn from him. Or, from you,” he said, pointing at you with a crooked grin. “You wrote him, after all.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I did write him, but I can’t help you. Just because I can write charm doesn’t mean I have it.”

He tilted his head. “No? You’re pretty charming to me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me, Chan Song?”

“Is it working?” he asked back, tilting his head at an angle that highlights his jawline.

“Try harder,” you replied, sipping your drink. He laughed again, and somehow, the conversation didn’t end.

You started seeing him more often after that. At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence—same café, same hours, nothing unusual. But Sungchan—or Chan, as you still knew him—always seemed to show up within ten minutes of you settling in. Sometimes earlier. Sometimes already there, waiting at a different table before casually strolling over to ask if he could join you.

You’d asked him questions he found weird sometimes. Like, “If you could live in any fictional universe, where would you go?”

But he never hesitated to indulge you each time. “Probably the one where people don’t cancel you for the smallest things.”

You had nodded solemnly. “So… a fantasy world.”

Sungchan laughed then. “Exactly.”

Other times, he asked things that caught you off guard, like, “Do you ever wish you wrote under your own name?”

You paused. “All the time. But honestly? Right now, being paid and anonymous isn’t so bad, I get to put my skills to work and practice until I find something I want to write about in my own name. I can’t just sit around and wait for my big break to magically land in my lap.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked at you like he understood.

He told you about his dream of becoming a pro footballer as a kid. You told him about dreaming of being a novelist before you accidentally became a ghost. He laughed at that, and you told him that, no, you meant ghostwriter—but honestly? Same thing.

You told him you liked waking up early, that the air before sunrise felt like it hadn’t been breathed in yet. He made a face and told you you were always in this cafe pulling all-nighters or just hanging out by yourself.

You said, “That’s what writers do. And I said I liked waking up early, not that I do wake up early every day.”

He laughed then. “You always have to have an answer to everything, don’t you? Bet you don’t ever let anyone have the last line.”

“I always get the last piece of pizza too,” you smirked. “I’m competitive like that.”

Some nights, you were both quiet, lost in your own screens. Others, you filled hours with nonsense—debating which ramen flavor was superior, naming the pigeon that always hovered outside the window, wondering whether ghosts ever got bored of haunting the same house.

Sometimes you get into deep conversations about existence and life. Other times, you debated over the silliest things. But overall, it felt nice to hang out with him. You weren’t sure when it started, but you began looking up every time the cafe doors opened. And you started smiling at the sight of his face.

You didn’t think much of it the first night he wasn’t there. Maybe he had something to do. People have real lives to live. Surely, you didn’t expect him to spend every single night in the cafe like he didn’t have a life outside of it.

But then came night two. Maybe work was keeping him busy. And then three. Maybe he finally got sick of overpriced drinks and jazz playlists.

And by the fourth, you caught yourself glancing up every time the door opened—only to pretend you hadn’t. You stayed a little longer that night, ordered an extra drink you didn’t even want, hoping maybe he was just late.

He wasn’t. He didn’t show. The same way he didn’t for the last three nights.

You went through your past conversations in your head, trying to remember if he’d said anything. A mention of a trip, a warning, a see-you-later. But there was nothing. You thought maybe you’d scared him off. Did something that turned him off. It could be anything.

“Maybe you talked his ears off,” said Isla, your roommate. “I mean, you can talk a little too much sometimes, if I’m being honest.”

You squinted at your ceiling. “Yeah, but, really? He hated it so much that he ghosted me?”

Isla sighed from her bed on the other side of the room, exasperated. “Girl, it’s three in the morning. Please. Can we do this in the morning?”

“Right,” you said sheepishly. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Thank you,” she blurted, covering her face with her blanket. “I love you. But I really need to sleep right now.”

“I know.”

You tried not to overthink it. Maybe it wasn’t something you did. Maybe he got bored. Maybe he was just passing through. People drift. Especially people you never really knew in the first place.

So you went back to writing. Half-heartedly. You kept the same table, kept sipping the same drinks, kept pretending it didn’t feel a little colder without him there. 

And then, nearly a week later, the barista called your name as you were packing up.

“Hey,” he said, jogging after you with something in his hands. “Sorry. Totally forgot. This was left for you.”

You turned, confused. He was holding a small box, taped shut, with your name scribbled in all caps on the lid.

“This… what?” you asked, taking it from him.

“Guy in a hoodie left it. Chan. You know, the one you always hung out with,” the barista said, looking apologetic. “Like, days ago. Said it was for you. My bad. It got shoved behind the register.”

You stared at the box. Your chest suddenly felt too tight for how small it was. Funny how something that small could make your chest feel so full. You sat back down and smiled at the barista. “Thanks.”

The café had cleared out by now. The playlist had looped back to something familiar. You peeled the tape off slowly, your mind racing with thoughts and feelings you couldn’t quite make out, but mostly relief.

Inside, there was a neatly folded note and a small keychain—the kind you’d find in a gift shop. It was shaped like a pen. Silver, a little cheesy, but weirdly thoughtful.

You unfolded the note.

Sorry, I didn’t get to say goodbye. Something urgent came up at work. I’ll be back soon. –Chan (P.S. That’s my number on the back of the tag. In case you miss me a little. I’ll wait for you to reach out.)

You stared at the handwriting for a long time. Then flipped the keychain over. And there it was. An international phone number, and three words: Your Chan Song.

You let out a soft laugh. It didn’t even feel as simple as relief. More like... oxygen, after holding your breath for too long without realizing it. You tucked the box into your bag and stared at your phone for a long moment.

You started texting him that same night. Just a short message—casual and nonchalant, like you weren’t sitting cross-legged on your bed, anxiously watching your phone the moment you hit send.

He replied within ten minutes. And just like that, a new part of your daily routine began. It wasn’t constant. You weren’t glued to your phones. But the messages came often enough that you started to expect them.

A photo of some pastry with the caption: “your favorite lol.”A sleepy update at 2 a.m.: “can’t sleep. what u up to?”

Some mornings, he’d text first, asking if you’d eaten. Other times, he’d disappear for hours with nothing but a quick “brb. work thing.” Still, you found yourself scrolling back through old messages more often than you’d like to admit, re-reading lines that made you laugh or feel some sort of giddy feeling in your stomach.

By the fifth day, he hadn’t texted yet.

You found yourself glancing at your phone more than usual. You even opened your chat, typed something, deleted it, then placed your phone face down on the table—like that would stop you from thinking about it.

He messaged late that night.

Sungchan: Did you miss me? I hope you did. Long day. Tell me something good?

You smiled and almost started jumping up and down on your bed. Only to slap yourself on the face and tell yourself to calm the heck down. “He’s just a guy,” you chastised yourself.

You: The café pigeon is back. Sungchan: I miss the pigeon. And the girl who talks to him like he understands English. You: He does understand English. He just pretends he doesn’t. Sungchan: Smart bird.

That was the last message for the night. You didn’t hear from him the next day. Not that you were counting. But part of you kind of was.

Some nights, while you worked on a new story, you couldn’t focus because you were waiting for his message. Other nights, he’d fall asleep mid-conversation and text you a sheepish “oops” the next day. And even though you still didn’t know what he did for work or why he kept disappearing without warning, you didn’t pry. You just kept texting him anyway.

Because for now, that little corner of connection—between the deadlines and the doubts—was enough.

And besides, you were starting to miss him more than just a little.

“Chocolate chip or matcha?” you asked no one in particular, peering through the glass display with your hands stuffed into your jacket pockets.

“Matcha,” said a very familiar voice beside you.

You froze. Then turned. And there he was—standing just close enough, eyes already crinkling with a smile.

Your heart picked up speed almost embarrassingly fast. Something about hearing his voice again felt like plunging into a cool pool on a hot summer day. Jarring. Refreshing. Kind of impossible to recover from.

“Chocolate chip’s safe,” he continued, nonchalantly like this wasn’t the first time you were seeing each other again after two whole months, “but matcha has ambition.”

You blinked at him, then raised a brow, crossing your arms and pretending like you weren’t actively losing your mind. “Matcha tastes like grass and regret.”

He gasped—actually gasped—and put a hand to his chest, wounded. “Take that back.”

“Never,” you said, grabbing a packet of chocolate chip cookies and walking away with a smirk. Half-hoping he’d follow. 

And knowing he would.

You didn’t have to look behind you to know he was still there. He was matching his steps with yours as you made your way to the counter, pretending like this was any other night and not the moment you’d replayed in your head at least a dozen times since he left.

Sungchan set down his drink next to yours while you paid for the cookies. Then he nodded toward the corner table you always claimed and said, “Still your spot?”

You shrugged like your heart wasn’t doing cartwheels. “Unless you’ve suddenly grown too cool to sit there.”

He smiled. “Not a chance.”

You both slipped into your usual seats. And it was quiet between you for a moment. But not the kind that was awkward and tense, but the kind that happens when someone’s absence had been loud, and now their presence feels even louder.

“So, Chan,” you said, peeling open the cookie packet. “Vanished off the face of the earth, huh?”

Sungchan winced, but not dramatically. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

You nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully. “I almost thought you’d ghosted me.”

“I didn’t want to,” he said quickly, and you looked up at him. “Had to leave last minute. Didn’t have a way to reach you. Though technically, you were the one who took a while to reach out.”

“Me?” you blurted, scowling, but then you remembered how the barista ‘forgot’ to give you the note Sungchan left you. You glanced over your shoulder, glaring at the oblivious barista. “Yeah, well… turns out someone forgot to give me your note.”

“It’s fine.” Sungchan chuckled, and you turned back to him. “I did think you didn’t wanna bother reaching out at all, but you did eventually, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad you did.”

“Flirting on your first day back?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you brought your cup to your lips. “Calm down, Chan Song.”

Sungchan leaned his head back and groaned in feigned distress. “Is it not working? I practiced hard while I was gone!”

That made you laugh. “Where were you anyway?”

“Places,” he replied casually, placing his elbows on the table. “I was swamped with work. This, um, project I was working on took a while. And it’s not done yet, but I can do it remotely in the meantime.”

“What’s the project?”

“Can’t tell you. Confidentiality clause and all.”

You narrowed your eyes at him in playful suspicion. “Is this your way of telling me you’re in the CIA?”

He laughed, and the sound reverberated beautifully in your ears. “No. Definitely not cool enough for that.” 

Then he looked at you—really looked at you. The golden café lights caught in his eyes, turning them to amber, and his usual half-smile was soft and warm. For a moment, it felt like time paused around your little corner of the world. You weren’t thinking about pigeons or playlists or the months in between—you were just watching him, and thinking stupid things like: This is the face I’d give a love interest if I ever wrote a story with me as the heroine.

God, you were so down bad.

“But I did miss this,” he said gently. “You. The coffee. Jazz. The pigeon updates.”

You blinked, pulling yourself back into your body. “He got a girlfriend while you were gone,” you said, exhaling a laugh to cover the way your heart was racing.

Sungchan gasped. “No way.”

“Way. They sit on the third lamp post now. Real estate upgrade.”

He shook his head in mock devastation. “I miss one month and everything changes.”

“Two months,” you corrected, before you could stop yourself.

He smirked teasingly. “You were counting? You did miss me.”

You did, but you weren’t about to admit that, so you rolled your eyes. “I’m a writer. I keep track of time in coffee cups and cafe playlists. Hard not to notice the gaps.”

You lingered in the cafe longer that night. The conversation continued to flow, never quite running out. Something about being back in each other’s presence felt too rare to cut short. You watched the way Sungchan leaned back in his chair, the way his fingers curled around his cup, how his gaze sometimes softened when it landed on you. And maybe it was the mellow jazz or the cookie sugar in your system or the fact that you missed him so much more than you admitted—but the moment soon started to feel intimate.

The café lights had dimmed hours past midnight, and only two other customers remained, tucked into their corners, half-asleep. When even they decided it was time to call it a night, you realized you couldn’t stay forever.

Sungchan glanced at the clock, then at you. “You gonna keep holding this table hostage ‘til morning?”

“No,” you said, sipping from your empty cup. “But I like it here.”

He smiled. “Wanna come over instead? I live five minutes from here.”

Your heart stuttered a little. He said it casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just two friends, too wired to sleep, choosing to stay in each other’s company a little longer.

So you nodded. “Yeah. Why not?”

He didn’t say anything else and just stood up, slid his phone into his pocket, and waited for you to gather your things. When he offered to carry it for you, you didn’t hesitate to hand it over.

The walk was comfortable. You talked about nothing. About the weather, about the stupid pigeon, about how you used to hate lo-fi but now kind of love it. His apartment was small but clean, set up like a showroom for a studio condo. It was well-kept and didn’t really look lived in. But it kind of made sense. He’d been gone for a while after all.

He tossed his keys onto the counter and flicked on a soft lamp near the couch. Warm light filled the room.

“Tea?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, not because you wanted tea, but because you weren’t ready to sit down yet. Not ready for whatever this was becoming.

You watched him move through the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking so relaxed and handsome, and that was when it hit you.

You liked him.

God, you really liked him; your heart wouldn’t shut up about it.

He sat beside you on the couch, knees brushing, the cushion dipping with his weight. It was the first time you really noticed how small you looked next to him. You’d always known he was tall—but now, seated this close, it hit you that he was also broad. Solid, and larger than you were.

Somehow, that realization made the nerves all over your skin tingle.

You didn’t drink your tea. Neither did he. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge or the occasional sound of the city outside. You sat side by side, not touching anymore, but still close enough that your body remembered the warmth from just seconds ago.

Neither of you spoke, but you could feel him glancing your way now and then. All while you kept your eyes on the mug in your hands like it was the most fascinating object in the world.

Eventually, you broke the silence, just to say something. Anything. Just to shake off the static.

“You could’ve texted,” you said softly. “That you were coming back today.”

Sungchan didn’t answer right away. You turned your head to look at him and caught him already looking at you. Then, quietly—like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud—he replied, “I was nervous.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I knew if I saw you again, I’d want to do this.”

You didn’t have time to ask what “this” meant because he was already leaning in and kissing you.

It was a tentative one, testing your reaction. And the second your mouth moved against his, he sighed against your lips and kissed you deeper. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw, holding you steady. 

You set your mug down without looking. His was abandoned somewhere on the floor. Your knees brushed again, then his hand slid to your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“You’re warm,” he whispered, wrapping strong arms around your waist, pulling you closer against his own body. “Warmer than you look.”

“Did you think I’d be cold?” you smarted.

That made him grin. I didn’t say that. I said warmer, meaning I already thought you were warm, but you turned out to be warmer than I expected.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, let’s not argue about semantics right now. We have far more pressing matters to—OH!”

Sungchan flipped you onto the couch with one swift movement, immediately hovering over you and kissing you like it wasn’t a decision, but a pull—like gravity.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

His hands slid under your thighs as he pulled you closer, your bodies fitting together like this had always been inevitable. His mouth never left yours for too long, just long enough to murmur your name or breathe out a soft curse when your nails dug into his back.

His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, and his lips trailed down your throat. He touched you like he already knew you, like every inch of you had already been memorized in his head and he was just retracing it now, slowly and thoroughly.

Clothes disappeared in the quietest, clumsiest kind of way, in between laughter and breathless silences. He kissed your shoulder when you trembled, grinned into your skin when you sighed, and talked you through it gently, though his pace was anything but.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. Messy, clumsy, with a touch of awkwardness here and there, but it was amazing. And at the end of it, when you both curled up into each other, tangled limb by limb and breathing in each other’s skin, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so warm.

Or so wanted.

That night with Sungchan changed everything—and nothing at all. 

You still saw each other at the café, still sat at your usual spot in the corner, still argued about nonsense like whether black coffee was superior to lattes or if matcha was real and not just the new social construct these days (like Pumpkin Spice Latte once was). But more often now, you’d find yourself at his apartment instead.

His apartment became the new favorite spot. Mornings, nights, entire afternoons together on that couch, in his bed, in the shower, on the kitchen counter. There was no routine—only instinct, desire, and passion.

There were days you didn’t even bother getting dressed, moving from bed to fridge in one of his shirts, hair a mess, legs still aching from the night before. He’d pull you in again anyway, say something stupid like, “You’re distracting me from feeding you,” only to set the food aside five minutes later because, well, you were both starving—but not for lunch.

You lost track of how many times it happened. Just that it always started the same—him reaching for you like it was second nature, like your body had become his default setting. And maybe it had. Your shirt lifted before your coffee cooled. His fingers trailing your spine while you brushed your teeth. The two of you under the sheets, out of breath, half-laughing, completely undone.

But it wasn’t just that.

Sometimes you cooked together. Ramen, argued over whether ketchup belonged on eggs, more ramen. Sometimes you fell asleep on his chest mid-movie, only to wake up to him still there, scrolling his phone with one hand, the other resting lightly on your hip like he didn’t even notice he was holding you.

There was no talk about what it meant. No confessions, no “what are we doing?” panic. There was only a growing comfort that settled between your bones like muscle memory.

You told yourself it was just physical. But the way he brushed your hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead said otherwise.

And maybe he knew it too. But neither of you said a word. Because if there was anything stronger than your chemistry, it was your shared refusal to ruin a good thing by naming it.

But of course, things couldn’t just stay that way forever.

One day, you were on his couch again, legs crossed, half-listening to his playlist while you typed away on the laptop resting on your thighs.

“What are you writing?” Sungchan asked out of nowhere, walking into the living room with a bowl of what you assumed was his breakfast cereal.

You shrugged. “Not really writing yet, just brainstorming this new idea for a plot.”

He joined you on the couch, draping one arm on the backrest behind you. “You should write about us.”

You paused. “Why would I do that?”

“Why not?” he said, nudging your leg with his knee. “Come on. Writer girl meets charming cafe stranger who turned out to be an amazing lover.”

You snorted, giving him a look before turning back to your screen. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? You don’t think I’m an amazing lover?” he said teasingly, leaning in to kiss your cheek while his hand slid into the hem of your shirt.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hand away. “You are amazing. But you’re not my lover.”

He looked confused, so you said, “I don’t write about myself. And besides, a lover is more than someone who warms my bed. He’s…” You shrugged. “The boyfriend type. You know?”

Sungchan tilted his head, interested now. “So a lover’s a boyfriend?”

“For me? Yeah. I don’t use that word lightly. If I say lover, I mean he’s mine. Officially. Not just in my bed, but in my life.”

You glanced back at him and saw a thoughtful flicker on his face, replaced quickly by a smug grin. “So…” he said slowly, “this your way of asking me to be your boyfriend?”

You flushed, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “Absolutely not.”

"Why not?" He grinned, leaning closer. “Because I will. No questions asked. Just say the word.”

You stared at him, then laughed softly. “God, you’re serious?”

“I am,” he said, and there was no lilt of teasing in his voice. “I understand why labels are important. It’s better to have some sort of agreement making things official, rather than just cruising with it.”

You were speechless for a moment, watching him look at you with the same fondness in his eyes and the small smile on his lips.

And then, shyly, you said, “Okay.”

His smile widened, and he kissed you—quick and sweet—before whispering, “About time.”

From then on, something had changed. You still hung out the same, still ended up in his bed more often than not, but there was something more certain about it now. Your toothbrush joined his in the cup. Your jackets ended up in his closet. He called you his girlfriend, casually at first, and then like it had always been the case.

And maybe the biggest surprise of all? You started writing a plot about it.

Not in full detail, not everything. But the bones of it. The gist of how it began. How you met this guy at a café and didn’t expect him to stay. How he made you laugh when you were stuck, how he kept you glowing and smiling, and how he now warms your nights with his embrace.

Sungchan left again the following week.

He didn’t want to. That much was obvious in the way he lingered in the doorway, kissing you one too many times, pulling you into one last hug before muttering “I really don’t wanna go” against your hair. But work called, and his time off had already stretched longer than planned.

This time, he didn’t disappear without warning. He told you exactly where he was going, for how long, and promised to call whenever he could. You didn’t ask too many questions. You knew what he did now—not the specifics, but enough. And you didn’t need the whole story to understand the parts that mattered.

You stayed in his apartment for a few nights after he left. It still smelled like him. Your laptop stayed open, pages half-written, but your thoughts kept circling back to him.

On the fourth day, Jasmin messaged you.

Jasmin: Hey! Do you think you can do Sungchan next? Haven’t posted any fic for him in a while, and I think you’d kill it. Something soft and light, maybe? I’m thinking comfort character vibes.”

You stared at the screen, smiling because you had only been working on one plot outline all week. You typed in a reply.

You: Absolutely! I have just the plot for this.

You picked up your laptop and opened a new document. Sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed with the scent of his laundry on your skin. And for the first time, you didn’t write about a character you made up. You wrote about him.

The charming stranger who sat beside you in a café. The man who touched you like he already knew you. The boy who made you laugh as easily as breathing.You didn’t use his name—not really. This was still a fanfic for Jung Sungchan, but every word belonged to your boyfriend, Chan.

Chan came back like he always did—without much warning but with his arms around you before you could ask what took him so long.

“I only have five days,” he said, forehead pressed against yours like he was apologizing in advance. “Work’s close by. I’m technically still on the clock.”

You didn’t ask for details. You knew by now that his version of “close by” meant another country, and “on the clock” meant being shuffled between hotel rooms and planes. But you also knew that if Sungchan had five days off, he’d use all five of them on you.

So you spent time with him. In his apartment. In his bed. In your world, like he’d never left in the first place.

“So… what’s the mystery project this time?”

He smiled at his coffee, noncommittal as ever. “Just work. Same old.”

You gave him a look. “You do know that’s the least convincing answer in the history of ever, right?”

“It’s the only one I can give you right now,” he said, and even though it was vague, he kissed your temple right after. So you let it go, because he was here.

And maybe five days wasn’t forever—but it was still five mornings waking up tangled in his arms, five nights of late conversations and whispered nothings, five chances to pretend that the clock wasn’t ticking.

The first night, he didn’t want to talk. Just kissed you the moment the door shut behind him, backing you into the nearest wall with all the urgency of someone who’d been craving this for weeks. He touched you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you all over again.

The second day, he slept. Like, did nothing and just slept for hours. You spent the afternoon working on his bed, glancing at him every now and then to make sure he was still breathing. He looked peaceful for once—none of that usual tension he carried in his shoulders. Just Chan, with his big arms wrapped around your torso, face buried on your side, and long legs curled into his chest.

You couldn’t help reaching for your phone to snap a photo of him like that—like he wasn’t an actual grown man curling up like a baby.

On the third day, you tried to cook and nearly set off the fire alarm trying to make pancakes, and he teased you about it until you flicked batter at his arm. It turned into a flour war, which turned into a makeout session by the sink, which then delayed breakfast by another two hours.

The fourth day was quiet. He sprawled out on your couch while you sat cross-legged nearby, laptop open, fingers moving across the keys.

He glanced over mid-scroll through his phone and asked, “What are you working on?”

“The usual.”

“Fanfic?” He raised a brow. “For which member is it this time?”

You turned your screen toward him slightly, curious to see if he’d have any reaction. Maybe he'd know the member, you thought. Maybe he'd laugh.

Instead, his smile dropped. His posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, and his gaze locked on the name at the top of your document.

“Sungchan?” he said, voice suddenly tight.

You blinked. “Yeah. Apparently another member of RIIZE.”

He stared at the screen. At the words Jung Sungchan in the title bar. At the bullet point list underneath: Soft-spoken. Thoughtful. Says things like “I’ll wait for you” and means it.

Then he chuckled and leaned back on the couch, casual as ever. “For a second there, I thought you were finally writing about me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m writing for Sungchan, not Chan Song. Both names sound oddly similar for some reason, but no. Not about you.”

“Right,” he said, grinning. “You’re very defensive.”

He was right, you were. While you did decide to write about your own story, you didn’t wanna tell him that because it was lowkey embarrassing.

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it and hugged it to his chest, smug. “Can I read it?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a line?”

“Nope.”

He pouted and rested his chin on your shoulder anyway. “I’ll read it when it’s posted, then,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything to that. Just kept typing, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered a little from having him so close.

On the fifth day, it rained. You didn’t leave the apartment. Barely left the bed. You lay tangled together, limbs sore and words soft, talking about everything and nothing. And when the clock struck midnight, you realized his five days were up.

The seasons blurred before you noticed how much time had passed.

Chan still came and went, and you stayed. Not in the way that you were waiting around for him—no, you had your own work, your own life. But somehow, everything always fell back into place the moment he walked through the cafe doors again. As if time outside of each other didn’t really count.

He still kept things vague. His work, whatever it was, still dragged him away. You knew the time zones changed depending on where he was texting from, but he never gave names of cities. Or clients. Or what exactly he did that involved so many trips and deadlines and a phone that never stopped buzzing.

You didn’t push. Not because you weren’t curious, but because pushing never worked with Chan. He was gentle with your questions—deflecting, redirecting, charming his way around the answers until you forgot why you asked in the first place.

And maybe, for a while, you didn’t need to know more. Because he always came back to you.

You knew his apartment better than he did. Knew where he kept the extra towels, knew how to wiggle the bathroom window when it jammed, knew the name of the neighbor downstairs and which flavor of cup ramen he always kept stocked.

You knew he slept best with one arm under the pillow and the other over you. That he couldn’t stand not working out at least once a day. He liked trying different flavors of smoothies and had a weird addiction to everything matcha.

You also knew he dodged your questions whenever they got too specific. “What’s your schedule like next month?” “Do you miss Korea?” “Will I ever meet your friends?”

He never answered directly. Just grinned or kissed you, or said something sweet to reroute your thoughts. Sometimes, the doubt crept in. Slipped into the silence between goodnights. But most of the time, you were too busy wrapped up in him to notice.

Literally, most of the time.

Like now, for example. He was stretched out across the couch, arms wrapped around your middle, head buried into your chest like a human-sized house cat. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair, the TV humming quietly in the background.

“You’re too tall for this,” you mumbled, shifting under his weight.

“I’m perfectly sized,” he said, his voice muffled against your shirt.

“Mm. Sure. Perfectly sized to be called a Tiny Giant.”

You felt him stiffen slightly. Then he pulled back, blinking up at you with dramatic offense. “Tiny what?”

You grinned. “That’s what your contact name is in my phone.”

“Me? Tiny Giant?” he asked, pointing to himself like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded. “You’re a giant man who likes to be babied. You literally curl up into me like you’re five foot.”

He scoffed, feigning offense. “So what? Just because I’m tall, I can’t ask to be cuddled by my girlfriend?”

“I did not say that,” you giggled.

“You know what? Call it what you want to.” He pouted, then snuggled back into your chest. “I am a full-grown man. There’s nothing tiny about me.”

You grinned, enjoying his reaction. “A full-grown man who steals only my green skittles and says ‘yummy’ while doing it.”

“You’re a bully,” he huffed, then pulled you close, mumbling into your shoulder, “I like it though. Don’t change it.”

Moments like that made it easy to forget the cracks.

Like how you never saw any family photos. Or how he always changed the subject when you mentioned having Korea in your bucket list of places you wanted to visit. Or how once, you walked in while he was mid-call, speaking Korean in a clipped, professional tone and he hung up the second he saw you.

You wanted to trust him. And most days, you did. But some nights, when he was gone for too long and all you had were his cryptic texts and charming excuses, you wondered who exactly you were sharing your heart with—and your body, and your very soul.

“You’re really warm tonight,” he murmured. 

You were curled into him, naked under the sheets, one arm slung over his chest, your cheek pressed against the warm skin of his shoulder. He played with your hair absentmindedly, twirling it around his finger and bringing it to his nose.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time.”

You smiled into his skin. “Maybe you’re just cold-blooded. Lizard man.”

He chuckled and gave your hip a lazy squeeze. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just…always warm.”

You hummed at that, sleep tugging at your eyelids. He saw that and cupped your cheek to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Wanna wash up before we sleep?”

“I should,” you groaned, hugging him tighter. “But I’m too tired. My legs aren’t working.”

He chuckled softly. “Can’t say I’m sorry. How about I go take a shower and wipe you down? You can stay here and wait for me.”

“But it’s cold,” you grimaced.

“Either that or be stuck feeling gross all night.”

“You say that like you’re not the one who made me gross,” you mumbled.

Sungchan laughed and kissed you again. Then he climbed out of bed, tugging on his sweatpants and stretching his arms overhead as he padded toward the bathroom.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he warned, pointing at you from the doorway, already smiling. “I’ll be right back.”

“No promises,” you yawned, grabbing the nearest pillow to hug against your chest.

The bathroom door clicked shut. Water began to run. You stared at the ceiling for a while, letting the sounds lull you into that dreamy space between sleep and thought. His phone buzzed once. Then again. 

You glanced over instinctively. It was on the nightstand, vibrating against the wood with an incoming call. 

“Chan?” you called out, voice still hoarse from earlier. “Chan, baby, someone’s calling,” you called out half-heartedly. No answer. He probably couldn’t hear you over the water.

The phone kept buzzing. You didn’t move to answer it—of course not. You weren’t that kind of girlfriend. You just leaned over and peeked at the screen, just to check the caller ID in case it was one of his clients or something important.

The phone stopped ringing before you could read it. You didn’t catch the name. But you saw the wallpaper.

It wasn’t the usual blank black background he always swore was “less distracting.” It was a photo—taken in a studio, professionally lit and filtered.

At first, it was the image itself that caught your eye: seven men standing against a concrete wall, each turned slightly sideways, looking over their shoulders. All dressed in metallic silver jerseys, black gloves, and baggy pants. Sharp styling. Photo-shoot quality. A group shot, you assumed.

But then your gaze landed on him. Same height. Same shoulders. Same side profile you’d kissed a thousand times.

He was looking right at the camera, a half-smile tugging at his lips. The same lips that kissed your forehead goodnight. The same lips that whispered sweet nothings while tangled up in your sheets.

And on his pants was big block letters spelling one word—RIIZE.

You sat up straighter, leaning in without meaning to. Squinting. You didn’t need to zoom in to know it was him. No makeup or hairstyle in the world could change that bone structure, that posture, that slightly tilted way he always carried his chin.

Your Chan.

The bathroom door opened then, and Chan stepped out with a damp towel in one hand, hair still wet, a bead of water trailing down his chest.

“Baby,” he said, voice warm and carefree, “you really should get in the shower. The water is so warm, you’re gonna love it.”

“Chan Song,” you mumbled, making him pause.

He hummed inquiringly. You looked up at him, confusion written all over your face. “Chan Song. Is that your name?”

He froze. Then, with a slow breath, he smiled and said, “Great name, isn’t it? Very main character.”

You squinted down at him. “Is that your real name?”

A second passed, and you could see his smile faltering. “It’s a name.”

“Chan.”

He took a step closer, lifting the towel. “Why are you asking—”

“Don’t.”

You stood, the sheet still tangled around your legs, your body still warm from where he’d touched it. You gestured vaguely at the phone, where the screen had since gone black.

“That’s you. Isn’t it?” you demanded, picking up the phone, tapping on the screen, and showing it to him as soon as it lit up. “Right there. That’s you in the picture.”

His hand dropped. So did the towel. There was a long beat of silence. Then, finally, with his chest still bare and the scent of your skin still clinging to his—he nodded.

“…Yeah.” His voice was almost a whisper. “That’s me.”

You exhaled slowly. “So your name isn’t Chan Song.”

“No,” he said, quieter now. “It’s Jung Sungchan.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Like your brain was still trying to reconfigure what it all meant.

“How long were you planning to lie to me?” you asked, though your voice didn’t rise. If anything, it dropped lower.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said quickly. “I just… didn’t say anything. I wasn’t ready for you to know.”

“Because what?” you snapped. “What did you think would happen if I found out?”

“I don’t know…” he muttered, looking away like he was ashamed to say that.

Heat prickled at your eyelids, and a lump started forming in your throat with all the emotions flooding you. “So, what? What’s all this, then? A double life? A temporary fix? A social experiment to see what it’s like having a foreign girlfriend and living a regular, not-a-celebrity life?”

“No, baby, that’s not what this is. You have to believe me.” He looked at you then, wanting to move closer, like he wanted to fix it with just a word, but you stepped back.

“This whole time,” you whispered. “I thought I knew who you were.”

“You do know me—”

“No, I know Chan Song. The guy who’s gentle and clumsy and curls up on my chest like a six-foot toddler. I don’t know this guy.” You motioned to the phone. “I don’t know him.”

Silence fell over the room again. You waited for him to say anything, but he just kept his head down, sighing deeply every now and then. You swallowed hard and turned away, reaching for your clothes in a daze.

“Wait—baby, wait,” he said, stepping forward as you grabbed your shirt from the floor. “Don’t go. Please, let’s talk about this. Just let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you said, voice sharp now. “You’re not who you said you were. And I—I can’t do this right now.”

“You’re not even dressed—can you just—please, just talk to me.”

You pulled on your jeans, fingers trembling. “I can’t look at you right now, Sungchan.”

That stopped him in his tracks. The first time you’d ever called him that. You pulled your top over your head and bent down for your phone. You didn’t look at him—not even once—because if you did, your resolve would crack.

He stepped forward again, helplessly hugging you from behind and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t leave like this. Please. Stay.”

“Would you?” you whispered, staring right at the door. “If it were you in this position, being lied to for almost a year by someone you thought you could trust, someone you love, would you stay?”

He didn’t say anything; he just froze. Then a few seconds later, his embrace loosened. You took the chance to pull away, reaching for the knob and pulling the door open.

And then you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you.

You couldn’t believe it. You really, genuinely couldn’t believe it. But at the same time—God—it made so much sense.

The ambiguity. The secrecy. His habit of dancing around questions with just enough charm to distract you from asking harder. The newly furnished apartment that felt like a hotel suite more than a home. The obscure description of his job. The time zone differences, the weeks—months—where he vanished and only texted in vague updates. All of it.

All of it made sense now.

You sat alone on your bed, still in the jeans you barely managed to tug on before storming out of his place. Your phone buzzed a few times on the table beside you, but you didn’t check it. You knew who it was. You knew he’d call. Probably say all the right things. Probably beg you to understand.

And the worst part? It might work. You’d been so caught up in your feelings, so drawn to his warmth, his stupid smile, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go—how could you not fall for that? He was kind. Sweet. Goofy, even. He made you feel like you were the only person in the world who ever really mattered. But he lied.

And not a small lie, either. Not the kind you could write off as a white lie, or a protective omission, or something forgivable in the name of love. No. He lied about his entire identity. About who he was. What he did. Everything that came before he walked into that café the first time and sat beside you like a perfectly normal guy.

You buried your face in your hands. Let out a laugh that sounded too bitter to be funny. Now here you were—heart broken, pride shattered, and a phone full of messages from someone who wasn’t even real.

Chan Song didn’t exist. Not for real, anyway. There was only Jung Sungchan. And you had no idea who the hell he was.

You didn’t see or talk to him for the rest of the week. And he tried—God, he tried. The messages came nonstop. First through text. Then calls. Then emails. DMs. He even left a comment under your most recent post on your locked side account.

“Please. Just talk to me.”

You deleted it without replying.

Back then, it had felt odd how you never gave him your address. But then again, why would you? You spent most nights at his place anyway. Now, it felt like the smartest thing you’d ever done. There was an odd sense of safety in being unreachable. Emotionally, that is.

You turned off your notifications and buried yourself in writing—not the story you’d been working on about him, of course. You couldn’t even look at that draft without your heart clenching. So you opened something else. Something mindless and cliché, just to stay busy. Just to not think about his face.

Jasmin: Hey! Just checking in—any updates on the Sungchan fic? No pressure, just wondering when you think you’ll be done.

You stared at the message, thumb hovering over your screen. A hundred different responses came to mind. You could tell her the truth. You could say, “Actually, I’ve been hooking up with the real Sungchan for almost a year and just found out who he is.” But you didn’t.

Because even if she did believe you, what then? You’d seen the way some fans reacted to rumors. You weren’t delusional—you knew exactly what kind of firestorm that could bring down on you. On him.

And despite everything, you weren’t trying to ruin him. So you replied with the simplest thing you could.

You: Actually, just finished it. Doing some editing rn, should be ready in a few hours.

Jasmin replied with a sticker of a little bear holding a pencil and a “fighting!!” message. You set your phone down and exhaled slowly. The ache in your chest didn’t lessen, but it dulled a little. Enough to let you breathe through it all.

The next day, at the cafe, you ran into him, which, in retrospect, you should have known would happen. The universe had it out for you, after all.

Right when you finally decided it was enough hiding and you needed to get out of your apartment after a week of holing up inside, you went to your favorite cafe and Sungchan just happened to be there. Of course, he’d be there.

Sungchan was sitting at your usual corner, hunched over a half-finished drink, his fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass like he’d been waiting for something. Or someone. When his eyes lifted and met yours, he recognized you immediately.

His face softened as he stood up. “Baby.”

You turned, already on instinct, but he was quicker. “Wait—please.”

You sighed, not turning back around yet. “Chan, I really don’t wanna—”

“I just want to talk.” His voice was gentle but desperate. “Five minutes. Please.”

You glanced over your shoulder. He looked… awful, actually. Not unkempt or anything. He was, still handsome, still put-together, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were sagged like you’d never seen before. That made you pause.

You crossed your arms. “Fine.”

He swallowed. “Maybe… maybe back at my place? Just so we can have some privacy?”

You scoffed, loud enough for the nearby barista to flinch. “Oh, right. So you can charm your way into my pants again and avoid the actual conversation like you always do?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down, ashamed. “No. I didn’t mean—okay. Here is fine.”

You picked the furthest table in the corner, where no one else was seated. He followed you like a scolded child. You didn’t speak and neither did he. The silence stretched too long, and you were the first to break it with a pointed remark, “If you don’t start talking in the next five seconds, I’m leaving.”

He looked up, alarmed, then nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

He took a breath. “I’m sorry. I know it was messed up, but I really didn’t mean for any of this to happen. When we were getting to know each other, you told me you were a RIIZE fanfic write. And I just… I wanted to be friends, but didn’t wanna tell you I was… you know, an idol—the idol you’d been writing about.”

You scoffed. “So instead, you just… pretended to be someone else.”

“I didn’t pretend—”

“You literally gave me a fake name.”

“It wasn’t fake. It’s just…” He faltered. “It’s my name too, in a way. A version of it.”

You didn’t respond. You just stared, dumbfounded by his statement. He continued. “It’s a me who was your friend, and fell in love with you later on. I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. But things just kept getting deeper between us and I… I didn’t want it to change.”

“You say that,” you said flatly, “but if you could lie about something as big as your identity, what else did you lie about? Did you mean it when you said I was the only one? Did you mean it when you said I made you feel like home? When you said you were in love with me?”

“I did. I do.”

You let out a bitter laugh, one that didn’t sound like you. “Right. Of course. So now you’re lying straight to my face. Oh—wait. You’ve been doing that since the very start.”

Sungchan looked like he’d just been punched in the chest. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. You stood. He stood with you, like he still thought there was a chance you’d change your mind.

“Go home, Jung Sungchan,” you said firmly, brows furrowed, your throat tight and eyes stinging.

He staggered a half-step after you, with a pained expression, like he might fall to his knees any moment now and beg.

“And don’t say you’re home right now,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “Because we both know you could never have one here.” And with that, you turned and walked away.

You went home and cried—again. It was starting to feel like all your tears had his name at the root. You hated that. Hated how heavy your chest felt, how empty and hollow it was.

You quit ghostwriting that same week. Not just for RIIZE, but altogether. Jasmin didn’t argue. You hadn’t given her a real reason, and she hadn’t pressed for one. She simply said it was about time she got back into writing and thanked you for your service of over a year.

You thought that would be it. That you’d cut ties, burn the bridge, and move on. Except you didn’t.

Instead, you found yourself falling down a YouTube rabbit hole—starting with a random RIIZE music video that popped up on your homepage. You clicked on it out of morbid curiosity, expecting it to be bad, just some overrated visuals and fan-hyped mediocrity.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Sungchan was radiant and confident. Moving with precision, singing with excellence, and rapping with a good flow. The same body you knew so well suddenly transformed under the lights. You kept watching these videos, exploring the contents, and surprisingly enjoying them. 

Your roommate noticed by the third day. “Didn’t peg you for a K-pop fan,” she said from the kitchen as you replayed one of their dance practice videos for the third time.

“I’m not,” you called back, eyes still on the screen. “Just watching to see how awful they are.”

But they weren’t awful. The more you watched, the worse it got. You learned their names. Their dynamics. Their strengths. Sohee’s bubbly charm. Anton’s oddly relatable humor. Shotaro’s work ethic. Wonbin’s magnetism. Eunseok’s visuals. Seunghan’s charisma. And of course, Sungchan.

You learned to separate the boy you loved from the idol on stage, but the overlap hurt because now you were seeing pieces of him he’d never shown you. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he couldn’t. Not as Chan Song.

You started seeing the boys differently too. The ones you used to write about like they were plot devices. Archetypes. Playthings for fandoms to project fantasies onto. You hadn’t questioned it before. Never thought twice about why it was okay to give them made-up pasts, invented traumas, perfect romance arcs. Everyone did it. It was normal.

But now? Now you knew their voices. Their faces. Their idol personas—the little ticks and quirks you could never have invented. They weren’t movie characters or book protagonists crafted for the sole purpose of being consumed. They were people. People with careers, pressure, families, real-life stakes. You’d never felt weird writing about fictional characters before. Superheroes, fantasy leads, actors from dramas—you could fictionalize them because the boundary was clear. Fiction was fiction.

And it made you cringe because Sungchan had seen some of your works. Had read them. Had probably imagined what it was like to be fictionalized and flattened, turned into someone else’s daydream.

You remembered the time he’d jokingly said, “You should write about us. Or me.”

You had. Except you hadn’t known who he really was then. And now that you did, it wasn’t funny anymore.

Did he lie when he said they were good? You wondered. He’d read some of your stories and gave you his thoughts. He even pointed out how some of the dynamics didn’t quite fit. You remembered him laughing at one of the lines and saying, “Anton would never say that,” tapping the screen with his knuckle. “He’s too shy for that.”

You’d argued, of course. “Well, maybe fanfic Anton is a little more confident.”

“Yeah, maybe. But that’s not him,” he’d said with a shrug and a smile.

“And you know this because?”

He’d shrugged then, brushing it off casually. “Gut feeling. Have you seen his face? He looks like a dork.”

The memory made you laugh a little under your breath. Laughing about it made you miss him. Missing him made your chest hurt.

You tried to push through it, maybe clean up the dishes or open a new tab on your laptop. But it hit you all at once, like a freight train—this grief you hadn’t fully registered yet. You curled up and a sob escaped before you could catch it. Another followed, louder, more broken.

And then you were crying loudly, uncontrollably, the kind of crying that made your head hurt and your breath hitch.

Your roommate came running from the bedroom, barefoot and wide-eyed. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You couldn’t even answer. You just sat there on the rug with your arms wrapped around yourself like that might stop the aching. It didn’t. “I miss him,” you choked out between gasps. “I miss him so much it hurts.”

Isla crossed the room, crouched beside you, and wrapped her arms around your shoulders. You felt her hand stroking the back of your head gently, shushing you like a child caught in the middle of a nightmare.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t answer. You just cried harder, buried in the warmth of someone who didn’t need explanations.

The next day, you were alone in the apartment. Isla was out for work, and you hadn’t moved from the couch in hours, legs curled under you, your thumb hovering over the screen, staring at the contact name—My Tiny Giant. Still saved the same way you always had.

That was what he was, after all. Your Tiny Giant. All six feet and something inches of him, always curled up against you like he didn’t have a whole wingspan to spare. Snuggled into your chest for as long as you’d allow him. Loving it when you hugged him from behind like he wasn’t a whole head taller than you

You missed him. God, you missed him. Your thumb hovered over the call button, then pressed. 

It rang once. Twice. Thrice. And a few times more. You were seconds from hanging up when it finally connected. There was a pause, then a groggy voice, low and confused.

“Did I wake you?” you asked.

There was shuffling on the other end. “Who—” He paused, then his voice sharpened. “Baby?”

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Baby, is that you?”

You let out a sob. “Yes.”

You heard a loud thud, something crashing to the floor, and then more movement—Sungchan cursing softly under his breath, fumbling for something.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, a little breathless now, his voice clearing. “Are you—are you still there?”

“I’m right here.”

“Oh, good. Good,” he paused, let out a soft shaky sigh. “Good.”

You didn’t know what else to say. Neither did he. The silence stretch long, filled only by the sound of his breathing from the other line. You had expected to say or hear a lot of things. But right now, in the silence, it felt like there was plenty to say and nothing at all.

“What time is it there?” he asked softly, finally breaking the quiet.

“Early. It’s 10 am.”

He hummed. “Did you eat?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah.”

“What did you have?”

You shrugged. “Coffee and a bagel.”

“Mm. Still eating like a writer, I see,” he quipped.

He asked about your week. What you’d been doing. If you were eating enough. If your roommate was around. If the weather was nice. You answered in soft, gentle tones, short replies, nods he couldn’t see, but you were listening. You were both trying.

Eventually, his voice began to slow, the spaces between his words stretching further apart until it faded completely.

You didn’t hang up for a while, and just listened to the sound of his breathing, steady and deep, like a heartbeat on the other end of the line.

For the first time in a while, your heart was at ease. You always found it odd when people said the best cure to any pain was what caused it in the first place. But now, you realize they were right.

Sungchan woke up to the first ring of his alarm, but didn’t move. The digital clock blared at his bedside, but he lay still—eyes open, unfocused, fixed on the blank wall across from him.

It felt like something had happened. Something important. But his brain is fogged. He didn’t know if he’d dreamed it, or if you had really called him in the middle of the night with your voice trembling on the other end.

A loud series of knocks made him glance at the door.

“Hyung,” Sohee’s muffled voice said through the door, “your alarm’s been going off for five years. Turn it off.”

Sungchan didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his head and reached for his phone on the nightstand. When he didn’t find it there, he searched for it on his bed, in the sheets, under the pillows. His fingers swiped at the screen as soon as he found it. The light made his eyes squint, but he blinked past it, thumb tapping into his call history.

There it was. My Lovely Writer. Call duration: 2 hours, 17 minutes.

He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. It wasn’t a dream. You really had called him last night.

The door swung open, revealing an annoyed Sohee. “Hyung, are you deaf or—” Sohee cut himself off mid-sentence, staring at Sungchan who was grinning from ear-to-ear. “Are you okay?”

Sungchan didn’t look up. He just slowly, quietly turned off his alarm. Sohee blinked at the silence, then narrowed his eyes. “What got you smiling like that?”

Sungchan didn’t answer that either. He simply smiled wider, dazed and quiet, still staring at your name on his phone like it was already the best thing that had happened all day.

And then—without a word—he pulled Sohee into a hug. 

“Okay, you’re being weird,” Sohee muttered, stiff as a board in his arms.

Sungchan just hummed. A low sound, somewhere between a laugh and a breath of relief. Then he got up, still wearing that strange, faraway smile, and walked out of the room with his phone in hand—already drafting a message to you.

He walked into the kitchen like he hadn’t spent the past week stomping around like a sleep-deprived ghost with a broken heart. Like he hadn’t just been curled up on the living room couch two days ago rewatching Totoro in the dark.

He was humming. Everyone turned to stare.

“…No way,” Anton said from the fridge, holding a half-empty juice carton.

“Holy shit,” Eunseok whispered dramatically. “It’s alive.”

Wonbin blinked, midway through his skincare routine. “Is he humming?”

“He’s humming,” Shotaro confirmed, poking his head out of the hallway. “And smiling. Jesus. Someone check the weather. Is hell frozen?”

Sungchan just gave them a sleepy grin and reached for a mug. “Good morning, children.”

“What the hell happened?” Shotaro asked.

Anton squinted suspiciously. “Did you win the lottery?”

“Better,” Sohee said, joining everyone in the kitchen. “I think they made up.”

Sungchan didn’t answer, but his grin gave him away.

“Oh my god,” Eunseok gasped. “He’s back. He’s so back.”

“I told you he’d cheer up eventually,” Sohee cheered, slapping Anton’s arm like this was a bet he’d won. “You owe me ten.”

“Alright, spill,” Shotaro said. “What did she say? Did she take you back? Did you cry? Did you cry?”

“I didn’t cry,” Sungchan denied.

“He definitely cried,” Wonbin mumbled.

“He sobbed,” Eunseok said. “He probably started crying the second he heard her voice.”

“I did not cry,” Sungchan said, smiling so hard now it looked like it hurt.

Shotaro slung an arm around his shoulders and shook him like a wet rag. “You did, didn’t you! Oh my god, you cried. I’m so proud of you.”

“No, I didn’t, though, I almost did,” he admitted. “But she called. And I heard her voice. That’s all.”

The teasing died down for a moment. Then, gently, Shotaro clapped him on the back. “You’ve been walking around here like your dog died for a week,” he said. “It’s good to see you alive again.”

Sungchan laughed. “Thanks.”

Wonbin pointed at him dramatically. “Just don’t screw it up this time, lover boy. I really like her.”

“You haven’t even met her,” Sungchan said.

“Yeah, but I like her better than you,” Wonbin said smugly, crossing his arms. “Her Wonbin stuff was impressive. Almost like she knew me personally.”

Everyone groaned. “She made you delusional,” Sohee muttered.

Sungchan didn’t say much after that. He just sipped his coffee, phone in hand, thumb absently brushing over your name on the screen. He straightened up when your reply came in, then he left his mug on the counter and ran back into his bedroom.

“...He’s running. Did she text back?”

“I think so.”

“Godspeed, king,” said Anton, not even looking up.

Sungchan: Back in town, baby. Wanted to see u first but didn’t know where you’d be 🙁 My door’s unlocked if you wanna come over Maybe we could meet at the cafe? Lmk babygirl Babe :( text me back i miss you Pretty girl Baby girlll Where are youuuuu my loveeee????

You didn’t bother knocking. Didn’t even tell him you were coming. You’d rushed out of your apartment and took the first cab to his place. But you stood outside his unit for a few minutes, trying to steady your breath and make sure you didn’t appear like you were too eager to see him again.

Then, after wiping your sweat and checking your reflection in the elevator doors, you stepped into his apartment.

It was clean, dimly lit, and quiet. It still smelled like him—matcha, laundry, a hint of sandalwood body wash—and the scent wrapped around you like a familiar hug. You didn’t realize how much you’d missed it until your lungs started to ache.

You’d barely taken a step inside when hurried footsteps thundered down the hall, and Sungchan popped out from the door with his eyes wide. 

“Baby!” he exclaimed, darting from the bedroom door to the foyer where you were kicking off your shoes.

He stopped himself from pulling you into a hug, clenching his fists at his side like he wanted to wait for you to make the first move. He watched you move quietly, like he was scared one wrong breath would scare you off again.

You kept your eyes on him, not quite smiling, but not looking upset either.

“Hi,” he greeted sheepishly.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

His eyes widened slightly, confused but then he played it cool with a nervous chuckle. “No, but I… well, I didn’t wanna… overstep.”

You scoffed then crossed the room slowly. He stayed still until you were close enough to touch, but he didn’t reach out just yet. He was about to, but he stopped himself again.

“I said I’d give you as much space as you need,” he said, hiding his hands behind his back.

You chuckled, dropping your keys on the counter and your bag on the floor. With your hands now free, you open your arms wide for him. “Come here, you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. The second your arms opened, he was already in them—hugging you like he’d spent years without the feel of your body against his instead of just a few weeks. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a ragged breath.

“I missed you,” he murmured, almost like it hurt to say. “I missed you so much.”

Your fingers curled into the back of his shirt, gripping him like you couldn’t believe he was real again. That warmth, that scent, that heartbeat thudding against your chest—it was everything you had almost lost to pride and prejudice.

Your hands came up to cup his face, and he looked at you like he was melting under your touch.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You just kissed him hard and fast and desperate and feverish—like you hadn’t done so in years instead of weeks. Like nothing else mattered except the way your lips found his, over and over again. He kissed you back like a man starving, stumbling forward as you tugged at his collar, your bodies crashing together in the middle of the room.

Neither of you broke the kiss as he backed you into the hallway, bumping into walls, fumbling for direction, your hands already slipping beneath his shirt. He laughed into your mouth when you accidentally hit your hip against the hallway cabinet, but you didn’t stop. Not even for a second.

You reached the bedroom with matching gasps, half-laughs, your kisses turning sloppier with every step. Your clothes were peeled away with every step—his hoodie first, then your top, followed by your skirt, then him shimmying out of his jeans. His hands found your waist, your back, your thighs—every familiar curve he’d been aching to hold again.

By the time you tumbled onto the bed, only your underwear remained. You bounced on the mattress, but neither of you noticed. You were too busy chasing each other’s mouths, tracing skin, fingers threading through his hair as he kissed down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“I love you,” he murmured against your skin, and you felt your heart do a cartwheel in your chest.

His lips crashed into yours again, harder this time. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them open around his hips, grinding against you with a soft groan that made your skin prickle.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your lips. “Missed you so bad.”

Your nails dug into his back as you bucked your hips against him, the friction sending heat all over your spine and low in your belly. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, fingers slipping under, pulling until he helped you push them down. He leaned up just long enough to kick them off, then reached for your underwear, eyes locked on yours for permission.

You nodded. Breathless. Barely able to think.

He dragged them down slowly, eyes never leaving your face as he dropped them to the floor. His hands returned to your thighs, trailing upward, fingers brushing where you needed him most, making you gasp.

“Can I—”

“Yes!” you whispered back before he could even finish his question. “Yes, please, Chan. Touch me.”

He chuckled lowly and leaned down again, kissing the hollow between your breasts before taking your nipple into his mouth. You moaned, legs tightening around his waist, desperate for more, desperate to feel him again in the way that made your world tilt.

His hand moved expertly between your legs, circling, pressing, flicking. Fingers going in and making you gasp. He continued to ravage your boobs, moving from one to the other, all while playing with your sex like he’d memorized exactly how you liked it—he had.

“Chan,” you cried, voice broken and needy. Your hand slipped down his toned chest, reaching to wrap your fingers around his manhood. “Inside, please.”

“Yeah?” he rasped, mouth wet against your skin. “Need me that bad, baby?”

You grabbed his face, pulling him into another dizzying kiss. “Sungchan,” you said, breath broken. “Now.”

He reached between you, stroking himself once, twice, before lining up. He slid into you in one long, slow thrust—so deep, so perfect it knocked the air out of your lungs. You clung to him, gasping into his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your neck. “Perfect. So perfect.”

He moved slowly at first, like he wanted to savor it—every inch, every gasp, every whimper you let out against his ear. Your bodies moved in sync, your hips rising to meet his, and every thrust had your thoughts scattering, your mind teetering to the edge of insanity.

“Sungchan—” you moaned, breath catching.

“Yes, yes,” he breathed, eyes locked into yours, his thrusts never faltering. “Say it, baby. Say my name.”

“Sungchan—AH!” 

He picked up the pace, rolling his hips deeper, faster, making you cry out. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, dragging him closer, keeping him there. His name echoed from your lips again and again like a mantra. He kissed you through it—sloppy, hot kisses broken by moans and the sound of skin slamming against skin.

You felt him everywhere. In your chest. In your stomach. Between your legs. In the tears burning at the corners of your eyes because you’d missed this—missed him—so much it hurt.

It was messy. Beautiful. Too much and not enough. He touched you like he was trying to rewrite every memory of the last week—like if he held you hard enough, long enough, the world might go back to how it was. And you let him. You let him love you the only way he knew how right now.

Your body tightened beneath him, euphoria catching up fast, and he felt it. He whispered encouragements against your neck, his thrusts turning desperate.

“Come for me, baby,” he begged. 

You cried out, body arching, eyes squeezing shut as release crashed through you. He followed with a broken moan, thrusting once, twice, then spilling into you with a deep groan of your name.

The aftershocks made your body tremble. He didn’t pull away right away—just collapsed against you, face buried in your neck, both of you breathing hard.

You didn’t speak yet. Not because you didn’t have anything to say. But because neither of you wanted to break the fragile, golden silence that had finally returned. The moment between the storm and the cleanup.

The one where you both got to breathe.

The room was warm. Your skin was still buzzing, lungs still trying to remember how to breathe at a normal pace. Sungchan hadn’t moved much—just rolled onto his side so he wouldn’t crush you, one arm still draped over your stomach, his face pressed into your shoulder like he had no plans of going anywhere.

You stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, your chest rising and falling with every breath. Everything felt heavy. Not physically, but emotionally. And not sadly, just, generally heavy. Like having a question you wanted answered so so desperately.

He let out a breath, soft and shaky, then murmured, “We can talk about it… If you want.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We should.”

You turned on your side so you were face to face with him. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth sooner? Were you ever going to? Did you ever plan for this to become serious?”

He chuckled heartily, kissing your knuckles. “How about one question at a time?”

You didn’t respond, instead, you just furrowed your brows at him. He sighed. “Okay. Fine. Everything at once.”

You tutted. “Stop weaseling your way out of this.”

“I’m not. I really wanted to tell you the truth sooner,” he said finally, eyes flickering to the ceiling like it held answers. “So many times. Especially when we started getting serious. I just… I couldn’t figure out how. Every time I thought about telling you, I got scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That it would change everything,” he said, sighing. “That you’d stop seeing me and just start seeing… him. Jung Sungchan. RIIZE. The idol. The fantasy. Not the guy who loved curling up in your lap and eating green Skittles out of your hand.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly.

“I was stupid,” he added, before you could say anything. “I know that now.”

You were quiet for a moment, taking in the sincerity on his face and his voice. Then you said, “I didn’t fall in love with Sungchan from RIIZE.”

He looked at you, confused but expectant. You smiled, continuing, “You know exactly who I fell for. Chan Song, some tall, handsome, adorable dork.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

“And I’m still in love with him, with you,” you confessed, and it felt like the easiest thing you’d ever said. Sungchan’s mouth parted, surprise painting his expression. 

You reached out to cup his cheek. “I just wanted to know if, even if you lied about who you were, was everything else real?”

He held your hand against his cheek. “It was. It still is.”

“I need to hear that you knew it was wrong. That you’re sorry.”

“I am. I’m so sorry,” he said instantly. “I’m so fucking sorry. Not just for lying, but for not trusting you enough to tell you the truth.”

His grip of your hand tightened, and he intertwined your fingers carefully, as if afraid you might pull away.

“I love you,” he said. “I don’t know if I deserve you, but I love you. I don’t want to lie ever again. So if you want to ask me anything—anything at all—I’ll tell you everything. Honestly.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

Sungchan leaned in to kiss you, hand cupping the back of your head, eyes closed and savoring it like it was the first time. When he pulled away, he had a contented smile on his lips. You smiled back and planted a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I still don’t know everything about you,” you whispered.

“That’s okay. You know the important parts.” He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know later.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m still mad,” you said, lips twitching.

“Totally fair.”

“And you’re still on thin ice.”

“Understood,” he nodded solemnly.

You tilted your head toward him and finally smiled. “But I love you too, Jung Sungchan.”

He let out a relieved exhale. “Oh, damn. Can you say it again? My name?”

“Jung Sungchan?”

He closed his eyes, humming, and it seemed to relax something in him. “Shit. I think I might bust a nut.”

You chuckled and then hit his chest playfully. “Stop overreacting!”

Sungchan just grinned, pulled you back into his arms, and locked you in a tight embrace. “I love you so much, please don't go bald.”

That made you laugh, and he did too. You spent the night like that, laughing, giggling, and talking like no time had passed at all. Like nothing outside of that small bedroom ever mattered.

That was just wishful thinking. You knew there would be a whole lot of things you'd need to face, a whole lot of adjustments now that you knew who he was. But you'll worry about those later. For now, you'll focus on this moment right here.

A cage some of the older maids would mutter when the lady of the house wasn’t at home, only there do they dare speak out such things that will behead them if they ever get caught.

The manor belonged to lord Jung Sungchan and his wife lady Jung Jiho.

Lord Jung was a tall man with beautiful features, both his skin, eyes and lips were keen to no other man you have seen before. He was known for his duels and diplomacy in a way he could crush a man with either his sword or his wit. lady Jung on the other hand was a rose. Beautiful beyond words to even describe. Her dark auburn hair was always fastened in jeweled combs and the other noble ladies envied her gowns stitched with pearls. She often smiled but never sincerely. The servants called her "a mirror" because she only ever reflected what others wanted to see.

Your duties were modest but truly endless, each morning began before dawn when the dew still clung to the lavender hedges and the corridors smelled of woodsmoke and lemon oil. You swept the marble floors of the east wing where the sun shined through the tall glass windows. You polished the silver candlesticks in the dining hall, you folded linens in the laundry chamber where the steam softened your hands and you fetched fresh bouquets from the garden, sometimes your fingers pricked raw by rose thorns. You also had private duties. Duties such as dusting the study where Lord Jung kept his maps and strange artifacts from foreign lands he had visited and YOu would tend the library and where the lord would often retire in the late hours.

He was always watching you came to realize. You knew Lord Jung was a polite man and always composed and you had been working at the manor for nearly a year when you first noticed him watching you.

One afternoon as you polished the silver in the drawing room you heard footsteps but you didn't look up. It was improper.

"You take great care of the house" Lord Jung said

"Thank you my lord" You replied while your eyes still looking down. Your heart though had begun to thrum

“The house is better for it”that was the first time he had spoken to you directly outside of necessity. After that you would sometimes find yourself in the same room as him more often than chance should allow.

One time you ought to have been in the library later than usual. You had offered to stay behind and finish oiling the old walnut shelves. The others had gone and rain started to batter the high windows. You stood on the little stool near the bookcase cloth in hand and wiping the edge of the top shelf and you didn’t hear him enter

“Still working?” The cloth slipped from your fingers and you got startled making your foot miss the edge of the stool and he his hands catched your waist before you could fall and held you just long enough for your balance to return, though the rest of you had already lost it “I’m sorry” you breathed out still in his arms

“You should be more careful” His hands remained where they were and you didn’t move. His hand lifted and his fingertips brushed a loose wisp of hair from your cheek “I shouldn’t”

“You shouldn’t” you echoed back.

But neither of us stepped away and his lips found yours and when he pulled back, you both stood still. He reached for yoor hand and held it for a moment before he walked away, the door closing behind him.

The days that followed were quieter than ever. Outwardly nothing changed. you still rose before dawn laced your apron tight and moved through the halls. you polished the same silver, arranged the same flowers and folded the same linens. After that night in the library you said nothing aloud. He would pass you in the corridor and say nothing yet his fingers would brush yours. When you brought his tea in the morning, you would no longer place it directly on the table as he would take it from your hand instead.

While folding some clothing you felt something in the pocket of your apron.

Tonight. The west wing. After the household retires.

The first time you went, you nearly turned back twice because you knew who was waiting for you there. Nevertheless you moved like a shadow through the quiet manor on your way to an unused guest room where the fire had already been lit and the windows shut. You didn’t speak right away. He looked at you as though he couldn’t quite believe you actually came and you in turn stood there as though any movement might wake you from a dream you didn’t want to admit you wanted. He touched your face first then your hand, further down to the small of your back. You met like that again, and again and each time, you told yourselves it would be the last. yet each time, you let it happen anyway. All while, Lady Jung remained blissfully unaware, flitting between her charities and her friends in town. Some of the other staff even whispered of her affairs with admirals and barons but you never joined in, honeslty you barely spoke at all. you had never belonged less to yourself and yet in the lord´s arms you felt more real and alive than you ever had.

Your guilt grew and so did the fear.

But Sungchan if anything became bolder.

He played the part of the husband well but when his eyes found yours, it was no longer just hunger, no he was longing. and you longed for him to, you feel it in the way your heart would slow when he looked at you and the ache in your chest when he was near and couldn’t touch you. The thrill of knowing you werent alone in it anymore.

you slipped through the garden path and past the statues and hedges toward the framed greenhouse tucked behind the rose wall. He was already there, lighting a single lantern that bathed the space. Ivy curled along the glass and the rain from earlier that evening still clung to the panes fogging the windows. When you stepped inside, he crossed to you in three strides and kissed you before you could say a word “I can’t stand it anymore” he said against your lips “pretending” “You’re the one who said we had to be careful”

“I know and I meant it. But damn me, I don’t care anymore. Not when it comes to you my love” He held your face in both hands and looked at you like a man seeing the only person who made him feel alive “I love you” he said and you believed him “God help me I love you yn”

Before you could speak you felt his hot breath on your now bare shoulder blade that he had been undressing, his lips peppered against your skin as you felt his strong arm wrapping around waist.

“need to be inside of you my love”

he turned you around and his hips were desperately rutting against you from behind, you felt his hard cock against his trouses and you let out a choked whine reaching back to grasp his hand and pull them to your tit and while he was massaging your tit he placed wet kisses up to the slope of your shoulder and your own wetness pooled through your core then he took his fingers underneath your dress and used his two thick fingers to feel the dampening cotton of your undergarments. Lord Jung then tugged the cotton down and pushing your folds apart to he rest his fingers against your clit. Goodnees you needed him just as badly as he needed you. he started slowly rubbing your clit crowding all of your mind and body.

"lord" you moaned out, wanting more from him. So you started moving your hips tp get a little friction while his other hand started playing with your nipple. Sungchan then let his two fingers collect your wetness and smeared it around your aching hole, preparing you. you felt him stretch you open with his fingers working you up. He was moving sloe to let you ease into the feeling before curling his deep inside of you. he continued to work his fingers in and out of you until you came and let you ride out your orgasm on his fingers.

Sungchan then slipped through your wet folds and desperate hole. his tip finally came onto your opening and slowly pushed into you. he was awlays considerate with the way he slipped inside of you and made sure to give you space and time to get used to his size.

“please channie”

he groaned at the feeling of your walls around him making his hips jerk when you clenched down on him. You then feel his finger brush away some hair out of your face to hold it in his hand, while the other made sure to hold you in the angle he wanted to fuck you in

"please move channie"

his hips were moveing now and his thrusts felt deep inside of you making sure you felt every ridge and vein of his cock inside of your aching cunt all while his hand still gripping your hair holding onto it gently as he fucked into you

The lord continued to fuck you in a slow pace lletting your warmth draw him back with every motion. You then started to rock your hips back into him in rhythm with his, driving him toward his approaching orgasm. You could sense him nearing the edge, the way his movements grew less controlled and a little quicker chasing something just out of reach. His body tensed with each motion as his cock continuously kicked and twitched inside of you

"ngh cum inside me" you whine and his rhythm began to falter, less precise though still echoing the slow intentional pace he’d set at the start.

"ngh please channie, please wanna feel your cum" soft and helpless sounds escaped your lips, each one unraveling him further and your voice kept reaching for him trembling with pleas and your eyes getting glassy with tears and with each of his final trembling movements, he buried his cock inside and cum spilling into you. Your body tightening in response and the tears finally slipping from the corners of your eyes as you clung to his body from behind.

genre: smau. idol au. university au. barista!reader. strangers to lovers. angst. fluff. eventual smut. age gap (5 years). humor.

warnings: female reader. mature content. reader is 20 and sungchan is 25. heavy language. jokes between friends. more to be added…

featuring: riize, karina of aespa, yoonchae of katseye. jaemin & jeno of nct. intak of p1harmony. taesan of bnd. mingyu & scoups of seventeen. serim of cravity. more to be added…

playlist: love like this zayn. bmf sza. make you mine the public. gone gone gone phillip phillips. cherry waves deftones. yogurt shake nct dream. they don’t know about us one direction. rewrite the stars zac efron zendaya. a whole new world zayn zhavia.

starting date: june 2025

author’s note: this is my time writing a fanfic and smau so if it’s not funny i’m sorry 😭 also i have been boycotting riize since october 2024 and i will continue to do so until seunghan is back in the group. i’ve ulted sungchan since he debuted in nct in 2020 and have seen him taro eunseok seunghan and shohei train to be in a group, so im beyond disappointed in sm. that being said, i am NOT keeping up with riize, listening to them, or interacting with their official accounts. sungchan will always be one of my ults 🫶🏼. anyways, riize is 7 and will always be 7.

taglist open! send in an ask to be added ^^

profiles:

GANG GANG GANG | rizzlers 🤓🤞🏽

chapters:

01. coming soon!

the door clicked shut gently, almost silent.

sungchan came in without saying much, dragging his feet like the day had weighed him down. he looked at you with those tired, sad eyes he couldn’t quite hide.

he came straight from the outside world—the one that demands him to always shine, always smile. but now… he was just him.

you didn’t ask anything. you know there are days when he doesn’t need words—he just needs to be.

you sat on the bed and opened your arms, silently inviting him in.

he — nearly twenty centimeters taller than you — walked over slowly, like the exhaustion had sunk deep into his bones. and without a word, he collapsed face down on top of you, resting his head against your chest, arms loosely wrapping around your waist.

there was no rush. just that quiet warmth you both share when the world outside fades away.

you ran your fingers gently through his hair, drawing soft circles.

“it’s okay… i’m here now,” you whispered.

he sighed into you, letting his whole body relax, like he could finally drop that invisible armor he wore all day.

you noticed how he tried to hide his face a little, almost embarrassed to seek comfort like this. but you didn’t pull away. You held him closer instead.

“with you… i feel safe,” he mumbled, voice low and sleepy.

his breathing slowed, chest rising and falling against yours.

and that was it—you melted a little more.

because you know being strong is automatic for him.

but with you, he lets himself be just Sungchan.

not the tall guy, not the one who’s always smiling… just him.

for a while, nothing else happened. just the sound of his breath, your fingers in his hair, and that soft, quiet love that fills the air when someone finds home in another person.

then you felt his fingers tracing lazy shapes on your side, like he was trying to memorize you through touch.

he lifted his head just a little, resting on one elbow to look at you better. His hair fell messily across his forehead and his expression…

“can i stay like this… a little longer?” he asked, like even the thought of moving away might break him a little.

it was the perfect mix of tenderness and something else.

something that made your heart skip.

you could only nod. your voice was lost in the fullness of the moment.

then, with the gentleness of someone holding the most precious thing they’ve ever had, he leaned closer.

sungchan smiled. that shy little smile you love so much.

he reached for your hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it—long and soft—like sealing a secret promise into your skin.

your noses brushed first—so delicate it felt more intimate than any kiss.

he looked into your eyes, seeking permission.

and when all he found was love—and a hint of adorable nervousness—

he closed the distance.

when he pulled back just a little, he whispered against your lips:

the kiss was so, so sweet it made your chest ache.

slow, unhurried… as if he wanted to tell you everything words couldn’t:

"thank you for being here. thank you for being you."

“i don’t want tonight to ever end…”

he mumbled something against your collarbone—half a word, maybe your name. you weren’t sure. but you kissed the top of his head and whispered: “sleep, baby. i’ve got you now.”

he settled back down, this time hugging you like his life depended on it.

you stroked his back in slow, calming motions.

and there you stayed—

with soft kisses, quiet touches, and little i love you’s whispered between barely-there giggles.

nothing else happened that night.

it didn’t have to.

it was like his body knew the way to you by heart. no matter how late, no matter how quiet he came home—you always left a space for him in bed. a soft, unspoken promise: “you can always come back.”

you were so connected, so tangled up in one another,

love hanging in the air—warm and real.

you reached for the blanket and tucked it around the two of you. his hand found yours beneath the covers, fingers threading together as if to say: “don’t let go.”

and that was the night Sungchan realized...