Absolutely nobody is blaming ATEEZ for this, or mad at ATEEZ themselves, but we should all be telling KQ to sit and spin over the current BST Hyde Park situation.
We were left off of yet another world tour*, strung along with vague non-answers about whether or not they were actually going to be including us in the In Your Fantasy tour.
And then they decide to announce one of the worst UK festivals possible, with barely a month's notice, with the private AMEX pre-sale going up the exact same day as the announcement itself. Barely any notice at all with a private bank company yet again getting presale access before actual fanbase presale access.
I see people defending it by saying ATEEZ need to do festivals to build up a new, bigger fanbase, and that's pretty disrespectful, honestly.
They already have a massive amount of UK fans. I promise you that. There are so many of us already, and it's almost pointless to build up a fanbase that your company is going to ignore anyway.
We barely ever get included in tour routes, and when we do, it's two nights in one London venue only. Maybe two nights in Manchester tacked on if we're absolutely lucky. That's not to mention being left out of opportunities like prize draws, pop-ups, ect.
I am so, so grateful for the opportunities we've already had, and I'm aware it's a privilege to have them come to the UK at all, but it's still valid for people to be frustrated and unhappy with how KQ handle ATEEZ's UK appearances and interactions.
(Especially when they decide to throw it out last minute, leaving fans scrambling to afford it, plan travel, plan accommodation, ect.)
ATEEZ work so, so hard, and love their international fanbase just as much as their native one, and I have no doubt it's also unfair to them to have to see and bear with ATINY's frustrations regarding what's happening.
I really wish KQ would do better.
*I'm aware there are rumors about getting an EU/UK leg in their next comeback, but that's complete speculation with no real foundation, and still doesn't resolve the current issues with being left out of major tours and poor planning regarding annoucnements and sales.
daturas
(dragon sylus + how it’s like with small children)
cw. yandere themes, dragon! sylus & human! reader, nsfw/smut, pregnancies, captivity, slight stockholm syndrome(?), kind of dubcon, sylus has interesting anatomy -> monster-fcking
note. as per a very old request!! thank you to everyone who suggested this & encouraged me to write it lol! 💌 this is kinda corny & became sooo much more than i intended but it’s still a vibe to me hehe 😌 4k words
Light leaks over the valley, low over the face of the river. A mellow, citrusy sunset; pretty though it may be muted.
The summer field is in full-fledge— red daturas streaking about as far as the eye can see, dancing in the wind.
Yet you know better than to touch.
When they’re in bloom, it’s safer by the den.
For the kids…
Well, theirs is a bit of a different story, what with half their genetic code belonging to a veritable dragon, but you? you don’t dare venture out far. And even if you wanted, he wouldn’t allow it, doubly if it’s without his supervision.
He might thank those dangerous, deceptively charming flowers for leading you to his doorstep to begin with, but Sylus doesn’t exactly want a repeat of that, not when it could put everything, you- your precious family- in jeopardy.
You don’t want that, either. Between bouts of vertigo, a seemingly irreparable gap in your memory- gone no matter how many times you try to conjure it back- and other remnants of the poisoning, you regret ever stumbling upon his territory, its picture-book scenery be damned.
It’s those same effects that were responsible for your subjugation.
They hurled you into the claws of a beast- a beast all too willing to accept the wilting petal that blew in on his doorstep.
The sights are breathtaking here, lofty and surreal; it’s like you’re at the zenith of the world. Yet it’s hard not to feel down on your luck as you linger by the mouth of the cave and wait for dusk to settle fully.
Once it’s dark, the kids- and your mate, equally childish in all his prancing around with them- will pull in and retreat for the night.
But until then, you’ll sit here alone, watching, and find your feelings at odds with one another.
In all of this— your capture, his unwillingness to let you go and then the three pregnancies that came thereafter, muddying the timeline from there to now— you’ve been involuntary. That’s been made abundantly clear to him.
The village you came from is a distant memory, more like a dream forgotten than anything at this point, but despite the amnesia, you’ve been very vocal with him, too, on your desire to re-experience it. To go back.
It wouldn’t be a hard task for him, you know. Releasing you entails a brisk flight over the valleys and rolling hills (for him, nothing to sweat over), and then dropping you off at the foot of your little town.
The shock would be there, yes, but once they ascertained you weren’t actually an apparition of the baker’s daughter, they’d rejoice and welcome you back in with open arms. Sylus would slink back off to his mountain, then, to his den, chalk-full of stolen treasures and shiny things, and you’d both go on with your lives.
For better or for worse.
That plan changes, however, is lost, as soon as the kids are factored in.
You can’t-
…Even if he did agree, how could you possibly explain the wings, the tails, the fucking horns- to them? Each are more damning pieces of evidence to their fiendishness than the last.
They’ll see them for what they supposedly are, fiends- or at the very least, crossbreeds of them- and revolt.
How could you save them from the fate they’d be given? The townsfolk would gather up and slaughter them on sight. You’d stand there, helpless to it all, and witness as the pith of your existence is brutally terminated in their tracks.
Maybe, once, you would’ve joined them in that stance, shown up with pitchforks and armor, the strongest men flanking your side.
Just the thought of it now steals your heart and twists it.
Loathed as he is, you’ve seen the scars on Sylus. The jagged marks and the raised edges, unordinarily pale keloids on otherwise tanned, unblemished skin. The humans would wage war against them- the “evil kin” of the terrible dragon.
You’re not oblivious to what will become of you, either. Once they discover you played a part in their making, they’ll cut off your head and hand it to you.
Though, Sylus would sooner raze the entire kingdom to the ground before letting that happen.
A soft sigh escapes you.
Trapped, once, by the great, malevolent drake…
Trapped now, by the love for what he’s given you.
Your youngest makes it difficult to linger on pains of the past when she comes fumbling over with a bouquet in hand. Makeshift, sure, already bending in her chubby fingers, but endearing all the same.
Fiend. The derisive judgement rings in your mind, and you scoff at it. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“Petal,” you smile by way of greeting, pulling yourself from your troubles. She won’t be privy to your pity party while you wallow away, not if you can stop it.
She hands that bouquet to you, “Here, Mama. Flowers!”
You chuckle softly, charmed. Though a part of you wants nothing more than to humor your baby girl and accept her lovely little gift, truth be told, you don’t have any real intention to.
That doesn’t stop six-foot-something of lean muscle and obsidian scale from intervening anyway, towering over you both in an instant.
Milliseconds before you look up, a scold is on the tip of your tongue: where are the boys? But that’s cut prematurely when you spot them both on either of his broad shoulders, perched up there no different than birds on branches— looking very proud about it, might you add.
That’s reasonable. Riding on a dragon’s back must feel like surmounting the highest peak, conquering the world itself- and you’d know, of course, because he loves to drag you along in your seldom alone-time to soar the night skies.
Sylus, to the best of his ability, gently snatches the scarlet posy from her. He takes both of her hands, tiny in his left one, and extends his other to rest on your thigh when he crouches down low to get on your level.
Your daughter might’ve been stressing the poor, yet fatal flowers (granted on accident; she’s a child) but Sylus is suffocating them.
“Petal.” He starts lightly. You don’t miss the urgency laced within the seemingly pleasant tone; concern for your safety translating into something… more intense. “Those flowers aren’t for Mama. I told you, remember? Get her wildflowers, if you want, or better yet- something more valuable, like colorful gems. Those won’t hurt her.”
You have to bite back a huff at that. While it’s true that he’s come leaps and bounds in terms of emotional intelligence since your first-meet, he still leaves much to be desired on that front...
It’s just like your dragon, isn’t it? to find the most thoughtful and heartfelt gestures simple if they’re given without gold.
Yet… That’s not entirely true. Not when he’s unloading the boys in the next moment, leaning forward with a, “Hey, sweetheart,” and angling your crown upward to place a chaste, lingering kiss there.
He grabs you then, swooping you up in his arms and flipping you over to land in his lap, caged between his long legs. Your hair falls against his shoulder, his red rubellite heart, and he holds your back flush to his bare chest.
That action in itself produces nothing shiny, nothing worth diamonds or pearl. But clearly it’s important to him, having you close like this.
The boys gather around, but it’s Petal you assign most of your attention to as she cuddles up to you, wobbling lip and all, and murmurs out an ‘I’m sowwy, Mama’ that pieces apart your soul.
You’re quick to caress her chubby face, a set of crimson eyes tracking the interaction in real-time as he rests his chin on your head. He rumbles out a content, little sigh. You ignore it in favor of comforting her.
“Oh, Petal, it’s okay. Daddy didn’t mean to be mean,” a soft scoff at the accusation; that too is overlooked, “Mama thinks those flowers are so pretty. You did a great job at picking them out.”
“Pretty? Hmph. They’re poisonous,” The silver-haired one murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, the sound as venomous as its definition.
Without missing a beat, you continue on. “They just make mama a little sick, that’s all…” you rub circles on her cheekbone with your thumb, “But I can still admire them from afar.”
Easily upset, easily placated. Petal suddenly returns your gentle smile with a kilowatt one of her own, and then she’s hopping away.
They know to play close, so you’re not overly worried about her whereabouts— not that they could slip far anyway when Sylus knows the mountain like the back of his hand— that, and her designation happens to be the grassy patch right behind her father, her brothers already squabbling there.
You allow yourself to let out a sigh, relieved. That delicate posy, unfairly pretty for the quiet threat it carries, lays discarded now, but the reminder of what it’s done to you before—
Delirious. Sweating from your brow to your boots, hobbling into the warm light emitting from the den, the basket of goodies you set out with no more than fodder for the forest animals, forgotten at least a mile down the path.
Your heart is thumping madly, the world around you- so colorful it’s garish- nauseating you to the point of diplopia.
But that… cave looks…
As if it could provide any reprieve from your inner turmoil, you close your eyes. A set of talons, black and attenuated- make no mistake, very deadly- meet the slope of your face, roving over it with a care that doesn’t seem logical coming from a creature so beastly.
…Safe enough for the night.
Once, you’d thought he kill you with them. Draw a line down your torso, starting from your collar and stopping just past your belly button, and flay you open like a fish. Then, he’d eat you alive or subject you to a demise more sanguinary than you’d originally feared- and nobody would ever, ever see or hear from you again.
Only a fraction of that came to pass.
“You didn’t have to scold her like that, you know. She doesn’t know any better.” You murmur.
Sylus graces you with a dismissive hum, claws still dallying up your jaw, your neck.
“Perhaps.” He concedes.
It’s getting late, you really don’t have it in you to bicker with him or rile him up— that will only ever end in one of two ways: irritation or sex. (Though he’s not against delivering both at once.)
Tonight, you’d like to keep things peaceful.
So you rest your head against him. Tilt your chin back and look up to the sky, hoping that, if nothing else, you can appreciate your front row seat to the setting sun and the blazing hues it pelts along the horizon- mauve, amber, gold, all of it drowned out by a color more intense—
A thick, spiky tail appears overhead. Curling in slow motion, making a long arc over Sylus.
On top of it— Petal, Aster, and Clay, balancing precariously and laughing.
Laughing!
You’re ready to say something- then stop yourself early.
It’s not the first time they’ve unanimously designated their father as their personal playground, and all four of them- yes, Sylus included- insist that it’s fine, but you can’t help those maternal instincts from kicking in every so often.
As if reading your mind, a velvety voice purrs in your ear, “Relax.”
The youngest pushes aside Aster, her current assailant, in preference of grabbing onto the point of her father’s tail and dangling- (Oh, if that doesn’t make your heart gallop in your chest, what could?)- and as Clay finds his feet, the boys turn to eachother now for combat.
Unlike you, the man-thing at your back seems entirely too at peace with the shenanigans. You suppose it’s in his nature, though, to favor the unruly, and at the end of the day, you know his amusement comes from a place of benignity (small as it may be; reserved only for his treasure).
You know there’s no corner of the earth he wouldn’t search, or destroy, if any four of you wound up missing. You know that. And yet…
Sylus chirps, free of any earlier heat, “Petal- when you fall, fall into Mama’s lap. She’ll catch you.”
“Mama catch me?”
You sharply gasp. “Hey-! Aster, don’t pull on your brother’s arm while you’re on daddy’s tail-!”
A deep chuckle rumbles at your back, rattling your chest through and clipping your shriek short. He lowers your outstretched, cautionary hand and kisses the knuckles of it.
“It’s all-right, sweetie. Don’t worry. Daddy won’t let anything happen to either of them.”
He does glance up, though, a more sage look in his eye as he shifts his tone and warns, “Boys: play nice. You’re upsetting your mama.”
Once recognition flashes in their respective gazes, the duo stiffening at their papa’s gentle but firm command and more or less conceding to it, you let yourself relax against him.
The sun gradually drops itself in the sky. Stars lifting their heads over the drifting, grey clouds as the moon finds the perfect spot to keep vigil.
Soon, you’ll go back within the den, plop in the intricately-crafted nest, and do your best to ignore the summer heat as you’re joined by three children and your dragon, each more eager than the last to envelop you completely; vying for your attention, a bedtime story, a kiss to the forehead- anything.
Until then, you won’t grudge yourself for delighting in the moment.
None of them can use their wings yet. Sylus is intent on teaching them skills he claims are vital for every dragon— hunting, looting, how to choose a location most suitable for a den and nest, to name a few— and while their draconic features play an integral role in that, he knows there’s no point in trying to force growth. That will do more damage than anything.
It’ll happen when it happens. And when it does, he’ll be there.
Your daughter actually manages to hoist herself up, smirking triumphantly, and stands on the tip of Sylus’s tail like she’s put a flag in it. Despite their stubby horns, tails, and momentarily useless, planar wings, the strength that’s been passed down to them isn’t quite as slow to develop…
You’ve voiced your concerns to Sylus before, worries that they’ll use it for evil, or miscalculate their power in a moment of mischief or anger and wet the ground with blood.
He’s rather blasé about it all. Maybe it’s just a beast-specific thing, or an extreme trust in his own kin’s yet-to-be understood instincts, but he’s…
At peace with it.
His simple explanation is that half of his fiendishness went to them, yes, but so did half of your humanity.
You want to trust him. Despite it all, everything he’s subjected you to in the past years— bloodshed, possession, the death of each of your dreams to go back home, multiple pregnancies, even— you really, really do.
Because maybe he’s right when he tells you it’s better here with him, perched above the fog-ridden valleys, out of earshot from the several villages flanking the mountains. Maybe he’s right.
After all… can you truly continue to call that place home when you know they’d have your head and theirs if you returned with your treasure in tow?
Warm breath tickles the shell of your ear. His thick, sinewy arm slung across your chest like the sturdiest barricade to your heart. It is.
Aptly, he croons, “How could you possibly want for the village when we’ve already made our own paradise here?”
And he does have a point.
…
Nightfall is better.
Not cooler by a lot, but by a margin.
It grants just enough relief from the unrelenting heat of daytime to not need to constantly extricate yourself from various sticky limbs when you’re all curled up together.
You’re fine like this. Feel safe, even, with your offspring here in your arms, your back tucked to Sylus’s muscular front as he shrewdly keeps you wedged between him and the kids.
It’s him who plucks you up hours before sunrise without explanation.
Though you suppose one wouldn’t be necessary.
As he drags you deeper into the cave, his eyes simmering with barely-repressed hunger, coins crunching underfoot, even fresh from sleep you’re wholly aware that it’s for a little bit of…
Alone time.
The annex of the cave he brings you in isn’t quite as cozy, lived-in, as the nesting room. By no means rudimentary, though; over the course of several decades, he’s stockpiled away more riches than the kingdom rulers have to their names as a collective. Even the speleothems, like glowing pillars, look somehow… noble.
On a lavish medallion rug sits a stone table- durable enough for what he has planned- and he moves aside its trinkets to place you there.
His hands descend your midriff first, groping the soft flesh of your waist and hips to the best of his ability without scratching you, and then he’s silencing your disoriented cry—
“Sylus-“
—With a clash of his lips to yours.
“Quiet, woman,” he grunts, but the heat there is less frustration and more lust.
Hot, primal need.
His obsidian-like forearm wraps around your torso, his other lifted as he captures your jaw in his hand- ever so considerate not to grab too tight; there’s been times where’s he’s lost himself in the heat of the moment, times where the bruises and cuts left behind remain as an unintentional testament to his passion.
It’s easy to blame him, but you know it’s not purposeful.
In any case- you’ve been a witness to far worse.
Men who’ve come wandering up the wrong shaded path, adventurers in search of a thrilling tale or the lost village girl- their bodies diced to bits, no more than red ribbons left in groves for scouts or animals to find.
So yes, you know what Sylus is capable of.
“You’ve come around to me,” he murmurs against your neck, his forked tongue near volcanic in temperature when it laves down your skin. Kissing, nipping, suckling.
It’s hard to give anything but a breathless yelp when his lips coast to your collar, pulling down the negligee of your linen dress to resume his sensual assault there.
The dragon muses aloud, “Though, I suppose that’s to be expected. I’ve only given you… what, how many little imps now?”
His clawed, black hand ventures to your belly. Settles over the smooth pouch of it. Possessive.
He’s merely a dragon hoarding gold. Nothing more, nothing less.
“…A to-be four?”
That information, yet to be divulged to him, comes as a surprise to you. Albeit, it’s not like you were working yourself up to confess it: it was only a suspicion on your end. You didn’t know for sure if you were pregnant.
Besides a delicious gasp, you go along with it anyway- letting him push you down on the cool surface, lifting your thighs up and pinning them either side of your breast. Of course, there’s no guarantee he’s correct anyway- not when he’s in the white heat of his libido; that comes with its own package of hazards, conditions, for the dragonborn.
An inclination to delusional thinking is one.
Another:—
“It’s a maddening scent… The nest smells of it, too. Do you really,” he heaves, apropos of nothing, thin pupils unnaturally large, “Expect me to sleep in it when the owner of such sweetness is right beside me?”
Fine fabric rips down the middle, torn in a breath. The bodice of your dress- tatters, now, on the floor.
—Partial or full loss of control.
Fortune must favor you, though, because it seems he still has a speck of restraint when he leans in to take a nipple into his mouth- careful not to draw blood with his fangs. There’s been other nights where you’ve taken the proof of his frenzies; his fiercest heats imparting marks you blush over when the kids ask about.
Thankfully, Sylus always has an excuse at the ready.
It’s obvious, little one. Mama is a human. Humans are… Fragile. Weak. She fell.
They’re young now, but you can’t help but wonder if all those white lies will work once they mature.
Amid the sloppy, wet attack to your breast and neck, you can hardly form syllables. So when he husks out, “Did you want to tell me? Or did you plan to let me figure it out?” you decide your best bet is to tell the short truth.
“I didn’t know,” you squeak, fingers tugging at his scalp. He groans at that. Obscene. If the townspeople somehow managed to find you now of all times, you’d send them back out of shame.
Because a piece of you needs him. You need your dragon and he’s made that an ugly truth.
Should their… wrath ever find you, and your bastard, wicked children, he would protect you.
For that, you hold onto him tighter. Hands in his silver hair.
Crimson eyes meet yours. The glint there, you can’t tell if it’s reprimanding, unconvinced, or appeased— but it’s certainly aroused. “Is that so?”
He moves lower without warning, chin dipping between your thighs.
And oh, that forked tongue makes quick, graceful work of you.
The cleric at home- your old home, the one he says you’ll never return to- insists such creatures are evil, altogether devilish. But one could argue that Sylus’s mouth is divinity in action.
When you’re primed and ready (ready as you ever possibly could be, anyway), he lines himself up. The red line trailing down his abdomen reaches the tip of his cock as it weeps, thick and heavy— every bit as monstrous as him. His other one bobs over your belly, neglected for the moment- and visibly upset because of it.
For later, maybe.
But, pregnant or not- he believes it, and generously spares you the discomfort of having both your holes stuffed full of him.
Nonetheless. It’s hard to be thankful when he begins to fuck you so hard, so deep and thorough, that it’s almost just as overwhelming anyway.
“You’re wet, desperate, because of me…”
He nibbles at your ear. No better than an animal. His hips clattering against the underside of your thighs as he drives himself to the hilt inside your velvety, hot pussy.
Your mind fogs, eyes fluttering back in your skull.
A mixture of his grunts, your whines, and low, drawn-out moans that are unexpectedly dulcet coming from Sylus echo throughout the cave.
The stalagmites, the cold, glittery walls and the stalactites dangling precariously from the ceiling— all of them throw your lewd sounds right back at you.
If it’s meant to embarrass you, it’s working.
He snarls at your throat, “Mine,” completely unabashed by any of that as he runs his teeth there, down to the delicate skin of your shoulder.
Itching to rebrand that old, fading scar he loves to touch up every so often.
He does.
Sharp teeth sink in, the sting so hot- so searing- so good- that you actually get whiplash for a moment, your jaw falling open in a silent scream.
You’ve no talons, but your nails work just as well, digging into the planes of his naked back and making striations of your own.
Sylus shudders.
His neglected second cock twitches over your navel, your cunt baring down on him without your control— delicious, mind-numbing.
The sensation doesn’t belong to this world- it can’t.
You both feel it, an electric current bolting through you with all speed. The few centimeters of air between you crackles, like lightning fissuring out, but the real thunder comes in the form of his confession.
“My greatest treasure,” he gruffs, moving up to capture your slack lips in another barbaric, reckless kiss. “My soul lies with you as much as yours does with me. There’s no… ngh… undoing that.”
It’s dizzying. The bond, the zealous words. Too much. You come with him. You come hard.
Outside the cave, in the thick of night, the daturas have opened fully. Things of the darkness take refuge in the darkness, that’s only natural.
What isn’t is the fact that you’re not borne of it- but still when your dragon opens his wing like the petals of a nightshade and offers it for you to hide, you draw near and let him tuck you by his breast.
a night out of spite after unlocking a new emotion with your current situationship
TRIGGER WARNING: situationship dj!hongjoong, meandom!hongjoong, brat!reader, brattamer!hongjoong, seonghwa is there, dirty talk, swearing, begging, pet names (baby, mine, beautiful), kissing, unprotected p in v (don’t do this), breeding kink?, m receiving oral, spanking, choking, crying, possessiveness, jealousy, submission, name calling (slut, pathetic), degradation, denial, angst, exhibitionism?? maybe?, grabbing, hair pulling, ripping clothes, gagging, praise (good girl), bad humor
let me know if i missed anything! this is my first time posting so if you hate it, lie to me. love you, bye ♡
“I feel stupid.”
“You are not stupid. That man is though..” your best friend scolded you over Facetime. It had been hours since your fyp algorithm showed you a flyer for an event your current situationship was performing at. One that he had neglected to mention in the short text he had sent canceling on your plans that night.
The two of you had often set things up and then decided at the last minute you actually didn’t want to see one another at all. There were countless times you had canceled on him just because you wanted to chill at home alone or would rather go out with your friends. The fact that he canceled wasn’t unusual. The reason being he had a gig that happened to be at the club his ex worked at was unusual.
“I know, I know, that we are just fucking around. I don’t understand why this bothers me so much.” You sighed, your lipgloss wand dropping from your fingers and onto the vanity your phone was propped against. “Like I’m angry?” you asked yourself outloud, in shock at the emotions you were feeling. “Why am I angry?” you directed your attention back to the screen with an intensity as if your best friend had made you feel this.
She tried to respond, sputtering out sounds of confusion with her hands held up in defense. “I think I have an answer but you’re not going to like it.” she mumbled, causing your fingers to grip your phone closer, insisting for her to continue.
“It sounds like, maybe-“ she danced around the words carefully, taking in every change in expression you made, “you’re just a tiny bit.” She pinched her fingers in front of the camera, her voice raising two octaves to try to soften whatever she was about to say. “Jealous?”
Your eyes widened, breath catching in your throat as a laugh slipped from you, “Jealous?”
She lifted her hand again, pinching the air in with a squint.
“I am not jealous. What would I have to be jealous of?” you fought back, shock prominent in your tone as you shook your head. Feeling as if it would rid the word from it. “Was I jealous when I found him hooking up with that one girl in the closet of Seonghwa’s house?” you stood to pace, taking a second before glancing back to the phone. Awaiting an answer.
“No.” Your best friend shook her head.
“Or when I caught him knuckles deep in the car with that waitress from the bar a month or so back?” you continued.
“How do you remember all-“
“Or that time we all heard that blonde girl through the walls of his-“
“Okay! Okay! Enough!” her voice cut you off, “I don’t need any reminders of all the things Hongjoong has traumatized us with throughout knowing him.”
“I have never been jealous, I am not jealous.” you finalized with a nod of your head, resting back into your chair with a contented sigh. “So then, stay home tonight. Who cares that he canceled plans to do a DJ set for the last and, really, only woman he’s officially dated in years?” you could hear the smirk in her tone as she leaned to cross her arms over her chest, staring into the camera lens with raised brows.
You slowly turned your head to squint at her, all satisfaction stripped as anger began to boil in your blood at the mention of his ex. “Maybe I will.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
Your eyes stayed narrow as she grinned at you.
Your shoulders dropped as your face fell to look into your lap, “I know you do.”
You hated to admit it, but her words did bring some clarity to the situation.
Hongjoong and you had been messing around since the moment you were introduced. Your friend group would mention him in passing, telling stories of times with him or moments where he had gotten them in ridiculous situations. You hadn’t officially met until a few months into hanging with everyone else, he was always off performing at various clubs throughout the country.
When he did come back home, it couldn’t have been at a worse time in your own personal life. You had been in a relationship, a very long one. A very long, miserable one. You were just re-finding who you were as a person. You hadn’t been single in awhile, so it was nice to be able to do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. It was a freedom that you didn’t realize you lost or missed.
In no way, shape, or form were you looking to jump into another relationship or even look at another man.
But then, Hongjoong happened.
You had assumed that his reputation was overexaggerated. That, despite his ongoing list of talents, he was just another man at the end of the day.
You were wrong.
He had crashed into your life like a tank through a fortress. He was funny, he was talented, he was charming, he was everything that you had been informed about. You weren’t the type of person who was easily impressed, but he wasn’t the bare minimum type of impressive.
The two of you had incredible chemistry. You shared a sense of humor. Had a similar taste in music, movies, and aesthetics.
He was able to handle your attitude and shut you down tenfold. It was very rare for you to find anyone who could keep you in check (having experience with many others trying), but he did it with ease. There was a reason his friends affectionately referred to him as ‘Captain’. The world was his ship and everyone else just happened to be on it. There wasn’t a single moment in meeting him where he didn’t walk into a room and immediately take control of everything happening around.
You enjoyed that about him.
You enjoyed being able to shut off your brain when he was around because you knew that he would make sure you were okay.
It had been your idea to keep things casual, which made this whole jealousy nonsense even more frustrating. When it all began, you didn’t want to be in another relationship, you didn’t feel ready. Not that he had ever pushed to be in one, but you made it very clear at the start that if you two were going to be messing around that that’s all it would be and nothing more.
He understood and agreed.
But now there was a part of you that wondered why he agreed and why he wouldn’t want to take things further than just hooking up. Why he had never been with anyone seriously since his last ex. You hated thinking about how many women you had seen him with in the time you’ve known him. It never bothered you before, but it did now. Had he had an entire roster of people he circulated between? You and him had been consistent. Was he consistent with everyone else? All the other women you had caught him with?
“You’ve been silent for a long time, but you know what you need to do.” Your best friend interrupted your thoughts, snapping your attention back to the Facetime you honestly had forgotten about. Your heart racing at the sound of her sudden voice, “And what’s that?”
“Make him regret it.” Her lips curled into a smirk, “Text me if you need help, I love you.”
You barely responded before her face vanished and your home screen reappeared. Your best friend knew that you needed to move fast if you wanted to make it to the club on time for his DJ set. A plan you had devised on your own before you received the call from your best friend.
You answered already half ready in his favorite dress - one that had yet to see the outside of your apartment. The same one that whenever he came to pick you up and you were in it, the both of you were no longer making it to whatever plans you had for the night. But he wasn’t there to stop you tonight, you were going to wear it out and you were going to wear it to the club.
Both you and your best friend knew that your impulsivity was not something that could be rationalized with. Once you put something into motion, it was nearly impossible to stop the force that was your willpower.
Newfound conflicting feelings or not, Hongjoong would be seeing you tonight.
The car you ordered didn’t take long to arrive. The club was only twenty minutes from your apartment, which somehow made things worse. It’s not like it was out of the way, you could’ve joined him to begin with. He typically would let you come to his sets. Even if you weren’t in a partying mood, he would haul you with him to sit in the green rooms or VIP areas to wait for him to finish. He always had massive amounts of adrenaline after performing and he had informed you many times you were his favorite way to release it.
A sickening feeling began to build in the pit of your stomach. If he hadn’t planned on seeing you tonight, was he going to exert that excess energy with someone else? His ex? You pinched at the bridge of your nose. “Who cares?” you sighed, slapping the hand down onto your thigh. You caught the driver peeking at you through the rear view mirror with concern. “I don’t even care.” you affirmed directly to him as his eyes darted back to the road.
The rest of the ride was filled with your huffs, your thoughts seesawing back and forth between getting yourself worked up and then remembering it shouldn’t matter. You knew you probably looked insane to the man in the front, but you’d likely never see him again so you began to mumble to yourself.
“I don’t even like him, he’s annoying. His laugh is loud and obnoxious and his smile is stupid.” you grumbled, arms crossing over your chest as you sunk into the back seat. “He’s a fucking DJ. A DJ. I’m upset over a DJ.” your eyes once again finding the driver who was desperately trying to pull to the curb.
He cleared his throat, “I hope you have a good rest of your night.”
“I will-“ you stated triumphantly, looking down at the driver’s name on your phone screen, “Jihun. You too!” You slapped a hand against his shoulder as you slid towards the door closest to the pavement.
The chill of the night hit your heated skin immediately, a pout forming on your lips as you took in the length of the line outside. Hongjoong always had an annoying habit of drawing a crowd, but this was the first time you wouldn’t be with him to skip it. “I wonder who else has slept with him here.” You thought bitterly too yourself, hating this viciousness that now burned inside you.
As you made your way to trail down the line of the door, a voice called your name. You spun back, eyes wide as a familiar figure ran up to you.
“I was wondering where you were!” Your mutual friend, Seonghwa, wrapped you in his arms, pulling your body tightly into his chest. “Joong’s about to start, you got here just in time!” he cheered, his hand sliding to wrap around your wrist as he drug you towards the front door. “Why didn’t you just come with us?” he shook his head with a laugh.
You were thankful that your presence was welcomed by someone. It seemed Hongjoong hadn’t informed Seonghwa you purposely weren’t invited.
“If he’s about to start, why were you outside?” you laughed, trying to keep in time with his steps despite your heels. Typically Seonghwa would keep a watchful eye on his best friend while he set up, ready to be a helping hand if need be. He glanced down at you with an eye roll, “I needed to get away from her.”
Your breath caught in your throat, you knew exactly who he was talking about but you hoped you were wrong. “Oh? Who’s ‘her’?” you played dumb as the two of you made it into the building. He stopped abruptly, using his free hand to extend towards the stage. His finger pointed violently in its direction with his eyebrows raised in annoyance.
“Her.” he hissed. Your eyes locking on the woman sitting on the edge of the DJ table, her attention fully focused on the man in front of her. “That is a safety hazard.” you groaned, watching as she leaned her body towards him and covered half of his set up he was currently using.
You knew that Hongjoong hated anything that interrupted him from being his best, whether it be a faulty sound system, a mislabeled track, ..or a woman with her tits entirely too close to the equalizers.
The first two were confirmed but you were guessing on the third. And yet, he didn’t swipe her away. He didn’t push her off the stage. (Which would have been your favorite option) He didn’t do anything, just continued to bop along with his headphones as if she belonged there by his side.
Like he wanted people to see her with him so close and personal. Like it was her home.
What made it worse was how good Hongjoong had looked. His hair was styled back, sunglasses adorning his eyes. He typically wore all black for his sets, but this version of his fit was diabolical. His button up was open at the top and tucked into wide legged dress pants, A cropped leather jacket sitting over the whole thing. You always thought he looked handsome, but right now he looked effortlessly cool. And he looked that way with her beside him.
“You okay, pretty?” Seonghwa placed a hand on your shoulder, grounding you back into your own body. Your chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. You had never been the best at disguising your emotions. If you were sad, you looked sad. If you were mad, it was noticeable and right now it was very very noticeable.
You took a moment to collect yourself, to push out the idea of storming the stage and dragging the two off by their hair. Your sudden possessiveness could not be at the cost of everyone else’s good night (as much as you’d like it to be).
Turning back, you mustered your best smile to the tall man beside you. “Would you like to dance with me?” you beamed, taking a step closer to him.
His eyes widened before darting back to look at his best friend on stage, “I mean- I would- but Joong-”
You waved your hand to dismiss him, “It doesn’t matter what he thinks, besides, he seems preoccupied.”
He tsk’d down at you bringing a hand to rest at the back of your head, “You know I’d love to but I don’t think he would like that very much.” Your lips formed a pout, you knew you could trust Seonghwa with your feelings but it didn’t make saying them outloud any easier.
“We were supposed to hang out tonight but he canceled at the last minute, he didn’t even say he was performing here. I found out through Instagram.” You hastily admitted, blinking up at him through your eyelashes. His eyebrows knitted, the ends of his lips moving downwards, “He didn’t tell you?”
You shook your head slowly, feeling slightly embarrassed at the confession.
“Is that why you’re wearing that?” he ticked his head down to your outfit, his eyes lingering slightly longer than he needed to. You nodded.
He let out a deep sigh, taking his free hand and opening his palm. You smiled, slapping your hand into his as he wrapped his fingers around it and pulled you closer. His head leaned down so his lips grazed your ear, “Who am I to deny a beautiful girl?”
Seonghwa and you had a very healthy relationship. He was typically one of the only guys that was able to infiltrate girls night. He was soft and caring, he always listened to everyone’s grievances and never made you feel like a burden by relying on him. He just wanted everyone to feel safe and happy at all times. He was the best version of a friend, he was a rock and also a shoulder to cry on. He also loved getting under Hongjoong’s skin. The two did it to each other constantly, so he was the perfect person to run into tonight.
He made sure to weave you carefully through the crowd to the dance floor, pushing you gently to a spot halfway in the mess and to the side of Hongjoong’s set up. It was close enough for him to notice but not directly in his face. You worried you were too buried. That your shorter frame would be lost between bodies.
“Don’t worry, he has a habit of finding you in a crowd.” Seonghwa spoke as if he could read your mind. You turned to face him with furrowed brows. You really needed to work on your poker face. “He’s complained about it before.” he laughed, leaning close so that you could hear him over the thumping bass blasting throughout the room.
“Has he?” you asked, spinning back to face him while also leaning back into Seonghwa’s frame. His hands instantly ghosting over your sides, his fingers tracing your forearms as he began to sway. He hummed, “That’s why you’re always out of sight during his sets.” He pulled you into him but the hips with a laugh, “You’re a distraction.”
“I’m sure.” you rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief as you moved against him. The two of you in sync as the music caught your attention. The song switched over to the next track, it was subtle, no one else had seemed to notice but you had heard enough sets from him to catch that he had missed a transition. The delay was only a second or two, but you had clocked it.
You looked at him, it was hard to determine exactly where he was looking with the sunglasses over his eyes. He didn’t seem to be facing your direction, but he wasn’t dancing like he typically would. Seonghwa spun you around, lifting your arms to wrap around his neck as he loomed over you. “Still think I’m lying?” he smirked, and you knew he had caught the slip up as well.
“There’s plenty of distraction on stage.” you brushed him off, linking your fingers together at the back of his neck.
Another missed beat.
Seonghwa looked down at you smugly. You moved your hand to point at him, “Do not look at me like that.”
He placed his face in the crook of your neck, his mouth directly next to your ear, “Watch this.” He wrapped his fingers around your wrist and brought it back to rest around his neck before returning his hand to your waist. Softly blowing on the sensitive skin just under your jaw, causing you to giggle. “Stop it.” you warn with a smile. From the outside it looks like he was doing more than just breathing against you.
The song skipped.
Both of you directed your attention to the stage, Hongjoong’s head dipping down as his hands moved fast to keep in time with the song. You took notice of the skin stretching against his locked jaw, his chest rising and falling in fast succession.
“Okay, we’ve played enough.” Seonghwa sighed, lifting your hand to spin you before pulling you back into his chest. “Let’s just dance.”
You laughed as he flung you around, spinning you away from him and dipping you despite whatever song was playing. The two of you just enjoyed the moment, so much that you almost forgot why you were mad in the first place.
The rest of the set went on without a flaw, the next DJ coming to swap out with Hongjoong as he took what belonged to him from the table.
“Shouldn’t you help?” you asked as the two of you made your way off the dance floor. Seonghwa hummed, moving you in front of him to lead you towards the bar, “Nah, I don’t really like him that much.”
You laughed, knowing it was a joke. The two of them were practically brothers.
You pushed yourself up onto one of the bar stools, the tall man doing the same beside you. “So,” he sighed, his elbows resting against the wood of the bar as his fingers linked together, “You want to talk about what exactly is going on in that mind of yours?”
“Nope.” you smiled, turning to face him.
He nodded, “Okay, well when you do, you know where to find me.”
He called over the bartender and ordered you both a drink. Your leg jumped anxiously, Hongjoong had cleared the stage but he was still nowhere to be found. And neither was his ex. Your brain was filled with images of all the things they two could be doing in their absence. All the things he had done to you after a show. Things he could now be doing to her at this very moment.
A large hand clamped around your knee, stilling its movement. You mumbled an apology to the man in front of you, who looked down at you with concern. He scanned your jittery frame, watching as you picked at the skin of your lips with your eyes going over the entire perimeter of the club.
“Oh my God.” he gasped, causing you to knit your brows. You looked at him as his hand covered his mouth. “Oh my God.” he repeated through his fingers, his face twisted in amusement. “You came here, looking damn near edible, after Joong canceled your plans..” he started piecing things together, “You keep bringing up his ex, you keep looking around even though the most beautiful man is currently at your side.” he counted on his fingers before pointing one over at you with a smile, “You’re jealous.”
Your eyes widened, “Not uh.”
Not your best argument.
He cackled, slapping his palm against his thigh. “Oh my God, you have no idea how funny this is.”
“It’s not funny at all, Hwa.” you whined, practically kicking your feet as you watched him giggle to himself. He steadied his breathing with a loud outburst of air, “To you, no. If you knew what I knew, it would be hilarious.”
You squinted at him, “What do you know?”
He booped the tip of your nose with his finger, “I’m not telling.”
You couldn’t help the huff that came from you, your lips frowning as you pouted like a child. Arms crossed and slumped over.
You thought about what Seonghwa could find so funny. What exactly was bringing him so much amusement. Was it that he knew Hongjoong wasn’t interested? Was it one of those times where he felt so bad for you that all he could do was laugh? He wasn’t a vindictive person, so the idea wasn’t convincing but it was all your brain could latch on.
He spun on his seat back and forth at your side with a grin, a small giggle slipping out every now and then as you held your head in your hands.
“Excuse me, miss.” a voice came from behind you. You knew it wasn’t someone trying to pick you up, and if they had seen you in your current state and wanted to.. it wasn’t someone you’d be interested in anyway.
You looked at Seonghwa before facing the man. He looked like a bouncer. “I didn’t even do anything?” you panicked up at him. You had your fair share of experiences with getting kicked out, and this was typically how it would start. Hongjoong wouldn’t have you kicked out though. Would he?
You did show up to a show he didn’t tell you about. What if you scared him?
“You’re wanted backstage.” The man spoke again, his voice deep and firm.
Seonghwa looked at you before pointing to himself, “And me?”
“No, I was told you specifically could not come backstage.” the bouncer stated, his face flat as Seonghwa looked at him in shock. “That bitch.” he hissed to himself before looking at you with a sneaky grin, “Well, have fun.”
The large buff man led you from the bar, his arm hovering around your back to block out people from the crowd. People were turning to stare, whispering to one another as you passed by. It was not helping your nerves.
As you approached the hallway towards the back you noticed the same woman that sat perched on Hongjoong’s stage. She was surrounded by friends and glaring at you with hatred oozing from her eyes. You kept your gaze on her as you passed by, not backing down from whatever issue she had going on. As you passed you heard her muttering under her breath, but before you could ask what her problem was you were gently pushed into a backroom.
You spun back, the bouncer sending you a quick forced smile before shutting the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?” you heard a very familiar, and very angry voice. You turned as slowly as possible towards it, as if by not moving quickly he would not be able to see you at all.
Hongjoong’s eyes were dark, his hair no longer styled back but sticking in every direction as if he had been frantically gripping it. He sat with his legs spread on the couch situated on the other side of the room, his elbows resting on top of his thighs. He leaned forward to tilt his head at you, urging you to respond. You pointed back to the door, “A big man brought me here.”
“Why are you at this club?” he clarified through his teeth, his jaw tight. His stare was intimidating and you didn’t know how to respond. You had come in so impulsively that you didn’t consider a backstory that wasn’t ‘I was mad at you’.
He stood to remove his jacket before throwing it onto the couch. When he faced you, he unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up in time with each step he took to your body. “Why are you at this club wearing that?” he asked, his tone light almost singsongy despite the stern look on his face. His eyes looked you over and stayed on your outfit, his head leaning to the side before making eye contact. “Answer me.” he firmed as he made it to you.
You looked up at him, “Why should I?”
He raised his eyebrows, his mouth opening in shocked amusement. “You’re mad at me?” he couldn’t help the smile that slid onto his face. You had seen this look many times, it was the same one he gave you whenever he deemed you were being a brat. “You come here, dressed like that, grind on my best friend during my set and you’re mad at me?” he took a step forward, causing you to take one back. You back hitting the door behind you as you kept your eyes locked on his.
“I’m surprised you even noticed, it seems like you had a night planned for yourself.” You fought back and you couldn’t stop from sounding bitter if you tried. Your eyes fell as you pouted angrily. He breathed out a laugh, “Tell me, what was I planning to do?”
The fact that he found this situation so funny was only making you angrier, like he didn’t take you seriously. “You canceled our plans, you dressed like-“ you flailed your arms at his outfit as best as you could, “that, all to impress your ex girlfriend.”
“I did?” he asked in fake shock. Your eyes involuntarily rolled before you could stop them, your patience thin. It was a habit you couldn’t help and something that he warned you about doing to him many times. His smile dropped, “Careful.”
“Or what?”
Before you could blink he had your throat in his palm, his fingers pressed into the side of it. There was no force, it was just a warning as he closed the gap between the two of you, his chest against yours. “You know-“ he started, looking up towards the ceiling, “Normally I love that smart little mouth of yours, but after seeing you dancing like a slut with my best friend?” His eyes found yours again, his pupils blown as his grip tightened just enough to make you gasp. “I’m not in the best mood, so let’s try that again.” He spoke through his teeth. He moved to be level with your face, “Why are you here?”
“Maybe I just wanted to dance like a slut with your best friend.” you responded in a broken voice, trying to be as clear as you could in his hold. He took in a sharp breath, his eyes shutting. “You canceled on me to do your little show with your little girlfriend. I had to watch her sit like a fucking trophy by your side and you have the nerve to act like you give a shit about what I was doing?” you push up on your toes to get in his face. His fingers loosened with every word, helping you gain your voice back.
His eyes opened and you felt yourself shuttered, you had made him mad before but this version of it was intimidating.
And you did not get intimidated easily.
There was a darkness behind it that you had never seen, like he was given a key to unlock a new version of himself. His tongue ran across his bottom lip as he pulled it between his teeth, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He let out a laugh that surprised you and himself, his head shaking as he pulled away from you the tiniest bit to stare down at the floor. His shoulders shook as he silently chuckled to himself, “Are you jealous right now?”
Your mouth opened and closed, trying to think of a single argument against what he said despite being incredibly aware that you were. “Don’t flatter yourself. You forget who you’re talking to.”
“So do you.” he looked back at you with a smile. There was nothing warm or comforting about it, it was sinister and unhinged.
“You’re telling me, for months-“ he approached you again, his hands shakily moving to grip your waist. His fingers pressed in hard enough to leave bruises, “I’ve been trying to see if I could make you jealous. Hooking up with people at events we were both at. Making sure I was in places where you could catch us.” One hand moved to wrap around your throat again, not to choke you, but to keep you standing as his other hand slid to where your dress sat on your thighs. His fingers lifted the fabric, just trailing along the edge of it, “And all I had to do was ignore my ex in front of you?”
Your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to process his words as well as his touch, already feeling overwhelmed at the juxtaposition between his tone and his gentleness.
“You had so much to say a second ago, where’d that go?” he hummed mockingly, his nose trailing from your shoulder to your jaw.
You took in a shaky breath, opening your eyes to glare at him, “Fuck. You.”
He laughed, his mouth opened to bite the skin just under your jaw before pulling it between his teeth. A whine leaving your lips as he soothed it over with his tongue. “Fuck me?” he mimicked your voice, the hand holding your dress moving to cup your heat. His palm was met with slick material, causing him to groan. “Yeah, it feels like you want to.” he grinned against your skin, causing you to huff in annoyance.
Despite your anger, your body betrayed you. You were thankful for the hold on your neck or else your knees would’ve probably given out.
His finger pushed aside the fabric, tracing you lightly. The lack of force only made you more frustrated. “She’s just outside, you want her to hear how good I make you feel?” his voice was high, almost mocking, like he was talking to a child. Your mind was torn between wanting to push him away out of spite and wanting him to use you in any way he pleased. Your bottom lip jutting as a whine slipped from you in a mixture of frustration and want.
He hummed, his fingers leaving your underwear, “No, you don’t deserve that today.” He drug his hand up to your face, placing his index and middle finger against your bottom lip, “Open.”
You shook your head, not because you didn’t want to but because it was more fun to see what he’d do if you didn’t listen.
He raised his brows, “No?”
You swallowed, attempting to soothe the dryness of your throat. “You want me to stop? You’re a big girl, you know the safe word.” he opened his mouth nonchalantly sucking your juices off his fingers with a hum. You whimpered at the sight causing him to nod, “I see, you’re just being a fucking brat.”
The name made your thighs clench, your knees growing weak. It always did, especially when he said it in that condescending tone. He knew that.
“You want to be a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” he sighed as he released your throat, moving his hand to grip at your wrist. You could barely keep up with this strides to the couch, panic and excitement building in your stomach as he sat down. His hand pulled you to his side before pulling you forward to fall across his lap.
This had happened enough times (you were very rarily not testing his patience) that you knew exactly how to situate across his thighs to not hurt your ribs.
He exhaled, “Eight men looked at you while I was on stage.” His palm landed softly against the fabric across your ass, squeezing your cheek before rubbing circles over the area. “Eight men were drooling over you acting like a slut wearing my dress.” he hissed, sliding the dress up to reveal the black lace underwear beneath it. A groan involuntarily falling from his lips, he loved whenever you wore dark lingerie.
“Stand up.” he demanded, catching you off guard. He waited for a beat to see if you’d listen. Once he realized you hadn’t moved he removed his hands from you, “Now.”
You scrambled to your feet, not knowing what to do next. He stood up, facing you and his eyes raked down your body. His hands came to clutch at your neckline, “This dress is ruined now that someone else’s hands have been on it.” You didn’t even have time to react before he ripped the flimsy fabric down the center, dropping it as it pooled at your ankles.
“Hongjoong!” you yelled, looking down to what was left of your outfit. When you glared back at him, his eyes were anywhere but your face. His lip pulled between his teeth as he flopped back onto the couch. He took in your shocked expression waving you off, “I’ll buy you a new one, come here.”
His hand reached for you, pulling you to stand in between his legs. He practically growled, his hands running on either side of your body before hooking his fingers into the band of your underwear. He inhaled, and you watched his face twist into a back and forth of anger and want.
You were begging for him to do something, feeling vulnerable being the only one underdressed in the room. He mocked your pout, “Is my little brat getting impatient?”
You glared at him, not wanting to admit he was right. He leaned up to grab your chin, pulling you down to line with his face, “Good. Get on my lap.”
He did not have to ask twice, you were feeling desperate at this point. For him to keep his hands on you for more than just a second, to help take care of the growing need between your legs. Anything.
He let out a dry laugh at your eagerness but didn’t bring any more attention to it. You knew as much as you were getting antsy, he was as well. You could feel just how much this all was affecting him against your lower stomach.
“Remind me again, how many men looked at you during my set?” he breathed out, his hand massaging your upper thigh as he awaited your answer. You licked your lips, attempting to give some relief to your dry mouth and throat, “Eight.”
“Look at that! You can listen.” he faked enthusiasm. Your eyes rolled in response, catching it immediately after and being thankful that it didn’t seem like he had noticed.
You would’ve known if he had.
“Now, I’d assume you remember the rules. Right?” His hand drifted to slide up to your left cheek, fingers digging in to massage the area as your eyes shut. You nodded. “If I have to remind you of verbal confirmation one more time, you can take care of yourself tonight.” he stated firmly and you knew he had meant it. It wouldn’t have been the first time he denied you of progressing.
“Yes.”
“What are they?” he asked flatly, as if he was growing bored of the entire situation.
“Count and thank you after every one.” you shakily explained earning a hum of approval. “And if it’s too much?” he questioned, his fingers moving between your legs and faintly tracing your panties over your folds causing you to whine. “I use the safe word.” You had to stop yourself from chasing his hand because you knew that would also end the night. Especially with him in this mood.
He laughed softly, “You’re doing so good for me. Who knows, you might get a treat tonight after all.”
You whimpered, nodding without caring how desperate you looked. You needed him to hurry at this point.
Before you could respond back, his hand came down hard against your ass. Typically he would gradually grow in force, but it seemed like you had really pissed him off tonight. Your eyes shut, your body jolting as you bit down on your lip. He cleared his throat expectantly. You took a deep breath, “One. Thank you.”
He smiled, rubbing the area before lifting his hand again.
You waited, knowing that this was already going to be an issue for you to sit later if this was how he was starting off.
Another hard slap.
Tears already built at the brim of your eyes as you kept them clamped shut, “Two. Thank you.”
“Eyes open, I want to see those pretty eyes cry.” he spoke through his teeth, he sounded as frustrated as you felt. You quickly opened them without a second thought. He leaned over, using his free hand to tilt your chin towards him.
Your face was flushed, the tears that threatened to spill poured over and took your mascara along with it down the sides of your face. He smiled at you, leaning down to place his lips against your forehead, “My beautiful girl.”
The tone change caused a sob to fall from your lips, your heart skipping at the name.
You saw his eyes shift, growing darker before he released you to lean back against the couch, “It’s a shame you have to be such a problem, we could’ve had a nice night tonight if you had just shown up and behaved.”
You frowned, wanting nothing more than to get to the best part. To have him. He sighed, “But that’s why you do this, isn’t it? You make me crazy because you know you’ll get punished for it. You love to be a brat.”
Your bottom lip was caught in your teeth, he wasn’t wrong. That’s why the two of you worked so well, you liked to piss him off and he liked reminding you who was in control. The brat and the brat tamer. The only man who was able to keep you in check and the only woman who was able to get under his skin.
Without warning, his hand came down again. Hitting the same spot as before and making you see stars, the sting worse than any other time he had spanked you before. You let out a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper, “Three. Thank you.”
“Thank you, who?” he cooed, massaging again and soothing some of the burn. “Thank you, Captain.” you corrected yourself as your head fell forward. You could feel him twitch against your stomach, the ache between your legs only growing with the knowledge that just saying his nickname could cause such a reaction from him.
Hearing the name only fueled him, breaking whatever restraint he was barely using up until this moment before finishing off the remaining five blows. Each slap was harder than the last, which you didn’t think was physically possible. You were sobbing, your legs were shaking, and he was having the time of his life. Laughing at every tear that fell to the floor.
He gave you some time to collect yourself, sniffling and swatting at the liquid on your face as he pawed at your inflamed skin. You brought your hands back to his thigh, gripping as best you could to push yourself up. Thinking of how exactly you would be able to sit comfortably for the next few days.
He froze, his hands stilling against you, “What do you think you’re doing?”
You looked at him quizzically, unable to find your voice as his hand slid to push your chest back down. He faked a gasp, “You didn’t think you were done, did you?”
He tsk’d, shaking his head as his hand moved back to your right cheek. “No, no, no, you misunderstood. It’s eight on both sides, not eight in total.”
You looked at him with wide eyes, opening your mouth to protest before he silenced you with a glare. “After the shit you’ve pulled tonight you’re lucky I didn’t add an extra eight.” He furrowed his brows at you. You knew you couldn’t fight back on it, nor did you really want to.
His hand cupped the side of your face, he moved his thumb to wipe away your tears, “You’ve been so good, let's not start acting up now.”
You nodded, slowly and carefully repositioning yourself across his lap.
“Did you like having Seonghwa’s hands grabbing at you tonight? Having his lips on your neck?” he asked, catching you off guard before his hand smacked down against you. A yelp falling from your lips. “Answer me.” he demanded, lifting his hand again.
“No.” you responded with what you knew he wanted to hear.
“Were you trying to get a rise out of me, or did you just want to be a slut?”
His hand came down again, not having soothed the area, causing you to cry out. “I wanted to make you mad.” you answered honestly. He rewarded that with massaging fingers against your skin, humming in approval. “You just wanted my attention? Is that what it was?” His voice was light, a teasing tone behind it. The same one that always made your breath hitch and your core throb.
“Yes.”
“Well, you have it now.”
Slap.
“You’re not going to let another man touch you like you did tonight. You understand me?”
Slap.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Slap.
“Yes, Captain. Thank you.”
“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Who gets to make you look this pathetic.”
Slap.
“Yes, Captain. Thank you.”
“You’re mine. You understand?”
Slap.
“Yes, Captain. Thank you.”
“Remind me again, what number are we on?” he taunted, taking a break to your relief. His hand squeezing and kneeling your right cheek as you steadied your breathing. “Seven. Thank you, Captain.”
He smirked, “Good girl. Almost done then.”
His hand came down a final time, nearly knocking the air from your lungs. Your body feeling broken as you realized he was nowhere near done with you. He was just getting started.
“Eight. Thank you, Captain.” Your body deflated as you let out a breath you weren’t aware you were even holding.
“Don’t tell me I wrecked you already?” he moved his free hand to stroke the back of your hair as you hung nearly boneless across his thighs. His other hand moved from your ass to between your legs, his fingers swirling to collect the mess you had made under the black fabric. He groaned, trailing two fingers to slide against you. Your chest heaving against him at the sensation.
He removed his hand, “Get up.”
You did your best to stand on your wobbling legs, your knees nearly giving out as you pushed yourself upright. He held his two soaked fingers up, using the other hand to point at the spot on the floor in front of him.
Shakily, you crouched down until your knees dug into the synthetic fibers of the rug. You attempted to recline back to sit against your heels, your body screaming the second your ass had touched your calves.
He leaned forward, a satisfied smirk on his face as he placed his hand in front of your face. “You’re gonna’ do what you're told this time, aren’t you?” he tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face. He pressed his fingers on your bottom lip, “Open.”
You did without hesitation, allowing him to slide them against your tongue. “Clean your filth off of me.” he stated before pushing his fingers further. You closed your lips around them, sucking them as you stared up at him through your lashes. You hallowed your cheeks, your tongue wrapping around them as you sucked him further into your mouth.
He leaned forward, grabbing your neck and pulling you towards him. His fingers sliding towards the back of your throat causing you to gag. He laughed, holding you there as your eyes began to water. You let him, not daring to move despite the burning sensation.
“Good girl.” he praised, releasing his hold and removing his fingers.
He rested into the back of the couch, “I’ve done so much for you tonight and what have you done for me?”
His question was rhetorical, his hand moving to undo the belt around his waist. He unbuttoned his pants, pushing them open before looking at you expectantly.
You sat up to grab at the zipper, undoing it before hooking your fingers into the waistline of his pants and sliding them down to his ankles. He grabbed his underwear, shoving them off and kicking the clothing from his ankles. His erection slapping against his stomach, leaking and pink. You knew he was getting impatient, he wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer from giving you exactly what you wanted.
He pulled you closer, bundling your hair into his palm before holding it up and away from your face. You licked your lips, mouth nearly watering at the sight of him.
“Don’t just look at it, suck it.” he gritted.
You did not need to be told twice. You leaned down, your tongue trailing against the underside of his dick. You started at the base, licking up the length of him as he took in a deep breath through his nose. His eyes shut as his head fell back. You reached the top and opened your mouth to take him in, getting halfway down before needing to collect yourself.
The thing about Hongjoong was that his confidence wasn’t unwarranted. Any man with what he had in his pants would be arrogant beyond belief. Not only was he long, but he was thick. It always took you some time to adjust to his size.
He exhaled sharply, “Is that big mouth of yours only good for pissing me off?”
You took a breath through your nose before pushing yourself down further, taking him into the back of your throat. His mouth fell open, his hand that held your hair keeping you against him for a moment before letting you bring yourself back up. You repeated this. Your nose would touch his pelvic bone and he’d keep you still, letting out small whimpers before releasing his hold.
“You’re doing so good.” he whispered, looking down to take in your state between his legs, “So fucking good, baby.”
The pet name made you moan, your throat vibrating around him as he groaned. His hand sets a pace to thrust into your mouth, pushing your head to meet his hips.
“What? You like that?” he spoke in a broken voice between thrusts. You moaned in agreement, causing him to shutter at the sensation of your throat.
He balled your hair in his fist as he pulled you off of him completely. Saliva dripped down your chin and you looked at him with pleading eyes. He moved his hands to grab your shoulders, lifting you from the floor and pulling you to straddle his lap. His dick pressed against your dripping untouched folds.
He pushed your underwear to the side. His hands unclasping your bra and pulling it off before they found your waist, pressing into it with bruising force as he looked up at you above him. He slid you forward, his tip just grazing your clit as your jaw fell slack. “Look at me.” he sterned, halting all movements until your eyes found him.
“Tell me, do you when I call you baby?” he asked again, pushing you back painstakingly slowly before pulling you up against him. You nodded, “I do.”
He hummed, pushing you back again and pulling you forward. His tip hits your bundle of nerves every time causing you to bite down on your lip. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” he teased, smirking as he moved his lips to kiss against your chest. “Yes.” you gasped as he turned his head to suck your nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it before biting down lightly. He moved back, “Say it.”
He kissed up your throat, a hand replacing where his mouth had been as his lips made their way to your face. “Tell me you’re mine.” he spoke softly against your neck, the hand on your waist lifting you from his lap before moving to line himself with your dripping cunt.
You looked at his face, this wasn’t the Hongjoong you were used to. This was vulnerable. It wasn’t just being possessive, it was almost desperate. His eyes scanned you nervously, all dominance he had slowly slipping from him with every second you prolonged your answer. This wasn’t coming from a man you were just messing around with, this was coming from his heart.
You realized after seeing him alongside someone else, regardless of the situation, you never wanted to feel that again. He couldn’t be with anyone else. Your heart sinks just at the idea alone.
“I’m yours.”
A smile broke across this face, his hand sliding up your chest to grip the back of your neck. He crashed his lips against yours. The kiss was messy and desperate, teeth clashing, heavy breathing, almost as if you were trying to swallow each other whole. Like this level of closeness wasn’t close enough.
His hand on your waist pushed you down onto him. Even with how wet you were, it was still a stretch. It always was. Your hips met his own as he broke the kiss to press his forehead to yours, eyes shut as he regulated his breathing. Your walls squeezing against him as if they were trying to memorize every vein.
“You’re always so tight for me.” he breathed out, lifting his head to catch your open lips.
Your chest heaved, your heart racing as you kissed him back. Your hands found his shoulders. Kicking off your heels and pulling your thighs to your chest. You planted your feet onto the couch beside his thighs. He laughed, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, “You ready?”
“Please.”
His eyes rolled, “Beg me again. Use my name.”
“Hongjoong, please.” you complied. His eyes met yours, pupils so blown they were nearly completely black. He lifted you and slammed you back down against him and you nearly screamed at the feeling. He was so deep inside of you you could feel it in your stomach.
He picked up his pace, your mind blanking as your jaw hung open. You tried to match his pace, your brain growing fuzzy with every thrust into you. He groaned, “Don’t tap out on me yet, baby. We need to let everyone outside know who you belong to.”
You moaned at the thought. The idea makes you feel slightly exposed but also excited. He hummed, “Fuck. You’re squeezing me so hard, you like that idea? You want everyone to know you’re my little slut?”
His mouth found your neck before sliding back to your chest, sucking lovebites into every inch he could get to while bouncing you against him. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking it with a pop before pressing his head against you, “Tell them, baby. Tell them who’s making you feel this good.”
You felt that familiar sensation building in the pit of your stomach, barely able to process what he was even saying with how hard he was pounding into you.
A slap against your ass brought you back, a whimper leaving your lips as he glared up at you. “Tell them.”
You managed to get his name out, not nearly as loud as he wanted you to. Earning another slap, your already burning skin feeling as if it was being torn apart. “Hongjoong, please.” you begged louder, tears building once again. “Please, what baby? Do you even know what you're begging for?” he spoke through gritted teeth, pushing himself through your tightness. You knew he wasn’t going to be lasting much longer.
He brought his hand between the two of you, his thumb pressing circles into your clit as you shuttered. Your nails digging into his shoulders as he moaned at the sting.
He pistoned up harder, with more force than you knew he was capable of. It felt like he was in your throat, nearly splitting you in half. Hitting relentlessly against the spot that made your vision blurry and your mind static. You couldn’t even remember your own name if he asked, all that was in your head was his.
“You’re mine.” he grunted, “Mine.”
You nodded, unable to form words as his thumb worked to tighten the band in your stomach. “Only I get to fuck you this dumb.” his voice broke into a whimper as you felt him twitch inside of you. “This pussy was made for me.” His head fell back, his eyebrows knitted.
Your body was almost useless, just a mess of almost overstimulating pleasure as you let him move you as fast and hard as he wanted. Just holding on and enjoying the ride as you tried to remind yourself to breathe.
“Hongjoong-“ you breathed out, feeling the build up reaching its peak as he nodded. His head fell forward, lips moving to press against yours. “I know, baby, I can feel you.”
His thumb sped up, “Fuck, cum for me like a good girl.”
As if your body was waiting for those words, the band snapped. Your walls locking around him as your vision went white, your head fell into his shoulder as you moaned out his name.
His pace was relentless as he helped you through your orgasm, holding back on his own until you stilled against him. “Fuck, baby, I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.” he said as he sped up, chasing his own high while you were clamped around him. “No one else compares to this.” he whined.
Your hands planted against him, lifting your face to watch as he fell apart. You kissed up his neck using the small amount of strength you held onto, biting into his skin before moving to his ear. “Then fill me up, I’m yours.”
He whimpered, “Say it again.”
“I’m yours Hongjoong, only yours.”
He moaned, his hips sputtering as you felt his warm strings of cum coat your insides. The pressure alone made you gasp as you sat completely into his lap, making sure he stayed buried inside of you. His hands blindly gripped at whatever he could find. One wrapping at the back of your neck and the other clutching your hip against him. The burn of it letting you know you would be waking up tomorrow with marks of his fingers.
He pushed into you, bringing you down to kiss your lips. Holding you there until you squeezed him dry. Not wanting to let a single drop of him escape you.
“Mine.” he whispered, kissing you softly.
“Mine.” you smiled, biting his bottom lip.
“Annoyingly yours.” he sighed with a grin, pushing you to rest against his chest. You hummed, your hands smoothing over the crinkled fabric of his shirt. A thought breaking through your after sex hazy brain, “What did you mean when you said you were making sure I’d catch you on purpose?”
He laughed leaning his head to look down at you, “You really want to have a serious conversation while I’m still inside of you?”
“If not now, when?”
He chuckled, tapping your hip as he led you to lay on the couch. He took your legs and pulled them across his lap, his fingers working to massage your calves.
He let out a deep breath, “I- I’ve wanted to see if you had any actual feelings for me. If this was something more than just- this.” He waved a hand over the two of your bodies. “You said you weren’t looking for something serious, and neither was I- At the start.”
Your heart skipped a beat, listening to him intently. “But you.” he gripped your ankle jokingly, his head falling to face his lap. “I’m not good at this.” he sighed, “I don’t do this.”
“Are you trying to tell me you like me?” you ask, eyes wide as you fully processed the situation in front of you. A smile spread on your face as he flushed. You kicked your feet in his lap, your tone teasing, “Ew, Kim Hongjoong do you have feelings for me?”
“Not anymore.” he huffed, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms over his face in defeat. You pushed yourself up as best as you could, your body weak as you grabbed at the front of his shirt and pulled yourself back down with you. He looked at you in shock, catching himself on his hands and hovering over your body. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, “That’s a shame because I think I like you.”
His face twisted between shock and joy, a smile forming then dropping as if he was expecting you to say you were kidding. “You do?” he asked quietly, still gauging your response.
“You think I just let anyone cum inside me?”
“You’re about to go back over my lap.” he stated flatly.
You laughed, moving up to place your lips against his. He hummed, one of his hands coming to lace into your hair as he pulled you closer. Your heart was full, feeling a new type of feeling in your stomach. Something lighter. Fluttering.
You separated yourself, biting your lip, “At least take me home first.”
He smirked, pushing your hair from your eyes and taking a moment to study your face. Almost as if he was trying to remember every detail about this moment.
A loud pounding came from the door, one of the workers calling that they needed to get ready to close for the night. His face suddenly shifted, “Please tell me you drove here.”
“I mean I can but it would be a lie.”
“I gave my keys to the bouncer so Seonghwa could take my stuff home. It’s nice out, we could walk?” he asked, settling into your body, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone lazily. “There’s one teeny problem with that idea.” You respond, combing your fingers through his sweat filled hair. His eyes closed, leaning into your palm.
“You ripped my only clothes in half.”
His eyes shot open, “I’ll order us a car.”
“Yes, I’ve always wanted to be half naked in a stranger's car.” you rolled your eyes. His fingers pinched your lips between this thumb and index finger, forcing you to face him as he shot you a warning look. “I’ll let that one go because you just confessed your undying love for me, but don’t push it.” he moved down to place his lips on yours before removing himself completely.
He grabbed his phone to tap the screen before sliding his pants back on. You reached to snatch your bra from the floor and looped your arms back into it. After he zipped himself, his hands moved to his shirt buttons, undoing them before shrugging it off to reveal a black t-shirt. He passed the button up down to you. You wrapped yourself into it, standing as you pulled it down. It fell just low enough to cover your ass.
He groaned, dragging you into him by the wrist, “You’re wearing only my clothing from now on.”
“Your closet is more expensive than mine anyway.” your muscles screamed at you as you pushed onto your toes to kiss him again. You felt him smile into the kiss, his hand combing through the back of your hair. He moved back to exhale, his eyes bright as he looked down at you, “I like you an embarrassing amount.”
“Well thank God you finally got that out, it was getting sad.” you joked. He laughed out a “Brat” before his grip tightened in your hair, slamming his lips back on yours.
His phone chimed and he spoke against your lips, “Car is here.”
He grabbed his jacket and the two of you slipped out of the room, rushing to make it to the front door. You both passed by his ex. You made sure he couldn’t see you before you extended the hand he wasn’t holding to give her the finger with a smile. She went to follow after you but was held back by her friend.
Once you hit the outside he put you in front of him to place you into the waiting car. You hissed as you sat down. When you were situated you took a breath, not being prepared to move so quickly after the events that just occurred.
When you looked up, a smile broke across your face. “JIHUN!” you cheered, the same driver from earlier smiling sheepishly back.
Hongjoong shot you a look that was a mixture of confusion and annoyance, pointing to the mirror, “You know him.”
“We go way back.”
“Is this.. the DJ?” he asked shyly as he shifted the car into drive.
Hongjoong took off his jacket and placed it over your legs, extending a possessive arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, I am.” He practically pulled you into his lap as he continued to glare at the man in the front. You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder. He moved to whisper into your hair, “Don’t worry, I’ll add him to your next spanking.”
And you could tell by Jihun’s red face that he had heard him loud and clear, but that was probably exactly what he wanted
Summary: Drunk you has no filter and your husband has always been a weak, weak man when it comes to you. He just didn’t expect your family planning conversation to awaken the caveman part of his brain or a raging breeding kink in both of you.
Warnings: smut!MDNI, established relationship, trying to conceive, pregnancy, soft dom!cheol, domestic fluff, humor, healthy communication, breeding kink awakening, enthusiastic consent, multiple + creative locations and one very smug husband who knocked you up in paradise, married life, baby fever, hormone-induced chaos, obsessed husband!Cheol x obsessed wife!reader, as usual I might be missing something.
W.C: 18.1k
Sometimes being married to Choi Seungcheol felt like a fever dream as you often wondered how you managed to bag a man that ticked every box. He had his moments, his little beige flags as you liked to call them, but you knew that man loved you which is why you’re seeking him out as soon as you stumble through your front door. You had an itch only your husband could scratch and if you were right, he would still be holed up in the home office.
Seungcheol had been reading reports in his home office when he heard the front door slam. A quick look at his watch alerts him to the time, 1:47 AM.
His eyes narrowed. Why didn’t you call him to come pick you up? He gets out of his chair when he hears the unmistakable sound of heels being kicked off carelessly and soft humming.
“My husband!” your voice singsongs from the down the hall. “Where are youuu?”
He barely has time to make it to the hallway before you stumble into the room seconds later, eyes glazed and clutching your purse like it’s plotting against you.
“Babyyyy,” you gasp, “There you are.”
His brows draw together. “You’re drunk.”
You blink at him, smile growing. “Nuh-uh, just a tiny bit tipsy.” You measure with your fingers before breaking into a fit of giggles. Seungcheol can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you drunk—it’s still one hand—as you can hold your liquor very well.
You walk—well, sway—across the room and launch yourself at him. He stumbles half a step back, catching you as your arms wrap tightly around his waist, face burying into his chest.
“You smell expensive and…sexy,” you mumble.
“What happened?” he asks, voice low.
“Work has been shit,” you whisper. “Needed a—” you hiccup, “—a break.”
He exhales slowly before his hand finds its way to your back. His grip tightens as he studies your lightly smudged eyeliner and flushed cheeks. The scent of your favorite wine lingers on your breath but beneath it lies your usual perfume, brown sugar, coconut, vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, though there’s no bite in his tone.
You giggle against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “You married this mess.”
A beat of silence passes before his lips twitch despite himself. “What am going to do with you, huh?”
The weight of you against him is familiar, grounding even, despite the alcohol-fueled abandon in your movements. Seungcheol’s hand moves in slow, deliberate circles against your back, a habit he’s developed over the years; one that always seems to settle you.
“Do with me?” you repeat, pulling back just enough to look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes are glassy but focused entirely on him, pupils blown wide. “I have some ideas.”
He catches the shift in your tone immediately, the way your fingers stop their aimless fidgeting and instead trace deliberate paths along his chest. His jaw tightens.
“You’re drunk,” he repeats, firmer this time, even as his treacherous body responds to your proximity.
“In loveeeeee” you respond as you attempt to sing lyrics from Drunk in Love.
Seungcheol’s resolve wavers as you butcher the Beyoncé song, swaying in his arms with unselfconscious joy. Despite everything—the late hour, the worry that had knotted in his chest when he heard the door slam, the very valid concern about your current state—he feels his lips curve into a reluctant smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his hands have already moved to steady you, one sliding to your hip while the other cups the back of your head.
“Ridiculously in love with you,” you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. The motion throws off your already questionable balance, and you stumble forward again.
He catches you easily, muscle memory from years of being your safety net. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Ooh, bed,” you waggle your eyebrows in a way that would be seductive if you weren’t also hiccupping. “See? You do have ideas.”
“To sleep,” he clarifies, already guiding you toward the bedroom with his arm firmly around your waist. “We’re going to bed to sleep. You’re going to wake up tomorrow wondering why you thought drinking on a work night was a good idea.”
“Tomorrow me’s problem,” you declare, then immediately contradict yourself by clinging tighter to him. “Don’t you dare leave me alone tonight, Choi Seungcheol.”
Something in your voice—beneath the alcohol and the playfulness—sounds small. Vulnerable.
His expression softens. “Never,” he promises quietly. “Now come on, let’s get you changed.”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You stop and ask randomly as he sits you on the bathroom counter and tries to remove your makeup.
Seungcheol blinks. This was getting more surreal by the second. You were sitting before him, arms hanging off his shoulders with your head tilted with genuine curiosity and you wanted to know if he’d love you…as a worm? He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his hands curve around your waist.
“A worm?” he repeats, deadpan. “Seriously?”
“Yahhhh, you wouldn’t?” You pout.
Seungcheol sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh that somehow still sounds fond. He reaches for the micellar water and a cotton pad, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can start wiping away your makeup.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, ignoring your question as he gently swipes at your eyeliner.
“You’re avoiding the question!” you accuse, though you do hold still,mostly. “That means you wouldn’t love me. You’d just…leave me in the dirt somewhere. Alone. A poor, lonely worm—”
“I would build you a terrarium,” he interrupts, deadpan, moving to your other eye. “With the best soil money can buy. Organic, the expensive kind.”
You gasp, eyes flying open and nearly getting makeup remover in them. He gently presses them closed again with his thumb.
“I said hold still.”
“You’d really build me a terrarium?” Your voice has gone soft, touched, as if he’s just promised you the moon.
“Mhm.” He’s focused on removing your mascara now, touch careful and practiced. “With a heated lamp. Perfect pH balance in the soil. I’d probably hire someone to monitor your…worm health.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m answering your question.” His lips twitch as he tosses the used cotton pad aside and reaches for another. “You’d be the most spoiled worm in existence. I’d make sure of it.”
You’re quiet for a moment and when he glances at your face, you’re smiling at him with such open adoration it makes something in his chest squeeze tight.
“I love you,” you whisper.
His hand pauses mid-swipe. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering.
“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even if you ask me stupid questions at two in the morning.”
“Not stupid,” you mumble but you’re already melting into him again, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Important worm logistics.”
“Right. Very important.” He pulls back just enough to finish cleaning your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “Now let’s get you into pajamas before you ask me what I’d do if you were a dolphin.”
“Ooh, would you—”
“No.”
You cup his cheeks in your hands squishing them together, looking at him with those eyes before you kiss him. “Please, Cheollie? Want you?”
“Not tonight, princess.” It’s utterly amazing, the way you switch from asking him unhinged shit to asking him to fuck you. It should give him whiplash but it’s not the first time it’s happened.
“‘m not drunk…” you pout. “Can’t a girl just want her hot husband?”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexes under your palms, his eyes darkening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He gently pulls your hands away from his face but doesn’t let go, instead intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You can,” he says, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And you will, tomorrow. When you’re sober and won’t regret it.”
“I would never regret you,” you protest, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “Not possible. Scientifically impossible.”
“Scientifically impossible,” he repeats and there’s amusement threading through the restraint in his tone. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” You nod seriously, the motion making you slightly dizzy. “Did research. Very thorough.”
His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand; that same grounding gesture, keeping himself anchored as much as you. “Your research involved how much wine exactly?”
“Irrelevant data,” you whisper, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The conclusion is still valid.”
He inhales sharply and for a moment you think you’ve won. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip but then he’s pulling back, putting necessary distance between you even as everything in his expression says he doesn’t want to.
“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk,” he says firmly. “I don’t care how much you pout or how many times you tell me you’re fine. This is non-negotiable.”
You study him for a long moment, his set jaw, his dark eyes that are clearly affected despite his iron will, the way his hand trembles just slightly against yours.
“You really won’t?” you ask, quieter now.
“I really won’t.” His expression softens. “Ask me tomorrow. When you can look me in the eye without the room spinning. When you’ll actually remember every detail.” His voice drops to something almost possessive. “Because when I do touch you, I want you to remember all of it.”
The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in your stomach despite your alcohol-hazed state. You bite your lip and his eyes track the movement with dangerous focus before he deliberately looks away.
“Evil man,” you mutter. “Making me wait.”
“Responsible husband,” he corrects, then slides you off the counter and scoops you up bridal style in one smooth motion. “Now come on. Pajamas, water, bed, in that order.”
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “But I’m picking the pajamas.”
“As long as you actually put them on instead of trying to seduce me again.”
“No promises.”
He huffs what might be a laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Y’know everyone thinks I married you for your status and money.” You say switching the subject again as he starts unbuttoning your shirt.
“No, you didn’t. You had no idea who my family was when we met so I know it’s not that.”
“I married you for that fat ass.” you reply, hands drifting down and grabbing his ass. “don’t need your money.” You grin at the look on his face.
“God, I forgot how handsy you get with alcohol in your system.”
“Horny too but I guess I don’t do it for you cause…what kinda hisb—” you hiccup “husband doesn’t like his wife t-throwing herself at him? Is it Jeonghan? Is Hannie prettier than me?”
Seungcheol freezes mid-button, his eyes snapping to yours with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
“Did you just—” He stops, takes a breath, then continues with strained patience. “Did you seriously just ask me if I want Jeonghan?”
“Well, you don’t want me,” you say, bottom lip trembling in a way that would be more effective if you weren’t also still squeezing his ass. “He’s got nice hair,” you say defensively, words slurring slightly. “And that whole…pretty boy thing going on. Maybe you like that better than—”
“Jesus Christ woman,” Seungcheol mutters, catching your wandering hands and firmly moving them to your sides. “Okay, listen to me very carefully.”
He cups your face with both hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“First of all, Jeonghan is my best friend and I love him like a brother, which means the thought of anything else makes me want to bleach my brain.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he continues, voice firm but gentle. “Second, I always want you. Every single day. Sometimes so much it’s inconvenient, like in the middle of board meetings when you text me something cute.”
“Really?” you sniffle.
“Really.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “The reason I’m not touching you right now isn’t because I don’t want to. It’s because I respect you too much to take advantage when you’re drunk. Do you understand the difference?”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “So, you do think I’m prettier than Hannie?”
A laugh bursts out of him, unexpected and genuine. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”
“But am I prettier?”
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says and the sincerity in his voice cuts through your alcohol-fogged brain. “Drunk, sober, first thing in the morning, all dressed up, doesn’t matter. It’s always you. Only you.”
Your eyes well up. “Cheollie…”
“Oh no.” He recognizes the signs immediately. “No crying. We’re not doing drunk crying tonight.”
“But you’re so nice to me,” you warble, tears already spilling over. “And I love you so much and you built me a theoretical worm terrarium, and you think I’m pretty—”
“I think we need to get you in pajamas right now,” he says, already reaching for the shirt buttons again with renewed determination, “before this spiral gets worse.”
“’m not spiraling,” you protest, even as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Just got a lot of feelings about my hot, respectful, worm-loving husband.”
“Worm-loving,” he repeats under his breath. “What is my life?”
“Your life is amazing,” you inform him, helpfully (unhelpfully) trying to unbutton your own shirt and just making the process more difficult. “You have me. And my ass. Which is also amazing.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly, gently batting your hands away so he can actually finish unbuttoning. “I married it, remember?”
You gasp, delighted. “You do remember! See, we’re perfect for each other. You married my ass, I married your ass—”
“That’s not how marriage works.”
“—it’s like…ass-tronomy. No, wait. Ass-trology? We’re ass-trologically compatible.”
Seungcheol pauses, shirt halfway off your shoulders, and just looks at you. “Did you just—you can’t just put ‘ass’ in front of words and expect them to make sense.”
“Ass-olutely can,” you say with complete conviction.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly praying for strength. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“You love it,” you singsong, finally cooperating enough to let him pull your shirt off. “You love meee and my drunk ass puns.”
“I love you despite your drunk ass puns,” he corrects, reaching for one of his old t-shirts from the drawer. “Arms up.”
You obey, lifting your arms like a toddler as he slides the shirt over your head. It’s enormous on you, falling nearly to your knees and smells like his cologne and laundry detergent. You immediately burrow into it with a happy sigh.
“Now pants,” he says, reaching for your waistband.
“Ooh, taking my pants off. Scandalous.”
“We’re literally married.”
“Still scandalous.” You boop his nose as he efficiently unbuttons your pants. “You’re being very professional about this. Very doctor-y. Do you do this for all your patients?”
“You’re my only patient and you’re testing my patience,” he mutters, helping you step out of your pants. “Other leg. Good.”
“Such a good caretaker,” you coo, patting his head as he kneels in front of you. “Gonna leave you five stars on MangoPlate. ‘Husband refused to have sex with drunk wife. Very responsible. Would recommend.’”
He looks up at you with an expression of pure suffering. “Please never write that review.”
“‘Also has a great ass,’” you continue thoughtfully. “‘Ass-ceptional, even.’”
“I’m begging you to stop.”
“‘Ass-tounding restraint—’”
He stands abruptly and just picks you up, cutting off your commentary as you squeal in surprise. “Okay. That’s enough. Water and bed. Now.”
“You can’t silence me!” you declare, even as you wrap your arms around his neck. “The people deserve to know about your ass!”
“The people know plenty,” he says, carrying you toward the bed with the long-suffering patience of a saint. “Now drink this.”
He somehow manages to grab the water bottle from the nightstand one-handed and present it to you. You take it obediently, suddenly realizing how thirsty you are.
“Good girl,” he murmurs and even in your drunk state, you don’t miss the way his voice dips on those words.
You lower the water bottle, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just say things like that and then refuse to—”
“Drink,” he interrupts firmly, tipping the bottle back up toward your lips.
You drink, plotting your revenge but the cool water actually does help clear some of the fog. When you’ve had enough, he sets the bottle aside and carefully deposits you onto your side of the bed.
“Stay,” he commands, pointing at you like you’re a mischievous puppy.
“Woof,” you respond because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth has completely dissolved. He huffs what might be a laugh and disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running and then he’s back with a damp washcloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come here,” he says softly, and when you scoot closer, he gently wipes your face; getting the spots he missed earlier, cooling your flushed cheeks. It’s tender and intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.
“Cheol?” you whisper.
“Mm?”
“’m really glad I married you. Not just for your ass.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know.”
“For your heart too. And your face. And the way you take care of me even when I’m being ridiculous. Oh, and that dick, can’t forget about that.”
“Woman, I swear to—”
“Just lemme keep it warm, please?” Your hand moves to rest low on his stomach. There you go trying to get him to fuck you, again.
“Baby, no. We both know you won’t stop there.”
You open your mouth to protest—to make very compelling arguments about your self-control and how you would totally just keep things innocent—but he cuts you off by pressing his thumb gently against your lips.
“Don’t,” he warns, though there’s affection in his eyes. “Don’t make promises drunk-you can’t keep. I know you.”
You deflate slightly because, fine, he’s right. Sober-you has minimal self-control around him. Drunk-you has absolutely none which is exactly why you keep asking.
“Just wanna feel you inside, promise I’ll behave.”
Seungcheol’s composure cracks visibly, his breath hitches, his grip on the washcloth tightening as his eyes darken with want. For a moment, you think you’ve finally broken through his resolve.
Then he closes his eyes, jaw working and when he opens them again his expression is pained but firm.
“You’re killing me,” he says roughly. “You know that?”
“Good,” you mumble, though you’re already yawning. “Suffer with me.” You say pressing your lips to his.
“I shouldn’t have to deal with my ovulation alone.” And suddenly the wheels are turning in Seungcheol’s head. He goes completely still against your lips, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he processes what you just said.
“Your…what?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes wide.
“Ovulation,” you repeat matter-of-factly, like you’re discussing the weather. “Why d’you think I’m so horny? It’s science, Cheollie. Biology. Nature.” You wave your hand dramatically. “My body wants a baby and it’s making me crazy and you’re—you’re just sitting here looking all hot and responsible and—”
“Okay,” he interrupts, voice strangled. “Okay, we’re not, you can’t just drop that information on me while you’re drunk and expect me to—”
“To what?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious despite the alcohol. “Finally give your wife what she wants?”
His eyes flutter closed and he takes several deep breaths, clearly fighting an internal battle. When he opens them again, there’s a new tension in his expression; want, restraint, and something darker all tangled together.
“That’s not fair,” he says roughly. “You can’t use the ovulation card. That’s playing dirty.”
“Everything’s fair in love and baby-making,” you counter, then giggle at your own modification of the phrase.
“We are not having this conversation right now,” he says firmly, even as his hand unconsciously tightens on your hip. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober, when we can have an actual discussion about—about family planning and—”
“Already know I want your babies,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “Known that for years. Since like…our third date probably.”
“Third date,” he repeats faintly.
“Mhm. You were wearing that gray sweater and you laughed at my joke and I just thought—” you sigh dreamily, “—‘yeah, I want tiny humans with his laugh and dimples.’”
Something shifts in his expression; it goes soft and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart squeeze even through the alcohol haze.
“You’re not playing fair at all,” he whispers.
“Don’t wanna play fair,” you whisper back. “Want you. Want your baby. Want—” another yawn interrupts you, “—want you to stop being so responsible and just…”
But exhaustion is finally catching up with you, the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster of the evening taking their toll. Your eyes are getting heavier despite your best efforts.
Seungcheol notices immediately, his expression gentling. “There we go,” he murmurs, carefully maneuvering you under the covers. “Finally.”
“’m not tired,” you protest weakly, even as you burrow into the pillow.
“Sure you’re not.” He slides in next to you and immediately you roll toward him, seeking his warmth.
“Cheol?” you mumble against his chest.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Tomorrow…we can talk about it? The baby thing?”
His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”
“And you’ll actually consider it? Not just…say we’ll talk and then avoid it?”
There’s a pause, and then, “I’ve been considering it for months,” he admits quietly. “I just wanted to wait for the right time. When we were both ready.”
You manage to pull back just enough to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Months?”
He smiles, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I cleared out the guest room last month? I’ve been planning…thinking about turning it into a nursery. Eventually.”
“You—” your eyes well up again, “—you sneaky, wonderful man.”
“Don’t cry,” he says, but he’s smiling as he wipes away the tears with his thumb. “Save it for tomorrow when you can properly yell at me for not telling you sooner.”
“Gonna yell and cry,” you inform him. “And then jump your bones.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says dryly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”
“Worth it,” you mumble, already drifting. “Got you to admit you want babies…”
“I want your babies,” he corrects softly. “There’s a difference.”
But you’re already asleep, a small smile on your face, wrapped securely in your husband’s arms. Seungcheol lies awake a little longer, looking down at you; his drunk, ridiculous, beautiful wife who just ambushed him with baby talk and ass puns in the same conversation.
“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, echoing his earlier question.
But this time, he’s smiling as he says it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow they’ll talk—really talk—about the future. About expanding their family. About all the things he’s been too cautious to bring up, worried about timing and readiness and a thousand other factors.
But tonight, you’re here, safe and warm and his, talking about wanting his babies since the third date.
Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.
He presses one more kiss to your forehead before settling in, keeping you close. His ovulating, drunk, perfect disaster of a wife. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
The next morning, you wake up to three things; a pounding headache that feels like a marching band has taken up residence in your skull, blinding sunlight streaming through curtains you thought you closed and the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.
You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it and when you try to sit up, the room spins just enough to make you regret every life choice that led to this moment.
“Oh god,” you mutter, flopping back down.
Fragments of last night start filtering back through the haze. Coming home late. Seungcheol’s concerned face. The bathroom counter. Worm terrarium? You definitely said something about worms. And then—
Your eyes fly open.
“Oh no.”
The baby conversation. The ovulation announcement. Your very detailed commentary about your husband’s ass. The—you bury your face in your hands—the begging.
“Kill me now,” you whisper to the empty room.
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
You nearly jump out of your skin. Seungcheol is leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and wearing an expression that can only be described as deeply amused.
He’s already somewhat dressed for the day in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a shower, looking infuriatingly well-rested and attractive. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you look like a gremlin who lost a fight with a bottle of wine.
“How long have you been standing there?” you croak.
“Long enough to hear you bargaining with God.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. “How’s the head?”
“Like I deserve it,” you admit, gratefully reaching for the mug. “How much did I—” you pause, coffee halfway to your lips, “—how bad was it?”
His smile grows. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“Cheol.”
“You asked if I’d love you as a worm,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You accused me of wanting Jeonghan. You made approximately ten puns involving the word ‘ass.’ And—” his expression shifts to something more heated, “—you made some very compelling arguments about baby-making.”
You choke on your coffee. “Oh my god.”
“Also, apparently you decided you married me for my ‘fat ass’ and not my money or status, which is good to know.”
“I hate everything,” you moan, setting the coffee down so you can bury your face in your hands again. “I’m never drinking again. I’m becoming a nun. I’m moving to a remote island where I can’t embarrass myself—”
“Hey.” His hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His expression is soft now, affectionate. “You were cute.”
“I was a disaster.”
“A cute disaster.” He coils a loose curl around his finger. “You always are when you drink. It’s part of your charm.”
“There’s nothing charming about drunk me telling you I want to—” you can’t even finish the sentence, heat flooding your face.
“Keep me warm?” he supplies helpfully. “Just want it inside you, you’d behave, you promised?”
“Seungcheol.”
He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying your mortification. “Or was it the part where you said your ovulation shouldn’t be a solo activity?”
You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. He laughs, catching it easily and tossing it aside before catching both your wrists in his hands.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes dancing with mischief, “you were very…articulate about your needs.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” you announce, trying to pull away. “Wake me in ten years when I’ve died of embarrassment.”
“Can’t do that either.” He releases one wrist but keeps hold of the other, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point. “We have things to discuss. Remember?”
Your heart skips. The amusement in his expression hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there now; something serious and warm and a little nervous.
“The…baby thing?” you venture quietly.
“The baby thing,” he confirms. “But first—” he reaches over to the nightstand and retrieves two pills and a glass of water you hadn’t noticed, “—pain meds. Then breakfast. Then we talk.”
“Cheol, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”
“You didn’t.” He’s firm about that, waiting until you take the medication before continuing. “You surprised me, yeah. But uncomfortable? No.” He pauses. “Turned on while trying desperately to maintain my morals? Absolutely, but not uncomfortable.”
Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I really tried to break you, huh?”
“You almost succeeded,” he admits. “The ovulation thing was a low blow.”
“It’s true though,” you say, then immediately want to take it back because…
“I know.” His voice drops, eyes darkening. “I checked the calendar while you were sleeping. You’re right in the middle of your fertile window.”
The air between you shifts, charges. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in bed, wearing only his t-shirt and he’s looking at you like,
“Breakfast first,” he says firmly, standing up. “You need food and hydration. Then we’ll talk. Really talk. About timing, readiness and what we both want.”
“And if we decide we want the same thing?” you ask, unable to help yourself.
He leans down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside you, bringing his face close to yours. “Then I clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” he murmurs. “And give you exactly what you were begging for last night.”
Your breath catches.
“But sober,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before straightening. “And enthusiastically consenting to every single detail.”
“That’s—” you have to clear your throat, “—very responsible of you.”
“Someone has to be.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and baby? For the record?” He looks back with a devastating smile. “I’ve been ready for months. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting in bed, headache temporarily forgotten, heart racing with possibilities. From the kitchen, you hear him call, “French toast or pancakes?”
“French toast!” you call back, already scrambling out of bed.
Suddenly, you’re feeling much better about facing this day and the conversation that could change everything.
You pad into the kitchen after finishing your morning routine. He’s plating the last of breakfast before sitting down and as you go to take your place beside him, he pulls you onto his lap.
“Cheol?”
“You asked me to keep it warm last night,” he whispers. “Think you can do that while we sit and have breakfast, love? Bet I’d be able to slide right in.”
You freeze, every nerve ending suddenly awake and hyper-aware. Your headache? Gone. The lingering nausea? Vanished. There’s only Seungcheol beneath you, solid and warm, his breath hot against your ear.
“I…what?” Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
His hands settle on your hips, fingers slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing. “You heard me.” His voice is low, rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “You wanted this last night. Said you’d behave. That you just wanted to feel full.”
“I was drunk,” you manage, even as your body is already responding, already leaning back against his chest.
“And now you’re sober.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “So, I’m asking properly. Do you want this? Want to sit here, keeping me warm while we eat breakfast and talk about our future?”
Your breath hitches. This is…it’s obscene. It’s intimate in a way that makes your head spin and you want it so badly you can barely think straight.
“What about the talking?” you whisper. “The responsible conversation?”
“We can still talk.” One hand slides up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. “I can be very articulate, even when I’m buried inside you. Question is, can you?”
It’s a challenge. One you’ve never backed down from.
You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, intense but there’s a question there too. Real consent. Making sure this is what you actually want and not just lingering drunk decisions.
“Yes,” you breathe. “I want this.”
His grip tightens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shift in his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath you. “Want you. Always want you.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “Lift up a little, baby.”
You obey, bracing your hands on his thighs as he shifts beneath you. You hear the rustle of fabric, feel him pushing his sweatpants down just enough, and then,
“No underwear?” His voice is strained as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, discovering you came to the kitchen in just his shirt and nothing else.
“Seemed inefficient,” you manage, gasping when his fingers brush where you need him most.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and you feel him stroke himself once, twice. “You’re already so wet.”
“Told you,” you say breathlessly. “Ovulation. Biology. Can’t help—oh—”
He’s guiding himself to your entrance, letting you feel the blunt pressure of him. “Slow,” he murmurs. “Take your time. We’ve got all morning.”
You lower yourself gradually, inch by torturous inch, feeling the stretch and burn and perfect fullness of him. His hands are steady on your hips, helping you and his breathing is harsh against your neck.
“That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Just like that, baby. So good for me.”
When you’re fully seated, both of you still for a moment. You’re trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it; sitting in his lap in your bright kitchen, completely joined, the morning sun streaming through the windows.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“So okay,” you breathe. “So…Cheol, you feel—”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I know, baby. Now—” he reaches around you for the plates, sliding them closer, “—breakfast.”
You laugh, slightly delirious. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” He picks up a fork, cutting a piece of French toast. “Open.”
This is insane. You’re sitting on your husband’s lap in the kitchen, full of him, while he feeds you breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You open your mouth and he slides the fork in. The French toast is perfect, crispy outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon and syrup. You chew slowly, hyper-aware of every small movement, how even that makes you shift slightly on him.
His breath catches. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?” You shift deliberately, just a little and feel him twitch inside you. “I’m just eating breakfast.”
“You’re playing with fire,” he growls but he’s already cutting another piece. “Now, let’s talk about this baby thing.”
You nearly choke on nothing. “Now? You want to have this conversation now?”
“Why not?” His free hand settles possessively on your lower belly, thumb stroking just above where you’re joined. “Seems like the perfect time. Can’t run away. Can’t deflect. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
His voice is teasing but there’s an edge of seriousness underneath. He really does want to talk about this. Like this. Your utterly insane, wonderful husband.
“Okay,” you manage, reaching for your coffee with shaking hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“So,” Seungcheol says, his voice remarkably steady despite the situation, “you said last night you’ve wanted this since our third date.”
You take a sip of coffee, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that you can feel every minute shift of his body. “I—yeah. I mean, not immediately, obviously but I knew. Knew that I wanted a future with you. Kids. All of it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” His hand is still on your belly, thumb tracing idle patterns that are absolutely not helping your concentration.
“I don’t know. Timing? We were building our careers, and I didn’t want to pressure you, and—” you gasp softly as he shifts slightly beneath you, “—are you doing that on purpose?”
“No,” he says but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just getting comfortable. Keep talking.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’re stalling.” He offers you another bite of French toast. “Come on. I want to hear this.” You accept the bite, chewing while trying to organize your thoughts, which is nearly impossible when you’re so acutely aware of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so completely.
“I was scared,” you finally admit. “That maybe you didn’t want the same things. That I’d bring it up and you’d feel trapped or obligated and then months kept passing and it felt like the moment never came up naturally and—” you laugh shakily, “—I guess drunk me decided to just rip the bandaid off.”
“Drunk you has terrible timing but good instincts.” His lips brush your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for months too.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He sets down the fork, both hands coming to rest on your hips now. “I meant what I said earlier. About clearing out the guest room. I’ve been thinking about it constantly…what it would be like. You, pregnant. A baby. Our baby.”
Your heart stutters. “Cheol…”
“I think about you with a bump,” he continues, voice going rougher. “About feeling them kick. About watching you become a mother.” His hips shift up slightly, making you gasp. “About putting a baby in you.”
“That’s—oh god—that’s not fair,” you whimper, fingers digging into his thighs.
“What’s not fair?”
“Saying things like that when I can’t move, can’t—”
“Who says you can’t move?” His grip tightens on your hips. “I said sit still during breakfast. We’re done eating now.”
Your breath catches. “Are we?”
“Mhmm.” One hand slides up to cup your breast through the thin t-shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I think it’s time for dessert. Don’t you?”
“Seungcheol—”
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice dropping to that commanding tone that never fails to undo you. “Use your words, baby. Sober words.”
You’re trembling now, desperate. “Want you. Want this. Want—” you break off as his other hand slides between your legs, finding where you’re joined.
“Want what?” he presses. “Say it.”
“Want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Want you to put a baby in me. Want…please, Cheollie, please—”
“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly. Then his grip shifts, and he’s lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, finally, finally giving you the friction you’ve been craving.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sets a devastating rhythm. The breakfast dishes rattle on the table with each thrust and you distantly think you should care about the mess you’re probably making but then he angles his hips just right and all thoughts scatter.
“That’s it,” he growls against your neck. “Take it. Take all of me.”
“Yes, god, yes—”
His hand on your breast squeezes while the other works between your legs and the combination is overwhelming. You’re already close, wound too tight from sitting still for so long, from the filthy intimacy of it all.
“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna give you exactly what you want. What we both want. You want that, baby? Want me to get you pregnant?”
“Yes,” you sob and you’re not even sure if it’s the hormones or the moment or the fact that this is your husband, your partner, your person and you’re finally talking about this, finally doing this…
“Come for me first,” he demands. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you want this.”
His fingers press harder and that’s all it takes. You shatter, clenching around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves.
“Fuck, baby—” his rhythm falters, becomes erratic and then he’s following you over, groaning against your neck as he pulses inside you, holding you tight against him. For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, trembling, still joined together as aftershocks roll through you.
“So,” Seungcheol finally says, voice rough and satisfied, “I think that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”
You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
“Good.” He nuzzles into your neck. “Because I meant every word. I want this. Want you. Want our family.”
“Even though I ambushed you while drunk?”
“Especially because you ambushed me while drunk.” You can feel his smile against your skin. “Shows you trust me. Even when you’re not in control.”
You shift slightly and he groans. “Don’t move yet. Just…let me hold you like this for a minute.”
So, you do, sitting in your dining room in the morning sunlight, still connected, still close, talking softly about the future you’re going to build together.
About nursery colors and baby names and how you’ll tell your families and whether you want to know the gender or be surprised. About all the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful possibilities ahead and when he finally, reluctantly slips out of you, he immediately scoops you up and carries you back to the bedroom.
“Again?” you ask, surprised but definitely not opposed.
“We’re optimizing our chances,” he says seriously but his eyes are dancing. “It’s just good planning.”
“You’re a fein.”
“You’re ovulating,” he counters, laying you gently on the bed. “And I have months of baby-making fantasies to work through. So,” he crawls over you, settling between your thighs, “we’re going to be here a while.”
“What about our schedules?” you tease. “Don’t you have meetings? I have work.”
“Cancelled everything,” he says, leaning down to kiss you slowly, deeply. “Told them I have important business with my wife.”
“Very important business,” you agree, gasping as he enters you again.
“The most important,” he murmurs against your lips. He flips you on your hands and knees first, arched just the way he wants you.
“Stay just like that,” Seungcheol commands, his hands spreading across your lower back, pressing down slightly to deepen the arch. “Perfect. So, fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling already, forehead pressed against the sheets, completely exposed to him. You feel vulnerable like this, open, but the way he’s looking at you; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze dragging over every inch of exposed skin.
“Cheol—” you start but the word cuts off into a moan as he runs his hands up your sides, thumbs tracing your spine.
“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s positioning you, adjusting your hips exactly where he wants them. “Just feel.”
One hand wraps around your hip while the other slides between your legs, finding you still wet, still sensitive from before. You jerk at the contact and his grip tightens, holding you steady.
“Still so ready for me,” he muses, almost conversational, like he’s not currently destroying your composure with just his fingers. “Even after I just filled you up. You really do want this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp into the sheets. “God, yes, please…”
“Please what?” He’s teasing now, the head of his cock brushing against you but not entering, just barely there, making you crazy.
“Please fuck me,” you whimper, trying to push back against him, but his hand on your hip keeps you in place. “Please, I need—”
“Need what, baby? Use your words.”
“Need you inside me,” you practically sob. “Need you to…to get me pregnant, need you to—oh fuck—”
He slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself completely, and the angle is devastating. You can feel him so deep like this, stretching you, filling every inch.
“This what you need?” His voice is strained now, control slipping. Both hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and you hope they do, want to see the marks tomorrow, proof of this.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”
“Not stopping,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Not until you’re dripping with me. Not until I know it took.” The pace he sets is brutal, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you crying out with each thrust. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding you.
“Gonna look so good pregnant,” he pants. “Gonna love watching your belly grow. Knowing I did that. That you’re carrying my baby.”
“Cheol—” you’re incoherent now, can only hold on as he takes you apart.
“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want your baby,” you gasp out. “Want you to…to come inside me, want—god—want everyone to know I’m yours.”
His rhythm stutters at that, becomes somehow even more intense. “Mine,” he agrees roughly. “Always mine. My wife. Mother of my children. Mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty, sends you spiraling. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, whiting out your vision and you feel yourself clench around him rhythmically.
“Fuck—baby—” he groans and then he’s there too, pressing as deep as he can go, holding you against him as he fills you again. This time when he pulls out, he immediately maneuvers you onto your back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your hips before you can protest.
“Elevate,” he explains breathlessly and you can’t help but laugh.
“You really did research.”
“Told you.” He collapses partially on top of you with his head resting on your chest. “Months of thinking about this. I’m prepared.”
Your fingers find his hair, feeling satisfied and tender and so completely loved. “How long do I have to stay like this?”
“Twenty minutes at least.” His hand finds your belly again, splaying possessively across it. “Maybe thirty to be safe.”
“And what are we doing for the next twenty to thirty minutes?”
His eyes darken again and you feel him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. After all—” he rolls you on your side carefully, mindful of the pillow, settling behind you and lifting your leg up and over his hip, “—we should really make sure we’re being thorough.”
“Thorough,” you repeat breathlessly.
“Very thorough,” he agrees, kissing down your neck. “It’s important to be thorough about these things.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“You’re irresistible.” He nips at your collarbone. “And ovulating. And my wife. Who I’m trying to get pregnant. So yes—” he enters you again, slow and deep, making you both groan, “—insatiable sounds about right.”
And as he begins to move again, slow and intimate and perfect, you think that maybe drunk you had the right idea after all.
Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected ways.
Seungcheol folds you with both legs to your chest and you know your body is going to complain about it later.
“Wait, Cheol—” you gasp as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you in half.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hands hooking under your knees, spreading you open as he presses them down. “This angle—fuck, baby, you have no idea—”
And then he’s sliding back in, and oh—he’s right. The angle is incredible. Overwhelming. He’s somehow even deeper like this, hitting spots that make stars explode behind your eyelids.
“Oh my god—” you can barely breathe, pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy.
“That’s it,” he groans, watching where you’re joined with dark, hungry eyes. “Take it. Take all of me.”
Your flexibility has never been your strong suit and you can already feel the strain in your hips, your thighs protesting the position but the pleasure overrides everything else; the way he’s grinding against you with each thrust, the delicious pressure, the intimacy of being folded completely under him.
“You’re so deep,” you whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “I can’t…it’s too much—”
“Not too much,” he counters, but there’s a question in his eyes even as he maintains the brutal pace. “Color?”
“Green,” you gasp immediately. “So green, don’t stop, please don’t—ah—”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you nearly scream. Everything is heightened like this, every nerve ending on fire, every thrust punching the air from your lungs.
“Gonna keep you just like this,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. “Gonna fill you up so deep it has to take. You want that?”
“Yes—yes—Cheol, I’m—”
“I know, baby. I can feel it.” His movements become more purposeful, grinding deep rather than thrusting, the friction against your clit constant and maddening. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you want my baby.”
The combination of his words, his thumb, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside, it’s too much. You shatter with a cry that’s probably too loud for the morning, clenching around him so hard you see white.
“Fuck, just like that—” Seungcheol’s rhythm falters, his hips jerking erratically as he follows you over the edge for the fourth time, groaning your name like a prayer as he empties himself inside you.
He stays buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, trembling. Then carefully—so carefully—he releases your legs, helping you straighten them out with gentle hands.
“Ow,” you whimper immediately as your hips protest, muscles cramping.
“Sorry, sorry—” he’s already massaging your thighs, pressing kisses to your knees. “I got carried away.”
“Worth it,” you manage, even as you wince. “But I’m definitely going to feel that tomorrow.”
“I’ll give you a massage later,” he promises, still working the tension from your muscles. “A proper one. With oil and everything.”
“You better.” You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss. “I’m going to be walking funny for days.”
“Good,” he says against your lips, unrepentant. “Let everyone wonder why.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.” He rolls to the side, immediately pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His hand finds your belly again; it’s apparently his new favorite spot. “Think it worked?”
“Cheol, we can’t possibly know that yet—”
“But do you think it worked?” he insists, almost childlike in his eagerness.
You soften, covering his hand with yours. “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“And if not?”
“Then we try again,” you say, smiling. “And again. As many times as it takes.”
His answering grin is devastating. “I love this plan. Best plan we’ve ever had.”
“Of course you love it,” you tease. “You’re getting sex on demand.”
“I’m getting to start a family with the love of my life,” he corrects, suddenly serious. “The sex is just a bonus. A really, really good bonus, but still.”
Your throat tightens with emotion. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “Now, twenty more minutes with your hips elevated, and then I’m running you a bath.”
“And then?”
“And then lunch. Hydration. Maybe a nap.” His smile turns wicked. “And then round whatever we’re on.”
“Again?!”
“Baby,” he says solemnly, “we’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow. I told you, I’m being thorough.”
You should protest. Should remind him you both have lives, responsibilities, that you can’t spend an entire day having sex no matter how appealing that sounds but then his hand starts tracing patterns on your belly again and he’s looking at you with such love and want and hope that all protests die in your throat.
“Thorough,” you agree weakly. “Right, very important.”
“The most important,” he confirms and as he settles beside you, already planning the rest of your day—which apparently consists entirely of various positions and strategic pillow placement—you think that maybe, just maybe, drunk you deserves some credit.
After all, she got the conversation started, even if her methods were…unconventional. Your husband certainly isn’t complaining and neither—despite your aching hips and the knowledge that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow—are you.
The shower was supposed to be innocent, just washing off, getting clean, maybe some gentle aftercare. That lasted approximately three minutes before Seungcheol’s hands started wandering from “helpful” to “decidedly unhelpful.”
“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned but it came out breathless as his fingers traced your hip. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”
“We are cleaning up,” he murmured against your neck, pressing you forward until your palms hit the cool tile. “Very thoroughly.”
“That’s not—oh—”
His hand slid between your thighs from behind, finding you still sensitive, still wet with more than just water. “Still ready for me,” he observed, voice dropping an octave. “Even after all that.”
“It’s the hormones,” you managed, even as you arched back into his touch. “I told you, ovulation makes me—fuck—”
“Makes you what?” He was already lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Insatiable? Desperate? Willing to let me fuck you against the shower wall?”
“All of the above,” you gasped as he pushed in, the slide easy despite how much you’d already taken him today.
This time was different, harder, more primal. The tile was cold against your breasts, your cheek, contrasting with the hot water and his body pressed against your back. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly, keeping you in place as he took you apart.
“This is what you do to me,” he growled in your ear. “Walking around, talking about my baby, being so fucking perfect—”
“Cheol, baby please—”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need.” His other hand found your clit, and you nearly sobbed. “Need me to breed you. Need me to pump you so full—”
You came with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he followed immediately after, groaning against your shoulder as he held you pinned to the wall.
The water was starting to run cold by the time you both caught your breath.
You genuinely thought he’d be tired after the shower. Thought maybe you’d eat, cuddle, take that nap he’d mentioned.
You made it halfway through your sandwich.
“Come here,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing his chair back.
“I’m eating—”
“You can finish later.” There was something almost feral in his eyes as he stalked around the table toward you. “Right now, I need you bent over this table.”
“Choi Seungcheol—” but you were already standing, already letting him turn you around, already bracing your hands on the polished wood as he flipped up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on.
“No panties again,” he noted with approval. “It’s like you want me to fuck you at every opportunity.”
“Maybe I do,” you shot back, then gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust.
The angle was perfect, the table the ideal height and he took full advantage of it. His fingers dug into your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscenely loud in your quiet dining room.
“Look at you,” he panted, gathering your hair in one fist. “Taking it so well. So eager for it. Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere right now, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, god, anywhere—”
“Kitchen counter? Bedroom floor? Against the windows where the neighbors might see?”
The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but combined with his relentless pace, it pushes you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, and he wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t give you time to recover. Just pulled out, ignored your whimper, and guided you to the couch.
“Hands on the back,” he instructed. “Ass up.”
You were shaking as you obeyed, gripping the back of the couch as he positioned himself behind you again. This angle was even deeper, and you could feel him in your belly with each thrust.
“Too much,” you whimpered, but you didn’t use your safeword, didn’t actually want him to stop.
“Not too much,” he countered, one hand sliding up your spine. “You can take it. You can take everything I give you.” And you did, you took it until you were crying with pleasure, until your legs gave out, until he had to hold you up as he finished inside you for the—you’d lost count at this point.
When he finally pulled out, your legs couldn’t support you. You collapsed onto the plush living room carpet, and he followed you down, immediately positioning you on your hands and knees.
“One more,” he said, voice rough. “Just one more, baby, and then we’ll rest.”
“Can’t—” you protested weakly, but your body was already responding, already arching for him.
“You can.” He slid in easily, and the stretch was almost too much on your oversensitized flesh. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so perfectly. Gonna make such a good mother.”
The praise broke something in you. You dropped to your elbows, pressing your face into the carpet as he took you with long, deep strokes. There was something almost desperate about it now, like he couldn’t get deep enough, close enough, like he was trying to merge you into one person.
“Love you,” he panted. “Love you so fucking much. Gonna give you everything. Everything you want. Everything you deserve.”
You were too far gone to respond with words, could only moan and take it and feel yourself building toward yet another impossible orgasm.
When it hit, it was almost painful in its intensity. You felt him swell inside you, felt the warmth as he came again, and then everything went soft and hazy.
You came back to yourself slowly, aware of gentle hands cleaning you with a warm cloth, of being lifted and carried, of soft sheets against your skin.
“Did I pass out?” you mumbled.
“Just for a minute.” Seungcheol sounded worried now, the feral intensity finally broken. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—”
“Don’t apologize.” You caught his hand, pressing it to your cheek. “That was…I didn’t know you had that in you.”
He laughed shakily. “Neither did I. I just—when you said you wanted a baby, something in my brain just…short-circuited.”
“Clearly.” You shifted, wincing at the soreness. “I’m going to be feeling this for a week.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised immediately. “Bath, massage, whatever you need. I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.” You pulled him down beside you. “I liked it. Loved it, actually. I just…didn’t expect the conversation about trying for a baby to turn my usually controlled husband into…that.”
“Into what?”
“Into someone who fucks me in every room of the house,” you say bluntly. “Who can’t go an hour without being inside me. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me.”
He flushed. “The ovulation thing wasn’t helping. Knowing you’re fertile right now, that any of these times could be the one—” he broke off, shaking his head. “It did something to me.”
“I noticed.” You traced his jaw. “For the record? I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and very, very sore.”
“Nap now,” he decided. “Then massage. Then dinner. And then—”
“If you say ‘and then round whatever number we’re on,’ I’m divorcing you.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “I was going to say ‘and then we’ll see how you feel.’”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
“But if you’re feeling up to it…” His hand slid to your belly again. “We should probably maximize our chances.”
You stared at him. “You’re actually insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He kissed your forehead. “Only ever with you.”
And despite the soreness, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that you’d had more sex in one day than most couples have in a month, you found yourself smiling because this was your husband. Your partner. The father of your future children and if his method of “trying for a baby” involved fucking you in every room of the house until you couldn’t walk straight?
Well.
You’d had worse problems.
“Fine,” you conceded. “But after a nap and a massage, you’re carrying me everywhere for the next week.”
“Deal,” he agreed immediately, already pulling you closer.
Nothing came from that day of marathon sex but with how feral your husband had gotten that day you knew something had awakened in him that would be hard to reign in which is how you found yourself in your current position, bent over the balcony of your bedroom at the Airbnb that had been booked for his work trip to Hawaii which he insisted you come on. Something about a second honeymoon.
You should have known something was up when Seungcheol insisted you come on his work trip.
“It’s Hawaii,” he’d said, showing you the booking confirmation with an innocence that should have been your first warning. “We’ve never been. Plus, my meetings are only in the mornings. We’d have the afternoons and evenings together.”
“A second honeymoon,” he’d called it with that devastating smile.
What he’d failed to mention was that the “trying for a baby” conversation had apparently permanently rewired something in his brain.
You’d learned this over the past few weeks. The man who used to be controlled, measured, professional in every aspect of his life had developed a hair-trigger when it came to you. A lingering glance, your hand on his thigh at dinner, the way you bit your lip while concentrating—any of it could result in him finding the nearest private surface and bending you over it.
The office after hours? Check.
The car in the parking garage? Check.
The fitting room at the boutique where you’d been shopping for maternity clothes (optimistically)? Very much check.
But this—this was a new level, even for him.
“Cheol,” you hissed, gripping the balcony railing as he pressed against your back, his hands already pushing up your sundress. “We’re outside. Someone could see—”
“The nearest villa is hundreds of feet away,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No one can see unless they’re in a helicopter.”
“That’s not the point—”
“The point,” he interrupted, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you already wet—because of course you were—your body had learned to anticipate him now, “is that you’ve been walking around all day in this dress. This tiny, barely-there dress. Bending over to pick up seashells. Stretching in the sun. Driving me insane.”
“We were on the beach,” you protested weakly, even as you arched back into him. “What was I supposed to wear?”
“Nothing.” His fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them aside. “Preferably nothing.”
You were about to respond when he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, and all coherent thought fled. Your fingers tightened on the railing as he set a deep, rolling rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep quiet.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid up to cup your breast through the fabric. “Take it. Take all of me.”
The view from the balcony was stunning; turquoise water stretching to the horizon, white sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. It should be romantic.
It was romantic. Just also obscene.
“God, you feel so good,” Seungcheol groaned, picking up his pace. “So perfect. Made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to carry my baby.”
There it was, the thing that set him off every time. The baby talk. Ever since that day, since you’d opened that door, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like the idea of getting you pregnant had become an obsession.
“Cheol—” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down even as pleasure built in your core. “Someone might hear—”
“Let them hear.” His hand slid from your breast to your throat, tilting your head back. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. How well you take me. How desperate you are for my baby.”
“You’re insane,” you managed, but it came out more like a moan.
“You made me this way.” His lips brushed your ear. “Walking around, talking about wanting my babies, being so fucking perfect—you broke something in me, baby. Can’t think straight anymore. Can’t function unless I’m inside you.”
His hand left your throat to slide down your body, finding your clit with practiced ease. The dual sensation—him inside you, his fingers working you expertly—was too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as you started to tremble. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I fill you up. Maybe this time it’ll take. Maybe in nine months you’ll be here with my baby in your belly.”
The image he painted—you pregnant, round with his child—combined with his relentless pace pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, clenching around him and felt him follow seconds later with a groan. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, the sound of waves crashing below mixing with your racing heartbeats.
“We need to talk about this,” you finally said, even as you melted back against his chest.
“About what?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still not pulling out.
“About this—” you gestured vaguely, “—thing that’s happened to you. This breeding kink you’ve developed.”
You felt him smile against your skin. “Is it a kink if we’re actively trying for a baby?”
“Cheol, we’ve had sex multiple times everyday in the last week. Everyday.”
“You’re counting?”
“Hard not to when I can barely walk straight.” You turned your head to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sex. The sex is incredible but you’ve been…intense. Ever since that conversation.”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious. He finally pulled out—you whimpered at the loss—and turned you around to face him, hands gentle on your waist.
“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been…I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something clicked that day, and I can’t turn it off. Every time I look at you, I think about getting you pregnant. About you carrying our baby. About our family. And it just—” he broke off, looking almost embarrassed. “It does something to me. Makes me crazy.”
“I’ve noticed,” you said dryly.
“Is it too much?” There was genuine concern in his eyes now. “Am I being too much? Because if you need me to dial it back—”
“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but it’s also…kind of hot? Knowing you want me that badly. That you’re that desperate to start our family.”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I want this.”
“I’m getting a pretty clear picture,” you teased, feeling him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Case in point.”
He huffed a laugh. “Can you blame me? You’re standing here, freshly fucked, my cum dripping down your thighs, the sunset making you glow and you’re surprised I want you again?”
“We literally just finished—”
“And I’m already thinking about round two.” His hands slid down to cup your ass. “And three. And four. We have all night, baby. No work tomorrow. No interruptions. Just you and me and this view and a very comfortable bed inside.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.” He kissed you, deep and slow. “Now, shower, dinner and then I’m taking you apart in that massive bed. Sound good?”
It sounded perfect, actually. Even if your husband had apparently turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation. Especially because your husband had turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation.
“One condition,” you said as he started leading you inside.
“Anything.”
“When we get home, we’re making a doctor’s appointment. To make sure we’re doing everything right. That I’m healthy. All of it.”
His expression softened. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll set it up as soon as we’re back.”
“And maybe—” you bit your lip, “—maybe we dial it back just a little? Don’t get me wrong, I love the enthusiasm, but I’d like to still be able to walk when we get home.”
He grinned. “No promises but I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
As he pulled you inside to the shower, his hands already wandering again, you thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. Your controlled, measured husband had been replaced by someone who couldn’t keep his hands off you. Who fucked you on balconies and whispered filthy promises about getting you pregnant. Who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
The test from last week had been negative. You’d both been disappointed but not surprised, these things took time but watching Seungcheol now, the way he touched you with reverence even as his eyes promised wickedness, you knew something had fundamentally shifted between you.
This wasn’t just about making a baby anymore. It was about the intensity of wanting something together. About the intimacy of trying. About how the goal had somehow made everything—every touch, every kiss, every time he was inside you—feel weighted with meaning and possibility.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, soaping your shoulders.
“About how that drunk conversation might have been the best terrible decision I ever made.”
He laughed. “Oh, it was definitely terrible. But yeah,” he pulled you close, “also the best.”
“Even though I asked if you’d love me as a worm?”
“Especially because you asked if I’d love you as a worm.” He kissed your forehead. “Now come on. We have dinner reservations in an hour and I plan on having you at least twice before then.”
“Twice?! Cheol, we just—”
But he was already lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and honestly? You weren’t complaining, not even a little bit.
Your insatiable, baby-crazy, utterly perfect husband. You wouldn’t change a thing.
You didn’t make it to dinner.
Well, not the reservation anyway. By the time Seungcheol had finished with you in the shower and then carried you to the bed still dripping wet, you were both too boneless and satisfied to even consider getting dressed and going out. Instead, he’d ordered take out—an absurd amount of food—and you’d eaten on the balcony wrapped in plush robes, watching the stars come out over the ocean.
“This is nice,” you murmured, stealing a bite of his dessert. “Romantic. Almost makes me forget you’ve turned into a caveman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Caveman?”
“Mhm.” You grinned. “Me want baby. Me fuck wife constantly. Me carry wife everywhere because wife can’t walk—”
He silenced you with a kiss, tasting like chocolate and coconut. “I don’t hear you complaining when I’m making you come.”
“That’s because my brain stops working when you’re making me come.”
“Mission accomplished then.” His hand found yours on the table, fingers interlacing. “But seriously, are we okay? This isn’t too much?”
You squeezed his hand. “We’re more than okay. I promise. Yes, you’ve been insatiable. Yes, I’m going to need a week to recover when we get home. But Cheol,” you met his eyes, “I love seeing you like this. Passionate. Uninhibited. It’s like you’ve finally let yourself want something without overthinking it.”
“I want you,” he said simply. “I want our family and yeah, maybe I’ve gone a little crazy about it, but…” he shrugged, unapologetic, “I’m not sorry.”
“Good.” You stood, letting your robe slip off your shoulders. “Because I’m not done with you yet either.”
His eyes went dark, tracking the fall of fabric. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You moved to straddle his lap, the balmy night air warm on your skin. “We have four more days in paradise. Might as well make the most of them.”
“Four more days,” he repeated, hands spanning your waist. “Think we can set a record?”
“For what? Most times having sex in a single vacation?”
“I was thinking most creative locations, but that works too.” His thumbs traced circles on your hipbones. “There’s the beach at night. The private pool. That hammock near the—”
“You’ve been planning this.”
“Maybe.” He pulled you down for a kiss. “Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, a tropical paradise, and no responsibilities for four whole days? I’m going to worship you in every way possible.”
And he did.
You woke to his mouth between your thighs, the sunrise painting the room in shades of gold and pink. He brought you to orgasm twice before you were even fully awake and then pulled you into the shower where he took you against the tiles while water cascaded over you both.
Breakfast was served on the balcony, and you made it through most of your meal before he was pulling you onto his lap, pushing your sundress up, filling you while you clutched his shoulders and tried to keep quiet.
“Love you like this,” he murmured against your neck as you rode him slowly. “Sun-kissed, desperate and so fucking wet for me.”
“Always wet for you,” you gasped. “Can’t help it.”
“Good.” His hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect angle. “Never want you any other way.”
Later, he kept his promise about the hammock. You’d been reading peacefully in the shade when he appeared with that look in his eyes and suddenly your book was forgotten as he stripped you down and arranged you across the swaying fabric.
“Cheol, this is going to tip—”
“I’ve got you,” he promised and he did, holding the hammock steady as he knelt between your legs and proved that his mouth was just as talented as the rest of him. By the time he finally entered you, you were already trembling, oversensitive, and the gentle sway of the hammock with each thrust was unlike anything you’d experienced.
“This is insane,” you laughed breathlessly.
“This is perfect,” he corrected and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his universe—made your chest tight with emotion.
His morning meeting ran long and you’d gone down to the beach alone, content to swim and sunbathe and give your body a much-needed break. You should have known better. You were waist-deep in the crystal-clear water when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.
“Meeting over?” you asked, leaning back against his chest.
“Cancelled the rest.” His lips found that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “Told them it was a family emergency.”
“Cheol! You can’t just—”
“Can’t just what? Choose my wife over a conference call about quarterly projections?” His hand slid down your stomach, disappearing beneath the water. “Pretty sure I can since y’know, I’m the boss.”
“Someone could see—”
“No one’s around.” And he was right—the beach was completely empty, the nearest people just tiny dots in the distance. “And you’re wearing this bikini. This tiny, barely-there bikini. What did you expect?”
“I expected to swim peacefully—oh—”
His fingers had found their target, working you expertly while his other arm banded around your waist, holding you against him.
“Can you be quiet?” he murmured. “Or are you going to let the whole beach know how good I make you feel?”
You bit your lip, trying desperately to stay silent as he worked you closer to the edge. The water lapped around you, warm and gentle and the contrast between the peaceful setting and what he was doing to you was almost too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, baby. Right here in the ocean where anyone could see how desperate you are for me.”
You came with a strangled gasp, your legs giving out and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.
“Good girl,” he praised, turning you around. “Now, think you can stay quiet while I fuck you?”
You couldn’t, as it turned out but the beach stayed empty, and Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind your breathless cries as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you in the warm, shallow water.
The private pool became his new favorite place. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you there; bent over the edge, pressed against the infinity wall overlooking the ocean, on the submerged lounger, against the smooth rocks of the artificial waterfall.
“We’re never leaving,” he declared as the sun set on your last full day. “I’m cancelling our flights. We live here now.”
“We have jobs,” you reminded him, though you were currently in his lap in the pool, still joined, neither of you in any hurry to move.
“We’ll work remotely. I’ll buy this villa. We’ll raise our kids here.”
“Kids, plural?”
“At least three.” His hands slid over your belly, possessive and tender. “Maybe four.”
“Let’s start with one,” you laughed. “See how we do.”
“We’ll do perfectly.” He kissed you slowly. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
“And you’re going to be an amazing father.” You cupped his face. “Even if you are a sex-crazed maniac right now.”
“Only for you,” he promised. “Only ever for you.”
You woke early, bodies tangled together, the sound of waves your only alarm. Seungcheol was already awake, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip.
“Morning,” you murmured.
“Morning.” He brushed hair from your face. “Last day.”
“Don’t remind me.” You snuggled closer. “I’m not ready to go back to reality.”
“Me neither.” His hand found your belly again,it was becoming a habit. “But we’ll take this with us. This feeling. This certainty.”
“The certainty that you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“The certainty that we’re ready for this. For our family. For our future.” He shifted, rolling you beneath him. “And yeah, also the certainty that I’ll never get enough of you.”
The morning light filtered through the curtains as he made love to you slowly, tenderly, so different from the frantic desperation of the past few days. This was soft and sweet and full of promise.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. More than I can say.”
“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re being insane.”
“Especially when I’m being insane,” he corrected with a grin and as you lay together afterward, wrapped in each other and the morning warmth, you thought about the past few weeks. The conversation that started it all. The shift in your relationship. The intensity and passion and sheer want of it all.
You still didn’t know if you were pregnant yet. Wouldn’t know for another week at least but somehow, it didn’t matter as much as you thought it would. Because you had this. Had him. Had the absolute certainty that whatever happened, you were in it together. Even if your husband had apparently developed a permanent breeding kink in the process. You could think of worse problems to have.
“Round two?” Seungcheol murmured hopefully against your neck.
You laughed. “We have to pack. And check out. And catch a flight.”
“So that’s a yes to a quickie before all that?”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
And because he was right—because you did love it, loved him, loved this new chapter you were writing together—you pulled him down for a kiss.
“Make it quick,” you warned. “We actually do need to pack.”
His answering grin was wicked. “Oh baby, I haven’t done anything quick with you since university.”
He was right about that too. You missed your flight but honestly?
Totally worth it.
The next few months go by in blur of your everyday life and the fact that you and your husband behaved like two virgins in a whorehouse at every given opportunity. He had somewhat simmered down, a work project keeping him busy and away from you for the past month.
You knew he was stressed so tonight you had planned to treat him, leaving work early to set up everything and it was well worth it when he comes through the door of your home calling out for you. He asks what smells so good before he stops when he takes in the way you’re dressed, in that cherry red dress he loves, and his mind starts wandering to important dates.
“Did I forget something?”
You turn from the stove, wooden spoon in hand and can’t help but smile at the panic already creeping into his expression. Seungcheol stands frozen in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, tie loosened, eyes frantically scanning you for clues.
“Did I forget—” he starts again, more urgently this time. “Is it our anniversary? Your birthday? Some other important—”
“Relax,” you interrupt, setting down the spoon and crossing to him. “You didn’t forget anything.”
“Then why are you wearing that dress?” His eyes drag over you, taking in the cherry red fabric that hugs every curve, the neckline that shows just enough to be distracting. “You only wear that dress for special occasions.”
“Maybe I just wanted to look nice for my husband,” you say innocently, reaching up to loosen his tie the rest of the way. “Is that a crime?”
His hands find your waist automatically, pulling you closer. “You’re up to something.”
“Maybe.” You stretch up to kiss him softly. “Or maybe I just missed you. You’ve been working so much lately.”
Something in his expression shifts, guilt mixing with exhaustion. “I know. This project has been insane. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve barely been home and when I am, I’m usually passed out or distracted—”
“Which is exactly why I wanted to do something nice tonight.” You smooth your hands over his chest. “So,no work talk. No stress. Just dinner, wine, and your wife who’s been very lonely without you.”
His eyes darken at that. “Lonely?”
“Mhmm.” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen. “Very lonely. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me?”
“Twenty-two days,” he says immediately and you blink in surprise.
“You’ve been counting?”
“Of course I’ve been counting.” His grip tightens on your waist. “You think I haven’t noticed? That I haven’t been dying every night, coming home to you already asleep, leaving before you wake up? I’ve been going insane.”
“Have you?” You press closer, feeling him already starting to respond. “Because you seemed pretty absorbed in your work.”
“The only reason I’ve been able to focus on work is because I’ve been channeling all my sexual frustration into spreadsheets and project timelines.” His forehead drops to yours. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed this. Missed touching you.”
“Well,” you slide your hands up to his shoulders, “dinner’s going to take another twenty minutes. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
“Twenty minutes?” He’s already backing you toward the counter. “I can work with twenty minutes.”
“Cheol,” you laugh as he lifts you onto the granite, “we eat here.”
“We’ve done worse shit here.” He’s already pushing your dress up your thighs, and his eyes go even darker when he discovers what you’re not wearing. “No underwear. You really were planning this.”
“Maybe I was planning to torture you through dinner,” you tease. “Make you wait. Make you suffer.”
“Fuck that.” He drops to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “I’ve suffered enough. Now I’m collecting.”
Your protest dies as his mouth finds you and suddenly the simmering pots on the stove are the last thing on your mind.
Dinner is slightly overcooked by the time you both make it to the table—flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly satisfied. Seungcheol keeps apologizing for ruining your perfect meal but you just laugh and pour more wine.
“It’s fine,” you assure him, serving the pasta that’s only a little too soft. “This was kind of the plan anyway.”
“To seduce me before dinner?”
“To remind you that I still exist.” You raise your glass. “That we exist. Outside of work and stress and trying to conceive and everything else.”
His expression softens. “I know we exist. I always know that.”
“But you’ve been distant,” you say gently. “And I get it, this project has been huge, and you’re under a lot of pressure but Cheol…” you reach across the table for his hand, “I’ve missed my husband. Not just the sex, though yes, definitely that but you. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just being with you.”
He squeezes your hand, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought I was handling it okay, but I guess I’ve been shutting you out.”
“A little bit,” you admit. “And I know it’s not intentional. You get focused on work and everything else fades but we can’t let that happen, especially not now when we’re trying to start a family.”
“You’re right.” He stands, moving his chair closer to yours so he can pull you against his side. “I’m sorry. Really. The project wraps up next week, and then I’m all yours. No more late nights. No more missing dinner. No more—”
“No more twenty-two day dry spells?” you supply with a grin.
“Especially no more dry spells.” His hand slides up your thigh. “In fact, I think I need to make up for lost time.”
“We haven’t even finished dinner.”
“We can reheat it.” He’s already pulling you into his lap. “Right now, I need to apologize properly to my wife for neglecting her.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
His smile turns wicked. “I have some ideas.”
You’re curled up on the couch together, plates pushed aside, wine glasses empty, and you’re finally feeling like you have your husband back.
“So,” Seungcheol says, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder; your dress didn’t survive the transition from dining room to living room, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Hmm?” You’re pleasantly drowsy, content in a way you haven’t been in weeks.
“About the baby thing.”
That gets your attention. You sit up a little, looking at him. “What about it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been trying for almost three months now. And I know that’s not that long in the grand scheme of things, but…I don’t know. I guess I thought it would happen faster.”
Your chest tightens. You’ve been thinking the same thing but haven’t wanted to say it out loud. “Yeah. Me too.”
“And I was thinking—maybe we should make that doctor’s appointment. Like you said. Just to make sure everything’s okay. That we’re doing everything right.”
“Okay,” you agree softly. “Yeah, we can do that.”
“I’m not worried,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I am a little worried, but mostly I just want to be proactive. Make sure we’re giving ourselves the best chance.”
You cup his face, making him look at you. “Hey. Three months is nothing. The doctor will probably tell us to keep trying and come back in a year if nothing happens.”
“I know, but—” he breaks off, frustrated. “I just want this so badly. Want to give you this and every time another month goes by and the test is negative, I feel like I’m failing somehow.”
“You’re not failing,” you say firmly. “This isn’t something we can control. It happens when it happens.”
“I know that in my head. But in my heart,” his hand finds your belly, “I’m impatient.”
“I’ve noticed,” you tease gently. “The whole ‘acting like virgins in a whorehouse’ thing kind of gave it away.”
He huffs a laugh. “Was I that bad?”
“You were that eager,” you correct. “Which was actually pretty hot. Still is, when you’re not drowning in spreadsheets.”
“No more spreadsheets,” he promises. “Project’s almost done, and then I’m taking some time off. We’ll go somewhere. Relax. Maybe not having so much stress will help.”
“Maybe.” You kiss him softly. “But either way, we’re in this together, okay? Whether it happens next month or next year, we’ll figure it out.”
“Together,” he agrees, pulling you closer.
You settle back against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and try to ignore the small kernel of worry that’s been growing with each negative test.
Three months isn’t that long but it feels longer when you want something so badly. When every month brings hope and then disappointment. When you see the look on your husband’s face each time that single line appears instead of two.
“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “No spiraling. We’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” you repeat.
And you are, you will be. Even if it takes longer than expected. Even if the road is harder than you hoped. You have him, and he has you, and that’s what matters.
Everything else will come in time, you just have to keep believing that.
Seungcheol had accompanied you to your usual checkup with your doctor and you’re currently waiting for your results to come back. When she enters with your files there’s a look on her face you can’t really read.
“Is there something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, his hand squeezing yours tighter.
“Well, that depends Mr. Choi,” she says before turning to you. “This happens quite often and I know it can be a shock, but I hope you both will make the decision that suits you best.”
The suspense is killing you and before you can ask what she means she says “Mrs. Choi, did you know that you’re three months pregnant?”
“Que?”
You must be hearing things. You took tests, hell you had a period two weeks ago. The room tilts slightly, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down.
“I’m—what?” Your voice comes out strangled, disbelieving. “That’s not—I can’t be. I’ve been having my period.”
Dr. Kim’s expression softens with understanding. “What you experienced was likely implantation bleeding and spotting, which can be mistaken for a light period. It’s more common than you’d think. Based on your blood work and the ultrasound we just did, you’re measuring at about twelve weeks.”
“Twelve weeks,” you repeat numbly. Your mind is racing, trying to do the math. Twelve weeks ago was…
“Hawaii,” Seungcheol breathes beside you, and when you look at him, his face has gone pale. “That was twelve weeks ago.”
Dr. Kim pulls up something on her computer screen, turning it so you can see and there it is. A tiny blob on the screen, barely distinguishable, but with a flickering white spot in the center.
“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Kim says gently, pointing. “Strong and healthy.”
Your own heart seems to stop entirely.
“But—” you’re struggling to process this, “—I’ve taken at least four pregnancy tests in the past two months. They were all negative.”
“How early were you testing?”
“I don’t know—a few days before my period? And then after what I thought was my period…”
“That’s likely why. Some women don’t produce enough HCG hormone early on for home tests to detect. It’s rare, but it happens.” Dr. Kim’s smile is warm, reassuring. “But your levels now are exactly where they should be for twelve weeks. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Choi. Congratulations.”
The word hangs in the air between you and Seungcheol.
Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’ve been pregnant for three months and didn’t know.
“I—” your voice cracks, “—I’ve been drinking coffee. And I had wine at dinner last week. And I, oh god, I’ve been taking ibuprofen for my headaches—”
“Hey, hey,” Dr. Kim interrupts gently. “Let’s take a breath. Small amounts of caffeine are fine. One glass of wine before you knew won’t hurt anything. And occasional ibuprofen, while not ideal, isn’t going to cause problems at this stage. Your baby looks perfectly healthy.”
Your baby.
“I can’t—” you turn to Seungcheol, and the expression on his face nearly breaks you. He looks stunned, overwhelmed, and like he might cry at any moment. “Cheol—”
“We’re having a baby,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “We’re actually…holy shit, we’re having a baby.” And then he is crying, tears streaming down his face as he pulls you into a tight embrace.
“You said there was a decision to make?” Seungcheol asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Dr. Kim with concern. “Is something wrong? You said—”
“Oh, no—I’m sorry, I worded that poorly.” Dr. Kim looks apologetic. “I just meant that unexpected pregnancies can be a shock, and I wanted to make sure you knew you had options. But if this is welcome news—”
“It’s welcome,” you say immediately, even as your hands are shaking. “Very welcome. We’ve been trying. We just—we didn’t know it had already worked.”
“Well then—truly, congratulations.” Dr. Kim starts printing out information. “I’m going to refer you to an OB for your ongoing care. You’ll want to schedule your first official prenatal appointment within the next week or two. I’m printing out the ultrasound photo for you, and some information about what to expect in your first trimester—though you’re already almost through it.”
Almost through the first trimester. You’re almost through the first trimester and you had no idea.
“Can you—” your voice is shaky, “—can you print two copies of the ultrasound? Please?”
“Of course.” Dr. Kim smiles knowingly. “Most parents want several.”
Parents. You’re going to be parents. The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. Dr. Kim goes over nutrition, what to expect, warning signs to watch for, answering questions that Seungcheol asks because you seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
By the time you make it back to the car, you’re both silent, clutching the ultrasound photos like lifelines. Seungcheol doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, staring at the grainy black and white image in his hands.
“We made this,” he finally says, voice thick. “In Hawaii. In that villa with the ocean view. We made our baby.”
“All those times,” you whisper, then laugh slightly hysterically. “All those months we kept trying, and it had already happened. We were already pregnant during—oh my god, we were pregnant when you bent me over the dining room table last month—”
“And in the shower last week,” he adds, then starts laughing too, slightly wild. “And on the counter. And—Jesus, we’ve been having incredibly athletic sex while pregnant.”
“Dr. Kim said it’s fine—”
“I know, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t believe we didn’t know. How did we not know?”
“I don’t know.” You’re staring at your own copy of the ultrasound, at that tiny blob that’s apparently your baby. Your baby who’s been growing inside you for weeks while you had no idea. “I feel like I should have known. Like my body should have told me somehow.”
“Hey.” Seungcheol reaches over, taking your hand. “This is okay, right? This is—we wanted this.”
“We wanted this,” you confirm, squeezing back. “I’m just…I’m in shock. Are you in shock?”
“Completely.” He brings your hand to his lips. “But also, baby, we’re having a baby. We’re actually having a baby.”
The reality of it starts to sink in, and suddenly you’re crying too. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, scared tears, all mixed together.
“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, and it feels more real each time you say it. “In—oh god, when? When am I due?”
Seungcheol scrambles for the paperwork Dr. Kim gave you. “It says…June. June tenth. Holy shit, that’s only six months away.”
“Six months.” You press a hand to your stomach, which still looks completely normal. “There’s a baby in there. Right now. With a heartbeat.”
“The fastest heartbeat in the world,” Seungcheol says, smiling through his tears. “Did you hear how fast it was going? Like they’re already excited to meet us.”
“They.” The pronoun makes it more real somehow. “We’re going to have a tiny human. Who depends on us for everything. Who we’re responsible for.”
“Are you freaking out?” he asks gently.
“Little bit. You?”
“Completely.” But he’s smiling, radiant, more happy than you’ve ever seen him. “But also,I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life.” You lean over the center console to kiss him, tasting salt from both your tears and his.
“We’re going to be parents,” you whisper against his lips.
“Best parents ever,” he promises. “This kid is going to be so loved.”
“So spoiled.”
“That too.” He pulls back just enough to cup your face. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For giving me this. For—” his voice breaks, “—for making me a father.”
“Cheol—” now you’re really crying, “—you did half the work.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one growing them. Carrying them. Creating an entire human being inside you.” His hand moves to your stomach, reverent. “You’re incredible.”
“Ask me again in four months when I’m huge and miserable and demanding pickles at 3 AM.”
“Still incredible.” He kisses you again. “Now, we need to celebrate. And tell people. And—oh god, my mom is going to lose her mind. Your mom is going to cry. Jeonghan is going to make fun of me for crying earlier—”
“We don’t have to tell anyone right away,” you interrupt. “I’m only twelve weeks. A lot can still—” you can’t finish the sentence, but he understands.
“You’re right. We’ll wait. Just, maybe a little longer? Until we’re into the second trimester?”
“Which is only a few more weeks now,” you realize. “We’re already almost there.”
“We’re already almost there,” he repeats wonderingly. Then, more firmly, “Okay, new plan. We go home. We process this. We maybe have a minor freak out and then we start planning.”
“Planning what?”
“Everything.” His smile is infectious. “Nursery. Names. Parenting books. Baby-proofing. Everything we need to do in the next six months to get ready for this tiny human who’s apparently already been along for the ride.”
You look down at the ultrasound again, at that flickering heartbeat frozen in time. Your baby. Made in paradise, growing in secret, already loved beyond measure.
“Let’s go home,” you say softly.
Seungcheol finally starts the car, but before he pulls out, he looks at you one more time.
“I love you,” he says. “You and our little blob.”
“I love you too.” You press your hand over his on your stomach. “All three of us.” And as he drives home, both of you stealing glances at the ultrasound photos, you think about how everything has changed in the span of one appointment.
All those months of trying.
All that hoping and waiting and disappointment and it had already worked.
Your baby had been there all along, growing quietly, waiting to surprise you. Just like everything else with Seungcheol—unexpected, intense, and absolutely perfect.
Even if you had been doing very athletic things while pregnant without knowing it.
You’d probably need to apologize to your baby for that eventually but for now, you just hold the ultrasound close and let yourself feel it.
Pure, overwhelming joy.
You’re going to be a mom and Seungcheol is going to be a dad. In six months, your family of two is going to become three.
Best surprise ever.
You both still haven’t told anyone and it’s been two months since you found out. Your body hasn’t changed much but your need for your husband has which has made Seungcheol work from home twice now and this morning is no different when he wakes up with your mouth on him.
Seungcheol wakes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves. There’s warmth, wetness, and a familiar pressure that has him groaning before he’s even fully awake.
“Fuck, baby—” His hand instinctively goes to your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. You’re under the covers, between his legs and the sight when he lifts the duvet nearly finishes him right there—your eyes meeting his as you take him deeper.
“What are you—oh god—what time is it?”
You pull off with an obscene pop, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroke him slowly. “About six thirty. You have a meeting at nine.”
“Then why are you—” his words cut off as you lick a stripe up his length, “—trying to kill me?”
“Because,” you pause to take him in your mouth again, working him in that way that makes his brain short-circuit, before pulling back, “ I need you…again.”
“Again?” His laugh is strained. “Baby, love we went three rounds last night. How are you—”
“Pregnant,” you finish, crawling up his body. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else and when you straddle him, he can feel how wet you already are. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are insane and I can’t stop thinking about you inside me.”
“Not complaining,” he manages, hands gripping your hips as you position yourself above him. “Just concerned about your poor—Jesus—”
You sink down on him in one smooth motion and his concern evaporates. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides in effortlessly despite no preparation.
“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan, starting to move. “So good. Why do you always feel so good?”
Seungcheol can’t answer because his brain has officially stopped working. You’re riding him in the early morning light, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the slight swell of your stomach, barely visible but there. Evidence of your baby growing inside you.
His baby. The thought still makes him feral.
“That’s it,” he encourages, helping you find your rhythm. “Take what you need. Use me.”
And you do, you ride him with an urgency that’s become familiar over the past two months. Dr. Kim had warned you that increased libido was common in the second trimester, but this was beyond anything either of you expected. Not that Seungcheol is complaining.
“Cheol,” you’re already close, he can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, “touch me, please.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with practiced pressure and you come apart with a cry that could wake the neighbors. He follows seconds later, pulling you down onto him as he empties inside you. You collapse on his chest, both of you breathing hard.
“I’m calling in sick,” he announces.
“You can’t. You have that important meeting—”
“Then you’re coming to the home office with me,” he decides, rolling you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Because if the past two months have taught me anything, it’s that you’re going to need me again in approximately—” he checks his watch, “—two hours and I’d rather be here than trying to take a ‘lunch break’ or hoping my camera stays off.”
You laugh, remembering last week when he’d had to abruptly mute himself because you’d walked into his office wearing nothing but a smile.
“That was your fault for working from home in grey sweatpants,” you point out.
“Everything is apparently my fault now.” But he’s smiling as he says it, pressing kisses down your neck. “You needed water at 3 AM? My fault for getting you pregnant. Your jeans don’t fit? My fault. You cried at that commercial with the puppy? Definitely my fault.”
“It was a very sad commercial,” you defend, even as you’re arching into his kisses. “And yes, this is literally all your fault. You and your—” you gesture vaguely at him, “—your everything.”
“My everything?” He’s laughing now, working his way down your body.
“Your face. Your body. Your—Cheol, what are you doing?”
“Well—” he settles between your thighs, “—if I’m working from home anyway, might as well make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before my first meeting.”
“You just…we literally just—”
“And you’re going to need me again soon anyway,” he points out reasonably. “Might as well get ahead of it.” His mouth finds you and your protests dissolve into moans.
Seungcheol is forty-five minutes into his video call when you appear in the doorway of his office. He sees you in his peripheral vision and tries to focus on the presentation his colleague is giving but you’re wearing that look. That needy, desperate, “I need you right now” look.
He mutes himself and mouths, After this meeting.
You pout. Actually pout. Then you do something that nearly makes him fall out of his chair; you pull up your dress to show him your stomach, running your hand over the small bump. It’s not fair. It’s biological warfare. You know exactly what seeing you like that does to him.
He unmutes. “Actually, I need to step away for a moment. Personal emergency. Give me ten minutes?”
His colleagues agree—they know he’s been working from home more lately—and he kills his camera and mic before you’ve even crossed the room.
“Ten minutes,” he warns as you climb into his lap. “That’s all we have.”
“Then you better make it count,” you challenge, already undoing his belt.
He does.
“We need to tell people,” Seungcheol says over lunch. You’re both in the kitchen, you’re eating pickles and bacon cream cheese spread—a combination that horrifies him but apparently makes perfect sense to your pregnant brain—and he’s trying not to watch in fascinated disgust.
“I know,” you agree around a mouthful of your horrible creation. “We said we’d wait until after the first trimester, and we’re at—what? Fifteen weeks now?”
“Sixteen tomorrow,” he corrects. He’s been tracking it religiously, has an app on his phone that tells him how big the baby is each week. Currently, the size of an avocado.
“Sixteen weeks,” you repeat. “And I’m starting to show. Like, actually show. I can’t hide it in loose clothes forever.”
“You look beautiful,” he says immediately.
“I look pregnant.”
“Beautiful and pregnant.” He comes around the island to wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands spanning your small bump. “Best combination ever.”
You lean back into him. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“My mom is going to plan the entire baby’s life before they’re even born,” he corrects. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“Both our moms are going to lose their minds,” you decide. “And then they’re going to become best friends over baby shopping.”
“Jeonghan is going to make fun of me.”
“Hannie’s going to be the uncle who teaches our kid bad habits.”
Seungcheol groans. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. Just let them figure it out when you go into labor.”
“Cheol.”
“Fine.” He kisses your temple. “This weekend? We’ll have both families over. Tell them together?”
“Together,” you agree. Then, after a pause, “Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” he admits. “But also, this is real now. We’re really doing this. In four and a half months, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby and I want to share that with people. Want everyone to know how happy I am.”
You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Even though I keep attacking you at inappropriate times?”
“Especially because you keep attacking me at inappropriate times.” He grins. “Though maybe we should warn the doctor at your next appointment. Make sure this is…you know. Normal.”
“I already asked,” you admit, blushing. “Last appointment while you were filling out paperwork. She said it’s completely normal and actually healthy.”
“Healthy,” he repeats, smirking. “So really, we’re just being responsible parents-to-be.”
“Exactly, very responsible.”
“Speaking of responsible—” his hands slide down to cup your ass, “—I think I have another meeting in an hour. Which means we have time—”
“On the counter?” you ask hopefully.
“Wherever you want,” he promises, already lifting you.
The pickles and cream cheese are forgotten as he makes good on his promise and later—much later—when he’s finally back at his computer for his afternoon meetings, you curl up on the couch in his office with a blanket and one of your pregnancy books.
This has become your routine over the past two months. Him working, you nearby and periodic breaks for the insatiable need that’s apparently a hallmark of your second trimester. It’s chaotic and wonderful and occasionally makes him miss important conference calls but he wouldn’t change a thing.
This is his life now. His pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. His baby growing bigger every day. His future taking shape in ways he couldn’t have imagined a year ago. All because of one drunk conversation about worms and ovulation and wanting his babies.
Best conversation ever. Even if it did result in him having to work from home regularly because his wife has turned into an insatiable pregnant goddess. He glances over at you, at the small bump visible even under the blanket and feels that now-familiar surge of overwhelming love.
Four and a half months until they meet their baby but first, telling their families this weekend and surviving whatever chaos that brings.
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