A sun-drenched afternoon by the pool leaves Seungcheol’s drenched white t-shirt burned into your mind. But when the villa finally goes quiet, the playful tension shifts into something far more intense, loud, and impossible for the rest of the group to ignore.
PAIRINGS | Choi Seungcheol x F. Reader
GENRE | smut, pwp
RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked
CONTENT/WARNINGS | non-idols au, swearing, kissing, caressing, unprotective sex (wrap it up folks), oral sex, penetrative sex, hair grabbing, body worship, dirty talk, creampies,
AUTHOR’S NOTE | Because I've been feral for Cheol lately.
Seventeen Masterlist | Main Masterlist
The midday heat at the villa is intense, but nobody seems to care. Seungcheol’s friends—all twelve of them—has turned the backyard pool into an absolute battleground of splashes, chaotic chicken fights, and echoing laughter. You're sitting on the edge of a lounge chair, nursing a cold drink and just taking it all in, when Seungcheol finally hauls himself out of the water.
He's wearing a simple, thin white t-shirt that he foolishly left on when he got pushed into the deep end earlier. Now, the fabric's completely drenched, turning entirely translucent and clinging relentlessly to every line of his chest and abs. As he walks towards you, running a hand through his dripping hair, the wet fabric stretches tight across his broad shoulders.
He stops right in front of your chair, blocking the sun, a breathless, boyish grin plastered on his face.
"Having fun just watching?" he teases, his voice a little raspy from yelling over the music. He leans down, pressing a deliberately cold, wet kiss to your cheek, leaving a damp patch on your skin.
You swallow hard, your eyes involuntarily darting down to the way the wet cotton traces the definition of his torso, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Your heart does a sudden, violent flip.
"Yeah," you manage, your voice a little tighter than usual as you look back up into his dark eyes. "A lot of fun."
He chuckles, entirely oblivious—or maybe entirely aware—of the effect he's having, before being dragged back into the chaos by Seokmin and Mingyu. But for the rest of the afternoon, no matter how loud the guys got, your eyes keep tracking that damp white shirt.
Hours later, the villa finally went quiet. The guys crashed in their respective rooms, exhausted from a day in the sun and a heavy dinner.
You're sitting on the edge of the bed in the room you and Seungcheol share, the cool air conditioning humming softly in the background. The door clicks open, and Seungcheol walks in, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a loose pair of gray sweatpants. His hair is damp again, but this time it smells of the villa’s sharp, clean soap.
He lets out a long sigh of relief, stretching his arms over his head before looking at you. "Man, I love them, but they are exhausting. I'm so glad we finally have some quiet—" he stops mid-sentence, noticing the way your gaze was fixed on him. "What?"
"Nothing," you say quickly, but your eyes betray you, tracing the lines of his chest and stomach, the memory of the wet t-shirt still burning into your mind.
He moves closer, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. The air in the room suddenly feels thicker. "No, it's not nothing," he says, his voice lower now. "You've been looking at me like that since this afternoon. Ever since the pool."
Heat floods your cheeks. You open your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but he's already closing the distance between you. He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees.
"Tell me," he murmurs, his thumbs stroking slow circles on your skin. "What were you thinking about?"
You swallow, your breath hitching. "The... the wet t-shirt," you admit, the words barely a whisper.
His smile widens, a flicker of pride and amusement in his eyes. "Just the shirt?" he pushes, leaning in until his lips are just a breath away from yours. "Or what was under it?"
You let out a shaky breath. "Both."
"Good," he whispers against your mouth before finally kissing you. It isn't soft. It's deep and hungry, a kiss that's been waiting all day to happen. His hands slide from your knees up your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the bed.
When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless. He looks at you, his eyes dark with a question he doesn't need to ask. You answer by reaching for the hem of your own shirt and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. His gaze drops, and the last of the playful energy in the room evaporates, replaced by something much more intense.
"Much better," he breathes, leaning in to press a trail of kisses down your neck, his hands exploring the newly exposed skin of your waist and back.
"Cheol, the guys—" you start, your head tipping back to give him better access.
"Don't care," he mumbles against your collarbone, his hands moving around to your stomach, tracing the edge of your shorts. "Let them hear. They should know what happens when my girlfriend comes on a trip with me."
You can't help the small laugh that escapes, but it's quickly cut off by a gasp as he lifts you effortlessly, moving you further back on the bed and hovering over you.
He looks down at you, his expression a mixture of adoration and raw desire. "Now, where were we?" he asks, but he doesn't wait for an answer before leaning down to kiss you again, slow and deep, while his hands work to remove the last barriers between your skin and his.
His thumbs hooks into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your legs with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. The fabric whispers against your skin before being discarded onto the floor. The cool air of the room is a stark contrast to the warmth of his body, and you shivered, though not from the cold.
Seungcheol’s eyes followed the path of his hands as they travels back up your legs, skimming over your knees, your thighs, settling on your hips. He watches you, cataloging every tiny reaction—the way your stomach tightens, the soft sigh that escapes your lips.
His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as he leans down to press a kiss just below your navel. Then another, lower still, on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You tangle your fingers in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, a silent encouragement.
He responds by parting your legs gently, settling between them, as he looks up at you. "I'm okay with you screaming for me, baby," he murmurs, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin. "But if you really need to muffle your screams, we can use your pretty panties." he says before he hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them down your legs. "Love eating you out," he confesses, his voice vibrating against you. He then dives in, eating you out like a starved man.
"Cheol," you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he set a devastating rhythm.
He's relentless, using his tongue, his lips, every part of himself to push you higher. He eats you out with the same focused intensity he applies to everything else, as if making you fall apart is the most important thing in the world. One of his hands slide up your body, finding yours, and your fingers lace together, a grounding anchor in the sea of sensation he's creating.
The sounds you're making are uninhibited now, soft cries and gasps filling the quiet room. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach, a delicious, dizzying spiral. "Cheol, I—"
"I know, baby," he mumbles against you, not stopping. "Let go. I've got you."
His words are the final push you need. The tension snaps, and pleasure crashes over you in a blinding wave. You cry out his name, your body shaking as he works you through it, drawing out every last bit of sensation until you're limp and breathless on the bed.
He kisses his way back up your body, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts before finally reaching your lips. The kiss is slow and deep, tasting of you and him.
When he pulls back, he's smiling, a soft, triumphant look in his eyes. He's still wearing those damn gray sweatpants, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the need to get rid of them.
"You're still wearing too many clothes," you whisper, your hands sliding down his back to the waistband of his sweatpants. He lets out a soft hum of approval as you tug them down, freeing him.
Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, hard and ready for you. You wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly, watching as his head tips back and a low groan rumbles in his chest.
"Fuck," he breathes, his hips bucking slightly into your touch. "Keep doing that and this'll be over before it starts."
You smile, a slow, satisfied smirk. "We can't have that, can we?"
With a strength that never fails to surprise you, he flips you over, pulling your hips up until you're on your hands and knees. He runs a hand over the curve of your ass, a low, appreciative sound in his throat.
"Seungcheol," you breathe, pushing back against him.
"I'm right here, baby," he murmurs, positioning himself at your entrance. He pushes in slowly, a shared gasp filling the room as he stretches and fills you completely. He pauses for a moment, giving you time to adjust, before starting to move.
The pace he set is deep and deliberate, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl. The sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his harsh breaths.
"God, you feel so good," he grits out, one hand gripping the headboard for leverage, the other splayed across your back. "So fucking good."
You can't form words, can only push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. The bed's rocking beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with a soft thud, thud, thud that's a perfect counterpoint to the rhythm he's setting.
You bury your face in the pillows to muffle your cries, his hand skimming up your spine. "I know you feel good baby, but don't forget to breathe," he says, leaning down to press a kiss between your shoulder blades. "I want to hear you."
You turn your head to the side, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Harder, Cheol," you manage to get out. "Please."
Your plea seems to flip a switch in him. The careful control he's been exercising shatters, replaced by a raw, primal need. With a guttural groan, he tightens his grip on your hips and drive into you, the force of it stealing the air from your lungs.
The pace is punishing, a relentless rhythm that has the headboard slamming against the wall with a new, desperate urgency. The sound is loud, unmistakable, and a tiny, hazy part of your brain hopes the villa walls are thicker than they seem. But the rest of you, the part being utterly consumed by Seungcheol, doesn't care at all.
"That what you wanted, baby?" he rasps, his voice straining with the effort. His hands move from your hips, one wrapping around to find your clit, the other tangling in your hair, gently pulling your head back. "You wanted me to fuck you so hard the whole house hears?"
"Yes," you choke out, the word almost unintelligible. "Yes, Cheol, don't stop."
He growls in response, a low, possessive sound from deep in his chest. He doesn't stop. The pressure on your clit is perfect, circling in time with his brutal thrusts, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards the edge again. Your knuckles are white where you're gripping the sheets, your entire body wound tight with anticipation.
"I want you to come for me," he commands, his breath hot against your ear. "Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you."
His words are your undoing. The world splinters, your vision going white as your orgasm rip through you. You scream into the pillow, your body convulsing with the force of it, your inner walls clamping down around him.
He follows you over the edge seconds later. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and come with a hoarse shout of your name. His body shudders against yours, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room is the ragged sound of your breathing as you both come down from the high.
He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms and spooning you from behind. He's still inside you, a warm, heavy weight that's surprisingly comforting. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.
"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice rough and spent.
You hum contentedly, wiggling back against him. "More than okay," you whisper, turning your head to look at him. His face is flushed, his hair a mess, and he has the most ridiculously satisfied smile on his face.
"Good," he says, kissing you softly. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
And the moment the words leave his mouth, you both hear a banging on the door.
"For the love of God, will you two please shut up!" came Joshua's muffled, but very annoyed, shout from the hallway. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"
Seungcheol just laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that you feel in your own chest. He pulls the covers over both of you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Next time, we get a private villa," he whispers. "No friends."
You cuddle closer to him, a lazy smile on your face. "Next time," you agree, already looking forward to it.
I genuinely can't believe we've reached 500 of you already.
Thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging, screaming in the tags, and supporting my little corner of Tumblr. 🫶🏻
I've been thinking about doing a 500 Followers Fic Event where you can send me requests, prompts, tropes, and your favorite members/characters and I'll spend the next few weeks writing them!
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He enjoys undressing you after date nights. It's not rushed. He pushes your hair to the side, kissing the back of your neck as he unhooks your diamond necklace and keeps it on the bed side. Murmurs something along the lines of you're so pretty. Unzips your dress. Pushing the straps of your dress to the side to kiss your shoulders. Pushing the top half of the dress so he can hold your bare tits. Kisses your spine as he moves down, hands lingering on your tummy and waist. Your dress drops down. He's not in hurry to get your panties off. Wants to have a moment with you, kiss your lips and mark your neck before he goes down on you. Gently pulls your lace panties down your thighs using his teeth only. Carassed your ankles as he lands kisses on your thighs.
genre & warnings: fluff (they're so down bad for each other :3) mentions of alcohol & substances
desc: your husband, joshua, took you to one of his very boring, very pretentious industry parties. where you are, quite frankly, miserable, but his gorgeous eyes fill you with joy, even from across the room.
wc: 2.2k
𝄞: chateau by audrey hobert
Since the day Joshua met you, he’s sworn you are an angel walking on earth, a gift to him every single day. Your kindness knew no bounds, and you gave a wide and gorgeous smile to everyone, regardless of who they were. You were so soft-spoken and polite, an image of perfection Joshua can’t quite believe he gets to call his.
Everything you did was done with such grace and happiness, it made his heart swell each time he saw you. Even the little things, like accepting mail from the postman — you bowed graciously and offered him a refreshment. Or the big things, like attending crucial and key industry events by his side, his gorgeous angelic wife, you felt like a trophy. He was so proud to be yours, it bordered on pathetic at times.
And — despite Joshua refusing to minimise you to just his beautiful wife, you had that charming way of wooing anyone you met. Your intelligence and wholeheartedness bleeding through you and striking everyone with a shake of your hand. And he could be across a banquet hall from you and still see your smile radiating, your warmth practically glowing.
Even on your worst days, days where you cuddled into his side, your smile upturned and heavy. He still thought you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever set his eyes on. Even when you got frustrated at his skincare sprawled across the his & hers sinks you chose out, he still thought you were the kindest woman he’d ever met. He thanked god every day that he got so lucky to have you.
Tonight, Joshua had flown you to Los Angeles with him — Making a trip of an industry event that Pledis deemed essential. Events like this always needed you, he thought, you were so observant, watching people unnoticeably and paying attention to the littlest things.
It was one of those qualities that no matter how much it could frustrate Joshua, it accounted for a big part of why he fell in love with you. He fell in love with you reading his facial expression like a book, he fell in love with you analysing his members’ body language like a professional, and he especially fell in love with your running commentary at these industry events. And given it may be a bit crude of you both to people-watch and whisper between yourselves, but god, didn’t he find it both entertaining and enticing?
So, here you were, the Chateau Marmot, a legendary hotel that people across the world dreamed of visiting. The hotel was absolutely gorgeous, an ode to French architecture; it felt like you were miles from Los Angeles. The ceilings and alcoves curved in delicate arches, creating intimate and nurturing spaces that housed all sorts of vintage lounging furniture, chaise lounges, chesterfield arm chairs, intimate loveseats.
But no one was sitting down. Everyone stood, almost awkwardly, murmuring to each other about their own self-importance, their successes and their achievements. Music played lightly like a pathetic attempt at easing tension as everyone you could see was standing a bit too rigid for an after-party.
Joshua was outside, and you kept catching glances of him as he politely nodded along to a story, a courteous smile on his lips as he listened to someone tell an animated and probably predictable tale. His skin had tanned in the Los Angeles sun, and it made him impossibly more handsome, his golden brown dyed hair waving away from his face to give way for his defined cheekbones and his bow-shaped lips, which were light pink.
At this point, you were a professional at stealing glances at your husband from across the room, your eyes always pulling your gaze to him like he was a magnet. Most of the time, he’d instantly look up and spot you, but this time, it seems politeness had stolen his focus completely.
You both nursed a glass of champagne, yet you were inside talking to a group of women. Some you’d seen at events like this before, others complete strangers. As intoxication increased through their bodies, they began to talk with transparency.
‘He just said something dumb on the way in,’ A woman spoke, her tone pissed off as she finished her glass and signalled for another. ‘He always makes the rounds without me, doesn’t even bother to introduce me!’
Poor girl, you thought, sympathy pouring out of you as everyone else in this makeshift circle comforted her. You send a sad smile her way as if to be in solidarity with her.
‘It’s fine.’ She continues, a new beverage materialising in her hand, ‘He sucks but, he’s rich.’ Her eyes widening with a maddening laugh, diamonds glistening in the chandelier lights, long dress blowing slightly in the breeze.
You held the grimace that threatened to slip onto your face tightly, forcing a few nods at her confession and beginning to drift from the conversation. It became evident to you as you looked at the variety of famous people around you that you’d rather be anywhere but here.
Without wanting to disrupt Joshua, you floated towards the bar, ordering a water and letting your eyes scan the room. It was like a cesspit of A-List people, and you downed the water and forced yourself to get stuck back in.
One conversation down. A man who owned a marketing firm and claimed he reinvented PR with his company. Second conversation down. A girl who complained about a Michelin star restaurant refusing to give her an influencer discount. Third conversation down and you think there’s drilling in your head. A couple who were openly arguing and trying to rope the entire group into the conversation.
Now your tether was wound way too tightly, and you nodded politely before excusing yourself to the bathroom. It felt like insanity here; this was nothing like the events you attended in Korea. Everyone was a lot more honest and a lot more drunk.
As the noise began to subside, you entered the luxurious bathroom, clad in plants of all different origins, illuminating the dark space. Extravagant porcelain sinks stood alone in a row, vast mirrors bouncing low light across the space.
Taking this opportunity to breathe, you tidied your hair and powdered your face, trying not to take notice of the jet lag beginning to creep into your consciousness. As you continue to eye your appearance, the door creaks open, a girl in a revealing dress entering with confidence, her head held high, chunky sunglasses sitting on the tip of her nose as she looks down it.
With an inward sigh, you took that as your cue to leave the bathroom, zipping your purse tightly and heading back towards the sad excuse of a party you were attending.
It was rare that things got you down, positivity your compass and your heart of gold husband allowing you to lead a life of happiness. There was not a day when you weren’t eternally grateful to be so happy — but today, today might be the worst you’ve felt in a while.
The room explodes back into your vision, the quiet hush of voices now amplified as alcohol and other substances take over people’s bodies. It seemed the population had doubled in the brief toilet break you’d taken, and you tried to scan the room for your husband in the sea of A-Listers.
‘Hey sweetheart,’ Your husband, Joshua, had snuck up beside you, sliding his arm around your waist with ease, his sandalwood cologne with a touch of patchouli engulfing you. He smelt like home, like small comforts and late nights in front of the TV, like making cups of tea and painting bedrooms.
The touch rooted you to your spot, his arm warm and anchoring in the busy environment. It felt, for the first time tonight, like it was just you two. Stealing a glance at your husband, you appreciated his bronzed skin, smooth and fair in the exhausted light, his hair framing his face like a rococo painting - he looked like he’d been painted to perfection, an image of royalty and beauty.
‘Hey baby,’ you reply with a sweet smile, leaning into his strong chest. As always, he looked sensational, his chest peaking out of the pale linen shirt he’d been styled into, his blazer long discarded in the cloak room as the Los Angeles humidity threatened to decrepit the formal outfits you both wore.
To this day, the sound of your voice using such nicknames still makes his heart flutter innocently, his body reacting the same way every single time.
‘You know I really love my job,’ He says, tugging at your waist to get you to face him. The buzzing room disappears with his chest against yours.
‘But?’ You quirk an eyebrow, Joshua’s open-ended question beckoning a follow-up.
Slowly, his eyes scanned the crowd, watching thousands of dollars of jewellery and some of the finest clothes in the world being pranced around the room — Men in huddles smoking cigars, women crowding around expensive bottles of champagne, and Joshua let out a loaded sigh.
Watching your husband exhale heavily, the crease appearing between his brows made your heart sink, the bitterness in your mouth surging at his disgruntled look.
‘I think that high school was better than this.’ He remarks in a humorous tone, attempting to dampen his confession. ‘Shall we?’
Raising his hand to yours, a beautiful smirk on his lips as your eyes meet. ‘If we must.’
You both floated through the room seamlessly, small conversations occurring in your wake, Joshua entertaining each one out of politeness, his arm tightly around you as he introduced you to each and every person, complimenting you constantly as he told everyone — ‘This is my gorgeous wife.’ Amounting to a heavy blush living permanently on your cheeks.
Eventually, Joshua steals you for himself again, exiting the busy building into a low-lit courtyard, a turquoise circular pool glistening in the moonlight with vintage parasols dotted around it, tassels swaying in the breeze.
‘This is beautiful.’ You manage to appreciate the towering hotel from the garden, the party a distant hum as only a few people litter the space.
‘You’re beautiful.’ He replies, looking at you and not the architecture around.
‘Mr Hong, that was ever so predictable.’ You grin at him, the pool reflections shining against him.
In this moment, all of the chaos from inside was forgotten, long pushed away to the distant side of your mind; Joshua, your lifeline, the love of your life and the most incredible man you’d ever met, was everything.
The way his eyes seemed to glow as he looked at you, an unwavering smile on his lips, and the gentle rub of his thumb against your hand, seizing the outside world.
‘Well, Mrs Hong,’ he replies, butterflies fluttering in your stomach, ‘I have to be truthful.’
Then, he joins your lips sweetly, the small but intimate kiss practically making you float.
‘Can I be truthful?’ You ask, his face inches from yours as he breathes you in.
‘Always.’
‘I really don’t care about this party tonight.’ You say with apprehension. Joshua’s smile widened even more, as if it were physically possible.
‘This might be the worst afterparty I’ve ever attended.’ He admits, making you both giggle — the strangeness of the Chateau apparent to both of you, like two people dancing on the same line.
‘I really didn’t care who they were or who they knew.’ You whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss lightly.
‘Me too!’ He says, ‘Too much name dropping and alcohol consuming for me.’
‘Agreed.’
A comfortable silence ensues as you relax in each other’s presence, two hearts so tightly joined resting in the contentment of one another.
‘Let’s go.’ Joshua continues, his arms engulfing you in a hug that has you swaying from side to side, his chin resting on the top of your head, him peppering you with kisses.
Connecting your hands like two adjoining puzzle pieces, you make the compulsory rounds. ‘It was so lovely to meet you!’ ‘Let’s stay in touch.’ ‘Thank you for being here.’
Bowing to the party host, you make your exit, feigning sadness about having to leave, the secret of your distaste locked between you and your husband like vows.
Joshua joins your side again, keeping his arm around your shoulders as you saunter out, the feeling of air flowing through you with ease returning as he kisses the crown of your head and guides you out of the front doors.
‘No more LA parties for a while,’ and with that, you leave the Chateau Marmont, more than happy to never return again.
desc: you and minghao were homebodies, in every sense of the word. comfortable meditating together in your garden, content sipping complex red wines under the parasol, happy reading your respective books with interlinked pinkies. however, his new subunit has dragged you and all of your friends to a huge party but god, you look a bit too good for minghao to contain himself...
wc: 7.8k..this was supposed to be a drabble
note: happy (belated) v8 release!! this is my celebratory post so pls enjoy and im sorry for the delay! this is the first piece of smut i've ever written lol so pls don't mind if it's not amazing.. this was supposed to be 2k idk what happened lol. tysm miss @binniebean0 for beta-ing once again, ur the best ma lav <333
𝄞: silver jubilee by audrey hobert, v8 by the8 & vernon
Partying was way behind you. Like a distant moment of the past that you revisit once a year and swear to never look back at again. The thumping music and the dazzling lights are not so enticing when you have a gorgeous fiancée who gives such good massages. A brilliant fiancée who buys you books every time he leaves the country — each one picked with perfection, always aligning with your exact interests. An insane fiancée who sees you in your slacks, sweat-ridden after a long and humid day at work and thinks it’s the prime time to make a meal of you on the kitchen table.
Yeah, so homebodies you had become.
Really, who would want to leave the house when the human incarnation of a god, Xu Minghao, your soon-to-be husband, led intense and relaxing meditation sessions for you? In your vast garden, greenery swallowing the senses, the small swish of the coi pond pattering softly to one side, your lean fiancée speaking with ultimate rest dripping off of every word. It was like your own personal heaven!
But alas, work calls — Minghao had been working tirelessly with Vernon for their new subunit. Slipping in the front door early in the morning, cap pulled low as his feet dragged against the polished wooden floors, fatigue radiating off his body when he quietly pulled your body into his and cocooned himself around you.
This was no new routine; you’d been with Minghao for years, through comebacks, daesangs, scandals, you name it, you stood by his side, a solid and hushed rock. However, there was once upon a time when you and he enjoyed indulging in the bustling Seoul nightlife, awake until all hours of the night and dancing carelessly under strobe lights. It was an era you both look back at with soppy nostalgia.
The bass vibrated through the darkened club, the sound of a hyperpop song penetrating your flesh and transforming into sweet endorphins, a buzz of adrenaline and raw energy surging through you. Beside you, your best friends Jun and Mingyu nodded nonchalantly along to the beat — sunglasses securely over their eyes, making them resemble a pair of handsome bodyguards rather than two idols on their night off.
A mix of tequila and soda zipped through your straw as you leaned on the wall between the two, their chatter rapidly adapting to include you. ‘I mean, I never coined them for the clubbing type,’ Jun shrugged, halfway through a conversation with his bandmate, who had his eyes narrowed at his phone in his hand.
The three of you had perched on a balcony, watching the dance floor swarm with bodies, arms flailing to the music, heads bobbing to the beat. Dark purple and white lights flashed, illuminating the floor in brief intervals, revealing people intertwined with one another, others busy looking at their keys and some drunken party-goers grinding with lustful gazes.
‘Well, they’re on their way.’ Mingyu shrugged, pulling your gaze away from your inspection of a particularly messy make-out session in the middle of the crowd – gross.
‘Who is?’ You question, lifting your drink lazily to your lips.
‘Remember Vernon and Minghao?’ Mingyu questioned, slinging his arm around your shoulders, his beer almost spilling onto your heels with his clumsy movement.
‘I know the names.’ You reply, nibbling on your straw and eyeing a broad-shouldered man, leant nonchalantly against the bar.
This was your routine: Jun and Mingyu would drag you to the club. Most of the time, the three of you partied yourselves out together, strolling home in fits of drunken giggles, Mingyu slung between you and Jun like a human piñata — letting his slackened body flop onto your sofa whilst you and Jun top-and-tailed. But occasionally, one of you would spot someone, get busy and be whisked away into the night.
‘They’re on their way.’ Mingyu finishes, and you shrug, preoccupied by the muscled man downstairs — Tall, dark and handsome.
As the music shifted, Jun pulled you eagerly onto the dance floor, ready to rock, twist, point, any drunken dance move that his body could conjure in the moment, a loud laugh escaping your lips when he pokes the person behind him.
The music was something booming, high-pitched vocals over a speedy tempo, making your hips sway with easy finesse, Jun matching you with a cheeky pout on his face. At some point, Mingyu had disappeared into the crowd to collect his bandmates, leaving you and Jun to continue letting the beat pump through your bodies.
Bodies slick with sweat stuck to yours, the alcohol-induced euphoria swimming through your system and rendering you careless, as all you thought about was feeling the music travel through your bones.
Through the crowd, your abnormally tall friend weaselled his way through, two drinks held haphazardly in his hand as he held them above head height, almost spilling the beverages on multiple unassuming party-goers' heads.
Behind him, two men materialised, both of whom you recognised from Instagram posts, music videos and whatever else your two best friends were involved in. The shorter of the two had a snapback perched backwards over his hair, and he sported a shy grin as he greeted you with a polite nod, ‘Vernon.’
Next to him, your gaze hovered, the second man making your breath hold tightly in your throat — He was gorgeous. The sort of gorgeous that is plastered on the front of fashion magazines. The sort that almost made drool slide down your chin.
Minghao, you can only presume, had a pale face, framed by a sleek black mullet, wisps of hair tickling his sleek cheekbones. The enticing dark chocolate eyes were sharp, and it felt as if Minghao’s gaze was swallowing you whole. Lazily, he dragged his eyes down your body, a small smirk on his plump pink lips as he consumed you with his look alone.
‘Minghao.’ He leaned forward with subtle ease, his strong hand ghosting your waist as his hot breath tickled your ear.
That was the night that changed your life.
Messy makeouts in the bathroom corridor, arms desperately pulling each other close, feeling all of your soft skin and lathering in the rosy scent of your perfume. Tugging his fluffy hair closer, dragging him lustfully to bed, arching your back involuntarily as his hot mouth met you.
You and Minghao were like two magnets, snapping together with force as soon as you met. There was no doubt in your mind that he was your person from the moment you set your eyes on him. And he — he was smitten, absolutely enamoured by you; he practically fell to his knees when you stepped out of your front door for the first date.
Now, six years later, you were each other’s forevers. The gorgeous engagement band on your finger confirms that. Minghao hunted far and wide for the ring that felt authentically you and him, searching across countries, visiting jewellery stores for hours at a time, researching different materials and styles.
An unexpected hunt on a work trip to Beijing made him stumble across a delicate twist of silver that was bent into two smooth spirals, a discrete diamond framed by the curving silver work. It was so perfect that Minghao didn’t hesitate — he signed the papers and strolled out of the store with a bashful grin on his face.
Then, on that starry evening when he got down on one knee, you felt your heart explode in your chest. Adoration surging through your body as you looked at your boyfriend’s sincere smile, his warm eyes glazed with anticipation as he bared his heart to you in an engagement box.
As the streetlights strobed softly through the private car's window, your ring glistened against your knee. A symbol of unrequited love that decorated your body every single day.
The vehicle was a buzz of your best friends, Jun squished in the middle, whilst Mingyu took up way too much space next to him, talking animatedly with Alice in the front seat. Both men were a concoction of shirts and cologne, sunglasses perched in their hair. It had been a long time since you’d been to a club, life moving in a gentle motion away from partying, so you were beyond excited to be indulging in one night of drunken fun with your best friends and fiancée.
Minghao was already at the bar the company had hired out, without a doubt networking, talking to devoted fans and bantering with his sub-unit counterpart.
You could already imagine his lean body, glistening in the low lighting, his shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair tickling his cheeks under a nonchalantly placed cap. Ring finger decorated with a shining silver band as he DJ’d. God, the vision practically made your panties wet.
‘What are you daydreaming about?’ Jun nudged at your side, all heads turning to yours as you rapidly snapped out of your drool-inducing vision of your fiancée.
‘Nothing,’ You reply, perhaps a bit too fast, the flustered expression on your features refusing to be wiped off. Trying to faux calm, you absentmindedly brush invisible dust off your dress.
‘You’re disgusting.’ Jun replies with a distinct scrunch to the nose.
‘What?’ You reply, with widened eyes and a sarcastic look of shock. Jun shakes his head at you, the car slowing as it swerves down a side street in Tokyo, vivid neon lights glowing above your heads.
Crowds of people hover by a bar and you can only presume that’s your destination. There was an atmosphere of anticipation, the beckoning call of music reverberating out onto the slim street, and the car halted, people ecstatically staring through the glass.
As soon as the door opened, you smiled and waved with the politeness you’d be forced to adopt the moment the tabloids caught wind of you. Teethy grins, small bows at fans, waves towards the crowd. However, as the audience swarming outside were struck with Jun and Mingyu's presence, you slipped through the entrance, staff easily directing you to the small stage, where the main act was fooling around.
The bar was packed from wall to wall, bodies crammed in as fans excitedly screamed, hollered and shouted at their idols. The air was thick with smoke that clouded heavily in the corners and dampened the lights. A loud and bass-heavy hyperpop track shook the room as it bounced with a tinny crunch out of the speakers and flowed through the atmosphere.
This environment felt like travelling back in time, the thumping of dance music and the scent of strong alcohol dripping nostalgia through you. The hum of bodies pressed into the space brought you back to those long and late nights of the past, dancing sweatily with strangers, not having a care in the world. As you rolled your shoulders, the muscles loosening instinctively, you felt the weight of adulthood dissolve as the atmosphere swallowed you.
The staff member broke the crowd, guiding you through the barricade with a polite nod. The blonde locks wisping in the busy air caught your attention — your fiancée, looking devastatingly gorgeous, was perched in front of a set of decks, headphones slung around his neck as his stare zeroed in on the buttons. Minghao’s hair was hanging carelessly along his shoulders, a slouching cap resting on his head. He had a pair of dark sunglasses shielding his eyes from the hundreds of phone flashes shining at him. As he bobbed his head along to the beat with effortless indifference, you decided his nonchalance was perhaps the most attractive thing on the planet.
There was a cloudy grey tank top hanging loosely off of his toned chest, his tattooed arms revealed to the world as they flexed when he held his hand up in motion. Minghao looked delectable, his body glistening in all the right ways as you watched with your mouth hanging. Even after six years, he still made you speechless daily.
As if your stare burned through him, his head turned straight towards you, his face softening in recognition as he quirked a sweet smile towards you. With a brief lean into Vernon, he stepped down and sauntered over to you, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he inspected you.
With discretion, he slid his arms around your waist, his smile converting into a smirk as he raked his eyes down your scantily clad body — your dress hugged all the right places, revealing a modest amount of cleavage and displaying your long legs for appreciation.
‘My love, you look beautiful.’ Minghao mutters in your ear, his hot breath fanning your soft skin, the surface puckering into an array of goosebumps. Your fiancée’s deep, seductive tone sent shivers down your spine, and you allowed your hands to rest on his shoulder, feeling the cotton beneath your fingertips.
‘Hao, you look-‘ There wasn’t even a word to describe how godly he looked. ‘Fuck, you look so good.’ You let your hand skim his bicep, squeezing the tough muscle lightly as he leaned forward, tilting your jaw to kiss you. His soft, plush lips, which you had the privilege of kissing daily, still sent electricity sparking across your body, the taste of mint gum and Coke infiltrating your mouth with ease. You both knew you could easily be here all night, wrapped up in one another, refusing to falter until you knew exactly how good his mouth tasted.
However, the hoards of cameras and fans watching closely ignited a consciousness that forced Minghao to apprehensively pull away, his lip caught between his teeth.
‘Proud of you, baby.’ You say wholeheartedly, sending him a sincere smile before pecking him lightly and running the pad of your thumb over his cheek.
‘I love you,’ He says back, his eyes practically oozing adoration. ‘Wouldn’t be here without you.’
To this, you smile with unrestrained happiness, letting your hands run lightly down his torso before giving his waist a squeeze and ushering him back to the decks. Throwing a quick wave at Vernon, who insisted on a sweaty congratulatory hug, you joined the rest of your friends who’d made their way to the viewing area.
The crowd was alive, chanting and buzzing at the two boys, who danced and waved happily, both radiating shy nonchalance whilst simultaneously bringing life to the room.
‘Put your drinks up!’ Your fiancée shouted, jumping excitedly with Vernon, his face radiating as joy rumbled through him — and you couldn’t help but appreciate how breathtaking he looked as euphoric glee zoomed through his skin.
Alongside you, Mingyu had arrived with a bottle of tequila, shot glasses lined up with precision. With a huge laugh, Mingyu poured one out, slinging it back before pouring another, then a line, linking his arm with yours to knock it back with the old trick you shared.
The sting of the spirit was dulled by the bittersweet flavour of nostalgia it arose on your tongue. It was a twisted sentiment to your early twenties, those party days, the ones that brought you and your friends together — the ones that brought your husband-to-be together, and it bloomed a subtle warmth in your chest.
Watching the man you cherished, so in his element, moving seamlessly to his own music, smiling wide enough to blind a nation, brought bliss to your heart and you inhaled deeply as if it could pause the moment.
Mingyu and Jun, dancing with drunken silliness next to you, expressions of happiness playing on their features. Roars boomed as Vernon and Minghao stood on the platform the decks sat on, dancing in sync to the songs they’d work tirelessly on.
And if you’re being honest, you don’t really party, you just sit at home, but tonight you were throwing it back to those long euphoric nights, letting your body sway freely and laughing wholeheartedly with your closest friends.
As the night stretched on, the bar darkened, the atmosphere still electric even as a different DJ took to the decks. Minghao had eventually shuffled his way over to you, sliding both hands around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your neck. The hair on your body stood up at your fiancée’s skinship, the thumping in your heart intensifying with his hot hands as they lightly massaged your skin.
‘Hey sweetheart,’ He said with a dipped voice, leaving a light kiss on the crook of your neck. You turn rapidly to face your hot, sweaty and frankly, very sexy fiancée, his cap pulled low as you join your lips with his; alcohol induced lust daring to poke through.
‘You were amazing up there,’ You breathed, a bashful smile appearing on Minghao’s face as you complimented him. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
There’s a glaze over his eyes that is somewhere between adoration and gratitude, the mixture making his chocolate eyes shine with unapologetic happiness. Instead of replying, he simply pulled you in once again, savouring the sweet taste of the plush lips you possessed.
The whirlwind of friends and colleagues then sweeps him away, people approaching with waves of congratulatory exclamations. You leave him with a tender kiss on the cheek, a reminder of how proud you are, and then disappear off to Alice.
With drunken confidence, the two of you dance, shaking your hair, swaying your hips, letting big hearty laughs tumble out of you. As the songs beat on, Jun and Mingyu materialise at your sides, moving exactly how they did all those years ago — Jun producing the strangest moves he could conjure, making you almost wet yourself in fits of giggles.
As Mingyu twirls you effortlessly, your sweet-faced soon-to-be-husband arrives, sliding in close to you, his body moving like liquid against you. The sensation of his hard chest pressed against your back made tingles shoot down your spine, the familiar scent of his musky beechwood aftershave wafting over you.
‘Back already?’ you say with a turned head, only his light curtains visible as he presses tickling kisses along your neck.
‘Forgot how attractive you are when you dance like this,’ He mumbles, nipping on a spot that elicits rather inappropriate sounds from you. The heat of the bar seemed to have settled on your skin as a heavy dew, your pulse racing at a quickened pace.
‘Hao,’ You exhale with heft, hoping the release would ease the growing heat between your legs. You lean your head into the crook of his shoulder behind you, his lips forced to disconnect with your neck as he grumbles quietly. ‘We’re in public.’
The shy and bashful Minghao that presented himself to the public was long gone — his shameless flirtation and risqué-nature penetrating through his persona. You knew this version of Minghao very well. It was the one shielded from his fans, one reserved specifically for you, the one that devoured you on a balcony the night of your engagement.
And his lusty gaze made the heat pooling between your legs feel more and more bothersome.
‘I can’t help myself,’ He says quietly, ‘you look too good, it’s driving me insane.’ His arms don’t falter from their secure place on your hips, tugging you impossibly closer. It felt like you were younger again, kissing carelessly in the club, letting the music take you both away as you indulged in one another.
‘Hao,’ A shaky breath leaves your lips, ‘We can’t exactly slip off, this is your party,’
With a sigh of frustration, he lands one more nip to the sweet spot on your neck, ‘We’re leaving as soon as it’s socially acceptable.’
It, in fact, was not socially acceptable to leave until three in the morning. In those hours, everyone had gotten impossibly drunker. Beside you, Mingyu, almost asleep, stood up, his speech slurred in that hilariously whiny way that was so reminiscent of dragging his tall frame down the dark Seoul streets.
Minghao had hovered around, often being pulled in every direction by various guests, his gaze hot on your figure as you continued to dance or mingle. You could feel eyes burn into your body when you bent over to pick up a spilt beverage, and he used it as a convenient excuse to practically run to your side — skilfully placing himself to conceal your exposed thighs.
Like a perfect scapegoat, Mingyu almost toppled over into both of you. The lanky man’s absent gaze was practically begging for bed, and who were you both to make him stay any longer?
‘We should take him back to the hotel.’ You say with a pout, bidding goodbye to Jun with a tight hug. Minghao had rapidly slipped off to also spout all variations of valedictions to the remaining guests.
Three slightly long, awkward hugs, around ten polite bows and countless ‘goodbyes’ later, you and Minghao had Mingyu slung over your shoulders, his body borderline slack between you as you both dragged him into the car.
As much as you could mentally thank Mingyu for always drinking himself into the perfect escape plan, you didn’t want to praise him for the impending spine problems his years of drunken slackness will inevitably cause you.
There were many ways you’d rather be leaving the bar. Through a back door, hands tangled in Minghao’s mullet, tugging when his lips hit that sensitive spot on your neck. Or in a private car, just the two of you, your hand eagerly stroking torturously slowly up his thigh, skimming his crotch with routine obliviousness.
But alas, Mingyu collapsed onto the seat with a thud, babbling incoherently as he lay his head on your lap. Minghao just tutted as he climbed into the passenger seat, turning to see you display a shrug, raising your hands in defeat.
Even through Mingyu's meaningless utterances, the sexual tension was rife — Minghao stayed glued to his phone, his hat low as his teeth nibbled on his lip in frustration. He was vying for a distraction, and his Instagram feed had never been so boring.
You, on the other hand, leaned on your wrist as you watched the busy, late-night traffic blur past the window. Neon lights and hordes of bodies meshed together in the dark night, the lowlight skimming your fiancées strong jaw, which was very obviously clenched, his plump lips glowing with each passing streetlight.
God, you were ready to devour him.
The minutes skidded by almost painfully, Tokyo dragging through your vision with snail-like slowness. Mingyu was fast asleep on your lap, muttering to himself drunkenly — If your head wasn’t spinning with visions of the gorgeous man in the front seat, you might find this heartwarming and so reminiscent of times passed. Mingyu follows his usual routine, getting too drunk and having to be hauled home by you or whichever oblivious friend was roped in to take half of his weight. Stumbling into the hotel elevator with someone hot on his trail, apologising profusely to whichever member of the public he may have embarrassed himself in front of. Then, collapsing onto the closest comfiest surface — the hotel bed, and passing out without a word.
It made you giggle at how his habits had never changed and how yours remained, too. Popping two painkillers onto his nightstand, filling up a cup with water. All the usual things that came as second nature. Minghao watched you closely with adoration. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t fall deeper in love with you, and today he really felt it. Even through the chaos, the stress, the pressure, your presence was ever-grounding; even if it made his brain scatter when he saw you.
Your fiancée lingered close behind you as you clicked the door shut slowly, the dim hallway abandoned at this heinous time. The warm glow made your body shine, the expanse of your neck exposed when you swept your hair to the side, your long legs practically glistening for Minghao to ogle. He traced the curve of your waist in your tight dress, biting his lip at the swell of your ass as you twisted to look at him.
‘Let me get out of the door first,’ You joke, recognising the lust dripping off of his gaze. Without hesitation, his tongue slipped out of his mouth, licking his lips as if you were his favourite meal.
You were.
The tether within Minghao had snapped, finally alone after hours of pent-up frustration, and he had you pushed up against the wall with lightning-quick agility. One strong arm wrapped tightly around your waist to pull his hips flush against yours, the other cradling your face with softness, the rough pad of his thumb savouring the feeling of your skin below it.
Without hesitation, he joined his lips to yours with desperation, his body aching to taste the alcohol on you — and now he could taste it, he felt utterly intoxicated. The plush of your lips was so familiar, but it never failed to make him feel like every hair on his body was standing on end.
‘Hao,’ You breathed out in a quiet whine, your hands lacing through Minghao’s soft hair with an instinctive tug as he let his lips begin their assault on your neck. He knew exactly how to make you fawn, his teeth grazing your sensitive spots as he left discrete marks along your exposed shoulder.
To be honest, he didn’t care that people were sleeping behind plywood walls; you were too delectable to treat anyone else with regard. A sick part of him wanted them to hear how good he made you feel, he wanted them to know that his fiancée would only moan like this for him for the rest of her life.
Your nails clawed harshly at his biceps as the feeling of his lips made heat pool pathetically between your legs, his lusted-over gaze burning through you when he pulled back to examine his art.
This was Minghao’s own personal Picasso. The sight of you, face flushed and screwn in an expression of blissful pleasure, a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin as your head leaned on the dark wall behind you, the expanse of your neck exposed and actively developing little bruises. The dress, which was, quite frankly, a method of torture designed specifically to make Minghao suffer, was bunching up and revealing your hot skin to his eyes.
‘Oh baby,’ Minghao sighs, letting his arms pull your body into his. You took advantage of his moment of weakness and began to pepper kisses up the column of his throat, trailing along his jaw and nibbling his ear gently, smirking as the skin under your fingertips rose in goosebumps. Sometimes you forgot how easily you affected him, the hotness of your breath eliciting his body to react rapidly, his eyes fluttering shut tightly as he groaned loudly and unapologetically.
The hallway had dissolved into a desire-driven blur around you both, the almost pornographic moans tumbling out of your fiancées mouth floating you away on a cloud of pure sexual need.
‘Baby, I need you.’ He manages to gasp out, your hand now feeling his toned stomach with daringly slow accuracy whilst your mouth continues to run circles around his brain.
‘Can’t have me in a corridor, Hao.’ You state between sloppy kisses, not parting from his skin for longer than a few seconds.
He turned his head and emitted a sound resembling a hiss as your mouth was forced to leave his body, ‘I’ll have you right here, sweetheart, don’t test me.’
The tone was icy, the dominance in his voice almost making your knees give way. His hand was resting with a strong presence on the back of your neck, his drooped eyelids penetrating you with so much intensity it was overwhelming.
Not willing to try your luck with Minghao — Knowing he’d bunch your dress up and tear your underwear off for anyone to see, you take his wrist in your hand, dragging him to the elevator. There’s a cocky smirk that’s landed permanently on his features, his eyes watching the way your ass giggled as you jogged lightly to the end of the hallway, pulling him along.
The doors slid shut, but before they could ring out a quiet ding! he has you pinned against the mirrored wall, his body heavy against your back.
It’s embarrassing the way you arch into him, your breath heavy as it already begins to cloud the mirror in small hues. Behind you, he has one of your arms secured to your back, intertwining his fingers with yours in an intimate gesture. Yet, his eyes are darkened as they scan your face in the mirror, the need rife in your hooded gaze as you meet his hungry look.
Your entire body is squashed against the mirror, making your cleavage bulge out of your skimpy dress, and Minghao can’t help but stare at it as he reattaches his mouth to your neck eagerly. The hardness of his throbbing cock is tough against your ass, and you gasp sharply when he smoothly thrusts himself against you.
‘Look at you,’ He coos with fake sympathy dripping off every word, his mouth ruthlessly working at your exposed skin. ‘Such a greedy girl, rubbing yourself against me in public.’
Your fiancées taunts make you impossibly wetter, and you attempt to stifle a moan that was escaping you. Minghao pauses sharply, squinting at your already fucked out reflection. ‘It’s too late to be quiet now, baby, you’ve already let the whole floor know how good my lips make you feel.’
It’s embarrassing. Almost humiliating, how he has you completely at his mercy before you’ve even swiped your room key — in the elevator where anyone could see you, where any innocent passerby could watch as your fiancée ruts his stiff cock into you, when any of his members could walk in to your face flushed and already fucked out before Minghao has even touched you.
As the elevator begins to halt, he releases his grip on you, taking your hand sweetly and pulling you into his side. It’s mind-boggling how versatile Minghao is, the doors sliding open with torturous pace as a fellow hotel guest nods politely to your fiancée, entering the space that held the ghost of said man, practically dry-humping you against the wall.
Minghao’s grip around you was tight, his hand absentmindedly tugging your dress to cover your exposed thighs as he smiled awkwardly and bowed to the stranger, keeping your head tucked safely into the crook of his neck.
You knew this was killing Minghao. Even the redness on your face did not compare to the restraint he was exercising with each passing moment.
The elevator slowed once again, and Minghao couldn’t pull you out of there faster, his cock painfully hard in his trousers; he was already facing your shared room by the time the door to the elevator slid closed.
Beep! The hotel door clicks open, and everything becomes a whirlwind. Minghao has you pressed against it with wicked ease, pulling your lips to meet his in a sloppy, needy kiss that radiates heat from him. Your hands are sliding beneath his shirt, letting your nails scratch along the toned muscles as his hand smooths over your ass, grabbing at it harshly as he attempts to pull you closer.
Minghao’s lips are working on the sweet spot below your collarbone, tasting the skin with unfaltering intensity. You let your hands roam, tangling them in his hair, scratching at his back, squeezing at his waist — you feel every inch of him like you’re learning where everything is.
With a rough tug, your dress is pooled around your waist, your braless chest bouncing out with the release of the cloth binding it, and Minghao lets out a long groan, his eyes closing as he lets his head slack. He is devilishly handsome, his jaw defined in the low light as it flexes at the sight of you.
‘Sweetheart,’ He speaks whilst he inspects every inch of you closely, bringing his hot mouth to your chest once again, his tongue drawing patterns against your skin as he brings one of his hands to toy with your nipple, his long fingers working automatically to pinch and caress you.
Loud throaty moans tumble out of you as he fails to neglect your other nipple, letting his mouth trail hot kisses around it before sucking with perfected ease. If Minghao’s arm wasn’t securely around you, the feeling would’ve made you collapse to the floor — he knew your body like the back of his hand, nipping and sucking on every single sensitive spot, touching every place that set your body on fire. Except where you needed him most.
‘Hao,’ You moan, and he just grunts against you, not faltering for a second from his heavy assault on your chest, the sight of him devouring you almost enough to have you cumming. ‘Baby, I need-‘
He pulls off of your nipple with a dirty pop, his pent-up gaze watching as the pleasure drops off your face with the lack of contact. It was filthy, the arousal that pumped through him when he watched you become absolutely desperate for him.
‘Need what baby?’ He questions, his movements so slow that they almost cease, making your eyebrows furrow and your lip jut out in a pout. Pathetically, you let your slender hand reach for the waistband of his trousers, but he’s like a hawk, pinning both of your wrists above your head.
It’s humiliating how turned on you are — completely under his control willingly. His frame is fully clothed, whilst yours is a mess, dress in a rushed bunch around your waist, panties dripping.
‘What do you need?’ He questions, gaze burning into you as he drags his eyes down your curves. ‘Use your words, baby.’
‘Need you,’ You whine, wiggling to attempt to reach for his waistband again, but his grip is steady, keeping you absolutely merciless.
‘Need what part of me?’ He blinks, big innocent eyes staring at yours like he wasn’t already ruining you without even a touch.
Your face is utterly flushed as embarrassment and arousal mix into a vicious vision of want, the outline of his hard cock practically pounces at you. Minghao uses this moment to let one of his big hands ghost over your panties, his touch so light that you buck your hips instantly, desperate for him to give your clit any stimulation.
A taunting laugh escapes his lips before his ruthless mouth is back on your neck, nipping and sucking as your head falls back in pleasure. The sudden attention forces a moan to escape you, and he stops, the brief contact ripped away so savagely that your brain is fuzzy with frustration.
‘I asked you a question, sweetheart.’ He repeats, letting your restrained hands fall as he tugs you lightly towards the bed, pausing as you near it. Without a word, he slips your bundled dress off of your frame carefully, discarding it as you kiss him, pulling his neck to yours before he even has a chance to appreciate your almost naked body.
‘Need your cock baby,’ You mumble against his lips, and he groans at your needy answer, his pants feeling uncomfortably tight around him, and you let your nails scrape his lower abdomen in that way that has his body in shivers.
Minghao is so enticed by you, the way your lips mingle with his effortlessly, the ways in which you know his body, the ways that can almost make him cum in his pants with just a feather-light touch.
You’ve slyly twisted, pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed, your lips not parting as you masterfully manoeuvre yourself between his solid thighs.
Minghao thinks this might be a mirage. A vision of ecstasy in a moment of desperation. You, his beautiful fiancée, on your knees in front of him, your lips swollen from his assault on them, tiny marks along your neck from his greediness to mark you. There’s a distinct thirst in your eyes as your hands fumble with his belt, and Minghao thinks it might be the most attractive thing he’s ever seen.
Like an expert, his belt is unbuckled, and his trousers are tugged down, your light touch carrying the weight of hours of teasing. As you let his cock spring free, he hisses, the scene in front of him so dirty he could cum right now.
Your fiancé's biceps are flexed as he holds himself up, leaning back and watching you with squinted eyes. His cock is so pretty, you sometimes forget, and it shocks you all over again – It’s pale and long, not too girthy but beautifully slender. The sight of it alone makes your pussy clench around nothing, the memories of it kissing your cervix infiltrating your mind.
Drool pools at the corner of your lips, and without further ado, you stroke your fingertips lightly along his cock, letting your thumb drag over the tip, a string of tangled grunts tumbling out of him as you spread the leaking pre-cum down his shaft.
After a few eager strokes, you bring your mouth to him, kitten-licking him with precision, his teeth gritted as he lets out a hiss, your warm mouth sending spikes of pleasure up his body. His cock was more than a mouthful, the salty pre-cum lathering your tongue as you gradually make your way down him, gagging as your nose grazes his stomach.
Your engagement band glints as you grip his thigh, beginning to piston your head, throaty moans slipping out of his mouth as you take him so well.
‘Fuck baby,’ He groans, and an involuntary sound of pleasure leaves you, your nipples perked in arousal as you speed up. Minghao runs his fingers through your soft hair delicately, the sensation prickling your skin as he gathers your locks and guides your motions with desperation. ‘You look so pretty.’
It was so filthy, the squelch of your mouth working against him and his heavy, breathy moans at free flow as the feeling of your tongue around him takes over. Minghao is seeing stars, the sight of you alone pushing him closer, yet alone the stimulation on his cock.
‘Baby, baby.’ He pants, his breathing climbing rapidly as his release nears, and he pulls your head away from him carefully, refusing to come from just your mouth – he needed to be inside you, watching your eyes roll back as he bottoms out. You pout, looking up at him with red cheeks, your lips glistening with his pre-cum and your spit. ‘I want to come inside you.’
His words make you ache, your pussy practically begging for something – anything at all.
Minghao lifts your jaw up to his, rejoining your lips. The salty taste of himself on you infiltrates his mouth as he pulls you onto his lap, his strong arms reaching to squeeze at the expanse of your ass cheeks as his cock is trapped between you both, nudging at your clit in selfish intervals.
‘Take this off.’ You whisper, hands already pulling at his shirt, and he whips it off, sparing only a second before his tongue is intertwined with yours again, your fingertips feeling his smooth skin and tracing his abs.
You push his body down, crawling over him to grind your clothed entrance against his hard cock. Pretty moans falling out of you as your clit gets the stimulation it was craving, forcing your eyes to squeeze shut as your body is submerged in pleasure. Your fiancée is breathless below you, your hair dangling down into his face as your expression presents as angelic, all-consumed by pleasure. Minghao always thought you were the most beautiful woman on earth, but god, you glowed in a different way like this.
Breathing shallowly, you continued dragging yourself against his hardness, your eyes locking with Minghaos as he tilts his head back into the mattress, his gaze lusty yet determined. Those strong arms working their way down to your wetness as you pause your movements, desperate for your fiancée to touch you.
‘Oh my poor baby, you’re soaked,’ He said, using his middle finger to trace circles over you, the panties ruined and your thighs almost dripping. You couldn't even muster a response, his light teasing pressing all of the right spots, and you drop your head to the crook of his neck as he continues his lazy circles. ‘Do you want me to stop?’
You knew it was a baited question. Minghao wanted to see you squirm.
‘No, please.’ You beg, your mouth hot against his sensitive neck as you speak into it, biting at the skin gently.
‘Look at me.’ He says sternly. Pressing one finger into your dripping hole, pushing your panties inside you. It was ludicrous and practically a sin to be so hopelessly at his expense, but you couldn't think past how good it felt.
‘Look at me.’ He repeats with a grit in his teeth, halting his movements to get your full attention. With a rapid snap of the neck up, your faces are inches apart, his hot breath mingling with yours as he scans your gorgeous face, your cheeks reddened, your lips jutted.
You were so beautiful.
‘Good girl.’ Before you can even moan, his mouth is back on yours hungrily, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he guides your soaked clit to rub against his painfully hard cock. ‘Stay just like this, baby.’ Then, in a subtle movement, he slides out from underneath you and discards the rest of his clothing, kneeling behind you.
The heat of his body radiated as he stroked himself whilst inspecting you, wetness dripping down your spread legs, pussy gleaming with arousal. It was one of his favourite sights, and he can’t help himself as he runs his hands up and down your plush thighs, squeezing your ass and letting the cool of his metal engagement band send shivers up your spine.
‘Hao, please.’ With desperation, you push your hips backwards, his cock brushing you, and you let out a hum of satisfaction.
Wordlessly, Minghao begins to guide his cock into your dripping hole, the sensation of you so tight and warm around him making a heavy groan fall from his throat. Similarly, tears begin to cloud your vision as sweet relief washes over you, the feeling of him dragging against your walls combined with his throaty sounds making you dig your nails into the soft white covers.
Slowly, he bullies his way into you, his member hitting every single spot that has you clawing desperately at anything you can. As he bottoms out with a hiss, a loud moan leaves your lips, the overwhelming feeling of his tip mingling with your cervix, making you clench around him.
It felt insane how well his body slotted into yours. Your pussy was moulded to fit his cock, your walls hugging it in every single place. There was nothing that could compare to the feeling of being conjoined with one another, ecstasy blasting through you both as you thrive in the overwhelming feeling of one another.
Unable to restrain himself, Minghao begins to fuck into you with a quickened pace, the room becoming a soundtrack of filthy sounds; his hips slapping your thighs, the squelch of your soaked hole, the mixture of grunts and moans the two of you emit.
Minghao’s eyes stare as your skin jiggles with each thrust, his fingers gripping your hips so tight that bruises will blossom beneath them tomorrow. His breathing is heavy as he relishes the euphoric feeling of you bent over, receiving him so willingly and squeezing him impossibly tighter.
The wicked thrusting has you seeing stars, the sensations overwhelming, and you start hurtling towards your release, moans running at free flow out of you as your fiancée only quickens his pace.
‘H-Hao,’ You moan, gripping the mattress below you as if it could receive some of the immense pleasure rippling through you.
‘Yes, baby?’ He pants out, letting one hand rub up your side in a soothing manner, his hips and arms doing completely contrasting things to your body.
‘I’m close.’ You sputter out, lathered in his deep strokes that were practically splitting you in half.
‘Mhm,’ He hums, only speeding up impossibly faster as he wraps a strong arm around your waist to pull you into him, not letting his cock disconnect from the comfort of your slick.
Your head is slack on Minghao’s shoulder as he holds your back tightly to his chest, letting his hand ghost over your neck. He nips at your ear as he continues to piston into you ruthlessly, your release within an arm's reach.
‘You’re doing so well, baby,’ Minghao whispers in your ear, tightening his grip on your neck as he chases your high. ‘Such a good girl, my good girl.’
That was all it took before you were tightening around him, high-pitched moans tumbling out of you. The coil within you snaps, sending your vision white, heat flushing out of you as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly.
Minghao keeps fucking you ruthlessly, holding the weight of your body as he chases his own release, small whines escaping your mouth as he overstimulates you. The grip of his hands gets tighter and tighter as he grunts in your ear, muttering incoherently as all he thinks about is how good you feel.
‘Fuck ____.’ He gasps, his breath taken from him as he spurts inside you, his warm milky release coating your insides, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he slows.
The room is swamped in the sound of heavy breathing, Minghao pulling out and helping you lie down gently, kissing your shoulders, all the way down your spine and then returning to kiss the crown of your head.
‘You’re so beautiful.’ He speaks with delicate sincerity, your sleepy gaze watching his naked figure disappear off to the bathroom.
‘I love you.’ You mumble, grinning shyly and nuzzling your face into the pillow. Your fiancée reappears with a wet towel, wiping you cautiously as he appreciates your gorgeous figure.
‘I love you more, my love.’ He replies, Your vision became as your body relaxed into the plush mattress. With a light but solid grip, you tug him onto the bed, his musky scent washing over you once again, and you sigh happily.
‘Just cuddle me, baby.’ You murmur, tiredness taking over you as he pulls you into his chest, placing the covers over the two of you. Peppering kisses on your head, he watches you gently doze off, and his heart feels like it could burst with how much he adores you.
Even submerged in sleep, your hand finds his, engagement rings clicking quietly together, and Minghao closes his eyes in contentment, letting sleep lull him away with you.
🩵 vernon x reader
🩵 2.7k
🩵 fluff. pure fluff.
🩵 college au, recently established relationship, shy vernon, so much blushing it's not even funny, this is basically just my love letter to vernon and how beautiful he is because WOW
🩵 this didn't quite turn out how i was envisioning but hopefully it's as giggly and fluffy and cute on the page as it was in my brain? anyway, enjoy :)
You've never really complimented Vernon before. Not the way he deserves, at least. And what better time than now?
🩵
You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling when Vernon walks through the door. You’ve only been dating for a month, but still, he lights you up like nothing else. He’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, inside and out.
And maybe today, he looks a little more pretty than normal.
Maybe today, meeting his big brown eyes and seeing a quiet, tired joy, he needs to hear it.
“Hey,” he says, lips quirking up in that smile. It’s a tired smile – he’s exhausted, of course he is, after scrambling to throw together a film set for his group project and spending the whole day there – but it’s a beautiful smile nonetheless. Because it’s him.
“Hey,” you whisper back, standing from the couch. You can see him better now, standing by the door with his sneakers half off and his backpack falling from his shoulder, one arm braced against the wall so he doesn’t fall as he toes the other shoe off. Hot. Cute. And hot.
“Hey,” you say again, and he looks up at the way your voice changed – a little louder. A little lower. His hand is still on the wall, but now his big brown eyes meet yours, wide and expectant, and oh, he’s beautiful. Even behind the gold-rimmed glasses. Beautiful.
Maybe your heart skips a beat.
But you’ve never really complimented him before. Nothing beyond you look good or your hair looks nice or that’s a cool shirt. And maybe it’s too early for much more than that, because everything’s been pretty slow, and Vernon… he’s amazing. But he’s not the most affectionate. (At least, not in ways that you’ve seen yet. But that’s okay. You’ll figure him out eventually.)
“You look great today” is what ends up coming out of your mouth. Because, as beautiful as he is, you don’t know if that’s safe territory yet. Would he even like being called beautiful? Some guys were sensitive about that. The last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable.
But he smiles… for a moment. His gums peek out just briefly before he presses his lips together and turns back to his shoes. “Uh, thanks.”
You frown, just a bit. “You can smile at that, you know.”
“Huh?” He whips his head up (his soft waves bounce against his forehead) and stares. Are his ears pink? “No, I – I know. I’m just… not used to it. I guess.”
He drops his bag on top of his shoes and wanders over to you, holding his arms out with a softer smile. A sheepish one. “Anyway. How was your day?”
You melt into his arms, just a bit. He holds you gently. Almost carefully. It’s been like that with him, this whole time. And that’s okay, really; you don’t mind. You know he cares, and that he’s just trying to figure out how to love you properly. And that’s okay.
But you’d really like to know how to love him properly.
And, with that adorable gummy smile and those pink ears dancing in your mind, you might have a small inkling of how.
“It wasn’t too bad,” you say, lingering in the hug, your arms around his waist. His stay around your shoulders, hands splayed across your back. It’s nice, having him this close, his soft blue hoodie cushioning your cheek. “Better now that you’re here.”
His hand twitches at your shoulderblade. You smile into his sternum.
“This is one of my favorite hoodies of yours,” you say softly, because what the hell, why not?
“Oh?”
“Mhm. It’s really soft. And it’s a really nice color on you.” Starting small. You’re only now realizing just how rarely you compliment each other. Is that bad? Vernon deserves many more compliments than this, you decide, and you’re going to change that now. He’s beautiful. He deserves to know.
“Thanks,” Vernon murmurs, not quite into your hair. His chin rests on your head, but there’s no weight to it. He’s still being gentle. Gentle as always.
You curl your fingers into the back of his hoodie and tug, just a little, just for fun. “It looks really good on you.” Then you pull back, out from under his chin, just enough to catch his eye. “You look really good in it.”
That catches him off guard. He blinks. You can almost see the wheels in his head turning.
“Thanks,” he says again. There’s a hint of something new in his voice. Something… surprised? Soft?
You’re not sure, but you want to hear more of it.
“You look amazing today, actually,” you say, drawing your arms free so you can loop them around his neck instead. His hands fall to your waist, resting carefully on your hips, and his eyes (wide and beautiful as ever) don’t leave yours. Oh, he’s beautiful.
Oh, what the heck, why not?
“You’re beautiful.” And, just like that, a rush of red spreads across his cheeks. His lips part, but nothing comes out. You can’t help but giggle.
“I –” He stops, swallows, and smiles hesitantly. “Thank you?”
“What?” you hum, brushing your fingers through the soft hairs at the back of his head. “You sound like you don’t agree.”
“No!” he blurts. Then he shakes his head, hands a little tighter on your waist. “I mean – I don’t – I just – I’m not used to being, um… beautiful.”
“But you are.”
The redness in his cheeks intensifies.
“I was on set all day,” Vernon says, like it’s an excuse for the way he makes you feel.
“You’re still beautiful,” you insist, and his mouth twitches, his breath hitches. You smile. (You can’t help it.) “Your hair is so soft,” you say, pushing gently onward, “and it makes my day whenever you lie down and just let me play with it. And I love this length, it’s so pretty on you.”
“Thanks…” But his whole face is red now.
You cradle his cheeks, holding back a smile at the way you can feel the heat rising from them. Oh, he’s adorable. “Your face is perfect in so many ways,” you start, and already his fingers are curling into the fabric at your hips, his eyes trying to dart away from yours. You tap his cheek, and he looks at you again, immediately. “I love the shape of your face. Your jaw. Your cheekbones. I genuinely don’t know how someone as perfect as you can exist,” you admit, and oh my gosh, he’s burning beneath your fingertips.
“Uh-huh,” he says, but it’s strangled, and you’re not sure he knows what he’s saying.
You keep going.
“I love your freckles. You don’t have a lot on your face, I know, but there’s one here” – you press a finger to his neck, in the shadow of his chin – “and one back here” – the back of his neck, just above his t-shirt – “and here” – a little low on his chest, just enough that you need to tug down the front of his hoodie. But only for a moment. “They’re just so sweet. So cute.”
There’s red creeping up his neck now, too.
“Your birthmark!” you say next, retrieving his hand from your waist and spreading his fingers palm-up between you. There it is, the little mark shaped like a heart, sitting at the base of his thumb like it was waiting for you. You kind of really want to kiss it, but Vernon’s still flaming red, and he hasn’t moved in a few minutes, so maybe that’s for another time. For now, you just trace it over and over again. He flinches at first, your fingertip probably tickling him, but he relaxes as you continue. “It’s so cute. It’s literally a heart. I love it so much. It’s so cute.”
And you let his hand go. It returns to your waist, grasping at your shirt, and you move on.
“Your ears,” you say, reaching up to cup them, and oh, you’ve never seen anyone’s ears turn this shade of red before. You giggle as you thumb at his earlobes. “I could do this for hours, I think. They’re perfect. Like they’re made for me. Like you’re made for me.”
You could swear his shoulders start to curl. But he’s smiling, as much as he’s trying to hide it. His lips are pressed together so hard that they’re white, but his eyes are crinkling. You target his eyelashes next (long and delicate and you’re jealous of them), then his eyebrows (thick in a really good way, there’s just something about them), gushing over everything, and he just stands there, shy and red and adorable.
“Stop,” he whispers then, eyes avoiding yours, and you pause, hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
“Do you want me to? I will if you’re uncomfortable. I’m sorry.” You start to step back.
But his hands catch on your waist. He shakes his head minutely, cheeks burning, eyes still hiding. “No, it’s – it’s okay. You can… keep going.”
You smile. You really can’t help it. “Yeah?” you hum. “Alright, then. Look at me?”
He does, immediately, eyes wide and waiting, and you giggle.
“Your eyes,” you whisper, staring up at him, and those beautiful brown eyes widen even more. You reach up and pull his glasses off, ever so carefully, because you know they’re just for blue light and, as beautiful as he is with them on, you want them off. You set them on the back of the couch. They’ll be fine there. “I love your eyes.”
“You love everything,” Vernon says, trying to be funny, but his voice is shaky and almost trembling. He’s red, so red that it’s almost concerning, but he said to keep going, and you’re having too much fun now.
“Of course I do,” you say, swiping your thumb under his eye. “Because it’s you. And you’re pretty.”
His breath catches at that. Audibly. “Oh,” he says, shoulders curling up to his ears, hands twisting into your shirt, his whole body warm with something like giddy embarrassment.
You laugh, catching his wrists as he starts to let go. “Nope. You said keep going. You’ve gotta stay until I’m done, okay?”
“But –”
“Nope. I’m not done looking at your pretty eyes.”
Vernon melts at that. Now his grip on your shirt seems to be for support as you cup his cheeks and stare up into his pretty, pretty eyes. “You’re just so… sparkly. Your eyes. They’re so big and beautiful. So pretty.”
He’s stopped trying to hide his smile, thankfully, and he’s just beaming now, but it’s still so shy and awkward that you want to laugh and cry all at once. He’s beautiful, and you’re so glad you’re telling him now.
No, he’s not just beautiful.
He’s pretty.
Pretty, pretty, pretty.
So you tell him.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” you whisper, hands smoothing down from his cheeks to his neck to his shoulders. He’s burning up beneath your touch, even though it’s really just a feathery brush over his hoodie. “You’re so pretty.”
Vernon drops his head, forehead touching yours, a shaky breath feathering over your nose. He’s beaming, eyes giddy but shy, and so, so adorable. “Baby…”
“Baby, huh?” you whisper back, your heart jumping in your chest. “That’s new.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, well… so is this.”
“Mm. Good new?”
“Good new,” he promises quickly. “It was just… a lot.”
“Was?” you say with a smile. “I’m not done.”
“What?” The word seems to pop out before he can stop it, and the red that had barely begun to fade returns in full force.
“I’m not done, pretty boy,” you coo, and then all of him is red again, and maybe you took a gamble there but it paid off because he’s smiling like an idiot and curling into you and trying to hide in your shoulder. You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair.
“Babyyy,” he whines, actually whines, and you can hear the smile in his voice and it’s adorable.
“Yeah?”
“…Nothing.”
“Yeah? Does that mean you want me to keep going?”
He nods into your shoulder. Then shakes his head. Then nods again. You have to keep yourself from laughing again, because he’s just so cute.
“Alright, I’ll just say one more thing, and then I’ll let you blush in peace, okay?”
“Okay,” he says immediately, but he doesn’t move. You grin as you tap the back of his head.
“I need to see your face, pretty boy.”
And lo and behold, there’s his face, red cheeks curved with a sheepish but brilliant smile, waiting expectantly, and you smile too.
“Lastly,” you say, beaming at the way he seems to hang on every word, “your smile.”
Surprise flashes across his face , that precious smile dropping, but only for a moment, and then he’s clutching at your sides with the cheesiest smile and the shyest eyes you’ve seen yet. You giggle, cupping his cheeks.
“Your smile is so beautiful, Vernon,” you murmur, and you mean it. You know people have made fun of him for it. You don’t care. You love it. “Your laugh, too. And your voice. It’s all so beautiful. So pretty,” you add, grinning, and just as you expected, his fingers twitch at your waist, and his breath catches. “Yep. Pretty,” you declare. “Pretty boy. My pretty boy.”
“Yeah,” he breathes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was lost in your eyes.
“Last thing I love about your mouth, while I’m at it,” you add, keeping your tone entirely casual, and he’s paying rapt attention again.
You tap a finger against his cupid’s bow. “The kisses they give me,” you say, and he inhales so sharply that he starts coughing.
You burst out laughing, letting him jerk away from you to bury his coughs in his elbow.
“Oh, my gosh, you’re adorable.” You lean back against the couch. Vernon glares at you, but there’s absolutely no bite to it. He’s still red, even though he can breathe again.
“We haven’t even kissed that much,” he says weakly. His shoulders are up to his ears, his hands dangling at his sides, and he shuffles closer like he doesn’t know what else to do. “And I’m not very… like… good at it.”
“Oh, me neither, but we’ve got plenty of time to get better, pretty boy.”
He almost starts coughing again. You swallow your laugh.
“We can practice now, if you want.”
“Stop,” he pleads, burying his face in his hands, and you don’t hide your laugh this time.
“I’m sorry, you’re just so cute right now,” you say gently, reaching out to tug his hands away. “I mean, you’re cute all the time, but you’re so flustered right now. And it’s adorable.”
He just looks at you, hair tousled and skin red, and he looks like the sweetest, saddest little puppy you’ve ever seen. Or kitten. But you’re pretty sure that what he’s giving you would be classified as puppy eyes.
You’re still smiling as you hold his hands. You’re still smiling as you lift his hand to your mouth and press the tiniest kiss to his birthmark, because maybe you like teasing him a little bit too much. You’re still smiling as he fights to keep the biggest smile off his face.
“Come on,” you say, tugging gently at his wrist.
“Come on, what?” he manages, his voice almost cracking. Adorable.
“Come on and kiss me, pretty boy.”
He leans in immediately, cupping your cheeks with all the care in the world, and then his lips are on yours.
They’re soft and gentle as always, brushing on yours for a brief moment before he closes the rest of the gap and steals your breath away.
It’s not a mindblowing kiss. It’s awkward and messy and far from perfect. If it was with anyone else, it wouldn’t be anything special.
But it’s with Vernon. Gentle, beautiful, pretty Vernon.
Your Vernon.
When he pulls away just enough to see you, your face is just as flushed as his.
“Pretty,” he whispers, and you lean forward to kiss him again.
🤎 vernon x f!reader
🤎 1.1k
🤎 fluff and kisses!!
🤎 soft mornings, cuddling, horrid sleep schedules and the cruel morning sun, just a lot of kisses ok?? oh and also a couple pet names (sunshine, babe, baby girl)
🤎 i was exhausted and the coffee wasn't working and then this showed up. i promise i have a longer fic in the works and it won't all be drabbles or whatever this is ahahaa. also no beta we die like men.
🤎 taglist: @bubbliegubs <3
You're too exhausted to even get up and make coffee. Vernon helps, like he always does.
🤎
Sunlight peels your eyes open, and you groan, rolling over. Not yet. It can’t be morning already. You need at least another two hours of sleep, but you know that once the sun rises, you’re not sleeping anymore. You would if you could, but without nearly complete darkness, it’s a lost cause. Plus, the looming threat of work in an hour is rapidly approaching.
That doesn’t mean you can’t feel the exhaustion weighing you down, dragging at your limbs, drying out your poor, suffering eyes.
“Hey.”
A warm hand follows the familiar voice as Vernon brushes your hair from your shoulder.
“Morning, sunshine,” he mumbles, voice low and thick from sleep. It’s almost enough to coax your eyes open.
“Lemme sleep,” you huff back as you curl tighter around yourself, trying to block out the light. It’s fruitless, of course it is, but everything in you is exhausted. You need coffee. Desperately. Unfortunately, you’re too exhausted to get up and make it. You’re not even sure if you could drink it right now if someone put it in your hands.
“Babe,” Vernon sighs, and then the bed shifts, and he’s warm against your back, arm slipping over your stomach, knees curling up beneath you. Oh, that’s nice. “You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”
“I’m fine.” You’re not fine. You’re not fine and you know it. But right now you just want to sleep. Or be wide awake. Anything that’s not this awful, horrid in-between of inescapable exhaustion with no rest.
“Babe…” Vernon’s breath ghosts over your skin, ruffling your hair just slightly as he sighs again. “You need to get up.”
“‘M too tired.”
“I know you are.” He’s exasperated, but there’s something fond behind the words. His fingers brush against your hip, dipping sweetly under the hem of your shirt to draw whorls and stars across your skin. “We can get coffee, okay? I’ll get you that fancy one from the coffee place down the street –”
“‘M too tired.”
He just laughs, low and close and entirely too much for your mental state right now. Your ear rings with the echo.
“Alright, I get it,” he murmurs, nose bumping the shell of your ear. “You need something to wake you up before coffee, yeah?”
His voice shifts in a way that catches your attention. You think about cracking an eye open, turning to see what he’s up to, but before you can do anything of the sort, both eyes open wide at the feeling of warm lips at the nape of your neck.
“Vernon?” you squeak, but he just kisses you again, a little to the left. Then again, and again, and he’s tracing his way up to your jaw, and you’re breathless but tilting back to meet him.
“Is this helping?” he whispers, words buzzing against your cheek, but he doesn’t let you answer.
He pulls you onto your back and kisses you, long and slow, and you think distantly that you might melt into the mattress. His hand at your hip, his elbow braced beside your head, the knee that he slots between yours to get a better angle and kiss you deeper.
Then he pulls away, leaving you staring at the ceiling as he dips to kiss your neck again. His nose skims the line of your jaw, his lips feather across your throat, and oh, you are very much awake. Exhaustion still simmers behind your eyes, but that’s nothing new. That’s ignorable, when Vernon’s here, mouth warm against your skin.
“Vern,” you breathe, reaching up to thread your fingers through his hair.
“Is it helping?” he repeats between small, peppering kisses.
“I mean, yeah –”
“Good.”
He moves away from your neck, but instead of kissing you again, he just looks at you. Your ears burn, staring back up at him, at his beautiful brown eyes. He looks like he’s fighting exhaustion, too, but it fades more and more with every second that passes. His focus shifts across your face, roving over you, and you smile shyly, looking away.
Vernon’s fingers on your chin bring you back before you’ve even fully gone.
“Hey, baby girl,” he whispers, smiling lazily, and a little giggle bursts out of you. His smile widens. He dips, kissing you again, but this time it’s brief. He’s searching your eyes again after only a few sweet seconds. “You look pretty.”
You wrinkle your nose. “I’m a mess.”
He half shrugs. One finger strokes the underside of your chin in a way that has your heart fluttering. “You’re a pretty mess.”
“Vernon –”
But his lips are on yours, swallowing your protests. You relent, sighing and kissing him back. You know he won’t give up, no matter how hard you argue that you’re literally in his old Star Wars t-shirt and a pair of ratty shorts, that your hair is a bird’s nest, that you have lines on your face and crusts of sleep in your eyes. He doesn’t care. Never has. You don’t think he ever will.
“You’re pretty too,” you murmur against his lips as you part. He grins down at you, hair falling in his eyes, long and soft and just a little curled. You brush it back, letting your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, and his eyes flutter closed.
“Mm.”
A moment passes like that, quiet and still, his warmth cradling you and shielding you from the sunlight that spears through the horrible slatted window shades. You still haven’t changed them. You need to. You’d probably sleep better. You hope you’d sleep better.
“You ready to get up?”
You drag your eyes back to Vernon’s. He’s almost glowing in the morning light, a gentle smirk on his lips that doesn’t match the tenderness in his eyes.
“Do I have to?” You pout, and his gaze flickers down to your lips again. You stick your lower lip out a little more and are rewarded with a brief, gentle peck.
“I mean, if you wanna have enough time to do your makeup before work, then yeah.”
Vernon grins as you groan. He’s right, you know he is. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.
“Come on, babe. Let’s get up.”
He starts to pull away, but you catch the front of his shirt, and he pauses. You bite your lip, a little shy, but he raises an eyebrow, waiting.
“Yes?”
“…Just a little longer?”
That splits his face into a grin, the slightly cocky kind that doesn’t show up very often but makes your head spin, just a bit.
“Yeah, alright,” he murmurs, and then he presses that smirk to your mouth and the last hints of exhaustion burn away.
🤎 vernon x f!reader
🤎 1.1k
🤎 fluff and kisses!!
🤎 soft mornings, cuddling, horrid sleep schedules and the cruel morning sun, just a lot of kisses ok?? oh and also a couple pet names (sunshine, babe, baby girl)
🤎 i was exhausted and the coffee wasn't working and then this showed up. i promise i have a longer fic in the works and it won't all be drabbles or whatever this is ahahaa. also no beta we die like men.
🤎 taglist: @bubbliegubs <3
You're too exhausted to even get up and make coffee. Vernon helps, like he always does.
🤎
Sunlight peels your eyes open, and you groan, rolling over. Not yet. It can’t be morning already. You need at least another two hours of sleep, but you know that once the sun rises, you’re not sleeping anymore. You would if you could, but without nearly complete darkness, it’s a lost cause. Plus, the looming threat of work in an hour is rapidly approaching.
That doesn’t mean you can’t feel the exhaustion weighing you down, dragging at your limbs, drying out your poor, suffering eyes.
“Hey.”
A warm hand follows the familiar voice as Vernon brushes your hair from your shoulder.
“Morning, sunshine,” he mumbles, voice low and thick from sleep. It’s almost enough to coax your eyes open.
“Lemme sleep,” you huff back as you curl tighter around yourself, trying to block out the light. It’s fruitless, of course it is, but everything in you is exhausted. You need coffee. Desperately. Unfortunately, you’re too exhausted to get up and make it. You’re not even sure if you could drink it right now if someone put it in your hands.
“Babe,” Vernon sighs, and then the bed shifts, and he’s warm against your back, arm slipping over your stomach, knees curling up beneath you. Oh, that’s nice. “You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”
“I’m fine.” You’re not fine. You’re not fine and you know it. But right now you just want to sleep. Or be wide awake. Anything that’s not this awful, horrid in-between of inescapable exhaustion with no rest.
“Babe…” Vernon’s breath ghosts over your skin, ruffling your hair just slightly as he sighs again. “You need to get up.”
“‘M too tired.”
“I know you are.” He’s exasperated, but there’s something fond behind the words. His fingers brush against your hip, dipping sweetly under the hem of your shirt to draw whorls and stars across your skin. “We can get coffee, okay? I’ll get you that fancy one from the coffee place down the street –”
“‘M too tired.”
He just laughs, low and close and entirely too much for your mental state right now. Your ear rings with the echo.
“Alright, I get it,” he murmurs, nose bumping the shell of your ear. “You need something to wake you up before coffee, yeah?”
His voice shifts in a way that catches your attention. You think about cracking an eye open, turning to see what he’s up to, but before you can do anything of the sort, both eyes open wide at the feeling of warm lips at the nape of your neck.
“Vernon?” you squeak, but he just kisses you again, a little to the left. Then again, and again, and he’s tracing his way up to your jaw, and you’re breathless but tilting back to meet him.
“Is this helping?” he whispers, words buzzing against your cheek, but he doesn’t let you answer.
He pulls you onto your back and kisses you, long and slow, and you think distantly that you might melt into the mattress. His hand at your hip, his elbow braced beside your head, the knee that he slots between yours to get a better angle and kiss you deeper.
Then he pulls away, leaving you staring at the ceiling as he dips to kiss your neck again. His nose skims the line of your jaw, his lips feather across your throat, and oh, you are very much awake. Exhaustion still simmers behind your eyes, but that’s nothing new. That’s ignorable, when Vernon’s here, mouth warm against your skin.
“Vern,” you breathe, reaching up to thread your fingers through his hair.
“Is it helping?” he repeats between small, peppering kisses.
“I mean, yeah –”
“Good.”
He moves away from your neck, but instead of kissing you again, he just looks at you. Your ears burn, staring back up at him, at his beautiful brown eyes. He looks like he’s fighting exhaustion, too, but it fades more and more with every second that passes. His focus shifts across your face, roving over you, and you smile shyly, looking away.
Vernon’s fingers on your chin bring you back before you’ve even fully gone.
“Hey, baby girl,” he whispers, smiling lazily, and a little giggle bursts out of you. His smile widens. He dips, kissing you again, but this time it’s brief. He’s searching your eyes again after only a few sweet seconds. “You look pretty.”
You wrinkle your nose. “I’m a mess.”
He half shrugs. One finger strokes the underside of your chin in a way that has your heart fluttering. “You’re a pretty mess.”
“Vernon –”
But his lips are on yours, swallowing your protests. You relent, sighing and kissing him back. You know he won’t give up, no matter how hard you argue that you’re literally in his old Star Wars t-shirt and a pair of ratty shorts, that your hair is a bird’s nest, that you have lines on your face and crusts of sleep in your eyes. He doesn’t care. Never has. You don’t think he ever will.
“You’re pretty too,” you murmur against his lips as you part. He grins down at you, hair falling in his eyes, long and soft and just a little curled. You brush it back, letting your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, and his eyes flutter closed.
“Mm.”
A moment passes like that, quiet and still, his warmth cradling you and shielding you from the sunlight that spears through the horrible slatted window shades. You still haven’t changed them. You need to. You’d probably sleep better. You hope you’d sleep better.
“You ready to get up?”
You drag your eyes back to Vernon’s. He’s almost glowing in the morning light, a gentle smirk on his lips that doesn’t match the tenderness in his eyes.
“Do I have to?” You pout, and his gaze flickers down to your lips again. You stick your lower lip out a little more and are rewarded with a brief, gentle peck.
“I mean, if you wanna have enough time to do your makeup before work, then yeah.”
Vernon grins as you groan. He’s right, you know he is. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.
“Come on, babe. Let’s get up.”
He starts to pull away, but you catch the front of his shirt, and he pauses. You bite your lip, a little shy, but he raises an eyebrow, waiting.
“Yes?”
“…Just a little longer?”
That splits his face into a grin, the slightly cocky kind that doesn’t show up very often but makes your head spin, just a bit.
“Yeah, alright,” he murmurs, and then he presses that smirk to your mouth and the last hints of exhaustion burn away.
🩵 vernon x reader
🩵 2.7k
🩵 fluff. pure fluff.
🩵 college au, recently established relationship, shy vernon, so much blushing it's not even funny, this is basically just my love letter to vernon and how beautiful he is because WOW
🩵 this didn't quite turn out how i was envisioning but hopefully it's as giggly and fluffy and cute on the page as it was in my brain? anyway, enjoy :)
You've never really complimented Vernon before. Not the way he deserves, at least. And what better time than now?
🩵
You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling when Vernon walks through the door. You’ve only been dating for a month, but still, he lights you up like nothing else. He’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, inside and out.
And maybe today, he looks a little more pretty than normal.
Maybe today, meeting his big brown eyes and seeing a quiet, tired joy, he needs to hear it.
“Hey,” he says, lips quirking up in that smile. It’s a tired smile – he’s exhausted, of course he is, after scrambling to throw together a film set for his group project and spending the whole day there – but it’s a beautiful smile nonetheless. Because it’s him.
“Hey,” you whisper back, standing from the couch. You can see him better now, standing by the door with his sneakers half off and his backpack falling from his shoulder, one arm braced against the wall so he doesn’t fall as he toes the other shoe off. Hot. Cute. And hot.
“Hey,” you say again, and he looks up at the way your voice changed – a little louder. A little lower. His hand is still on the wall, but now his big brown eyes meet yours, wide and expectant, and oh, he’s beautiful. Even behind the gold-rimmed glasses. Beautiful.
Maybe your heart skips a beat.
But you’ve never really complimented him before. Nothing beyond you look good or your hair looks nice or that’s a cool shirt. And maybe it’s too early for much more than that, because everything’s been pretty slow, and Vernon… he’s amazing. But he’s not the most affectionate. (At least, not in ways that you’ve seen yet. But that’s okay. You’ll figure him out eventually.)
“You look great today” is what ends up coming out of your mouth. Because, as beautiful as he is, you don’t know if that’s safe territory yet. Would he even like being called beautiful? Some guys were sensitive about that. The last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable.
But he smiles… for a moment. His gums peek out just briefly before he presses his lips together and turns back to his shoes. “Uh, thanks.”
You frown, just a bit. “You can smile at that, you know.”
“Huh?” He whips his head up (his soft waves bounce against his forehead) and stares. Are his ears pink? “No, I – I know. I’m just… not used to it. I guess.”
He drops his bag on top of his shoes and wanders over to you, holding his arms out with a softer smile. A sheepish one. “Anyway. How was your day?”
You melt into his arms, just a bit. He holds you gently. Almost carefully. It’s been like that with him, this whole time. And that’s okay, really; you don’t mind. You know he cares, and that he’s just trying to figure out how to love you properly. And that’s okay.
But you’d really like to know how to love him properly.
And, with that adorable gummy smile and those pink ears dancing in your mind, you might have a small inkling of how.
“It wasn’t too bad,” you say, lingering in the hug, your arms around his waist. His stay around your shoulders, hands splayed across your back. It’s nice, having him this close, his soft blue hoodie cushioning your cheek. “Better now that you’re here.”
His hand twitches at your shoulderblade. You smile into his sternum.
“This is one of my favorite hoodies of yours,” you say softly, because what the hell, why not?
“Oh?”
“Mhm. It’s really soft. And it’s a really nice color on you.” Starting small. You’re only now realizing just how rarely you compliment each other. Is that bad? Vernon deserves many more compliments than this, you decide, and you’re going to change that now. He’s beautiful. He deserves to know.
“Thanks,” Vernon murmurs, not quite into your hair. His chin rests on your head, but there’s no weight to it. He’s still being gentle. Gentle as always.
You curl your fingers into the back of his hoodie and tug, just a little, just for fun. “It looks really good on you.” Then you pull back, out from under his chin, just enough to catch his eye. “You look really good in it.”
That catches him off guard. He blinks. You can almost see the wheels in his head turning.
“Thanks,” he says again. There’s a hint of something new in his voice. Something… surprised? Soft?
You’re not sure, but you want to hear more of it.
“You look amazing today, actually,” you say, drawing your arms free so you can loop them around his neck instead. His hands fall to your waist, resting carefully on your hips, and his eyes (wide and beautiful as ever) don’t leave yours. Oh, he’s beautiful.
Oh, what the heck, why not?
“You’re beautiful.” And, just like that, a rush of red spreads across his cheeks. His lips part, but nothing comes out. You can’t help but giggle.
“I –” He stops, swallows, and smiles hesitantly. “Thank you?”
“What?” you hum, brushing your fingers through the soft hairs at the back of his head. “You sound like you don’t agree.”
“No!” he blurts. Then he shakes his head, hands a little tighter on your waist. “I mean – I don’t – I just – I’m not used to being, um… beautiful.”
“But you are.”
The redness in his cheeks intensifies.
“I was on set all day,” Vernon says, like it’s an excuse for the way he makes you feel.
“You’re still beautiful,” you insist, and his mouth twitches, his breath hitches. You smile. (You can’t help it.) “Your hair is so soft,” you say, pushing gently onward, “and it makes my day whenever you lie down and just let me play with it. And I love this length, it’s so pretty on you.”
“Thanks…” But his whole face is red now.
You cradle his cheeks, holding back a smile at the way you can feel the heat rising from them. Oh, he’s adorable. “Your face is perfect in so many ways,” you start, and already his fingers are curling into the fabric at your hips, his eyes trying to dart away from yours. You tap his cheek, and he looks at you again, immediately. “I love the shape of your face. Your jaw. Your cheekbones. I genuinely don’t know how someone as perfect as you can exist,” you admit, and oh my gosh, he’s burning beneath your fingertips.
“Uh-huh,” he says, but it’s strangled, and you’re not sure he knows what he’s saying.
You keep going.
“I love your freckles. You don’t have a lot on your face, I know, but there’s one here” – you press a finger to his neck, in the shadow of his chin – “and one back here” – the back of his neck, just above his t-shirt – “and here” – a little low on his chest, just enough that you need to tug down the front of his hoodie. But only for a moment. “They’re just so sweet. So cute.”
There’s red creeping up his neck now, too.
“Your birthmark!” you say next, retrieving his hand from your waist and spreading his fingers palm-up between you. There it is, the little mark shaped like a heart, sitting at the base of his thumb like it was waiting for you. You kind of really want to kiss it, but Vernon’s still flaming red, and he hasn’t moved in a few minutes, so maybe that’s for another time. For now, you just trace it over and over again. He flinches at first, your fingertip probably tickling him, but he relaxes as you continue. “It’s so cute. It’s literally a heart. I love it so much. It’s so cute.”
And you let his hand go. It returns to your waist, grasping at your shirt, and you move on.
“Your ears,” you say, reaching up to cup them, and oh, you’ve never seen anyone’s ears turn this shade of red before. You giggle as you thumb at his earlobes. “I could do this for hours, I think. They’re perfect. Like they’re made for me. Like you’re made for me.”
You could swear his shoulders start to curl. But he’s smiling, as much as he’s trying to hide it. His lips are pressed together so hard that they’re white, but his eyes are crinkling. You target his eyelashes next (long and delicate and you’re jealous of them), then his eyebrows (thick in a really good way, there’s just something about them), gushing over everything, and he just stands there, shy and red and adorable.
“Stop,” he whispers then, eyes avoiding yours, and you pause, hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
“Do you want me to? I will if you’re uncomfortable. I’m sorry.” You start to step back.
But his hands catch on your waist. He shakes his head minutely, cheeks burning, eyes still hiding. “No, it’s – it’s okay. You can… keep going.”
You smile. You really can’t help it. “Yeah?” you hum. “Alright, then. Look at me?”
He does, immediately, eyes wide and waiting, and you giggle.
“Your eyes,” you whisper, staring up at him, and those beautiful brown eyes widen even more. You reach up and pull his glasses off, ever so carefully, because you know they’re just for blue light and, as beautiful as he is with them on, you want them off. You set them on the back of the couch. They’ll be fine there. “I love your eyes.”
“You love everything,” Vernon says, trying to be funny, but his voice is shaky and almost trembling. He’s red, so red that it’s almost concerning, but he said to keep going, and you’re having too much fun now.
“Of course I do,” you say, swiping your thumb under his eye. “Because it’s you. And you’re pretty.”
His breath catches at that. Audibly. “Oh,” he says, shoulders curling up to his ears, hands twisting into your shirt, his whole body warm with something like giddy embarrassment.
You laugh, catching his wrists as he starts to let go. “Nope. You said keep going. You’ve gotta stay until I’m done, okay?”
“But –”
“Nope. I’m not done looking at your pretty eyes.”
Vernon melts at that. Now his grip on your shirt seems to be for support as you cup his cheeks and stare up into his pretty, pretty eyes. “You’re just so… sparkly. Your eyes. They’re so big and beautiful. So pretty.”
He’s stopped trying to hide his smile, thankfully, and he’s just beaming now, but it’s still so shy and awkward that you want to laugh and cry all at once. He’s beautiful, and you’re so glad you’re telling him now.
No, he’s not just beautiful.
He’s pretty.
Pretty, pretty, pretty.
So you tell him.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” you whisper, hands smoothing down from his cheeks to his neck to his shoulders. He’s burning up beneath your touch, even though it’s really just a feathery brush over his hoodie. “You’re so pretty.”
Vernon drops his head, forehead touching yours, a shaky breath feathering over your nose. He’s beaming, eyes giddy but shy, and so, so adorable. “Baby…”
“Baby, huh?” you whisper back, your heart jumping in your chest. “That’s new.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, well… so is this.”
“Mm. Good new?”
“Good new,” he promises quickly. “It was just… a lot.”
“Was?” you say with a smile. “I’m not done.”
“What?” The word seems to pop out before he can stop it, and the red that had barely begun to fade returns in full force.
“I’m not done, pretty boy,” you coo, and then all of him is red again, and maybe you took a gamble there but it paid off because he’s smiling like an idiot and curling into you and trying to hide in your shoulder. You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair.
“Babyyy,” he whines, actually whines, and you can hear the smile in his voice and it’s adorable.
“Yeah?”
“…Nothing.”
“Yeah? Does that mean you want me to keep going?”
He nods into your shoulder. Then shakes his head. Then nods again. You have to keep yourself from laughing again, because he’s just so cute.
“Alright, I’ll just say one more thing, and then I’ll let you blush in peace, okay?”
“Okay,” he says immediately, but he doesn’t move. You grin as you tap the back of his head.
“I need to see your face, pretty boy.”
And lo and behold, there’s his face, red cheeks curved with a sheepish but brilliant smile, waiting expectantly, and you smile too.
“Lastly,” you say, beaming at the way he seems to hang on every word, “your smile.”
Surprise flashes across his face , that precious smile dropping, but only for a moment, and then he’s clutching at your sides with the cheesiest smile and the shyest eyes you’ve seen yet. You giggle, cupping his cheeks.
“Your smile is so beautiful, Vernon,” you murmur, and you mean it. You know people have made fun of him for it. You don’t care. You love it. “Your laugh, too. And your voice. It’s all so beautiful. So pretty,” you add, grinning, and just as you expected, his fingers twitch at your waist, and his breath catches. “Yep. Pretty,” you declare. “Pretty boy. My pretty boy.”
“Yeah,” he breathes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was lost in your eyes.
“Last thing I love about your mouth, while I’m at it,” you add, keeping your tone entirely casual, and he’s paying rapt attention again.
You tap a finger against his cupid’s bow. “The kisses they give me,” you say, and he inhales so sharply that he starts coughing.
You burst out laughing, letting him jerk away from you to bury his coughs in his elbow.
“Oh, my gosh, you’re adorable.” You lean back against the couch. Vernon glares at you, but there’s absolutely no bite to it. He’s still red, even though he can breathe again.
“We haven’t even kissed that much,” he says weakly. His shoulders are up to his ears, his hands dangling at his sides, and he shuffles closer like he doesn’t know what else to do. “And I’m not very… like… good at it.”
“Oh, me neither, but we’ve got plenty of time to get better, pretty boy.”
He almost starts coughing again. You swallow your laugh.
“We can practice now, if you want.”
“Stop,” he pleads, burying his face in his hands, and you don’t hide your laugh this time.
“I’m sorry, you’re just so cute right now,” you say gently, reaching out to tug his hands away. “I mean, you’re cute all the time, but you’re so flustered right now. And it’s adorable.”
He just looks at you, hair tousled and skin red, and he looks like the sweetest, saddest little puppy you’ve ever seen. Or kitten. But you’re pretty sure that what he’s giving you would be classified as puppy eyes.
You’re still smiling as you hold his hands. You’re still smiling as you lift his hand to your mouth and press the tiniest kiss to his birthmark, because maybe you like teasing him a little bit too much. You’re still smiling as he fights to keep the biggest smile off his face.
“Come on,” you say, tugging gently at his wrist.
“Come on, what?” he manages, his voice almost cracking. Adorable.
“Come on and kiss me, pretty boy.”
He leans in immediately, cupping your cheeks with all the care in the world, and then his lips are on yours.
They’re soft and gentle as always, brushing on yours for a brief moment before he closes the rest of the gap and steals your breath away.
It’s not a mindblowing kiss. It’s awkward and messy and far from perfect. If it was with anyone else, it wouldn’t be anything special.
But it’s with Vernon. Gentle, beautiful, pretty Vernon.
Your Vernon.
When he pulls away just enough to see you, your face is just as flushed as his.
“Pretty,” he whispers, and you lean forward to kiss him again.
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.
summary: cuddling with cheol after a terrible day.
tags: seuncheol x fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, pet names (cheollie, baby/babe, princess), domestic, mentions of menstruation/menstrual cycle, slighty suggestive.
“Cheollie!” you whimpered, crossing the front door with the biggest pout on your lips and glistening eyes. That was enough for Seungcheol to stop doing whatever he was busy with and give you his full attention.
He was sprawled all over the couch, watching some TV junk food in a plain white oversized tee and pajama pants. He looked very cozy and relaxed. Yet, in the moment you started walking towards him, looking like a kicked puppy, all his muscles tensed, then he immediately fixed his posture, opened his arms, and pulled you into his lap.
“What happened?” he said with a gentle voice, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “Mm?”
“I had a terrible day”, you hid your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder, melting into him.
“Did you?”
You nodded.
“I woke up late, with a terrible tummy ache and cramps”, you began telling him your tale of woe, “my breakfast was tasteless, my coffee went all cold and disgusting because it took me a while to finish my boring breakfast, and you know how I hate cold coffee,” you pouted.
“Yeah, baby, I know.” his hand found its way beneath your skirt, tenderly caressing the side of your bare thigh under the thin fabric.
“Then there was so much traffic, it was unbearable. The weather is so hot and I felt like melting throughout the day. My lunch was also bad and I missed you the whole day…” you whined again, hugging him tightly.
Choi Seungcheol is a very observant man. He knew a scenario like this would happen soon, since last week you were all over him, touching here and there, always looking for an excuse to be close, and actively seeking intimacy with him.
At first, he thought it was your ovulation making you need him so bad, but then, in the middle of a messy and handsy make-out session, he noticed your breasts felt slightly heavier. They were more tender and sensitive than usual. He did a quick calculation and realized that your period was just around the corner.
He didn’t complain about the proximity whatsoever. He enjoyed intimacy with you just as much as you, but he knew he had to be prepared for anything you needed; he bought painkillers, refilled your pads drawer with large and overnight-sized pads. He bought some chocolate and your favorite red fruit tea. He even bought you two new sets of cotton panties just to make sure you had something comfortable to wear.
You’ve told him multiple times that he doesn’t have to do all that, that you can buy your period supplies by yourself, but he just won’t listen.
It's not like you don’t appreciate it. You do. And you always keep in mind how attentive he is. You simply don’t want to feel like a bother.
The first time you voiced the fear of annoying him with your menstrual stuff one random night in bed, he almost gasped. The expression on his face was nearly offended.
“Babe… What?” he blinked twice, before practically smothering you in bed, “don’t you ever think such a thing again. Nothing about you could ever bother me.”
“You’re being a little dramatic.”
“I can’t let you think you could ever annoy me with something like that. Maybe with refilling the water pitcher, but not this."
“Ugh, back off, you're so annoying” you pushed his shoulders, trying to get him off of you, but it was useless; he’s just too big and strong.
“Mm, no,” he teased, and peppered your face with small kisses between whispers of sweet nothings.
You’re truly grateful he’s stubborn because, if he weren’t, he wouldn’t be cuddling you on the couch. His hand deep under your dress, stroking the small of your back, where he knows it always aches the most when you have cramps.
He’s carefully listening to you, kissing your forehead every once in a while, and holding you so steadily, he grounds you with his soothing caresses.
“Tomorrow will be a brighter day, princess. And if it’s not, I’ll be here just to hold you and love you. As always.”
Repost from my previous writing blog aj-cupid. I'm not stealing! Also, let me know what you think if you didn't read it in my old blog. ;)
warnings: nsfw‼️‼️‼️, neeeeeeedy cheol, cheol is so obsessed and touchy and ugh so perfect anyways, he begs a little.., mild dirty talk i think, praise(ish), oral sex(fem receiving), implied that mingyu overheard them, sweaty post-show seungcheol 😛, swearing, petnames: baby (hers), cheol, babe (his), lowercase intended
author's note: HI this is for that one request i got a little bit ago about cheol post-performance I FINALLY DID IT but i think.. i think i lowkey hate it BUT WHATEVER 😭😭 perhaps the ending was a little rushed but pls breeze past that 😔 my first time writing reader being eaten out pls be kind #plsdontlaughatme I TRIED MY BESTEST I PROMISE but yes i hope u enjoy though FORGIVE ME IF THERES ANY ERRORS and yes i wrote this about asiatop cheol yall know i dont play holy fuck he was just so fine at the festival holy crap wow i was blessed
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seungcheol always gave his best for any performance. tonight, him and mingyu were the closing act for a festival and after all that, he was exhausted and borderline overheating due to the weather.
they trudged on backstage and back to their waiting room where you were sat waiting. you watched the performance from one of the VIP booths and made your way back when they were saying their closing statements. when you're eyes fell onto your boyfriend, you literally had to stop your eyes from rolling back automatically.
he was all sweaty, black hair wet and sticking to his forehead, his dark shirt damp from his sweat and clinging to his frame. half of you wished it would've ripped. his shoulders looked like they were testing the durability of that fabric. yellow racer jacket—that came off during the first song—in his hand as he walked, head still down, catching his breath.
what a fucking sight he was.
mingyu dropped himself onto the couch, grunting out of tiredness, and seungcheol did the same right next to you. heat radiated off of his body as he slid his arm round your waist and tugged you in for a kiss.
“hey baby,” as his lips met yours. it was deep but not too crazy yet. “did you watch me? did i look good?” he grinned as he pulled away. his eyes were already hooded, a little hazy from his tiredness. high on pure adrenaline.
after he was satisfied with your answers to his prior questions and after he stole several more slightly needier kisses (before mingyu groaned at you two), the both of them started to freshen up and change back into their normal clothes. you couldn't take your eyes off of how good seungcheol looked like this.
his whole body was running on the pump from the performance and he just looked like the most massive, most delicious thing ever. and he was looking at you like you were the same for him. you flashed him a cheeky little smile before returning your gaze to your phone, like a promise of something more back at the hotel.
you guys had a couple more nights here before flying back which felt nice because it meant you didn't have to rush and pack tonight to leave at the ass crack of dawn the next day.
once seungcheol closed the door behind you two in your room, he was on you like a koala. baby this and baby that. arms around your waist, faces centimetres apart as he smiled lazily and walked you backwards to the bed. “saw you looking at me while i was changing,” he teased, his warm hands finding their way up your shirt.
“kinda hard not to,” you retorted before he pushed his lips back onto yours desperately. “mmhf- cheol you and mingyu were gonna eat-” and your attempt of reminding him about properly fueling himself fell on deaf ears.
he let out a deep hum, almost a whine, “don't wanna..” as he buried his face in the crook of your neck where he started kissing and nipping at your skin.
such a cheat. his neck kisses always get you.
“you’re gonna be starving, babe.” you continued, squirming from his hair lightly tickling your neck as he gave you another disagreeing noise of response.
he turned to sit himself on the edge of the bed and pulled you between his knees, looking up at you with his chin propped against your tummy. big eyes glossed over with so much hunger and need for you. “baby, can’t i just eat tomorrow morning?” as his hands rested on your lower back, slowly moving over your ass. “need you so bad right now…” and his eyes fluttered shut when you combed through his hair.
you smiled at his confession, loving how he was always vocal about things like this. seungcheol was genuinely addicted to you and he wouldn't trade it for the world.
“but you haven't eaten since lunch time. and it's like one a.m. right now.” your hands falling to his shoulders as he nuzzled against your tummy, his own reaching the waistband of your shorts. his thumbs dipping below the elastic teasingly, like he already decided that he definitely wasn't gonna leave you right now even for a steaming, fresh bowl of ramyeon or something to satiate the occasional growl of his stomach.
he pouts, “well, i’ve barely seen you since lunch time either.” oh, this man. the pouting was not fair. he rises slowly again, nosing at your jaw before he straightens completely, “i want you so bad, baby, please? i swear i’m not too tired… or too hungry,” he pleads like a child asking for sweets. you can't believe you have this much of an effect on such a large, scary-looking man to have him begging to have you.
without letting you answer, seungcheol’s hands guide you onto the bed to sit you down before pulling your shorts off. he grins, “i’ll eat after baby, i promise.”
seungcheol kisses up your thighs as he tosses your shorts off to the side somewhere, spreading your legs with his massive shoulders. then he reaches for your underwear to tug those off as well. “lay back,” he says with a breathy voice.
in minutes, you’re grabbing at his hair while you arch off the bed. moans and whines of his name tumbling from your lips as he hungrily laps at your cunt. his breath and groans vibrating against your flesh each time he exhales. he has his arms locked around your thighs, keeping you close like he’d die without it and you swear he moans a little whinier as your thighs clench around his head when he closes his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking at your sensitive skin with his stupid tongue.
the sensation has you throwing your head back against the mattress, pulling on his hair harder. “fuck, cheol… don't stop,” you breathe, choking on a moan when he doubles down. the wet noises of his mouth on you getting louder in your room, mixing with both of your voices.
“mmh… taste so fuckin’ good…” he grunts against you. he drags his tongue to your cunt, nose bumping your clit as he licks into you. you're getting closer and he knows it, he feels it. “cumming f’me, baby? c’mon, know you can, mhm?” dead set on making you cum on his mouth first before anything else.
the smallest whine is torn from your throat as you cum hard on his tongue, followed by softer curses and repetitive whispers of his name—your attempt of staying respectful and quiet in this hotel. your thighs shake with the aftershocks and he’s taken to massaging them with his big hands as he licks you clean.
you're catching your breath, still lying down when he pulls off from your cunt and kisses both your thighs before standing to see you. “good?” he says softly with a smile like he wasn't just tongue-fucking you two seconds ago, his body climbing over yours.
“so good,” you panted, mirroring his smile as his face comes closer. your arms wrapping around his neck when he kisses you again.
this kiss isn't as aggressive as earlier, still needy but he’s slower and sweeter with it after he had his fill of you. soft noises of the both of your lips echo around your hotel room, along with the little whispers and giggles of ‘i love you’s while your noses bump against each other.
between his lips chasing yours, you manage to say, “are you gonna go eat now with mingyu?” and he doesn't even answer before he kisses you again, giving you a dismissive hum. his hands roaming up your sides beneath your top.
“mingyu can fuck off,” he grinned into the kiss, “let me have you, baby. don't care about food right now,” he mumbles.
but poor, hungry mingyu heard some things he didn't want to when he came looking for seungcheol.
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‼️ as of right now, all my works can be found in the last tag which is #coupsiessswrites bc i have not made a masterpost/masterlist yet so if you'd like to check out anything else i've written it's under that tag 😆😆
The bar you were in was very loud and crowded. The booth you, your friends, Jaehyun, and your friend’s partners had squeezed into was even more crowded. Jaehyun was lucky enough to have scored a seat at the end of the bench which was good because he wasn’t squished, but that also meant he only had one leg in the booth and half an ass cheek on the bench.
He was happy to join you and your friends for an evening out. He liked watching you have fun and be carefree with your friends. He liked hearing all the drama you’d all discuss, all the drama about people you hated and updates on your lives. Jaehyun wasn’t even ashamed to admit he liked what you wore on these outings. You always wore the cute little dresses he’d buy you because you wanted to"show off what good taste your man had.“
Now, there was only so much your little dress could do to distract him from the tiredness seeping in. He was tired of not being able to hear clearly, tired of the awful stuffy smell, the numb feeling that was beginning to form in his leg. But he didn’t want to ruin your time out, so he slyly pulled out his phone to text you.
Are you almost ready to go?
The phone on your lap lit up and Jaehyun’s eyes widened while his eyebrows furrowed. Something couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be seeing what he thought he was seeing. That couldn’t be him.
He sent another text, just to make sure he was hopefully wrong. A simple heart emoji. And again the screen facing up lit up with the god awful contact name.
Sugar daddy.
His mind was reeling, he didn’t even notice you turning to look at him expectantly, blinking your pretty, long lashes up at him. ”Jae?“
He hummed, his eyes glazed over, "Yeah, baby?”
“Are you ok?” You ask, placing a reassuring hand on his arm.
He blinks, shaking his head slightly, his arm falls around your shoulder, dragging his fingertips up your bare back softly. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, “Why is my contact name Sugar daddy on your phone, baby?”
Your eyes widen in surprise, “it’s a joke!”
You quickly say goodbye to all your friends, pulling on Jaehyun’s arm until you’re both outside where it’s more quiet. He pulls you closer by your waist, “I was under the impression that a sugar daddy was an older man who gave girls an allowance in exchange for… favors.”
“Well, you don’t give me money but you buy me a ton of gifts. You bought me the dress I’m wearing right now. You do receive favors,” you repeat with air quotes, “and you are older than me. By your own standards, you are a sugar daddy.”
“I was born in 1997! I’m not even that much older than you!” Jaehyun laughs in shock.
“That is a whole other millennium Jaehyun, the year starts with nineteen,” you reply with a gentle squeeze on the arm.
He pinches your side, “you’re making me sound like some kind of cradle robber. The age difference isn’t that much.”
You look at him with a serious expression, “is this really bothering you? I meant it as a joke, but I can change it if it really bothers you.”
“It just surprised me,” he waves off, “but if you want to change it to something else be my guest. I’ve been thinking of a few options. First, love of my life, hottest man alive, baby, pretty boy. You know, I saw one of your friends has her situationship under best in bed.”
You clasp a hand over his mouth, “You like going out with the girls too much. You listen too much for a man.”
-
a/n: *whispers* hey, you’re getting fratboy jaehyun tomorrow. also pls feel free to send me his most frayboy-like pictures because I feel like I’ve used every single one on pinterest already
just thinking about jaehyun having the sweetest, loveliest girlfriend ever and not being able to hold himself back from corrupting her and fucking the shit out of her <3
.
bf!jaehyun loving the little gifts you craft for him, giving him love letters every other day, carefully put in pink envelopes and wrapped in ribbons of the same colour. he was surprised the first time you wrote him one, but he of course rapidly got fond of it.
jaehyun just loves that you love him and it makes him love you even more. however, his way of showing it is surely a little... unorthodox, treating you with his mouth on your cunt, or his favourite; making you squirt on his cock.
bf!jaehyun who lets you do his skincare, straddling his lap while he's sitting down on your bed. he swears he won't mess with you and that his hands will stay steady on your hips. you apply your best products to his skin, massaging his face as he has his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on him.
but jaehyun never keeps his promises for too long, and his hand travels underneath your little sailor moon night shorts, rubbing your sensitive pussy until you give up and hump his palm desperately.
bf!jaehyun who is so pussy whipped the very first moment he meets you, learning all the names of your sanrio plushies right after he fucked you silly on his cock.
bf!jaehyun shopping with you, following you into every store you see, smiling when you squeal at all the cute stuff you set eyes on. he tells you to put everything in the cart, "i'll pay, take anything that you want, baby", and you thank him a million times. you make him smell all the body wash and body scrub products that you pick up, asking him "d'you like it?" and of course he always says yes, which makes you smile happily in return.
bf!jaehyun who always pulls you onto his lap, running his hands up and down your thighs while you give him kiss after kiss until he grabs your face and squishes your cheeks together, "do you think you deserve my cock?" being his favourite thing to ask. you inevitably answer yes, jaehyun replying with "how so?" and you tell him what he wants to hear; "because i was a good girl, daddy". he grins, "that's right, baby. my good girl." after, all that manages to come out of your mouth are cries of his name, eyes glossy and lips swollen, jaehyun's cock shoved deep in your little pussy for the rest of the night.
summary , bf!jeong jaehyun has stabbed you in the back a million times….by shaving his happy trail :>
notes , this is so silly sorry lolol
you didn’t even notice it when he fell back onto the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up most of the space, arms stretching out over the pillows. its only until he watches you balance on the edge of the coffee table, teetering on the edge, tiptoeing to try and reach the flickering light bulb thats been annoying you for the past week that he stands up again, wrapping his fingers around your waist to keep you steady. he lets out a small laugh and your brows furrow, scowling at him from above. “you do this then.” your lips press together into a pout, pushing his shoulders gently.
he takes the lightbulb from your hands, a small smile on his lips, arms coming up to unscrew the faulty lightbulb, his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his midriff that you take a step back just to glance down at.
“what the hell?”
his eyes run down to your frame, your tense shoulders and wide eyes that depict a shock on your face that he has never quite seen before. you could fall down to your knees, face planted against the ground in pure agony. jaehyun almost looks a little worried.
”what’s wrong?”
”what…have you done.” you yelp, hands reaching for the bottom of his shirt, fingers curling around it to pull it up a little more. finally seeing the smooth skin of his lower midriff, a small sob escapes your mouth and jaehyun can’t stop his lips from curling up into a small smile. he doesn’t even try to stop you when your hands pull down at the waistband of his boxers, running a soft fingertip down the line where his happy trail used to be, in all it’s glory, all for you to admire.
gently, he pats the top of your head with a splayed out hand, fingers coming to ruffle strands of your hair. he doesn’t get it, but he’ll comfort you anyway.
you pull your hands out of his pants, stepping off the coffee table and throwing yourself back on the couch, pinching your nose bridge in genuine stress. “who did this to you?” you murmur, looking up at jaehyun, eyes narrowing. jaehyun thinks you are being awfully dramatic, he cant suppress the genuine chuckle that leaves his mouth, bending down to run a hand down your side, trying to ease the situation, “it was for a shoot.”
you let out another wince, squeezing your eyes shut. this might be the worst thing that has happened to you—ever. your boyfriend, unaware of how much this is affecting you, sits beside you, lifting your legs up to rest them on his lap, caressing his hands up and down them with a light touch. “it’ll grow back.” he scoffs. he can’t tell whether you’re being serious…he didn’t know you liked his happy trail this much.
his hands reach out to your waist, pulling your limp, defeated body up into his lap, cupping your cheeks. all he can do is press tender kisses to the corners of your frowning mouth, finding it terribly cute, trying to hide his smile as you whine against his skin, “bring it back…” your words are muffled against him and he hums against your lips, continuing to shower your parted mouth with small pecks.
“give me a couple weeks.” jaehyun chirps, finding his heart a little warmed, in an oddly affectionate way. you glance down, hands reaching to lift his shirt up once more, just to make sure it’s really gone while his hands rub up and down your thighs.
“i’ll make it up to you until then. i promise.” he croons, and the effort you have put into dragging the corners of your lips down is all for nothing. the betrayal you’re feeling dissipating into giddiness as jaehyun’s hands lay you down over the couch cushions, the palms of his hands cupped around your knees, hovering above you with an amused, dimpled smile on his face...
You’ve never asked him to choose you out loud. You assumed he would anyway. Until today, when someone else mistakes you for something temporary, and you decide to stop being patient and start being seen.
Pairing: Dom!Yunho x Brat!Reader
Tropes: Age-gap (40/mid-20s) Established Relationship. High Society Romance.
Genre: Smut. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, dom!yunho, public sexual activity, power dynamics, spanking, dirty talk, sexual humiliation elements, unprotected sex, heel play, objectification, orgasm denial, impact play, degradation, exhibitionism, emotional vulnerability, crying, possessive behavior, jealousy, insecurity, emotional distress, miscommunication, perceived emotional neglect, relationship insecurity, fear of public perception, age-gap relationship, explicit language,
Word Count: 9.3k
a/n: i need everyone to know that i don't even like feet. at all. so naturally i wrote almost 10k words where they're basically a supporting character. and the whiplash of going from writing sub mingi to dom yunho should honestly be enough to give anyone a headache.
based on [this] request
masterlist
Yunho still believes in dating you. Not because the relationship needs saving. Not because he thinks grand gestures are the secret to lasting love. He simply refuses to let the person he loves become someone he only sees between meetings.
Which is how you end up here. The restaurant glows with warm amber light reflected across crystal glasses and polished cutlery. Conversations dissolve beneath soft piano music, waiters glide silently between tables, and every detail, from the pressed linen to the wine list, whispers the kind of quiet luxury people spend weeks trying to reserve.
Yunho booked it the moment he found an evening that belonged to neither work nor obligation. Not because it's exclusive. Because he missed you.
Across the table, you shift for what must be the third time since sitting down. His eyes flick briefly beneath the table before returning to your face.
"The shoes?"
You sigh dramatically. "They're trying to kill me."
"They look beautiful."
"They're weapons."
"They're beautiful weapons."
You can't help smiling.
"You say that because you're not the one wearing them."
"No." His gaze lingers for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, warm enough to make your cheeks threaten a blush. "I'm the one who gets to look at them."
You shake your head, hiding your smile behind your wine glass.
The conversation slips easily into familiar territory after that. His latest project. Your week. A trip the two of you keep promising to plan and never quite finding the time for.
Somewhere in the middle, you mention a singer that's apparently impossible to escape these days.
Yunho frowns thoughtfully.
"I've never heard of them."
You look at him over the rim of your glass.
"You're making your age very obvious tonight."
"I've spent forty years carefully building that privilege."
"You could at least pretend to know."
"I could." A beat. "I'd rather have you explain it."
You laugh quietly, shaking your head.
"You're impossible."
"So I've been told."
There's something wonderfully unfair about the way he says it. Completely unbothered. Never defensive. Never trying to convince you he's younger than he is. He wears the years between you with the same quiet confidence he wears one of his tailored suits, as though neither has ever occurred to him as something needing justification.
You tease him because it's easy. He lets you because he likes the sound of your laugh.
By the time your starters appear, you've somehow moved from music to books to the strange corners of the internet that never seem to find their way onto Yunho's phone.
He only understands about half of what you're talking about. You know because he tells you. And yet he never stops listening. His attention never wanders.
Every now and then, you catch him looking at you over the candle between you. Not saying anything. Just watching with that quiet, unwavering fondness that has always belonged to the two of you.
It never feels like being observed. It feels like coming home.
The interruption slips so easily into the evening that, at first, you don't think anything of it.
"Yunho?"
He looks up.
For the first time all night, surprise brightens his face before settling into a smile you haven't seen since you walked into the restaurant.
"...Wow." He stands almost instinctively. "It's been years."
She laughs as she steps closer, arms already opening. Yunho returns the hug without hesitation, one hand resting briefly against the middle of her back before they separate again. Easy. Familiar. The kind of greeting that belongs to people who've crossed paths enough times for formality to disappear.
"You look exactly the same."
"So do you."
"No chance."
"I've become a much better liar."
He laughs, and something inside you softens.
Of course he knows people. He's spent twenty years building a career that seems to exist somewhere between boardrooms, charity galas and airports. It would be stranger if old acquaintances didn't recognize him.
She fits naturally into that world. Elegant dress. Confident smile. Around his age. The sort of woman who never looks intimidated by expensive restaurants because she's been having dinners like these for years.
They fall into conversation without effort. Fundraisers. Old colleagues. Someone retiring. Someone getting married. Names you've never heard and places you've never been.
You let yourself fade into the background for a while, content to listen. You know Yunho likes introducing people properly rather than interrupting conversations halfway through. He'll get there.
"I haven't seen you at anything lately," she says eventually.
"I've been hiding."
"Still?"
He smiles.
"Work."
She shakes her head, pretending to be disappointed.
"What a shame."
There's something in the way she says it that makes you glance up. Not inappropriate. Just interested. Interested enough that, without realizing it, you find yourself waiting.
Surely now. Surely this is where Yunho smiles, reaches across the table, brushes his fingers against yours and says the simplest sentence in the world.
I'm here with my girlfriend.
He doesn't. Instead, he answers whatever she'd asked next, completely unaware that you've stopped following the conversation.
You tell yourself not to be ridiculous. He's just being polite. Another minute passes. She laughs again.
"So you finally found a reason to leave the office?"
"I try."
"I was beginning to think you'd married your work."
"I've considered divorcing it."
She laughs harder than the joke deserves. You smile politely. Still waiting. Still giving him the chance. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turns to you.
"And you?"
You blink. "Sorry?"
"What do you do?"
You answer, and she listens with genuine interest. She asks about your work, compliments it, tells you it's impressive.
For one brief moment, the knot inside your chest loosens. Then she looks back at Yunho.
"You've always had good taste." He raises an eyebrow. "In people," she clarifies with a smile. "You always surround yourself with interesting company."
Yunho nods once.
"I've been lucky."
Lucky. That's all. No glance toward you. No quiet smile that says she's mine. No effortless correction. Nothing.
The conversation moves on, but something inside you doesn't. Because the awful part isn't that she's flirting. The awful part is that she has absolutely no reason not to. She's speaking to a man she believes is single. And the only person who could have told her otherwise keeps choosing not to.
When she finally excuses herself, her fingers brush lightly over his sleeve.
"You should come to the gala next month."
"We'll see."
"I'd love to catch up properly."
Her smile lingers for a heartbeat longer before she disappears into the restaurant. Yunho watches her leave with the absent familiarity of someone remembering an old colleague. Then he sits back down, reaches for his wine and smiles to himself.
"She's exactly the same as she was ten years ago."
"Mhm."
You smile because smiling costs less than speaking. Because saying what you're actually thinking would ruin the evening.
"As I was saying..." He settles back into his chair, picking up the conversation exactly where he'd left it. "The board wants to move the launch to September, which makes absolutely no sense because we'd have to renegotiate every supplier."
His voice fades into the background. You hear it. You just aren't listening anymore. Not really. You're still sitting at the same table as him, but your mind is trapped five minutes in the past, replaying every smile, every laugh, every opportunity he had to choose you out loud. All you can think is how easy it would've been. One sentence. One look. One absentminded reach for your hand.
Anything that said she's with me. Instead, for ten long minutes, you felt like the centerpiece on the table. Beautiful. Expensive. And entirely decorative. Less like the woman sharing dinner with him and more like someone who happened to be sitting at his table.
"That's nice."
Yunho pauses. He mistakes the tightness in your voice for exhaustion. Or maybe he notices it and decides to give you space. Either way, he lets it pass.
"I wouldn't call it nice."
You blink, as though you've only just remembered he's speaking. "What?"
"I asked what you thought."
You shrug lightly. "I think you should do whatever makes you happy."
His brows knit together.
"Dove."
"Hm?"
"I stopped talking about work a while ago."
"Oh." You take another sip of wine, buying yourself a second. "I must've missed it."
His eyes stay on you. Long enough that you almost think he's going to ask what's wrong. Long enough that a tiny, hopeful part of you waits for him to.
Instead, a waiter stops beside the table. Perfect. This is the moment you decide you’re done being mature. Which is unfortunate. Because you’re usually very good at it.
You look up with a smile so bright it surprises even you.
"Sorry," you say, almost apologetically. "Can I ask you something?"
He's young. Pretty in the effortless way university students always seem to be.
You ask about the desserts. Then whether the cocktails are actually worth ordering. Then which dish he likes best.
He answers easily. You laugh at one of his jokes. It isn't even that funny.
Yunho watches the exchange in silence. Not because there's anything inappropriate about it. Because there isn't. Which somehow makes the knot in your chest tighten even more. You're doing exactly what he did. Being polite. Being friendly. Nothing more.
When the waiter finally excuses himself, Yunho doesn't say anything straight away. He waits until the young man disappears around the corner. Only then does he look at you.
"What was that?"
You tilt your head. "What was what?"
"You've asked him more questions in two minutes than you've asked me all night."
"I was being polite."
"You were interviewing him."
"He seemed nice."
"I'm sure he did."
You smile into your glass. "I liked his smile."
Silence. You don't need to look up to feel his eyes on you. When you finally do, his expression has changed almost imperceptibly. Not jealousy. Confusion.
"You liked his smile."
"It was a nice smile."
He studies you for a long moment. Like he's waiting for the punchline. Like he's convinced this version of you can't possibly be real. Eventually he shakes his head, choosing not to take the bait.
"So..." he tries again, "I was thinking maybe we could..."
You pick up your phone. His voice stops. You unlock it. Scroll. You couldn't say what you're looking at if someone asked. The screen is just somewhere else to put your eyes.
"Dove."
"Hm?"
"Put the phone away."
"Why?"
His patience holds. Barely.
"Because I'm talking to you."
You don't look up. "So?"
The word hangs there. Small. Careless. Sharp enough to cut.
"So..." He exhales slowly, choosing every word with visible effort. "I'd appreciate it if you listened."
You laugh quietly. "I listened to her."
Silence. Real silence. The kind that empties the space around it.
"...What?"
You finally meet his eyes. "I listened very politely."
Something flickers across his face. Not understanding. Recognition.
"You've been upset ever since she left."
"I'm not upset."
"No?"
"No."
"You've barely looked at me."
"I've looked at you loads."
You punctuate the sentence by stealing a bite from his plate. Not because you're hungry. Because it's his. Because you know he'll stop you.
His fingers close gently around your wrist before your fork reaches the food. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make you stop. He looks down at your hand. Then back at you.
"...Really?"
You smile with infuriating sweetness. "I wanted to know if yours tasted better."
"You ordered the exact same thing."
"It does."
"Dove..."
"It tastes different."
"It's the same recipe."
"It isn't."
"It objectively is."
"It isn't to me."
He lets go of your wrist with a slow breath, rubbing a hand across his mouth as though he's physically trying to hold onto the last thread of his patience.
"You are being impossible."
"I'm eating dinner."
"No." His eyes don't leave yours. "You're trying to punish me."
The words catch you off guard. For just a second. Long enough for him to notice.
"I haven't argued with you once," you say quietly.
"You don't have to." His voice drops lower. "You've spent the last fifteen minutes trying to make me feel something."
You force another smile.
"What exactly am I trying to make you feel?"
"I don't know." There's frustration there now. Real frustration. "That's the problem."
He leans back, studying you with the same expression he wears when something at work refuses to make sense. Like he's looking at all the pieces and none of them fit.
"I know you." His voice softens despite himself. "This..." His eyes search yours. "...isn't you."
Something twists painfully inside your chest. You could tell him. You could end this right now. You could say, You made me feel invisible. Instead, you swallow it. Smile. Tilt your head.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
And for the first time all evening, Yunho stops trying to continue the conversation. Because whatever happened to the woman he walked into this restaurant with, he has no idea how to reach her anymore.
You know you're being unfair. You know this isn't you. But the version of yourself that spent the last ten minutes feeling invisible is louder than the one who usually knows better.
You just want him to look at you.
You casually drop your napkin and bend down to retrieve it, taking just a second longer than necessary to adjust the strap of your heel. When you straighten again, Yunho is already looking at you.
"Something wrong?" you ask, all innocent eyes.
"Nothing," he replies, a little too quickly.
"Hm."
You smooth your napkin back across your lap as though you've finally decided to behave. Yunho almost believes it. Then you reach for the dessert menu.
"I think I'm getting dessert."
"We haven't finished dinner."
"I like planning ahead." Your finger drifts lazily down the list before you smile to yourself. "This one sounds nice."
Yunho doesn't even look.
"What one?"
"The vanilla mille-feuille." You tilt the menu toward yourself. "I've heard the chef is very generous with the cream."
His fork stops halfway to his mouth.
"Dove."
"What?" You glance up. "I like cream."
His jaw flexes. "You know exactly what you're doing."
"I do?" Your eyebrows lift with practiced innocence. "I'm ordering dessert."
"You haven't ordered anything."
"I'm thinking about it."
His jaw tightens.
"Think about something else."
You hum as though you're genuinely considering the suggestion.
For a heartbeat, neither of you speaks. Around you, cutlery clinks against porcelain, conversations drift lazily through the restaurant, and somewhere a bottle of wine is uncorked.
Only your table feels painfully quiet. You smile into the menu.
"I just want something sweet."
His eyes finally meet yours. "You are testing my patience."
"No." You lower the menu carefully. "I'm participating in the conversation."
"Dove."
"You said I wasn't talking enough."
"I also said to behave."
"I am."
"You've never looked less convincing."
The corner of your mouth twitches.
"Really?" you say with a shrug, crossing your legs slowly under the table, letting your foot brush against his calf. "I'm just enjoying dinner."
His breath hitches at the contact, and he pulls his leg away slightly. "Don't."
"Don't what?" you ask, voice dropping to a whisper as you lean closer. "Don't touch you? Don't talk about dessert? Don't breathe?"
"You're playing games," he accuses, but his voice has lost some of its edge.
"I'm just being myself," you reply with a small smile, tracing patterns on the tablecloth with your finger. "Unless you'd prefer I be more like her?"
Yunho's jaw tightens at the mention of the other woman. "That's not what I said."
"Then what did you mean?" you challenge, your foot finding his leg again and staying there this time.
For the first time that evening, something flashes across Yunho's face. Not anger. Not yet. Impatience. The kind that only exists because he cares enough to keep trying. And somehow, that only makes some childish, wounded part of you decide that's still not enough.
You let your other foot join the first, the expensive Louboutins he bought you last month now hidden under the tablecloth. The ones he always says make your legs look endless. The ones he loves seeing you in when he's buried inside you.
"Dove," he warns, his voice tight.
"Yunho," you mimic, your voice syrupy sweet as you apply more pressure with your foot. "Problem?"
Your pointed toe traces the seam of his trousers until you reach his balls. You press gently, just enough to make him shift in his seat. His knuckles turn white on his fork, but he doesn't look away from you.
Yunho keeps acting as if everything is normal. But his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He has a thing for your heels, always has. The way they look on you, the sound they make on marble floors, the marks they sometimes leave on his thighs when you're riding him.
"Behave," he grunts under his breath.
You blink innocently. "I am behaving."
His eyes darken. "No, you're not."
You smirk slightly. "Don't you like it?"
Yunho doesn't push. Not yet. Because you’re in public. Because he trusts you. Because he likes it when you want him. Because maybe you're just having fun. And god help him, because his dick is already responding to your touches.
"Remember when you fucked me in these?" you whisper, leaning forward. "How you said they should've been illegal?"
Yunho remembers. He also remembers paying for them. Looking back, he should've left them in the shop.
He grows increasingly tense. Because this isn't you. Because something is wrong. Because you’re choosing a spectacularly inconvenient time to express it. And because despite his concern, he's getting painfully hard.
Then you cross the line. Not maliciously. Desperately, your foot travels higher, the pointed toe now rubbing against his length. You can feel him twitch and grow under your touch. His jaw clenches, but he doesn't look away from you. He's trying to win this silent battle, trying to pretend you're not affecting him.
"Stop," he mouths, his eyes dark with fury and arousal.
You just smile, rubbing your foot against him in slow, torturous circles. "Make me."
His hand shoots out under the table, fingers wrapping around your ankle in a grip that's both punishing and possessive.
"Enough," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You need to stop."
His voice is low enough that nobody else hears it. You do.
The hand around your ankle loosens almost immediately, his fingers sliding away as though he's only just realized how tightly he'd been holding you. The warmth of his palm lingers against your skin for a second longer than the touch itself.
Neither of you moves. Neither of you says anything. The restaurant keeps existing around you. Glasses clink. Someone laughs two tables over. A waiter walks past carrying a bottle of wine as if the world hasn't just tilted on its axis.
Yunho looks at you. His breathing is uneven. His jaw is locked so tightly you can see the muscle jump beneath his skin. There is still frustration written all over his face, but underneath it, buried somewhere deeper, is something that twists painfully in your chest.
Worry. Not embarrassment. Not annoyance. Worry.
He pushes his chair back.
"Come with me."
You don't answer. He leans down instead, close enough that only you can hear him.
"Now."
The word isn't loud. It doesn't need to be. Yunho has never raised his voice at you. He doesn't have to.
You stand without another argument. His hand finds your wrist first, then slips lower until it settles against the small of your back, guiding you through the restaurant with a firmness you've never felt from him before. Every step keeps you tucked against his side.
The walk feels endless. Your heels catch against the polished floor more than once, forcing you to stumble to keep up with his pace. Usually he'd notice. Usually he'd slow down immediately, his hand tightening instinctively around yours before asking if your feet hurt.
Tonight he doesn't. Not because he doesn't care. Because his mind is somewhere else entirely.
"What were you thinking?"
His voice is quiet. Controlled. Which somehow makes it worse.
You swallow. "I don't know."
A humorless laugh escapes him through his nose.
"Clearly."
The word lands harder than if he'd shouted. You flinch.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind you, sealing away the music, the conversations, the comfortable illusion that tonight had started as a date.
Silence settles immediately.
Yunho turns to face you. His tie sits slightly crooked. His hair is messier than it was twenty minutes ago. The picture of composure is still there, but only if someone doesn't know where to look.
You do. His jaw is set so tightly it almost hurts to see. For a long moment, he simply looks. Like he's trying to recognize you again.
"Explain."
"I..."
Nothing.
He waits. Not impatiently. Expectantly. When you still don't answer, he exhales through his nose, rubing a tired hand across his face.
"Talk to me."
You stare at the floor.
"I didn't like her."
"I gathered that."
"You were flirting with her."
His expression doesn't change. "No."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You laughed at everything she said."
"I was being polite."
"You hugged her."
"She hugged me."
"You let her touch you."
"And?"
The question lands harder than if he'd argued. You stare at him.
"You never stopped her."
For the first time, Yunho goes quiet. Not because he doesn't have an answer. Because he's finally hearing the one thing you've been trying so desperately not to say. He studies your face for a long moment before speaking again.
"...There it is."
Your throat tightens.
"What?"
"That's what this has been about."
You look away before he can see your eyes burn. He notices anyway. He takes one slow step closer.
"Dove." You keep staring at the floor. Another step. "Look at me."
You hate how difficult that suddenly is. When your eyes finally lift to his, your voice comes out so much smaller than you intended.
"You never told her."
A small crease appears between his brows.
"Told her what?"
"That I was your girlfriend."
Silence. Real silence. Yunho blinks once. Not because he's caught. Because the thought genuinely never crossed his mind. You let out a brittle laugh.
"...See?"
"Dove."
"No."
You shake your head before he can interrupt.
"She looked at me like I was... I don't know... your assistant. Someone you brought because you didn't want to eat alone."
His face changes. Just enough.
"I don't care what she thought."
"I do."
The words break apart on the way out.
"I do because you never gave her a reason to think anything else."
Yunho's shoulders still. His eyes search yours. Not defensive. Thinking. Working backwards through the evening. Then, very quietly...
"Is that what you believed?"
You don't answer. Because answering would make it real. He watches you for another second. Then your whisper finally comes.
"Sometimes..." Your voice almost disappears. "Sometimes it feels like you keep me separate."
He doesn't answer. Which somehow hurts even more. Instead, he closes his eyes. Only for a heartbeat. When they open again, something inside them has shifted.
You fill the silence yourself. "Maybe you're embarrassed."
His head lifts. "No."
"Maybe you don't want people wondering why you're dating someone younger."
"Dove."
"Maybe you think they'll look at you and..."
"Stop."
The word lands like stone. Certain. He closes the distance between you in two measured steps, stopping just close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. One hand wraps gently around your forearm. Grounding. Not restraining. His thumb strokes your skin once.
"Don't do that."
Your eyes finally spill over. "Do what?"
His own jaw tightens.
"Don't tell me what I think." A beat passes between you. "Don't tell me what I feel." His voice is still calm. Still measured. But it cracks ever so slightly around the edges. "Especially when you're so wrong."
You don't argue. You don't defend yourself. Because for the first time that evening, you hear your own words the way he heard them. And they're ugly. You weren't accusing him. You were telling him you'd believed, even for a little while, that the man who loves you was ashamed to stand beside you.
The fight drains out of you all at once, leaving nothing behind except embarrassment and the quiet realization of how badly you've needed him to understand.
Yunho sees it happen. He watches your shoulders fold inward. Watches your eyes drop. Watches the bravado disappear as quickly as it arrived. And in that instant, the irritation he's been carrying since the restaurant slips away almost completely.
Because you were never trying to make him miserable. You were trying, desperately and terribly, to ask one question you didn't know how to put into words.
His hand loosens around your arm. His shoulders drop with a tired exhale. When he speaks again, the steel is still there. But now it's wrapped around something infinitely softer.
"...Do you really think so little of me?"
The question steals the air from your lungs. Not because he's angry. Because he's hurt. Because beneath every stern word since you walked into this bathroom had been something else entirely.
Fear. Fear that something had happened to you. Fear that he'd somehow missed it. Fear that the woman he loves had spent an entire dinner convincing herself she wasn't enough.
You drop your eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"No." His voice is gentle now. "I am sorry."
You look back up confused. He reaches out then, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips linger for just a second against your cheek, almost hesitant after everything that was said.
"I don't talk about my private life at work."
You frown. "I know."
"No." His thumb strokes your cheek once. "I mean..." He searches for the right words, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don't talk about it. Ever."
The confession sounds strangely vulnerable coming from him. Yunho always knows what to say. Except now.
"I don't talk about my parents. I don't talk about my brother. I don't talk about holidays." A faint smile pulls at one corner of his mouth, humorless this time. "Half the people I work with barely know anything about me."
You listen quietly. Because it's true. You've heard him dodge personal questions before. Seen him redirect conversations so smoothly people never realized he'd done it. You'd just never put yourself in that category.
His hand slips from your cheek to the side of your neck, warm against your skin.
"I've spent years building that habit." His thumb moves absentmindedly beneath your ear. "So naturally..." He lets out another slow breath. "I did the same thing tonight."
Your chest tightens. He isn't defending himself, he's retracing his own steps, trying to find the moment he got it wrong.
A sad smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.
"I thought I was protecting my peace." His gaze softens. "I didn't realize I was asking you to carry the cost of it."
Something inside you gives way. Not all at once. Quietly. Like ice finally cracking under spring sunlight.
"I should've seen it," he murmurs. "I should've realized what that looked like from where you were standing. I should've introduced you." Your eyes close for half a second. "I should've made it obvious."
The first tear escapes before you can stop it. Yunho catches it with the pad of his thumb almost instinctively. Not because he found the perfect explanation. Because he isn't looking for one. He's simply standing in front of you, taking responsibility for a hurt he never intended to cause.
"I'm sorry, Dove."
You laugh weakly through the tears.
"You never apologize."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
"I do," he repeats softly. "When I'm wrong."
The corner of your mouth lifts despite yourself. Relief flickers across his face so briefly you almost miss it. He studies you for another moment, then sighs, the last of the tension leaving his shoulders.
"You scared me tonight." The confession is barely above a whisper. "I didn't know who I was sitting across from."
Shame crashes over you all over again.
"I'm sorry..."
"I know."
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he leans forward until his forehead rests lightly against yours. The contact is warm. Familiar. The kind that always slows your breathing before you even realize it's happening.
Then he kisses you. Softly. Nothing like the way he kissed you earlier. Nothing demanding. Nothing that steals the air from your lungs. Just a slow press of his lips against yours, gentle enough that it feels less like desire and more like reassurance.
I'm still here.
When he pulls away, he doesn't move far. One hand is still cradling your jaw, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek as though letting go isn't something he's ready to do yet.
"You really aren't embarrassed?" you ask quietly.
The question slips out before you can stop it. You regret it immediately. Yunho's eyebrows draw together so quickly it almost hurts to watch.
"Embarrassed?" He searches your face as if he's trying to understand how your mind could've built that conclusion. "Of you?" He lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath.
His other hand comes up to cup your face, leaving you held between both of his palms as though you're something far more fragile than either of you would like to admit.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Heat rushes to your cheeks. You want the floor to open beneath your feet.
"I just..."
The words refuse to come. Instead, another question does. Quieter this time.
"You still love me?"
Yunho simply stares. Not because he's offended. Because he genuinely can't believe that's the question you've been carrying around.
"That's your question?"
You look away instantly. "I shouldn't have asked."
"No." His fingers guide your face back toward him before you can hide. "You don't get to run away now."
His thumb brushes beneath your eye again, wiping away another tear before it falls.
"After everything we've just talked about..."
He smiles then. Small. Disbelieving. So full of affection it makes your chest ache.
"I love you." Simple. Certain. No hesitation. "I loved you when we walked into that restaurant." His thumb strokes slowly across your cheek. "I loved you while you spent an hour driving me out of my mind." The corner of his mouth twitches despite himself. "And I'm still standing here loving you now." Your breath catches. "There isn't a room in this world where I'd be embarrassed to stand beside you."
His forehead rests lightly against yours.
"If anything..." He continues with a quiet smile. "I'm usually wondering what I did to deserve being the man who gets to walk in with you."
Your eyes close. Not because you're crying anymore. Because your heart simply doesn't know what to do with that.
"You are not something I hide." A beat. "You are the best part of my life."
The silence stretches comfortably between you. This one doesn't hurt. This one heals.
Then Yunho leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss against your forehead. Another against your temple. One more against your cheek, each one slower than the last, as though he's trying to erase every ugly thought you'd carried into this room.
You smile despite yourself. It lasts all of two seconds. Because when he leans back, there's something new in his expression. The misunderstanding is gone. The hurt has been named. You've forgiven each other.
Which means there's only one thing left to deal with. The spectacular disaster you created out there. And judging by the look Yunho gives you, you're not getting away with that conversation quite so easily.
"You caused me a great deal of trouble tonight."
The words aren't harsh. They're quiet. Which somehow makes them impossible to hide from.
You drop your gaze. "I'm sorry."
"I know." His hand finds yours again, turning it over gently until your fingers rest against his palm. "I forgive you."
Hope flickers across your face. Then he continues.
"But forgiveness doesn't erase the problem."
Your breath catches. You look back up at him. His expression is unreadable. Calm. Patient. Completely in control again.
"What... problem?"
Yunho pulls your hand and places it against the obvious tension beneath the expensive fabric of his trousers. Heat rushes into your face as you inhale sharply.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Yunho lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "You knew exactly what you were doing."
You immediately look away.
"I said I was sorry."
"You did." His fingers tighten around yours, pressing your palm more firmly against the hardness beneath his trousers. "And I accepted your apology."
You swallow. "Then...?"
"Then we address the consequences." His voice drops lower.
He steps closer. Your back finds the wall. Not trapped. Just nowhere else you'd rather be. Yunho reaches up, thumb brushing lightly across your jaw. Patient. Composed. Entirely too in control.
"You started this, Dove." His eyes darken. "Now you're going to finish it."
You bite your lip. "Here?"
"Where else?" His thumb traces your bottom lip. "You wanted to play games in public. Let's see how well you play when the stakes are real."
Your knees feel weak. "Yunho..."
"Unless you'd rather I take care of this myself?" He challenges, his voice low and rough. "But I don't think that's what you want, is it?"
You shake your head slowly, unable to form words.
"No." His hand moves from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "I didn't think so."
He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You wanted my attention? You have it. All of it. Now, are you going to fix what you broke?"
You nod, your heart pounding. "Yes."
"Good."
The word has barely left his mouth before he's pulling you toward him.
One hand remains firm around the back of your neck, fingers spread wide beneath your hair. The other lands at your waist with enough certainty to steal the breath from your lungs, drawing you flush against him in a single, decisive movement.
"Now, be a good girl and show me how sorry you really are. Come here."
It's the last warning you get.
His mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is deep before you have time to think, your startled gasp swallowed immediately as he claims the space between your lips. There isn't an ounce of hesitation in him now. No careful testing. No gentle reassurance. Every slow, measured restraint he's held onto since dinner seems to disappear into the kiss instead.
Your fingers instinctively clutch at the front of his jacket, wrinkling the expensive fabric beneath your fists as your balance disappears beneath the force of him.
Yunho doesn't let you drift away. His hand tightens at your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his breathing rough against your cheek every time the kiss breaks for the briefest heartbeat before he finds your mouth again. Like he's still angry. Still relieved. Still trying to convince himself you're here and that you're finally letting him in.
By the time he finally pulls back, neither of you is breathing properly. He doesn't give you room to recover. His forehead settles against yours almost immediately, his grip on your waist never loosening, your bodies still pressed together so completely you can feel the rise and fall of every uneven breath.
His eyes stay closed for a long moment.
"So stubborn," he murmurs, the words almost disappearing between your mouths.
His thumb presses once against your side, firm enough to remind you exactly whose arms you're standing in.
The silence between you changes. The misunderstanding is gone. The tenderness is still there, buried somewhere beneath everything else. But what hangs between you now is heavier. Tighter. The kind of tension that makes the room suddenly feel too small to contain either of you.
Before you can smile, before your arms can find their way around his neck, his hands shift. One slides to the small of your back. The other gently catches your wrist. With one smooth movement, he turns you until your back meets his chest.
His body follows yours immediately, close enough that you feel the warmth of him through the fabric of your dress as he guides you forward. Two careful steps. Then your thighs meet the cool marble of the sink, and he stops behind you.
"Hands on the counter," he commands, his voice a low rumble against your ear.
You comply, your palms flat on the stone, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"You are a dangerous woman," he mutters against your shoulder before he bites down harshly, teeth sinking into skin where your dress won't cover it.
"Yunho," you whimper softly.
"Spread your legs," he commands.
You don’t have time to comply. He kicks your feet apart with his own, widening your stance.
His gaze drops to your feet, still encased in the shoes he bought you.
"Still wearing these," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "The ones that were torturing me all night. Every time you crossed your legs, every time you tapped that fucking heel against the table... I wanted to bend you over right there."
His hands are rough as they hike your dress up, bunching the fabric at your waist. The cool air hits your exposed skin.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his gaze predatory in the mirror. "All dressed up, and so beautiful but so, so misbehaving."
"Sorry," you whisper, your voice shaky.
His hand comes down hard on your ass. The sharp smack echoes in the tiled room. You cry out, more from surprise than pain.
"Louder."
"Sorry!" you repeat, stronger this time.
Another smack, this one on the other cheek, leaving a warm sting. "Good girl."
His hand comes down twice more in rapid succession, the sharp smacks echoing in the tiled room. Your flesh stings when he digs his nails into the sensitive skin, scratching hard enough to leave faint pink trails that make you whimper.
Yunho hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Instead of sliding them down, he grips the delicate lace and pulls with brutal force.
The fabric tears with a sharp sound, your knees trembling at the violence of it. Before you can collapse, he bucks his hips forward, pinning you more firmly against the cold marble of the sink.
"I'll be keeping these," he states. "A reminder for you to behave next time we're out."
He spreads your ass cheeks, exposing you completely.
"Teasing me all night got you this wet? Such a messy girl for me."
He spits, watching the saliva trickle down your cleft before using two fingers to rub it over your clit and entrance. You push back against his hand, a desperate whine escaping your lips.
"Ah ah," he tuts, withdrawing his hand. He brings his glistening fingers to your mouth, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror. "Open. Taste yourself."
You obey, parting your lips as he slides his fingers into your mouth. You suck greedily, swirling your tongue around them, tasting your own arousal, mixing itself with the wine from dinner. His eyes darken as he watches you.
"Fuck," he groans, pulling his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. "You don't get to dictate the pace. Not tonight. Tonight, I use you."
The sound of his belt buckle clinking open makes your heart race. Then the slow rasp of his zipper being lowered follows, each tooth releasing with agonizing slowness that has you trembling with anticipation.
He frees himself with one hand, the other pressing down firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you bent over. He rubs the head of his cock through your wetness, coating himself in your arousal but not entering.
"Please, Yunho," you beg, trying to push back onto him.
He delivers another sharp slap to your ass.
"I said no."
He lines himself up with your entrance and, without warning, slams into you in one brutal thrust.
You both groan. He's impossibly deep like this, the angle unforgiving. The marble digs into your thighs with the force of his entry.
He gives you no time to adjust, setting a punishing rhythm from the start. Each thrust is hard, fast, designed to stake a claim. The sound of skin slapping skin is obscene, mixing with your helpless whimpers and his low grunts.
Your high heels tremble dangerously beneath you, the stiletto points scraping uselessly against the tile as your legs struggle to support you under the force of his movements.
He captures one of your wrists, twisting it behind your back and pinning it there. He uses the leverage to push you further down, until your face is inches from the mirror, your breath fogging the glass.
His other hand finds your hair, winding it around his fist. He pulls, just enough to arch your back and force you to look at your reflection in the mirror.
"Watch," he growls, his hips never ceasing their assault. "Watch me fuck you. See how you take it? How desperate you are for my cock?"
Your eyes are glassy with tears of pleasure and pain, your mouth slack.
He looks so powerful behind you, his expression dark with lust, his expensive suit still perfectly tailored and pristine while you’re a mess beneath him.
"You teased me all night," he pants, his grip on your hair tightening. "Rubbing your little foot on my dick. Making me hard in front of everyone. This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked like the little brat you are?"
"Yes!" you cry out. "Yes, I'm sorry!"
"You will be." He releases your hair only to grab your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pistons into you. Your legs start to shake, but he continues his relentless pace, driving into you again and again.
He lowers his body, the expensive fabric of his suit brushing against your back as he leans down.
His tongue traces a path up your spine, making you shudder. He licks the exposed skin of your neck, then bites down on your earlobe, just enough to make you gasp.
Then he places his lips against the back of your head, not kissing, just pressing there to keep you in place and muffle his own moans.
"Fuck," he grunts against your hair, his voice muffled. "So tight. So perfect for me."
He presses a soft peck to your hair before straightening up, his gaze fixed on where you two are connected. His hand comes down hard on your ass once again. Then he grips the reddened flesh tightly, spreading your cheeks apart to watch himself disappear inside you with each powerful thrust.
Your forehead presses against the cool glass of the mirror, eyes closed as you focus on the sensation of him filling you so completely.
Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, his length hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes the coil in your stomach tighten, ready to snap.
"I'm gonna… Yunho, I'm close..."
"No, you're not."
With a sudden, cruel movement, he pulls out of you completely, leaving you empty and aching. You cry out at the loss, your body trembling with the denied release.
"Yunho, please..."
"Please what?" he growls, wrapping his hand around his slick cock and stroking himself a few times. Your juices glisten on his length in the dim light.
"You don't get to come yet. You haven't earned it. You're going to take what I give you, and you're going to thank me for it."
His hand comes down hard on your left cheek, then your right, two rapid, harsh smacks that echo in the tiled bathroom.
The sharp sting makes you gasp, your flesh blooming red under his touch. He soothes the burning skin with his large palms, the contrast of roughness and tenderness making your head spin.
"Such a pretty color on you," he murmurs appreciatively before gripping your hips again.
He slams back into you without warning, even deeper than before. Your legs nearly give out. He slows his pace slightly, making each thrust more deliberate, more punishing.
"You wanted to act like a bitch? Fine. Now you're getting fucked like one. No relief. Just me, using this tight little pussy until I'm satisfied."
The bathroom door swings open. You freeze, a gasp caught in your throat as humiliation washes over you. Through the mirror, you see the woman from earlier pause in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock.
Your hands fly back, trying to push Yunho away, to create any distance between your bodies, but your arms feel like lead.
His arm circles your chest, pulling you upright against him until your back is flush with his chest. The new angle allows him to drive into you even deeper, his hips snapping with more intensity.
Defeated, you rest your head on his shoulder, your eyes rolling back involuntarily, your mind going blank with overwhelming pleasure. You can't think, can't speak. You can only feel him filling you so good.
"Don't get embarrassed now," Yunho snarls in your ear, his thrusts never faltering. He doesn't even look at the intruder. His eyes are boring into yours in the mirror, a silent, possessive challenge. "Let her see who makes you feel this good. Let her see what my woman looks like when she's being properly fucked."
Your hand shoots out, gripping his wrist desperately to maintain your balance as your knees threaten to give out. Your other hand presses flat against the sink surface, fingers splayed wide as you try to anchor yourself.
The woman watches for another second before muttering an apology and backing out quickly, pulling the door closed behind her.
Yunho lets out a dark chuckle. "Good girl. You did so well."
When one particularly loud moan escapes, he covers your mouth with his hand.
"Shhh, baby. I know, believe me, I know." He groans low when you squeeze around him involuntarily. "You know I love hearing you, dove, but I'd rather not have security escort us out of a restaurant I spent three weeks getting reservations for."
Then he replaces his hand with two fingers in your mouth. You immediately suck and lick them, drool falling down your chin. He bites his own lip as he watches you, his eyes dark with hunger.
"Fuck," Yunho groans, his eyes darkening with pure devotion and angry lust. "That's it. So pretty."
He guides your chin toward the mirror, forcing you to look at your reflection.
"Look at you," he murmurs against your temple. "So beautiful when you're falling apart for me."
Your body is like putty against him, your dress disheveled with one strap fallen down your shoulder, your hair a mess, mascara smudged beneath your eyes.
He removes his fingers from your mouth, slick with your saliva, and traces them over your lips.
"Watch," he commands softly.
Then his hand slides down your body, finding your clit. He begins circling it, watching how easily you respond to his touches in your reflection with such intensity it feels like he's devouring you. Your hips buck against his hand, against his cock still buried inside you.
"Now, since you were so good... you can come," he pants against your lips. "Come for me, Dove. Squeeze my fucking cock."
That's all it takes. Your orgasm tears through you, violent and overwhelming. You scream his name, your body convulsing as your vision whites out.
He follows you over the edge a minute later with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, hips jerking with the force of his release.
He grabs your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back. He cradles your face with his other hand, forcing you to meet his gaze as he continues to thrust through his orgasm.
"I love you," he breathes, desperate and raw. "God, I love you so much." he grunts as he pulses inside you.
"Love you too," you whisper, tears in your eyes. "So much."
Before you can say more, his mouth crashes against yours. It's not a kiss of gentleness, but of raw, overwhelming need. It's sloppy and desperate, filled with spit and drool as your tongues clash.
He kisses you like he's trying to breathe you in. It's uncoordinated and filthy, a perfect counterpoint to the tender words just spoken, a testament to the storm of emotions raging between you.
He stays there for a moment, breathing heavily against your mouth, the only sounds in the room your ragged breaths.
Then, as quickly as the intensity began, it softens. He pulls out gently, and you feel his warmth leave you. He uses a handful of tissues to carefully clean you up, his touch impossibly tender now.
"Can't have my perfect girl leaking all over her pretty dress," he teases softly.
He helps you stand, your legs trembling, and pulls your dress back down into place. He turns you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he wipes away the tear tracks and smudged mascara with his thumbs.
"I've got you," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your nose, your lips. "You did so good for me. So perfect."
He helps you fix your hair then. The same fingers that had tangled mercilessly through it only minutes ago now move with impossible care, smoothing down loose strands before tucking them neatly behind your ear.
He straightens the stubborn strap back to your shoudler, brushes an invisible crease from your waist, then steps back to inspect his work with quiet satisfaction.
Only after deeming you presentable again does he adjust his own tie and smooth his jacket, slipping effortlessly back into the composed man who walked into the restaurant.
"There."
Your hand flies instinctively to your shoulder.
"Oh, absolutely not."
Yunho catches your wrist before your fingers reach the mark. His mouth twitches.
"You did that."
"I think it suits you."
You glare at him. He doesn't look remotely sorry. A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest as he leans in, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead.
"My beautiful girl."
The words settle warmly beneath your ribs.
"So now you'll fuck me in public," you murmur, "but I'm not allowed to hide the evidence?"
His smile is small. Unapologetic.
"No."
The answer is so simple, so certain, that your heart forgets how to beat for a second.
When you step back into the restaurant, Yunho reaches for your hand without hesitation. His fingers weave through yours naturally, like they've done it a thousand times before. Firm enough that you couldn't pull away if you wanted to. Gentle enough that it feels less like possession and more like certainty.
You barely make it a few steps before your free hand flies to your shoulder.
"This is awful."
A quiet laugh escapes him.
"You seemed very enthusiastic about it five minutes ago."
"Yunho."
His smile only deepens. You try to pull your hair over the marks blooming across your skin. Yunho simply brushes it back over your shoulder again, his fingertips lingering for the briefest second.
"Stop."
"No."
"They're going to see."
His eyes flick toward you, warm with something that makes your chest tighten.
"I know."
You stare at him. He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. The meaning settles somewhere beneath your ribs before you can stop it.
Then you see her. Still sitting at her table. Still talking to the people around her. Your entire body locks.
"No."
Yunho doesn't even slow down.
"No."
"Dove."
"I am not walking past her."
"You are."
"I'll die."
"You won't."
You make one last pathetic attempt to hide behind him, but he only chuckles softly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before lifting it between you. His lips brush across your knuckles. Your breath catches.
Before you can recover, he leans down and presses another absentminded kiss against your temple as you walk, the gesture so effortless it almost feels unconscious. Like this is simply what he does when you're together. Like loving you has become muscle memory.
The woman looks up. Recognition flashes across her face. Her eyes fall to your joined hands. To the kiss. To the way Yunho never once lets go of you.
Heat rushes to your cheeks so quickly you're convinced the entire restaurant can feel it. But Yunho keeps walking as though nothing remarkable has happened, guiding you back to the table with the same calm confidence he'd walked in with an hour earlier.
This time, however, he pulls your chair out first.
His hand lingers briefly against the back of your seat before he walks around to his own, settling opposite you with infuriating composure.
You reach for your wine immediately. Desperately, because you need it. Bad.
"You never finished your risotto."
You blink over the rim of your glass.
"That's your concern right now?"
"It’s expensive."
You stare at him, waiting for the joke. It never comes. His mouth twitches just enough to betray him as he reaches for his own wine.
Around you, the restaurant carries on exactly as it had before. Cutlery clinks against porcelain. Conversations overlap. Someone laughs near the window. You're convinced every single one of them knows.
Yunho, meanwhile, opens the dessert menu as though the last twenty minutes never happened. He flips a page, the corners already beginning to curl beneath his fingers.
"So," he says, glancing up briefly. "Do we want the tiramisu?"
You swirl the last of your wine around your glass.
"Do we?"
His mouth twitches.
"Good point." He turns another page. "Chocolate soufflé?"
You don't answer. You simply keep looking at him. Long enough that he eventually lowers the menu, meeting your eyes over the edge of it.
"What?"
You tilt your head, pretending to consider the question.
"I kind of hate you."
A quiet smile pulls at one corner of his mouth. Small. Certain.
"No," he says. "You really don't."
You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest betrays you before your face can.
For the first time all evening, silence settles comfortably between you. No misunderstandings hiding beneath it. No sharp edges waiting to catch. Just the familiar quiet that has always belonged to the two of you.
You shift in your chair, wincing almost imperceptibly as the heels remind you how long you've been wearing them.
Yunho notices immediately. His eyes drop beneath the table for half a second before returning to your face.
"They're hurting."
It isn't a question. You sigh dramatically.
"A little."
Without another word, he extends one hand beneath the tablecloth, palm open.
"Give me your foot."
You eye him suspiciously.
"...Didn't we already establish that was a terrible idea?"
A slow smile appears at the corner of his mouth.
"Which is why I'm asking for your foot." His eyes meet yours. "Not your ideas."
Heat creeps up your neck.
"Yunho."
"I'm choosing to believe you've learned from the experience."
You wisely keep your mouth shut. Judging by the look in his eyes, the only thing Yunho enjoys more than winning is watching you realize you've lost.
His hand pats his thigh twice, waiting patiently. "Foot."
You know that tone. The one that isn't asking because it already knows you'll give in.
With an exaggerated sigh, you shift in your seat. One leg first, then the other. A moment later, both feet are on his lap. The movement is practiced. Unremarkable between you now, which is its own kind of problem.
"This time I'd like you to keep it above my knee."
You nearly choke on your wine.
"Yunho."
"Too soon?"
You can hear the smile in his voice long before you see it.
His hand settles around your ankle, thumb pressing slow circles into the sore skin. Then, almost absent-mindedly, his fingers find the tiny buckle fastening your heel.
You frown.
"...What are you doing?"
"Fixing the problem."
Before you can protest, he unfastens the delicate strap with practiced fingers, easing the shoe from your foot as carefully as though it were made of glass. He sets it beside his leg beneath the table, then repeats the motion with the other one.
The relief is immediate. A quiet breath escapes you before you can stop it. Yunho pretends not to notice.
He simply settles both of your bare feet across his lap again, one broad hand wrapping gently around your arches while his thumb works patiently at the muscles that have been aching since you left the apartment.
It's so automatic. So unceremonious. Like this isn't an act of devotion at all, just another item on the list of ways he takes care of you.
You watch him for a long moment. He doesn’t look up. That, more than anything, makes you smile.
“You’re being weird.”
"Hm?"
"You're... affectionate."
That earns you his attention. He looks up from the menu, genuinely considering the accusation.
“I’m always affectionate.”
You give him a look.
"You are." You hesitate, searching for words that don't sound quite so vulnerable. "Just... not where people can see."
Something shifts in his expression. Because he's realizing you aren’t accusing him. You’re simply telling him how lonely you felt.
His hand stays on your ankle.
“Maybe I should’ve been.”
The words are quiet enough that no one else could hear them. They don't sound like an apology. They sound better than one.
Across the room, your eyes catch the woman for just a second. Her eyes dip beneath the table for just a moment, lingering where Yunho's hand rests around your ankle as though it's the most natural place in the world for it to be.
For a heartbeat, you wait for the embarrassment to come. It doesn't. You look back at him instead.
"So. Chocolate soufflé then?" Yunho asks.
"Get both," you murmur, nodding toward the menu.
His grin is immediate. "I was hoping you'd say that."
You laugh, shaking your head as his thumb absentmindedly traces another circle over your skin.
Dessert arrives a few minutes later. Your feet never leave his lap. Neither does his hand.
Conversation returns as though it had never been interrupted. Work. Travel. Which wine is better. Ordinary things. Comfortably ordinary.
And somewhere between the first spoonful of tiramisu and the last sip of wine, you realize the knot in your chest is gone. Not because the evening had been perfect. Because when it stopped being perfect, the two of you chose each other anyway.
