subbydubbycarat

They cannot subsist on the scanty satisfaction they can extort from reality

[subbydubbycarat]

INTRO 🥵🥶💎

This is a seventeen smut blog (I know, I know, one of many). Most stories will revolve around Scoups but some might involve other members 🍒

NOTES & DISCLAIMERS

Everything here is FICTION and NOT based on real events.

This blog is NOT a space that minors should be on. If you are underaged, please, respectfully, GTFO.

I switch between first person (“I”) and second person (“you”) depending on the scene and which POV I think drives the story the best.

All images used on this blog are not mine unless stated otherwise. Full credit goes to the original owners, including official sources such as agencies, brands, and photographers. Images are used for storytelling and aesthetic purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. If you are the owner of any content and would like it removed, please contact me and I will take it down promptly.

MASTERLIST

Premise: You are one of Seventeen’s backup dancers. You have a dom-sub NSA arrangement with Scoups.

Thus far, all my stories are continuations of one another but can be read as standalone quickies:

Pre-concert orders : Scoups x reader

Leader #2 : Hoshi x reader

Post-concert consequence : Scoups x reader

Perks of being a dancer : Hoshi x reader (ft scoups)

Wicked Gifts 🎁 : Scoups x reader

Pretty Punishment: Scoups x reader

Another Type of Workout: Mingyu x reader x Wonwoo

Three’s a Crowd 🍒🐯👾: Scoups x reader x Hoshi | Wonwoo

Shades of Green: Scoups x reader

Good luck charm: Scoups x reader x Mingyu

Celebrating in style: Scoups x reader x Joshua | Hoshi | Mingyu | Wonwoo | Dino (please observe the tags and warning on this one)

Check in - sub city: Scoups x reader

Dancing Out of Frame: Hoshi x reader x Scoups

Twilight Whispers: Scoups x reader

Player One Goes First: Scoups x reader

Player Two Enters the Game: Scoups x reader x Wonwoo

Handled with Care: Scoups x reader

Insert Coin to Play: Scoups x reader

A Bet to Serve: Scoups x reader x Hoshi | Mingyu

___ on the Beach: Scoups x reader

Lights Out and Away We Go: Scoups x reader

Pay Up — and Shut up: Mingyu x reader (ft Scoups)

To-Do: No Exceptions: Woozi x reader x DK | Jun | Hoshi | ft Mingyu & Scoups

Debts Paid — The Final Forfeit: Mingyu x reader x Scoups | DK | Jun | Hoshi | Woozi | Joshua

Between Shadows and Daybreak : Scoups x reader x Mingyu | Joshua | Jun

Steering You Right: Scoups x reader

Sugar, Eggs and You: Scoups x reader

No Place to Hide: Scoups x reader

Three Dots Apart: Scoups x reader

Gentleman After Dark: Joshua x reader

Returned and Ready: Scoups x reader x Mingyu

Sit Down, Leader: Scoups x reader

Rope to the Deep End: Scoups x reader x Joshua

Rock and a Hard Place: Scoups x reader

The Shape of Repentance: Scoups x reader (no smut)

Say Yes: Scoups x reader

Cherry on top: Scoups x reader

A Flicker of Approval: Scoups x reader

Too Hot to Handle: Scoups x reader

Skybound — To You: Scoups x reader

The Penalty Suite: Mingyu x reader x Wonwoo

Update: this has somehow turned into a full series. It didn’t start out that way, but it’s funny how the story evolves and starts having a mind of its own.

[subbydubbycarat]

The Penalty Suite

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Mingyu x reader x Wonwoo

MFM | threesome | bdsm | sub!reader | pussy-spanking | degradation | punishment | mild pain kink | cum on pussy

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of our LA hotel room, warming my skin as I stretched out on the rumpled sheets. My body still ached deliciously from last night's reunion with Cheol—flying all the way from Seoul to surprise him had been exhausting, but feeling his strong hands grip my hips, his thick cock slamming into my soaked pussy over and over until he flooded me with his hot cum? Totally worth it.

I lay there naked, legs tangled in the sheets, eyes closed as I replayed every thrust, every growl of my name, my fingers idly tracing the sticky remnants between my thighs.

A soft click from the door pulled me from my haze. 'That was quick,' I mumbled, smirking to myself, figuring Cheol had zipped out for breakfast and beaten some kind of record.

But the footsteps were too many, too heavy, followed by a deep chuckle that wasn't his. My eyes flew open, heart pounding as I saw Wonwoo and Mingyu at the foot of the bed, their hungry gazes devouring my bare body. Mingyu, all towering muscle and that boyish grin, dangled a keycard between his fingers.

‘Morning, tiny dancer,' he drawled, voice low and teasing.

‘Wh-what—‘

'Coups hyung went out to get breakfast and got stuck in traffic.’ Mingyu drawled, ‘Naturally, he was worried about you being alone and… I couldn't resist telling Wonwoo about helping you sneak in last night. We’re here to make sure you're... settled.'

Wonwoo's dark eyes locked on mine, then drifted down to where my thighs pressed together, a faint flush creeping up my neck. He stepped closer, his presence quiet but intense, like a storm brewing. 'You look wrecked,' he said softly, a smirk playing on his lips. 'Coups hyung must've given you a proper welcome. Too bad he’s stuck in traffic… breakfast will have to wait a bit longer, hmm?'

Heat pooled in my core despite the surprise—or maybe because of it.

'You two shouldn't be here,' I said, but my voice came out breathy, not convincing at all. I sat up slightly, sheets pooling around my waist, my nipples hardening under their stares.

Mingyu laughed, kicking off his shoes and sauntering to the bed. 'Oh, come on. Hyung's gone for at least half an hour. And you look like you could use some company.' He reached out, his large hand cupping my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip.

Before I could pull away, he leaned in and kissed me—slow at first, his lips soft but insistent, tongue slipping in to taste me. I melted into it, moaning softly as his free hand slid down to squeeze my breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

Wonwoo watched for a moment, then joined, kneeling beside me. 'She's right, we shouldn't,' he murmured, but his actions said otherwise as he captured my mouth in a deeper kiss, his tongue tangling with mine while Mingyu's hand trailed lower, dipping between my legs to stroke my already slick folds. 'But you are so fucking tempting like this, all spread out and needy.'

Their kisses left me dizzy, mouths alternating on mine, nipping and sucking until my lips felt swollen. Mingyu pulled back first, eyes gleaming. 'Hyung would kill us if he knew... but maybe he needs to see how bad you've been.' He stood, tugging me up with him. 'Come on, let's take this outside. The balcony's private—perfect for a little fun.'

My pulse raced as they led me to the glass doors, the cool morning air hitting my skin as we stepped onto the hotel's secluded balcony. A sturdy cement picnic bench sat against the railing, overlooking the city haze.

Mingyu guided me toward it, his hands firm on my hips. 'Up you go,' he said, lifting me effortlessly onto the cool surface. The chill of the cement seeped into my ass and thighs, making me shiver.

‘You haven’t paid me back for the little favour I did for you,’ Mingyu smirked. ‘We’re here to collect… with interest.’

'On your knees and elbows, ass up in the air right at the head of the table,' Wonwoo commanded, his voice dropping an octave, sending a fresh wave of arousal through me.

I hesitated for a split second, but the dominance in his tone had me complying. I climbed back onto the cement picnic bench, my feet and ankles hanging off the side as I raised my ass high, getting down on my elbows and arching my back. The cool cement pressed against my forearms and the tops of my breasts, making my nipples pucker even tighter, hard peaks scraping lightly with every breath.

'Fuck, look at her,' Mingyu groaned, stepping behind me. His hands gripped my ass cheeks, spreading them wide to expose my pussy and the tight ring of my asshole. 'All pink and ready, slut. But sneaking around like this? You need a lesson.'

Wonwoo knelt in front of me, his fingers threading through my hair to tilt my head up. 'Eyes on me,' he said, kissing me again, slow and deep, his tongue mimicking what I wanted elsewhere. 'We're gonna spank this pretty pussy until it's throbbing. And you'll thank us for it.'

Mingyu's palm cracked down first—sharp and direct on my exposed folds. The sting made me yelp into Wonwoo's mouth, my body jerking forward. 'One,' I gasped, the pain blooming into a hot ache that had my clit pulsing.

'Good girl,' Mingyu praised, rubbing the spot roughly with his fingers, dipping into my wetness before pulling away. 'But you can take more. Count louder.'

Another smack landed, harder, right across my clit, the wet slap echoing in the open air.Juices splattered lightly, and I cried out, 'Two!' My hips bucked involuntarily, ass clenching as the burn spread.

Wonwoo swallowed my next moan with a kiss, his hand reaching under to pinch my nipple, twisting it until I whimpered. 'Such a dirty little secret, letting us see you like this,' he whispered against my lips.

Smack.

'Three!' The impact jared through me, my pussy lips swelling, turning a deeper red. Mingyu paused to trace the tender flesh, his thumb circling my entrance teasingly. 'You're dripping already. Love the pain, don't you?'

He delivered two quick spanks in succession—four and five—each one making my thighs quiver, tears stinging my eyes from the intensity.

'Yes,' I admitted breathlessly, pushing back for more despite the sting. 'Fuck, it hurts so good.'

Wonwoo chuckled darkly, kissing down my neck, sucking marks into my skin. 'Keep going, Mingyu. Make her beg.'

The next one was firmer, his hand connecting with a squelch as my arousal coated his palm.

'Six!' I moaned, my voice breaking. Wonwoo spread my lips wider, exposing my clit fully before Mingyu’s hand comes down on it directly—seven— the jolt shooting straight to my core, making me clench around nothing.

'Ahhhh—oppa please...' I begged, the cool air on my heated skin heightening every sensation, nipples scraping the cement with each rock of my body. I didn’t even know if I was begging for them to stop or to continue.

Mingyu took it as the latter, alternating between light taps that teased and heavy slaps that left me panting. Wonwoo's eyes darkened behind his glasses as he watched, his cock straining against his pants, a visible wet spot forming where pre-cum leaked through.

He released my nipple with a final twist that made me arch, my breasts dragging rougher against the cool balcony floor. 'She's breaking already, Mingyu. But we need her louder, need her to scream for it like the needy slut she is.' His fingers tangled tighter in my hair, yanking my head back so I had to look up at him, my neck straining, mouth open in a silent plea.

They dragged it out, the foreplay turning into pure torment. Mingyu paused to blow cool air over my heated folds, watching them quiver, then rubbed his palm in circles, grinding against the tenderness before spanking again. By eleven, my pussy was a throbbing, swollen mess, every nerve alight, begging for cock instead of punishment.

Mingyu's hand hovered, letting the anticipation build until my hips twitched forward on their own, chasing the next hit. 'Beg for it, tiny dancer. Tell us how bad you want your sloppy cunt punished.' His voice was gravelly, thumb brushing my inner thigh, smearing my dripping arousal higher, closer to where I throbbed.

'Please, oppa-deul,' I whimpered, voice cracking as tears blurred my vision. 'Spank my pussy harder. Make it burn for you. I need it—fuck, I deserve it for being such a dirty slut.' The words spilled out, raw and desperate, my body trembling under their gaze.

He didn't make me wait. His palm slammed down—twelve—right on my swollen clit, the force vibrating through my core, making my toes curl against the balcony tiles. 'Louder!' he barked, and I screamed, 'Twelve! Oh god, yes, more—punish this wet hole!' The sting radiated, hot and unrelenting, my lips parting wider with each pulse, juices trickling down to my asshole.

'Look how red and wet she is,' Mingyu said, voice rough with lust. He grabbed his phone, angling it to capture my arched form, the camera zooming in on my punished pussy. 'Smile for hyung.'

Wonwoo pulled my hair gently, forcing me to look at the lens as he kissed me sloppily, tongues visible and messy. I managed a hazy grin around his lips, moaning as Mingyu gave one last, teasing smack—twelve—that had me crying out.

'Coups hyung, hurry back with breakfast,' Mingyu narrated, panning up to my flushed face. 'Your girlfriend's hungry... but not just for pancakes. She's starving for cock after this.' He stopped recording with a wink and hit send, the ping echoing like a challenge.

Wonwoo leaned closer, his free hand sliding down to cup my jaw, thumb forcing my mouth open wider. 'Stick out your tongue, pet. Show me how you're drooling for this.' I obeyed, tongue lolling out, saliva dripping as he shoved two fingers down my throat. 'Swallow it down, it’ll be my cock next. Good girl—now take thirteen.' Mingyu's next slap was merciless, fingers splaying to cover more area, the wet crack echoing off the railing. My whole body jerked, pussy clenching hard enough to push out another gush of slick.

'Fuck, she's gushing like a fountain,' Mingyu groaned, dipping three fingers into the mess, pumping them shallowly before withdrawing to slap again—fourteen. His hand landed with a squish, my clit so engorged it peeked out, begging for the abuse. I sobbed, pushing back despite the fire building between my legs. 'Harder, please! Slap my clit until I cum from it—I'm your fucktoy, use me!'

Wonwoo chuckled low, releasing my hair only to slap my cheek lightly, the sting mirroring the one in my cunt. 'Such filthy words from Cheol's girl. He texts us about how tight you are, how you beg for his cum. But look at you now, pussy red and ruined for us.'

He unzipped his pants, pulling out his thick cock, veined and curving slightly, the head already shiny. He stroked it slowly, letting pre-cum bead at the tip before smearing it across my lips. 'Lick it off. Taste what you're doing to me while Mingyu wrecks that sloppy cunt.'

I darted my tongue out, lapping at the salty drop, moaning around the flavor. Despite everything, my hips thrust up on their own volition, desperate for release.

Wonwoo's gaze sharpened, a smirk tugging his lips. 'Greedy little thing. Spread your cheeks for me.' I reached back with trembling hands, pulling my ass apart, exposing everything—the red, dripping pussy and the tight pucker above. He spat on my hole, working one finger in slow, the intrusion making me gasp.

Wonwoo added a second finger, scissoring roughly, stretching my ass as Mingyu's hand rained down fifteen—the smack jolting me onto Wonwoo's fingers, the burn in my pussy syncing with the fullness in my rear.

'Fuck, yes!I'm gonna cum, please let me!' I wailed, hips grinding back, chasing the edge they'd kept me teetering on for what felt like hours.

‘Fuck, you’re so hot,' Mingyu growled, landing sixteen with his full palm, the impact so hard my vision spotted. He rubbed the abused flesh after, fingers plunging into my pussy finally, curling to hit that spot inside while Wonwoo twisted in my ass. 'You're gonna squirt from the slaps first, then we'll decide if you get cock.'

Smack

'Seventeen!' I shattered, voice hoarse, the slap connecting perfectly with my clit as Wonwoo's fingers hooked deep. My pussy spasmed, squirting clear fluid in arcs onto Mingyu's wrist, my screams muffled as Wonwoo shoved his cock into my mouth to silence me.

'Suck while you cum, slut—milk that orgasm dry.' I gagged around him, throat working as waves crashed through me, body convulsing on the balcony floor… My thighs shook uncontrollably, slick running in rivulets down my legs, pooling on the floor beneath me.

They didn't stop. Mingyu pulled his fingers free, only to tap my oversensitive folds drawing out aftershocks that made me buck. 'Look at this messy cunt, squirting like a pornstar. Cheol's gonna love seeing the video.' Wonwoo thrust shallowly in my mouth, pulling out to slap his wet cock against my tongue. 'Beg for our loads now. Tell us where you want us to paint you.'

'Everywhere,' I panted, voice wrecked, pushing up on elbows despite the ache. 'Cum on my pussy, in my mouth—fill me up, please, I need your hot seed dripping out of me.' Mingyu groaned, fisting his cock and stroking fast, aiming at my red slit. Wonwoo joined, both jerking over me as I spread my legs wider, fingers parting my lips to show the glistening pink inside.

Mingyu came first, thick ropes splattering across my mound, coating my clit and seeping into my entrance. 'Take it, slut—rub it in like lotion.'

I did, fingers circling my hole, pushing his cum inside as it mixed with my squirt.

Wonwoo followed, grunting as he unloaded on my face and tits, white streaks hitting my cheeks, dripping into my open mouth. 'Swallow what's on your tongue, then scoop the rest.' I obeyed, lapping up the salty mess, body humming with the filthy satisfaction.

Just then, the sliding door rattled. Cheol stepped out, a box of pastries in one hand, a tray of coffee in the other, eyes blazing at the sight—me sprawled, covered in cum, pussy still twitching from the spanking.

'Aww c’mon. You two started without me?’

[subbydubbycarat]

Skybound—To You

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | girlfriend | teasing | light spanking | face-fuck | bare-back | cum in pussy | anal

It’s been a few months since Cheol asked me to be his girlfriend. We had months of bliss, the kind of honeymoon period that felt both surreal and perfectly natural, like a secret we had been keeping just between the two of us. And then Seventeen were off to the US for promotion, leaving me behind.

They’ve been busy, working non-stop in LA, filming the Kelly Clarkson Show, doing interviews with Buzzfeed, and a hundred other things that require the energy of a group, not the backup dancers. I couldn’t go this time. It wasn’t a concert or a performance, and going would be too obvious. Way too obvios. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to be the girlfriend who shows up everywhere he goes. I have a life.

Still, I miss him so much. But this time feels different. It’s not like the other times when he went abroad or when I had to go away. This time, he’s my boyfriend. And that simple fact makes every moment without him sting a little more.

It’s been over a week since we’ve had a real conversation. Sure, there are the short texts—morning greetings, updates, him sending me pictures of his Chicago pizza or the Hollywood sign. I love those little glimpses into his life, but it’s not the same. I need him—the feel of his lips, his hands, the way he makes me feel like I’m the only one in the world when he touches me.

I pull up his schedule—he’s got four more days before the group breaks. Four more days. After that, some of the members will go to London for Fashion Week, others back to Seoul, and some will stay behind in the US for solo projects. Cheol has two to three days off before he heads to Milan. Two to three days. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve been holding myself back for too long.

I quickly check my own schedule—back-to-back performances with CORTIS and TXT, followed by a one-week break. It feels like fate, like the universe has aligned for this moment.

Fuck it.

I don’t even think twice. I pull up flight options and book my ticket for two days from now. The flight’s long—12 hours—but it’s worth it. Worth every minute of it.

I make sure to get a seat with Wi-Fi, just in case I want to text him in the air. But no photos. Definitely no photos. Don’t want to give him any clues. I’m supposed to be back home, right? No one can know about this.

The hotel. I know where he’s staying. I’ve memorized that part of the schedule, too. I pull up his itinerary one last time, confirming the address.

I can’t help but grin a little at how reckless I feel right now. This is my relationship with him—unexpected, intimate, and full of these little secrets we share.

I can’t wait to see his face when I show up.

I text Mingyu.

“Hey, do a girl a solid and find me a way in? I’ll owe you one.”

A few hours later, my phone buzzes.

“It’s about damn time, our leader’s been moping over his phone for weeks. Room 3015. The concierge will be expecting you. Show them your passport.”

I smirk, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. This is happening. I’m going to surprise him. I’m going to walk into that hotel room and steal back those moments I’ve been missing.

The next two days pass slowly, but I stay busy. I focus on getting everything ready. When I finally land in LA, I feel a surge of excitement and nerves. I make my way to the hotel without hesitation.

In the elevator, I check my reflection in the mirror, fixing my hair and smoothing down the edge of my black lingerie. It’s simple but sultry—delicate lace, just enough to leave something to the imagination. I’m going for the element of surprise. I want him to lose his mind when he sees me.

I walk into the lobby with a purposeful stride. My palms are sweaty, but I keep my cool. At the front desk, I flash my passport and ask for the room number, and they hand me a keycard with no questions asked.

Room 3015.

I make my way down the quiet hall, my heart pounding as I approach his door. My body tingles with anticipation. I’m ready for this. When I reach the door, I take a deep breath and slip the keycard into the slot, the green light signaling that the door is open.

I step inside and immediately move toward the bed. I pull the duvet back, making sure the room feels warm and inviting. I don’t waste any time. I slip out of my clothes and into the lingerie, then adjust myself in the mirror. I’m a little nervous, but mostly excited. This is exactly what I need right now.

I slip into the LA hotel room, the door latching behind me with a soft finality that makes my pulse race. The air carries his scent—earthy cologne mingled with the crisp hotel freshness—and it stirs something deep in my gut. I've flown all the way from Seoul for this, my boldest move yet. In our BDSM dynamic, he's always the one in charge, the one making me beg and writhe under his commands, pleasuring me until I'm a trembling mess. But tonight, I want to flip that script just a little: surprise him by taking the lead in pleasuring him, drawing out his need until he snaps. No full domination from me—I'm still his sub at heart—but I'll tease and edge him, make him ache for release before he claims me completely.

The king-sized bed dominates the room, its dark wooden frame and plush red silk sheets calling to me. I tug the duvet aside, letting it pool on the floor to reveal the inviting expanse, slightly rumpled as if waiting for us. My suitcase hits the carpet with a thud, and I strip quickly, shedding the travel-worn leggings that clung to my thighs, the loose sweater that hid my curves.

Naked now, skin prickling in the cool air, I take a quick shower and towel off, reaching for the lingerie I've packed with filthy intent: a sheer black lace teddy that leaves nothing to the imagination.

The top plunges low, the lace cups translucent and adorned with swirling vine patterns that cup my heavy breasts, the fabric so thin my dark nipples poke through visibly, hard from excitement. It cinches at my waist with built-in boning, pushing my tits up into deep cleavage, while the high-cut sides bare the swell of my hips. The crotch is scandalously open, a wide slit exposing my smooth-shaven pussy lips, already swelling and slick with anticipation, flanked by thin garter straps that connect to sheer black thigh-high stockings. The stockings hug my legs like a second skin, the lacy tops banded with silicone to stay put, and a tiny matching G-string rides high, the narrow strip nestling between my ass cheeks, pulling taut against my holes. I snap the garters into place, the elastic biting just enough to heighten the sensation, then twist in front of the full-length mirror.

My reflection is pure temptation—curves poured into lace, ass perked and ready, pussy peeking through the gap like an open invitation. A flush creeps up my neck; nerves mix with the thrill of what's coming. I arrange myself on the bed, propped on one elbow, legs bent and slightly parted to accentuate the open crotch, one hand idly tracing the edge of the stocking on my thigh. My phone stays silent in my clothes pile—no distractions. This is all for him.

Time stretches, my breaths shallow as I imagine his reaction. The door's lock rattles suddenly, then bursts open. Heavy footsteps stomp in, the door slamming shut.

'What the fuck? Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?' Seunghceol's voice booms, laced with fury, the kind he reserves for boundaries crossed. I hear his bag hitting the dresser hard, the rustle of his jacket being shrugged off. He's pissed—thinking some obsessed fan has broken in, invading his privacy after a long day. His presence fills the room, tense and commanding, but I keep my back to him, heart pounding, letting the moment build.

'Get the fuck out before I call security,' he growls, steps closing in, his shadow falling over the bed. I can feel his anger radiating, hot and electric. Slowly, deliberately, I turn, uncurling my body to face him fully. The lamplight catches the lace, highlighting every curve, my breasts heaving with each breath, nipples straining against the sheer fabric, the open slit revealing my glistening folds.

His eyes lock on me, rage twisting into shock, then raw hunger. 'Jagiya? What—how?' The words tumble out, his broad shoulders slumping as disbelief softens his features. He's in a crisp white shirt hugging his muscled chest, slacks tenting slightly at the crotch, tie askew from the day's stress.

I smile, soft and teasing, rising to my knees on the bed. 'Surprise. Flew in from Seoul just for you.' Before he can process, I crawl toward him, the silk sheets sliding under my palms. 'I’ve missed you, oppa… You've always taken such good care of me… let me return the favor tonight.' My voice is breathy, submissive undertone clear, but laced with intent. I reach for his belt, fingers brushing the bulge straining there, but he catches my wrist—gently, his thumb stroking my pulse.

'You're really here,' he murmurs, eyes devouring me, darkening as they trace the teddy's details: the way the lace clings to my sweat-damp skin, the garters framing my thighs, the exposed pussy begging for attention. But I pull my hand free, pressing it to his chest to push him back a step.

'Sit,' I whisper, guiding him to the edge of the bed. He complies, still stunned, as I kneel between his spread legs, the carpet rough against my stockinged knees.

My hands work his belt open, the leather sliding free with a whisper. I unzip him slowly, deliberately, watching his cock twitch in anticipation. It springs out as I tug his pants and boxers down—thick, veined, the shaft curving slightly upward, head already flushed and leaking pre-cum. I wrap my fingers around the base, squeezing lightly, feeling it throb.

'So hard already… all for me?' I lean in, breath ghosting over the tip, but don't touch yet. Instead, I drag my nails up his inner thighs, light scratches that make him hiss.

'Ahh… easy, I haven’t gotten off since we got to LA,' he groans, hands fisting the sheets, but he holds back, letting me lead. I lick a slow stripe from his balls to the tip, tongue flat and wet, savoring the salty tang. His sack tightens under my touch as I nuzzle there, inhaling his musky scent, then suck one ball into my mouth, rolling it gently with my tongue. He bucks slightly, a low curse escaping. Pulling back, I blow cool air over the wet skin, watching goosebumps rise, then lap at the other ball, tugging it lightly between my lips.

I move up, tongue circling the head without taking him in, dipping into the slit to lap up more pre-cum. His cock jerks, smearing wetness on my cheek. 'Suck it,' he orders, voice rough, but I shake my head, smirking.

'Not yet. I want to make you wait… like you make me.' I stroke him lazily, hand gliding from root to tip, twisting at the crown to spread the slickness. My thumb presses into the underside vein, feeling it pulse, but I stop just as his hips lift, edging him without mercy. He growls, abs clenching under his shirt. Undoing the buttons, I push the fabric aside, revealing his chiseled chest, dark nipples pebbled. Leaning up, I flick my tongue over one, then the other, sucking hard enough to leave marks while my hand resumes its torturous strokes—slow, then fast, then nothing.

'You're killing me,' he pants, sweat beading on his forehead, cock leaking steadily now, a puddle forming on his thigh.

I rise slightly, pressing my lace-covered breasts against his length, trapping it between them. The sheer fabric rasps against his skin as I squeeze my tits together, sliding up and down, the head poking out to bump my chin. Pre-cum soaks the lace, darkening it, making my nipples ache from the friction. I dart my tongue out to lick the tip each time it emerges, but pull away before he can thrust properly.

His control frays—hands twitching toward me, breaths ragged. 'Ahh shhh….'

But I bat his hands away gently, whispering, 'Soon. Let me worship you first, Cheol-ie.' Dropping lower again, I finally take him into my mouth, lips sealing around the head, sucking with hollowed cheeks. Inch by inch, I swallow him down, throat relaxing to accommodate his girth, nose pressing into his pubes. Saliva drips from my lips, coating his balls as I bob, tongue swirling relentlessly. He moans, fingers threading into my hair—not pulling, just holding.

I pull off suddenly, strings of spit connecting us, and pump him with my fist, fast and slick, thumb rubbing the sensitive frenulum until his thighs quake.

'Close?' I ask innocently, stopping again, watching him throb untouched, a whine escaping his throat. 'Not yet.'

Standing, I turn, presenting my ass to him, the G-string pulled aside to show my cheeks. Bending over the bed, I reach back, spreading myself. 'Touch me if you want… but don't cum.'

He groans, hands finally on me—palms kneading my ass, thumbs tracing the garter straps, dipping into the open crotch to stroke my soaked pussy. Two fingers slide in easily, curling, but I clench around them, rocking back.

'That's it… I’ve missed your cock, oppa.' I reach between my legs to grab his cock again, jerking him in time with his thrusts, but release just as he swells.

It's too much. With a feral snarl, he yanks his fingers free, grabs my hips, and flips me onto my back. 'Enough teasing, you little slut. You want to play? Now I take what's mine.'

His eyes are wild, dominance flooding back as he rips the G-string aside, the fabric tearing with a sharp snap. He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, the other shoving his cock into my pussy in one brutal thrust. I cry out, walls stretching around him, the burn mixing with pleasure as he bottoms out, balls slapping my ass. "Oh, fuck, you feel so good."

He fucks me hard, hips snapping, the bed creaking under us. 'This what you wanted? My cock pounding your tight cunt?' Each word punctuates a deep drive, his free hand spanking my thigh—sharp slaps that make the stocking snap against my skin, reddening the flesh.

I arch, moaning, legs wrapping around his waist. 'Yes… Cheol, fuck me, please.' He releases my wrists to grab my tits, squeezing through the lace, pinching nipples until I whimper, then yanks the cups down, exposing them fully. Leaning down, he sucks one into his mouth, teeth grazing, while his cock pistons relentlessly, hitting my cervix with every slam.

Sweat slicks our bodies, the room echoing with wet slaps and my gasps. He pulls out suddenly, flipping me onto all fours. 'Ass up.'

I obey, presenting myself, pussy dripping onto the sheets. His palm cracks against my ass cheek—hard, stinging—leaving a handprint. 'Little tease needs a lesson. Count them.' Another spank, then another, each one making me jolt, pussy clenching emptily. 'One… two… three…' By ten, my ass burns, throbbing heat spreading to my core.

He spreads my cheeks wide, the cool air hitting my exposed hole before he spits a thick glob right onto the tight pucker, watching it drip down to mix with my pussy juices. His thumb circles the rim, pressing in just the tip to loosen me up, making me whimper and push back greedily. 'Gonna fuck this greedy little ass now, stretch it out with my fat cock.'

He lines his throbbing shaft up, pressing the blunt head against my hole, and shoves forward—slow at first, the ring resisting before popping open around him with a filthy, wet squelch. Inch by burning inch, he forces his way in, my ass clenching desperately around his girth, the stretch so intense it borders on pain, making my toes curl in the stockings.

'Fuck, so tight… your asshole's gripping me like a vice, sucking me in deeper,' he grunts, voice strained as he bottoms out, his balls pressing against my dripping pussy lips. He pauses for a second, letting me adjust to the fullness, his cock twitching inside me, before he starts railing my ass with savage thrusts—pulling back until just the head tugs at my rim, then slamming balls-deep again, the drag of his thick shaft against my sensitive walls sending sparks through my body. Each plunge makes obscene, sloppy sounds, lube and my arousal mixing to ease the way, his hips slapping against my reddened cheeks.

‘Yes sir, please fuck my tight ass,’ I pant as I reach under, fingers finding my swollen clit, rubbing frantic circles as the pressure builds, my pussy weeping onto the sheets. The way my ass milks his cock has him groaning, his hands digging into my hips hard enough to bruise, pulling me back onto him harder, faster, the rhythm brutal and unrelenting.

Orgasm crashes toward me like a wave, my body tensing, ass fluttering around him, but he senses it—feels the telltale squeeze—and yanks out with a wet pop, leaving my hole gaping and empty, clenching on nothing. 'Not yet, you don't get to cum from my cock in your ass alone.' He flips me roughly onto my back again, my legs splaying wide, the garters straining against my thighs.

He straddles my chest, cock slick from my ass and lube, and shoves it between my tits once more, thrusting through the valley, head bumping my lips. 'Suck it clean.' I do, tongue lapping my own musky taste as he tit-fucks me, lace chafing my skin.

But he's not done. Grabbing my hair, he pulls me up, forcing his cock down my throat. 'Open wide, little slut.' I gag as he face-fucks me, hips snapping, saliva bubbling from my lips, dripping onto my chin and breasts. Tears prick my eyes, but I take it, hollowing cheeks, until he groans, pulling out to slap his wet cock against my face—cheeks, lips, forehead—marking me.

Finally, he pushes me down, spreading my legs wide. 'Gonna fill this pussy.' He slams back in, fucking with abandon, one hand around my throat—light pressure, possessive—while the other spanks my inner thighs, then my clit, sharp taps that make me scream. The edging has him feral, thrusts erratic, cock swelling. 'Cum with me, jagi.' His fingers circle my clit, and I shatter, pussy convulsing, milking him as he roars, hot spurts flooding me, leaking out around his base.

He collapses over me, both of us panting, bodies tangled in ruined lace and sweat. 'Best surprise ever,' he murmurs, kissing my bruised lips.

to be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Too Hot to Handle

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | backstage fuck | quickie | pure smut | no storyline

“Fact, fact, fact, 이 바닥 산증인 날 check, check—”

The heavy bass rattles right through the soles of your sneakers, vibrating straight up into your chest.

“AHHH!”

You scream, throwing your hands in the air and jumping in perfect synchronization with the thousands of fans packed around you. The energy in the stadium is an absolute ocean, waves of heat and adrenaline crashing from the barricades all the way to the back rows.

Usually, you’re not down here. Usually, you’re backstage, tracking the stage cues, stretching in the wings, or on the stage itself, keeping pace with Seventeen’s exhausting choreography as one of their trusted backup dancers. Your life is usually measured in eight-counts, quick changes, and the professional distance required when you also happen to be dating the leader of the whole damn operation.

But today? For the first time in what feels like centuries, you are on a certified, hard-earned break. No rehearsals, no monitoring the monitors, no dancing. Normally, a day off means turning into a human burrito in bed and sleeping for fourteen hours. Today, though, you chose a different kind of chaos. You slipped on an oversized hoodie, pulled a cap low over your eyes, and blended seamlessly into the crowd to do something you haven't done before: just watch your namchin do what he does best.

And god, does he do it well.

On stage, Seungcheol is an absolute apex predator. The light catches the sweat glistening on his forehead as the beat shifts, his voice cutting through the roaring stadium with effortless authority.

“패, 패, 패, 헛소리 음소거 맴매해—”

He delivers the lines with a sharp, rhythmic shake of his head, his entire body locked into the aggressive groove of the track. You subconsciously lick your dry lips, your eyes tracking the fierce, hyper-focused extension of his movements. From this angle, looking up at the illuminated stage, he looks larger than life. The harsh stage lights trace the sharp lines of his jaw, the thick veins straining against his forearms as he grips the mic, and the rhythmic working of his throat every time he spits a verse.

He’s gorgeous. Pure, unfiltered perfection.

Every time he hits a hard stop, the thin, sweat-dampened fabric of his shirt clings stubbornly to his torso, revealing the sharp, cut definition of his abs beneath. It’s a view you’re familiar with in the quiet, domestic safety of your shared apartment, but seeing it weaponized on stage in front of eighty thousand screaming people? It does something entirely different to your heart rate.

As the song builds to its chaotic, explosive climax, Seungcheol struts down the catwalk toward the extended stage. The crowd around you surges forward, a collective wave of desperate hands and waving Caratbongs. You stay anchored, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your lips under your mask.

Then, it happens.

Maybe it’s dancer’s intuition, or maybe it’s just the invisible thread that always seems to pull you two together, but as he scans the crowd, his fierce, dark eyes suddenly halt. They lock right onto your section. Right onto the exact spot where you’re standing.

Through the shadow of your cap, your eyes meet his.

For a fraction of a second, the intense, battle-hardened idol persona cracks. A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, a private acknowledgment amidst the madness. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced instantly by a devastatingly confident wink before he spins on his heel to crush the final chorus, leaving the fans around you shrieking in a frenzy.

You let out a breathless laugh, your heart hammering against your ribs. Yeah, resting in bed would have been nice—but this was definitely worth the crowd.

The bass drops into a savage, unrelenting loop for the final dance break. Only this time, Seungcheol doesn’t just lock back into the formation. He breaks it.

He stalks down the catwalk toward your section, his gaze anchored entirely to yours. The casual, private wink from a moment ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden, heavy intensity that makes the air in your lungs vanish. He knows exactly where you are, he knows you’re watching, and the competitive, possessive streak in him flares to life. He’s going to put on a show, and you are his only audience.

The fans around you are screaming so loudly the sound blurs into static, completely oblivious to the fact that the leader of Seventeen has just made your small patch of the barricade his personal stage.

He stops right at the edge of the platform, directly above you. He drops into a low, predatory stance, his thighs flexing hard under his stage pants. His eyes burn down into yours, dark and completely unblinking under his damp bangs. He hooks his thumb into the collar of his tight, sweat-soaked shirt and violently tethers it downward, ripping the fabric open just enough to expose the hard line of his collarbone and the heavy, rapid working of his throat.

A collective, desperate shriek tears through the crowd, but Seungcheol’s focus doesn’t waver. He hits the next choreo cue with an aggressive, punishing power. Every hit of his chest is sharper, heavier, sending a fine spray of sweat catching the strobe lights. With the beat pulsing like a heartbeat, he locks his eyes onto yours and executes a slow, devastatingly deliberate body roll, his hand tracing a agonizingly slow path down the hard, cut definition of his abs through the clinging fabric.

He’s entirely unhinged on stage, dripping with a raw, masculine gravity that is almost too much to handle from this close. You subconsciously grip the cold metal of the barricade, your knuckles turning white. You know this choreography by heart, but he’s changing the timing, dragging it out, making it dirty—and he’s doing it entirely for you.

He tilts his head back, spitting the next rapid-fire verse directly down into your section, the veins in his neck thick and straining with the effort. As he raps, he deliberately steps even closer to the edge, leaning over the barrier. He lowers his microphone for a split second, his lips curling into a wicked, breathless smirk as his eyes drop to your lips, then snap back to yours. Look what I can do, his expression says. Look what’s yours.

The final, explosive crescendo of the song hits. With a blinding blast of pyrotechnics that sends a rush of literal heat sweeping over your face, the music crashes into the ending pose.

Seungcheol stands dead center above you, his chest heaving violently against his ruined shirt. He stands tall, staring down at you through the rising stage smoke, his posture dripping with pure, unadulterated dominance. He waits until the very last second before the lights plunge into darkness. In that final, fleeting pocket of illumination, he slowly licks his lower lip, holds your gaze, and winks at you.

Then, the stage goes pitch black, leaving you breathless, trembling against the barricade, and utterly ruined for the rest of the night.

The stage lights die and the world collapses into a vacuum of darkness and screaming static. Your body moves before thought—muscle memory from a thousand rehearsals, but this time driven by something feral. You shove through the wall of sweating, ecstatic fans, their hands grasping at nothing as you slip through the barricade gate. The security guard barely glances at your pass before swinging it open, and you're gone.

The concrete tunnel is cold and damp, muffling the roar of the crowd into a distant heartbeat. Your footsteps echo, frantic, as you race past frantic stagehands and stylists clutching armfuls of glittering fabric. The dressing room door is ahead. Fifteen feet. Ten. You don't slow down.

You throw it open.

The room is small, cramped, reeking of sweat and adrenaline and the sharp tang of his cologne. Seungcheol is standing with his back to you, both hands braced on the vanity counter, his head hanging low. His torn shirt hangs open, revealing the full expanse of his back—broad shoulders, the deep groove of his spine, the way his lats flex with each ragged breath. Sweat drips from his hair, sliding down the ridges of his muscles in slow, deliberate rivulets.

He hears the door. He doesn't turn.

"That was fast," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. A dark chuckle escapes him, vibrating through his chest. "Couldn't wait, could you, jagi?"

The pet name hits you like a fist to the gut. You don't answer.

You cross the room in three strides, grab his shoulder, and spin him around.

The sight of him up close—flushed, wrecked, his lips parted and wet—sends a pulse of pure heat straight to your core. His eyes are blown wide, pupils swallowing the brown, burning with a hunger that matches your own. His chest is heaving, slick with sweat, every cut of his abs sharp and defined under the harsh vanity lights. And his arms—those massive, thick biceps that flexed so obscenely when he hit that chest pop on stage—are still tensed, veins visible, powerful and straining.

You don't kiss him. Not yet.

Instead, you drop your gaze to his throat. The thick, pulsing vein that stood out so dark and desperate under the stage lights is still throbbing, hammering with his heartbeat. You lean in and press your open mouth against it.

He groans—a deep, guttural sound that rattles through his chest.

You drag your tongue up the column of his neck, slow and deliberate, tasting salt and heat and the raw essence of him. When you reach the spot where his jaw meets his ear, you bite down. Not soft. Hard enough to leave a mark. His hips jerk forward, grinding his rock-hard erection against your stomach.

"Fuck," he hisses, his hands flying to your hips. He grips the waistband of your jeans and yanks you closer, crushing you against him. "You liked watching me out there, didn't you? You liked seeing me move."

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "Every thrust," you breathe. "Every time your hips hit that beat, I imagined it was me you were fucking."

His pupils dilate. A dark, possessive growl rumbles from deep in his chest.

"Imagined?" He shakes his head slowly, a wicked smile curling his lips. "Jagiya, I was fucking you. On that stage, in front of eighty thousand people—every move was for you. Every time I dropped low, every time I rolled my hips, every goddamn time I flexed my arms and watched you grip that barricade—I was thinking about burying my cock inside you until you couldn't breathe."

He punctuates the last words by slamming you back against the wall, his body pressing you into the drywall. His hand slides down, unzipping your jeans with brutal efficiency, shoving them down your thighs along with your soaked panties. The cold air hits your bare cunt, and then his fingers are there, sliding through your slick folds without resistance.

"So fucking wet," he mutters, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in tight, punishing circles. "You came from watching me, didn't you? Right there in the crowd, with everyone screaming around you."

"Almost," you gasp, your head falling back against the wall. "I was so close, Cheol—"

"Almost," he repeats, a dark laugh escaping him. "Good. I want you to cum on my cock, not your fingers."

He pulls his hand away, brings his glistening fingers to his lips, and sucks them clean with a slow, deliberate drag. His eyes never leave yours.

Then he shoves his own pants down just enough to free his cock. It's thick, flushed a deep, angry red, the head slick and leaking. He wraps his hand around the base, stroking once, twice, letting you watch.

"This is yours," he says, his voice low and rough. "I don't care how many fans scream my name. I don't care how many people watch me on that stage. Leader Scoups is for all Carats—but Seungcheol is only for you."

He lines himself up at your entrance, the head pressing against your slick folds, teasing. You can feel him throbbing against you, desperate to sink in.

"How long until next stage?" he asks, his voice strained.

You glance at the clock behind him. "Eleven minutes."

That wicked grin returns. "Plenty of time."

He slams into you in one brutal, seamless thrust.

The scream that tears from your throat is raw, primal. He swallows it with his mouth, his tongue plunging in as his hips begin to pound against you. The wall digs into your back, his hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, and the wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding into your soaked cunt fills the small room.

He fucks you like he performs—relentless, powerful, entirely in control. Every thrust drives you higher up the wall, your nails raking down his back, leaving red welts across his sweat-slick skin. He breaks the kiss, dropping his forehead to yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips.

"Look at me," he commands.

You force your eyes open. His are dark, wild, burning with raw, unguarded need.

"Tell me who I belong to," he growls, driving into you harder.

"You—" you gasp, your walls clenching around him. "You're mine. Only mine."

"That's right." He speeds up, his hips slapping against yours with a wet, rhythmic sound. "And I'm going to fill you up so full that when I'm on that stage, you'll still feel me dripping down your thighs."

The image—the thought of him performing for thousands while his cum leaks out of you—sends you spiraling. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, hot and violent, your back arching off the wall as you cry out his name. He follows a second later, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his throat as he spills inside you, his hips stuttering through the last few thrusts.

For a long moment, the only sound is your mingled breathing, harsh and uneven in the cramped room.

He pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

"We still have six minutes," he murmurs.

You laugh, breathless, your legs still shaky. "Get dressed, leader-nim. You've got a crowd to get back to."

He opens his eyes, catching yours. That familiar, private smirk returns.

"Let them wait."

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

A Flicker of Approval

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and Warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | bdsm | dom-sub | dirty talk | scoups!dom | reader!sub | blowjob | doggy | cum in pussy

The crisp rustle of a turning page was the loudest sound in the dimly lit living room. You blinked against the soft glow of the reading lamp, your eyes scanning the dark print—lines detailing a breathless, unyielding command, a fictional master demanding absolute submission from a partner who gave it willingly. Your pulse hitched slightly at the words, a familiar, deep-seated ache stirring in your core.

Slowly, your gaze flickered down from the book to the heavy, comforting weight draped across your lap.

Choi Seungcheol was fast asleep, his head pillowed on your thighs.

Without the sharp, focused glare he usually wore as Seventeen’s leader, his face looked impossibly soft. Yet, even in repose, the striking lines of his jaw and the sharp edge of his cheekbones were undeniable. Your eyes traced lower, drifting down the broad expanse of his chest, encased in a soft gray t-shirt that did little to hide the hard, powerful muscle beneath. One of his large hands was loosely curled over your knee, his thumb occasionally twitching against your skin even in his sleep.

For the past two weeks, this had been your reality: absolute, unfiltered cloud nine.

Ever since he’d asked you to officially be his girlfriend, ending the months of a nsa arrangement, you had slipped into a domestic routine that felt like a dream. He was a version of himself you’d never seen before—tender, attentive, and completely soft.

Just this morning, you’d woken up not to the rush of him slipping out before sunrise, but to the smell of fresh coffee and Cheol pressing a sleep-warm kiss to your bare shoulder. Two nights ago, he had braved the public, fully incognito in a heavy black beanie and a mask pulled up to his nose, just so he could sit in the very back row of a dark movie theater and hold your hand inside his hoodie pocket.

Even at the company, everything had shifted. During practice sessions, whenever your eyes met across the room, there was no more masking the heat. It was there in the brief, lingering touches when he passed you a water bottle, or the quiet, possessive way his gaze tracked your movements.

And the nights. The nights had been pure bliss.

Instead of the frantic, breathless encounters of your past, Cheol had been incredibly gentle. He took his time, treating you like something fragile and precious. The lovemaking was slow, filled with whispered praises and soft foreheads resting against yours. It left you aching in a completely new way. You loved it. You loved him.

But looking from the raw, dominant text in your lap back down to his relaxed face, a quiet, familiar hunger started to claw its way back to the surface.

“Ahh—”I thrashed and moaned as Kai thrust two fingers deep in my pussy. My legs instinctively tried to close but my knees held still, splayed out in a frog-tie, utterly helpless.

The contrast between the book in your hands and the gentle reality of the last two weeks was blinding.

You had tried, in increasingly desperate ways, to poke the sleeping giant.

Last week, when he’d been pinning your hands above your head during a rare, heated moment, you had intentionally smirked, mapping a challenge across your features and whispering a bratty, "Is that all you've got?"—fully expecting him to lose his temper and pin you down harder. Instead, he’d just chuckled, kissed your nose, and slowed his pace even more.

Three nights ago, you had deliberately ignored his explicit request to wait for him in bed, choosing instead to parade around the kitchen in nothing but one of his dress shirts, leaning against the counter with a defiant tilt of your chin just to see if he’d drag you back to the room by your waist. He had only sighed with fond exhaustion, wrapping his arms around you from behind and murmuring about how cute you were.

Every attempt to provoke his dominance, every bit of bratty resistance you threw at him to get him to finally take control, had been met with a wall of impenetrable, sweet patience. It was driving you insane.

Your fingers left the edge of the book and drifted into his dark hair, gently combing through the thick strands. Cheol stirred at the touch, a soft grunt escaping his lips. His long eyelashes fluttered, and then he was looking up at you, his eyes still heavy with sleep but entirely devoted.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" his voice was rough, a low rumble against your thigh. He reached up, his thumb gently tracing your jawline. "You're miles away."

You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. "Just thinking. About how much things have changed. How soft you’ve been."

Cheol’s eyes softened even further, misinterpreting the edge in your voice for pure sentimentality. He shifted, turning onto his back so he could look up at you fully, his head still heavy in your lap. He took your hand from his hair, lifting it to his lips to press a tender, lingering kiss right against your knuckles.

"You deserve soft, gongju-nim," he murmured, using the sweet, doting term for princess that made your heart swell. "I spent so long keeping my distance. Now that you're mine, I just... I want to take care of you. I don't ever want to rush you, or make you feel like you're just an escape from work."

The words were beautiful. They were everything a girlfriend was supposed to want to hear. But as he called you his princess in that sweet, protective tone, the text from the book flashed in your mind, and something inside you chafed.

You didn't want to just be a fragile princess. In the confines of the bedroom, you wanted to be his sub, his slut.

The trigger came a second later, completely unprompted by him. As Cheol let go of your hand to stretch, his fingers brushed against the hem of your oversized shirt, pulling it back just enough to expose your collarbone. In the past, a glimpse of skin like that would have made his eyes darken instantly. He would have gripped your jaw, tilted your head back, and taken what he wanted with a heavy, commanding authority.

Instead, Cheol carefully reached up and pulled the fabric back into place, tucking it neatly over your shoulder with a gentle, protective pat.

It was a beautiful gesture. A sweet, boyfriend gesture.

And it was the exact moment something snapped inside you. Looking down at the open book, you closed it with a deliberate, sharp thud.

Cheol blinked, the sleepiness finally beginning to recede from his expression as he sat up slowly, looking at the novel in your hands. "What are you reading anyway? You've been staring at that page for twenty minutes."

You looked at the dark cover, then up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. "It's about a woman who gives up her control. Entirely. To a man who knows exactly how to break her down and put her back together." You tilted your head, holding his gaze. "He doesn't tuck her clothes back into place, Cheol. He tears them off."

The words hung in the quiet air between you, heavy and charged.

Cheol rubbed a hand over his face, sighing softly as the realization of what you were actually saying washed over him. When he looked back at you, there was a sudden, cautious vulnerability in his dark eyes.

"We haven't played since we made things official," he admitted, his voice dropping. He reached out, his fingers lightly wrapping around your wrist—but his grip was loose, hesitant, a far cry from the bruising, possessive hold you secretly craved. "To be honest, I've been intentionally holding back. I didn't want to blur the lines. Before, when we were… what we were, those boundaries were easy. But now that we're dating... I didn't want you to feel like I was just using you for that. I wanted to build a real foundation first. A safe one."

You looked down at his loose grip on your wrist, then pointed a finger at the book resting on the cushion beside you.

"Do you know what the main character says in the very next chapter?" you whispered, your free hand trailing down his pecs, tracing the groves of his abs. "She says that submitting to him isn't a lack of a foundation. It's the only place she feels entirely safe."

You looked up, locking eyes with him. "I love the romance, Cheol. I do. But I still need the heat. I still need you to take control."

A shift occurred in the room. The air grew perceptibly thicker. Seungcheol didn't move, but you saw the exact moment his mindset flipped. The gentle, doting boyfriend receded, and the heavy, commanding presence of the man who ran a small empire—and dominated your bedroom—began to bleed through.

His grip on your wrist didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened, just enough for you to feel the true strength in his fingers, pinning your hand down against the couch. His gaze darkened, losing its puppy-dog softness as it scanned your face, searching for any hint of hesitation.

"Is that right?" he asked, his voice suddenly dropping an octave, losing its sleepy warmth and adopting a low, dangerous rumble that sent a delicious shiver straight down your spine. He leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on your lips. "You want me to stop being a good boyfriend, gongju-nim? You want me to tell you exactly what to do instead?"

The air between you crackled. His grip on your wrist tightened another increment, not painfully, but with a deliberate pressure that sent a clear message: I am in control now.The soft, hesitant boyfriend was gone, replaced by the man who commanded boardrooms and bent others to his will. His thumb pressed into the delicate skin just above your pulse point, feeling your heartbeat quicken beneath his touch.

"Answer me," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly command. "You want me to stop being the good boyfriend? The one who brings you tea and kisses your forehead and asks permission before he fucks you?"

You swallowed, but your voice came out steady, laced with anticipation. "Yes. In here."

A slow, predatory smile curled the corner of his mouth. It didn't reach his eyes, which remained dark, focused, and hungry. "Then that's what you'll get. But understand this, gongju-nim—once those clothes come off and we're in this room, the good boyfriend stays outside that door. The moment we step out, he's right back. But while we're here..." His voice dropped to a near-growl. "You belong to the man who doesn't ask permission. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

You didn't hesitate. "I've been ready since the moment we started dating."

He released your wrist, but only to slide his hand into your hair, fisting the strands at the nape of your neck. He tugged, tilting your head back, baring your throat to him. The sting was sharp, perfect, and you gasped, your body instinctively arching into his hold.

"Good girl," he breathed, the praise a dark caress against your skin. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the hollow of your throat, not kissing but breathing you in, his hot exhale raising goosebumps along your arms. "I've been holding back for weeks. Denying myself. Denying you. I thought I was protecting something fragile. But you're not fragile, are you?"

"No," you whispered, your voice hitching as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

"No," he repeated, his voice dropping to a near-growl. "You're a fucking brat who knows exactly what she needs. And you've been waiting for me to stop second-guessing myself and give it to you—inside this room."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his grip still firm in your hair. His other hand came up, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, then down to the collar of your shirt. He hooked a finger under the fabric and tugged, exposing your shoulder.

"From this moment on, while we're in this bedroom, you don't speak unless I tell you to. You don't move unless I permit it. You exist for my pleasure, and if you please me well enough, I'll see to yours. Understood?"

The words sent a hot, shivering wave of arousal through your core. You nodded, the motion limited by his hold.

"I said speak when I ask you a question."

"Yes," you breathed. "I understand, sir."

A flicker of approval crossed his face. "Good. Now strip. Slowly. I want to watch.”

He released your hair and leaned back against the opposite end of the couch, spreading his legs wide, one arm draped along the backrest. The pose was casual, but his eyes were anything but—they roamed over your body with predatory intensity, watching your every move.

You rose on shaky legs, your fingers finding the hem of your shirt. You pulled it over your head with deliberate slowness, letting the fabric slide through your fingers before dropping it to the floor.

His gaze followed the curve of your breasts, still covered by your bra, and you saw his jaw tighten.

"Keep going."

You reached behind your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. The straps slid down your shoulders, and you let it fall, baring your chest to his hungry gaze. Your nipples pebbled under the cool air—and under the heat of his stare.

“Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice rough. "Pinch your nipples."

Your hand trembled as you brought it up, fingers brushing over the sensitive peak before rolling it between thumb and forefinger. A soft whimper escaped your lips as you tugged, the sensation amplified by the way his eyes followed every movement.

"Harder," he said. "Make yourself feel it."

You obeyed, gasping as you pinched harder, the sharp pleasure-pain shooting straight to your cunt. Your other hand mirrored the motion, and you couldn't help the small moan that escaped.

"That's it, good girl," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Now your pants. Slow. Let me see every inch."

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans, pushing them down over your hips, then your thighs, bending slowly to reveal the black lace of your panties. You stepped out of them, leaving you in nothing but your underwear, standing before him completely exposed.He didn't speak for a long moment.

His gaze traced every curve, every hollow, every line of your body, and you felt your skin prickle with anticipation under the weight of his appraisal.

"The panties. Off."

You slid them down your legs, stepping out of them, now completely naked and utterly vulnerable before him. He made no move to touch you, simply watched, his hand resting on his own thigh, fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm.

You turned, naked, exposed, your hands at your sides. He gestured with a single finger, a come-hither motion that had no room for resistance. "Come here. On your knees."

You dropped to your knees before him, the hardwood cold against your bare skin. He leaned forward, his hand tangling in your hair again, yanking your head back, forcing your face upward. He looked down at you, his eyes dark and possessive.

"Open your mouth."

You parted your lips, and he pressed his thumb inside, pushing it past your teeth. "Suck," he said. "Get it wet."

You obeyed, swirling your tongue around his thumb, coating it with your saliva. He withdrew it slowly, dragging your lower lip down before letting it snap back.

"Good little slut. Now undo my belt. Use your teeth."

You leaned forward, your hands clasped behind your back, taking the leather strap between your teeth. The taste of the worn leather filled your mouth as you pulled, the buckle sliding free with a metallic clink. You looked up at him, the belt still between your teeth, asking permission with your eyes.

"Good girl. Drop it."

You let the belt fall to the floor with a soft thud. His hand gripped the back of your head, guiding your face toward his zipper. "Now work open my jeans. With your teeth."

You pressed your mouth to the metal zipper, your teeth catching the tab, pulling it down slowly. The sound of it separating filled the quiet room. He lifted his hips, letting you hook your teeth into the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down enough to free his cock. It sprung out, already hard, the tip glistening with precum.

He didn't give you time to admire it. He shoved your head down, forcing his cock past your lips, filling your mouth in one rough motion. You gagged immediately, your throat convulsing around the intrusion, but he held you there, his hand fisting your hair.

"Breathe through your nose," he ordered. "And don't you dare pull back until I say."

You couldn't answer, but you hummed in response, the vibration making him groan louder.

"Fuck," he hissed, his head falling back against the couch. "Look at you. So eager. Did you miss this? Miss having my cock down your throat?"

His hips bucked involuntarily, pushing deeper, and you took it, letting him use your mouth the way he wanted.

"Use your tongue," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Lick the underside when you come up. And when you go back down, swallow me whole."

You followed his instructions, dragging your tongue along the sensitive vein as you pulled back, then plunging back down, hollowing your cheeks. Saliva pooled at the corners of your mouth, slicking the way, and the wet, obscene sounds filled the room.

He let you continue for several minutes, his breathing growing ragged, his hand fisting in your hair. But just as you felt his cock twitch, felt him on the edge, he pulled you off with a firm tug.

"Not yet," he said, his voice strained. "I'm not done with you."

You gasped for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. He wiped it away with his thumb, then brought that thumb to your mouth, pressing it past your lips. "Suck," he ordered. "Taste yourself on me."

You obeyed, swirling your tongue around his thumb, tasting the mingled salt of him and you. His eyes darkened further, a possessive fire burning in their depths.

He withdrew his thumb and stood, towering over you. He grabbed your hair again, pulling you to your feet, then spun you around and bent you over the arm of the couch. Your face pressed into the leather, your ass in the air, your cunt exposed and dripping.

"Spread your legs wider," he ordered. "I want to see that pussy beg for it."

“Yes, sir,” You shuffled your feet apart, feeling the cool air on your wet folds. He didn't touch you immediately. Instead, he knelt behind you, his hands gripping your ass cheeks, spreading them apart. You felt his breath on your cunt, then the warm, wet flat of his tongue—a broad, slow lick from your clit to your asshole, tasting your arousal.

"Fuck, you're so wet already," he murmured, his lips pressing against your inner thigh. "But I need you slicker. Beg me to use my mouth on you."

"Please, Sir—please lick my cunt," you whimpered, your voice muffled against the couch. "Make me ready for your cock."

"Louder. I can’t hear you.”

"Please, Sir, please lick my wet cunt. I need your tongue inside me. Cheol-oppa, I need to feel your mouth on my clit."

He chuckled darkly, and then his mouth was on you—hot, wet, possessive. He licked a broad stripe from your asshole to your clit, his tongue lapping up your arousal, his fingers spreading your lips wider, his tongue fucking into you, tasting, dominating.

You moaned into the couch, your hips grinding back against his face, desperate for more. He pulled away, his chin glistening with your wetness.

"Turn around. On your knees. I want to look you in the eye when I fuck your face first."

You scrambled to your knees, facing him. He was still hard, his cock slick with your saliva. He stepped closer, holding his cock in his hand, tapping it against your lips.

"Open."

You parted your lips, letting your jaw go slack, and he thrust into your mouth again, deeper this time, hitting the back of your throat. You relaxed, letting him in, saliva spilling from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin, onto your breasts. He fucked your mouth with rapid, shallow strokes, then deep, punishing thrusts that made you gag and sputter.

"That's it," he growled, his hips pumping. "Look at you—dripping with your own drool, taking my cock like the good girl."

You looked up at him, tears streaming from the gagging, saliva coating your face and neck, and you felt a surge of filthy pride. He saw it, and it made him harder. His pace quickened, his breathing ragged.

He pulled out abruptly, a string of saliva connecting his tip to your swollen lips. He grabbed your hair and yanked you to your feet, then shoved you face-down over the back of the couch again.

"Get ready," he said, his voice tight with need. He positioned himself behind you, the head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. He didn't push in—just rubbed, sliding through your folds, teasing your clit, your asshole, your cunt.

"Tell me what you deserve."

"I deserve your cock, Sir," you gasped. "I deserve to be used, filled, and left dripping with oppa’s cum."

"And what do you say when you want it deeper?"

"Please, Sir, please fuck my pussy. Fill me up. I want your cum inside me."

Then he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, brutal motion. A cry tore from your lips, a mix of pain and pleasure as your body stretched to accommodate him. He didn't give you time to adjust—he began to move, his pace punishing, his grip on your hips bruising as he fucking into you with a primal urgency.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?" he growled, each word punctuated by a thrust. "To be filled. To be used. To be owned. To be nothing but a hole for my cock."

"Yes!" you sobbed, your fingers clawing at the couch as he drove into you, his balls slapping against your clit with each stroke. "Yes, Cheol, yes—"

"Desperate little dancer," he grunts, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp, stinging crack. The impact echoed through the room, and you cried out, your cunt clenching around him.

His pace slowing to a deep, grinding rhythm that had you seeing stars. "Now tell me. Who does this pussy belong to?"

"Y-yours," you gasped. "It belongs to you, Sir."

"That's right." His hand came down again, another sharp spank that made you jolt, the red imprint of his hand blooming on your skin. "And I'm going to fuck it until you forget your own name. Until all you know is the feeling of my cock stretching you open, stuffed full of my cum."

You moan. Fuck, you’ve missed this side of Seungcheol.

He leaned forward, pressing his chest against your back, his lips brushing your ear. He bit your earlobe, hard enough to hurt, then whispered, "And when I'm done with you, I'm going to carry you to bed, put a plug in this fucked-out hole, and make you lie there dripping with my cum while you watch me work. And if you make a sound, I'll come over and remind you of your place."

"Yes," you moaned, his words painting a vivid, degrading picture that only made you hotter, wetter, more desperate.

"Good girl." He straightened, resuming his brutal pace, one hand gripping your hip, the other reaching around to find your clit, pressing, circling, driving you toward the edge. You felt the pressure building, your walls clamping down around him.

"I'm going to cum inside you," he growled, his rhythm losing its steadiness. "I'm going to fill this cunt until it overflows. And you're going to take every drop. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Cheol-ahh—Sir—please, I’m so close, let me know— Please-please cum inside me—"

"Come," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Come on my cock. Now."

He drove deep, burying himself to the hilt, and you felt his cock pulse, felt the first hot rush of his cum flooding your insides.

“Ahhh—” The sensation sent you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you, your body convulsing around him as you cried out his name. He kept pumping, his grip bruising on your hip, riding out every last spasm until he was empty and you were trembling, limp against the couch.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. He stayed buried inside you, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against your shoulder blade. Then, slowly, he pulled out, and you felt his cum trickle down your thigh.

He turned you over, forcing you onto your back on the floor. He looked down at you—naked, flushed, marked, your thighs glistening with his release. That flicker of approval crossed his face again—deeper now, darker, more possessive.

“Mph,” he collapsed onto the couch, pulling you up and into his lap, wrapping his arms around you. His voice was soft again, the dominant edge gone, replaced by a tender exhaustion.

"You okay, jagi?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nodded, melting into his arms, your body buzzing with afterglow. "More than okay."

He chuckled, his hand stroking your hair. "Good. Because I think I need to make up for lost time. And I'm not done with you yet."

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Cherry on top

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | kitchen sex | cute smut | cum in pussy

“Jagiya, I’m home.”

You hear Cheol call out, followed by the heavy, familiar thump of his boots being chucked across the floor. You sigh and smile, shaking your head. You already know he’s haphazardly kicked them off and you’ll find them on completely opposite sides of the shoe rack later.

But you let it slide tonight. He’s been working so hard lately—filming, practicing, composing, performing… Seventeen is on an absolute roll, and you couldn’t be more proud of your tireless leader.

Turning back to the kitchen island, you set the tray of cupcakes down, icing the last one with a quick, practiced swoop of your spatula. You take a step back and survey the spread. Rich chocolate cupcakes filled with a sweet cherry surprise inside, topped with fluffy vanilla buttercream, drizzled with a deep red cherry reduction, and finished with a single, perfect cherry on top. They look delicious, if you do say so yourself.

It was a rare night without practice for you, and since you couldn’t sleep with Seungcheol gone, baking had been the only way to quiet your restless mind.

“Wow... something smells amazing,” a low, raspy voice murmurs from the doorway.

Before you can even turn around, a pair of strong, exhausted arms circle your waist, pulling you back against a broad chest. Cheol nestles his head on yours, burying his face into your hair with a deep, contented sigh that vibrates right through you. He still smells like the studio—cool night air, Boss cologne, and a hint of sweat.

You melt into his touch, letting out a soft sigh of your own. Even after all this time, your heart does a little flutter. You still can’t believe this incredible man is your namchin.

“You’re home late,” you whisper, leaning back into his warmth. “I made these to keep myself busy.”

“I can see that,” he chuckles, his lips brushing against your temple as he speaks. He tightens his grip around your waist, swaying you gently from side to side in the quiet kitchen. “My beautiful girl, baking midnight treats for me. What did I do to deserve you?”

“You worked your butt off all day,” you say, turning around within his embrace so you can face him. He looks tired, dark circles faint under his eyes, but the look of pure devotion in his gaze burns bright. You reach up, framing his face with your hands. “Are you hungry?”

Cheol’s eyes look past you to the tray of cherry cupcakes, a mischievous, dimpled smile slowly tugging at the corners of his lips. “Starving. But not just for dessert.”

Before you can tease him, he reaches past you, captures a dollop of the vanilla buttercream on his finger, and playfully smudges it right onto the tip of your nose.

“Cheol-ah!” you gasp, laughing as you swat at his chest.

“What? It looks good on you,” he teases, his eyes crinkling.

Giggling, you grab his wrist, lean in, and lick the frosting straight off his finger. Cheol’s breath hitches, his playful demeanor shifting in an instant as his dark eyes darken with sudden, intense heat.

“Two can play that game,” you murmur cheekily.

Cheol doesn’t waste another second. He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of the kitchen counter. You laugh softly, closing the distance between you as his mouth finds yours. The kiss is sweet at first, tasting faintly of sugar and vanilla, but it quickly deepens into something desperate and hungry, a release of all the tension from his long days away from you.

His hands slide up your waist, his fingers digging gently into your skin through your shirt. He pulls away just an inch, his lips brushing yours as he whispers, “Hold on.”

With a wicked smirk, he reaches back, plucks the glossy red cherry off the top of the nearest cupcake, and holds it by the stem. He presses the fruit against your lips, letting the sweet reduction smear across them before he bites the cherry whole, capturing your mouth again in a breathless, messy, passionate kiss.

The kitchen air thickens with the cloying sweetness of sugar and chocolate as you both stand there, frosting still clinging to your lips from that first, teasing lick. Cheol’s eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide, and the playful smirk you wore moments ago has turned into a heavy-lidded invitation. He doesn’t say a word—just takes a step closer, his palm pressing flat against your belly, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt.

“You wanted to play dirty?” he growls, voice low and rough. “Then let’s get messy.”

He hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you in one fluid motion, setting you down on the cool granite countertop. Your pulse hammers as the stone bites through your thin shorts, a shock of cold against the heat building between your legs. He steps into the V of your thighs, trapping you there with his body, his breath hot against your neck.

But instead of kissing you, he reaches for the second cupcake—the one with the mountain of buttercream and the single glossy cherry perched on top. He scoops a generous smear of white frosting onto his index finger, then brings it to your mouth. You part your lips, ready to taste it again, but he pulls his hand away at the last second, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “I want to taste it somewhere else first.”

His finger travels down, trailing a line of cold, sweet icing from your collarbone, down the center of your chest, over the swell of your left breast. He stops just above the peak of your nipple, which is already pebbling hard beneath your shirt. He watches your face as he hooks his fingers under the hem of your top and pulls it up, exposing your bare torso to the warm kitchen air. No bra. He knew you weren’t wearing one.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his gaze fixed on your breasts, the icing glistening like a glossy trail right over your nipple. He lowers his head, tongue flicking out to catch the first fat dollop of cream. The touch of his wet, warm tongue against the sensitive bud sends a jolt straight to your cunt. He licks slowly, deliberately, tracing the icing upward until he reaches the tip, then closes his lips around your nipple and sucks hard, pulling the sugar and your flesh into his mouth. A moan escapes you, your back arching involuntarily, pressing more of your breast against his tongue.

He doesn’t stop there. He drags his mouth across your cleavage, leaving a wet, glistening trail, then turns his attention to your other breast. He repeats the motion—another thick swipe of frosting across the nipple, then a deep, greedy suck. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there as he licks and nibbles, his tongue swirling circles around the hard peak until it’s raw and sensitive and dripping with his saliva.

“Good?” he asks, his voice muffled against your skin.

You can only nod, breathless.

He pulls back, but only so he can grab the icing from the cupcake again—this time a huge dollop, enough to coat two fingers. He doesn’t bring it to your mouth. Instead, his hand slides down your stomach, over the waistband of your shorts, and hooks into the elastic of your panties. He tugs them down, not even bothering to remove them completely—just enough to expose your cunt to the air. The coolness makes you shiver, but the heat inside you is already pooling, waiting.

He smears the frosting directly onto your pussy, right where your folds meet, coating your clit with a thick, sugary paste. The cold hits your sensitive flesh and you gasp, hips jerking upward.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, his eyes dark and hungry. “What did I do to deserve you.”

You feel his breath first, warm against your slick, sweetened slit. Then his tongue—slow and deliberate—laving the frosting from your clit. He licks with the flat of his tongue, a long, broad stroke that cleans the sugar from your most sensitive spot. The taste of buttercream mixes with your own natural tang, and he moans against you, the vibration sending sparks through your core. He doesn’t stop there; he dips his tongue lower, sliding between your folds, scooping up every last trace of icing. He fucks you with his tongue, pushing inside your entrance, lapping at your inner walls, cleaning you from the inside out. His nose presses against your clit as he buries his face in your cunt, eating you out like you’re the most decadent dessert he’s ever tasted.

“Ahhhh— Cheol-ah—” Your hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white, as waves of pleasure roll through you. He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his chin glistening with your juices and melted frosting.

“You taste even better than the cake,” he says, a dirty grin spreading across his face.

Then he stands, reaching for the cherry. He plucks it from the leftover cupcake, holds it up, and before you can react, he presses the fruit to your lips. You part them automatically, and he pushes the cherry inside your mouth. The sweet, tart burst fills your senses as he leans in and captures your lips again, his tongue finding the cherry in your mouth, rolling it between your teeth, sharing the taste. The kiss is messy—juice and spit and the memory of icing lingering between you.

But he’s not done.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and grabbing your hips, sliding you further onto the counter until your ass is nearly at the edge. He spreads your legs wide, the cool granite beneath your thighs a stark contrast to the blazing heat of his skin. He strips off his shirt, then unfastens his jeans, letting them fall to his ankles. His cock springs free, already hard and slick with precum. He strokes himself once, twice, watching your wet, icing-covered pussy with pure need.

“I’m going to fuck you right here,” he says, voice ragged, “and I’m not stopping until you come all over this counter.”

The kitchen air is thick with the scent of sugar, sweat, and arousal as he lines the head of his cock against your slick, frosting-smeared entrance. The tip grazes your clit first—a teasing, wet drag that makes you gasp—before he angles himself lower, pressing against the tight ring of muscle. He holds there for a heartbeat, just the fat head stretching you open, his dark eyes locked on yours, watching your lips part, watching the tremor run through your thighs.

Then he pushes in. Not fast, not slow—a steady, relentless pressure that parts your folds inch by inch. The stretch is exquisite, a burning fullness that steals your breath.

“Ahhh—” Your inner walls clench and flutter around him, trying to accommodate the thick intrusion. He groans, long and low, his forehead dropping to rest against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"Fuck," he breathes, the word barely a whisper. "You feel… so fucking good. So tight."

He stops when he's fully seated, his pelvis flush against your slick skin, his balls pressed against the edge of the counter. For a long moment, neither of you moves. You can feel every ridge and vein of his cock buried deep inside you, the weight of him, the heat. Your cunt pulses around him, gripping and releasing, trying to adjust.

He pulls back slowly—agonizingly slowly—until only the head remains inside, your walls gripping the rim, suction holding him. Then he pushes back in, a short, shallow thrust that makes you both moan. He repeats the motion: pull out to the tip, push back in halfway, again and again, each stroke a little deeper, a little harder, until he's fucking you with a slow, grinding rhythm that has your hips rolling to meet him.

"Look at me, jagi," he commands, his voice rough. You meet his gaze, and he holds it as he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. The impact sends a jolt through your body, your back arching off the cold granite. He does it again—another deep, punishing thrust that makes the counter shake. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, anchoring you as he picks up the pace.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the quiet kitchen, wet and rhythmic. Your juices mix with the remnants of frosting, creating a slick, slippery sheen over his cock as it pistons in and out of you. The counter is cold beneath your ass, the contrast making every inch of his hot flesh feel even more intense. He angles his hips, changing the depth, and suddenly he's hitting a spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

"Mmmph, yesss oppa, right there," you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He grins, a feral flash of teeth, and drives into that spot again and again, each thrust hammering against that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside your cunt. His pace becomes savage—fast, brutal, desperate. The counter squeaks against the floor tiles, the sound adding to the symphony of wet squelches, your moans, his grunts.

"Gonna fill this your little pussy with my cum," he growls, his voice low and strained. "Gonna pump you so full it drips out of you all night."

He releases one hip and brings his hand between your bodies. His thumb finds your clit, still glistening with a smear of buttercream, and he presses down hard, rubbing tight, rough circles in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation is overwhelming—his cock slamming into your sweet spot, his thumb abusing your clit, the cold granite beneath you, the sticky sweetness of sugar and sex in the air.

You're climbing fast, your thighs trembling, your cunt clenching around him in desperate, rhythmic pulses. He feels it, feels your walls starting to flutter and grip, and he doubles down. He fucks you harder, faster, the counter screeching in protest, your breasts bouncing with each driving thrust.

“I’m close, oppa!” You whine, “Mmm! Yes, harder!”

He leans down and captures one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, biting down just enough to make you yelp. “Ahhh—“

"Cum for me," he commands, the words muffled against your skin. "Now."

He bites down on your nipple at the same time he thrusts deep, grinding his pelvis against your clit. The orgasm hits you like a freight train—a white-hot explosion that starts in your core and radiates outward. Your vision whites out, your back bowing off the counter as your cunt clamps down on his cock in violent, pulsing waves. You cry out, a raw, broken sound, your body trembling uncontrollably.

He doesn't stop. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release, his thrusts becoming erratic, sloppy. He pulls out just enough to watch his cock sliding through your spasming, cum-drenched pussy, the sight pushing him over the edge. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, his body going rigid as he empties inside you—hot, thick ropes of cum flooding your already-soaked depths. He groans your name, a long, ragged exhale, and collapses against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you panting, slick with sweat and frosting and cum.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Slowly, he pulls out, and you feel the warm rush of his seed spilling out of you, trickling down your thigh to pool on the counter. He looks down at the mess—the smeared icing, the discarded cherry stem, the glistening mix of your fluids—and laughs, a low, breathless sound.

“You know… we need to sterilise this counter,” you pant, utterly spent. “Or I can never bake here again.”

“Fucking worth it," he says, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "Best goddamn dessert I've ever had."

Hours later, the kitchen is clean and quiet again. You’re curled up against Cheol’s bare chest in bed, his fingers lazily tracing patterns over your shoulder. You look over at the bedside table, where an empty plate of cupcake wrappers sit.

Cheol follows your gaze and lets out a soft, sleepy laugh, pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head.

“Best night ever,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice heavy with sleep. “And definitely the perfect cherry on top.”

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Say Yes

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

This is the final part of the 3-part mini-arc, and a continuation of Rock and a Hard Place, and The Shape of Repentance.

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | fluff | storyline

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

I groan and roll over as my phone lights up on my nightstand. For a second, I’m expecting yet another missed call from Seungcheol. But no. It’s my reminder notification letting me know I have a rehearsal call in ninety minutes for a music show stage with LE SSERAFIM.

I exhale slowly and drag myself out of bed.

The weather has turned miserable overnight. Rain lashes against the windows while I get ready, the sky outside still dark despite the hour. By the time I arrive at the broadcasting station, my sneakers are damp and my body is already exhausted before rehearsals have even started.

The backstage corridors buzz with organized chaos—stylists rushing past with garment racks, managers balancing trays of coffees, idols half-awake beneath baseball caps and oversized hoodies while staff clip microphones into place.

“Morning!” one of the other dancers calls as I enter the practice room.

“Barely,” I mutter, dropping my bag beside the mirrors.

The music starts pounding through the speakers almost immediately.

Five hours later, sweat clings to every inch of me. My ponytail is sticking to the back of my neck, my knees ache from repeated floorwork, and all I want is caffeine strong enough to resurrect the dead. We finally break for ten minutes. I’m halfway through peeling myself off the floor when the practice room door opens and a production assistant pokes her head inside.

“Delivery for Y/N?”

I blink in confusion. “For me?”

She nods, holding up a cardboard drink tray. The room immediately erupts into a chorus of teasing ooooohsand questions about a secret admirer. Heat crawls up my neck instantly as I hurry over.

There are four drinks. One for me, and three extras for the dancers I’m closest with. It is exactly everyone’s usual orders. My stomach twists before I even see the small receipt tucked beneath my iced americano.

Eat something proper today.

No initials. No name. But instinctively, I know who it’s from.

“Awwww,” one of the girls beside me sings out.

“Shut up,” I mutter weakly, clutching the coffee tighter anyway. “It’s just from my mom.”

But despite myself—despite everything—warmth spreads slowly through my chest. Because he remembered. Not just my order. Everyone’s. He isn't trying to buy me off with expensive gifts anymore; he's quietly looking after the people around me, making sure my environment is comfortable without demanding credit for it.

The car appears that night, too.

I exit the station close to midnight with my dance bag slung heavily over one shoulder, my body aching all the way down to the bone. Rain still drizzles steadily across the city, cold enough now that my breath fogs faintly in the air.

And there, parked quietly across from the curb, is his familiar black van. The driver steps out immediately when he sees me, holding an umbrella high to shield me from the downpour.

“Good evening.”

I blink tiredly. “You’re kidding.”

A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “Leader-nim asked me to make sure you got home safely.”

“He doesn’t need to keep doing this. I can walk.”

The driver only opens the door politely. “Please get in out of the cold. He'll have my head if you catch a chill.”

Inside, the seat warmer is already on, radiating a deeply welcoming heat. A fresh umbrella rests beside a paper bag that smells overwhelmingly, devastatingly good. I stare at it suspiciously before peeking inside.

Tteokbokki. Extra fish cakes. No scallions. Exactly how I like it.

There’s no note this time. My heart cracks slightly. Somehow, the lack of a demanding message makes it worse. It feels less like an ambush and more like a quiet, steady presence waiting at the margins of my life.

The days start blurring together after that. Rehearsals. Filming. Sleep. Coffee deliveries finding me in random broadcast stations. Cars waiting outside venues. Tiny acts of care slipped so quietly into my routine they start feeling inevitable.

One morning I’m shooting an MV with TWS in a freezing warehouse at four in the morning when a staff member appears with hot packs and egg sandwiches for the dancers.

“Courtesy of Seventeen’s leader,” she says casually. “He said the background crew works harder than anyone and needs to stay warm.”

I nearly choke on air. He isn't just targeting me; he's changing how he treats the entire dance community, learning to respect the floor we all walk on. Another day, I finish rehearsals to discover someone has already replaced the cracked sole on my favorite practice sneakers. No message. No announcement. Just fixed.

And the worst part? He still barely texts. No emotional paragraphs. No guilt-tripping. No have you forgiven me yet? Just small, steady, reliable check-ins:

Did you eat?

You left your compression sleeves in my car. I had the driver drop them at your agency desk.

Forecast says rain tonight. Bring a jacket.

It is the exact thing I’d been wanting from him without either of us realizing it: consistency over convenience.

A week later, I’m in Minghao’s kitchen at two in the morning because Minghao and Jun invited me over for food and emotional support after a brutal rehearsal week. Technically, I probably shouldn’t be here. Emotionally, I’m too tired to care.

Minghao pours himself more Mao Tai across from me at the island counter. “You look less angry,” he observes mildly.

I glare at him over my ramen cup. “Traitor.”

He smiles serenely. “I can support both of you simultaneously.”

“Mm. Sure.”

“He’s suffering, by the way,” Jun chimed in, leaning against the refrigerator with a smirk. “He made the legal team cry yesterday.”

I pause mid-bite, the noodles hovering. “…What?”

Minghao’s mouth twitches. “He’s renegotiating parts of his contract.”

My stomach tightens immediately. “What parts?”

“He’s forcing them to include a clause that bars the company from using him in publicity dating rumors,” Jun says, sipping his drink lazily. “No more orchestrated media play. No more fanservice implications tied to female idols to shield younger groups. No more ambiguity marketing.”

I stare at them, completely stunned. “That’s… even possible?”

“For the leader of Seventeen? When he threatens to sit out of the next album production?” Minghao snorts softly. “Eventually, yes. They have to yield. They don’t know that Woozi would never let that happen.”

A strange, heavy ache blooms beneath my ribs. Because I know what that means. It means brutal arguments with executives. It means risking his own standing and burning hard-earned leadership capital for something the company considers a trivial marketing tool. He is effectively dismantling his own shield. He is ensuring that he can never hide behind a corporate excuse to make me feel invisible again.

Minghao watches me carefully over the rim of his glass. “He’s trying very hard not to pressure you,” he says quietly. “He knows he has to earn the space he took for granted.”

I stare down into my noodles, the steam rising up to blur my vision. “I know.”

Three nights later, Seventeen appears on a livestream from their practice room. I only put it on for background noise while stretching before heading to my own late-night rehearsal call. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The members are sprawled everywhere looking exhausted and chaotic as usual, arguing over snacks while fans flood the comments. Seungcheol sits near the back in an oversized black hoodie, his cap pulled low over his eyes, noticeably quieter than normal while the others bicker around him.

Then someone asks about new music.

“Coups hyung wrote lyrics this week,” Chan says immediately, pointing a finger at Seungcheol.

Woozi groans dramatically. “Dino-yah!”

“Yeesh,” Seungkwan smacks Dino across the head lightly, “This maknae is out of control. Shut the live down!”

Seungcheol shoots them a warning look, but the live comments explode instantly with demands for a spoiler. He shakes his head firmly at first, a faint smile touching his lips. Seventeen doesn’t do half-release leaks. But he surprises everyone when he clears his throat and says, “Just a little bit.”

The chaotic practice room goes entirely quiet. He’s never done this before—leaking unreleased lyrics directly to the public. Even through a phone speaker, his voice hits low, warm, and rough around the edges.

“I kept asking you to wait for me while standing still myself…”

My breath catches immediately. Across the screen, I watch Woozi glance over at Cheol sharply, a look of profound understanding passing between them.

Seungcheol continues, his voice softer now, his eyes lowered entirely toward the floorboards, speaking to a camera but singing directly to me.

“You asked for something certain, and all I gave you was time.”

Something inside my chest goes painfully still. Every apology he couldn't put into a text message is woven into the rhythm. Every realization arriving too late, laid bare for millions of fans to see, disguised as art but serving as a public confession of his own faults. By the time the clip ends, my chest hurts with the sheer weight of it.

That evening, my filming wraps earlier than expected. For once, I’m not stumbling half-dead out of a venue after midnight. The sky over Seoul glows a deep, velvety indigo as I leave the studio, city lights reflecting gold across the Han River in the distance. The spring air curls cool against my skin, carrying the scent of rain and street food.

And parked quietly beside the curb—isn’t the usual driver.

It’s him.

My steps falter automatically. Seungcheol climbs out the moment he catches sight of me, his black cap pulled low, his hoodie sleeves shoved up his forearms. He looks incredibly tired, his broad shoulders slightly slumped like he came straight from a grueling recording session.

For a second, neither of us moves. God, seeing him in person after avoiding him for so long hits like a physical blow to the chest.

He looks at me carefully. Not greedy. Not assuming he has a right to my space. Just… hopeful.

“Hi,” he says softly.

My throat suddenly feels far too tight. “Hi.”

An awkward, heavy silence settles between us while the city traffic hums in the distance. Then his gaze drops briefly toward my right leg.

“How bad is it?”

I blink. “What?”

“You were limping out the door.” His brows pull together faintly. “Did you ice it like I asked?”

The fact that he noticed a tiny hitch in my stride from a distance nearly destroys my resolve on the spot. “…A little,” I mumble weakly.

His mouth tightens immediately in disapproval. “You need to stop dancing through injuries.”

“You literally performed with pins in your knee, Choi Seungcheol.”

“That’s different.”

I stare at him flatly.

He pauses, then exhales a quiet breath through his nose. “Okay, fair. I’m a hypocrite.”

Despite myself, a tiny, breathy laugh slips out. Relief flashes so nakedly across his face at the sound that my chest aches. He steps closer carefully then, slow enough that I can easily step back if I want to.

“I found somewhere,” he says softly.

My brows knit together. “Somewhere?”

“A place.” His voice lowers, intimate and thick. “Private. Truly private. I know you asked for space, and I’m still giving it to you. I just…” He swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing. “I want one chance to show you I mean it this time. No company rules. No hiding.”

For once, there’s no effortless leader composure covering everything up. Just a man standing in front of me trying very hard not to lose the only thing that matters.

I should say no. Probably. Instead, I hear myself ask quietly, “What kind of place?”

The hard tension in his broad shoulders eases just a fraction. “There’s a lake outside the city. And an old pagoda nearby.” A faint, genuine smile touches his mouth. “You said once you missed places that felt quiet.”

I did say that. Months ago, after a brutal award season schedule when we’ve both been too exhausted to think straight. The fact that he remembered makes something warm and painful unfurl slowly beneath my ribs.

He watches me carefully, completely submissive to my choice. “If you hate it, I’ll bring you straight back home. No questions asked.”

My resolve weakens another dangerous inch. “When?”

His expression softens almost imperceptibly. “Now? If you’re not too tired? Let me take you to dinner first and we can go there after?”

I look away toward the river lights flickering in the distance. Toward the version of myself that’s still cautious, still afraid to trust. And then I look toward the version of him that’s been quietly showing up for me every single day without demanding a reward.

Finally, softly, “…Okay.”

He drives us to a cozy local restaurant tucked away from the main streets, the kind with worn wooden tables and the constant, comforting sizzle from the kitchen. We order ppyeo-haejangguk—my absolute favorite, with its spicy, milky pork bone broth loaded with tender meat, fresh vegetables, and that perfect kick of heat.

The steam rises in fragrant clouds as the bowls arrive, and Cheol is entirely focused on me. He holds the door, pulls out my chair, and even carefully separates the tender meat from the bone, sliding the best pieces into my bowl with a soft, lingering gaze that has my heart fluttering amid the clatter of dishes. The warmth of the soup settles my stomach, chasing away the last dregs of the cold rain, and his foot gently nudges mine under the table—a silent, reassuring promise.

After we eat, our bellies full and satisfied, he starts driving again.

“Thank you,” he adds after a beat, his voice soft but insistent. For someone who used to hold all the power, I'm not used to him asking like this—vulnerable, pleading, entirely stripped of his usual command. It tugs at something deep in me.

The drive stretches out, the late afternoon sun already dipping low because of my late schedule. Golden light filters through the car windows, casting warm hues on the dashboard while soft R&B plays from the speakers. His hand rests on the console, his thumb lightly stroking circles on the back of my hand as the heavy city traffic fades into winding roads lined with dense, dark trees. The air grows fresher, carrying hints of pine and damp earth, and my curiosity builds with every mile.

Cheol turns onto a narrow path into the woods, the car bumping gently over roots until he parks in a quiet clearing.

“I know I have no right to ask,” he says quietly, pulling a soft silk blindfold from his pocket, “but can you please trust me for just a few minutes?”

I swallow, my heart hammering in my throat as I stare at the piece of silk in his hands. He is asking. Not telling. Not assuming.

I nod, and he lets out a long breath of relief, tying it gently over my eyes. His hand takes mine, guiding me out of the car and along the uneven forest floor, leaves crunching underfoot. The cool evening air brushes my skin with scents of damp soil and distant water. I'm a dancer, graceful on stage, but blindfolded on this rough ground, I stumble as a root catches my shoe.

Before I can even protest, he scoops me up into his strong arms, cradling me bridal-style against his broad chest. My heart races from the sudden surprise, my body pressed tightly against his solid warmth, the steady, grounding beat of his pulse vibrating under my cheek.

“What—” I start.

He just chuckles softly, a low rumble against my back. “I've got you. I won't let you fall. I will never let you fall.”

He carries me effortlessly along the path until he sets me down gently on something plush and soft. The blindfold slips off, and the breath catches completely in my throat.

Before me is an ancient pagoda perched right on the edge of a serene, glass-like lake. Its weathered wooden beams are arched gracefully, with intricate carvings of dragons and blooming lotuses etched into the pillars. Ivy vines climb the structure like living lace, and paper lanterns hang from the eaves, their soft glow just beginning to flicker to life in the twilight.

The lake stretches out mirror-smooth, reflecting the fiery oranges and pinks of the setting sun, with gentle ripples lapping at a shore lined with wildflowers and smooth pebbles. Fireflies wink into life over the dark water, and the air hums with crickets—serene, romantic, a hidden paradise he clearly prepared entirely for us.

In his hands is a wicker picnic basket, and he sets it down with a genuine grin, unfolding a thick blanket inside the pagoda and arranging cushions for us to lounge on. We settle in, the stone floor cool beneath the fabric, and he pulls out a chilled bottle of champagne, the cork popping with a soft fizz that echoes over the water. Beside it, he sets a bowl of fresh, glossy strawberries.

“You're spoiling me today,” I murmur, accepting the flute he pours, the bubbles dancing like tiny stars in the lantern light.

“No,” he says, his eyes locking onto mine with an intense, unwavering sincerity. “I'm finally giving you what you deserve. It's long overdue.”

“I—” I start, just as he says, “I'm sorry.”

We both pause, the heavy weight of the past weeks settling in the space between us, and then laugh softly.

“You first,” I say, setting my glass down on the tray.

He takes a slow, steady breath before reaching for my hand, his larger one folding completely around mine, his fingers threading together with mine like they already belong there.

“What we have…” His voice wavers, losing its steady pitch. “It’s not just some no-strings thing anymore. Not for me. It hasn’t been for a very long time.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles, grounding himself. “I meant what I said, jagi.”

“About getting comfortable,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on our joined fingers. “About assuming you’d just stay because you loved me.”

“I think…” He exhales slowly, his shoulders dropping. “I got so used to you being there that I stopped realizing how unfair that was to you. I kept telling myself I was protecting you by keeping things casual. And some of that was true. But some of it…” His voice lowers to a rough whisper. “Some of it was me being afraid.”

“Of what?”

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Everything. The company. Fans. Reporters digging into your life, tearing apart your past. People following you, talking about you. The members getting dragged into a mess.”

My chest tightens at that. Because that part is true. It is messily, painfully true. No one outside would understand the shape of what we are to each other. The public likes relationships simple and digestible—clean lines, easy labels. Not this complicated web of love and shared career paths we’ve built behind closed doors.

“I know we can’t go public, Cheol,” I say eventually, my voice soft against the quiet lap of the lake.

His grip tightens instantly around my hand, almost desperate. “I would,” he says immediately, his eyes flicking up to lock onto mine with absolute certainty. “If you asked me to right now, I would.”

The sheer force of his words surprises me. “But we both know what would happen,” I close my eyes, the cold reality settling in. “My career would be over. Backup dancers already deal with enough rumors. People would say I slept my way into center positions. That I got opportunities on the tour because of you.”

His face hardens visibly at the truth of it. “And I would shut all of those down in a heartbeat.” he says quietly, forcefully.

I nod once. “I know you would… but Cheol, they’d tear my life apart trying to figure out my identity.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “I thought you would says that. That’s why I changed the contract. I can’t change the industry overnight, but I can change how Pledis uses me.”

I blink, looking at him quickly. “Minghao and Jun told me about the legal team.”

A faint, embarrassed groan leaves him. “Of course they did. Those two can't keep a secret.”

“What exactly did you change?”

His thumb resumes its slow, comforting stroke against the back of my hand. “No more publicity dating rumors. No more staged scandals with other labels. No more company-approved ambiguity bullshit involving female idols. They have no control over my personal life anymore. I stripped them of the right to use my image to play games.”

My chest tightens painfully. “You really fought them on that?”

“I’m still fighting them on it,” he says bluntly. “I can’t promise this life suddenly becomes easy. It won’t. But I can damn well make sure I stop contributing to the things that hurt you. I won't let them use me to make you feel like a secret choice.”

God. That—that is what I had been waiting to hear. Not a plea for patience, but a concrete sacrifice of his own comfort to protect my peace.

“I don’t need public,” I admit softly after a moment, the tension finally leaving my neck. “I think… part of me just needed to know that this isn’t nothing, that you weren’t ashamed of this. Of me.”

His head turns so fast I almost regret the words. The word ashamed visibly devastates him, draining the remaining color from his face.

“Jagiya…” His voice breaks slightly around the syllable. “I have never, ever been ashamed of you. You are the best thing in my life. You deserve more than a relationship that only exists behind closed doors. More than something no one else ever gets to see. I know that. I do. But I’m too selfish to let you go and find something easier.”

He exhales quietly, then—almost nervously—lets go of my hand just long enough to reach into his hoodie pocket. When he looks back up, there’s something softer, entirely uncertain and deeply hopeful in his expression.

“I don’t want to keep pretending this is nothing,” he says, pulling out a small, unmistakable red box, the gold detailing catching the twilight—Cartier stamped neatly across the lid. “I don’t want you to just be someone I disappear with in private.”

He opens it carefully. Inside, a dainty gold necklace rests against the cream velvet. The chain is impossibly fine, a tiny, elegant pendant glinting at its center—simple, delicate, but chosen with absolute intention. Something meant to be worn close to the heart. Something permanent.

His fingers brush mine again, guiding my hand toward the velvet.

“I want you to be my girlfriend. Not a secret I minimize—someone I choose, intentionally, every single day.” His voice dips, thick with emotion. “And I want to be your boyfriend. Properly. Even if it’s quiet. Even if it’s just ours.”

He lifts the necklace slightly, like an offering, the gold chain catching the faint lantern light. “So… if you’ll still have a fool like me—” his breath catches, just barely, “—say yes.”

For a second, everything goes quiet. Not the kind of silence that’s empty, but the kind that’s completely full—heavy with everything he’s risked, everything he’s changed, and everything he’s placing in my hands along with that delicate gold chain.

My gaze flickers from the necklace to his face. He looks terrified. Not unsure, not hesitant—but genuinely terrified of my rejection. It is an expression that looks so entirely foreign on him. This is S.Coups. Choi Seungcheol. The alpha leader of Seventeen. The man who commands stadiums with a single glance, who decides and watches the world rearrange itself around his certainty.

And yet, right now, he’s just Cheol. A man standing on the edge of a cliff, completely powerless over how it ends. His grip on the necklace isn’t entirely steady. It is careful, hyper-aware that my next breath could shift everything beneath his feet. His eyes give him away completely—no command, no distance, just an open, exposed vulnerability. He didn't come here as a leader. He came as a man asking for mercy.

“You’re asking for a lot,” I murmur, my voice softer than I expect.

A flicker of bracing crosses his expression, but he nods anyway, accepting the weight of it. “I know.”

My fingers close gently around the pendant, feeling the faint warmth it has picked up from his skin. “A girlfriend,” I continue, eyes dropping briefly to the fine chain. “But one no one knows about.”

His jaw tightens. “Not no one,” he says quietly. “The members know. The management knows. My parents know. Everyone important knows. Just… not the public. Not yet. But the second you want to go public I will SHOUT it to the world.”

I look back up at him, searching his eyes for any trace of the old arrogance. There is none.

“I know. But you can’t. And you’re right,” I say. “I do deserve more than being hidden.”

The words land heavily. I see the way his shoulders tense, preparing for the blow, preparing for me to pull away and leave him on his knees again. But I don’t let go of the necklace. Instead, I step closer across the plush blanket, closing the distance until the space between us completely disappears. I reach up, brushing my fingers along the warm line of his wrist, steadying his trembling hand.

“You’re also right about something else,” I add quietly.

His eyes flick to mine, a desperate spark of hope igniting in the dark. “What?”

“You’re incredibly selfish.”

A weak, almost apologetic huff of breath leaves him, his shoulders dropping as if he can’t even dream of arguing it.

My lips twitch, just slightly. “But so am I. Because I could walk away. I could find something easier. Simpler. Public.” I shake my head, just barely, looking at the sharp angle of his jaw. “But I don’t want to.”

His grip on the velvet box falters, like he’s afraid to believe me too soon.

“I want you,” I say firmly, leaving no room for doubt. “Complicated, frustrating, impossible schedule and all.”

A long pause stretches over the quiet lake.

“But I need it to be real,” I add, tapping a finger lightly against his chest, right over his racing heart. “In how you treat me. In how you choose me when no one is looking. Even if the whole world doesn’t get to see it yet.”

“I will,” he says immediately, the words colliding in their sheer urgency. “I swear to you, I will.”

I hold his gaze for a moment longer, letting the promise settle. I believe him. Because if I’ve learned anything over the last few weeks, it’s that Seungcheol has stopped trying to talk his way back into my life. It was the coffee at four in the morning, the black car waiting long after midnight, the hot packs for the crew, the lyric spoiler on the live stream—the consistent, repeated care that became impossible to mistake for convenience. He had stopped trying to keep me, and finally started trying to deserve me.

I turn slightly, lifting my heavy hair off my neck in a quiet, wordless answer.

He stills completely behind me. “Are you—” His voice catches in his throat.

“Don’t make me beg,” I tease gently, though my own heart is racing against my ribs. “Namchin.”

That does it. Carefully—as if I might disappear into smoke if he moves too fast—he reaches for the necklace. His large fingers brush against the bare skin of my neck, warm and a little unsteady as he carefully fastens the clasp. The fine gold chain settles against my collarbone, light but undeniable.

When his hands fall away, they don’t go far. He moves around to face me, the pendant resting perfectly between us.

“Say it,” he murmurs, his face inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Please.”

I look into the eyes of the man who had brought himself to his knees for me, and I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

His lips crash against mine in a sudden, searing kiss, a desperate, raw release of all the tension he’s been holding for weeks. His tongue plunges deep to tangle with mine, tasting faintly of the rich champagne and sweet berries. His large hands come up to cup my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks as he devours my mouth, sucking on my lower lip before biting it gently, drawing a soft gasp from my throat.

He pulls me entirely into his lap, his powerful arms wrapping around my waist as we cuddle close against the cushions. We sit in the warm glow of the lanterns, sipping the crisp, fizzy champagne as the bubbles burst lightly on our tongues. I pick up a glossy strawberry, feeding it to him; a bit of the dark red juice dribbles down his chin, and he licks it away with a slow, dark smirk that makes my stomach flip, before returning the favor, his lips brushing mine as I bite into the tart fruit.

The sun dips fully beneath the horizon, painting the Seoul sky in deepening shades of purple and midnight blue, the stars emerging one by one over the mirror-smooth lake.

We talk intimately under the velvet sky, my head resting against the solid, comforting pillow of his chest while his steady heartbeat echoes in my ear. The pagoda's lanterns cast a long, golden glow over us as the fireflies dance around the wooden pillars like a blessing. We share the real fears—the heavy secrecy his idol life demands, the sharp jealousy that flares in the dark—and our deepest desires, acknowledging how our intense kinks and total trust bind us tighter than any public label ever could.

As his large hands stroke my back in slow, soothing lines, the cool lake breeze washing over our skin as we finally find our alignment again, I teasingly trace his jaw with my fingertip, feeling the rough stubble scrape against my skin. "Does that mean you won't share me anymore?"

His eyes darken, but not with hunger—with something deeper, more possessive and tender at once. "Naughty girl. Am I not enough?"

"You're always enough. Only you. I want you exclusively—no more glimpses for anyone else."

The air thickens between us, his hands shifting from my waist, brushing the undersides of my breasts through my sweater, thumbs circling until my nipples peak against the fabric.

"I'm not a simple man," he admits, nipping my earlobe gently. "The control, the edge—it's part of who I am. I love knowing every inch of you is mine. But the thrill of letting my members watch you, hear you lose yourself… it's intoxicating."

His free hand slides up my thigh, resting there warmly, fingers squeezing with reassurance. "I'd be lying if I said I don't enjoy seeing you surrounded by the members, desired by them, knowing you come back to me. But it's only for the thrill—the shared intensity. I won't share your heart. That's mine alone. And you will never have to share me. You own me jagi, heart, body and soul."

“Feel this?” He takes my hand over his thumping heart. “Yours. Fuck me. Use me. Love me. Just don’t ever leave me again because my life doesn’t work without you in it.”

I shiver, my body responding to his words—to the trust in his voice and the promise in his touch. "I'm yours, Seungcheol. Only yours. I crave your ropes binding me tight, your commands making me feel safe. Tie me up, make me yours, and let them watch—because in the end, I'll always come back to you."

His lips curl into a soft, genuine smile as he yanks me closer, our bodies pressing together. His hardening length strains against his jeans, but he doesn't rush. "Damn right you're my girl. No one else gets this heart but me—and whoever I decide to share the sight of you with."

He cups my face, thumb tracing my lower lip before he leans in, kissing me slowly, tenderly—his mouth moving against mine with a reverence that makes my knees weak. His hands roam with care, one cradling the back of my head while the other settles on my waist, pulling me flush against him. The kiss deepens but stays sweet, our breaths mingling as I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

He lays me back on the blanket under the stars, the cool night air kissing my skin as he strips my sweater off, exposing my breasts to the moonlight. His lips cover mine again, and I melt into him—fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as our breaths mingle warm and soft. He groans into the kiss, one hand sliding down to rest on my hip, thumb tracing lazy circles through my jeans. The kiss turns languid, his tongue exploring my mouth in slow, sensual strokes, until we're both breathless, lips swollen and tender.

"Fuck, I've missed you," he mutters, mouth descending lower, pressing soft kisses along my collarbone. He takes his time, lips brushing over my breastbone before closing around one nipple gently, tongue circling the sensitive peak while his hand cups the other, thumb stroking with featherlight touches that make me arch into him. "Missed these perfect curves."

"I missed tasting you, jagiya," he whispers, trailing kisses down my stomach, leaving a trail of warmth. I tangle my fingers in his hair, moaning softly as he unzips my jeans, sliding them down slowly, reverently, along with my panties, leaving me bare and open beneath him.

"Look at you," he says, voice thick with emotion. His fingers part my slick folds gently, exposing my sensitive core. He leans in, tongue flicking out to taste me—not urgently, but with devotion, circling the sensitive nub with slow, deliberate strokes. I cry out softly, hips lifting instinctively as he kisses me there, lips soft, tongue teasing. His fingers slip inside me, curling gently, finding that spot that makes my breath hitch and my eyes flutter closed.

"Ahhh, oppa," I whimper, my voice breaking. "I've missed you. Missed this. Missed feeling claimed by you—and knowing they watch, but it's your name I moan."

His fingers curl inside me, slow and deliberate, coaxing soft gasps from my lips. The night air wraps around us, cool against my heated skin, but his body is warm—his chest pressed to mine, lips tracing the curve of my neck. My hips rock against his hand, desperate for more, but he keeps the pace unhurried, savoring every tremor that runs through me.

"Seungcheol..." I breathe, my voice a plea.

He lifts his head, eyes meeting mine. The stars reflect in his dark irises, and for a moment, the world narrows to just him—his breath on my skin, his fingers buried inside me, the weight of his devotion in every slow thrust of his hand.

"Tell me what you need, love," he murmurs, thumb still circling my clit with featherlight pressure.

"I need you. All of you."

He smiles—that soft, genuine smile that melts my heart—and pulls his fingers out slowly, bringing them to his lips. He tastes me with a lingering kiss, then reaches for his belt, never breaking eye contact. The metallic click of the buckle fills the silence as he sheds his jeans and boxers in one fluid motion. His cock springs free, hard and glistening in the moonlight, and my core clenches in anticipation.

But he doesn't rush. He crawls over me, bracing on one forearm while his other hand guides his length to my entrance, the head teasing my folds, slicking itself in my wetness. His lips find mine in a kiss so tender it steals my breath—slow, deep, tasting like promises.

"I want to feel every inch of you," he whispers against my mouth. "I want to remember this night forever."

He pushes inside, inch by inch. I gasp into the kiss as he fills me, stretching me slowly, deliberately—not with urgency, but with reverence. My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails grazing the muscles beneath his skin. His forehead rests against mine, breath ragged, as he sheathes himself fully, pausing to let me adjust.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice cracking. "You feel... perfect."

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he responds with a slow, steady thrust that rocks my entire body. He sets a gentle rhythm—deep, languid strokes that hit that spot inside me with every movement. The world fades; there's only his warmth, his scent, the soft grunts against my ear, the slick sound of our bodies moving together.

He captures my mouth again, kissing me through the wave of pleasure, his tongue sliding against mine in the same tempo as his hips. When he breaks away, he looks down at me, eyes glistening.

"I love watching you come undone like this," he says, voice low and tender. "Knowing that you're mine. Knowing they might hear you—but only I get to be inside you."

He shifts the angle, driving deeper, and I cry out—a broken moan that echoes into the night. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I didn't know I shed.

"Let go, jagiya," he whispers. "I've got you."

The pressure builds, slow and relentless, coiling low in my belly. My hands roam his back, feeling the flex of his muscles, the heat of his skin, the way he trembles with restraint—holding back his own release to draw out mine.

"You're so close," he says, nearly a question. I nod, lips parted, eyes pleading.

He reaches between us, fingers finding my clit, circling in time with his thrusts. That's all it takes—the wave crashes over me, and I arch into him, crying out his name as pleasure rips through me in hot, pulsing waves. He thrusts through it, steady and deep, prolonging every tremor until I'm limp beneath him, gasping for air.

Then he follows, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he buries himself deep, spilling inside me with long, shuddering pulses. His body collapses against mine, forehead pressed to my shoulder, breath hot and uneven.

We lie there, tangled and spent, the night air cooling our sweaty skin. His lips find mine in a lazy, tender kiss—soft, unhurried, full of unspoken words.

He pulls back, eyes shining, and touches his forehead to mine. "I’m yours, jagiya. Heart and soul. For as long as you’ll have me and more.”

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

The Shape of Repentance

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

While most of my stories can be read as standalone smut pieces, this is a direct continuation of Rock and a Hard Place (spoiler: Scoups fucked up big time), and is pure storyline, lots of grovelling (no smut). If you haven’t read that, please do! If you prefer more action and less story , please check out my Blog or Masterlist 😉

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

no smut | storyline | Scoups grovelling | Svt fanfic

I woke with a pounding headache, the kind that feels like a freight train barreling through my skull, every throb sending fresh waves of nausea rolling in my stomach. My mouth was a desert, dry and fuzzy like I’ve been chewing on sandpaper all night. The room spun slightly as I cracked my eyes open, the dim light from the window stabbing like needles.

Cheol’s bed was a mess around me, sheets tangled around my bare legs, my skin still sticky with the remnants of last night—sweat, sex, his cologne soaked into the pillows beneath me. The air smelled like him everywhere. Warm skin. Fabric softener. That clean cedar scent I could pick out blindfolded in a crowded room.

The mattress dipped, and his voice cut through the haze, warm but too loud for my fragile state. “You're up. You've slept the whole day—it's almost dinner time.”

“Shhh… stop yelling,” I croaked, my voice raspy and weak.

I threw an arm over my eyes, trying to block out the world and the flood of memories: me, wasted on jealousy over that damn photo of him with her; him hauling my drunk ass home, then railing me into the mattress until I couldn't think straight.

“Sorry, jagi.”

Something cool pressed lightly into my hand. A water bottle. Already opened. I managed a few miserable mouthfuls before collapsing back dramatically against the pillows. “I think I’m dying.”

“You say that every time you drink tequila.”

“Because tequila is evil.”

“That didn’t stop you from drinking half a bottle last night.”

I cracked one eye open just enough to glare at him. Big mistake. He looked unfairly good for someone who apparently slept even less than I did. A black shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. Damp hair pushed messily back from his forehead. Strong hands wrapped around a steaming mug near the bedside.

But it’s his face that caught me off guard. Not composed. Not relaxed. Worried. Actually worried. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes like he barely slept at all. My chest tightened faintly.

A tray waited beside the bed. Painkillers. Honey butter crackers. Hangover jelly. A steaming bowl of soup.

“Hutgaesoo,” he said when he noticed me staring. “Drink before your stomach gets worse.”

I blinked slowly. “You cooked?”

His mouth twitched faintly. “The members supervised.”

“So Mingyu cooked.”

“Traitor.”

Despite myself, the corner of my mouth lifted. Relief flashed so quickly across his face it almost hurts to see.

I pushed myself upright with a groan, the blanket slipping down my chest. His eyes flicked downward automatically before snapping back up to my face, almost guiltily. That’s new. Normally, he’d already have his hands all over me, claiming what he considered his. Now, he looked like he’s trying to earn the right to even sit on the same mattress.

I took the mug from him carefully, inhaling the herbal scent before taking a cautious sip. Warmth spreads slowly down my throat, easing some of the nausea clawing at my stomach.

“Better?” he asked softly.

“Mm Bim.”

“Head still bad?”

“Feels like someone’s performing live construction work inside my skull.”

That earned another, quieter laugh. “Good. Suffer.”

I stared at him over the rim of the mug. “You’re supposed to comfort me.”

“I made you soup.”

“Your supervised soup?”

“That still counts.”

I smiled, unbidden. The room settled into silence again, soft except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Homey. Normal. Dangerously easy.

I stared down into the mug. “Cheol-ah…”

His attention lifted immediately. The seriousness in his face made my stomach tighten harder than the hangover.

I swallowed. “About last night…”

“There’s something I need to show you first,” he said, reaching for his phone. My brows knit together slightly as he unlocked it. For a second, I think maybe it’s another article. Another reason for my chest to cave in on itself. Instead, he opens Weverse.

His post filled the screen. It’s simple. Direct. No relationship with Lia. No relationship with any idol currently being linked to him. Speculation and fabricated rumors should stop. But it’s the last paragraph that makes my breath catch.

There is someone important in my life who has been hurt by this situation. I failed to protect that person properly because I was selfish and careless. I won’t make that mistake again.

My eyes moved over the words twice. Three times. Slowly.

“You posted this?” I asked quietly.

“Yesterday, after you… left.”

I looked up sharply. “The company approved that? Pledis let you write that last part?”

A humorless, exhausted laugh left him. “No.” Something flickered through me. He leaned back slightly against the headboard, the strain suddenly more visible now that I’m looking for it.

“We argued for almost twelve hours,” he said, his voice flat. “They wanted me to leave it vague. Said a scandal keeps engagement high.” His jaw tightened, a hard, muscle-twitching line. “I told them I’d terminate my contract, termination fee be damned. The members would understand.”

The ache in my chest deepened painfully. Because this—this was the first tangible thing he’s actually placed in my hands. Not promises. Not trust me. Action that actually cost him something.

“I should’ve said something immediately,” he continued quietly, looking down at his own knuckles. “Not after you reached your limit. Not after I hid behind the excuse of 'no strings' because it was easier for me. I used that label like a shield so I wouldn't have to be responsible for your feelings.”

I stared down at the phone again. My reflection stared faintly back at me in the brightness of the screen. Someone important.

And somehow, it still isn't enough. Because the hurt had never really been about Lia. It was never about public proclamations. It was about standing in a relationship that always seemed to ask more of me than it did of him. It was about the fact that he only realized my value when the threat of losing me messed up his comfortable routine.

I handed the phone back slowly. “I appreciate it,” I said honestly.

Hope flickered across his face before I continue.

“But I don’t think it fixes things.”

The hope faded quietly. Not dramatically. Worse, somehow.

I forced myself to keep going. “You keep saying the right things eventually, Cheol. But only after I’m already bleeding out. You only pay attention when the house is already on fire.”

He went very still.

“And I know your life is complicated,” I continue softly, my fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of the mug. “I know your career makes everything messy and difficult and secretive. I know all of that.” My throat tightened. “But I can’t keep being the person who waits in the dark for you to figure out if I’m worth choosing.”

Pain flashed across his face immediately. Real pain. Not irritation. Not the defensive leader who hates being questioned.

“You are,” he says instantly, his voice rough. “You are worth it.”

“Then why does it always feel like I’m begging for crumbs while you hold the loaf?”

The words hit him hard enough that he actually flinched, his head dropping. His hand dragged slowly over his mouth. For a second, I think he’s going to argue again. Explain the industry, defend his timeline, tell me how hard he has it.

Instead, he said quietly, “Because I’m a coward. I got comfortable thinking you’d stay anyway. I took your patience and used it to feed my own ego.”

The honesty knocked the air from my lungs.

His eyes finally lift back to mine, red-rimmed and hollow. “I liked having the control. I liked knowing I could have my career, my freedom, and you waiting up for me whenever I decided to turn around. It was entirely selfish. And that’s my fault.”

Silence settled heavily between us. I hate how much I still want him in moments like this. How badly I still want to crawl into his lap and let him hold me until none of this hurts anymore. But wanting him has never been the problem. Trusting him with the softest parts of me is.

I set the mug down carefully before I can spill it with my shaking hands. “I don’t know if I trust you right now. I don't know if you actually want me, or if you just hate losing.”

The sentence barely left my mouth before I see it break something deep inside him. His expression doesn’t twist dramatically. It just… empties. Like he finally understands the actual depth of what he risked losing. The illusion of his total control has vanished.

A long silence follows. Then he nods once. Small. Submissive. “Okay,” he said quietly.

No begging. No pushing. No trying to convince me otherwise. And somehow, that hurts even more.

I swallowed hard. “I think I need some space.”

Another flicker of pain crossed his face before he smooths it away with agonizing care. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

The gentleness of the question nearly undoes me. “…Please.”

“Okay.” He stood immediately, stepping back to give me room to breathe while I showered and dress.

The shower was a quick but luxurious affair—hot water cascading over my sore muscles, washing away the grime and the sticky remnants between my thighs from our frantic, desperate encounter the night before. I scrubbed quickly, trying not to think too hard about the way he’d held me afterward, or the way he’d whispered apologies into my hair when he thought I’d fallen asleep.

By the time I emerged dressed in leggings and one of my oversized sweaters, he was waiting by the door with my sneakers already lined up neatly beside him. Another tiny thing. Another detail he never used to notice when he thought he owned the space we shared.

The drive to my apartment was quiet. Rain tapped softly against the windshield while Seoul blurs gold and grey outside the windows, evening traffic thickening as neon signs flicker to life across wet streets. His phone buzzed constantly in the cupholder. Notifications. Managers. Calls from the label. He didn’t even glance at it. He didn’t care.

Only when we pulled up outside my building did he finally speak.

“Check Weverse later,” he said softly, eyes still fixed ahead on the rain-streaked windshield. “Not the post. The comments.”

I glanced at him. “The fans?”

A faint nod. “They’re behaving better than I expected. But it doesn't matter what they think. It only matters what you think.”

I gathered my bag slowly. “Cheol—”

“I know,” he said quietly before I can finish. “I’ll give you space. I won't crowd you.”

My chest ached. Because this version of him… careful, listening, finally hearing me… it felt dangerously close to the man I’d wanted all along.

I opened the door before I could weaken further. But just as I stepped out into the rain, his voice stopped me one last time. It’s soft enough I almost missed it over the sound of the storm.

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

My breath caught. When I turned back, he’s still staring forward at the windshield, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles have gone completely white. He won't look at me, like saying it out loud already cost him too much of his remaining pride.

“You were just…” His throat works once. “Everywhere in my life. I didn't realize how much of my foundation was just you holding me up.”

Something sharp twisted through my chest.

“I keep reaching for you before I remember you’re angry with me. I keep wanting to tell you about my day, about the track we finished… and then I remember I don’t have the right to your time anymore.” A rough, self-deprecating laugh left him. “It’s pathetic.”

“Cheol…”

“I know I hurt you,” he said quickly, his voice fracturing. “I know I did. I know I made you feel hidden and disposable and like an object I could just pick up and set down whenever it suited me. I—” His voice breaks. Actually breaks.

And suddenly this isn’t S.Coups anymore. Not the fearless leader of Seventeen. Not the composed idol who always knows exactly how to manage a crowd. Just him. A man who looks completely unraveled down to the bone.

“I’m trying really hard not to fucking beg you to stay right now,” he whispered, a single tear cutting through the exhaustion on his cheek. “Because I know begging is just another way to make this about my feelings instead of yours.”

The confession hit like a punch straight through my ribs. Seungcheol never exposed himself like this. He never lets the armor crack.

“I know I don’t deserve anything from you right now,” he said quietly, his eyes finally closing as he slumps slightly against the seat. “But please… please don’t let my stupidity be the end of us…

He sighs, “I’m sorry. Forget it. I said I’d give you space. Go inside before you get cold.”

I turned and shut the door, the heavy thud separating us.

The first week without him felt wrong. Not dramatic, just displaced. Like my life had been left slightly off-center and refused to realign.

At first, he respected the silence the way I asked. But old habits die hard, and proximity in our shared professional circle made complete avoidance impossible. I didn't quit my job, but I drew a line in the sand. I pulled myself out of our center duet for the upcoming comeback choreography, choosing to dance in the back line just to keep his hands off me.

The first rehearsal with Seventeen after the blocking changes were implemented was worse than I expected.

The practice room mirrors fogged faintly by the fourth run-through. Music pounded loud enough to shake the floor beneath us while bodies moved sharply beneath fluorescent lights. Normally, rehearsals run like clockwork. Today felt off. Not visibly enough that outside staff would notice, but the members did. Because Seungcheol was missing counts. Tiny hesitations. A half-second delay before a formation shift.

Woozi noticed. I caught the brief, heavy frown he shot across the mirrors before the music reset.

“Again from the second chorus,” the choreographer called.

Everyone reset. I moved automatically toward my mark—then froze. Even in the back row, my position placed me briefly opposite Seungcheol during a transition before the bridge.

For one terrible second, neither of us moved. His eyes were fixed on mine, completely hollow, carrying none of the arrogant spark he usually wears during rehearsals. Then professionalism snaps back into place.

The music started. Bodies moved. Sharp. Precise. Controlled. Then the partner transition hit. My stomach drops; I forgot this section. His hand caught my waist automatically as I spin toward him. Warm. Firm. But unlike before—where his grip would be possessive, pulling me flush against his chest just because he knew he could—his hands were almost hovering. He touched me like I was made of glass, his fingers trembling slightly against the fabric of my shirt.

He was terrified of making me uncomfortable. He’d completely surrendered his hold on me.

The count ended, and I stepped back immediately. Too quickly. And for the first time in his career, Seungcheol missed the next cue entirely. He just stood there, his arms dropping to his sides as the rest of the team moved around him.

“Cut! Ten minutes!”

Silence filled the room. Confused, heavy silence. Cheol went still for half a second before bowing his head deeply to the choreographer and the team. “Sorry. My fault. Again.” His voice sounded completely wrecked.

The tension sat so thick I could barely breathe. Seeking an escape, I walked straight out to the back hallway toward the water cooler before anyone could corner me. Cold water splashed against my tongue, but my pulse won’t settle.

The heavy studio door slid open quietly behind me. I didn’t turn around, but the scent of cedar and warm sweat immediately filled the narrow corridor.

“You’re transferring out of my formation,” Cheol said. His voice wasn't broken yet—it was laced with a desperate, defensive panic. He stepped closer, his chest heaving under his damp practice shirt. He looked haggard under his cap. “You worked for months to get the center-duet spot. Don't do this to your own career just to get away from me. Don't sabotage your hard work over a fight.”

The word fight snapped something inside me. I turned around slowly, setting the paper cup down with a sharp click.

“My career is perfectly fine, Choi Seungcheol-ssi,” I said, using his formal title like a physical shield. “I’m still on the tour.”

“Hey, I—” he reaches out a hand.

I step away, eyes still down.

“Will you LOOK at me!”, he grits out, his jaw clenching as he took a step forward, trying to regain his footing, trying to use his usual authoritative posture to steady the room. “Please. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you,” he said softly. Simple. No performance. No manipulation. “I miss you so much I can’t think straight anymore. Hoshi yelled at me three times yesterday because I kept missing cues.”

A watery laugh escaped me despite myself. His expression softened instantly at the sound, a desperate, fragile look appearing in his eyes, like even that tiny reaction is a lifeline he doesn't deserve.

“You were just… everywhere,” he whispers, his voice cracking around the edges. “My room. My routines. My fucking life. I built everything around the assumption that you'd just bear with me. And now… I just… really miss—”

“No, you don’t!” I snapped, surprising even myself, my voice a sharp, furious whisper against the linoleum walls. “You miss having me at your beck and call, Cheol. You loved having me wait around in the dark while you got to play the unbothered single idol on camera. You say you miss me, but do you really miss ME or do you just miss not being alone.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He actually stumbled back a half-step, the defensive posture instantly evaporating. His chest heaved, his mouth opening slightly but no sound coming out.

“I swear I didn’t…” he whispered, his voice suddenly sounding thin, completely stripped of its power.

“I know you didn't,” I said, my voice dropping to a cold, final level. “That’s exactly the problem.”

I turned my back on him and walked straight back into the practice room, leaving him standing alone in the narrow hallway to finally face the reality of what he had done.

That confrontation broke something fundamental in him. The excuses were entirely gone.

Over the next few days, the offerings began, but they were different now—quiet, agonizingly reflective.

It started with messages, but they weren't the usual "I miss you" texts. They were long, late-night paragraphs detailing things he's realized.

I looked at our old texts today. I realized how many times I asked something of you and how you almost never asked anything of me. Mianhae.

Then flowers arrived. White lilies. The card doesn't say "come back." It read: 

I am learning how much space I took up in your life without giving you any of mine. Mianhae

The day after that, a voice message. I played it alone in my kitchen. His voice was thick, raspy, completely stripped of his usual confidence. 

“I had a meeting with the executives today. I told them that from now on, my personal life is no longer up for negotiation. If they don't like it, they can sue me. I'm ready to be yours completely, whenever you're ready to have me. Even if it's never.”

I could feel what’s happening—he was trying to dismantle the entire structure of how he used to operate. I just wondered how long it would take for him to get there.

Two weeks later, the emotional and physical exhaustion had completely caught up to him.

It was after a grueling, fourteen-hour production run-through. The other members and dancers had already packed up and left, leaving the Pledis building dead silent in the early hours of the morning. I was back at the hallway water cooler, my knee throbbing fiercely from the repeated floorwork, when the studio door slid open one last time.

Seungcheol walked out. He looked entirely undone. His cap was pulled low, his black shirt damp with sweat, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of his own identity was too heavy to carry. He didn't try to argue this time. He didn't try to defend his timeline or explain the industry.

The silence stretched painfully between us, punctuated only by the low hum of the vending machines.

Then softly, “You’re limping again.”

Not I miss you. Not Please look at me. Just quiet observation.

I stared down at the paper cup in my hands. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” A pause. “You always shift your weight onto your right side when your knee flares up. You've done it three times since the third run-through.”

Emotion climbed unexpectedly into my throat. Because he remembers. He’s actually paying attention to the details that don't serve him.

“I’ve got it handled,” I say carefully.

“I know you do.” His voice dropped, thick with an exhaustion that goes deeper than dance practice. “I just… I still worry. I can’t turn it off.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Cheol—”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he said quickly, stepping back a foot as if sensing my retreat. “I know you need space. I’m trying to learn how to give it to you without making it look like I don’t care.”

Silence.

Then suddenly, he let out a short, broken laugh. “I’m so fucking bad at this,” he muttered.

My brows pulled together slightly. “At what?”

His eyes lifted to mine, completely exposed, red-rimmed and swimming with unshed tears. “Fixing things without being a dictator. I don’t know how to do this without ordering people around, but I can't order you to forgive me.”

The raw honesty knocked the breath clean out of me.

He dragged a hand over his face roughly. “I keep looking for you without thinking. Every room. Every rehearsal. I still reach for my phone every night to text you some stupid meme before I remember I ruined my right to talk to you. I just… I didn’t realize how much I relied on your grace until I ran out of it.”

He took a half-step closer, then stopped himself abruptly, his boots squeaking against the linoleum. That restraint—the conscious choice to respect my boundaries over his own desperate urge to reach out—showed the shift more than any text message could.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to rein himself in, but the careful control he’s been clinging to since I walked away starts to completely fray. When he looks back up at me, his gaze is stripped of everything familiar. No leader. No control. Just a man standing in unfamiliar territory with no map left.

“Tell me what I need to do. Please.”

The words weren’t loud, but they hit the empty hallway like a physical weight.

I blinked. Once. Twice. “What?” I ask quietly.

His throat worked. He didn’t look away. “I’m asking you,” he says, slower now, like each word costs him a piece of his old self, “Please… tell me what I need to do. Because I don’t… I don’t think I understand how to fix this...”

My chest tightened hard enough to hurt. This wasn’t the Seungcheol who gave orders. Who took space and filled it and expected the world to adjust.

“I thought if I gave you room, you’d come back when you were ready,” he admitted, a small, humorless breath leaving him. “But I realize now that was just me waiting for you to soften so I wouldn't have to change. I was waiting for you to do the hard work of forgiving me. I don’t know how to handle the version of you that looks at me and doesn't see a future anymore.”

My fingers tightened slightly around the paper cup. “…What version?” I ask before I can stop myself.

His eyes flickered with immediate, agonizing pain. “The one where you don’t reach back. The one where you realize you're entirely fine without me. Is there something I’m not doing?”

He shook his head quickly, correcting himself before I could strike. “No—don’t answer that like it’s a test. I don't want you to have to manage my redemption. I just don’t know how to be what you need right now, but I want to learn. Tell me how to come back to you.”

The shift was absolute. It was no longer how do I get you to come back to me, but instead, tell me how to come back to you. He was handing over the power he used to wield so effortlessly.

“I don’t want to keep guessing wrong,” he added, his voice barely audible. “Because every time I do… I lose a bit more of you. And I can’t afford that anymore.”

I breathed in slowly, setting the paper cup down on the cooler. “You don’t get to make this something I can answer for you, Cheol.”

His expression flickered, but he nodded, accepting the boundary.

“This isn’t choreography,” I say softly. “You don’t fix us by just learning the steps I give you. You already know what hurts me, Cheol. You've always known.”

He didn’t deny it. He just looked at me, his shoulders slumped, completely defenseless.

“...I do,” he whispered.

My fingers tightened at my side. I exhaled once, leaving the entire weight of our future on his shoulders. “And… you should know that flowers, apologies, and convenience won’t fix that anymore.”

“...I know.”

Then I said it. Clean. Final. Leaving the entire weight of our future on his shoulders.

“Then show me.”

To be continued

[subbydubbycarat]

can you write a story about where cheol and reader get into a huge fight and they start to avoid cheol during practices and ignore his calls and texts and cheol tries really hard to win back the reader. you can smut or not! whatever you’d like:))

btw i really love your series!!

This turned out longer than I expected. I guess when there’s a story to be told, the words come pouring out! Enjoy ☺️

Rock and a Hard Place

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | more-story-than-smut | drunk sex

I lick the salt off the back of my hand, the gritty crystals dissolving on my tongue before I tip my head back and let the tequila scorch its way down my throat. The burn is fierce, igniting my insides like a match to dry tinder. 

“Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!” The crowd around me erupts in the chant, and I slam the glass onto the scarred bar surface, unleashing a triumphant whoop that cuts through the pounding music.

Tonight, we're unleashing everything—me and the backup dancers from a mix of K-pop crews, all of us desperate to shake off the grind of endless practices and spotlight stress in this throbbing club.

I never intended to be here.

It all traces back to a week or so ago, when the world cracked open between us.

I'd been scrolling through my phone in the quiet of my apartment after a late practice, the glow casting shadows on the walls, when the notifications hit like shrapnel.

Gossip sites exploding with photos of Seungcheol—Scoups—leaning into Lia— tall, thin, sharp feature, big doe eyes with gorgeous skin and hair, everything I wasn’t — with her hand on his arm, his smile too easy, too intimate.

'K-pop’s new IT couple?'

‘Coups getting Cozy?’

The headlines gutted me, jealousy uncoiling like a serpent in my chest, sharp and venomous.

We’d never put a name to us, but god, it had woven into something real. What started as a raw, no-strings BDSM dynamic—me dropping to my knees in the dim glow of hotel rooms after his shows, leather cuffs biting into my wrists as he gripped my hair and thrust his thick cock down my throat until tears streamed and I choked on him—had evolved. It turned tender in the aftermath, his hands soothing the welts on my skin, pulling me against his chest as we breathed together. Late nights blurred into mornings where he'd murmur secrets against my neck, feed me bites of rice from his chopsticks, hold me when the exhaustion of being invisible in the spotlight crushed me. But labels? Impossible.

He was Seventeen's leader, the unbreakable core of the group, every move scrutinized. I was just a backup dancer, one of the shadows syncing steps behind them, easily swapped out if I faltered.

The photos were one thing. The headlines and overarching support, acceptance, hype by the public shipping them together unraveled something I’d been trying too hard to keep neatly tied together. Every glance, every touch we’d shared suddenly felt flimsy under the glare of proof I could hold in my hand. I didn’t text him. Didn’t trust myself to. I waited.

By the time practice ended, the building had quieted, the usual chaos fading into distant echoes. I caught him in the hallway outside the studio, harsh fluorescent lights casting everything in a sickly, unforgiving glow.

“Seungcheol.”

My voice came out steadier than I felt. My fingers tightened around my phone as I stepped into his path, holding it up between us. The screen lit his face.

“What the hell is this?”

He barely reacted at first—just a glance, a small crease between his brows—then that composure slipped into place like it always did. Calm. Controlled.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Paparazzi. You know how they twist things.”

Something inside me snapped at how easy that sounded.

“Nothing?” I echoed, a hollow laugh catching in my throat. “She’s got her hands on you like she belongs there, and you’re smiling like you want her there. The headlines are calling you the new golden couple of K-pop and you haven’t said anything! That’s your version of nothing?”

He exhaled slowly, like I was already exhausting him. “It was a schedule. Promo. Cameras everywhere. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

I stared at him, disbelief rising hotter than the hurt. “Out of proportion? I’m looking at you—at this—and you expect me to just… what? Be your mistress?”

His jaw tightened. “I expect you to remember what this is.”

The words landed heavier than I expected.

“And what is that, exactly?” I shot back, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it stopped being ‘casual’ a long time ago.”

His eyes flickered—just for a second—but it was enough to tell me I’d hit something.

“That’s exactly the problem,” he said, sharper now. “You’re starting to treat it like something it can’t be.”

My chest tightened. “Can’t be? Or you don’t want it to be?”

“Don’t twist this,” he snapped. “We had an understanding. No complications. No scenes like this.”

“Like this?” I repeated, voice rising despite myself. “You think this is me being dramatic? You think I wanted to stand here feeling like an idiot?”

“You’re acting like one,” he said, and this time there was no softness to blunt it.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I swallowed hard. “Right. Because caring makes me stupid, I guess.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” My grip on the phone loosened, my arm dropping to my side. “You just made it very clear where I stand.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through his usual control. “Look, this isn’t the place for this, and your place is not….”

That did it.

“My place?” I repeated, the words coming out dangerously quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, doubling down, like he didn’t realize the line he was crossing. “You’re not my girlfriend. You’re not someone I can be seen with, not someone I can explain. You knew that from the start.”

Each word hit harder than the last, precise and unflinching.

“So what am I, then?” I asked, even though I already knew I didn’t want the answer.

He hesitated—but only for a second.

“Someone I care about,” he said, quieter now. “But not someone I can choose. Not publicly. Not like that.”

The clarification didn’t help. It made it worse.

“Not someone you can choose,” I repeated, a brittle smile forming. “That’s convenient.”

“You think this is easy for me?” he shot back. “You think I get to just do whatever I want? One wrong move and everything I’ve built—everything the group has built—takes a hit. I don’t have the luxury of feelings the way you do.”

The way you do.

Like mine were disposable. Optional.

“Wow,” I breathed. “So this—” I gestured between us, my voice shaking now despite everything “—this is just me being… what? Emotional? Replaceable?”

“I didn’t say replaceable.”

“You didn’t have to,” I snapped, echoing him from earlier. “You just said I’m not someone you’d ever choose.”

His expression faltered then, regret flashing too late.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s exactly what you meant.” My throat burned, but I refused to let the tears fall in front of him. “You just didn’t expect me to hear it out loud.”

He stepped closer, voice lowering. “Don’t do this. Don’t turn one stupid article into something that ruins—”

“Ruins what?” I cut in sharply. “There’s nothing to ruin, remember? This isn’t anything.”

He clenched his jaw, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then, quieter, almost tired, he said, “You’re misunderstanding the situation.”

Something in me went cold at that.

“Right,” I said, nodding slowly. “Of course. This is on me.”

“That’s not—”

“No, it is.” I took a step back, putting space between us before I did something worse than cry. “I forgot my place.”

The words tasted bitter, but I let them sit there.

His expression shifted, something softer breaking through. “Jagiya, don’t—”

“My mistake, Scoups sunbaenim,” I said, the formality deliberate, cutting. “It won’t happen again.”

This time, when I turned, I didn’t wait to see if he’d follow. I didn’t want to know if he would.

The hallway felt longer on the way out, each step heavier than the last. By the time I reached the door, my vision had blurred, the weight of everything crashing down at once—not just the photos, but the truth he’d finally said out loud.

Not someone he could choose.

The next week practice felt like a silent war I refused to lose first.

I always got to practice early, claiming a corner of the mirrored studio like it was neutral ground. Stretching, counting breaths, focusing on anything but the door. It didn’t work. The second he walked in, I felt it—his presence, heavy and searching.

I didn’t look up.

Not when the members greeted each other. Not when his voice cut through the room. Not even when I knew he was looking straight at me.

Formations became strategy. If a move placed me near him, I shifted. Someone else filled the gap. I stayed sharp, precise—untouchable. The routine didn’t falter, but something else had. Every near-miss, every almost-brush of hands felt louder than the music.

By the first break, tension had coiled so tight it was suffocating.

I barely made it to the water cooler before he was there.

“We need to talk.”

Low. Urgent. Not leader Seungcheol—just him.

I grabbed a paper cup, not meeting his eyes. “Not now.”

His hand came down on the cooler beside me, blocking my exit—not forceful, but enough.

“Last night… I fucked up.”

I let out a quiet breath, steadying myself before I looked at him. Big mistake.

He looked wrecked. Not tired—wrecked. Eyes rimmed red, jaw tight like he hadn’t unclenched it once since I walked away.

For a split second, it cracked something in me.

Then I remembered his voice: You’re not someone I can choose.

I stepped around him.

“I’m working,” I said flatly, and walked off.

It didn’t stop there.

If anything, it got worse.

Texts flooded in first.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean it like that.

You’re not—fuck, you’re not what I said. You’re more.

Please talk to me.

I didn’t respond.

Then came the voice messages.

I made the mistake of listening to one.

“Please, jagi,” his voice came through, rough, stripped of all that control he wore so well. “Don’t shut me out like this. Miyane. Let me explain.”

I deleted it before he could finish.

Then the flowers showed up.

Of course they did.

Too many roses. Too much meaning. Too late.

I read the card once—You’re my anchor—and felt something bitter curl in my chest.

Anchors don’t get hidden.

Anchors don’t get denied.

I shoved them into a vase and left them by the window like an obligation.

The one place I couldn’t avoid him was the practice room.

I mirrored his every move from afar, syncing flawlessly but never meeting his eyes. During a group huddle, he reached for my shoulder, but I shrugged it off subtly, stepping back.

Mingyu finally pulled me aside during the cool-down, his brow furrowed with concern. “Hey, what's going on with you and hyung? You've been dodging him all week. He looks wrecked.”

“It's nothing,” I muttered, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Just tired.” But inside, the conflict raged—our blurred lines, the power imbalance, the fear that I'd always be the one chasing shadows.

By the time I’d gotten home, the hallway lights had been dimmed, the building quiet in that late-night way that made everything feel heavier.

He’d been sitting on the steps outside my apartment door, elbows on his knees, a bouquet resting beside him—something softer this time. Not the loud, showy roses.

Lilies.

My favourite.

He’d looked up the second he heard my footsteps.

Relief had hit his face so fast it had almost knocked the air out of me.

“Hey,” he’d said, standing too quickly, like he’d been waiting a while.

I hadn’t moved any closer.

“Seungcheol…”

My voice had come out quieter than I wanted.

Tired.

He’d picked up the flowers, holding them out—not pushing, just offering. “I didn’t know if you’d be home.”

I’d stared at them for a second before taking them, mostly because I hadn’t known what else to do with my hands.

“They’re… not apology flowers,” he’d added quickly. “Or—not just that. I just—” He’d exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I saw them and thought of you.”

That shouldn’t have worked.

But it had.

Too much.

We’d stood there for a moment, the distance between us thinner than it had been all day.

“Miyane,” he’d said finally.

Not rushed.

Not defensive.

Just… quiet.

“I shouldn’t have said that to you. Any of it.”

I’d swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around the stems. “You didn’t just say it.”

“I know,” he’d nodded. “I know. I’ve been—” He’d searched for the word. “Careless. With you.”

I’d let out a long exhale.

“I didn’t think,” he’d continued. “I just… reacted. And I hurt you.”

A beat.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

My chest had tightened.

“Seungcheol…” I’d started, my voice softer, wavering despite myself. It would’ve been so easy to close the distance, to fall back into his arms. I’d hated how much I’d still wanted that. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

His expression had shifted immediately, something pained flickering through it.

“I know.”

“No,” I’d shaken my head, finally looking at him properly. “I don’t think you do.”

I’d stepped a little closer before I could stop myself, the words slipping out quieter, more fragile than I intended.

“It’s not about the photo… not really. I think it was just a catalyst. I… I deserve better than this.”

He hadn’t argued.

He’d just nodded once, like that part, at least, he understood.

“You do,” he’d said.

The agreement had almost broken me.

Because it meant he knew.

“And I want to be that for you,” he’d added quickly, stepping closer too, careful this time. “I do. I just—” He’d hesitated, jaw tightening. “I need you to be patient with me.”

My grip on the flowers had tightened. “Patient,” I’d repeated.

“Yeah,” he’d said, softer now, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Things aren’t… simple for me. You know that. The timing, the situation—I just need you to trust me while I figure it out.”

The warmth from a second before had started to slip.

“Figure it out,” I’d echoed.

“I’m trying,” he’d insisted. “I’m here, aren’t I? I came to you. I’m not ignoring this, I’m not walking away—”

“But you’re not choosing it either,” I’d cut in quietly.

He’d stilled.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“That’s not fair,” he’d said, a hint of frustration creeping back in. “I’m doing what I can.”

“And I was supposed to just wait around while you decided if I was worth it?” I’d asked, not raising my voice, which somehow made it worse. “It’s Lia one day, then Mimi, then Bri, Emi… you’re with them during the day and what? I was just supposed to be waiting for you in your bed at night?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what was it?” I’d pressed, softer now, almost pleading. “Because it still felt like I was the only one standing in it fully.”

He’d exhaled, running a hand through his hair again, that same tell.

“I just need more time.”

I’d let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shaking my head.

“Of course you do.”

“Don’t do that,” he’d said quickly. “Don’t twist it into something it’s not.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” I’d replied, my voice steadier now, even as something inside me started to close. “You’re asking me to stay exactly where I am while you… what? Have your cake and eat it too?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is,” I’d said. “Because nothing you’re saying changes how it feels for me.”

“It will,” he’d insisted. “You just have to trust me.”

That word again.

Trust.

Like it was something he could ask for without giving me anything solid to hold onto.

Something in my chest had tightened, then settled into something colder.

“You keep asking me for that,” I’d murmured. “But you’re not giving me anything to trust in.”

His expression had tightened.

“You’re overreacting.”

“Okay,” I’d said quietly.

And then I’d turned around and walked away without looking back.

Jan’s invite came that night: Club night with the squad! Come unwind after that brutal set list!

I fired back: Oh no, I’m really not in the mood.

'C’mon, you've been MIA too long! Booze, beats, no drama. I'll buy the first round if you show,' she teased, adding pleading emojis that chipped at my resolve.

The anger simmered, pushing me to spite the pull he still had, to drown the hurt in noise despite his relentless pursuit.

Fuck it.

I’m in.

🥃 “Chug! Chug! Chug!”

The chant snaps me back into the present like a hand yanking me out of water.

I blink—lights, noise, bodies moving too close, too fast.

Someone shoves another shot into my hand.

“Woohoo! You’re killing this!” Xian yells over the music.

I don’t hesitate.

Salt. Burn. Heat flooding down my throat, pooling warm in my stomach.

Another follows immediately.

Then another.

I snatch it, tongue the salt heavier this time, the tequila slamming harder, fuzzing my thoughts. The hurt eases into numb defiance, my body loosening as the alcohol surges. I'm a dancer at heart—rhythm is my blood.

“Oh my god! Have you seen this?” whispers break out, phones are whipped out and passed around. I’m too drunk to care.

“Scoups went on weverse and denied any relationship with Lia or any idol,” someone reads, “he said, quote, it’s fake news my label threw out without my consent.”

“He said there’s someone special in his life,” a shouted whisper.

“He’s such a man,” another person giggles, “probably has a line of special someone’s.”

“Count me in!” a high voice shrieks, “I’ll be in his harem line any day!”

I down another shot. The words and whispers blurring in my head.

Jan yanks me to the floor: “I’m cutting you off. Move it, queen!”

The lights strobe, bodies press close, sweat and perfume thick in the air. I let the music take over, hips swaying to the heavy drop, my skirt riding up as I grind against the beat. I’m good at this—years of syncing to K-pop tracks honed my flow. I lose myself, spinning, dipping low, my ass brushing against strangers in the crowd.

A guy from another group slides up behind me, hands on my waist, and I don’t pull away. Instead, I arch back, grinding my hips into him, feeling his hardness press against me through our clothes. The friction sparks heat between my thighs, my pussy already slick from the booze and the rush. Shots keep coming—someone hands me one mid-dance, and I throw it back without stopping, the liquid fire urging me on. I’m drunk now, gloriously so, the world tilting in the best way, jealousy morphing into reckless abandon.

But then I feel it—eyes on me. Intense, piercing, cutting through the haze. I glance over, and there he is: Seungcheol, leaning against the bar in a dark hoodie pulled low, his gaze locked on me like a predator. His jaw clenches as he watches me grind on the stranger, those photos forgotten in the face of this real-time jealousy bait. My heart races, a mix of triumph and need surging through me. I amp it up, deliberately—pressing harder against the guy, tossing my hair, letting out a moan-laugh that I know carries, fingers trailing my own thigh, daring him to snap. I want him to burn like I did.

He pushes off the bar, stalking through the crowd like he owns it. The stranger senses the shift and backs off with a muttered 'whoa,' vanishing into the throng. Seungcheol’s hand clamps on my arm, yanking me close, his breath hot against my ear.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, voice low and dangerous, laced with that dominant edge I crave.

I twist in his grip, the alcohol making my movements sloppy, my eyes narrowing as I shove at his chest. The words hang between us, heavy with everything we don't say—the nights tangled in sheets, the way his touch lingers too long, the fear of what it all means in his world of flashing lights and contracts. “Dancing. Having fun. You know, like normal people do when they're not… occupied.”

My voice drips with sarcasm, the hurt sharpening each syllable, but I can't bring myself to name the girl, the photos, the ache that's been gnawing at me all day. We both know it's there, that green-eyed monster twisting us both.

His jaw clenches, eyes darkening as he pulls me closer, his body heat cutting through the club's haze. “Occupied?”

There's a pause, loaded, his fingers tightening on my arm just enough to remind me of the cuffs we've used, the control he wields so effortlessly. But tonight, it's laced with something raw, unspoken—the jealousy mirroring mine, the possessiveness we pretend is casual.

I swallow hard, the tequila burning in my throat again as tears threaten. “Am I wrong?” The question slips out, quieter, laced with the vulnerability I hate showing.

He exhales sharply, his gaze flicking to the crowd before locking back on me, thumb brushing my skin in a way that's almost tender, almost an apology without words. “You think I want that? Any of it? I denied it, all of it, for you…”

My chest tightens, the tequila providing far more than liquid courage, anger flaring hot. “I don’t know Seung— Scoups! You’re the big alpha leader, no such thing as bad publicity, amiright.”

I push harder against him, but he doesn't budge, his hold steady, eyes searching mine with that intensity that always unravels me.

“Come with me,” he murmurs finally, voice dropping to that commanding timbre edged with plea. “Not here. My place.”

“No, I’m dancing,” I slur, turning away, “You might not want me, but I’m sure someone does. Hey, Xian!”

In my drunken haze, I miss how Xian’s face pales as Seungcheol glares at him.

“Over my dead body,” he steers me out, arm firm around my waist, the cool night air slapping my flushed skin as he leads me into his car.

“You don’t get to tell me what’s enough… I-I’m fineee. I always knew it would end like this. Ssssss coooopssss. Hehe, your name is funny.”

“Shhh,” his hand covered my mouth, the car suddenly silent. His hand moves down to rest on my thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns that send shivers up my spine.

I lean into his shoulder, the booze weighing me down. Sober me would’ve gotten out of the car and gotten a cab, but drunk me was still just a heartbroken girl.

“You know…” I mumble, eyes drifting shut, “I always knew I’m replaceable, I just didn’t think it would happen this quickly…”

His hand stills, squeezing gently. “You're not. You’re everything.” The response is simple, but it is more than anything he’d said in the last week, through texts, voicemails, flowers…

“I kept trying to fix things the wrong way,” he said. “Explaining. Avoiding. Managing it.”

A pause.

“I thought if I kept it controlled, I wouldn’t lose you.”

I feel the car stop. Feel him lifting me up. Walking.

“I know I messed this up,” he added. “And I don’t expect you to trust me just because I’m saying the right thing now.”

A pause. He sets me down on a bed.

“But I’m not going to keep you in limbo anymore.”

I scoff. “Sure you won’t,” I slur, moving up, cracking an eye open. “I should’ve stayed with Xian.”

That does it.

His face thunders. He surges forward, hands ripping off my top, the fabric tearing with a satisfying rip that echoes my fractured heart. The skirt slides down next, pooling at my ankles, leaving me exposed in that clinging lace, sweat-slick skin prickling in the cool air.

He steps back, shedding his hoodie and shirt in one fluid motion, muscles rippling under the dim light, ink and faint scars from endless performances tracing his chest and arms. His pants drop next, cock springing free—thick, hard, veins pulsing with the need he's barely holding back. It twitches toward me, pre-cum beading at the tip, but I don't move. I cross my arms over my chest, nipples hardening against my will from the chill and the sight of him.

“You want to talk about other men?” he says, voice hard, the edge dulled by a flicker of regret in those dark eyes.

“You think you can just drag me here, strip me, and I'll forget?” My hands ball into fists, nails biting into palms, the room spinning a little from the booze.

He doesn't flinch, but his eyes softens just a fraction, the raw vulnerability cracking through his dominance. He closes the distance again, not grabbing, but his fingers ghost along my jaw, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

“I’ll fix it. Trust me. That’s all I’m asking. Please. Trust that I’ll do better. You’re everything to me, baby.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, parting it slightly, and I hate how my body leans in, betraying the storm inside.

It’s the please that does it. As I stare into his eyes, my heart gives in. The flowers, the texts… all of it pales in comparison to this. Him. Scoups. Choi Seungcheol. Begging me to stay.

“Prove it then,” I whisper, my breath hitches as his hand trails down, cupping my breast, thumb circling the nipple until it peaks under his touch. He pinches it lightly, sending a jolt straight to my core, my pussy clenching despite the anger.

“I will,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, leaning in to capture my mouth in a kiss that's not gentle—teeth nipping my lip, tongue invading like he's claiming territory. I push at his chest half-heartedly, but he pulls back just enough to tease, his other hand sliding between my thighs, fingers pressing against the lace over my clit. He rubs slow circles, the friction building heat that makes my knees weaken, but I lock them, refusing to fold.

He pulls back from my mouth, lips glistening, eyes dark and pleading as he guides me toward the couch in the dim glow of his apartment. The leather creaks under his weight as he lies back, cock jutting up rigid and slick from my earlier attention, veins throbbing along its length.

"Ride my face. Let me taste that fire," he rasps, voice thick with hunger and that undercurrent of apology, hands reaching for my hips to draw me over him.

I hesitate, thighs trembling from the booze and the storm raging inside. My pussy throbs, slick and swollen, droplets of my wetness trail down my inner thigh. I hover above him, not quite lowering myself, my hands pressing against his chest to keep distance. Nails dig into his skin, leaving red marks as punishment for the image of him with her, burned into my mind.

His fingers trail up my thighs, teasing the edges of my soaked folds without mercy, stroking the sensitive skin around my entrance. He circles my clit with his thumb, slow and deliberate, flicking it just enough to make my hips jerk forward involuntarily. A gasp escapes me, sharp and unwilling, as heat coils low in my belly.

"Please jagi, let me make it right," he murmurs, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, eyes locked on mine with raw vulnerability cracking through his usual control. "Let me drown in you, tiny dancer. Taste how much you own me."

The edging unravels me bit by bit—his thumb pressing firmer now, rubbing in tight circles that have my clit pulsing, juices leaking onto his waiting chin. I bite my lip, fighting the pull, but the alcohol blurs the edges of my resistance, turning fury into a desperate ache.

"Cheol-ahhhh" I gasp, voice slurring with emotion and need, as he pulls my hips down onto his face. My pussy lips part over his mouth, smearing wetness across his face as I straddle his head, thighs clamping around his ears.

His tongue lashes out instantly, flat and insistent, dragging from my entrance to my clit in one long, greedy swipe. He sucks my folds into his mouth, lips sealing around them with wet, slurping sounds that echo in the quiet room, tongue probing deeper to lap at the creamy arousal pooling inside me. I grind down hard, smothering him completely, my ass cheeks flexing as I rock my hips in frantic circles, fucking his face like it's the only way to purge the pain.

"Like this? This what you crave from me?" I gasp out, words fractured by sobs of pleasure and lingering hurt, the unspoken accusation hanging—is this all you crave from me?

He groans into my core, the vibration rumbling straight through my clit, making my walls flutter and clench around nothing. His hands clamp onto my ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, spreading my cheeks wide as he pulls me tighter against him. Tongue thrusting deep now, he fucks into my pussy with it, curling upward to stroke that ridged spot inside that sends sparks exploding behind my eyes. I ride him harder, clit grinding over the bridge of his nose, coating his skin in a glossy sheen of my slickness—dripping down his cheeks, into his hair, the musky scent of my arousal filling the air.

Sweat beads on my skin, mixing with the dampness between us, as I brace my hands on his chest, pinching his nipples roughly to match the twist in my gut. Pleasure builds relentlessly, tangled with the ache of betrayal, every lap of his tongue a silent plea for forgiveness. We both feel it—this raw reclaiming amid the shadows of his celebrity life, the risks we ignore for these stolen moments. My thighs quake, muscles burning from the effort, but I don't stop, chasing the high that might wash away the jealousy.

I shatter with a cry, pussy convulsing as waves of ecstasy crash over me, flooding his mouth with hot gushes of cum. He swallows greedily, tongue milking every spasm, sucking my clit until I'm oversensitive and twitching, tears streaking my face from the intensity and the emotions bubbling up. He doesn't let go, licking me clean with broad, possessive strokes, until I'm boneless and panting above him.

Before I can catch my breath, he flips us with a surge of strength, my back hitting the cool leather of the couch. His body pins mine, cock heavy and leaking pre-cum against my thigh, the tip smearing sticky trails on my skin. "Turn over," he growls, voice hoarse from my taste on his tongue, but his gaze softens, tracing the flush on my cheeks, acknowledging the vulnerability I've bared.

I roll onto my stomach, knees digging into the cushions as I bend over the armrest, ass lifting high, pussy exposed and glistening in the low light. Legs spread wide, I arch my back, the position making me feel utterly open, still buzzing from my orgasm. His fingers dive in without warning—two thick digits plunging into my soaked heat, stretching me with a squelch that makes my cheeks burn. He pumps them roughly, knuckles deep, twisting to grind against my inner walls, thumb pressing hard on my clit in relentless circles.

"Fuck, you're drenched," he mutters, breath hot against my ear, the words laced with awe and regret. But his other hand glides down my spine, palm flat and soothing, tracing the curve of my back like he's mapping the hurt he caused.

"Please, Cheol," I whimper, pushing back onto his hand, the coil tightening again. He adds a third finger, scissoring them wide, curling to hit my g-spot over and over, the wet sounds obscene as my arousal coats his wrist.

He withdraws suddenly, leaving me clenching on emptiness, a whine tearing from my throat. The broad head of his cock nudges my entrance, hot and insistent, before he slams forward in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. My pussy stretches around his girth, walls gripping him like a vice, the fullness making me see stars. He doesn't hold back, fucking me with deep, punishing drives—hips snapping forward, balls slapping against my clit with every plunge, the force jolting my body against the couch arm.

Skin slaps against skin, loud and rhythmic, mingling with my moans and his grunts. "Feel me? Only your pussy does this to me," he grunts, one hand coming down on my ass in a sharp spank, the sting blooming into heat that radiates through me. He rubs the reddened flesh immediately after, fingers kneading as his pace stutters, emotion bleeding into the dominance. Another spank lands, harder, making my ass jiggle, then his palm soothes, the contrast driving me wild.

I claw at the cushions, fabric bunching under my nails, anger pouring out in broken pleas: "Harder, Cheol… prove it." The words carry everything—the demand for him to be mine, to commit. He slows then, grinding deep inside me, hips circling to drag his cock along every inch of my channel, the veined shaft rubbing my sensitive spots until I'm keening.

"I can't lose you," he confesses in a ragged whisper, voice cracking as he leans over me, chest pressing to my back. His hand snakes around, fingers finding my nipple and pinching it sharply, rolling the hard peak between thumb and forefinger until pain-pleasure shoots to my core. The admission hangs heavy—the deep feelings we circle, the dangers of his world, the future we both want but dread voicing.

It tips me over, orgasm ripping through me like fire, pussy spasming wildly around his cock, squeezing him in rhythmic pulses as I soak his length with fresh waves of cum. He thrusts once, twice more, then buries himself deep, groaning low as his balls draw up and he unloads—thick ropes of hot cum spurting into me, filling my pussy until it overflows, creamy trails leaking down my thighs.

We collapse in a tangle, his weight a comforting press as he stays inside me, softening slowly. Arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close, his lips brushing my neck in soft, lingering kisses. Fingers trace idle patterns over my sweat-damp skin, from hip to breast, grounding us in the afterglow.

In the heavy quiet, his breath fans my ear. "Miyane. I'm sorry, baby. I'll do better. Be better for you. I promise." No flowery words, just the raw truth easing the tension, binding us in the unspoken promise that this—us—is worth every shadowed risk.

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Rope to the Deep End

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader x Joshua

MFM | BDSM | reader!sub | bondage | NOT light smut | punishment | multiple orgasms | forced orgasms | cunnilingus | creampie | double penetration | crotch-rope | degradation

Ping.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table, screen lighting up with a text from Seungcheol.

Rooftop pool. Now. Don't make me wait, baby girl.

Intrigued, I closed my book and picked up my phone.

Shouldn’t you be filming?

The reply was instant.

We were filming—but you know I’m the best at leaving secretly 😉

I chuckled, he really didn’t care about screen time when given the chance to win over the others.

Be there in five.

I tossed my phone aside and slipped into a thin sundress, the fabric light against my skin as I hurried out.

I stepped onto the rooftop, the city stretched out beneath me, neon lights spilling across the infinity pool—and stopped.

Golden skin, all clean lines and muscle, catching the glow like it belonged to them. Water beaded along Seungcheol’s shoulders, sliding slowly down the broad span of his chest as if it didn’t want to let go. His hair was pushed back, damp, a few strands falling loose over his forehead. His eyes locked onto mine immediately—dark, steady, already amused—and his lips curved into that familiar, dangerous smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

He wasn’t alone.

Joshua, beside him, lean muscle stretched under sun-warmed skin, his shirt half-open like an afterthought, exposing just enough to make looking away impossible. His hair fell neatly, framing his face, and when he turned, his eyes caught the light—gentle, almost innocent—until his cupid bow lips parted into a slow, knowing smile that betrayed him completely.

Two completely different kinds of beautiful.

Both looking at me like I’d walked into something I wasn’t prepared for.

Joshua grinned wickedly, reminding me of our steamy late-night fuck right here in this pool. My legs wrapped tight around his waist, pussy clenching his thick cock as he pounded me deep, waves slapping our joined bodies, my moans echoing off the skyline.

“Shua told me this was a special place for you two,” Seungcheol drawls, no anger in his eyes, just that dominant leader's wicked grin, promising delicious trouble.

"Here I thought you were pining away for me while I was stuck in Japan," he teased, voice low and husky, stepping close enough for me to smell his cologne mixed with chlorine. "Couldn't wait for your oppa to get back, tiny dancer?"

Joshua chuckled from behind. "Sorry, hyung. She was so lonely... Had I known she didn’t tell you I would’ve snapped a pic of me balls-deep in that greedy pussy for you to jerk off to on the flight."

“Cheol-ah that’s not what happened, I—”

“Shh,” Seungcheol's hands were on me before I could blink, yanking the sundress straps down my shoulders. “We’re not here for a recap, Shua and I agreed that it’s only fair that we get to punish you together.”

“Punish? What? But I didn’t even do anything—”

Seungcheol’s lips crashed down on mine, teeth nipping my bottom lip hard enough to draw a gasp. His tongue thrust inside, dominating my mouth, swirling against mine in a rough, claiming kiss. He sucked on my tongue, biting again before pulling back just to dive in deeper, saliva mixing as he devoured me, one hand fisting my hair to tilt my head for better access while the other groped my tit through the thin fabric.

He broke the kiss with a wet pop, smirking at my swollen lips. Then his fingers hooked the dress's neckline, ripping it down in one swift yank. The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me bare under the stars—toned dancer's legs trembling, perky tits heaving with each breath, smooth shaved mound already glistening with arousal.

Seungcheol spun me slow, his rough palms tracing my curves from shoulders to hips, thumbs digging into my waist before sliding up to pinch my nipples into hard peaks. He twisted them sharply, making me yelp as jolts shot straight to my clit, while Joshua watched from the side, palming his growing bulge through his swim trunks.

"Dirty girl," Seungcheol growled, eyes dark with lust. "Time for punishment. You don't fuck my brothers without sharing."

Joshua helped uncoil the long, thick braided hemp rope—at least 20 yards of rough torment snaking across the deck, stretched taut between reinforced posts near the infinity edge, waist-high and menacing.

Naked now, my body on full display, Seungcheol hoisted me up like his favorite fucktoy. He threw my right leg over the rope, the coarse braid nestling right into my slit at waist height, then lowered me slow.

“Ahh—”

It bit immediately—rough fibers scraping my outer lips apart, pressing cold and unyielding against my clit. I rose on tiptoes, back arching against a lounge chair for leverage, whimpering as the pressure split me open, hemp grinding my sensitive folds.

Snap.

Joshua's phone flashed, capturing my humiliation, the screen lighting up my flushed face and spread pussy lips hugging the invading rope.

"Look at her, hyung," Joshua said, eyes hungry. "Already dripping for her punishment."

Seungcheol reached down, tugging my pussy lips wide, forcing the rope deeper between them. The braid's ridges ground directly on my swollen clit, sparks shooting through my core. I squirmed, hips twitching involuntarily, and he cracked his palm across my ass—sharp sting making my cheeks jiggle red.

"Hold still," he commanded, grinning. "I know you love your pussy played with, but no humping the rope like a desperate slut."

I clenched my teeth, staring ahead as Seungcheol finished adjusting the rope, his fingers pinching my inner pussy lips wide around the thick hemp braid for maximum friction, exposing my throbbing clit fully.

He pulled a tube of lube from his pocket, squeezing a fat glob onto his palm before smearing it thick over my spread pussy and puckered asshole. The cool gel slicked my tight rear hole, dripping down my crack to mix with my leaking juices, making my entire crotch glisten obscenely under the lights. He slathered the first few inches of rope too, strands shining wet and slick, ready to glide deep and grind.

My wrists were locked behind my back now, bound tight with a spare length of rope that bit into my skin.

“Your punishment is to walk the whole length. Get to the end and we’ll stuff your holes full as a reward,” Seungcheol ordered, his voice rough with hunger.

Shivering in the night chill, I tiptoed forward over the first knot—a gumball-sized bulge, slick and unyielding. It nudged my pussy first, cold pressure forcing the lube deeper as it then pressed against my clit, making me gasp and clench.

“We didn’t say you could stop,” Joshua murmurs, sliding two fingers down my ass, breaching my asshole and pushing me forward.

“Shua-sir—ahh—” the knot dragged up, splitting my pussy lips apart, rubbing straight into my quivering entrance.

I rocked my hips forward, bearing down hard, and with a lewd pop, the knot sank balls-deep into my cunt, stretching my walls around its girth. The rope framed it tight from both sides—fuck, the fullness hammered my g-spot relentlessly, knot lodging firm as I gasped, thighs quaking violently. Fresh slick gushed out around it, soaking more hemp, my clit dragging raw fire over the rough braid below with every tremor.

Seungcheol's rough hands slid up my sides, capturing my tits and rolling my nipples between his thumbs and fingers until they stood out like hard little bullets, aching and hypersensitive.

"That's it, hump that knot deeper into your greedy pussy," he praised darkly, freeing his massive cock from his trunks and stroking the veiny shaft slow, pre-cum beading at the tip.

He slapped my tits hard—smack, smack—the impacts making my flesh jiggle and nipples peak even harder under the burning sting, jolts shooting straight to my stuffed cunt.

Joshua yanked his two fingers free from where they'd been knuckle-deep in my ass, stretching my rim wide before smacking my cheek hard enough to leave a handprint and jolt the knot in my pussy. "Keep walking," he growled, his own cock tenting his shorts obscenely.

The second knot loomed next—a walnut-sized beast, slick with lube and my pussy drool. It prodded my asshole this time, forcing past the tight ring with a brutal stretch that burned sweet, embedding deep in my rear while the braid sawed my clit raw.

Fuck. It feels so good.

I moaned brokenly, ass clenching around the intruder as it popped free on the next step, only for the third—an egg-sized monster—to split my pussy lips wide and vanish inside with a wet squelch. The savage stretch made my walls spasm, rope hugging it vise-tight from outside, mashing my clit against the grinding ridges below. I paused. Every coarse fiber raked fire through my core, knots alternating between my pussy and ass, popping in and out with obscene suction sounds. Pressure built as I humped the knot like a cock-hungry harlot. Building. Higher.

“AAAHHH! OH MY GOD! FUCK!” I screamed as a sudden stream of icy water blasted my chest—Joshua wielding the hose like a weapon, the high-pressure spray slamming my tits, “keep walking, or we’ll be forced to cool you down”.

I shrieked again, the freezing shock stinging my skin red, nipples tightening to agonizing points that throbbed in rhythm with my stuffed holes. My knees buckled, body tilting sideways onto the slick deck, but Seungcheol hauled me upright by my bound arms, muscles bulging.

"Legs wider, slut," he commanded, prying my thighs apart until my soft pink folds gaped on full display, knots visibly bulging my lower belly. "I want to see sloppy pussy."

Swallowing my broken whimpers, I forced my thighs to spread obscenely wide despite the rope's tension biting into my skin, splaying my legs until my dripping pussy gaped fully exposed, inner lips puffy and stretched around the embedded knots that bulged visibly against my lower belly.

My invaded asshole winked desperately below, lube and pussy cream oozing from both wrecked holes in thick rivulets, the coarse braid framing my throbbing clit like a target painted for torment. Every inch of my crotch shone slick and vulnerable under the pool lights, juices pattering onto the deck.

Joshua's eyes darkened with wicked glee as he gripped the hose nozzle tighter, aiming the high-pressure jet dead-center on my unprotected clit. The icy blast hit like a whipcrack—relentless cold water pounding my swollen nub with brutal force, slamming it back and forth in vibrating agony.

I squealed high and shrill, hips bucking wildly against the assault, my body jerking like a live wire. Pleasure warped into searing dark torment, the freezing pressure swelling my clit fatter and redder, nerves screaming as it ballooned to twice its size under the merciless spray. Desperate for any relief, I angled my pelvis forward, grinding my engorged clit directly into the punishing torrent, hissing through clenched teeth while gasping sobs tore from my throat.

The sting exploded into raw electric ecstasy, shockwaves ripping through my core—my pussy clamped vise-tight around the buried knots, walls rippling and milking the intruders with frantic spasms. Hot ass and cunt squirts erupted in messy geysers, splattering my inner thighs and the deck in puddles of my shameful release, the water mixing with my fluids to create frothy white foam that dripped obscenely.

"That’s it, cum for us, shake that ass," Joshua laughed, sweeping the jet lower to blast my stuffed pussy lips, forcing the knots deeper with hydraulic pressure before snapping back to hammer my nub again.

Seungcheol gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Breaks over. Keep walking—show us how much you want that reward."

Step by excruciating step, I shuffled forward, the rope sawing relentlessly between my legs.

Snap, snap.

Phones flashed from both sides now, capturing my degradation—the way my toned thighs quivered, perky tits bouncing with each step, shaved mound glistening under the city lights.

The next knot followed, smaller but knobbier, raking my inner walls as it sank in, pulling slick strings from my hole when it popped out. Hemp scraped relentlessly below, clit mashed and sparking, pleasure-pain coiling tight in my belly.

I kept going, reminding myself not to linger. The next knot—a fist-sized brute—prodded my asshole first, the hose-amplified pressure shoving it past my spasming rim with a brutal pop, stretching my bowels around its girth while the braid raked my clit raw.

“Mmmmnghh—” I cried out, ass clenching greedily as it dragged free on the forward lurch, only for the following one to spear my pussy, splitting my folds wide and burying deep with a wet squelch that echoed off the pool tiles.

Joshua cranked the hose again— his obsession with water obvious both on screen and off.

Icy spray hit my chest first—splat—freezing water beading on my hard nipples, running rivulets down my stomach.

I yelped, faltering, but Seungcheol's hand cracked my ass. "Legs wider, tiny dancer. Arch that back."

Obeying, I spread obscenely, pussy lips hugging the rope like a vice. The jet zeroed on my clit now, pounding the sensitive nub through the braid. Sting exploded—sharp, unrelenting—then twisted to molten bliss.

I rocked involuntarily, humping the knots harder, the egg-sized monster splitting me wide with a filthy squelch. It burrowed deep, stretching my channel taut, ridges grinding my g-spot until stars burst behind my eyes. Cum-like slick poured down the rope, pooling on the deck.

Each knot thrust in and out with obscene suction—schlurp, pop—pounding my g-spot and prostate-mimicking depths, the grind amplifying until my pussy and ass burned raw, oversensitive walls fluttering on the razor's edge of madness. Juices squirted with every step, my body a trembling mess of forced orgasms, clit so hyperswollen it felt like it might burst.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, the end—rope slick with my juices, knots glistening. I collapsed forward, panting hard.

Seungcheol smirked down at me, stroking his semi-hard cock. "Good girl. Time for your reward. Want to earn it?"

"Yes! Oppa, please… fuck me!" I begged, voice hoarse and cracking.

Joshua stepped closer, fingers hooking into the rope at my wrists, tugging until I squealed. The burn of the fibers ground into my skin.

"I need your fat cocks slamming my pussy and ass, stretching me until I break—fill me with cum, breed my holes! Use me, please!!"

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened, he loved making me beg. “Good girl.”

He scooped me off the rope like a limp fuckdoll, strong arms carrying me to the pool's edge. They dumped me back on the lounge chair, knees wrenched wide and ankles hooked over the arms to splay my wrecked holes open.

I looked down: my pussy spread wide, dripping, swollen lips glistening with mixed fluids. Joshua's fingers traced along the slit before he dove in.

Together, they descended between my legs— Joshua dove first, tongue flat and broad, lapping from my asshole to clit in long, hungry strokes. Seungcheol joined, sucking my outer lips into his mouth, teeth grazing the hemp-burned skin.

Their mouths worked in tandem—Joshua's fingers plunging into my pussy, two thick digits curling up to hook that hidden spot inside. Seungcheol's hot tongue lapping flat up my dripping slit from asshole to clit, slurping my mixed lube and cum greedily. Joshua latched onto my pulsing clit, sucking it hard between his lips while plunging three thick fingers deep into my pussy, curling to batter my g-spot. I exploded, cumming in one long burst of orgasm, my tits shaking as I bounced on the chair.

"Enough! Please!" I gasped.

But they didn’t stop. I looked down. Seeing their heads bobbing between my thighs was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.

My sensitive pussy screamed as Seungcheol dragged his tongue one more time over my clit, like he was speaking prayers to my flesh. "You taste too fucking good. I could eat you out all day."

Joshua’s fingers curled just right, he hit it—the spot. My entire body seized, shaking in pure, shattering ecstasy.

"MMMFFFFF!!" I screamed, hips bucking wild. Joshua owned my G-spot effortlessly, stroking relentless, tongue flicking my clit while Seungcheol's mouth latched onto my asshole, rimming the puckered ring with wet suction.

They traded—Seungcheol's turn inside, three fingers now, scissoring my walls while Joshua sucked my clit like a vacuum, teeth nipping the hood. Pressure built insane, g-spot swelling under their assault, juices squirting in arcs onto their faces — forcing another orgasm out of my sopping pussy.

I was helpless, convulsing, jerking against their faces, moans breaking free from my lips as I came undone. Seungcheol shoved his tongue into my ass alongside a probing finger, while Joshua vacuumed my clit until stars burst behind my eyes. My hips arched up higher, forcing the tongue deeper, leaving me thrashing and sobbing, hips humping empty air.

“Please, oppa-deul —enough! Fuck me! Stretch my holes!"

Their mouths left my abused cunt with a wet, sucking pop, leaving me gasping, thighs quivering wide open. Seungcheol stood, wiping his slick chin with the back of his hand, his gaze dragging over my spread body like a brand, towering over me, cock jutting hard and wet at the tip from precum.

Joshua grinned, dipping back in to flick my clit once more before pulling away. "Little slut wants cocks pounding her holes until she squirts all over the deck."

Seungcheol stood, waving his throbbing length in front of my face. "Do you want this cock?"

"Mmmmmm, hmmmmm!"

"Inside that tight pussy?"

"Yes, oppa—fuck!"

"Show me. Give a little sexy dance. Make it nice and hard again." He gripped his semi-hard cock, stroking lazily.

Tied up, what could I do? Feet shoulder-width, I rolled my hips in slow circles, sensitive pussy still throbbing from the rope.

"Shake those tits!"

I leaned back, jiggling my C-cups, nipples bouncing with each motion.

"Good. Hips side to side!"

"Mmmmmmmm!" I obeyed, grinding air, my ass swaying.

"Turn around. Shake that ass."

"Yes, oppa!" I bent over, cheeks spread in his reach, presenting my hole.

"Mmmmm, good girl. You want this cock, don't you?"

"Oppa, please!"

"Tell me you want this cock!"

"I want your cock, oppa! Please, fuck me!"

"Such a desperate little whore," Seungcheol murmured, fisting his shaft, stroking slow. "You want both holes filled at once?"

I nodded frantically, drool pooling at the corner of my mouth. "Yes, Oppa—please, split me open. I can take it."

Joshua moved behind the lounge chair, positioning himself at my head. He gripped my hair, yanking my face up toward his cock. "Then open that throat first. Show us you're worth breeding."

I opened wide, tongue flat, and he fed the thick head past my lips without warning. The salt of his precum coated my tongue as he thrust shallow, letting me adjust. Seungcheol stepped between my thighs, gripping my hips and dragging my ass to the edge of the chair. The cool air hit my soaked pussy, and I felt the blunt pressure of his glans nudging my swollen lips.

"Look at me," he ordered. I tried, but Joshua's cock filled my vision, my gag reflex straining as he pushed deeper. Seungcheol drove forward in one smooth, brutal stroke—burying his entire length inside my pussy. A muffled scream escaped around Joshua's shaft as my walls convulsed, clamping down on the sudden fullness.

"Yes—fuck, yes," Seungcheol groaned, planting his hands on my thighs and pulling back until only the tip remained. He slammed in again, harder this time, the sound of wet flesh slapping flesh echoing off the pool tiles. Joshua matched his rhythm, fucking my throat with deep, measured pumps, his balls slapping my chin.

I was nothing but a hinge, a socket, a wet cunt and a hollow throat—used in tandem, stretched and filled and owned. Seungcheol reached around to pinch my clit between thumb and forefinger, rolling the hypersensitive nub roughly as he pistoned into me. My pussy gushed, juices squirting around his cock with every inward thrust, soaking his groin and the chair beneath me.

"Fuck, your cunt's strangling me," he hissed, speeding up. "Shua, switch—I want her tight ass while you stuff her pussy."

Joshua pulled out of my mouth with a wet pop, strands of saliva connecting us. He circled to my front while Seungcheol withdrew from my pussy, leaving it gaping and dripping. I barely had time to pant before Seungcheol flipped me onto my stomach, yanking my bound wrists up to arch my back. My face pressed into the lounge chair's cushion, ass presented high.

Seungcheol's strong hands gripped my pale, firm ass cheeks. He squeezed hard, kneading the globes, then yanked them apart wide. Cool night air rushed over my untouched asshole and dripping pussy, making both holes clench. For a full minute, maybe two, he held me splayed like that—staring down at my pink, winking entrances.

Joshua lined his cock at my pussy's entrance, slathered in my own cream, and pushed in without resistance. I moaned into the fabric as he seated himself balls-deep, grinding his pelvis against my clit. At the same moment, Seungcheol's slicked cockhead pressed against my tight asshole, circling, teasing, before he shoved past the ring of muscle with a wet groan.

I screamed—a raw, broken sound—as both holes were stuffed simultaneously. The sensation of being double-penetrated, walls squeezed together by the thickness separating them, sent my mind spiraling into a fog of pure pain and pleasure.

They set a punishing pace, thrusting in counterpoint: one driving in while the other pulled out, a relentless seesaw that stretched my innards beyond any limit I'd known.

"That's it—take all of us," Joshua grunted, gripping my hips tight enough to bruise. "You're nothing but a cumdump for us."

Seungcheol leaned over my back, his chest slick with sweat, lips brushing my ear. "We're going to fill your holes until you're leaking for days."

"Fuuuck, big cocks—ruining me!" I wailed, body jolting between them, tits slapping with each dual thrust. Their balls smacked my skin wetly, holes gaping around their pistoning lengths.

Seungcheol’s hand snaked around to pinch my clit again, hard, rubbing in tight circles. My body betrayed me—another orgasm building, violent and unstoppable. I bucked against them, trying to escape and push into it at the same time, my cries muffled by the cushion.

"Please—please, I'm gonna—"

"Cum," Seungcheol commanded, biting my earlobe. "Cum on our cocks like the dirty whore you are."

I shattered. The orgasm ripped through me, a convulsive wave that clamped my pussy and ass in rhythmic, vice-like spasms. Joshua groaned as my walls milked him, and Seungcheol rammed deeper into my ass, his hips stuttering.

"Fuuucckk!!" Seungcheol grunted first, cock swelling as the initial rope of thick cum blasted my bowels, coating my walls hot and sticky.

Joshua followed seconds later, roaring as he unloaded in my cunt, painting my cervix with thick, heavy spurts. They kept thrusting through it, churning cum into froth, until I lay wrecked, holes leaking their loads into the lounge chair.

They stayed buried inside, grinding through the aftershocks, my breath coming in ragged sobs. Finally, they pulled out in tandem, leaving my holes gaping, mixed cum dripping down my thighs to pool on the lounge chair. Seungcheol ran a finger through the mess, collecting a glob and smearing it over my swollen clit.

"Clean it up," he said, offering his fingers to my mouth.

I licked them obediently, tasting the salty, musky cocktail of our combined release, knowing this was only the beginning.

“Good girl.”

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Sit Down, Leader

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | cowgirl | striptease | roles-reversed | cum in pussy | creampie

“Cheol-ah, why haven’t you answered my messages,” the click of your heels echoes through the quiet apartment. “Jeonghan oppa said you left practice early. Something about—”

You stop dead.

He’s on the couch, shirtless, one arm pressed against his ribs, a bag of frozen peas balanced precariously on his lap. And God, even injured, he’s a sight that makes your breath catch. His chest is a map of hard lines—broad pectorals that curve into firm definition, a dusting of dark hair trailing down the center of his abdomen, where each muscle is cut sharply, like a sculptor took extra care with the ridges of his six-pack. His shoulders are wide, the deltoids round and powerful, and the veins running along his biceps catch the dim light as he shifts.

The bruise spreading across his side is fresh—purple and angry, the kind that comes from a bad sparring session.

“Oh my god,” you drop your bag by the door and cross the room, your fingers already reaching for the cold pack. "What the—”

"I'm fine, just sparred a little too hard with Mingyu." He tries to wave you off, but the movement makes him wince. The frozen peas slide, and he catches them with a grunt.

You take the bag from his hand and toss it onto the coffee table. "You don’t look fine!" Your voice softens as you crouch beside him, your hand hovering over the bruise like you could will the pain away. “Also, peas? Really?”

"Work with what you've got." He leans back, watching you with that hooded gaze that always makes your stomach tighten. Even injured, even in pain, he's still trying to look like he's in control.

You go to the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer until you find a proper ice pack, then grab a roll of elastic bandage from the drawer. When you come back, you kneel beside him, and the proximity makes the air thick. His skin is warm, almost hot, even before you touch him.

"Lift your arm."

He does, but slowly, deliberately, letting the movement stretch the muscles in his bicep and shoulder. The bruise is a deep, angry purple now, spreading from his ribs down toward his hip. You press the ice pack against it, and he hisses through his teeth, jerking away instinctively.

"Hold still."

"It's cold."

"It's supposed to be cold." You wrap the bandage around his torso, your fingers brushing the heated skin of his side. He shivers—not from the cold, you know that. But he doesn't stop moving. He shifts his hips, trying to adjust the angle, and the bandage slips. You tighten it, but he tries to sit up, leaning forward to get a better look at what you're doing.

"Cheol-ah. Stop moving."

"Sorry, sorry—" He tries again, and this time you lose patience. You press your palm flat against his sternum, right over his heart, and shove him back down. The sudden pressure makes him gasp—a sharp, involuntary sound, and his eyes squeeze shut as the pain lances through him.

There it is. The flash of pain he can't hide, no matter how tough he acts. You feel his heart thudding under your hand—strong, steady, stubborn as hell.

"Stop moving," you order, your voice low and firm. Not a suggestion. A command.

He opens his eyes, and despite the wince still curling the corner of his mouth, that smirk is back. "What's in it for me?"

God, he's stubborn. Stubborn AND a control freak.

You shake your head, but a smile tugs at your lips as an idea forms. "Be a good boy and I'll reward you. For a change."

The smirk falters for just a second—replaced by something hungrier, something that tells you he's already thinking about what that reward might be. But he doesn't say anything. He just lies still, lets you finish wrapping the bandage, lets your fingers linger a little longer than necessary over his skin.

When you're done, you don't pull away. Instead, you slide your hand down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, until your fingertips brush the waistband of his joggers. The fabric is thin, and you can feel the heat of him, the outline of his cock already half-hard.

"See?" you murmur, leaning in until your lips are almost touching his ear. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He turns his head, his mouth so close to yours you can feel the warmth of his breath. "Something’s definitely hard. You gonna make it worth my while?"

"Maybe." You pull back, standing up slowly, letting your dress ride up just enough to show a flash of thigh. He follows the movement with his eyes, tracking every inch of you as you step back, then turn, giving him a slow, deliberate view of your curves.

"Don't move," you say, and this time it's not about the injury.

He stays.

You let the silence stretch as you walk to the center of the room, where the soft lamplight catches the sheen of your skin. You can feel his gaze on you, heavy and expectant. Slowly, you reach behind your neck, finding the zipper of your dress, and pull it down inch by inch. The fabric loosens around your shoulders, and you let it slide down your arms, baring your collarbones, the swell of your breasts held in a simple lace bra.

You shrug the dress off entirely, letting it pool at your feet. His breath hitches, just barely, but you hear it. You step out of the dress, kicking it aside, and turn to face him fully. His eyes are dark, fixed on the curve of your hips, the way the lace of your panties sits low on your waist.

"Like what you see?" you ask, your voice teasing, soft.

"Always," he says, his voice rough.

You reach behind your back, unclasp your bra, and let the straps slide down your shoulders. The fabric falls, and your breasts are freed—full, heavy, your nipples already tight from the cool air and from the weight of his gaze. He's watching you like a man starved, his eyes tracking every movement, every shadow and curve.

“Fuck, come here, jagiya.” he groans, wincing as he shifts, trying to sit up straighter, and you shake your head.

Ever so slowly, you hook your thumbs into the sides of your panties and push them down your hips, slow and deliberate. The black lace drags over the swell of your ass, down the tops of your thighs, and you step out of them one leg at a time, bending forward just enough to give him a full, unobstructed view of your pussy. It's already slick, glistening under the dim light, your lips parted and pink. You see his jaw tighten, the muscles in his neck straining. His hands clench the couch cushions so hard his knuckles go white.

"You're cheating," he mutters.

"Am I?" You walk back to him, crawling onto the couch, straddling his thighs but not touching his cock yet. The joggers are tented, straining against his need. You lean over him, your hair brushing his chest, your lips hovering just above his.

"No moving," you whisper. "I’ll do all the work tonight."

You press a soft kiss to his jaw, then trail your lips down the column of his neck, over his collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin. Your hand drifts down his stomach, over the fabric of his joggers, and you palm his cock through the material. He's thick, hot, already leaking, the damp spot spreading. You wrap your fingers around the shape of him and stroke slowly, from base to tip, feeling the head press against your palm.

“Fuuuck,” he hisses.

He's thick, hot, leaking already. You stroke him slowly, from base to tip, spreading the slick moisture over the head.

Seungcheol groans, his hips trying to buck into your fist. You tighten your grip, just enough to still him.

"Ah-ah. You said you'd stay still."

"You're killing me."

"Good." You smile against his skin. "That's the point."

You shift your weight, lifting your hips, positioning yourself over him, through his joggers. You rock your hips, feeling his hard length even through the fabric, letting it slide between your slick folds, brushing against your clit, making you gasp softly.

"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, your voice a silken whisper.

His jaw tightens. "You know it is."

"Then ask nicely."

He doesn't beg. Scoups never begs. But this is Seungcheol tonight, not Scoups . He looks up at you, and something in his eyes softens—a flicker of surrender. "Please," he says, the word rough, almost torn from him.

But you hold back. You lean in, letting your breasts brush against his chest, your nipples hard peaks grazing his skin. He shudders, a low groan escaping his throat. You kiss him finally—hard, deep, tongue sliding against his, tasting the faint copper of blood from where he bit his lip earlier. He tries to deepen the kiss, to take control, but you pull back, shaking your head.

"You don't get to rush this."

He exhales, a frustrated sound. "You're a fucking tease."

"I'm your fucking tease."

You reach down, your fingers finding the waistband of his joggers. You pull them down just enough to free his cock—thick, hard, the tip already glistening with a bead of pre-cum. You wrap your fingers around the base, and he hisses, his hips twitching.

You don't let him inside. Not yet. You stroke him slowly, deliberately, your thumb circling the head, spreading the slick moisture. He groans, his head falling back against the couch, his hands gripping the cushions, hips bucking instinctively before a sharp inhale of pain freezes him.

"Look at me, Cheol," you command. He does, his eyes dark and hungry. "You're going to lie here and let me ride you. You're not going to touch me. You're not going to thrust. You're going to take what I give you. Understand?"

He growls, low and frustrated. "You're going to fucking kill me."

You repeat the motion, sliding just to the tip, then lifting off. His cock twitches, desperate for more. You do it again, and again, each time denying him the full depth he craves. The muscles in his thighs quiver, his hands fisting in the cushions. Sweat beads across his brow.

"Yes." The word comes out rough, grated. With his body wrecked and your cunt so close, he groans, “Yea. Ok. I understand.”

“Good boy,” you reward him by positioning yourself over his cock, align the head with your dripping pussy, and sink down in one slow, deliberate motion. The stretch is exquisite, the way his girth fills you, pushes against your walls. You keep going until he's buried completely, his pelvis pressed flush against yours.

And you stop.

You pause, letting him feel the tight grip of your walls, the heat of you wrapped around him.

Cheol’s chest is heaving, his pulse visible in the vein on his neck. His hands are still clenching the cushions, knuckles white.

"Tiny dancer, if you don't start moving— FUUCKK—"

He groans, his eyes fluttering shut, his jaw slack as you begin to ride him. Slow, deep, controlled. Your hips roll, your hands planted on his broad shoulders for leverage. The friction is perfect, the angle hitting deep, hitting that spot that makes your own breath catch. He watches you, his eyes roaming from your face to your breasts bouncing with each movement, down to where your bodies join.

He tries to lift his hips once, to meet your thrusts, but you press down harder, forcing him still. "I said don't move."

"Fuck—" He grits his teeth, but he obeys, letting you take what you want.

You speed up, the rhythm becoming frantic. Your pussy clenches around him, and you can feel the slick wetness spreading down his shaft. The sound of your bodies slapping together fills the room, obscene and wet. You lean forward, your mouth at his ear, your breath hot.

"You feel so fucking good," you whisper, biting his earlobe. "Your cock is stretching me so perfectly. I'm going to come on it—I'm going to soak you."

His groan is guttural, almost feral—like he's losing his goddamn mind. His hands fly to your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise, but he doesn't thrust—just holds on, letting you take what you need. You ride him harder, faster, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal stroke. You angle your hips, grinding down, and the thick ridge of his cockhead drags against that spongy, swollen spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

"Cheol—yes—right there—"

His hands grip your hips, lifting you up until just the fat tip of his cock remains wedged inside your pussy lips, then he lets go, gravity slamming you back down, impaling you to the hilt in one savage motion. The wet, filthy slap of skin against skin echoes off the walls, mixing with your desperate, whining moans. "Ahhhh fuck—oppa—so fucking deep—"

You slide your hands up his chest, nails raking bloody lines through the sweat-slick hair, then cup his jaw and pull him into a kiss—messy, open-mouthed, tongues tangling and tasting salt and sex and the lingering bitterness of your own arousal. Your hips keep moving, a lazy, grinding rock now that the first wave has passed, letting his cock slide through your soaked folds with every obscene, deliberate roll.

He groans into your mouth, then breaks away to suck your lower lip hard, teeth grazing until you taste copper. "Your pussy is so fucking tight—strangling my cock like a fist. Fuck. You're actually going to fucking kill me."

You grin, slowing to a deliberate, grinding circle, your swollen clit pressing against his pubic bone, rubbing slick and raw. "But what a way to go, huh?"

His hands find your tits—palming, squeezing rough, thumbs flicking over your hard, hypersensitive nipples. You arch into his touch, a shameless moan escaping.

"Suck them," you demand, and he doesn't hesitate. He leans up, capturing one nipple between his lips, tongue flicking hard, then pulling deep into the hot cavern of his mouth. The sensation shoots straight to your cunt, and you gasp, your rhythm faltering as your pussy clenches around him.

"Yes—Cheol—ahhh—just like that—" You cradle his head, fingers knotted in his hair as he switches to the other breast, teeth grazing harder, sucking until your nipple pebbles raw and aching between his lips. Your tits bounce in his face with every grinding roll of your hips, the heavy, full curves swinging forward, slapping against his chin and cheeks. He groans against your skin, the vibration making you shudder.

He lifts you up, sliding almost completely out of you, leaving just the angry, glistening tip of his cock teasing your soaked, gaping pussy lips.

 Slam.

Balls deep. Your body jolts, your tits bouncing wildly, a wet, obscene sound as you take him to the root.

 “Fuuuck, Cheol-ahhh…”

 Up. He holds you suspended, your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate.

 “Tell me you want my cum.” His voice is a low, hoarse growl, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown.

Slam. 

“Arghhh… I need you to fill me up.” You grind down on him, panting, nails digging into his shoulders.  “I want cum dripping out of my cunt for days. I want to feel it leaking down my thighs. Fucking give it to me, oppa—ahh”

You cradle his head, fingers knotted in his hair for dear life as he switches to the other breast, teeth grazing, sucking harder until your nipple pebbles raw between his lips. His hips buck underneath you, driving his cock deeper with every shallow thrust, and you feel him—thick and relentless, splitting you open.

Up. The cool air hits your soaked pussy lips.

Slam. Your tits bounce hard, slapping against his face, his mouth, his tongue lashing out to catch a nipple as it swings past.

"That's it, baby—squirt on my cock. Let go.”

Up.

“I want to feel your dirty cunt come undone around me."

Slam.

“ARGHHHH—” Your orgasm hits like a wave—sharp, blinding, electric. Your thighs clamp around him, your pussy walls convulse wildly around him, milking his length in violent, rhythmic spasms, and that sensation—your cunt squeezing and fluttering, strangling his cock—triggers his own release. He roars, low and broken, as his cock twitches and the first hot flood of cum pulses deep inside you. Then another, and another, each one deeper, heavier, filling you.

You feel it coat your insides, a thick, scalding wetness spreading, pooling, leaking around the seal of his shaft as he keeps fucking into you, grinding, riding out every last drop until his cum dribbles out of your pussy and runs down his balls.

“Fuck—take it—take all of it—”

You collapse forward, catching yourself on his shoulders, your forehead pressed to his. Both of you are panting, slick with sweat, your bodies glued together with the sticky mess of your combined release. His hands slide up your back, pulling you close, and he presses a kiss to your temple—soft, tender, despite the raw, filthy violence of the sex. But his cock is still buried inside you, still twitching, and you can feel his cum leaking out.

"Fuck, tiny dancer" he breathes. "I think I like you in charge."

You laugh breathlessly, still clenching around him. "Don't get used to it."

He huffs a laugh too, but it turns into a wince as the movement tugs at his bruised ribs. "Give me a few days to heal. Then I'm putting you on your back."

You smile and roll your hips, just a little, feeling his half-hard cock shift inside you. "Looking forward to it."

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Returned and Ready

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

Mingyu x reader

MFM | bdsm | dom-sub dynamic | edging | orgasm denial | obedience | mild degradation | light bondage | fingered | multiple orgasms | double penetration | deep throat | multiple creampie | cum on tits | cum in pussy | cum in ass

'Have you been a good girl since I've been away?' Seungcheol whispers, his hot breath ghosting over my skin as his tongue trails slowly down the shell of my ear, sending a shiver racing down my spine. My body reacts instantly, nipples hardening against the thin fabric of my blouse, a familiar ache building between my thighs.

I’m clinging to him like a lifeline, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist, ankles locked behind his back, while my arms loop around his neck, fingers digging into the soft strands of his hair. The moment he stepped through the front door of his cozy, dimly lit home, I’d launched myself at him like a spider monkey in heat. A week in Japan felt like an eternity without his commanding presence, his touch, his control. The air still carries the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the airport’s sterile tang, and my heart pounds wildly against his chest.

His large hands cup my ass firmly, squeezing the flesh through my thin skirt, kneading it possessively. A light slap lands on one cheek, the sting sharp and teasing, making my pussy clench in anticipation. “Answer me, tiny dancer,” he growls, his voice low and authoritative, vibrating through me.

I nod frantically, my face buried in the crook of his neck. He slaps my ass lightly, the sharp sting blooming into heat that makes me gasp and squirm against him.

'Yes, oppa, I've been so good, missing you,' I murmur, my voice breathy with need, my pussy already clenching at the sound of his dominance.

'Oh, were you? How many times did you cum when I was away?' His tone turns teasing, but there's an edge to it that makes my stomach twist in delicious apprehension. His eyes darken with that predatory gleam, one hand sliding up to grip my throat gently, tilting my head back to meet his gaze.

I blush furiously, heat flooding my cheeks as I remember the lonely nights, sheets tangled around me while I touched myself to thoughts of him. 'Everyday…' I admit softly, biting my lip.

'But oppa, you didn't say I couldn't—' Another slap, harder this time, jolts me, the smack echoing in the quiet entryway. Pain blooms across my ass, mixing with arousal, my clit throbbing.

“Naughty girl. You should’ve known better,” he says, his smirk wicked as he knows damn well we sexted that first night, his commands fueling my desperation.

'Guess I'll just have to check myself,' he smirks, his dark eyes gleaming with wicked intent as he lowers me to my feet on the cool foyer floor. The tiles are chilled against my heels, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body.

He steps back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his dark eyes raking over me like he owns every inch—which he does. 'Present yourself for inspection.'

My pulse hammers in my ears, a mix of embarrassment and arousal flooding me as I stand before him in the entryway. The air smells faintly of the vanilla candle I lit earlier, now flickering on a nearby console table laden with crystal decanters. Cheol leans against the heavy oak door, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching me with that predatory gaze that makes me feel exposed already.

'Show me your pussy,' he commands, his voice a gravelly rumble that sends fresh shivers through me.

 “Yes, sir.” Slowly, as per his unspoken command, I reach for the zipper of my short black skirt, the fabric soft and clingy against my thighs.

'No, leave it on,' he snaps, and I freeze, a humiliated thrill twisting in my gut. Oh. He wants me like this—teased, partially clothed, vulnerability heightened by the barriers he controls. I hike up my skirt slowly, the fabric whispering against my thighs as I bunch it at my waist and tuck the edge into the band, exposing my black lacy panties. The delicate material clings to my skin, already damp from my arousal, the intricate patterns doing little to hide the outline of my swollen lips.

'Show me your needy cunt,' he growls, stepping closer, his presence towering over me in the confined space of the foyer.

With shaking fingers, I hook them into the side of my panties and pull the fabric aside, baring my pussy to his scrutiny. My folds are slick and puffy, glistening under the soft light, the cool air hitting my wetness and making me whimper. He licks his lips slowly, eyes locked on my exposed sex, and I feel a rush of mental submission—I'm his to inspect, his property to verify.

'Good girl. Now spread those lips wide for me. Let me see everything.' His words make my face burn, but my body obeys, I part my thighs wider, the muscles in my legs quivering, feeling utterly vulnerable in the open foyer. My fingers part my slick folds to reveal the pink, throbbing entrance and the tight bud of my clit peeking out. The stretch feels obscene, air teasing my inner walls, my clit pulsing visibly under his stare. Inside, I'm drowning in the shame of being so openly displayed, my submission deepening as I hold the pose, my juices trickling down my thigh.

He circles me slowly, like a wolf assessing prey, his footsteps muffled on the rug. 'Turn around. Show me that ass too.' I pivot, bending slightly at the waist, skirt still hiked up, panties pulled to the side. 'Spread your cheeks. Wink for me, slut.'

Humiliation coils tight in my belly as I reach back, pulling my ass cheeks apart to expose my puckered hole. I clench and release it on command, the muscle fluttering under his gaze. The vulnerability is overwhelming—mentally, I feel utterly owned, reduced to an object for his pleasure; physically, my asshole twitches with exposure, a forbidden ache building there.

Cheol lifts a hand, crooking two fingers in a 'come here' motion. 'On your knees. Go on.'

I drop slowly, knees sinking into the soft rug, the fibers prickling my skin through my stockings. Hobbling forward on them feels degrading, each movement rubbing my thighs together and smearing my arousal. He doesn't move, making me close the distance until I'm at his feet, looking up at his smirking face.

'Fuck yourself onto my fingers like the slut you are.' He extends his hand, two thick digits poised at my entrance. I blush, manoeuvring around until I straddle his palm awkwardly, the position forcing my skirt higher, and sink down, impaling my pussy on his fingers. The stretch is immediate—his fingers are calloused, rough from his travels, sliding into my soaked heat with a wet squelch. 'Fuck yourself on them. Show me how desperate you were without me.'

I rock my hips, riding his hand slowly at first, the intrusion filling me partially, knuckles brushing my clit with each thrust. It’s intoxicating—the drag against my walls, the pressure building deep inside. I'm lost in submission, knowing he's inspecting every clench, every moan. He twists his fingers, probing deeper, checking my g-spot, then withdraws slickly to trace my asshole, circling the rim before pushing the tip of one finger in. I gasp at the burn, the dual invasion making my vision blur as I grind down harder, chasing the fullness.

'Enough, let me see those tits I own,' he orders, pulling his hand away abruptly, leaving me empty and whining.

My fingers fumble with the buttons, each one popping open revealing the swell of my breasts in a sheer black bra, nipples pebbled and straining against the lace. The air feels thicker now, charged with tension, my breaths coming in shallow pants. He steps forward, unhooking it with a flick, then yanks it away. 'Tits out. Present them.' I cup my breasts, lifting them for his view, thumbs circling the stiff peaks.

He inspects them closely, leaning in to suck one nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing the peak. Pleasure shoots straight to my core, my hips bucking involuntarily. He pinches one roughly, twisting until I yelp, the pain shooting straight to my core. 'These have been neglected, haven't they? Suck on them yourself while I watch.'

Obeying, I lean down, taking a nipple into my mouth, tongue swirling as he watches, his cock straining against his pants. The self-debasement makes me drip, mentally spiraling into deeper obedience.

Cheol’s fingers trace my slit without entering, collecting my slickness. “So wet already…” he murmurs as he slides two fingers into my pussy, the wet squelch loud in the quiet room, pumping slowly. The stretch feels good, but it’s not enough; I need his cock. My walls clench around my fingers, arousal building fast. He presses a thumb against my clit, rubbing in circles. “Don’t you dare come, tiny dancer. This is inspection, not playtime.”

But the pressure is too much—his touch, his voice, the exposure. The coil in my belly snaps without warning. My orgasm crashes over me without warning, pussy spasming around his fingers, juices squirting onto the floor, a cry escaping my lips as waves of pleasure crash over me.

Cheol yanks my hand away, his face stern. “Naughty, naughty girl. Cumming without permission during inspection?

He hauls me up by my arm, dragging me to the corner of the living room adjacent to the foyer—a cozy space with velvet armchairs, a roaring fireplace crackling warmly, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He strips me fully now, skirt and panties pooling at my feet, leaving me nude and shivering in the room's heated air. Grabbing silk ropes from a hidden drawer in the side table—soft but unyielding—he binds my wrists behind my back, then ties my ankles loosely enough to hobble. 'Nose to the corner. Stay there until your pussy learns that it only cums when I say so.'

I shuffle to the wall, nose pressing into the cool plaster, ass on display to the empty room. The ropes bite slightly into my skin, a constant reminder of my submission. I’m adrift in submission, yearning for forgiveness, my pussy is still twitching from the denied aftershocks. Minutes stretch, my ragged breaths the only sounds.

The doorbell chimes suddenly, a sharp ring echoing through the house. My heart lurches.

'Go answer that,' Cheol calls from the couch where he's lounging, sipping whiskey from a tumbler.

'What? No!' Panic surges—nude, bound, vulnerable.

'Did you just say no?' His voice is cold as ice.

Oh my god.

I hobble awkwardly to the door, ropes chafing my wrists, breasts bouncing with each awkward step across the cool tiles. The cool knob turns under my fingers, and I crack it open, peeking out.

Dark hair tousled, chiseled cheeks, towering over me at six-foot-something, his broad shoulders straining his shirt, cords of muscle visible even clothed— Mingyu. His eyes widen, then smirk, raking over my nude form.

I crack the door, hiding my body behind it as best I can, face flaming. 'Well, well, well,' Mingyu drawls, eyes raking over what he can see, voice deep and amused. 'Why is it whenever I do an impromptu visit to Coups hyung, I get such a nice surprise?'

I blush deeper, a flashback hitting me: the last time, down in our basement playroom, me bound and blindfolded, pussy exposed and dripping, Cheol and Mingyu’s hands and cocks stretching me, overwhelming me in a haze of pain and pleasure.

Cheol appears behind me, chuckling. 'Come in, Gyu. Our tiny dancer likes to cum without permission and needs a lesson in obedience. Join us?'

Mingyu steps inside, kicking the door shut, his gaze devouring my naked form as Cheol unties my ankles but leaves my wrists bound. 'Always, hyung. She looks ready. She's even prettier trussed up like this.' My nipples tighten further under his hot gaze.

They lead me to the living room, the fireplace casting flickering shadows over the scene. Cheol pushes me to my knees on the thick rug before the coffee table, ass up, face down. 'Spread for us, slut.' I part my thighs, exposing everything, the mental humiliation peaking as two pairs of eyes burn into me.

Mingyu kneels behind, his large hands gripping my hips, thumbs spreading my cheeks. 'Look at this pretty little holes, all pink and ready.' He spits on my asshole, the warm saliva trickling down before his finger pushes in, thick and insistent, stretching the ring. I moan, the burn mixing with pleasure as he pumps slowly, adding a second finger to scissor me open. I groan, it's intense—the fullness, the prostate-like pressure making my clit pulse.

Cheol unzips, his hard cock springing free, veined and thick. He grabs my hair, yanking my head up. 'Open wide.' I do, and he thrusts in, filling my mouth, the salty taste of pre-cum coating my tongue. I suck greedily, hollowing my cheeks as he fucks my face, gagging me with each deep push. 'That's it, gag on it like a whore, show me how sorry you are.'

Mingyu withdraws his fingers, replacing them with his cock—long, girthy, the head breaching my ass with a pop. I cry out around Cheol's shaft, the dual penetration overwhelming. He slams in fully, balls slapping my pussy, setting a brutal rhythm. The stretch burns deliciously, walls clenching around him as he reaches under to rub my clit roughly. The degradation thrills me—I’m their toy, shared and used.

They switch positions seamlessly, Cheol behind me spreads my ass cheeks, spitting on my pussy before slamming two fingers inside, curling them against my G-spot. “Still so wet from your unauthorized orgasm. You’ll beg for release now.” He pumps roughly, the wet sounds obscene, my hips grinding back instinctively.

Mingyu grips my hair, fucking my mouth deeper, hitting the back of my throat. “That’s it, take it all. Hyung, she’s gagging so pretty.” Gags escape me, tears pricking my eyes, but the burn in my throat heightens the pleasure building in my core.

Cheol pulls his fingers out, replacing them with his cock—thick and unrelenting—thrusting into my pussy in one brutal stroke. I cry out around Mingyu’s dick, the double penetration of mouth and cunt overwhelming. He pounds me, balls slapping my clit, each impact sending jolts through my body. “You come only when we say, understand?”

Mingyu pulls out briefly, slapping his wet cock across my face. “Answer him.”

“Yes, sirs!” I gasp, before he shoves back in. “Ahh, I’m going to cum—”

“Not yet.” They switch again, Cheol taking my mouth—his familiar taste musky and commanding—while Mingyu claims my pussy, his length even longer, hitting depths that make stars burst behind my eyes. “Fuck, she’s tight, hyung. Clenching like she wants to milk me.” His hands grip my hips, bruising, as he rails me, the couch creaking under us.

The room fills with our sounds—skin slapping, my muffled moans, their grunts. Sweat slicks my skin, breasts swaying with each thrust. Mentally, I’m lost in the haze of submission, the power dynamic electric as they use me in tandem, owning every hole.

Just when I’m about to cum, Cheol pulls out again, flipping me onto my back on the table, ropes digging into my wrists above my head. Mingyu spreads my legs wide, folding me in half, and drives into my pussy, the angle hitting my cervix with each thrust. Cheol straddles my chest, pinching my nipples hard before sliding his cock between my tits, squeezing them around him. 'Beg for our cum, tiny dancer.'

'Please, sirs, fill me up, mark me as yours,' I gasp, body arching, orgasms building without permission again.

They deny me release until I'm a sobbing, leaking mess, babbling and begging incoherently, “Please oppa… I’m your slut, let me cum… please Mingyu, I’m your cum-slut… sir… Cheol, need your cocks, I’m a good girl… please, I’m a cock hungry whore…”

Finally, Cheol fingers find my swollen nub, rolling it roughly, the overstimulation making me buck. Pain and pleasure blur, my walls fluttering around Mingyu’s pistoning cock. 'Cum now, slut.' Cheol commands. The orgasm rips through me, violent and all-consuming, body convulsing as they watch, praising my obedience. Mingyu roars, flooding my pussy with hot spurts of cum, the excess dripping down my ass crack. The sensation pushing me over again as Cheol erupts, thick ropes of hot seed coating my face and tits.

They pull out, leaving me panting, cum leaking from my pussy, throat raw. But they’re not done. Cheol grabs the rope again, binding my ankles to the couch legs, spreading me wide. “Ass next. Mingyu, lube her up.”

Oh my god. How are they ready to go again?

Mingyu slicks his fingers with spit and my juices, pressing one into my tight asshole. The burn makes me whimper, but I push back, craving the fullness. He adds a second, scissoring, stretching me open while Cheol watches, stroking his hardening cock.

“Such a dirty little hole,” Mingyu murmurs, his free hand slapping my already sensitive pussy lightly, making cum squirt out. The dual invasion—fingers in ass, slaps on clit—builds a new fire, my body arching. The objectification consumes me; I’m their fucktoy, holes to be filled and punished.

Cheol takes over, his cock nudging my ass. “Relax, tiny dancer. Take your punishment.” He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, the stretch agonizingly perfect. I cry out, the fullness overwhelming as he bottoms out, balls against my skin.

Mingyu kneels by my head, cock in hand. “Open wide.” I do, sucking him clean of our mixed fluids, the tangy taste grounding me in the depravity.

Cheol fucks my ass steadily, building speed, the friction hitting nerves that make my pussy clench emptily. “Finger your cunt. Make yourself come while I wreck this ass—but only with permission.”

I slide three fingers into my soaked pussy, pumping in rhythm with his thrusts, the double stuffing making me sob with need.

“Now, come!” Cheol orders as he thrusts into deep, and I shatter again—ass spasming around his cock, pussy gushing over my hand, waves crashing endlessly.

He follows, pumping my ass full of cum, pulling out to watch it drip. Mingyu comes again on my tits, adding to Cheol’s cum.

Exhausted, they untie me, pulling me into their laps on the couch, bodies entangled in the afterglow. The room smells of sex, our private haven once more filled with their dominance. I’m sated, marked, utterly theirs.

Panting, spent, I lie there in the afterglow, surrounded by their satisfied grins.

“Have you learnt your lesson?” Seungcheol asks.

“I might need a refresher now and then.” I mumble, a silly grin plastered on my face as the fire's warmth lulling me into sated bliss.

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Gentleman After Dark

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Joshua x reader

MF | skinny-dipping | cunnilingus | cum in pussy | fingered | multiple orgasms | praise kink | storyline | not-just-smut

Coups is still my ult but this photo deserved a smutfic 🙈

Another sleepless night drags on, the clock ticking past 1 a.m. as you toss in your empty bed, the sheets tangled around your legs like a reminder of the ache you can't shake. You reach for your phone, thumb hovering over Cheol's name, but you pull back with a frustrated sigh. He's at that gala in Japan, surrounded by flashing cameras and adoring fans, and calling him now would just be selfish.

Ugh.

You can't believe you've become that girl—the one who can't even close her eyes without her... dom. Whatever he is to you. Not your boyfriend, that's for sure. The relationship is a messy knot of unspoken rules and stolen moments, no labels to tidy it up. It started as no strings attached, a heated fling born from one too many late-night rehearsals where his commanding presence pulled you under. But now? Feelings have crept in, uninvited and insistent…

A future? That's off the table while he's an idol, his life a whirlwind you can only dip into. Still, the feelings linger, heavy and unacknowledged, twisting in your chest like a secret you both pretend isn't there.

Brain churning with what-ifs and half-formed desires, you sit up with a huff. Fuck it. Sleep isn't coming tonight. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, grab your keys and swim bag, and slip out the door into the quiet night.

The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of city rain on pavement as you make your way to that hidden spot Cheol showed you months ago—a secret rooftop pool perched atop an unassuming building not far from his place. Away from prying eyes, paparazzi, and public, it's your private escape, access granted with a keycard he pressed into your hand one humid evening.

The elevator hums softly as it carries you up, and when the doors slide open, you're greeted by the expansive rooftop. The pool stretches out under a canopy of stars, the water still and glassy, reflecting the city lights like scattered diamonds. A gentle breeze whispers across the surface, cooling the air just enough to raise faint goosebumps on your arms. It's a perfect night—clear skies, the moon a sliver of silver hanging low, and that invigorating chill that makes everything feel alive, electric. You drop your bag by a lounge chair, the concrete warm from the day's lingering heat, and peer toward the water. It's not empty.

Broad shoulders slice through the pool with powerful, rhythmic strokes, the figure cutting the water like a blade. He's swimming butterfly, each undulation rippling the surface in controlled waves—arms extending forward in a graceful arc, then pulling back with raw strength, propelling his sculpted body through the depths.

Muscles flex and release in perfect harmony: the broad expanse of his back tapering to a narrow waist, legs kicking in sync to maintain that relentless pace. Ripped doesn't even cover it; every movement showcases the hard-earned definition of an athlete, water parting around him like it's reluctant to let go. You stare, transfixed, the sight pulling you in despite yourself. Who the hell is up here at this hour?

He slows, then stops, gliding to the edge nearest you. Water cascades off him as he emerges, back still turned, rivulets tracing paths down the vast plane of his skin. His shoulders are impossibly wide, lats flaring out like wings carved from marble, every ridge and valley etched in shadow under the moonlight. Droplets cling to the curve of his spine, sliding over the dimples at the base before disappearing into the water lapping at his hips. His arms brace against the pool's edge, biceps bulging as he hauls himself up slightly, the motion making his traps and delts dance with tension.

Oh my.

It’s a view that steals your breath, heat pooling low in your belly unbidden.

Then he turns, the motion unfolding like it's caught in slow motion, water sluicing off his torso in shimmering trails. His face comes into view: delicate yet undeniably strong features, high cheekbones framing eyes that catch the starlight, dark and intense. Those signature lips curve into a subtle, knowing smile, full and inviting.

Joshua.

Your pulse stutters. You haven't really spoken to him since that wild weekend in the cabin, the one that ended in a haze of bodies and shared breaths—the gangbang that left marks on your skin and memories that still flush your cheeks.

Somehow, you always forget how smoking hot he is. One of the hottest guys on earth, no contest. Cheol would spank you raw if he heard that thought, his hand cracking down with possessive jealousy. The idea makes you giggle softly to yourself, a nervous bubble escaping before you can catch it.

“Something funny?” Joshua’s voice rolls out, dark and smoldering, like velvet and honey. He wades closer through the shallow end, the water level dropping inch by inch, unveiling more of him.

First, his chest emerges—pecs firm and rounded, nipples pebbled from the cool air, a faint trail of dark hair arrowing down from his sternum. His arms cut through the water, veins standing out along the cords of muscle, forearms flexing as he moves with deliberate grace. Lower still, the water recedes past his ribs, revealing abs carved like stone—each ridge contracting slightly with his breath, a light sheen of moisture highlighting the V of his hips. Water droplets trace lazy paths over his skin, dripping from the edges of his collarbone, beading on his pecs before falling to join the pool.

Fuck... me. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, dry and tingling, as heat surges through you.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, cheeks burning under his gaze. “I can come back another time. Didn't know anyone else had access.”

Joshua's eyes lock onto yours, that smile deepening into something wicked, playful. He tilts his head, water dripping from his damp hair to trace his jawline. “No need to run off. The night's big enough for two. Besides...”

He pauses, his voice dropping an octave, gaze flicking over your body in a slow, appraising sweep that makes your skin prickle. “You look like you could use a dip. Insomnia's a bitch, isn't it?”

You hesitate, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt, the cool breeze teasing your exposed midriff. “How did you—?”

“Coups hyung is away, hmm?” He says it casually, but there's an undercurrent, a teasing lilt that sends a shiver down your spine. He knows— of course he does. The group's tight-knit, and secrets like yours have a way of whispering through the ranks. “Japan, right? Must be lonely without your... master.”

The word hangs there, laced with implication, his eyes darkening as he steps closer to the pool's edge, water now only lapping at his thighs. You catch a glimpse of the shadow between his legs, the promise of more, and your breath hitches.

Memories flood back: the cabin, Joshua's hands on you while Cheol watched, his jealousy masked as approval, but you'd felt it in the way he fucked you senseless in the car the next day. NSA, sure, but the lines blur when emotions crash the party.

“He’s not my... We’re… It's complicated.” You shift, the bag at your feet forgotten, drawn to the water's edge like a moth to flame. The stars overhead twinkle indifferently, the city hum a distant lullaby. Complicated—like how Cheol shares you freely, thrives on the voyeurism, but his possessiveness leaks through in stolen glares and tighter holds.

Joshua's gaze softens just a fraction— ever the gentleman— but the command lingers in his posture, shoulders squared, the water beading on his skin like jewels under the moonlight. He takes another step forward, the pool's edge now mere inches from where you stand, his presence pulling you in like gravity.

“Complicated doesn't have to mean alone tonight,” he says, voice a low rumble that vibrates through the cool air, eyes twinkling under the moonlight.

He extends his hand slowly, palm up, fingers long and steady, droplets catching the starlight and glistening like invitations of their own. “Come in, the water’s great. You’d be surprised how quick water can wash away the… complications.”

His words wrap around you, warm despite the chill, his eyes tracing the line of your collarbone, down to where your shirt clings slightly from the humidity. He doesn't rush, letting the silence stretch, the distant city sounds fading as his focus narrows solely on you.

“I’ll uh—”, you whisper, grabbing your swim bag, “go change then”.

“No need, it’s just us. Start with your shirt,” he suggests, tone firm yet laced with that gentle coaxing, an order disguised as guidance. “Slow.”

Your heart pounds, a mix of guilt and thrill twisting in your gut. Cheol's face flashes in your mind, his strong hands pinning you down, the way he'd grin while watching you with the others, but punish you later with bites and bruises that scream mine. You've been with Joshua before, under his watchful eye, and it was electric—but doing it now, without him? The jealousy he'd feel, even if he won't say it, wars with the freedom he grants.

“Scared?” Shua smirks, “I’m hurt, you weren’t scared when you were begging for my cock down your throat while the others were balls deep in you needy cunt.”

You flush. That night. You tied up in shibari, seven of them taking their turns with you, all your holes stuffed full, airtight, how they teased, how you begged…

“You’re thinking about it right now aren’t you, tiny dancer… I can see it in your eyes,” Shua’s lips curve again, that signature smile promising more than words, challenging you to surrender to the moment teases, sharp eyes not missing a thing, “Scoups isn't watching tonight... but I am. And I promise, it'll be worth every shiver.”

The invitation hangs between you, his hand still outstretched, eyes locking with yours in a way that echoes Cheol's unyielding dominance but tempers it with Joshua's unique warmth—patient, insistent, drawing you in like the tide.

Slowly, teasingly, you obey, fingers hooking under the hem of your shirt. You peel it up inch by inch, exposing the soft curve of your belly, the lace of your bra clinging to your breasts. The night air kisses your skin, nipples hardening instantly against the fabric. Joshua watches, unblinking, his chest rising with a deeper breath, the water around him rippling faintly as he shifts.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice low and approving, sending a jolt straight to your core. “Keep going.”

Your fingers tremble slightly with anticipation as you reach behind your back, unhooking the clasp of your bra with a soft snap that echoes around the quiet rooftop. The straps loosen immediately, gliding down your shoulders like silk against your flushed skin. You shrug them off deliberately, watching his eyes darken with raw hunger as the lacy cups peel away from your full, heavy breasts. They spill free, bouncing once with their newfound liberty, the cool night breeze whispering across your bare flesh, making your sensitive skin prickle.

Your nipples, already stiff from arousal, harden into tight, aching peaks under the dual assault of the chill air and his piercing stare. They throb visibly, begging for touch, the rosy areolas puckering around them in the silvery moonlight that bathes your chest, casting soft shadows in the deep valley of your cleavage. You arch your back instinctively, thrusting your tits forward, offering them up to him as they sway gently with your breathing.

A low groan escapes Joshua’s lips, his gaze locked on the way your breasts heave, but you don't stop.

Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your tight shorts, you bend at the hips, pushing your ass out toward him. The fabric clings stubbornly to your curves before you wiggle your hips side to side, shimmying them down inch by torturous inch. They drag over the swell of your hips, exposing the firm globes of your ass cheeks, the moonlight highlighting the smooth, taut skin and the faint dimples at the base of your spine.

The shorts slide past your thighs, revealing the long, toned muscles that flex as you step out of them, kicking the fabric aside. Now only your panties remain—a thin, damp scrap of lace that's soaked through at the crotch. Your thumbs dip back in, catching the elastic, and you pull them down slowly, savoring the exposure. The wet fabric sticks briefly to your slick folds before peeling away with a lewd, sticky sound, strings of your arousal stretching and snapping as it descends.

Your panties glide down your thighs, leaving glistening trails of your juices on your inner legs, the scent of your readiness thick in the intimate air. They pool at your ankles, and you step free, spreading your feet shoulder-width apart. Fully naked now, your body gleams under the moon's glow: breasts rising and falling rapidly, nipples diamond-hard; belly quivering with need; and between your thighs, your pussy on full display.

The outer lips are swollen and parted slightly, puffy from desire, framing the slick inner folds that drip with creamy wetness. Your clit peeks out, engorged and throbbing visibly, catching the light like a pearl. A fresh bead of your arousal trickles down, sliding over your entrance before dripping onto the floor. You're utterly vulnerable, every intimate inch bared—your tight asshole winking above the glistening slit, your hips rocking subtly as your pussy clenches, aching to be filled, the moonlight turning your juices into a shimmering invitation.

You step to the edge, toes curling over the tile, the water's surface so close you can feel its chill rising. Joshua's eyes roam freely now, tracing the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist, lingering on the way your thighs press together against the growing wetness there.

“Come in,” he orders softly, his hand still outstretched.

You slide into the pool, the water enveloping your toes first—cool shock against heated skin—then your claves, knees, thighs, until it laps at your waist. A gasp escapes as it reaches your breasts, the chill making them bounce slightly, nipples tight and sensitive. You wade toward him, the liquid silk caressing every curve, stars reflecting in the ripples around you. Joshua meets you halfway, his body heat cutting through the water as he closes the distance, hands finding your hips under the surface.

“That's it,” he breathes, fingers digging in just enough to guide you closer, his thumbs stroking the bones there. His cock brushes your thigh—half-hard already, thick and warm against the cool water—and you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. “Feel that? Just from watching you.” He pulls you flush against him, chest to chest, the hard planes of his pecs pressing into your softer ones. Water sloshes gently between you, the night air above contrasting the intimate warmth below.

“Shua...” Your voice is a plea, hands tentatively sliding up his arms, feeling the slick muscle bunch under your palms. A pulse of need hits you, Joshua's lips hover near yours, breath mingling. You've tasted this before, with Cheol's eyes on you as Joshua fucked you deep, but tonight it's just the two of you, and the thrill edges into something riskier.

“Shh. Tonight, you're mine to tease.” He dips his head, lips brushing your ear, tongue flicking out to trace the shell. “Coups can have you back tomorrow. But right now... spread your legs for me.” His hand slides down, cupping your ass, squeezing the flesh as he lifts you slightly, guiding one thigh around his hip. The movement parts you, water flowing between your legs, teasing your folds.

You comply, wrapping around him, the new angle letting his cock nudge against your entrance—hot, insistent, the head parting your lips just enough to make you clench. A soft moan slips out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he rocks slowly, not entering, just grinding, building the friction agonizingly. “Please...” The word is breathless, stars blurring above as your head falls back.

“Not yet.” Joshua's free hand trails up your spine, fingers tangling in your wet hair, tugging your head forward to capture your lips. The kiss is slow, devouring—his tongue sliding in to lick against yours, tasting of chlorine and desire. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping gently, while his hips circle, cock sliding along your slit, coating himself in your arousal. The water makes everything slicker, smoother, every drag sending sparks up your spine.

He breaks the kiss, lips trailing down your neck, sucking marks into the skin just above your collarbone. “You taste like trouble,” he growls against your pulse, teeth grazing. “What would Scoups do if he were here hmm… seeing how wet you get for me.”

His fingers slip between you, parting your folds to circle your clit—slow, deliberate strokes that make your hips buck. You gasp, clinging tighter, the cool water lapping at your joined bodies like a third participant.

Your body arches into his touch, hips jerking as Joshua's fingers press firmer against your clit, rubbing in tight, insistent circles that send jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The cool pool water rushes in to lap at your exposed folds every time you buck, contrasting the heat building inside you, making your pussy throb and clench around nothing.

"Dirty, dirty girl, you're soaked," he murmurs, voice rough with lust, his middle finger dipping lower to trace your entrance, gathering your slick arousal before sliding back up to pinch your swollen nub lightly. You whimper, thighs trembling around his hip, the pressure coiling tighter in your belly.

“Shua, oppa—fuck, more.” Your plea is desperate, body arching into his touch, breasts pressing against his chest.

He chuckles darkly, the vibration rumbling through you, and slides two fingers inside—curling them deep, stroking that spot that makes your vision white out. The water buoys you, letting him work you effortlessly, thumb still teasing your clit in lazy circles.

His cock, thick and rigid now, pulses against your inner thigh, the veined length dragging through the water to bump your ass cheek with each subtle roll of his hips. Precum leaks from the tip, mixing with the pool and your juices, warm trails teasing your skin.

“Like that? So tight around me already.” He pumps slowly, in and out, the wet sounds muffled by the pool but obscene in the quiet night. Your walls flutter, chasing the build. His hand on your ass kneads the firm flesh, fingers spreading your cheeks apart under the water, one digit circling your tight asshole teasingly before pressing just the tip inside. The intrusion burns sweetly, stretching the ring of muscle as he crooks it shallowly, syncing with the strokes on your clit.

"Shua—oh god," you gasp, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails on his slick skin. Your breasts mash against his chest, nipples scraping the coarse hair there with every heaving breath, friction igniting sparks that shoot to your core. He lifts you higher, your other leg instinctively hooking around his waist, suspending you fully against him. Water churns around your joined bodies, splashing softly against the pool edge, stars twinkling overhead like distant witnesses.

Joshua's mouth claims yours again, fiercer this time—tongue thrusting deep, fucking your mouth in rhythm with his fingers below. He adds a finger to your pussy, plunging them knuckle-deep into your clutching heat, the water easing the way as he curls them against your front wall, hitting that spongy spot that makes your vision white out. You cry into the kiss, walls fluttering wildly, so close already from the relentless build-up. His thumb grinds your clit harder, the dual assault pushing you toward the edge.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, making you whine, and maneuvers you toward the pool's edge, the shallower water rising only to his chest.

"Taste yourself," he commands, shoving them inside. You suck greedily, tongue swirling around the digits, savoring the tangy mix of your cream and chlorine. His eyes burn into yours, pupils blown wide with possession.

"Good girl. Now, turn around." He commands, voice husky, pressing you back against the tiled lip so the cool surface supports your shoulders. Your legs dangle in the water, thighs spread wide as he submerges lower, his head dipping below the surface. Bubbles rise as he positions himself between your legs, hands gripping your thighs to hold them open. The water distorts everything, but you feel his breath first—a warm puff against your inner thigh—before his mouth seals over your pussy.

He eats you out underwater with relentless focus, tongue flattening to lap broad strokes along your slit, the cool liquid mixing with his heat in a dizzying contrast. You arch, hands scrambling for purchase on the edge, as he sucks your clit between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to spark electricity. The world muffles under the water's hush, his movements fluid and unhurried—tongue delving inside you, thrusting in mimicry of his cock, curling to hit that sensitive ridge.

Water swirls around his face as he surfaces for breath before diving under again, bubbles escaping as he devours you, nose bumping your mound with each deep press. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the pressure, the chill of the pool amplifying every lick, every suck, until your thighs tremble around his head. He hums against you, the vibration traveling straight to your core, fingers digging into your skin to keep you steady as he works you toward the edge.

Gasping, you surface from the haze, the stars spinning as pleasure coils tight. “Shua —oh god, I'm—” He doesn't let up, tongue flicking faster now, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple, rolling it between wet fingers. The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, pussy clenching around nothing as you cry out, body shuddering, waves rippling out from where his mouth still latches on, drawing out every pulse until you're boneless.

He emerges finally, water streaming from his hair and face, lips swollen and glistening as he licks them clean. “Tastes even better down there,” he rasps, pulling you into his arms again, your legs weak as they wrap around him. The aftershocks hum through you. But he’s not done.

Joshua spins you effortlessly in the water, your back to his chest, his cock nestling hot and heavy between your ass cheeks. One arm bands across your ribs, hand cupping a breast to pinch and roll the nipple roughly, while the other dives between your thighs from behind.

“Ahhhh—” you cry out, overstimulated from your last orgasm “Too much, Shua. Oppa, please—”

Fingers part your pussy lips wide, exposing you to the flowing water, then two plunge back in, fucking you with his fingers steadily. His palm slaps lightly against your pussy with each thrust, the sound muffled underwater but the sting sharp.

"Be a good girl and cum again for oppa," he growls into your ear, teeth nipping the lobe. His hips grind forward, cock sliding up your crack, the fat head nudging your asshole with every pass. You push back, grinding shamelessly, the tease driving you insane. The moonlight dances on the water's surface, rippling over your arched form as pleasure coils unbearably tight. His free hand snakes up to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse thunder under his palm, heightening every sensation.

Fingers piston faster, thumb flicking your clit in brutal circles. Your moans echo across the pool, body seizing as the orgasm crashes over you—pussy spasming around his invading digits, gushing hot cream that clouds the water briefly. Legs quake, held up only by his strength, as waves of ecstasy rip through you, clit pulsing under his touch. “FUUUUCK! Ahhhhh, Shuaaa—”

He doesn't stop, drawing it out until you're a trembling mess, slumped against him.

"That's two," Joshua whispers, withdrawing his fingers to smear your release across your heaving tits. His cock throbs insistently against your ass, ready for more. He spins you around, your legs wrapping fully around his waist. "Little slut. Need my cock stretching this greedy little pussy while Coups hyung isn't here to stop me, hmm."

“Hold on.” With a smooth thrust, he sinks into you—inch by torturous inch, stretching you around his thick length. You cry out, head tipping back to the stars, the cool air on your face contrasting the burn where he's filling you.

Your walls clench greedily around Joshua's invading cock, the thick girth splitting you open, every ridge and vein dragging against your sensitive inner walls as he holds still, buried to the hilt. The cool pool water swirls around your joined hips, lapping at the stretched lips of your pussy gripping his base, while his pubic bone grinds against your clit with the slightest shift. He groans low against your breast, teeth grazing the pebbled nipple before his tongue lashes it roughly, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks, sending sharp zings of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

“Fuck, you're perfect,” he groans, releasing your nipple with a wet pop, the abused bud glistening under the moonlight. His hands clamp down on your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the firm muscle to spread you wider, tilting your pelvis so his cock spears even deeper, the fat head nudging your cervix. You keen, back arching off his chest, breasts heaving as water droplets cascade down your skin, tracing rivulets over your ribs and belly. The contrast of his scorching length inside you against the chill enveloping your body makes your pussy flutter wildly, milking him in rhythmic squeezes.

He pulls back slowly then, inch by inch withdrawing until just the swollen tip remains notched at your entrance, your juices and his precum stringing between you in the water. Your hips twitch forward instinctively, chasing the fullness, but he pins you in place with a firm grip. “More, Shua.”

"Not so fast. Feel how your cunt's sucking me back in? Desperate for it." With a snap of his hips, he slams home again, balls slapping wetly against your ass, the force jolting a cry from your throat. Stars explode behind your eyelids as he sets a punishing rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that churn the water into frothy waves around you.

Your legs lock tighter around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him on as your nails score bloody trails down his shoulders. Each plunge stretches you anew, his cock pistoning relentlessly, the veined shaft rasping your g-spot with every pass. Bubbles rise from the friction below the surface, your combined arousal clouding the water milky white near your pussy. Joshua's mouth latches onto your other breast, biting the underside before sucking the nipple between his teeth, tugging sharply while his hips roll in brutal circles, stirring you from the inside out.

"Imagine Cheol walking in now," he pants against your skin, breath hot and ragged, one hand sliding up to fist your dripping hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat. His teeth sink into the pulse there, sucking a fresh mark as he fucks up into you harder, the water splashing over the pool edge with lewd smacks. "Seeing his girl impaled on my dick, tits bouncing, moaning like a whore. He'd hate how much you love it—how your pussy gushes every time I mention him."

The dirty talk ignites you, a fresh flood of cream coating his pounding cock, easing the way for faster, sloppier thrusts. Your clit grinds against his pelvis with every hilt-deep bury, pressure building to a fever pitch. He shifts his stance, planting his feet wider on the pool floor for leverage, and hoists you higher—gravity forcing you down onto him fully, his cock spearing impossibly deeper. You sob out his name, body seizing as the coil snaps; your pussy convulses in violent spasms, clamping down like a vise, squirting hot jets that mix with the pool around his balls.

Joshua growls through your climax, not slowing—hips snapping like a machine, prolonging the waves until you're limp and shuddering in his arms. Only then does he still, cock throbbing wildly inside your fluttering channel, on the verge himself. He spins you both toward the pool edge, pressing your front against the cool tile, your cheek squished against it as he pins you there.

"My turn," he grunts, pulling out halfway before ramming back in, chasing his release with short, brutal pumps. His hand snakes around to rub your oversensitive clit, forcing aftershocks through you as his balls draw up tight.

With a guttural roar, he buries himself deep, cock swelling as ropes of thick cum erupt against your cervix, flooding your womb in pulsing spurts. You feel every jet, hot and viscous. He grinds through it, milking himself dry inside you, until he slumps over your back, both panting, the night air cooling the sweat on your skin.

But Joshua’s not done. After a beat, he lifts you up and walks out of the pool onto a pool chair. With an obscene squelch, he pulls out, your pussy gaping and drooling his seed. Fingers scoop up the mess, shoving it back inside roughly. "Keep it in."

He turns your head to face him, eyes dark with renewed hunger, lips crashing down on yours in a messy, claiming kiss. With your back to his chest, he holds you close, breaths ragged, lips pressing soft kisses to your temple as you both float in the afterglow.

“We need to get someone to clean the pool,” you whisper.

“We’ll charge it on Coups’ card,” he chuckles.

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Three Dots Apart

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | sexting | long distance | dom-sub | mild degradation | masturbation | phone sex | toys | dildo | self-spanking

You sigh deeply, the sheets twisting around your legs as you toss and turn in the dim glow of your Seoul apartment. Insomnia is a relentless bitch tonight, gnawing at the edges of your mind while the city's nightlife pulses outside your window—honking taxis, distant laughter from late-night bars, the endless hum of neon-lit streets.

If only Cheol were here, his strong arms around you, his alpha presence filling the room and chasing away the restlessness. But he's in Tokyo for that BOSS event, just a short trip that's stretching into an eternity.

You roll onto your side, punching the pillow in frustration, trying to find a position that doesn't feel like lying on nails. The clock on your nightstand mocks you: 2 a.m. With a huff, you click on the side lamp, its warm light spilling across the bed. Your hand reaches for your phone, fingers scrolling through contacts until you land on his—Alpha—and a small smile tugs at your lips despite everything. Your thumb hovers over the text button in KakaoTalk, heart pounding a little too fast.

You start typing: Hey…

Delete. Too casual, too nothing.

Missing you...

Delete—no, that's too clingy, too needy.

You erase and retype, words tumbling out and vanishing over and over—ten times, at least—until frustration boils over. You toss the phone onto the bed, “ARGHH”, burying your face in the pillow.

Ding.

The notification chime cuts through the air like a lifeline. You snatch the phone up. The little dots float across the screen. Oh shit. You didn't disable the typing indicator bubbles. He must think you're some desperate mess, hovering over his name like a lovesick puppy. Heat floods your cheeks as you click the screen off and flop back down, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to come.

Ping.

Alpha: Can't sleep?'

Your pulse quickens. He's awake too, thousands of miles away in Tokyo. You type back quickly.

Tiny dancer: Yeah… just restless.

Send. The bubbles appear almost immediately on your end.

The wait feels eternal, your body tense under the thin camisole and shorts, the fabric clinging to your skin from the humid night air.

Alpha: Insomnia again? Did something happen today? Tell me what's keeping you up, baby.

You bite your lip, fingers flying.

Tiny dancer: Just the usual. City noise... and… missing my alpha.

There, honest but not over the top.

The bubbles appear again. Then disappear. Then again. Then disappear. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he replies.

Alpha: What’s my tiny dancer wearing right now?

A thrill shoots through you, warmth pooling low in your belly. This is Cheol—direct, commanding even through a screen. You glance down at yourself: the soft white camisole, thin straps slipping off one shoulder, and simple cotton shorts. Your nipples have perked up from the cool air—or maybe from the thought of him.

Tiny dancer: Just… pyjamas.

Alpha: Show me. Let me see those pretty tits.

Your breath hitches, a rush of heat flooding your core. Obediently, you prop yourself up on one elbow, yanking the camisole up to expose your breasts fully now, nipples already stiffening into tight peaks under your gaze. You snap the pic, the lamplight catching the flush on your skin, and hit send, your pussy throbbing with need.

The typing bubbles dance.

Alpha: Fuck, look at those nipples. So hard for me already. Pinch them. Twist hard and tell me how your filthy cunt feels about it.

You obey without hesitation, fingers clamping down on one nipple, rolling and tugging viciously until the sharp pain shoots straight to your clit. A gasp tears from your throat, your thighs squeezing together as slickness leaks into your shorts

Tiny dancer: It hurts so good, oppa… but my pussy’s dripping, empty for you.

Alpha: Good girl. Pull your top down and show me your tits fully.

Your pulse thunders in your ears, pussy lips swelling with fresh slick as obedience floods you. You prop up on one elbow, fingers fisting the hem of the camisole and hauling it over your breasts in one rough pull. They spill free, heavy and bouncing slightly, nipples diamond-hard and begging for abuse under the warm glow of the lamp. Skin prickles with goosebumps as you angle the phone, capturing the way your tits heave with each ragged breath, the flush creeping down your chest. Click. Send. Your cunt throbs violently, juices soaking through the crotch of your shorts.

The typing bubbles appear again… It takes longer this time, and you imagine him stroking himself in his hotel room, eyes dark with hunger.

Alpha: That's my obedient slut. Shove that top down completely and bare those tits wide. Legs apart now—prop that phone to film your spread-eagle pose. Peel those shorts off and finger those swollen pussy lips open. I want every inch of that pink, gushing hole on display, twitching for me.

Your body betrays you instantly, slick trailing down your inner thighs as you obey. Straps snapped down, your breasts thrust forward, nipples raw and pulsing from the torment. You kick the shorts away with a wet slap, knees falling wide to expose your core to the lens. Fingers—two this time—dive between your legs, gripping the puffy outer lips and yanking them apart brutally. The inner folds gleam, drenched and quivering, your tight vaginal entrance gaping slightly, oozing creamy arousal that strings between your digits. The air kisses your exposed clit, swollen and hooded, as you hold the pose, the obscene stretch making your asshole pucker in sympathy. Shutter clicks echo your pounding heart. Send.

Typing bubbles pulse slower now, and you picture him in that sterile hotel room, fist wrapped around his veiny cock, pumping slow and hard while devouring your shame.

Alpha: You're soaked, aren't you? Dripping for me. That hole's weeping for cock. Take your middle finger and shove it into your tight little asshole. I want to see you fuck it deep while you rub your clit. Show me.

Your heart hammers, a filthy thrill twisting in your gut. You reposition, ass slightly elevated, the phone angled to capture your exposed holes. That middle finger, still damp from your pussy juices, circles your puckered asshole before pressing in—slow at first, the ring of muscle resisting until it pops past, sinking knuckle-deep into the hot, clenching channel. You moan low, the intrusion burning sweetly as you pump it in and out, while your other hand grinds against your clit, sparks of pleasure building. The video shows it all: your finger disappearing into your ass with wet, sucking sounds, pussy lips still parted, dripping onto the sheets. Send.

Tiny dancer: So wet… my fingers are slipping in easy, but I need more…Stretching me, but not like your cock would.

Your chest heaves, a depraved rush twisting your insides as you shift onto your knees, ass hiked high for the perfect angle. The phone captures everything: your tits swaying pendulously, nipples scraping the sheets. That slick-coated finger teases your rim, circling the wrinkled pucker before thrusting in— the muscle yields with a lewd pop, swallowing it to the hilt in your scorching, vise-like rectum. You groan deep and guttural, the burn blooming into ecstasy as you piston it faster, the wet squelch filling the room. Your free hand slaps down on your engorged clit, the sharp sting sending jolts through your pussy, walls fluttering empty and desperate. The video rolls mercilessly: finger plunging in and out of your ass with obscene suction, pussy juices splattering your thighs, clit reddening under the assault. Send. The city noise fades, replaced by your ragged breaths.

Alpha is typing…

Alpha: Greedy girl. Get your dildo, little slut. Your hungry pussy won’t be satisfied with just fingers. The black one. Shove it deep. Show me how your desperate cunt takes it.

Excitement and submission twist in your gut. You reach into the nightstand drawer, pulling out the black dildo— a gift from Cheol—veiny, girthy, a monster that always leaves you sore in the best way. You coat its thick length by dragging it through your spread folds, gathering your wetness until it shines.

On your back, legs hooked over your elbows to open yourself wide, you line it up and thrust—the girthy head breaching your entrance, stretching your walls with a delicious burn as you force it deeper, inch by veiny inch, until your pussy swallows it whole. You fuck yourself relentlessly, hips snapping up to meet each plunge, the toy squelching obscenely in your soaked hole, your ass still tingling from the fingering. The video captures your tits bouncing, face twisted in ecstasy, moans spilling out. Send.

The response is immediate.

Alpha: That's my slut. Harder. Spank that cheeks—ten, hard. Make that ass jiggle and for me while you keep stuffing your cunt.

You flip onto your knees, ass up, dildo still buried deep as you arch your back. One hand grips the base, pumping it in and out with obscene squelches, while the other rears back and cracks against your cheek.

Your hand cracks down—smack!—the sting blooming hot on your skin. 'One,' you gasp, pumping the toy deeper. Smack! 'Two'—the pain radiates, making your pussy clamp tighter. By ten, your ass is on fire, red welts rising, each slap driving the dildo in further, your body a mess of sweat and slick.

Alpha: Good girl. Now pull it out and suck that pussy-soaked cock.

Trembling, you withdraw the dildo, strings of your arousal connecting it to your pussy. Bringing it to your mouth, you lick the tip, tasting yourself salty and musky, then slide it past your lips. You bob your head, taking it deeper until it hits the back of your throat, gagging softly but pushing on. The video captures your lips stretched wide, saliva dripping, eyes watering as you worship the toy like it's him. Send.

Your phone buzzes—not a message, but a ring.

FaceTime request from Alpha.

Your stomach flips with anticipation. You accept, propping it up, your body still humming with need, your holes aching.

Cheol's face fills the screen, his hotel room dark behind him, but lower—oh god—his cock is out, thick as your wrist, veins throbbing, the head purple and leaking pre-cum that he smears down the shaft with a slow stroke., eyes locked on you through the camera. 'Mmm, look at my messy little whore. That dildo doesn't compare to this, does it?'

You lip your lips, eyes locked on his monster cock, what you would give to taste him right now, to feel him sliding down your throat. You let out a whine, ‘Cheol, I'm your dirty fucking slut. Wish your monster cock was splitting me open right now, pounding my pussy and ass until I scream. Miss you wrecking me.'

He groans, fisting his dick, the wet schlick audible even over the line. 'Damn right you are. Spread that sloppy pussy again—finger your clit and beg for me, slut. Beg to cum like the needy slut you are.'

Your hand dives between your legs, fingers circling your swollen clit frantically as you watch him jerk off, his abs flexing, breath coming in harsh pants. The tension coils tight, your body arching. Your fingers part your lips once more to expose that glistening pink hole, rubbing your clit in tight circles as the pressure builds unbearably. Your other hand plunges the dildo into your pussy, pumping it deep. 'Please, sir—let me cum. I'm your filthy slut, need to squirt all over for you. I want you to pin me down, spank me harder, fuck my throat until I choke. I'm your little cumslut, oppa—.'

‘That's it, beg louder, baby. Imagine this fat cock slamming into you, breeding that womb.' His strokes blur, balls drawing tight.

‘Pleaaaase Cheool, I’m begging you to let this greedy pussy explode, soak the sheets thinking of your cum flooding me. Please, daddy, I'm dying for it—let me cum,” I moan, as I pump the dildo in so deep I can almost feel it in my throat.

'Fuck, baby—yes. Imagine this cock buried in you, pounding that greedy hole. Gonna breed you when I get back, fill you with my load until it leaks out. Spank that pussy.' His hand blurs, cock throbbing in his grip.

You obey. One hand still thrusting the rubber cock into your wet, aching cunt the other coming to to deliver three hard slaps to your clit.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

With three hard spanks to your pussy and three hard thrusts, you shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you, pussy convulsing, juices gushing as you wail, 'I’m cumming ahh—!' Waves of pleasure rip through your body, leaving you shuddering, pussy stinging from the spanks.

Cheol roars, cock erupting,  'Take my load, slut—fuck, miss your tight pussy milking me. Wish I was pumping this cum deep inside you right now, marking my slut. Gonna own every hole when I get back.' Thick ropes of cum shoot from his cock, splattering his hand and abs, his face contorted in ecstasy.

You both pant into the silence after, the city's distant roar filtering back in. He smiles lazily, wiping himself off. 'Sleep now, baby. I'll be home soon to make this real.'

You nod, body heavy with satisfaction, the city's noise a distant hum, sleep finally claiming you.

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

No Place to Hide

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | fingered in public | exhibitionism | public orgasm

Cheol was going through a phase. I was sure of it. A see-how-much-we-can-get-away-with-in-public phase.

Since our little adventure at the Miami Grand Prix, where he'd edged my pussy until I came in front of thousands, shaking like a leaf with my juices soaking my thighs, he'd been chasing that high. Not quite exhibitionism on his part—no, that thrill belonged to me, the way my cunt clenched at the risk. But what do you call it when your dominant oppa gets off on turning you into his public toy?

Case in point: tonight.

The parcel arrived that afternoon, wrapped in black tissue with a cream card in his sharp handwriting: Jagiya, my perfect little dancer. Wear this tonight. Nothing else. I’ll pick you up at 7pm. Be ready.

I pulled the dress out of the box and gasped. Gorgeous, ethereal almost. Thin whispers of red silk and mesh draped like liquid sin over my skin when I slipped it on. Deep V plunging straight to my navel, exposing the inner curves of my tits, sideboob spilling out with every breath. Backless, held together only by a cinch at the waist that made my ass cheeks peek if I twisted wrong. The skirt flowed long, whispering against my calves, but half-translucent—my legs' outlines glowed through the fabric in the right light.

No bra, no panties. My nipples pebbled instantly against the silk, dark smudges begging for attention. I stared in the mirror, pussy already slick, thighs pressing together. Fuck, he knew how to dress his toy.

He pulled up at 7pm on the dot in his matte black Benz.

Gosh, he should be on the front page of magazines.

Wait, he already is.

Boss-tailored tux hugging his broad shoulders, tapering to that narrow waist I loved gripping during rides. Dark hair tousled, eyes smoldering as he stepped out. Before I could say anything, his mouth claimed mine—hot, demanding, tongue fucking my throat while his big hand palmed my tit through the dress.

"Did you enjoy my gift, tiny dancer?" he growled against my lips, nipping hard enough to sting. "You look ravishing. My little noye ready to be used."

Oh my, he was in one of those moods.

"Yes, sir," I whimpered, nipples throbbing under his thumb.

He slid into the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other dropping to my thigh. The engine purred to life. Slowly, he parted the silk folds of my skirt, callused fingers gliding up the smooth insides of my thighs to cup my bare ass cheeks, squeezing the flesh until I squirmed.

"Good girl," he praised, voice low and rough. Praise lit my veins like fire—I'd do anything to hear it again. "You’re so good at following orders. No panties for your greedy little cunt."

My cheeks flush red.

His fingers crept forward, tracing my slit. I was soaked already, lips puffy and parting under his touch. "Spread," he ordered.

My legs splayed wide, knees falling to the doors, no hesitation whatsoever. The cool leather seat kissed my ass as his middle finger dipped into my wetness, coating itself before sliding up to circle my clit. It was swollen, shy at first, but bloomed hard and needy under his fingers, throbbing like a mini cock begging for friction.

"Fuck, you're drenched," he muttered, eyes on the road as traffic blurred by. One finger breached my hole, thick and insistent, pumping slow while his thumb flicked my clit hood back.

“Ahhhh—” I cry out, the wet schlick echoed in the cabin, my arousal dripping down to stain the seat. He added a second finger, knuckles curling to tap my G-spot— that spongy ridge that made my toes curl. My hips bucked, chasing the stretch, walls fluttering around him.

"Oppa, ohh… I need—," I gasped, tits heaving, nipples scraping silk.

He chuckled dark, speeding up—fingers plunging knuckle-deep, thumb grinding my clit in firm circles. My pussy clenched, heat coiling tight in my belly, orgasm building like a wave. Juices squelched louder, scent of my musk filling the car. Just as my thighs trembled, vision spotting—

"We're here. Let's go."

He yanked his fingers free with a filthy pop, leaving my cunt gaping, clenching on nothing. I panted, a hot, wet, horny mess, thighs slick and shiny. "Cheol-ah, fuck me, please—"

"Later, slut. Compose yourself." He licked his fingers clean, eyes devouring my flushed face.

The restaurant perched on the 59th floor, panoramic windows framing Seoul's glittering skyline. Reservation for two. Our booth: curved leather horseshoe with high frosted walls offering semi-privacy—close enough to see A-list celebs in adjacent booths, far enough for whispers. No photos got leaked here; their reputation was ironclad. Idols cutting deals, executives sealing contracts over steak and soju. Tonight, we ignored them all.

Once seated, his hand returned to my thigh under the tablecloth, parting the skirt's hem, past my knee, up the trembling inner flesh, until his palm cupped my bare slit. I yelped—insides melting to hot liquid as one thick finger speared inside, walls yielding with a gush of fresh wetness.

"Shh," he murmured, thumb finding my clit, that shy pearl aching for him. It hardened instantly, pulsing under the pressure. I whined low, hips twitching.

The waiter approached—crisp uniform, polite bow. Cheol's finger started sliding, up-down over my clit like he was jerking a tiny cock, slick sounds barely muffled by the booth's ambient hum.

"Miss?" the waiter prompted, menu poised.

"I-I'll have the lamb," I stammered, voice cracking. Could he hear the wet glides? See my flushed cheeks, the way my tits strained the deep V of my dress?

"Anything to drink?"

Cheol pressed deeper, two fingers now scissoring inside, tapping my G-spot with precise hooks. My walls spasmed, clit throbbing wildly. "N-No, water is fine!" I blurted, too loud.

He bowed out. Cheol ramped up—fingers pistoning, pressure building to a frantic rhythm. I moaned, too fucking loud, biting my lip bloody to stifle it. The copper tang hit my tongue.

"Are you about to have a loud, sloppy orgasm in front of all these people like the whore you are?" Cheol whispered, voice velvet threat.

I whined, clit a burning knot, pussy aching deeper with every rub. Celebs laughed two booths over—could they glimpse his arm's unnatural angle?

The waiter returned with food, drinks… and a silver bucket of ice cubes. Odd for fine dining. His eyes flicked down before he left—my face burned; Cheol's forearm was buried too far under the tablecloth.

Cheol’s fingers pumped harder, my G-spot battered relentlessly while his thumb fluttered my clit. Suddenly, he withdrew—my cunt clenched emptily, protesting. Tongs clinked. He fished out an ice cube, crystal clear and melting at the edges.

No.

He wouldn't.

He did. The frozen shard was pressed to my aching pussy lips—burning cold shocking my heat. I mewled, high and desperate, hips jerking. "Your cunt needs cooling down, slut."

It rolled over my clit, numbing the throb to electric fire, then slipped inside my molten walls.

"Ahhh!" The chill spread, mixing with my scalding juices into a slick torrent.

Another cube—stuffed deep beside the first, stretching me frigidly. "Let's see how many we need to cool this sloppy hole enough for dinner."

Third. Fourth. My pussy overflowed, icy water trickling down my ass crack to pool on the leather. My clit burned alive, my dress soaked from a combination of my pussy juices and the ice cubes. I gripped the table edge, teeth grinding, every celeb in sight oblivious—or were they?

Cheol ate casually, fork spearing lamb like he didn’t have two fingers impaling my cunt.

Then—a sunbaenim approached, older actor-type, bowing low. "Coups-ssi! Long time. How are you?"

Cheol smiled smooth, fingers plunging back in beside the melting ice—cold-hot friction on my G-spot. "Hyung! Good, good. Members are grinding hard." His thumb circled my clit, relentless.

I bit my fist, hiding whimpers as cubes shifted with each pump, grinding inside. My pussy lips quivered, visible through translucent skirt if anyone leaned. They chatted tracks, collabs—all while Cheol’s fingers curled deeper, edging me mercilessly. My thighs shook, juices pattering softly to the floor.

"Great seeing you," sunbaenim finally said, bowing out.

Thank fuck. I thought he’d never leave.

Cheol's lips hit my ear. "Shh… we don’t need everyone knowing you’re a horny little slut."

Fingers alternated—teasing clit flicks, then knuckles-deep pumps, ice fully melted now, just my cream coating his wrist. "Tell me you're a bad, bad girl. Say it."

"I'm bad," I heaved, breath broken. "Such a bad girl."

"Pinch your nipples through the dress so everyone can see what a slut you are."

My fingers obeyed, twisting the hard peaks through silk—dark nubs tenting obscenely. The thought of anyone looking over and seeing me playing with my tits driving me higher.

His thumb circled relentlessly, almost lifting me off the seat. His fingers plunged deeper into my dripping pussy, curling to drag against that spongy ridge inside while his thumb ground circles over my throbbing clit. The pressure built like a storm, my body teetering on the brink. My hands clamped down on his forearm, nails digging into his skin as I wrapped my fingers around the thick muscle, holding on for dear life as if he might pull away. But he didn't—his pumps grew faster, slick sounds echoing faintly under the table, my cream squelching around his knuckles with every thrust.

'That's it, grip me tight while you fall apart,' he murmured against my ear, his voice a dark rasp that vibrated through me. My breaths shattered into whimpers, thighs quaking. Higher, higher—breaths shallow, quick. Giddy dizziness spun me. Cheol thrusts his fingers in deep and pinches my clit. Hard.

I shatter. Pussy clenching in brutal spasms around his invading fingers, walls fluttering and sucking him deeper. Hot squirt gushed out in forceful jets, soaking his hand, splattering his wrist and forearm in sticky warmth that trickled down to his elbow. My body shook violently, tremors ripping through my core, hips bucking involuntarily against his palm as wave after wave crashed over me.

Eyes rolled back in my head, whites flashing as ecstasy blinded me, a raw 'Ahhhh!' tearing from my throat despite his earlier shush—too lost to care who heard. His fingers didn't stop, pumping relentlessly through the mess, churning my release into a frothy cream that coated everything in filthy evidence. Cum pulses from me in erratic spurts, my clit swelling under his pinch, every nerve firing in overload.

As the haze cleared just enough, my gaze drifted, unfocused at first, then snagged on the smoldering intensity burning through the narrow cracks in the booth divider. Joshua's—our gentleman shua, in a neighboring setup with Vernon— eyes locked onto mine, dark and hungry, pupils blown wide as he watched my unraveling. 

A slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. He adjusted himself discreetly, bulge evident, and mouthed: My turn later?

Cheol caught it, his chuckle vibrating against my neck as he finally slowed his fingers, drawing them out inch by inch, strings of my cum connecting us before snapping. He smeared the wetness across my inner thigh, marking me.  "Looks like backup's here, slut. Eat up. Dessert's just starting."

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Can I request for reverse cowgirl and hair pulling 🙂‍↔️

I didn’t know if you meant those two things together or separately haha, please enjoy! 🙈

Sugar, Eggs, and You

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG

Tags and warnings:

Scoups x reader

MF | reverse-cowgirl | hair-pulling

You're perched on the top of the step stool in Cheol's kitchen, stretching your arms high above your head to snag a plate from the upper cabinet. The morning light filters through the window, casting a soft glow on your skin as you balance precariously.

You're only wearing one of his oversized shirts, hastily buttoned up after last night's fun, but the buttons are crooked, leaving gaps that tease glimpses of your bare body underneath. As you reach, the hem rides up your thighs, arching your back and pushing your tits forward until they spill out from the open front, nipples hardening in the cool air. Your ass cheeks part slightly, and the lips of your pussy peek out, already slick from the mere thought of him stirring in bed nearby.

From the doorway, Seungcheol watches you, unseen, his breath catching in his throat.

Fuck, what a sight.

A low groan rumbles from his chest as he catches sight of your bare ass and pussy lips, plump and glistening with early arousal, peeking out from between your parted thighs. His cock twitches hard in his grey sweatpants, thickening and straining against the soft cotton until the fabric tents obscenely, the outline of his veined shaft clear and pulsing with need.

He sees the stool wobble under your weight, and in an instant, he's across the room, his large hands—calloused from endless hours at the gym—landing firmly on your hips to steady you. His fingers dig into your soft skin just enough to send a spark up your spine.

“Baby, can you please not give me a heart attack this early in the morning?” His voice is husky, still rough from sleep, not at all the strong leader voice of Scoups, but rather the low, almost soft, husky growl of Seungcheol.

With you elevated on the stool, your ass is right at his face level. He can't help but lean in closer, his warm breath ghosting over the exposed curve of your cheek, making you shiver.

You smile, turning slowly to face him, lowering your hands to grip his broad shoulders. “I wanted to make you breakfast,” you say innocently, looking down at him.

God, he's gorgeous like this.

Eyes hooded and heavy-lidded from just waking up, his jawline so sharp it could slice through the tension building between you, chiseled like a marble statue come to life. He's standing there shirtless, every inch of his torso a masterpiece of muscle that begs to be touched, tasted, worshipped. His pecs are thick and defined, rising and falling with each breath, the slabs of muscle flexing subtly as he holds you steady—honed from grueling training sessions with Mingyu.

Below them, his abs ripple in a perfect eight-pack, each ridge etched deep and shadowed, leading down to the deep V of his hips that disappears into those low-slung sweatpants. Broad shoulders taper to powerful arms, veins tracing over biceps that bulge even at rest. You want to lick him all over, trace your tongue along every hard line, from the swell of his chest to the cut of his obliques.

Your hands slide from his shoulders to cup his face, thumbs brushing his high cheekbones as you lean down to nip at his lower lip, tugging it gently between your teeth. “It's criminal that you can look this good in the morning,” you murmur against his mouth, your voice breathy with want.

He smirks, that cocky tilt to his lips making your core clench. “Yeah?”

His hands slip under the shirt, calloused palms brushing the undersides of your breasts, thumbs circling just shy of your nipples. The touch is electric, sending heat pooling between your thighs. “I think it's criminal that you stole my shirt without my permission or consent.”

His strong hands trail across your skin, one sliding up your side to cup a breast fully, squeezing the soft flesh while the other dips lower, fingers grazing the curve of your ass. Your breathing quickens, a soft moan escaping as his touch ignites you.

“Mmm…? What are you gonna do about it?” You challenge him, arching into his hands, your pussy aching for more.

In one fluid, powerful swoop, he lifts you off the step stool like you weigh nothing, his muscles bunching under your grip—biceps flexing, abs tightening as he hoists you against him. The plate and breakfast plans crash to the wayside, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

You giggle, wrapping your legs around his hips, feeling the hard length of his cock press against your core through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. He carries you effortlessly toward the counter, his mouth crashing into yours in a hungry kiss, tongues tangling as he sets you down just long enough to adjust.

“Good girls shouldn't steal things that don't belong to them,” he growls against your lips, his voice low and teasing, eyes dark with lust.

His hands work slowly at the buttons of the shirt, popping them open one by one, revealing inch after inch of your naked body beneath. He takes his time, dragging it out as punishment, his fingers lingering on your skin, tracing the swell of your tits, the dip of your navel. The shirt falls open, exposing your breasts fully—nipples peaked and begging for attention—and he leans in to capture one in his mouth, sucking hard while his hand kneads the other, fingers pinching and pulling at the sensitive bud until it throbs. You gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as pleasure shoots straight to your clit.

“Cheol-ah… please…” you whimper, your hips bucking against him, feeling his cock throb insistently now, fully hard and straining.

He chuckles darkly, releasing your nipple with a wet pop, the cool air making it tighten further. “Please what, baby? You think teasing me like that gets you off easy?”

His hands shove the shirt off your shoulders completely, letting it pool on the floor, leaving you bare and exposed on the counter. He steps between your thighs, pushing them wider, his gaze raking over your pussy—lips swollen, red and throbbing with need, already dripping slick down your thighs. One finger traces your slit, dipping just inside to feel how wet you are, and he groans. “So fucking soaked already. This is your punishment—I'm gonna make you beg for it.”

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. It's thick and veined, the head flushed dark and leaking pre-cum, curving up toward his abs. You lick your lips at the sight, reaching for him, but he catches your wrist, pinning it beside you with a smirk. “Not yet. Hands on the counter.”

Obediently, you grip the edge, your tits heaving with each ragged breath as he teases you—rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, coating himself in your wetness without pushing in. The sensation is maddening, your pussy clenching around nothing, hips rolling to chase the friction. He notches the head at your entrance and thrusts in slowly, inch by inch, stretching your red, throbbing walls until he's buried deep, then pulls out almost completely, leaving you empty and whining.

“Cheol—fuck, don't stop,” you plead, your lowered, dripping pussy aching for more as he repeats the torment, sliding in just enough to graze that sensitive spot inside before withdrawing again. His pace is deliberate, edging you closer to the brink with each shallow thrust, his calloused thumb circling your clit lightly, building the pressure until your thighs tremble and frustration coils tight in your belly. Sweat beads on his forehead, but his stamina holds strong, forged from non-stop intense dance practices that keep him going without faltering.

“You want it bad, don't you?” he murmurs, voice rough, watching your face contort with need as he denies you release once more, his cock slick and shining with your arousal. The edging pushes you to your limit, desperation flooding you.

“Yes—please, I need you now,” you gasp, frustration making your voice sharp. In a surge of impatience, you push off the counter, trying to straddle him facing forward, your hands on his shoulders as you aim to sink down onto his length.

He smirks, that wicked glint in his eyes, holding you steady but not letting you take control yet. “If you want it, you'll have to work for it, baby.” His hands guide your hips, but instead of letting you face him, he turns you with effortless strength, positioning your back to his chest. “Turn around—I wanna see that ass bounce on me.”

Your pulse races at the command, the shift making your dripping pussy throb even harder. You turn around and straddle him on the kitchen chair, facing away in full reverse cowgirl, your knees spreading wide on either side of his thighs for balance. The position exposes everything to him—your ass cheeks parting slightly as you reach between your legs to grasp his thick shaft, feeling the heat radiating from it, the way it pulses thick and hard in your hand.

You guide the swollen head to your slick entrance, teasing it against your folds before slowly sinking down. Inch by inch, he stretches you open, the angle in reverse cowgirl letting his cock spear deeper than before, the tip pressing firmly against your cervix as you bottom out. Your pussy walls clench around his girth, fluttering wildly from the intense fullness, slick juices coating his balls and dripping down his length as your ass settles flush against his lap

“Fuck, yes—just like that,” Cheol groans, his his hands clamping onto your hips to help you move, fingers digging deep into your flesh with bruising force. His palm cracks down on your ass cheek, the sharp slap echoing in the kitchen and sending a jolt straight to your core. “Ride me, baby. Shake that ass.”

You start rocking your hips, lifting up until just the head of his cock remains inside, then dropping back down hard, your ass cheeks rippling and bouncing with each descent, slapping wetly against his thighs. The reverse cowgirl angle grinds your clit against the base of his shaft on every downstroke, the friction sparking electric heat through your nerves. His abs tense beneath you as he thrusts up sharply to meet your rhythm, driving his cock even deeper into your clenching pussy.

Your tits bounce freely with the motion, nipples hardening into tight peaks from the cool air and building arousal. You reach up to pinch one, but he swats your hand away roughly, his palms sliding around your sides to seize your breasts, fingers clamping down and yanking your nipples outward with sharp tugs that make you arch your back and cry out.

One of his hands trails up your spine, fingers threading roughly into your hair at the nape of your neck. He gathers a thick fistful of your strands, twisting them tightly around his knuckles before yanking your head back hard.

“AHHHH— Ch-Cheol-ahh” the pull is immediate and vicious, roots stinging as he forces your neck to crane, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat while pain shoots down your spine like fire.

Your pussy responds instantly, walls squeezing his cock in a vise-like grip from the sharp sensation, heightening every thrust. He uses the hair hold like reins, dictating your pace—tugging sharply to make you slam down faster, the yank pulling your scalp taut and making your eyes water as you ride him deeper, harder. Each pull arches your body further in reverse cowgirl, thrusting your ass out more prominently for his view, the control dynamic making your submission burn hotter.

“That's it—fuck, your pussy's gripping me so tight,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear from behind, his free hand snaking down to press two fingers against your clit, rubbing in firm, insistent circles that make your thighs tremble uncontrollably. His cock throbs inside you, the thick veins dragging roughly along your inner walls with every bounce, building that coiling tension in your belly with brutal precision.

The hand around your hair tightens. He wraps more strands around his fist, jerking your head side to side slightly, the repeated tugs sending fresh waves of stinging pain that blend into overwhelming pleasure, forcing your hips to grind on his cock even more desperately.

“Cheol—oh god, your cock feels so good, so deep,” you moan, your hands bracing on his thighs for leverage, fingers digging into the hard, flexing muscles as you lift and drop. The yank on your hair grows relentless, guiding you into a frantic rhythm, your ass bouncing wildly now, cheeks clapping against his skin with lewd, wet smacks that fill the kitchen.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

“That’s it, shake that ass for me,” he hisses, “Fuck me, what a fucking view!”

Waves of heat crash through you as you imagine his point of fire, seeing your ass jiggle and slap down, your pussy fluttering around his thick length from the dual assault of the deep angle and the controlling grip in your hair.

“You gonna cum for me? Show me how sorry you are for taking what's mine?” He keeps that grip firm, the control making every thrust hit impossibly deeper, his stamina unyielding as he drives you toward the edge. His fingers pinch your nipple again, pulling until it aches deliciously, syncing with the rub on your clit. The pressure builds unbearably, your movements growing erratic, pussy fluttering wildly around his length, red and throbbing from the stretch.

“Yes oppa—I'm sorry, AHHH, FUCK, I'm cumming!” You shatter, walls convulsing in powerful spasms as ecstasy rips through you, soaking his cock with a gush of your release, your body quaking in his iron hold. He doesn't relent, thrusting up through your orgasm with that dominant endurance, his fingers grinding harder on your clit until you're shuddering, oversensitive and whimpering, the hair pull keeping you arched and impaled on his cock.

“Good girl—now take mine, little cumslut,” he grunts, releasing your hair with a final sharp tug that leaves your scalp tingling and sore, only to seize both hips in a vise grip. He slams you down onto him repeatedly, the reverse position letting him watch your ass ripple with each forceful drop. His cock swells impossibly thicker inside you, and with a guttural groan, he buries himself to the hilt, hot cum erupting in thick, powerful spurts that flood your pussy, filling you to overflowing. You feel every pulse as he holds you down, the warmth spreading deep into your core, excess leaking out around his base and trickling down your thighs as your pussy milks him dry.

“I really was going to make you breakfast, you know, eggs, coffee, the whole thing,” you murmur contently, Cheol’s arms wrapping around your waist to pull you back against his chest, his softening cock still twitching inside you, cum dripping down your thighs.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, voice soft now. “Breakfast can wait. You taste better anyway.”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head for a lazy kiss, the morning light warming your joined bodies.

To be continued.

[subbydubbycarat]

Thanks 💎

📝 MASTERLIST | 📚 BLOG 2️⃣0️⃣0️⃣

I started this blog a little over a month ago just to get all the chaotic, self-indulgent (and yes, kinda inappropriate and taboo) fantasies out of my head… and somehow you all found me and decided to stay.

Thank you. All 200 of you. Thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, and just being here. I appreciate you all more than you know 💎