— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment.
— WC: 4.6k
— WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.
here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:
you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.
joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.
but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.
which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:
“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”
“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.
“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.
you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.
“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”
which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.
you unlock the door, push it open,
and immediately wish you hadn’t.
seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.
your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.
the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.
he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.
the next few seconds happen in slow motion.
his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.
“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.
you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”
“what about joshua?!”
“he… he needed a document.”
seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”
“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”
“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”
“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”
“HE’S NOT HERE.”
“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”
but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”
you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.
back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.
so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.
“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.
you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.
“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.
seungcheol tenses. “so?”
“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”
he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.
so you take a step forward. just one.
his breath hitches.
“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”
he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.
so you take another step.
and another.
until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.
his jaw tightens. “don’t.”
“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”
in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.
you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.
his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”
you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.
so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.
“or what?” you whisper.
his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”
your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.
“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”
he snaps.
the shirt under you is gone.
his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.
you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt.
his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.
the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”
no warning. just that.
you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.
there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.
seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.
but he’s not.
because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.
your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.
and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.
so he helps.
his hands clamp down on your waist.
and then he slams you down.
the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.
because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.
but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.
your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.
you can’t move.
“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.
“too big for you, baby?”
you whimper.
“thought so.”
and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.
and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.
“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”
you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips.
his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.
he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.
“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”
you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.
and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”
a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.
he groans, grinding up into you.
“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”
your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.
and he sees it.
his grin turns cruel.
“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”
you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.
“poor little thing.”
he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.
and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.
“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”
his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.
“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”
he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.
“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.
“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”
his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.
“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”
he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.
“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”
heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.
“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”
his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.
“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”
he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.
you shatter.
your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.
it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.
your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you.
the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.
seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.
“you good?”
you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”
he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.
his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”
you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.
you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.
you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.
you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.
his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.
“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.
you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”
he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.
you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.
he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.
the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.
his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.
your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.
your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”
you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.
he sees it. he knows.
his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.
your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.
but then—a whimper.
not from you.
from him.
you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.
seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.
he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.
“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”
your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”
he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.
your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.
seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.
your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.
your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.
you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.
but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.
the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.
but it’s enough to make him look at you.
you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.
then it hits you.
the documents.
joshua.
fuck.
your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”
seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”
he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”
you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”
“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”
your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”
“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”
“no.”
he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”
you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.
yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.
Summary: Drunk you has no filter and your husband has always been a weak, weak man when it comes to you. He just didn’t expect your family planning conversation to awaken the caveman part of his brain or a raging breeding kink in both of you.
Warnings: smut!MDNI, established relationship, trying to conceive, pregnancy, soft dom!cheol, domestic fluff, humor, healthy communication, breeding kink awakening, enthusiastic consent, multiple + creative locations and one very smug husband who knocked you up in paradise, married life, baby fever, hormone-induced chaos, obsessed husband!Cheol x obsessed wife!reader, as usual I might be missing something.
W.C: 18.1k
Sometimes being married to Choi Seungcheol felt like a fever dream as you often wondered how you managed to bag a man that ticked every box. He had his moments, his little beige flags as you liked to call them, but you knew that man loved you which is why you’re seeking him out as soon as you stumble through your front door. You had an itch only your husband could scratch and if you were right, he would still be holed up in the home office.
Seungcheol had been reading reports in his home office when he heard the front door slam. A quick look at his watch alerts him to the time, 1:47 AM.
His eyes narrowed. Why didn’t you call him to come pick you up? He gets out of his chair when he hears the unmistakable sound of heels being kicked off carelessly and soft humming.
“My husband!” your voice singsongs from the down the hall. “Where are youuu?”
He barely has time to make it to the hallway before you stumble into the room seconds later, eyes glazed and clutching your purse like it’s plotting against you.
“Babyyyy,” you gasp, “There you are.”
His brows draw together. “You’re drunk.”
You blink at him, smile growing. “Nuh-uh, just a tiny bit tipsy.” You measure with your fingers before breaking into a fit of giggles. Seungcheol can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you drunk—it’s still one hand—as you can hold your liquor very well.
You walk—well, sway—across the room and launch yourself at him. He stumbles half a step back, catching you as your arms wrap tightly around his waist, face burying into his chest.
“You smell expensive and…sexy,” you mumble.
“What happened?” he asks, voice low.
“Work has been shit,” you whisper. “Needed a—” you hiccup, “—a break.”
He exhales slowly before his hand finds its way to your back. His grip tightens as he studies your lightly smudged eyeliner and flushed cheeks. The scent of your favorite wine lingers on your breath but beneath it lies your usual perfume, brown sugar, coconut, vanilla.
“You’re a mess,” he murmurs, though there’s no bite in his tone.
You giggle against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “You married this mess.”
A beat of silence passes before his lips twitch despite himself. “What am going to do with you, huh?”
The weight of you against him is familiar, grounding even, despite the alcohol-fueled abandon in your movements. Seungcheol’s hand moves in slow, deliberate circles against your back, a habit he’s developed over the years; one that always seems to settle you.
“Do with me?” you repeat, pulling back just enough to look up at him through your lashes. Your eyes are glassy but focused entirely on him, pupils blown wide. “I have some ideas.”
He catches the shift in your tone immediately, the way your fingers stop their aimless fidgeting and instead trace deliberate paths along his chest. His jaw tightens.
“You’re drunk,” he repeats, firmer this time, even as his treacherous body responds to your proximity.
“In loveeeeee” you respond as you attempt to sing lyrics from Drunk in Love.
Seungcheol’s resolve wavers as you butcher the Beyoncé song, swaying in his arms with unselfconscious joy. Despite everything—the late hour, the worry that had knotted in his chest when he heard the door slam, the very valid concern about your current state—he feels his lips curve into a reluctant smile.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but his hands have already moved to steady you, one sliding to your hip while the other cups the back of your head.
“Ridiculously in love with you,” you counter, poking his chest for emphasis. The motion throws off your already questionable balance, and you stumble forward again.
He catches you easily, muscle memory from years of being your safety net. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
“Ooh, bed,” you waggle your eyebrows in a way that would be seductive if you weren’t also hiccupping. “See? You do have ideas.”
“To sleep,” he clarifies, already guiding you toward the bedroom with his arm firmly around your waist. “We’re going to bed to sleep. You’re going to wake up tomorrow wondering why you thought drinking on a work night was a good idea.”
“Tomorrow me’s problem,” you declare, then immediately contradict yourself by clinging tighter to him. “Don’t you dare leave me alone tonight, Choi Seungcheol.”
Something in your voice—beneath the alcohol and the playfulness—sounds small. Vulnerable.
His expression softens. “Never,” he promises quietly. “Now come on, let’s get you changed.”
“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” You stop and ask randomly as he sits you on the bathroom counter and tries to remove your makeup.
Seungcheol blinks. This was getting more surreal by the second. You were sitting before him, arms hanging off his shoulders with your head tilted with genuine curiosity and you wanted to know if he’d love you…as a worm? He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his hands curve around your waist.
“A worm?” he repeats, deadpan. “Seriously?”
“Yahhhh, you wouldn’t?” You pout.
Seungcheol sighs, the kind of deep, put-upon sigh that somehow still sounds fond. He reaches for the micellar water and a cotton pad, tilting your chin up with two fingers so he can start wiping away your makeup.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, ignoring your question as he gently swipes at your eyeliner.
“You’re avoiding the question!” you accuse, though you do hold still,mostly. “That means you wouldn’t love me. You’d just…leave me in the dirt somewhere. Alone. A poor, lonely worm—”
“I would build you a terrarium,” he interrupts, deadpan, moving to your other eye. “With the best soil money can buy. Organic, the expensive kind.”
You gasp, eyes flying open and nearly getting makeup remover in them. He gently presses them closed again with his thumb.
“I said hold still.”
“You’d really build me a terrarium?” Your voice has gone soft, touched, as if he’s just promised you the moon.
“Mhm.” He’s focused on removing your mascara now, touch careful and practiced. “With a heated lamp. Perfect pH balance in the soil. I’d probably hire someone to monitor your…worm health.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m answering your question.” His lips twitch as he tosses the used cotton pad aside and reaches for another. “You’d be the most spoiled worm in existence. I’d make sure of it.”
You’re quiet for a moment and when he glances at your face, you’re smiling at him with such open adoration it makes something in his chest squeeze tight.
“I love you,” you whisper.
His hand pauses mid-swipe. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering.
“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin. “Even if you ask me stupid questions at two in the morning.”
“Not stupid,” you mumble but you’re already melting into him again, arms tightening around his shoulders. “Important worm logistics.”
“Right. Very important.” He pulls back just enough to finish cleaning your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “Now let’s get you into pajamas before you ask me what I’d do if you were a dolphin.”
“Ooh, would you—”
“No.”
You cup his cheeks in your hands squishing them together, looking at him with those eyes before you kiss him. “Please, Cheollie? Want you?”
“Not tonight, princess.” It’s utterly amazing, the way you switch from asking him unhinged shit to asking him to fuck you. It should give him whiplash but it’s not the first time it’s happened.
“‘m not drunk…” you pout. “Can’t a girl just want her hot husband?”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexes under your palms, his eyes darkening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. He gently pulls your hands away from his face but doesn’t let go, instead intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You can,” he says, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And you will, tomorrow. When you’re sober and won’t regret it.”
“I would never regret you,” you protest, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his. “Not possible. Scientifically impossible.”
“Scientifically impossible,” he repeats and there’s amusement threading through the restraint in his tone. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” You nod seriously, the motion making you slightly dizzy. “Did research. Very thorough.”
His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand; that same grounding gesture, keeping himself anchored as much as you. “Your research involved how much wine exactly?”
“Irrelevant data,” you whisper, then press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “The conclusion is still valid.”
He inhales sharply and for a moment you think you’ve won. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip but then he’s pulling back, putting necessary distance between you even as everything in his expression says he doesn’t want to.
“I’m not doing this while you’re drunk,” he says firmly. “I don’t care how much you pout or how many times you tell me you’re fine. This is non-negotiable.”
You study him for a long moment, his set jaw, his dark eyes that are clearly affected despite his iron will, the way his hand trembles just slightly against yours.
“You really won’t?” you ask, quieter now.
“I really won’t.” His expression softens. “Ask me tomorrow. When you can look me in the eye without the room spinning. When you’ll actually remember every detail.” His voice drops to something almost possessive. “Because when I do touch you, I want you to remember all of it.”
The promise in his words sends heat pooling low in your stomach despite your alcohol-hazed state. You bite your lip and his eyes track the movement with dangerous focus before he deliberately looks away.
“Evil man,” you mutter. “Making me wait.”
“Responsible husband,” he corrects, then slides you off the counter and scoops you up bridal style in one smooth motion. “Now come on. Pajamas, water, bed, in that order.”
“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “But I’m picking the pajamas.”
“As long as you actually put them on instead of trying to seduce me again.”
“No promises.”
He huffs what might be a laugh as he carries you toward the bedroom. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Y’know everyone thinks I married you for your status and money.” You say switching the subject again as he starts unbuttoning your shirt.
“No, you didn’t. You had no idea who my family was when we met so I know it’s not that.”
“I married you for that fat ass.” you reply, hands drifting down and grabbing his ass. “don’t need your money.” You grin at the look on his face.
“God, I forgot how handsy you get with alcohol in your system.”
“Horny too but I guess I don’t do it for you cause…what kinda hisb—” you hiccup “husband doesn’t like his wife t-throwing herself at him? Is it Jeonghan? Is Hannie prettier than me?”
Seungcheol freezes mid-button, his eyes snapping to yours with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief.
“Did you just—” He stops, takes a breath, then continues with strained patience. “Did you seriously just ask me if I want Jeonghan?”
“Well, you don’t want me,” you say, bottom lip trembling in a way that would be more effective if you weren’t also still squeezing his ass. “He’s got nice hair,” you say defensively, words slurring slightly. “And that whole…pretty boy thing going on. Maybe you like that better than—”
“Jesus Christ woman,” Seungcheol mutters, catching your wandering hands and firmly moving them to your sides. “Okay, listen to me very carefully.”
He cups your face with both hands, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“First of all, Jeonghan is my best friend and I love him like a brother, which means the thought of anything else makes me want to bleach my brain.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks as he continues, voice firm but gentle. “Second, I always want you. Every single day. Sometimes so much it’s inconvenient, like in the middle of board meetings when you text me something cute.”
“Really?” you sniffle.
“Really.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “The reason I’m not touching you right now isn’t because I don’t want to. It’s because I respect you too much to take advantage when you’re drunk. Do you understand the difference?”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing. Then, “So, you do think I’m prettier than Hannie?”
A laugh bursts out of him, unexpected and genuine. “You’re completely ridiculous, you know that?”
“But am I prettier?”
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he says and the sincerity in his voice cuts through your alcohol-fogged brain. “Drunk, sober, first thing in the morning, all dressed up, doesn’t matter. It’s always you. Only you.”
Your eyes well up. “Cheollie…”
“Oh no.” He recognizes the signs immediately. “No crying. We’re not doing drunk crying tonight.”
“But you’re so nice to me,” you warble, tears already spilling over. “And I love you so much and you built me a theoretical worm terrarium, and you think I’m pretty—”
“I think we need to get you in pajamas right now,” he says, already reaching for the shirt buttons again with renewed determination, “before this spiral gets worse.”
“’m not spiraling,” you protest, even as another tear rolls down your cheek. “Just got a lot of feelings about my hot, respectful, worm-loving husband.”
“Worm-loving,” he repeats under his breath. “What is my life?”
“Your life is amazing,” you inform him, helpfully (unhelpfully) trying to unbutton your own shirt and just making the process more difficult. “You have me. And my ass. Which is also amazing.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly, gently batting your hands away so he can actually finish unbuttoning. “I married it, remember?”
You gasp, delighted. “You do remember! See, we’re perfect for each other. You married my ass, I married your ass—”
“That’s not how marriage works.”
“—it’s like…ass-tronomy. No, wait. Ass-trology? We’re ass-trologically compatible.”
Seungcheol pauses, shirt halfway off your shoulders, and just looks at you. “Did you just—you can’t just put ‘ass’ in front of words and expect them to make sense.”
“Ass-olutely can,” you say with complete conviction.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly praying for strength. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“You love it,” you singsong, finally cooperating enough to let him pull your shirt off. “You love meee and my drunk ass puns.”
“I love you despite your drunk ass puns,” he corrects, reaching for one of his old t-shirts from the drawer. “Arms up.”
You obey, lifting your arms like a toddler as he slides the shirt over your head. It’s enormous on you, falling nearly to your knees and smells like his cologne and laundry detergent. You immediately burrow into it with a happy sigh.
“Now pants,” he says, reaching for your waistband.
“Ooh, taking my pants off. Scandalous.”
“We’re literally married.”
“Still scandalous.” You boop his nose as he efficiently unbuttons your pants. “You’re being very professional about this. Very doctor-y. Do you do this for all your patients?”
“You’re my only patient and you’re testing my patience,” he mutters, helping you step out of your pants. “Other leg. Good.”
“Such a good caretaker,” you coo, patting his head as he kneels in front of you. “Gonna leave you five stars on MangoPlate. ‘Husband refused to have sex with drunk wife. Very responsible. Would recommend.’”
He looks up at you with an expression of pure suffering. “Please never write that review.”
“‘Also has a great ass,’” you continue thoughtfully. “‘Ass-ceptional, even.’”
“I’m begging you to stop.”
“‘Ass-tounding restraint—’”
He stands abruptly and just picks you up, cutting off your commentary as you squeal in surprise. “Okay. That’s enough. Water and bed. Now.”
“You can’t silence me!” you declare, even as you wrap your arms around his neck. “The people deserve to know about your ass!”
“The people know plenty,” he says, carrying you toward the bed with the long-suffering patience of a saint. “Now drink this.”
He somehow manages to grab the water bottle from the nightstand one-handed and present it to you. You take it obediently, suddenly realizing how thirsty you are.
“Good girl,” he murmurs and even in your drunk state, you don’t miss the way his voice dips on those words.
You lower the water bottle, eyes narrowing. “You can’t just say things like that and then refuse to—”
“Drink,” he interrupts firmly, tipping the bottle back up toward your lips.
You drink, plotting your revenge but the cool water actually does help clear some of the fog. When you’ve had enough, he sets the bottle aside and carefully deposits you onto your side of the bed.
“Stay,” he commands, pointing at you like you’re a mischievous puppy.
“Woof,” you respond because apparently the filter between your brain and mouth has completely dissolved. He huffs what might be a laugh and disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running and then he’s back with a damp washcloth, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come here,” he says softly, and when you scoot closer, he gently wipes your face; getting the spots he missed earlier, cooling your flushed cheeks. It’s tender and intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.
“Cheol?” you whisper.
“Mm?”
“’m really glad I married you. Not just for your ass.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know.”
“For your heart too. And your face. And the way you take care of me even when I’m being ridiculous. Oh, and that dick, can’t forget about that.”
“Woman, I swear to—”
“Just lemme keep it warm, please?” Your hand moves to rest low on his stomach. There you go trying to get him to fuck you, again.
“Baby, no. We both know you won’t stop there.”
You open your mouth to protest—to make very compelling arguments about your self-control and how you would totally just keep things innocent—but he cuts you off by pressing his thumb gently against your lips.
“Don’t,” he warns, though there’s affection in his eyes. “Don’t make promises drunk-you can’t keep. I know you.”
You deflate slightly because, fine, he’s right. Sober-you has minimal self-control around him. Drunk-you has absolutely none which is exactly why you keep asking.
“Just wanna feel you inside, promise I’ll behave.”
Seungcheol’s composure cracks visibly, his breath hitches, his grip on the washcloth tightening as his eyes darken with want. For a moment, you think you’ve finally broken through his resolve.
Then he closes his eyes, jaw working and when he opens them again his expression is pained but firm.
“You’re killing me,” he says roughly. “You know that?”
“Good,” you mumble, though you’re already yawning. “Suffer with me.” You say pressing your lips to his.
“I shouldn’t have to deal with my ovulation alone.” And suddenly the wheels are turning in Seungcheol’s head. He goes completely still against your lips, his brain clearly short-circuiting as he processes what you just said.
“Your…what?” He pulls back to look at you, eyes wide.
“Ovulation,” you repeat matter-of-factly, like you’re discussing the weather. “Why d’you think I’m so horny? It’s science, Cheollie. Biology. Nature.” You wave your hand dramatically. “My body wants a baby and it’s making me crazy and you’re—you’re just sitting here looking all hot and responsible and—”
“Okay,” he interrupts, voice strangled. “Okay, we’re not, you can’t just drop that information on me while you’re drunk and expect me to—”
“To what?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious despite the alcohol. “Finally give your wife what she wants?”
His eyes flutter closed and he takes several deep breaths, clearly fighting an internal battle. When he opens them again, there’s a new tension in his expression; want, restraint, and something darker all tangled together.
“That’s not fair,” he says roughly. “You can’t use the ovulation card. That’s playing dirty.”
“Everything’s fair in love and baby-making,” you counter, then giggle at your own modification of the phrase.
“We are not having this conversation right now,” he says firmly, even as his hand unconsciously tightens on your hip. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober, when we can have an actual discussion about—about family planning and—”
“Already know I want your babies,” you interrupt, cupping his face. “Known that for years. Since like…our third date probably.”
“Third date,” he repeats faintly.
“Mhm. You were wearing that gray sweater and you laughed at my joke and I just thought—” you sigh dreamily, “—‘yeah, I want tiny humans with his laugh and dimples.’”
Something shifts in his expression; it goes soft and vulnerable in a way that makes your heart squeeze even through the alcohol haze.
“You’re not playing fair at all,” he whispers.
“Don’t wanna play fair,” you whisper back. “Want you. Want your baby. Want—” another yawn interrupts you, “—want you to stop being so responsible and just…”
But exhaustion is finally catching up with you, the alcohol and emotional rollercoaster of the evening taking their toll. Your eyes are getting heavier despite your best efforts.
Seungcheol notices immediately, his expression gentling. “There we go,” he murmurs, carefully maneuvering you under the covers. “Finally.”
“’m not tired,” you protest weakly, even as you burrow into the pillow.
“Sure you’re not.” He slides in next to you and immediately you roll toward him, seeking his warmth.
“Cheol?” you mumble against his chest.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Tomorrow…we can talk about it? The baby thing?”
His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promises. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”
“And you’ll actually consider it? Not just…say we’ll talk and then avoid it?”
There’s a pause, and then, “I’ve been considering it for months,” he admits quietly. “I just wanted to wait for the right time. When we were both ready.”
You manage to pull back just enough to look at him, suddenly feeling more alert. “Months?”
He smiles, a little embarrassed. “Why do you think I cleared out the guest room last month? I’ve been planning…thinking about turning it into a nursery. Eventually.”
“You—” your eyes well up again, “—you sneaky, wonderful man.”
“Don’t cry,” he says, but he’s smiling as he wipes away the tears with his thumb. “Save it for tomorrow when you can properly yell at me for not telling you sooner.”
“Gonna yell and cry,” you inform him. “And then jump your bones.”
“Looking forward to it,” he says dryly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel terrible in the morning.”
“Worth it,” you mumble, already drifting. “Got you to admit you want babies…”
“I want your babies,” he corrects softly. “There’s a difference.”
But you’re already asleep, a small smile on your face, wrapped securely in your husband’s arms. Seungcheol lies awake a little longer, looking down at you; his drunk, ridiculous, beautiful wife who just ambushed him with baby talk and ass puns in the same conversation.
“What am I going to do with you?” he whispers, echoing his earlier question.
But this time, he’s smiling as he says it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow they’ll talk—really talk—about the future. About expanding their family. About all the things he’s been too cautious to bring up, worried about timing and readiness and a thousand other factors.
But tonight, you’re here, safe and warm and his, talking about wanting his babies since the third date.
Yeah. Tomorrow is going to be interesting.
He presses one more kiss to your forehead before settling in, keeping you close. His ovulating, drunk, perfect disaster of a wife. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
The next morning, you wake up to three things; a pounding headache that feels like a marching band has taken up residence in your skull, blinding sunlight streaming through curtains you thought you closed and the smell of coffee and something sweet wafting from the kitchen.
You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Your mouth tastes like something died in it and when you try to sit up, the room spins just enough to make you regret every life choice that led to this moment.
“Oh god,” you mutter, flopping back down.
Fragments of last night start filtering back through the haze. Coming home late. Seungcheol’s concerned face. The bathroom counter. Worm terrarium? You definitely said something about worms. And then—
Your eyes fly open.
“Oh no.”
The baby conversation. The ovulation announcement. Your very detailed commentary about your husband’s ass. The—you bury your face in your hands—the begging.
“Kill me now,” you whisper to the empty room.
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
You nearly jump out of your skin. Seungcheol is leaning against the doorframe, holding a mug of coffee and wearing an expression that can only be described as deeply amused.
He’s already somewhat dressed for the day in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly damp from a shower, looking infuriatingly well-rested and attractive. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you look like a gremlin who lost a fight with a bottle of wine.
“How long have you been standing there?” you croak.
“Long enough to hear you bargaining with God.” He pushes off the doorframe and walks over, setting the coffee on the nightstand. “How’s the head?”
“Like I deserve it,” you admit, gratefully reaching for the mug. “How much did I—” you pause, coffee halfway to your lips, “—how bad was it?”
His smile grows. “On a scale of one to ten?”
“Cheol.”
“You asked if I’d love you as a worm,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You accused me of wanting Jeonghan. You made approximately ten puns involving the word ‘ass.’ And—” his expression shifts to something more heated, “—you made some very compelling arguments about baby-making.”
You choke on your coffee. “Oh my god.”
“Also, apparently you decided you married me for my ‘fat ass’ and not my money or status, which is good to know.”
“I hate everything,” you moan, setting the coffee down so you can bury your face in your hands again. “I’m never drinking again. I’m becoming a nun. I’m moving to a remote island where I can’t embarrass myself—”
“Hey.” His hand wraps around your wrist, gently pulling your hands away from your face. His expression is soft now, affectionate. “You were cute.”
“I was a disaster.”
“A cute disaster.” He coils a loose curl around his finger. “You always are when you drink. It’s part of your charm.”
“There’s nothing charming about drunk me telling you I want to—” you can’t even finish the sentence, heat flooding your face.
“Keep me warm?” he supplies helpfully. “Just want it inside you, you’d behave, you promised?”
“Seungcheol.”
He’s grinning now, clearly enjoying your mortification. “Or was it the part where you said your ovulation shouldn’t be a solo activity?”
You grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it. He laughs, catching it easily and tossing it aside before catching both your wrists in his hands.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, eyes dancing with mischief, “you were very…articulate about your needs.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” you announce, trying to pull away. “Wake me in ten years when I’ve died of embarrassment.”
“Can’t do that either.” He releases one wrist but keeps hold of the other, his thumb tracing circles on your pulse point. “We have things to discuss. Remember?”
Your heart skips. The amusement in his expression hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there now; something serious and warm and a little nervous.
“The…baby thing?” you venture quietly.
“The baby thing,” he confirms. “But first—” he reaches over to the nightstand and retrieves two pills and a glass of water you hadn’t noticed, “—pain meds. Then breakfast. Then we talk.”
“Cheol, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or—”
“You didn’t.” He’s firm about that, waiting until you take the medication before continuing. “You surprised me, yeah. But uncomfortable? No.” He pauses. “Turned on while trying desperately to maintain my morals? Absolutely, but not uncomfortable.”
Despite everything, you feel a smile tugging at your lips. “I really tried to break you, huh?”
“You almost succeeded,” he admits. “The ovulation thing was a low blow.”
“It’s true though,” you say, then immediately want to take it back because…
“I know.” His voice drops, eyes darkening. “I checked the calendar while you were sleeping. You’re right in the middle of your fertile window.”
The air between you shifts, charges. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in bed, wearing only his t-shirt and he’s looking at you like,
“Breakfast first,” he says firmly, standing up. “You need food and hydration. Then we’ll talk. Really talk. About timing, readiness and what we both want.”
“And if we decide we want the same thing?” you ask, unable to help yourself.
He leans down, bracing one hand on the mattress beside you, bringing his face close to yours. “Then I clear my schedule for the rest of the day,” he murmurs. “And give you exactly what you were begging for last night.”
Your breath catches.
“But sober,” he adds, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before straightening. “And enthusiastically consenting to every single detail.”
“That’s—” you have to clear your throat, “—very responsible of you.”
“Someone has to be.” He heads toward the door, then pauses. “Oh, and baby? For the record?” He looks back with a devastating smile. “I’ve been ready for months. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you sitting in bed, headache temporarily forgotten, heart racing with possibilities. From the kitchen, you hear him call, “French toast or pancakes?”
“French toast!” you call back, already scrambling out of bed.
Suddenly, you’re feeling much better about facing this day and the conversation that could change everything.
You pad into the kitchen after finishing your morning routine. He’s plating the last of breakfast before sitting down and as you go to take your place beside him, he pulls you onto his lap.
“Cheol?”
“You asked me to keep it warm last night,” he whispers. “Think you can do that while we sit and have breakfast, love? Bet I’d be able to slide right in.”
You freeze, every nerve ending suddenly awake and hyper-aware. Your headache? Gone. The lingering nausea? Vanished. There’s only Seungcheol beneath you, solid and warm, his breath hot against your ear.
“I…what?” Your voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
His hands settle on your hips, fingers slipping just under the hem of his t-shirt you’re still wearing. “You heard me.” His voice is low, rough in a way that sends heat pooling low in your belly. “You wanted this last night. Said you’d behave. That you just wanted to feel full.”
“I was drunk,” you manage, even as your body is already responding, already leaning back against his chest.
“And now you’re sober.” His lips brush the shell of your ear. “So, I’m asking properly. Do you want this? Want to sit here, keeping me warm while we eat breakfast and talk about our future?”
Your breath hitches. This is…it’s obscene. It’s intimate in a way that makes your head spin and you want it so badly you can barely think straight.
“What about the talking?” you whisper. “The responsible conversation?”
“We can still talk.” One hand slides up your spine, settling between your shoulder blades. “I can be very articulate, even when I’m buried inside you. Question is, can you?”
It’s a challenge. One you’ve never backed down from.
You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes. They’re dark, intense but there’s a question there too. Real consent. Making sure this is what you actually want and not just lingering drunk decisions.
“Yes,” you breathe. “I want this.”
His grip tightens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shift in his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath you. “Want you. Always want you.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “Lift up a little, baby.”
You obey, bracing your hands on his thighs as he shifts beneath you. You hear the rustle of fabric, feel him pushing his sweatpants down just enough, and then,
“No underwear?” His voice is strained as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, discovering you came to the kitchen in just his shirt and nothing else.
“Seemed inefficient,” you manage, gasping when his fingers brush where you need him most.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and you feel him stroke himself once, twice. “You’re already so wet.”
“Told you,” you say breathlessly. “Ovulation. Biology. Can’t help—oh—”
He’s guiding himself to your entrance, letting you feel the blunt pressure of him. “Slow,” he murmurs. “Take your time. We’ve got all morning.”
You lower yourself gradually, inch by torturous inch, feeling the stretch and burn and perfect fullness of him. His hands are steady on your hips, helping you and his breathing is harsh against your neck.
“That’s it,” he encourages roughly. “Just like that, baby. So good for me.”
When you’re fully seated, both of you still for a moment. You’re trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it; sitting in his lap in your bright kitchen, completely joined, the morning sun streaming through the windows.
“Okay?” he asks, voice strained.
“So okay,” you breathe. “So…Cheol, you feel—”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I know, baby. Now—” he reaches around you for the plates, sliding them closer, “—breakfast.”
You laugh, slightly delirious. “You can’t be serious.”
“Completely serious.” He picks up a fork, cutting a piece of French toast. “Open.”
This is insane. You’re sitting on your husband’s lap in the kitchen, full of him, while he feeds you breakfast like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You open your mouth and he slides the fork in. The French toast is perfect, crispy outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of cinnamon and syrup. You chew slowly, hyper-aware of every small movement, how even that makes you shift slightly on him.
His breath catches. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?” You shift deliberately, just a little and feel him twitch inside you. “I’m just eating breakfast.”
“You’re playing with fire,” he growls but he’s already cutting another piece. “Now, let’s talk about this baby thing.”
You nearly choke on nothing. “Now? You want to have this conversation now?”
“Why not?” His free hand settles possessively on your lower belly, thumb stroking just above where you’re joined. “Seems like the perfect time. Can’t run away. Can’t deflect. You’ve got my undivided attention.”
His voice is teasing but there’s an edge of seriousness underneath. He really does want to talk about this. Like this. Your utterly insane, wonderful husband.
“Okay,” you manage, reaching for your coffee with shaking hands. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
“So,” Seungcheol says, his voice remarkably steady despite the situation, “you said last night you’ve wanted this since our third date.”
You take a sip of coffee, trying to focus on the conversation and not the fact that you can feel every minute shift of his body. “I—yeah. I mean, not immediately, obviously but I knew. Knew that I wanted a future with you. Kids. All of it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” His hand is still on your belly, thumb tracing idle patterns that are absolutely not helping your concentration.
“I don’t know. Timing? We were building our careers, and I didn’t want to pressure you, and—” you gasp softly as he shifts slightly beneath you, “—are you doing that on purpose?”
“No,” he says but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Just getting comfortable. Keep talking.”
“You’re evil.”
“You’re stalling.” He offers you another bite of French toast. “Come on. I want to hear this.” You accept the bite, chewing while trying to organize your thoughts, which is nearly impossible when you’re so acutely aware of him inside you, stretching you, filling you so completely.
“I was scared,” you finally admit. “That maybe you didn’t want the same things. That I’d bring it up and you’d feel trapped or obligated and then months kept passing and it felt like the moment never came up naturally and—” you laugh shakily, “—I guess drunk me decided to just rip the bandaid off.”
“Drunk you has terrible timing but good instincts.” His lips brush your shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to have this conversation for months too.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He sets down the fork, both hands coming to rest on your hips now. “I meant what I said earlier. About clearing out the guest room. I’ve been thinking about it constantly…what it would be like. You, pregnant. A baby. Our baby.”
Your heart stutters. “Cheol…”
“I think about you with a bump,” he continues, voice going rougher. “About feeling them kick. About watching you become a mother.” His hips shift up slightly, making you gasp. “About putting a baby in you.”
“That’s—oh god—that’s not fair,” you whimper, fingers digging into his thighs.
“What’s not fair?”
“Saying things like that when I can’t move, can’t—”
“Who says you can’t move?” His grip tightens on your hips. “I said sit still during breakfast. We’re done eating now.”
Your breath catches. “Are we?”
“Mhmm.” One hand slides up to cup your breast through the thin t-shirt, thumb brushing over your nipple. “I think it’s time for dessert. Don’t you?”
“Seungcheol—”
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice dropping to that commanding tone that never fails to undo you. “Use your words, baby. Sober words.”
You’re trembling now, desperate. “Want you. Want this. Want—” you break off as his other hand slides between your legs, finding where you’re joined.
“Want what?” he presses. “Say it.”
“Want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Want you to put a baby in me. Want…please, Cheollie, please—”
“There she is,” he murmurs approvingly. Then his grip shifts, and he’s lifting you slightly before pulling you back down, finally, finally giving you the friction you’ve been craving.
You cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he sets a devastating rhythm. The breakfast dishes rattle on the table with each thrust and you distantly think you should care about the mess you’re probably making but then he angles his hips just right and all thoughts scatter.
“That’s it,” he growls against your neck. “Take it. Take all of me.”
“Yes, god, yes—”
His hand on your breast squeezes while the other works between your legs and the combination is overwhelming. You’re already close, wound too tight from sitting still for so long, from the filthy intimacy of it all.
“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna give you exactly what you want. What we both want. You want that, baby? Want me to get you pregnant?”
“Yes,” you sob and you’re not even sure if it’s the hormones or the moment or the fact that this is your husband, your partner, your person and you’re finally talking about this, finally doing this…
“Come for me first,” he demands. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you want this.”
His fingers press harder and that’s all it takes. You shatter, clenching around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you in waves.
“Fuck, baby—” his rhythm falters, becomes erratic and then he’s following you over, groaning against your neck as he pulses inside you, holding you tight against him. For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both breathing hard, trembling, still joined together as aftershocks roll through you.
“So,” Seungcheol finally says, voice rough and satisfied, “I think that’s a yes? We’re doing this?”
You laugh breathlessly, turning your head to kiss him. “Yeah, we’re doing this.”
“Good.” He nuzzles into your neck. “Because I meant every word. I want this. Want you. Want our family.”
“Even though I ambushed you while drunk?”
“Especially because you ambushed me while drunk.” You can feel his smile against your skin. “Shows you trust me. Even when you’re not in control.”
You shift slightly and he groans. “Don’t move yet. Just…let me hold you like this for a minute.”
So, you do, sitting in your dining room in the morning sunlight, still connected, still close, talking softly about the future you’re going to build together.
About nursery colors and baby names and how you’ll tell your families and whether you want to know the gender or be surprised. About all the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful possibilities ahead and when he finally, reluctantly slips out of you, he immediately scoops you up and carries you back to the bedroom.
“Again?” you ask, surprised but definitely not opposed.
“We’re optimizing our chances,” he says seriously but his eyes are dancing. “It’s just good planning.”
“You’re a fein.”
“You’re ovulating,” he counters, laying you gently on the bed. “And I have months of baby-making fantasies to work through. So,” he crawls over you, settling between your thighs, “we’re going to be here a while.”
“What about our schedules?” you tease. “Don’t you have meetings? I have work.”
“Cancelled everything,” he says, leaning down to kiss you slowly, deeply. “Told them I have important business with my wife.”
“Very important business,” you agree, gasping as he enters you again.
“The most important,” he murmurs against your lips. He flips you on your hands and knees first, arched just the way he wants you.
“Stay just like that,” Seungcheol commands, his hands spreading across your lower back, pressing down slightly to deepen the arch. “Perfect. So, fucking perfect.”
You’re trembling already, forehead pressed against the sheets, completely exposed to him. You feel vulnerable like this, open, but the way he’s looking at you; you can practically feel the heat of his gaze dragging over every inch of exposed skin.
“Cheol—” you start but the word cuts off into a moan as he runs his hands up your sides, thumbs tracing your spine.
“Shhh,” he soothes, though there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s positioning you, adjusting your hips exactly where he wants them. “Just feel.”
One hand wraps around your hip while the other slides between your legs, finding you still wet, still sensitive from before. You jerk at the contact and his grip tightens, holding you steady.
“Still so ready for me,” he muses, almost conversational, like he’s not currently destroying your composure with just his fingers. “Even after I just filled you up. You really do want this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you gasp into the sheets. “God, yes, please…”
“Please what?” He’s teasing now, the head of his cock brushing against you but not entering, just barely there, making you crazy.
“Please fuck me,” you whimper, trying to push back against him, but his hand on your hip keeps you in place. “Please, I need—”
“Need what, baby? Use your words.”
“Need you inside me,” you practically sob. “Need you to…to get me pregnant, need you to—oh fuck—”
He slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself completely, and the angle is devastating. You can feel him so deep like this, stretching you, filling every inch.
“This what you need?” His voice is strained now, control slipping. Both hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and you hope they do, want to see the marks tomorrow, proof of this.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop—”
“Not stopping,” he growls, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Not until you’re dripping with me. Not until I know it took.” The pace he sets is brutal, desperate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you crying out with each thrust. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding you.
“Gonna look so good pregnant,” he pants. “Gonna love watching your belly grow. Knowing I did that. That you’re carrying my baby.”
“Cheol—” you’re incoherent now, can only hold on as he takes you apart.
“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me what you want.”
“Want your baby,” you gasp out. “Want you to…to come inside me, want—god—want everyone to know I’m yours.”
His rhythm stutters at that, becomes somehow even more intense. “Mine,” he agrees roughly. “Always mine. My wife. Mother of my children. Mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty, sends you spiraling. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, whiting out your vision and you feel yourself clench around him rhythmically.
“Fuck—baby—” he groans and then he’s there too, pressing as deep as he can go, holding you against him as he fills you again. This time when he pulls out, he immediately maneuvers you onto your back, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your hips before you can protest.
“Elevate,” he explains breathlessly and you can’t help but laugh.
“You really did research.”
“Told you.” He collapses partially on top of you with his head resting on your chest. “Months of thinking about this. I’m prepared.”
Your fingers find his hair, feeling satisfied and tender and so completely loved. “How long do I have to stay like this?”
“Twenty minutes at least.” His hand finds your belly again, splaying possessively across it. “Maybe thirty to be safe.”
“And what are we doing for the next twenty to thirty minutes?”
His eyes darken again and you feel him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. After all—” he rolls you on your side carefully, mindful of the pillow, settling behind you and lifting your leg up and over his hip, “—we should really make sure we’re being thorough.”
“Thorough,” you repeat breathlessly.
“Very thorough,” he agrees, kissing down your neck. “It’s important to be thorough about these things.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“You’re irresistible.” He nips at your collarbone. “And ovulating. And my wife. Who I’m trying to get pregnant. So yes—” he enters you again, slow and deep, making you both groan, “—insatiable sounds about right.”
And as he begins to move again, slow and intimate and perfect, you think that maybe drunk you had the right idea after all.
Sometimes the best conversations happen in the most unexpected ways.
Seungcheol folds you with both legs to your chest and you know your body is going to complain about it later.
“Wait, Cheol—” you gasp as he pushes your knees toward your chest, folding you in half.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his hands hooking under your knees, spreading you open as he presses them down. “This angle—fuck, baby, you have no idea—”
And then he’s sliding back in, and oh—he’s right. The angle is incredible. Overwhelming. He’s somehow even deeper like this, hitting spots that make stars explode behind your eyelids.
“Oh my god—” you can barely breathe, pinned beneath him, completely at his mercy.
“That’s it,” he groans, watching where you’re joined with dark, hungry eyes. “Take it. Take all of me.”
Your flexibility has never been your strong suit and you can already feel the strain in your hips, your thighs protesting the position but the pleasure overrides everything else; the way he’s grinding against you with each thrust, the delicious pressure, the intimacy of being folded completely under him.
“You’re so deep,” you whimper, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “I can’t…it’s too much—”
“Not too much,” he counters, but there’s a question in his eyes even as he maintains the brutal pace. “Color?”
“Green,” you gasp immediately. “So green, don’t stop, please don’t—ah—”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with perfect pressure, and you nearly scream. Everything is heightened like this, every nerve ending on fire, every thrust punching the air from your lungs.
“Gonna keep you just like this,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temple. “Gonna fill you up so deep it has to take. You want that?”
“Yes—yes—Cheol, I’m—”
“I know, baby. I can feel it.” His movements become more purposeful, grinding deep rather than thrusting, the friction against your clit constant and maddening. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Show me how much you want my baby.”
The combination of his words, his thumb, the relentless pressure against that spot deep inside, it’s too much. You shatter with a cry that’s probably too loud for the morning, clenching around him so hard you see white.
“Fuck, just like that—” Seungcheol’s rhythm falters, his hips jerking erratically as he follows you over the edge for the fourth time, groaning your name like a prayer as he empties himself inside you.
He stays buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting, trembling. Then carefully—so carefully—he releases your legs, helping you straighten them out with gentle hands.
“Ow,” you whimper immediately as your hips protest, muscles cramping.
“Sorry, sorry—” he’s already massaging your thighs, pressing kisses to your knees. “I got carried away.”
“Worth it,” you manage, even as you wince. “But I’m definitely going to feel that tomorrow.”
“I’ll give you a massage later,” he promises, still working the tension from your muscles. “A proper one. With oil and everything.”
“You better.” You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss. “I’m going to be walking funny for days.”
“Good,” he says against your lips, unrepentant. “Let everyone wonder why.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.” He rolls to the side, immediately pulling you with him, tucking you against his chest. His hand finds your belly again; it’s apparently his new favorite spot. “Think it worked?”
“Cheol, we can’t possibly know that yet—”
“But do you think it worked?” he insists, almost childlike in his eagerness.
You soften, covering his hand with yours. “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“And if not?”
“Then we try again,” you say, smiling. “And again. As many times as it takes.”
His answering grin is devastating. “I love this plan. Best plan we’ve ever had.”
“Of course you love it,” you tease. “You’re getting sex on demand.”
“I’m getting to start a family with the love of my life,” he corrects, suddenly serious. “The sex is just a bonus. A really, really good bonus, but still.”
Your throat tightens with emotion. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead. “Now, twenty more minutes with your hips elevated, and then I’m running you a bath.”
“And then?”
“And then lunch. Hydration. Maybe a nap.” His smile turns wicked. “And then round whatever we’re on.”
“Again?!”
“Baby,” he says solemnly, “we’re not leaving this bed until tomorrow. I told you, I’m being thorough.”
You should protest. Should remind him you both have lives, responsibilities, that you can’t spend an entire day having sex no matter how appealing that sounds but then his hand starts tracing patterns on your belly again and he’s looking at you with such love and want and hope that all protests die in your throat.
“Thorough,” you agree weakly. “Right, very important.”
“The most important,” he confirms and as he settles beside you, already planning the rest of your day—which apparently consists entirely of various positions and strategic pillow placement—you think that maybe, just maybe, drunk you deserves some credit.
After all, she got the conversation started, even if her methods were…unconventional. Your husband certainly isn’t complaining and neither—despite your aching hips and the knowledge that you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow—are you.
The shower was supposed to be innocent, just washing off, getting clean, maybe some gentle aftercare. That lasted approximately three minutes before Seungcheol’s hands started wandering from “helpful” to “decidedly unhelpful.”
“Choi Seungcheol,” you warned but it came out breathless as his fingers traced your hip. “We’re supposed to be cleaning up.”
“We are cleaning up,” he murmured against your neck, pressing you forward until your palms hit the cool tile. “Very thoroughly.”
“That’s not—oh—”
His hand slid between your thighs from behind, finding you still sensitive, still wet with more than just water. “Still ready for me,” he observed, voice dropping an octave. “Even after all that.”
“It’s the hormones,” you managed, even as you arched back into his touch. “I told you, ovulation makes me—fuck—”
“Makes you what?” He was already lining himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “Insatiable? Desperate? Willing to let me fuck you against the shower wall?”
“All of the above,” you gasped as he pushed in, the slide easy despite how much you’d already taken him today.
This time was different, harder, more primal. The tile was cold against your breasts, your cheek, contrasting with the hot water and his body pressed against your back. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly, keeping you in place as he took you apart.
“This is what you do to me,” he growled in your ear. “Walking around, talking about my baby, being so fucking perfect—”
“Cheol, baby please—”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, I need—”
“I know what you need.” His other hand found your clit, and you nearly sobbed. “Need me to breed you. Need me to pump you so full—”
You came with a sharp cry, clenching around him, and he followed immediately after, groaning against your shoulder as he held you pinned to the wall.
The water was starting to run cold by the time you both caught your breath.
You genuinely thought he’d be tired after the shower. Thought maybe you’d eat, cuddle, take that nap he’d mentioned.
You made it halfway through your sandwich.
“Come here,” Seungcheol said suddenly, pushing his chair back.
“I’m eating—”
“You can finish later.” There was something almost feral in his eyes as he stalked around the table toward you. “Right now, I need you bent over this table.”
“Choi Seungcheol—” but you were already standing, already letting him turn you around, already bracing your hands on the polished wood as he flipped up the oversized t-shirt you’d thrown on.
“No panties again,” he noted with approval. “It’s like you want me to fuck you at every opportunity.”
“Maybe I do,” you shot back, then gasped as he entered you in one smooth thrust.
The angle was perfect, the table the ideal height and he took full advantage of it. His fingers dug into your hips as he set a punishing rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscenely loud in your quiet dining room.
“Look at you,” he panted, gathering your hair in one fist. “Taking it so well. So eager for it. Bet you’d let me fuck you anywhere right now, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, god, anywhere—”
“Kitchen counter? Bedroom floor? Against the windows where the neighbors might see?”
The thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but combined with his relentless pace, it pushes you over the edge. You came with a strangled moan, and he wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t give you time to recover. Just pulled out, ignored your whimper, and guided you to the couch.
“Hands on the back,” he instructed. “Ass up.”
You were shaking as you obeyed, gripping the back of the couch as he positioned himself behind you again. This angle was even deeper, and you could feel him in your belly with each thrust.
“Too much,” you whimpered, but you didn’t use your safeword, didn’t actually want him to stop.
“Not too much,” he countered, one hand sliding up your spine. “You can take it. You can take everything I give you.” And you did, you took it until you were crying with pleasure, until your legs gave out, until he had to hold you up as he finished inside you for the—you’d lost count at this point.
When he finally pulled out, your legs couldn’t support you. You collapsed onto the plush living room carpet, and he followed you down, immediately positioning you on your hands and knees.
“One more,” he said, voice rough. “Just one more, baby, and then we’ll rest.”
“Can’t—” you protested weakly, but your body was already responding, already arching for him.
“You can.” He slid in easily, and the stretch was almost too much on your oversensitized flesh. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so perfectly. Gonna make such a good mother.”
The praise broke something in you. You dropped to your elbows, pressing your face into the carpet as he took you with long, deep strokes. There was something almost desperate about it now, like he couldn’t get deep enough, close enough, like he was trying to merge you into one person.
“Love you,” he panted. “Love you so fucking much. Gonna give you everything. Everything you want. Everything you deserve.”
You were too far gone to respond with words, could only moan and take it and feel yourself building toward yet another impossible orgasm.
When it hit, it was almost painful in its intensity. You felt him swell inside you, felt the warmth as he came again, and then everything went soft and hazy.
You came back to yourself slowly, aware of gentle hands cleaning you with a warm cloth, of being lifted and carried, of soft sheets against your skin.
“Did I pass out?” you mumbled.
“Just for a minute.” Seungcheol sounded worried now, the feral intensity finally broken. “I’m sorry, I got carried away—”
“Don’t apologize.” You caught his hand, pressing it to your cheek. “That was…I didn’t know you had that in you.”
He laughed shakily. “Neither did I. I just—when you said you wanted a baby, something in my brain just…short-circuited.”
“Clearly.” You shifted, wincing at the soreness. “I’m going to be feeling this for a week.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised immediately. “Bath, massage, whatever you need. I’m sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.” You pulled him down beside you. “I liked it. Loved it, actually. I just…didn’t expect the conversation about trying for a baby to turn my usually controlled husband into…that.”
“Into what?”
“Into someone who fucks me in every room of the house,” you say bluntly. “Who can’t go an hour without being inside me. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me.”
He flushed. “The ovulation thing wasn’t helping. Knowing you’re fertile right now, that any of these times could be the one—” he broke off, shaking his head. “It did something to me.”
“I noticed.” You traced his jaw. “For the record? I’m not complaining. I’m just surprised and very, very sore.”
“Nap now,” he decided. “Then massage. Then dinner. And then—”
“If you say ‘and then round whatever number we’re on,’ I’m divorcing you.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “I was going to say ‘and then we’ll see how you feel.’”
“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
“But if you’re feeling up to it…” His hand slid to your belly again. “We should probably maximize our chances.”
You stared at him. “You’re actually insatiable.”
“Only with you.” He kissed your forehead. “Only ever with you.”
And despite the soreness, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that you’d had more sex in one day than most couples have in a month, you found yourself smiling because this was your husband. Your partner. The father of your future children and if his method of “trying for a baby” involved fucking you in every room of the house until you couldn’t walk straight?
Well.
You’d had worse problems.
“Fine,” you conceded. “But after a nap and a massage, you’re carrying me everywhere for the next week.”
“Deal,” he agreed immediately, already pulling you closer.
Nothing came from that day of marathon sex but with how feral your husband had gotten that day you knew something had awakened in him that would be hard to reign in which is how you found yourself in your current position, bent over the balcony of your bedroom at the Airbnb that had been booked for his work trip to Hawaii which he insisted you come on. Something about a second honeymoon.
You should have known something was up when Seungcheol insisted you come on his work trip.
“It’s Hawaii,” he’d said, showing you the booking confirmation with an innocence that should have been your first warning. “We’ve never been. Plus, my meetings are only in the mornings. We’d have the afternoons and evenings together.”
“A second honeymoon,” he’d called it with that devastating smile.
What he’d failed to mention was that the “trying for a baby” conversation had apparently permanently rewired something in his brain.
You’d learned this over the past few weeks. The man who used to be controlled, measured, professional in every aspect of his life had developed a hair-trigger when it came to you. A lingering glance, your hand on his thigh at dinner, the way you bit your lip while concentrating—any of it could result in him finding the nearest private surface and bending you over it.
The office after hours? Check.
The car in the parking garage? Check.
The fitting room at the boutique where you’d been shopping for maternity clothes (optimistically)? Very much check.
But this—this was a new level, even for him.
“Cheol,” you hissed, gripping the balcony railing as he pressed against your back, his hands already pushing up your sundress. “We’re outside. Someone could see—”
“The nearest villa is hundreds of feet away,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “No one can see unless they’re in a helicopter.”
“That’s not the point—”
“The point,” he interrupted, one hand sliding between your thighs to find you already wet—because of course you were—your body had learned to anticipate him now, “is that you’ve been walking around all day in this dress. This tiny, barely-there dress. Bending over to pick up seashells. Stretching in the sun. Driving me insane.”
“We were on the beach,” you protested weakly, even as you arched back into him. “What was I supposed to wear?”
“Nothing.” His fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them aside. “Preferably nothing.”
You were about to respond when he pushed inside you in one smooth thrust, and all coherent thought fled. Your fingers tightened on the railing as he set a deep, rolling rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep quiet.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, one hand gripping your hip while the other slid up to cup your breast through the fabric. “Take it. Take all of me.”
The view from the balcony was stunning; turquoise water stretching to the horizon, white sand beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. It should be romantic.
It was romantic. Just also obscene.
“God, you feel so good,” Seungcheol groaned, picking up his pace. “So perfect. Made for me. Made to take my cock. Made to carry my baby.”
There it was, the thing that set him off every time. The baby talk. Ever since that day, since you’d opened that door, he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was like the idea of getting you pregnant had become an obsession.
“Cheol—” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down even as pleasure built in your core. “Someone might hear—”
“Let them hear.” His hand slid from your breast to your throat, tilting your head back. “Let them hear how good I make you feel. How well you take me. How desperate you are for my baby.”
“You’re insane,” you managed, but it came out more like a moan.
“You made me this way.” His lips brushed your ear. “Walking around, talking about wanting my babies, being so fucking perfect—you broke something in me, baby. Can’t think straight anymore. Can’t function unless I’m inside you.”
His hand left your throat to slide down your body, finding your clit with practiced ease. The dual sensation—him inside you, his fingers working you expertly—was too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as you started to tremble. “Come for me. Come on my cock while I fill you up. Maybe this time it’ll take. Maybe in nine months you’ll be here with my baby in your belly.”
The image he painted—you pregnant, round with his child—combined with his relentless pace pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, clenching around him and felt him follow seconds later with a groan. He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, the sound of waves crashing below mixing with your racing heartbeats.
“We need to talk about this,” you finally said, even as you melted back against his chest.
“About what?” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still not pulling out.
“About this—” you gestured vaguely, “—thing that’s happened to you. This breeding kink you’ve developed.”
You felt him smile against your skin. “Is it a kink if we’re actively trying for a baby?”
“Cheol, we’ve had sex multiple times everyday in the last week. Everyday.”
“You’re counting?”
“Hard not to when I can barely walk straight.” You turned your head to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about the sex. The sex is incredible but you’ve been…intense. Ever since that conversation.”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious. He finally pulled out—you whimpered at the loss—and turned you around to face him, hands gentle on your waist.
“I know,” he admitted. “I’ve been…I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like something clicked that day, and I can’t turn it off. Every time I look at you, I think about getting you pregnant. About you carrying our baby. About our family. And it just—” he broke off, looking almost embarrassed. “It does something to me. Makes me crazy.”
“I’ve noticed,” you said dryly.
“Is it too much?” There was genuine concern in his eyes now. “Am I being too much? Because if you need me to dial it back—”
“No,” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s a lot but it’s also…kind of hot? Knowing you want me that badly. That you’re that desperate to start our family.”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I want this.”
“I’m getting a pretty clear picture,” you teased, feeling him already starting to harden against your thigh. “Case in point.”
He huffed a laugh. “Can you blame me? You’re standing here, freshly fucked, my cum dripping down your thighs, the sunset making you glow and you’re surprised I want you again?”
“We literally just finished—”
“And I’m already thinking about round two.” His hands slid down to cup your ass. “And three. And four. We have all night, baby. No work tomorrow. No interruptions. Just you and me and this view and a very comfortable bed inside.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.” He kissed you, deep and slow. “Now, shower, dinner and then I’m taking you apart in that massive bed. Sound good?”
It sounded perfect, actually. Even if your husband had apparently turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation. Especially because your husband had turned into a sex-crazed maniac since the baby conversation.
“One condition,” you said as he started leading you inside.
“Anything.”
“When we get home, we’re making a doctor’s appointment. To make sure we’re doing everything right. That I’m healthy. All of it.”
His expression softened. “Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll set it up as soon as we’re back.”
“And maybe—” you bit your lip, “—maybe we dial it back just a little? Don’t get me wrong, I love the enthusiasm, but I’d like to still be able to walk when we get home.”
He grinned. “No promises but I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.”
As he pulled you inside to the shower, his hands already wandering again, you thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. Your controlled, measured husband had been replaced by someone who couldn’t keep his hands off you. Who fucked you on balconies and whispered filthy promises about getting you pregnant. Who looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
The test from last week had been negative. You’d both been disappointed but not surprised, these things took time but watching Seungcheol now, the way he touched you with reverence even as his eyes promised wickedness, you knew something had fundamentally shifted between you.
This wasn’t just about making a baby anymore. It was about the intensity of wanting something together. About the intimacy of trying. About how the goal had somehow made everything—every touch, every kiss, every time he was inside you—feel weighted with meaning and possibility.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, soaping your shoulders.
“About how that drunk conversation might have been the best terrible decision I ever made.”
He laughed. “Oh, it was definitely terrible. But yeah,” he pulled you close, “also the best.”
“Even though I asked if you’d love me as a worm?”
“Especially because you asked if I’d love you as a worm.” He kissed your forehead. “Now come on. We have dinner reservations in an hour and I plan on having you at least twice before then.”
“Twice?! Cheol, we just—”
But he was already lifting you, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and honestly? You weren’t complaining, not even a little bit.
Your insatiable, baby-crazy, utterly perfect husband. You wouldn’t change a thing.
You didn’t make it to dinner.
Well, not the reservation anyway. By the time Seungcheol had finished with you in the shower and then carried you to the bed still dripping wet, you were both too boneless and satisfied to even consider getting dressed and going out. Instead, he’d ordered take out—an absurd amount of food—and you’d eaten on the balcony wrapped in plush robes, watching the stars come out over the ocean.
“This is nice,” you murmured, stealing a bite of his dessert. “Romantic. Almost makes me forget you’ve turned into a caveman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Caveman?”
“Mhm.” You grinned. “Me want baby. Me fuck wife constantly. Me carry wife everywhere because wife can’t walk—”
He silenced you with a kiss, tasting like chocolate and coconut. “I don’t hear you complaining when I’m making you come.”
“That’s because my brain stops working when you’re making me come.”
“Mission accomplished then.” His hand found yours on the table, fingers interlacing. “But seriously, are we okay? This isn’t too much?”
You squeezed his hand. “We’re more than okay. I promise. Yes, you’ve been insatiable. Yes, I’m going to need a week to recover when we get home. But Cheol,” you met his eyes, “I love seeing you like this. Passionate. Uninhibited. It’s like you’ve finally let yourself want something without overthinking it.”
“I want you,” he said simply. “I want our family and yeah, maybe I’ve gone a little crazy about it, but…” he shrugged, unapologetic, “I’m not sorry.”
“Good.” You stood, letting your robe slip off your shoulders. “Because I’m not done with you yet either.”
His eyes went dark, tracking the fall of fabric. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You moved to straddle his lap, the balmy night air warm on your skin. “We have four more days in paradise. Might as well make the most of them.”
“Four more days,” he repeated, hands spanning your waist. “Think we can set a record?”
“For what? Most times having sex in a single vacation?”
“I was thinking most creative locations, but that works too.” His thumbs traced circles on your hipbones. “There’s the beach at night. The private pool. That hammock near the—”
“You’ve been planning this.”
“Maybe.” He pulled you down for a kiss. “Can you blame me? My beautiful wife, a tropical paradise, and no responsibilities for four whole days? I’m going to worship you in every way possible.”
And he did.
You woke to his mouth between your thighs, the sunrise painting the room in shades of gold and pink. He brought you to orgasm twice before you were even fully awake and then pulled you into the shower where he took you against the tiles while water cascaded over you both.
Breakfast was served on the balcony, and you made it through most of your meal before he was pulling you onto his lap, pushing your sundress up, filling you while you clutched his shoulders and tried to keep quiet.
“Love you like this,” he murmured against your neck as you rode him slowly. “Sun-kissed, desperate and so fucking wet for me.”
“Always wet for you,” you gasped. “Can’t help it.”
“Good.” His hands guided your hips, helping you find the perfect angle. “Never want you any other way.”
Later, he kept his promise about the hammock. You’d been reading peacefully in the shade when he appeared with that look in his eyes and suddenly your book was forgotten as he stripped you down and arranged you across the swaying fabric.
“Cheol, this is going to tip—”
“I’ve got you,” he promised and he did, holding the hammock steady as he knelt between your legs and proved that his mouth was just as talented as the rest of him. By the time he finally entered you, you were already trembling, oversensitive, and the gentle sway of the hammock with each thrust was unlike anything you’d experienced.
“This is insane,” you laughed breathlessly.
“This is perfect,” he corrected and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his universe—made your chest tight with emotion.
His morning meeting ran long and you’d gone down to the beach alone, content to swim and sunbathe and give your body a much-needed break. You should have known better. You were waist-deep in the crystal-clear water when you felt arms wrap around you from behind.
“Meeting over?” you asked, leaning back against his chest.
“Cancelled the rest.” His lips found that spot behind your ear that made you shiver. “Told them it was a family emergency.”
“Cheol! You can’t just—”
“Can’t just what? Choose my wife over a conference call about quarterly projections?” His hand slid down your stomach, disappearing beneath the water. “Pretty sure I can since y’know, I’m the boss.”
“Someone could see—”
“No one’s around.” And he was right—the beach was completely empty, the nearest people just tiny dots in the distance. “And you’re wearing this bikini. This tiny, barely-there bikini. What did you expect?”
“I expected to swim peacefully—oh—”
His fingers had found their target, working you expertly while his other arm banded around your waist, holding you against him.
“Can you be quiet?” he murmured. “Or are you going to let the whole beach know how good I make you feel?”
You bit your lip, trying desperately to stay silent as he worked you closer to the edge. The water lapped around you, warm and gentle and the contrast between the peaceful setting and what he was doing to you was almost too much.
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Come for me, baby. Right here in the ocean where anyone could see how desperate you are for me.”
You came with a strangled gasp, your legs giving out and only his arm around your waist kept you upright.
“Good girl,” he praised, turning you around. “Now, think you can stay quiet while I fuck you?”
You couldn’t, as it turned out but the beach stayed empty, and Seungcheol didn’t seem to mind your breathless cries as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he entered you in the warm, shallow water.
The private pool became his new favorite place. You’d lost count of how many times he’d taken you there; bent over the edge, pressed against the infinity wall overlooking the ocean, on the submerged lounger, against the smooth rocks of the artificial waterfall.
“We’re never leaving,” he declared as the sun set on your last full day. “I’m cancelling our flights. We live here now.”
“We have jobs,” you reminded him, though you were currently in his lap in the pool, still joined, neither of you in any hurry to move.
“We’ll work remotely. I’ll buy this villa. We’ll raise our kids here.”
“Kids, plural?”
“At least three.” His hands slid over your belly, possessive and tender. “Maybe four.”
“Let’s start with one,” you laughed. “See how we do.”
“We’ll do perfectly.” He kissed you slowly. “You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
“And you’re going to be an amazing father.” You cupped his face. “Even if you are a sex-crazed maniac right now.”
“Only for you,” he promised. “Only ever for you.”
You woke early, bodies tangled together, the sound of waves your only alarm. Seungcheol was already awake, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip.
“Morning,” you murmured.
“Morning.” He brushed hair from your face. “Last day.”
“Don’t remind me.” You snuggled closer. “I’m not ready to go back to reality.”
“Me neither.” His hand found your belly again,it was becoming a habit. “But we’ll take this with us. This feeling. This certainty.”
“The certainty that you can’t keep your hands off me?”
“The certainty that we’re ready for this. For our family. For our future.” He shifted, rolling you beneath him. “And yeah, also the certainty that I’ll never get enough of you.”
The morning light filtered through the curtains as he made love to you slowly, tenderly, so different from the frantic desperation of the past few days. This was soft and sweet and full of promise.
“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “So much. More than I can say.”
“I love you too,” you breathed. “Even when you’re being insane.”
“Especially when I’m being insane,” he corrected with a grin and as you lay together afterward, wrapped in each other and the morning warmth, you thought about the past few weeks. The conversation that started it all. The shift in your relationship. The intensity and passion and sheer want of it all.
You still didn’t know if you were pregnant yet. Wouldn’t know for another week at least but somehow, it didn’t matter as much as you thought it would. Because you had this. Had him. Had the absolute certainty that whatever happened, you were in it together. Even if your husband had apparently developed a permanent breeding kink in the process. You could think of worse problems to have.
“Round two?” Seungcheol murmured hopefully against your neck.
You laughed. “We have to pack. And check out. And catch a flight.”
“So that’s a yes to a quickie before all that?”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love it.”
And because he was right—because you did love it, loved him, loved this new chapter you were writing together—you pulled him down for a kiss.
“Make it quick,” you warned. “We actually do need to pack.”
His answering grin was wicked. “Oh baby, I haven’t done anything quick with you since university.”
He was right about that too. You missed your flight but honestly?
Totally worth it.
The next few months go by in blur of your everyday life and the fact that you and your husband behaved like two virgins in a whorehouse at every given opportunity. He had somewhat simmered down, a work project keeping him busy and away from you for the past month.
You knew he was stressed so tonight you had planned to treat him, leaving work early to set up everything and it was well worth it when he comes through the door of your home calling out for you. He asks what smells so good before he stops when he takes in the way you’re dressed, in that cherry red dress he loves, and his mind starts wandering to important dates.
“Did I forget something?”
You turn from the stove, wooden spoon in hand and can’t help but smile at the panic already creeping into his expression. Seungcheol stands frozen in the doorway, briefcase still in hand, tie loosened, eyes frantically scanning you for clues.
“Did I forget—” he starts again, more urgently this time. “Is it our anniversary? Your birthday? Some other important—”
“Relax,” you interrupt, setting down the spoon and crossing to him. “You didn’t forget anything.”
“Then why are you wearing that dress?” His eyes drag over you, taking in the cherry red fabric that hugs every curve, the neckline that shows just enough to be distracting. “You only wear that dress for special occasions.”
“Maybe I just wanted to look nice for my husband,” you say innocently, reaching up to loosen his tie the rest of the way. “Is that a crime?”
His hands find your waist automatically, pulling you closer. “You’re up to something.”
“Maybe.” You stretch up to kiss him softly. “Or maybe I just missed you. You’ve been working so much lately.”
Something in his expression shifts, guilt mixing with exhaustion. “I know. This project has been insane. I’m sorry, baby. I’ve barely been home and when I am, I’m usually passed out or distracted—”
“Which is exactly why I wanted to do something nice tonight.” You smooth your hands over his chest. “So,no work talk. No stress. Just dinner, wine, and your wife who’s been very lonely without you.”
His eyes darken at that. “Lonely?”
“Mhmm.” You let your fingers trail down his abdomen. “Very lonely. Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve touched me?”
“Twenty-two days,” he says immediately and you blink in surprise.
“You’ve been counting?”
“Of course I’ve been counting.” His grip tightens on your waist. “You think I haven’t noticed? That I haven’t been dying every night, coming home to you already asleep, leaving before you wake up? I’ve been going insane.”
“Have you?” You press closer, feeling him already starting to respond. “Because you seemed pretty absorbed in your work.”
“The only reason I’ve been able to focus on work is because I’ve been channeling all my sexual frustration into spreadsheets and project timelines.” His forehead drops to yours. “I’ve missed you so much. Missed this. Missed touching you.”
“Well,” you slide your hands up to his shoulders, “dinner’s going to take another twenty minutes. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”
“Twenty minutes?” He’s already backing you toward the counter. “I can work with twenty minutes.”
“Cheol,” you laugh as he lifts you onto the granite, “we eat here.”
“We’ve done worse shit here.” He’s already pushing your dress up your thighs, and his eyes go even darker when he discovers what you’re not wearing. “No underwear. You really were planning this.”
“Maybe I was planning to torture you through dinner,” you tease. “Make you wait. Make you suffer.”
“Fuck that.” He drops to his knees, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “I’ve suffered enough. Now I’m collecting.”
Your protest dies as his mouth finds you and suddenly the simmering pots on the stove are the last thing on your mind.
Dinner is slightly overcooked by the time you both make it to the table—flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly satisfied. Seungcheol keeps apologizing for ruining your perfect meal but you just laugh and pour more wine.
“It’s fine,” you assure him, serving the pasta that’s only a little too soft. “This was kind of the plan anyway.”
“To seduce me before dinner?”
“To remind you that I still exist.” You raise your glass. “That we exist. Outside of work and stress and trying to conceive and everything else.”
His expression softens. “I know we exist. I always know that.”
“But you’ve been distant,” you say gently. “And I get it, this project has been huge, and you’re under a lot of pressure but Cheol…” you reach across the table for his hand, “I’ve missed my husband. Not just the sex, though yes, definitely that but you. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just being with you.”
He squeezes your hand, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought I was handling it okay, but I guess I’ve been shutting you out.”
“A little bit,” you admit. “And I know it’s not intentional. You get focused on work and everything else fades but we can’t let that happen, especially not now when we’re trying to start a family.”
“You’re right.” He stands, moving his chair closer to yours so he can pull you against his side. “I’m sorry. Really. The project wraps up next week, and then I’m all yours. No more late nights. No more missing dinner. No more—”
“No more twenty-two day dry spells?” you supply with a grin.
“Especially no more dry spells.” His hand slides up your thigh. “In fact, I think I need to make up for lost time.”
“We haven’t even finished dinner.”
“We can reheat it.” He’s already pulling you into his lap. “Right now, I need to apologize properly to my wife for neglecting her.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
His smile turns wicked. “I have some ideas.”
You’re curled up on the couch together, plates pushed aside, wine glasses empty, and you’re finally feeling like you have your husband back.
“So,” Seungcheol says, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your bare shoulder; your dress didn’t survive the transition from dining room to living room, “I actually have something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Hmm?” You’re pleasantly drowsy, content in a way you haven’t been in weeks.
“About the baby thing.”
That gets your attention. You sit up a little, looking at him. “What about it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve been trying for almost three months now. And I know that’s not that long in the grand scheme of things, but…I don’t know. I guess I thought it would happen faster.”
Your chest tightens. You’ve been thinking the same thing but haven’t wanted to say it out loud. “Yeah. Me too.”
“And I was thinking—maybe we should make that doctor’s appointment. Like you said. Just to make sure everything’s okay. That we’re doing everything right.”
“Okay,” you agree softly. “Yeah, we can do that.”
“I’m not worried,” he adds quickly. “I mean, I am a little worried, but mostly I just want to be proactive. Make sure we’re giving ourselves the best chance.”
You cup his face, making him look at you. “Hey. Three months is nothing. The doctor will probably tell us to keep trying and come back in a year if nothing happens.”
“I know, but—” he breaks off, frustrated. “I just want this so badly. Want to give you this and every time another month goes by and the test is negative, I feel like I’m failing somehow.”
“You’re not failing,” you say firmly. “This isn’t something we can control. It happens when it happens.”
“I know that in my head. But in my heart,” his hand finds your belly, “I’m impatient.”
“I’ve noticed,” you tease gently. “The whole ‘acting like virgins in a whorehouse’ thing kind of gave it away.”
He huffs a laugh. “Was I that bad?”
“You were that eager,” you correct. “Which was actually pretty hot. Still is, when you’re not drowning in spreadsheets.”
“No more spreadsheets,” he promises. “Project’s almost done, and then I’m taking some time off. We’ll go somewhere. Relax. Maybe not having so much stress will help.”
“Maybe.” You kiss him softly. “But either way, we’re in this together, okay? Whether it happens next month or next year, we’ll figure it out.”
“Together,” he agrees, pulling you closer.
You settle back against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, and try to ignore the small kernel of worry that’s been growing with each negative test.
Three months isn’t that long but it feels longer when you want something so badly. When every month brings hope and then disappointment. When you see the look on your husband’s face each time that single line appears instead of two.
“Hey,” Seungcheol murmurs, as if reading your thoughts. “No spiraling. We’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” you repeat.
And you are, you will be. Even if it takes longer than expected. Even if the road is harder than you hoped. You have him, and he has you, and that’s what matters.
Everything else will come in time, you just have to keep believing that.
Seungcheol had accompanied you to your usual checkup with your doctor and you’re currently waiting for your results to come back. When she enters with your files there’s a look on her face you can’t really read.
“Is there something wrong?” Seungcheol asks, his hand squeezing yours tighter.
“Well, that depends Mr. Choi,” she says before turning to you. “This happens quite often and I know it can be a shock, but I hope you both will make the decision that suits you best.”
The suspense is killing you and before you can ask what she means she says “Mrs. Choi, did you know that you’re three months pregnant?”
“Que?”
You must be hearing things. You took tests, hell you had a period two weeks ago. The room tilts slightly, and you’re glad you’re already sitting down.
“I’m—what?” Your voice comes out strangled, disbelieving. “That’s not—I can’t be. I’ve been having my period.”
Dr. Kim’s expression softens with understanding. “What you experienced was likely implantation bleeding and spotting, which can be mistaken for a light period. It’s more common than you’d think. Based on your blood work and the ultrasound we just did, you’re measuring at about twelve weeks.”
“Twelve weeks,” you repeat numbly. Your mind is racing, trying to do the math. Twelve weeks ago was…
“Hawaii,” Seungcheol breathes beside you, and when you look at him, his face has gone pale. “That was twelve weeks ago.”
Dr. Kim pulls up something on her computer screen, turning it so you can see and there it is. A tiny blob on the screen, barely distinguishable, but with a flickering white spot in the center.
“That’s the heartbeat,” Dr. Kim says gently, pointing. “Strong and healthy.”
Your own heart seems to stop entirely.
“But—” you’re struggling to process this, “—I’ve taken at least four pregnancy tests in the past two months. They were all negative.”
“How early were you testing?”
“I don’t know—a few days before my period? And then after what I thought was my period…”
“That’s likely why. Some women don’t produce enough HCG hormone early on for home tests to detect. It’s rare, but it happens.” Dr. Kim’s smile is warm, reassuring. “But your levels now are exactly where they should be for twelve weeks. You’re pregnant, Mrs. Choi. Congratulations.”
The word hangs in the air between you and Seungcheol.
Pregnant. You’re pregnant. You’ve been pregnant for three months and didn’t know.
“I—” your voice cracks, “—I’ve been drinking coffee. And I had wine at dinner last week. And I, oh god, I’ve been taking ibuprofen for my headaches—”
“Hey, hey,” Dr. Kim interrupts gently. “Let’s take a breath. Small amounts of caffeine are fine. One glass of wine before you knew won’t hurt anything. And occasional ibuprofen, while not ideal, isn’t going to cause problems at this stage. Your baby looks perfectly healthy.”
Your baby.
“I can’t—” you turn to Seungcheol, and the expression on his face nearly breaks you. He looks stunned, overwhelmed, and like he might cry at any moment. “Cheol—”
“We’re having a baby,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “We’re actually…holy shit, we’re having a baby.” And then he is crying, tears streaming down his face as he pulls you into a tight embrace.
“You said there was a decision to make?” Seungcheol asks suddenly, pulling back and looking at Dr. Kim with concern. “Is something wrong? You said—”
“Oh, no—I’m sorry, I worded that poorly.” Dr. Kim looks apologetic. “I just meant that unexpected pregnancies can be a shock, and I wanted to make sure you knew you had options. But if this is welcome news—”
“It’s welcome,” you say immediately, even as your hands are shaking. “Very welcome. We’ve been trying. We just—we didn’t know it had already worked.”
“Well then—truly, congratulations.” Dr. Kim starts printing out information. “I’m going to refer you to an OB for your ongoing care. You’ll want to schedule your first official prenatal appointment within the next week or two. I’m printing out the ultrasound photo for you, and some information about what to expect in your first trimester—though you’re already almost through it.”
Almost through the first trimester. You’re almost through the first trimester and you had no idea.
“Can you—” your voice is shaky, “—can you print two copies of the ultrasound? Please?”
“Of course.” Dr. Kim smiles knowingly. “Most parents want several.”
Parents. You’re going to be parents. The rest of the appointment passes in a blur. Dr. Kim goes over nutrition, what to expect, warning signs to watch for, answering questions that Seungcheol asks because you seem to have lost the ability to form coherent sentences.
By the time you make it back to the car, you’re both silent, clutching the ultrasound photos like lifelines. Seungcheol doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, staring at the grainy black and white image in his hands.
“We made this,” he finally says, voice thick. “In Hawaii. In that villa with the ocean view. We made our baby.”
“All those times,” you whisper, then laugh slightly hysterically. “All those months we kept trying, and it had already happened. We were already pregnant during—oh my god, we were pregnant when you bent me over the dining room table last month—”
“And in the shower last week,” he adds, then starts laughing too, slightly wild. “And on the counter. And—Jesus, we’ve been having incredibly athletic sex while pregnant.”
“Dr. Kim said it’s fine—”
“I know, I just—” he runs a hand through his hair, “—I can’t believe we didn’t know. How did we not know?”
“I don’t know.” You’re staring at your own copy of the ultrasound, at that tiny blob that’s apparently your baby. Your baby who’s been growing inside you for weeks while you had no idea. “I feel like I should have known. Like my body should have told me somehow.”
“Hey.” Seungcheol reaches over, taking your hand. “This is okay, right? This is—we wanted this.”
“We wanted this,” you confirm, squeezing back. “I’m just…I’m in shock. Are you in shock?”
“Completely.” He brings your hand to his lips. “But also, baby, we’re having a baby. We’re actually having a baby.”
The reality of it starts to sink in, and suddenly you’re crying too. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, scared tears, all mixed together.
“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, and it feels more real each time you say it. “In—oh god, when? When am I due?”
Seungcheol scrambles for the paperwork Dr. Kim gave you. “It says…June. June tenth. Holy shit, that’s only six months away.”
“Six months.” You press a hand to your stomach, which still looks completely normal. “There’s a baby in there. Right now. With a heartbeat.”
“The fastest heartbeat in the world,” Seungcheol says, smiling through his tears. “Did you hear how fast it was going? Like they’re already excited to meet us.”
“They.” The pronoun makes it more real somehow. “We’re going to have a tiny human. Who depends on us for everything. Who we’re responsible for.”
“Are you freaking out?” he asks gently.
“Little bit. You?”
“Completely.” But he’s smiling, radiant, more happy than you’ve ever seen him. “But also,I’ve never been more excited about anything in my life.” You lean over the center console to kiss him, tasting salt from both your tears and his.
“We’re going to be parents,” you whisper against his lips.
“Best parents ever,” he promises. “This kid is going to be so loved.”
“So spoiled.”
“That too.” He pulls back just enough to cup your face. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For giving me this. For—” his voice breaks, “—for making me a father.”
“Cheol—” now you’re really crying, “—you did half the work.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one growing them. Carrying them. Creating an entire human being inside you.” His hand moves to your stomach, reverent. “You’re incredible.”
“Ask me again in four months when I’m huge and miserable and demanding pickles at 3 AM.”
“Still incredible.” He kisses you again. “Now, we need to celebrate. And tell people. And—oh god, my mom is going to lose her mind. Your mom is going to cry. Jeonghan is going to make fun of me for crying earlier—”
“We don’t have to tell anyone right away,” you interrupt. “I’m only twelve weeks. A lot can still—” you can’t finish the sentence, but he understands.
“You’re right. We’ll wait. Just, maybe a little longer? Until we’re into the second trimester?”
“Which is only a few more weeks now,” you realize. “We’re already almost there.”
“We’re already almost there,” he repeats wonderingly. Then, more firmly, “Okay, new plan. We go home. We process this. We maybe have a minor freak out and then we start planning.”
“Planning what?”
“Everything.” His smile is infectious. “Nursery. Names. Parenting books. Baby-proofing. Everything we need to do in the next six months to get ready for this tiny human who’s apparently already been along for the ride.”
You look down at the ultrasound again, at that flickering heartbeat frozen in time. Your baby. Made in paradise, growing in secret, already loved beyond measure.
“Let’s go home,” you say softly.
Seungcheol finally starts the car, but before he pulls out, he looks at you one more time.
“I love you,” he says. “You and our little blob.”
“I love you too.” You press your hand over his on your stomach. “All three of us.” And as he drives home, both of you stealing glances at the ultrasound photos, you think about how everything has changed in the span of one appointment.
All those months of trying.
All that hoping and waiting and disappointment and it had already worked.
Your baby had been there all along, growing quietly, waiting to surprise you. Just like everything else with Seungcheol—unexpected, intense, and absolutely perfect.
Even if you had been doing very athletic things while pregnant without knowing it.
You’d probably need to apologize to your baby for that eventually but for now, you just hold the ultrasound close and let yourself feel it.
Pure, overwhelming joy.
You’re going to be a mom and Seungcheol is going to be a dad. In six months, your family of two is going to become three.
Best surprise ever.
You both still haven’t told anyone and it’s been two months since you found out. Your body hasn’t changed much but your need for your husband has which has made Seungcheol work from home twice now and this morning is no different when he wakes up with your mouth on him.
Seungcheol wakes slowly, consciousness returning in gradual waves. There’s warmth, wetness, and a familiar pressure that has him groaning before he’s even fully awake.
“Fuck, baby—” His hand instinctively goes to your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. You’re under the covers, between his legs and the sight when he lifts the duvet nearly finishes him right there—your eyes meeting his as you take him deeper.
“What are you—oh god—what time is it?”
You pull off with an obscene pop, your hand replacing your mouth as you stroke him slowly. “About six thirty. You have a meeting at nine.”
“Then why are you—” his words cut off as you lick a stripe up his length, “—trying to kill me?”
“Because,” you pause to take him in your mouth again, working him in that way that makes his brain short-circuit, before pulling back, “ I need you…again.”
“Again?” His laugh is strained. “Baby, love we went three rounds last night. How are you—”
“Pregnant,” you finish, crawling up his body. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else and when you straddle him, he can feel how wet you already are. “I’m pregnant and my hormones are insane and I can’t stop thinking about you inside me.”
“Not complaining,” he manages, hands gripping your hips as you position yourself above him. “Just concerned about your poor—Jesus—”
You sink down on him in one smooth motion and his concern evaporates. You’re so wet, so ready, that he slides in effortlessly despite no preparation.
“Fuck, you feel good,” you moan, starting to move. “So good. Why do you always feel so good?”
Seungcheol can’t answer because his brain has officially stopped working. You’re riding him in the early morning light, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the slight swell of your stomach, barely visible but there. Evidence of your baby growing inside you.
His baby. The thought still makes him feral.
“That’s it,” he encourages, helping you find your rhythm. “Take what you need. Use me.”
And you do, you ride him with an urgency that’s become familiar over the past two months. Dr. Kim had warned you that increased libido was common in the second trimester, but this was beyond anything either of you expected. Not that Seungcheol is complaining.
“Cheol,” you’re already close, he can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, “touch me, please.”
His thumb finds your clit, circling with practiced pressure and you come apart with a cry that could wake the neighbors. He follows seconds later, pulling you down onto him as he empties inside you. You collapse on his chest, both of you breathing hard.
“I’m calling in sick,” he announces.
“You can’t. You have that important meeting—”
“Then you’re coming to the home office with me,” he decides, rolling you both over so he’s hovering above you. “Because if the past two months have taught me anything, it’s that you’re going to need me again in approximately—” he checks his watch, “—two hours and I’d rather be here than trying to take a ‘lunch break’ or hoping my camera stays off.”
You laugh, remembering last week when he’d had to abruptly mute himself because you’d walked into his office wearing nothing but a smile.
“That was your fault for working from home in grey sweatpants,” you point out.
“Everything is apparently my fault now.” But he’s smiling as he says it, pressing kisses down your neck. “You needed water at 3 AM? My fault for getting you pregnant. Your jeans don’t fit? My fault. You cried at that commercial with the puppy? Definitely my fault.”
“It was a very sad commercial,” you defend, even as you’re arching into his kisses. “And yes, this is literally all your fault. You and your—” you gesture vaguely at him, “—your everything.”
“My everything?” He’s laughing now, working his way down your body.
“Your face. Your body. Your—Cheol, what are you doing?”
“Well—” he settles between your thighs, “—if I’m working from home anyway, might as well make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied before my first meeting.”
“You just…we literally just—”
“And you’re going to need me again soon anyway,” he points out reasonably. “Might as well get ahead of it.” His mouth finds you and your protests dissolve into moans.
Seungcheol is forty-five minutes into his video call when you appear in the doorway of his office. He sees you in his peripheral vision and tries to focus on the presentation his colleague is giving but you’re wearing that look. That needy, desperate, “I need you right now” look.
He mutes himself and mouths, After this meeting.
You pout. Actually pout. Then you do something that nearly makes him fall out of his chair; you pull up your dress to show him your stomach, running your hand over the small bump. It’s not fair. It’s biological warfare. You know exactly what seeing you like that does to him.
He unmutes. “Actually, I need to step away for a moment. Personal emergency. Give me ten minutes?”
His colleagues agree—they know he’s been working from home more lately—and he kills his camera and mic before you’ve even crossed the room.
“Ten minutes,” he warns as you climb into his lap. “That’s all we have.”
“Then you better make it count,” you challenge, already undoing his belt.
He does.
“We need to tell people,” Seungcheol says over lunch. You’re both in the kitchen, you’re eating pickles and bacon cream cheese spread—a combination that horrifies him but apparently makes perfect sense to your pregnant brain—and he’s trying not to watch in fascinated disgust.
“I know,” you agree around a mouthful of your horrible creation. “We said we’d wait until after the first trimester, and we’re at—what? Fifteen weeks now?”
“Sixteen tomorrow,” he corrects. He’s been tracking it religiously, has an app on his phone that tells him how big the baby is each week. Currently, the size of an avocado.
“Sixteen weeks,” you repeat. “And I’m starting to show. Like, actually show. I can’t hide it in loose clothes forever.”
“You look beautiful,” he says immediately.
“I look pregnant.”
“Beautiful and pregnant.” He comes around the island to wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands spanning your small bump. “Best combination ever.”
You lean back into him. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“My mom is going to plan the entire baby’s life before they’re even born,” he corrects. “Your mom is going to cry.”
“Both our moms are going to lose their minds,” you decide. “And then they’re going to become best friends over baby shopping.”
“Jeonghan is going to make fun of me.”
“Hannie’s going to be the uncle who teaches our kid bad habits.”
Seungcheol groans. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we don’t tell anyone. Just let them figure it out when you go into labor.”
“Cheol.”
“Fine.” He kisses your temple. “This weekend? We’ll have both families over. Tell them together?”
“Together,” you agree. Then, after a pause, “Are you scared?”
“Terrified,” he admits. “But also, this is real now. We’re really doing this. In four and a half months, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby and I want to share that with people. Want everyone to know how happy I am.”
You turn in his arms, looking up at him. “Even though I keep attacking you at inappropriate times?”
“Especially because you keep attacking me at inappropriate times.” He grins. “Though maybe we should warn the doctor at your next appointment. Make sure this is…you know. Normal.”
“I already asked,” you admit, blushing. “Last appointment while you were filling out paperwork. She said it’s completely normal and actually healthy.”
“Healthy,” he repeats, smirking. “So really, we’re just being responsible parents-to-be.”
“Exactly, very responsible.”
“Speaking of responsible—” his hands slide down to cup your ass, “—I think I have another meeting in an hour. Which means we have time—”
“On the counter?” you ask hopefully.
“Wherever you want,” he promises, already lifting you.
The pickles and cream cheese are forgotten as he makes good on his promise and later—much later—when he’s finally back at his computer for his afternoon meetings, you curl up on the couch in his office with a blanket and one of your pregnancy books.
This has become your routine over the past two months. Him working, you nearby and periodic breaks for the insatiable need that’s apparently a hallmark of your second trimester. It’s chaotic and wonderful and occasionally makes him miss important conference calls but he wouldn’t change a thing.
This is his life now. His pregnant wife who can’t keep her hands off him. His baby growing bigger every day. His future taking shape in ways he couldn’t have imagined a year ago. All because of one drunk conversation about worms and ovulation and wanting his babies.
Best conversation ever. Even if it did result in him having to work from home regularly because his wife has turned into an insatiable pregnant goddess. He glances over at you, at the small bump visible even under the blanket and feels that now-familiar surge of overwhelming love.
Four and a half months until they meet their baby but first, telling their families this weekend and surviving whatever chaos that brings.
synopsis: you're too busy with textbooks and constant "when will you get a boyfriend?" questions. though, your roommate, choi seungcheol, seemingly has all the time to be sleeping around campus. it has you wondering, is it that good?
pairing: frat!scoups x genius!f.reader
genre: college au, smut, slight crack
word count: 13.4k
content/trigger warning: MDNI 18+ content, alcohol consumption, reader is an anxious person, reader is very sexually frustrated, reader wants scoups REAL bad, tension gah!, random ass oc names for readers friends, your friends are kind of pushy, drunk sex, brief mention of loss of virginity at the end, readers first time, brief dry humping, mirror sex, size kink & strength kink if you squint, nipple play, fingering, begging, degradation, grower!scoups, unprotected piv (no glove no love guys!!), multiple rounds/positions(missionary, doggy), overstimulation, spanking, rough sex, squirting, brief choking via choke hold, creampie, petnames: hers(baby), let me know if i missed any!!!!
a/n: oh my god i thought i would die before i would finish writing this. thank you thank you thank you, to my dearest personal friends and sister for supporting me during this. please enjoy, and if you see any errors don't be shy and mention them!! comments and reposts are very much appreciated <3.
one:
College dick is good, as everyone has proclaimed. Yet, here you are, two years into your undergraduate degree. No dick, no life, and no money. The Loser check list is practically already fully checked off.
If you didn’t already exceed at the ‘Loser check list’, you’re currently occupied at your cluttered desk. Head buried in textbooks, knee anxiously bouncing, hands taut in your ‘day two’ hair.
There was an assignment that was due yesterday, and you’ve been constantly thinking about it since. To be honest, you don’t even know why you put it off, you swear you only did that to make yourself go insane.
You thought that you'll live a little but you're always stuck studying and finishing presentations. Or when you do socialize, all your friends talk about the cute boy on campus, or how dinner went with their boyfriend of two months, or their sneaky link ghosting them.
Those were also gentle reminders why you should stay single. You had your fair share; some blowjobs, as in one, then making out, and the list kind of stopped there. You prioritized homework and studying, over boys that are Mr. Minute Man.
As if college couldn’t get any worse, you're also stuck with a sucky ass roommate. You didn't want to pay for on campus dorms, so you decided on a nicer place, but having to commute to school every day.
The thing about your roommate, is that they're full of shit, obnoxious, always, and when I mean always, it's constant, they're constantly fucking someone. You thought your libido was high? Oh no, you've truly been out-freaked by your roommate, Choi, freaking, Seungcheol.
Practically half of the campus girls had walked in and out of your flat. The real reason why, is because of Choi Seungcheol's fucking dick. His cock is a living and walking legend. Him as a whole is already a package: strong arms, deep voice, tall, and broad. Then, his dick was just the ribbon on the entire present.
Truly his greed sickens you, and yet the fact he's fucking a sorority sister, maybe every other week, agitates you. It made you wonder, is it really that good?
—
It was another quiet day in your shared flat, you're brewing coffee absently. Seungcheol had left the house for some activity in his fraternity. He said it was some team bonding shit and then slammed the door. Perfect, you thought, the house was finally silent.
The awfully thin walls reverberated the moans from the squealiest girl he fucked last night. You needed this coffee and silence more than anything right now.
Your brain buzzed busily as you recalled the homework and upcoming tests you needed to finish and study for.
The electric kettle clicked with the bubbling of boiling water, signifying you to get out of your head. You poured the boiling water into a thick, glass mug. Stirring up the syrup concoction you just made.
It was your natural routine, the sound of your metal spoon clinking against your ceramic mug, with the rumbling and humming of cars outside your flat. It was comforting to say the least, when it was quiet.
Although many days like this, your brain wasn't. The loud noises from last night always sink into your stomach, coiling like a boa constrictor ready to eat their prey. You don’t know when this sexual fixation started, or how you were so sensitive to… well that stuff.
Maybe it started when you began to read stupid smut books where they don't even execute sex properly. Then when you were older, watching stupid pornos where they go at an ungodly speed, and somehow you couldn’t live without thinking about sex. Wishing to experience, like all those girls who said they lost their virginity in stupid highschool.
What got to your head was the fact you were so inexperienced, yet so experienced at the same time.
You let out a sharp exhale as you checked your phone with sudden urgency you didn't have five minutes ago. Your friends had decided you didn't come outside your house enough this month, so they invited you to eat some brunch with them.
It always went the same way, small talk, boyfriend talk, then to 'are-you-seeing-anyone' talk. Like, they’ve managed to ask the same thing in the span of a week.
Perhaps your relationship status might have changed, but for you, no way in heaven would it.
It's okay, they were good friends nonetheless. Always pushing you to do new things, and keeping that spark of social skills alive in you, despite your refusal.
There's not much they can do when you've set your standards higher than your grades, which your grades are pretty high. Or modestly high. Or is it average? You don't know anymore, with the ghost of expectations haunting you. A strict set of rules no one ever asked you to meet, managed to keep you in line.
—
You quickly tidied up your hair as you caught a glance of yourself in the mirror. Your lips tugged up into a staged smile, then into a smirk of pure shock. You haven't seen yourself so put together in maybe, months? Usually these small dates with your friends motivated you to doll yourself up.
It's almost addictive how good you look when you put effort into your looks. You don't care how you look most of the time, because literally no one else cares. Plus, Seungcheol brings over these goddess-like girls, and you don't even dare try to compete with them. Not like you… not like you ever thought about appealing to Seungcheol.
As you exited the house, Seungcheol was making his way back home, glancing at you like a stranger.
"Where are you going?" He pressed, making you shoot him an incredulous glare. He’s acting like you don’t have a social life, which is partially correct.
"Brunch. With my friends." You stated it like it was obvious, like he could have guessed. Which he couldn't.
He doesn't believe in 'brunch'. It's either late breakfast or early lunch, no such thing as 'brunch', he proclaimed the last time you uttered such words.
"Oh, okay." He cocked an accusing eyebrow, and walked into the house without another word. You let out a scoff, rolling your eyes at how stupid that conversation was.
That summed up your relationship, a few words, a glare, and then thick silence. Recently though, he’s been ignoring you, or avoiding you? You can’t tell because you’ve been avoiding home as of late.
An uncharacteristic thing that’s been happening is the lack of girls flooding into your shared place. Last night was kind of a surprise though, he would have told you before… but he didn’t. Honestly, you’re kind of thankful that he told you— excluding last night— because you couldn’t manage any more sleepless nights.
You sighed slamming your car door to silence the endless spill of thoughts in your head. Your eyes tried to keep focus on the route as your knuckles clenched to white. He's so utterly stupid, you can't believe people would flock over to suck his dick—
Your GPS yelled at you that you had missed your left turn. A long sigh dragged from your lips as you followed the prompted directions. You’re shooting glances at your phone whilst making sure another driver doesn’t decide to play footsies with their brake.
Something that’s a mystery to you is how Seungcheol inhabited a chunk of your brain. The ratio being 95% school and 5% Seungcheol, and that’s pretty extreme for you.
He’s your roommate, you shouldn’t be imagining wanting to run your hands along his back muscles, tracing the tattoo of an olive tree down the column of his spine. Or even how his face feels when he buries it into the crook of your neck, his calloused hands gripping onto your thighs.
Whenever he occupied your thoughts, you couldn’t figure out why. Even if you were to stop and think, it’d strain your big, beautiful brain. You wouldn’t dare date him, he sleeps around, he’s an asshole, he’s not as driven in school as you are. He’s just… just someone you shouldn’t date or be affiliated with.
Your pride held you back mostly, and you knew that. It’s just if you were to date him, you feel like this perfect world you had built so deliberately, will shatter. Your friends will be disappointed, the past girls he dated and slept with will lash out at you, and maybe even your parents will be disappointed. You don’t want that. You don’t want to disappoint anyone, and most importantly, you don’t want to disappoint Seungcheol.
-
The cafe was cozy, with welcoming colors and flourishing plants. In the window, you can see an older guy with a newspaper who sat alone in a booth. A family of four eating at a table while talking animatedly to each other. Then an awfully chatty dude talking to the guy working behind the bar, adjusting the cakes on the display.
After you begrudgingly parallel parked, the door chimed as you pushed it open. A chipper, brunette hostess greeted you, but your friends are already hooting and hollering in a booth that you can only see in your peripheral.
"I'm... with them." You motioned with your thumb, and the hostess just nodded with an understanding smile on her lips.
"Oh my god! It's a miracle!" Erika exclaimed, her dyed dirty blonde hair tied neatly up into a bun. A gummy, warm smile graced her already beautiful face.
"Is it really one? We had to beg her to come out." Jennifer retorted, snorting before she drank a sip out of her chai latte. She tucked her silky black hair behind her ear, her dainty silver piercings glimmering in the morning light.
You let out a scoff as you playfully shoved Jennifer, who gasped in offense. "Listen now, I just didn't want to bail on your guy's beautiful faces."
"Please, we all know you need relationship advice." Jennifer murmured slyly, making Erika laugh. She always laughed at anything, and which you're thankful for, because you'd actually fight Jennifer if it wasn't for Erika's sweet laughter.
"Me? How's you and that mysterious campus boy you kissed at the last sorority party?" You prodded, Jennifer returned your comment with a lazy eye roll.
"Hey, that was just a one time thing. He's kind of weird." She admitted, stirring her drink absently.
Erika hummed noncommittally, seemingly deep in thought or just spacing out. "Wasn't he like a stoner? I'm pretty sure Jiwon got in trouble last time for being with a guy who did drugs."
"Erika what the actual hell are you talking about?" Jennifer laughed, looking at Erika's already dumbfounded face.
"Oh my god, are you guys talking about Chris? Seungcheol said he got kicked out." You whispered in a conspirative manner. Seungcheol didn't actually tell you this directly, you just happened to overhear.
"You kissed Chris?" Erika's face visibly repulsed, plucking up her menu.
"No! I don't know what this idiot is talking about—" Jennifer sighed loudly as she cut herself off, playfully glaring back at you.
"Speaking of Seungcheol, you should go to his party this weekend." Jennifer suggested to you, in order to change the topic, her manicured nails clinking against her drink.
"Girl, if I went to a party, something seriously wrong must have happened." You plainly responded, closing your menu. "Are you guys ready to order?"
Erika hummed in response as she stirred the straw around in her drink. Jennifer called over the waiter who happened to be placing out cups of water for a nearby table.
Jennifer was always the strong-headed, blunt beauty in this trio. With her dark hair and monochromatic clothing, even you would date her.
Erika on the other hand... was different. Her bubbly, giggly attitude was a stark difference to Jennifer. To the pastel and warm toned clothing and delicate, you can say those two were polar opposites.
With you, you were the perfect mix of them both. That's why you guys get along so well. Even though they nag you about your absent dating life.
-
Your meal arrived in a speedy manner, you’re already stuffing your face because just coffee wouldn't cut it for you.
Erika and Jennifer rambled about the drama between sororities right now. How girls are constantly getting caught being indecent literally anywhere now. They turn their attention to your crumb dusted face.
"Say, has Seungcheol been bringing anyone to your place recently?" Erika poked, pointing her fork at you.
"No? Well, usually he's been doing it when I'm out of the house, in the library." You chewed on your right side of your mouth, washing your meal down with water.
"Of course... the library." Jennifer mused, giving you a teasing glare.
"Well excuse me… Mr. Wagner assigned a freaking essay right before break. I don't wanna hear moaning when I'm writing about some... stupid bullshit he always pulls out of his ass." You retorted, no more food in your mouth.
Jennifer raised her hands in defense. "Okay chill, I was just making an observation. Also, how have you been keeping up with Seungcheol? You haven’t been bitching and moaning about him recently.”
“Hey! I’ve never bitched and moaned about Seungcheol.” You pointed your fork at Jennifer. You haven’t actually, it was a keen observation. Recently he’s been nicer to you, if avoiding you is being nice.
Erika glanced at you like you were crazy. “Excuse me??? That’s all you did for about maybe a month.”
You sighed in defeat, poking at your food absently. “...Okay maybe.”
“‘Okay maybe’ isn’t an answer, something has to be going on.” Jennifer nagged, and she was kind of right. Just kind of.
“Fine… if you want to hear it so badly, I guess I’ll just admit it.” A long sigh dragged from your lips; the heavy weight of your thoughts fleeting as you prepared to announce it.
You annoyingly drawled out the thick silence, nails tapping insistently on the dining table. “It's like… I can’t stop thinking about him.” You mumbled out, eyes glued on your food.
They both groaned, like they saw this coming.
“Dude, what… What the hell?” Erika sighed, pinching her nose bridge.
“I freaking knew it!” Jennifer scoffed, smashing her fork against the table, creating an awfully loud metallic clank.
“Guys— just hear me out.” You started, but both of them look unimpressed, easily shutting you up. A ball of guilt started stirring in your stomach as you looked at them in panic. Unease rushed through your body, as anxious thoughts flooded your mind.
“You’re coming to this party if you like it or not. You need to realize that Seungcheol is actually evil.” Jennifer reprimanded, she immediately yanked out her phone. “Sending you the details, right now.”
Shortly, your phone buzzed with Jennifer’s contact dropping down on the notification bar. Telling them and understanding your feelings, was already a sign you’re too far gone. It's their duty to refrain you from falling victim to Choi Seungcheol. Even if they’re already failing.
two:
Pathetically, you've retreated to the library to take your mind off things. Taking a quiet corner you've always claimed. The familiar musty smell of yellowed paper and the outside rain truly healed your heart. You neatly set up your folders, pushing up your slipping bluelight glasses.
It was perfect actually, the clouds blocking the shining sun with fat drops of rain. An unexpected heavy sigh escaped your lips, as you stared at your blank document. You came here to distract yourself, but you spot a touchy couple a few tables away to your right.
You can see his hand squeeze her thigh in broad fluorescent lighting. How her leg is thrown over his knee, and how their shoulders rubbed against each other.
Your nails dugged into your knees unconsciously at the sight. The tension in your jaw snapped you back to reality.
God, get a room, you thought.
As your knee bounced anxiously, you can't help your drifting mind.
Imagining the warmth and pressure of someone else's hands. Their own personal scent fogging your mind, their voice soft and reserved for you. His strong arms draped over your shoulder like it belonged there as he played with your hair. A gummy smile growing, making his dimples cave in his cute cheeks. His full, pouty lips distract you from his attentive eyes…
You shook your head to snap yourself out of this perverted daze. You can't believe you just thought about Seungcheol. Wait. Was that Seungcheol you were thinking about?
An annoyed sigh escaped your bitten lips, your eyes snapping back down to the bare document.
-
Ten minutes went by. Then fifteen. Then thirty.
Your nail tapped insistenly against the metal of your laptop while your bouncing knee practically shook the whole table. The downpour of the rain was getting louder and more intense, some people fleeing into the library to just wait it out.
Your mind returned to those past imaginations, absolutely wrecking your concentration. You feel too immersed in your thoughts, even to the point where your heart started racing at the idea.
It’s almost like you can feel his breath mingling with yours and stealing the air out of your lungs. A phantom brush of his nose against your pulse point, that familiar charming smile haunting against your neck. His annoyingly addicting scent that is tailored to him and him only. Just the mere thought of him has you wrecked.
Suddenly, you take a moment, sniffing the air like a weirdo. You could have sworn you smelt his signature scent. A whiff of the gut wrenching cedary citrus hit you, a chill running straight up your spine. There’s no doubt that it's Seungcheol's cologne.
An annoyed and pent up sigh left your mouth. Your head falling into your palms as you groaned, trying to clear your head just in case he’s actually lurking around.
His cologne got stronger, the scent haunting you, or maybe you were thinking about him too much. It was like you manifested him into existence.
Suddenly, you feel the warmth of someone elses body radiating onto yours.
“Can I sit here?” A smug voice asked, already pulling the chair out to sit besides you.
A wave of his cologne smacked you awake, and you finally peeked through your fingers.
Seungcheol was sitting there, close enough for you to see the droplets of rain on his hair. How his damp shirt accentuated his firm chest, and beads of rain dripping down his defined biceps.
Oh my god. This is truly a sight of sore eyes, you must admit.
“What?” A sputtered laugh escaped him, his hand running through his damp hair. The mussed hair made him look even more sexier, making your teeth gritting in annoyance.
“What do you want?” You softly groaned out, peeking at him again. You’re trying to avoid his eyes, especially the fact you’ve been thinking about him for the past hour.
“Woah, chill.” Seungcheol breathed out, looking you up and down, almost like he was savoring the sight in front of him. That’s weird. He’s being weird. You feel weird.
You looked around the library, catching his friends goofing off. They’re mishandling books, getting their wet clothes on the carpet, and making an awfully loud ruckus in a library. You cringe at the sight of them.
“Why don’t you just go with them?” You asked pointedly, but you completely understand that you wouldn’t wanna be seen with idiots like them.
“Because.” Seungcheol murmured, you could feel his eyes burning holes into you.
“Okay, whatever.” You grumbled, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. Your fingers pushed up absently at your bluelight glasses, using this as an excuse to hide your flushing face.
What does he even mean, ‘because’? Did he want to hang out with you? Did he see you and decided he wanted your company instead of his close friends? Does he enjoy being around you?
No– you’re overthinking all of this. Your friends are right, he’s evil. He’s just playing games with you right now. He’s eager to watch how you play the next move.
You sighed loudly as you opened up the blank document again, which is a weak attempt to distract yourself.
“Hey, at least talk to me.” The pout is so strong in his tone, you couldn’t help but laugh in shock.
“Excuse me?” You shamelessly smiled toward him, skeptical at his sulking. Seungcheol did this from time to time with you, but him being sad over not getting your attention? This is a new reaction.
“I wanted to see what you were doing here so late, at least talk to me.” He admitted quietly.
One blink. Two blinks.
“Oh.” You mumbled out stupidly, like you suddenly forgot how to use your mouth. The soft admission made you burn red like a fool, and just like that, he’s taken a pawn. Seungcheol has you in a vulnerable spot.
“What?” A sly smirk curled on the corner of his lips.
Fucking asshole. He knew what he was doing to you, and it seemed to egg him on even more, wanting to elicit more reactions out of you.
“Nothing… I’m just finishing up homework.” You murmured, hoping that’ll suffice. You turned your body away again, trying to tell him you’re done playing verbal chess.
“Finishing? You’ve been staring at the same empty doc for the past… I don’t know, since I’ve been here.” Seungcheol mentioned, his fingers drumming too close to your arms. Your brain immediately rolled in thoughts you should not be thinking about right now.
“Hey. Are you even listening?” He sulked again.
“Sorry, I’m so focused, I don’t ever hear annoying people talking.” You explained, briefly turning your head to glance at him.
“I’m so not annoying, what are you even talking about?” Seungcheol inched closer. It’s almost like he knew what his proximity was doing.
He must be doing such bullshit on purpose. He moved his hand besides yours, your forearms parallel. You can feel a tingling sensation as his eyes dragged down your body. It’s driving you insane, what are his intentions?
“Yeah? That’s the first stage, denial.” You smiled, proud at your effortless and witty comeback.
Seungcheol let out a weak laugh, an audible sign of defeat. Your heart launched into your throat as he leaned in even more, his cologne a familiar punch to your gut, his breath fanning over your exposed arm. Seungcheol is evil– conniving and evil and so utterly handsome– your friends were more than right.
“Har-har, you really got me there.” Seungcheol murmured lowly, his voice sending pathetic shivers up your spine. He was resting his chin on his palm, which brought his face impeccably closer to yours.
He pulled back slowly, keeping his eyes on you. Your stomach launched into your throat, praying that it didn’t show on your face.
But the way the smirk curled up on those plush lips of his, he clearly saw right through you. He saw how your eyes diverted like skidding mice, the way your knee stopped bouncing for a mere second, he knew you too well to not see it.
For a moment you couldn’t breathe in the air of tension, you couldn’t fathom the thought of his eyes peeling back the layers you spent years putting up. When you’re with him, it’s like a fog-dense maze that never ends. Everytime though, he always found a way to end before you, and won your little mind games.
Thankfully, Seungcheol doesn’t comment on it, and you tore your eyes away before they could wander further. You finally occupied yourself with the very much blank document in front of you.
As you typed away, you can’t help but feel that he’s closer than before. His body heat made your arm hairs prick up at the sudden warmth.
If this couldn’t get any worse, you curiously glance back at him.
He’s already staring. Eyes calculating you before he checkmated your king: your dignity and pride.
A whole body chill struck you, making you snap your head away in urgency. You bit your inner lip to distract you from hysterically screaming, whilst bouncing your knee anxiously once again.
He leaned in closer now, his arm near your laptop.
“Did I finally get your attention?” Seungcheol hummed, his voice husky and so awfully warm. The tone running you up straight into a spiral.
“Fuck off, I came here to study by myself.” You managed to mumble back, it came out more meek than you expected.
“Am I not an exception?” Seungcheol frowned, leaning in impeccably closer, like he wanted you to look at him again. His eyes followed your avoidant ones as his breath mingled with the air you breathe, his whole presence beckoning you.
You weren’t stupid, you wouldn’t fall for his manipulating acts.
“You’re less than an exception, you’re not even an option.” You bitterly comment as you turn your attention back to your laptop.
He let out a low whistle. “Struck a nerve there, didn’t I?”
“I just wanted to be with you.” Seungcheol mumbled, like he was worried the words would land differently.
Okay, you are kind of stupid. You let your eyes reach him again, peeking at him off your right shoulder.
You feel even more stupid, as your heart physically ached when you see him get up. His pointer finger brushing over your knuckle on accident, you hope on accident.
“I’ll just go if this is the case. See you at home then.” He held your eyes for a beat longer than you expected. It was like he wanted to say more, but was too hesitant.
You didn’t notice how your hand bunched up the fabric of your sweats in that weirdly tense moment. His eyes searched yours, desperately almost; it felt like he was trying to read you, but you were a complicated riddle. He walked off with his back towards you and his friends following him like dogs.
“Fuck.” You muttered once he was out of earshot, burying your face in your hands.
There goes your hour of concentration. Thanks a lot, Choi Seungcheol.
–
Besides Seungcheol bombarding your mind, your friends, Erika and Jennifer, are blowing up your phone.
They keep on sending inspo pictures of group photos they want to take on their digital cameras. They even have your outfit planned out to the tea. They’re assigning each other roles to make sure any guy, besides Seungcheol, will talk to you.
A nervous flutter rose to your chest as you thought about the party.
So much for studying, you thought. You packed up, stuffing your laptop with the still empty document. You were heading to Erika’s house, which was close to the library.
Erika thoroughly explained how she’s going to do your makeup, and the clothes that she had prepared for you. Pinterest photo after another, you’ve realized there’s no way you can back out now.
Jennifer and Erika ended up arguing on the vibe. Jennifer said chic and simple, nothing too showy or ‘slutty’, but that would be hypocritical… as Jennifer’s best friend is a lethal v-cut neckline.
Erika strongly pushed for a cowl neckline, with the backless feature. With complimenting tight bootcut jeans that show off the curvature of your ass perfectly. Of course only she would think about what your butt would look like in jeans.
Though, they came to a conclusion: a micro skirt, that you’re hundred percent sure your butt will be hanging out of. For the top, they managed to battle it out and decided on a simple black tank, with a lacy bra that is not debatable.
—
Your heart beat thrummed through your skin, your fingers anxiously tapped on the vanity. Erika hovered around you like a humming bird with her hands all over your hair. Jennifer is constantly skipping through songs, trying to find the right vibe.
An unsettling feeling dwelled in your stomach.
You’re really doing this, you thought. You’re seriously going to waltz in and flaunt your stuff just to spite Seungcheol. Maybe even kiss another guy, just to show Seungcheol that you don’t want him. Your brain is going down a steep spiral about Seungcheol, and you need a way to get out.
“To be honest guys, I don’t even like Seungcheol like that.” You murmured pathetically, hoping that’ll deter the fire burning in their eyes.
“Like, he always sleeps around and… you know? It's just I don't like… guys like that.” You poorly explained your alibi. It was a futile attempt, sadly earning skeptical looks from them.
They all know— so do you— that you can't resist the temptations of Choi Seungcheol. Especially being so sexually frustrated, he is a living wet dream for you.
“Excuses, excuses. At least see this as an opportunity to network and have fun, who knows you might be able to network yourself some dick because you’re such a smooth talker.” Jennifer retorted, smudging her eyeliner.
She sat on the floor, hunched over the mirror and still pressing the skip button. How did she even have any skips left? Erika was still busy running around you with a curling iron. She had meticulously done your makeup, enhancing your features and making you look completely brand new.
You had insisted you can do it yourself, but Erika proclaimed she’s a pro, and she knows what she’s doing. Which she 100% is a pro, as you can barely recognize yourself, in a good way at least.
“Yeah, Jen’s right. Just have fun, don’t think about Seungcheol. Plus he’ll probably be sucking off someone’s face anyways, it’ll ruin your good vibes.” Erika added as she scrunched the cooling curl.
Erika wasn’t the best at delivering advice, like Jennifer’s blunt demeanor, but hearing that sentence: “sucking off someone’s face”, made your heart sink. You knew it was granted to happen for him, but hearing it aloud hurt even more. It bubbled in your stomach, just to rise and puncture your aching heart.
It was almost like they sensed it, and on cue Jennifer pulled a big ass bottle of Tito’s vodka out of nowhere.
“We should pregame, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to…” Jennifer singed-songed, already pouring herself a shot.
Erika rejected it, and so did you. You rejected because you didn’t want to end up wailing about your feelings, and half because you’d end up way drunk before you even arrived.
three:
You arrived at the party, the night air nipping at your ankles as you got out. Erika and Jennifer are a couple of steps ahead of you, talking about how they’re not going to drink too much.
Every step you took was met with a sharp pain in your heels. Your hands constantly tugged down your riding skirt. The awful push up bra you have on is digging straight into your ribs, and you feel too vulnerable with your cleavage out. Your friends keep on urging you to take pictures, but your hair keeps on flying into your lip gloss.
You don't fit here, you feel like a shell of your body. Guys are smoking on the front lawn, girls are already stumbling out even though the party has barely started. You can feel the music before hearing it, thrumming quickly through your pulse. You're met with a conglomerate smell of cologne, weed, and alcohol.
What's worse is as soon as you get eaten by the swarm of people, it's like the lights dim and flash on him.
Seungcheol.
He's talking to the girl you remember who he said gave him sloppy head, or was it another girl? Who knows. Though, he doesn't seem too upset about that. His hand automatically found the small of her back, his thumb brushing over the divot right before the curve of her ass.
Your stomach churned uncomfortably as bile bubbled in the back of your throat.
His hands are traveling, feeling her, memorizing each dip with the tips of his fingers. A ghost of fingers repeated it on your own frame, your arms wrapped around you sheepishly. Get out of your head, you spoke to yourself.
You involuntarily swallowed as you finally pried your eyes away, you didn't notice how dry your mouth had gotten at the sight of them. Erika looked at you weirdly, tugging on your arm to snap you out of this hypnotized daze.
"Hey, what are you looking at? Hurry, let's get drinks before they all just start tasting like fruit punch and not vodka!" She laughed, her shrill tone dumping the ice cold reality back onto you.
Fuck. You couldn't shake off this gnawing feeling in your stomach. The burning ache in your heart. The indescribable brain fog prevented you from even trying to comprehend how you feel. This isn't jealousy, you painfully remind yourself, you're not even interested in him. He doesn't even want you.
Jennifer placed a drink in your hand, and as she looked away, you've already downed it. The liquid burning down your throat as the alcohol taste sticked on your tongue. You carelessly tossed the cup, groaning at the taste.
"Dude! Are you fucking stupid?" She gaped at you as you wiped the alcohol off your lips.
"I think so." You grumbled back. You get another cup, to occupy your hands for the most part.
Erika and Jennifer keep a wary eye on you, their mouths still ajar in shock.
—
To your demise, the alcohol hit you hard. You make up an excuse to leave the jungle of dancing people and flying arms. Finding yourself in the dimly lit kitchen, you take this chance to rest against the counter.
Even with all the heaps of alcohol clouding your brain beyond consciousness, the image of Seungcheol standing so intimately with that girl is etched into your brain. You shivered as a phantom finger traced the curve of your waist. It traveled up slowly, like it was memorizing the exact slope of it.
"Why are you here?" The hand wasn't a ghost. It was Seungcheol’s. He was leaning in, scanning your face intently like you were outlandish. Which wasn’t entirely wrong.
A sharp gasp yanked from your chest, the sight of him immediately sobered you up. He has the evil audacity to laugh in your face. His fingers brushed against yours deliberately on the edge of the counter, his left hand holding his cup as he brought it to his lips.
You try not to stare, really, but the way he held eye contact with you as he drank, you couldn't help but watch. You swallow, eyes finally yanking away as soon as you have some decorum.
Seungcheol leaned in again, his cologne making your knees feel like jelly. "Why are you here? This isn't your type of crowd." He asked again while his fingers creeped up onto your tense knuckles, delicately brushing them like he was scared you'll pull away.
"'Cause, I wanted to." You muttered lamely, shamelessly following his touch with your eyes. You watched his fingers brush up your forearms, but you did it mostly to avoid his stare.
"Just 'cause?" Seungcheol teased softly, leaning his head against the cabinets as he looked at you carefully. Almost tenderly. Almost.
"Yeah." The singular word sounded stupidier than you thought.
Although, you could care less because you’ve already made yourself a fool, for falling in love with someone out of your league.
When you look back up at Seungcheol, he’s already staring with an intensity you can’t quite put a finger to. Whether it was hunger or perceptive, your skin feels staticky with heat with his eyes on you.
"Whose attention are you trying to get here?" Seungcheol murmured, inching closer, and you pathetically sucked up a breath.
You forget to answer the question, too distracted on how his lips parted when he talked. His words are muddled in the cloud of his cologne and proximity. Your stomach fluttered childishly, and you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, or simply him. He nudged your knee with his as he inched closer, and your eyes snapped back up to his eyes.
"I said, who are you trying to attract? You look too good tonight." You hated how his voice resonated deep in your gut. How you wished he spoke to you more, and spoke only sweet nothings.
You immediately gave him a cold shoulder, because it didn’t matter if you looked good or bad, he clearly wasn’t interested in you.
“Nobody in particular.” You admited, but your brain kept on flashing images of Seungcheol with his ‘girlfriends’, reminding why you’re here.
“Oh really? So your skirt is short enough to see your ass just for fun? Hm?” Seungcheol pressed further, his fingertips brushing against yours.
“Hm? Clearly it’s paying off.” You retorted, unsure why it sounded so bitter.
“Oh?” Seungcheol cocked an eyebrow that made your knees almost buckle in. He manuevered to stand in front of you, caging you in against the counter.
You bite back the gasp that threatened to escape, but he heard your breath hitching. His cologne jumped into your lungs, and infiltrated your mind. His fingers gripped onto the counter beside you, and you didn’t notice how white his knuckles are. Seungcheol held your eyes with an intensity you’ve never seen before, and fuck, you wanted to see it more often.
“I saw when you arrived. Way before you even looked at me. Way before I even– even talked to that girl.” Seungcheol admitted quietly, intimately.
“I saw the way you looked at us.” He murmured, leaning in closer making his voice rumbling in your chest.
“So? You know I hate public display of affection.” You grumbled back, leaning away by the slightest.
“I know.” He stated simply and clearly.
“Okay, if you know, then that’s your answer to my reaction.” You blatantly excuse.
A beat passed, making anxiety bubble in your chest.
“You’re jealous.”
Your facade faded immediately like shattered glass. Those two simple words that escaped his lips dug right into your gut. Seungcheol saw the truth flash in your eyes, and like an instant, his face softened.
“Am I right?” Seungcheol said with a slight smile.
“You wish.” You scoffed in retort, turning your head away.
“You’re lying, plus it doesn’t suit you anyways.” He leaned in, tilting your head up with his pointer finger.
“Don’t lie to me.” He whispered over your lips, your hands jumping at your sides.
“Seungcheol—” you attempted to protest, confused and exactly where you wanted to be.
“Why? Why do you do this all the time? Do you think I’m shallow?” Seungcheol held your face with his fingers, stroking your lower lip gently with his thumb. Your breathing picked up at his words, and his implications. You thought you hid your emotions well, that you didn’t care if Seungcheol slept around. Clearly, he saw right through you.
“Well,” you started, but your throat dried up, and you can’t bring yourself to admit it.
Admit that you’ve been daydreaming about him doing things to you, you’d rather die than say such words.
“Well, whatever you're thinking about, stop it.” Seungcheol sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. He dropped his hand from your face, and moved them to your sides.
Ever so briefly squeezing your hips before wrapping his arms around your waist. You see him shut his eyes, his lashes brushing over the soft skin.
Your brain short circuited at the touch, your hands jumping to his chest. His breath is mingling with yours, his arms feel heavier than you imagined, and god… you love it.
“I’ve been walking on eggshells around you.” Seungcheol confessed gently, his body leaning into yours like he’s seeking your comfort. His admission explained why he’s been ignoring you recently.
“I don’t know how else to approach you… but to do this…” He gestured by squeezing you flush against the firm wall of his chest.
“To at least show you that I like you.” Seungcheol whispered, his eyes fluttered open to catch your widened ones.
“Me?” You stupidly asked.
“You,” Seungcheol answered tenderly, “of course you. You’re so admirable. You…” He sighed, squeezing his arms around you tighter.
Seungcheol groaned as he buried his face into your neck, making you shiver at the sensation of his breath. It’s ticklish at first, but melded into a soft reminder of his presence.
“You’re so smart, determined, and so perfect in so many ways.” Seungcheol professed, pulling his head out from your neck.
“But you pull away so often– I’m worried if I come off too strong, or you think I’m a horrible person. But I can understand why.” He stated clearly, holding your eyes with unspoken desire.
You’re at a loss for words with a lump in your throat. All Seungcheol did was smile, and it painfully made your heart lurch at how bad you want him. Forget what your friends said, forget disappointment, you want Seungcheol so bad every nerve in your body is jumping to his touch.
“What? You have this look, like you’re seeing a ghost.” Seungcheol’s lips hovered dangerously over yours, his hands cupping your soft cheeks. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone, feeling your skin burn hot under his touch.
“Just… I’m just shocked.” You sputtered out, to at least speak a coherent sentence. Your eyes darted between his lips and eyes, and he smirked at the small gesture.
“About what?” A cheeky smile grew on his lips, like he knew this was going to be your reaction.
“That a guy like me is into a girl like you?” Seungcheol leaned in, and with the motion he removed his arms from your waist. They traveled to the counter behind you, caging you in and pressing his hips against yours.
It ellicted a gasp from your lips, with a jolt of arousal blooming between your legs. He mentally took note of your reaction, his teeth sinking down in his lower lip to restrain himself.
“Is it that?” Your eyes snapped up to meet his. Seungcheol’s head is tilted down to meet yours.
You look down at his lips, hoping he didn’t notice. In which, he very much did. Another smug smirk grew on his face as his hand came to tilt your chin up.
“Tell me, what’s so shocking about me liking you?” His words swirled in your gut, especially the way his eyes held yours with desire.
“I– It’s not… as simple as you think.” You managed to speak. Your brain and heart were a puddle; your morals are gone, as you just follow this feeling of warmth you’ve dreamt about.
“It isn’t?” Seungcheol mused. Those simple words have your knees shaky, and you swear your heart is beating so fast it’s visible against your chest.
He pressed a finger right in the middle of your forehead. “Your big, beautiful brain must be complicating it, huh?” Seungcheol smiled all knowingly, and somehow you found yourself laughing.
An even bigger smile grew on his lips at the sweet noise. Seungcheol’s heart swelled with an unfamiliar fondness at the sight. He wanted to memorize the way your eyes crinkled and your smile lines deepened with your laugh. Most importantly, he wanted to be the one making you laugh.
“What? Am I right for once?” He wrapped his arm around your waist again, bringing your chest flush against his. The smile didn’t fade from his lips, almost like he was trying to bask in the bubbly mood you were in.
“Maybe.” You shook your head in disbelief, finally meeting his eyes with confidence.
Silence fell over the both of you. Either in agreement or understanding, but a mutual feeling floated between you two.
“I wanna hear more.” Seungcheol admitted, stroking your cheekbone with unexpected tenderness.
“M…more about what?” Your cheeks burn under his touch, his other hand squeezing your hip.
“About what’s going on in that head of yours.” Seungcheol’s hand slid up your spine, wracking a shiver out of you. He pressed your body taut against his, trying to dissapate the space. It worked increasingly well, as the room felt small, that it was just you and him.
“God no, it’d be so embarrassing to admit aloud. To you.” You laugh weakly, your hands deciding to travel on his chest. Firm muscle is all you can feel under your palms, and he’s clearly enjoying the attention.
“Really? What is it? You think about me in a certain way?” Seungcheol asked while raising a knowing eyebrow.
Your eyes blinked wider, and an immediate blush grew on your cheeks. Your hands froze their travel on his chest and landed on his shoulders to ground yourself.
All he does is laugh, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Seungcheol found you so unbearably cute, pulling back out to look at you with a gummy smile.
“I’m right again, aren’t I?”
“Fuck off, seriously.” You groaned out, maneuvering out of his arms to escape Seungcheol’s teasing scrutiny. He almost let you, grabbing onto your wrist once you're an arms length away.
“Why?” He whined, tugging you back. “Let's go back home. Leave this stupid party.”
You know what his intentions are, you know damn well.
And of course you're going to say yes.
—
You’re sheepishly toeing off your kitten heels, feeling shy with his eyes on you for what felt like ages. You’re unsure why he’s staring, but it made your skin flush from your cheeks to your neck.
“What?” You mumbled out, feeling out of place.
“Nothing.” Seungcheol smiled, walking towards you once your heels are finally off.
His hands are back on your body, your heart leaping into your throat. Your eyes expectantly darted over the expanse of his face. He cupped your cheeks, grounding you with the warmth of his palm.
“Can I kiss you?” Seungcheol quietly asked, tilting your head up to meet his lips.
A shaky exhale left your lips as you nod mutely, your hands sliding up his chest. A silent gesture that you want him as bad as he wants you.
Without a second word his lips surged and chased after yours.
You struggled to keep up with his pace, his hands and mouth all over you. Seungcheol walked you back towards his bedroom, his hands sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass. In response, you yelped at the sudden sensation of Seungcheol’s hands kneading at your globes, and clamped your thighs around his hand once his ring finger rubbed the hem of your wet panties.
Seungcheol pried your legs open and wrapped them around his waist, and you easily complied, tightening your legs as he carried you. His hands shoving your shirt under your bra, feeling the slope of your waist and the warmth you're burning.
“God, you don’t wanna know the things I wanted to do when I first saw you.” Seungcheol groaned into your lips.
You gasped for air, and he easily took it away. Each kiss was going breath for breath, and you couldn’t complain. His teeth dragging down your lower lip, his tongue sliding against yours languidly. You curl into his touch, utterly wrecked and dying for more. You can barely respond with his tongue in your mouth. The way he worked it made you feel all fluttery and lightheaded.
His hands roamed the expanse of your skin, feeling how your pulse jumped whenever he deepened the kiss. Seungcheol gripped onto you like this was a dream, and he was just trying to ground himself.
A shiver wracked your body as his lips found their way to your neck. His breath tickling your neck just as you imagined, your hands clutching onto his shirt helplessly in response.
"Seungcheol-" you pant out at the sensation. He placed soft, wet kisses along your neck and collarbone.
He hummed against your skin, relishing how your voice vibrated against his lips. He dragged his tongue up the slope of your neck, savoring your perfume and the salty taste of your skin. Seungcheol’s nose nuzzled against your pulse point before nipping and sucking at it. Your breath hitched, your hands gripping on his shoulders to ground yourself.
"I need you to say my name more often." He mouthed into your skin, nipping and sucking a blooming hickey. “It sounds good from your lips.” He mused, pulling back to look at your flushed face.
Your kiss-bitten lips make you even more irresistible. The reddening hickey on your collar was deepening, and a rush of pride flooded through Seungcheol’s system.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you into his lap, pressing his hips up shamelessly. A hot rush flooded your body, your hips jumping in shock, but still dragged along his cock in response. Your eyes blew open in shock, but he just groaned into your neck. He bucked the bulge of his dick right against your clit with a desirable precision, yanking out a sharp gasp from you. A jolt of pleasure made your body shiver, and writhe against his movements.
"Gonna make you feel so good. So fucking good." His voice was husky and strained. Unable to stop his rutting like a horny teenager, but the way you gasped and rolled your hips when he did, he couldn't hold back. The rough material of his jeans dug into the thin fabric of your panties has you mewling. You’re too distracted to cover your noises, and fuck, he rolled his hips harder to ellict a sharp gasp from your lips.
"Ah- fuck, Seungcheol." You stammered out, trying to ignore the blossoming heat and ache when he rubbed his hips up. He did it slowly and deliberately, dragging it against your needy clit. Your brain already was blanking with the coiling pleasure in your stomach.
"Do you feel how bad I want you?" Seungcheol removed his head away from your neck, his hands gliding on your sides. He played with the bunched up fabric of your tank, admiring how disheveled you looked from his simple ministrations.
You nod, your lips in a tight line of restraint. He can see the way your teeth sink into your lower lip, and you noticed Seungcheol hasn't even looked you in the eye once.
His attention was fully on your mouth, how your lips have a wet sheen of spit, and have that red look after kissing you so intensely, how he pulled out moans after moans.
"I can’t fucking hold back anymore…" He breathed out, his lips on your skin, rolling his hips again. You can't help but chase after that feeling, grinding back onto him. He groaned in response, his eyes glinting with something dark. His hands squeezed your hips to stop you, or well, to stop himself.
"Let me be inside you. Mouth, finger, dick, whatever you want baby." Seungcheol’s breathing labored, like he's holding back his true power.
The way he’s looking at you like a goddess, like a deity, has you melting into his lap. Your hips weakly squirming on his lap, missing the friction. He weakly laughed, kissing your cheek, and easily rolled his hips back up in a slow movement.
"Should I just take my time with you? Find what you like, since it's your first, hm?" Seungcheol nipped at your jaw, kissing your cheek.
Your stomach flipped as his words were an awful reminder. Yes, this was your first, but it wouldn't be the first time you wished Seungcheol would fuck you so dumb, you would forget your own name. His hands squeezed your hips, as his sneaky fingers dipped into your waistband hesitantly as he waited for you to answer.
"Yeah- yeah... whatever you... wanna do to me." You mumbled out embarrassingly, and you can see the groan being yanked from his chest. Seungcheol’s eyes fell shut as he buried his face into your chest. He took a deep breath of your scent, nipping at your skin to hide the second groan.
"Fuck..." He practically moaned, his brain working overtime to even process a sane thought.
"Why would you say that?" He whispered, his breath hot against your prickled skin.
"I want that." You murmured, cupping his face to look at you again. That does it. His eyes are glinting with pure adrenaline and desire. He kissed you hard, breathless and hungry.
This wasn't like any kiss you had before, they were always tentative and timid. This kiss is fueled with desire and pure lust as his teeth crash against yours carelessly. There was practically no air between you two, with his nose smashed against your cheek. His hands gripping you with a tightness that'll leave you with bruises, that you are more than thankful for.
He flipped you in his lap so easily, it made your brain spin at his sheer strength. His breath tickled your ear as you pressed your back against his chest.
"If you want it so bad, baby, then watch me do it." He whispered into your ear, and fuck, your thighs clamped immediately.
He let out a laugh, “Not so confident now, are you?”
He nipped at the shell of your ear as he cooed sweet nothings, not helping the already soaked part in your panties. He pried your legs back open like he owned them, his fingers rubbing circles into your clammy inner thighs.
His fingertips alone on your skin have you already squirming and feeling hot. You've spent too many nights dragging your fingers along your body, wishing it was Seungcheol's instead.
"Baby, watch." He whined gently, prodding his nose against your cheekbone.
Your eyes shoot up to the floor length mirror in front of you. It's dim in his room, but the bedside lamp illuminated the room more than enough.
You can see how much bigger Seungcheol is than you, how he has his whole body draped over you. The light showed each shadow of his muscle on his biceps, making his jaw sharp as he whispered praises. And most importantly the bulge of his thick cock tucked in his pants. You simply shake your head, swallowing your dry mouth at the thought of his dick.
"Are you watching?" Seungcheol murmured, his hands trailing your body slowly, giving you no idea where he'll put them.
He took his time, kissing your neck while memorizing each crook, each shiver, each gasp he took out when he touched a sensitive part. Seungcheol pulled your shirt off, tossing it away like it was covered in acid. His hand stroked your stomach, and went to take off your bra. He unclasped it with a familiar precision that made your heart twist. He must have done it regularly to do it with such ease. His actions immediately shut up your thoughts, as he circled your aerola with his pointer finger.
The soft, ghost-like sensation has you squirming pathetically. He smiled wickedly, kissing and licking the shell of your ear.
His breath fanned cold against your damp skin, your hands balling up into fists at the feeling.
“Feel good?” He murmured, his voice rumbling in your chest.
You helplessly nod, your hips flexing for any pressure on your weepy cunt. He took note of it, but did nothing to help you, enjoying the way you withered under his touch so easily. Seungcheol continued to drag his pointer finger languidly around your hardening nipple, never really touching it.
Heat pooled in between your legs, everything feeling fuzzy from the alcohol and adrenaline. It enhanced the way the rough pad of his thumb brushed over your nipple at a torturous pace. That simple gesture made you writhe under his touch so easily. His other hand ran down your stomach, making it flex in anticipation.
He stopped right at the waistband of your skirt, his breathing surprisingly even against your cheek.
“You see how beautiful you are?” Seungcheol practically purred, admiring how wrecked you already look.
Seungcheol brushed your stomach with his thumb, playfully dipping his nail into your navel before toying with the band of your skirt. He eventually took it off, leaving you in only your panties.
“Say yes.” He murmured, nipping at your jaw. At first, your throat seemingly didn’t work. But when he returned his fingers to roll and tug at your hardened nub between his pointer and thumb, a sharp gasp yanked from your lips.
“Y-yes.” You breathed out shakily, still lust-clouded. He noted how your stomach caved in the mirror at the touch, a sly grin growing on his lips.
“Such a good girl. You listen so well.” He praised quietly.
His hand dipped past your waistband, making you tense in anticipation. His fingers applied pressure past your bladder, down to your mons pubis, massaging down there for a moment. You whined impatiently, making Seungcheol’s smirk ghost on your cheek. The sudden pressure on your clit made your thighs twitch, his lips kissing your neck to distract you.
Slowly, he coaxed out moans from your lips. The pad of his finger rubbed the sensitive nub in circles. His hand returned back to toy with your hardened nipple, flicking it lightly compared to the pressure on your clit. The touch on your puffy clit has you withering so easily. The noises of pleasure push at your bitten lips, and it just pet Seungcheol’s ego.
He’s the one doing this to you, he’s the one watching you unravel, he’s the one.
His finger left your chest and tapped your jaw, returning your attention back to your face in the mirror. He’s already watching you squirm in his lap with heavy lidded eyes.
“Don’t take your eyes off.” Seungcheol commanded, pressing harder on your clit and making you jump. “I’ll show you who knows this pussy the best.”
His words of promise made you pathetically whimper. Seungcheol smirked at your reaction, keeping his cheek pressed against your, making sure you watched him. Seungcheol ran two fingers down your weepy folds, smearing your arousal around.
“God– so wet already.” He kissed your temple, a stark tender gesture.
You can only whimper in response, already flooded with pleasure that buzzed under your skin. Seungcheol pressed a digit against your entrance, spreading your slick onto your puffy folds. His thumb worked on your achy, needy clit; watching you with hungry eyes through the mirror.
Your hands balled up the material of his jeans to steady yourself in the pool of pleasure. You can’t help but shut your eyes, and relish the feeling. He already has you gasping and mewling at the sensation like a needy little thing.
His finger tapped on your jaw again, your eyes snapping back to the mirror. You were so lost in the sensation, you forgot to abide by his rule.
Suddenly, Seungheol’s hand goes still, making your hips twitch needily. An upset whine fell from your lips, and he just tapped on your jaw again, a silent reminder.
“W-what? What happened…” You helplessly pant out, confused and so utterly horny. Your core aches at the loss of him, a throbbing ghost-like sensations on your clit.
“Baby, I said watch.” There’s a demanding grit to his tone that sent a shiver up your spine. So scarily so, it made you swallow thickly in panic, and nod.
“Y-yes. Okay, I- I will.” You responded back, so eager to please and to get pleased.
“Say it.” Seungcheol stated bluntly, earning a dumbfounded look from you.
“Say… say what?”
“Say what you want from me.” He rephrased, his thumb rubbing lazily on your clit. The touch made you whimper, and he immediately pulled back, wanting to hear you plead.
You flushed a deep pink, and he simply smiled. Those annoyingly charming dimples deepened, making you whine in protest.
“Beg you mean?” You groaned at the thought.
“Should I have said that in the first place? Did you want me to say: beg for how badly you want my fingers inside this wet pussy?” He mused, that shit eating grin never leaving his lips. Seungcheol’s clearly enjoying the way you squirm and blush at the sight of him touching you with your panties on.
You tensed up at his words, your pussy aching so desperately now. You could have sworn he felt the hot trickle of arousal drip down your thighs, making him smirk all knowingly.
“No– no… I understood.” You scrambled to say, trying to grapple back your dignity.
“Then beg.” He sternly commented, his voice was low against your ear. Your body shivering at the thought of his touch.
“Please… please I need your fingers.” You pathetically attempted, your eyes stuck on him in the mirror.
“Where, baby?” Seungcheol tugged down your panties and tossed them carelessly, baring your hot folds to the air.
“In… inside me.” You answered meekly, hoping that’ll be enough.
“Good job, beautiful.” Seungcheol murmured, not needing another word as his fingers were already working again. His pointer finger left your jaw, hoping you’ll behave this time.
His lips returned to the sensitive spot he found earlier, Seungcheol’s hands trailed down your stomach which made you twitch in anticipation. Your weepy cunt is getting his jeans all wet, so Seungcheol manuevered your legs, hooking them over his forearms. Your glossy folds are exposed in the mirror, the light glinting against your arousal.
“Aren’t you so fucking gorgeous? Spread open just for me, huh?” Seungcheol remarked as his pointer figner traveled down to spread your folds open.
He rubbed his middle finger along your slit, and went back up to draw circles around your clit. A shaky exhale escaped your lips at the gentle, tentative touch. He hummed, pressing his lips against your cheek, nipping at the skin for your attention. You understood what he wanted, and turned your head to meet his lips.
The pad of his finger rubbed on your entrance, and you couldn’t take it anymore, rutting against it helplessly. He finally slid it inside, curling upwards and immediately finding the sweet spot. A sharp gasp left your lips, and he swallowed it hungrily in the kiss.
Pleasure coiled tightly in your stomach, as he relentlessly rubbed his finger against that spongy point. His thumb pressed rhythmically against your clit, making you squirm and writhe in his grip.
He pulled away from the kiss, “Watch baby.” Seungcheol painstakingly reminded you, but continued thrusting and curling his finger against that spot.
It felt impossible to focus on anything else but the delicious pleasure he’s giving you. But you didn’t want him to stop, so your eyes dragged back to the mirror.
The sight of his digit, knuckle deep inside you, has you dripping even more. You watch how his digit slid into your slicked cunt with no resistance. With a second finger in, you didn’t last long. The way they curled against your slick walls and pressed incessantly against a spot has you seeing stars. Your stomach already grew taut with pleasure ready to snap.
The sound of his fingers moving in and out your dripping entrance were matching up with each gasp and whine that escaped you. Your hips bucked and twitched everytime Seungcheol deliberately pressed on that spongy spot inside you.
“Close?” He asked, but he knew the damn answer. He just wanted you to admit it, that he’s the one making you come.
You nod sharply, “Yes– ngh– coming-” you pathetically rasped out.
Seungcheol doubled his efforts, his lips attacking your neck, as his digits thrusted and pressed harder against your sweet spot. The sensation is overwhelming as pleasure hit you in waves. He worked harder to pull out gasps and whines, relentlessly abusing your g-spot with attention.
Your moans died on your tongue as you clamped around him tightly. A rush of pleasure wracking your body as you tensed up on his lap. Your release spilled onto his jeans, leaving an even bigger wet spot than before. He watched you come undone with a hungry glint, rubbing your clit as you came down.
He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, making your orgasm feel all fluttery and warm.
“Such a good job, you came so beautifully.” He cooed and dropped your limp legs, tilting your head to meet his lips.
The kiss was slow and rewarding, your pants being swallowed by his groans.
Once you two pulled away, he lifted you up effortlessly, and laid you on your back.
It was his turn to take off his clothes. As he tugged off his shirt, your wandering hands fumbled to pull off his jeans.
He laughed at how cute you were, with that face of determination but yet frustration. Eventually, he kicked off his jeans and boxer in one smooth motion.
Now that he was fully naked, something wasn’t adding up. His dick laid against a patch of trimmed hair, way smaller than you imagined. Your brain was straining, and replaying the shrill moans the girls he was fucking.
“You’re smaller than I thought.” The words fell off your tongue before you could register.
He raised an eyebrow up, and settled between your thighs. He scanned your face one more time, to find any sarcasm, but your confusion was genuine. Maybe you had too high of expectations, but he’s standing tall at around four or five inches.
Noting that you were very serious, Seungcheol laughed. A proud smile on his lips, “It won’t feel that small.”
Your stomach fluttered at his retort. He leaned in close enough his breath was fanning over your ear.
“See for yourself.” Seungcheol reached out for your hand, guiding it to his cock.
You tenatively stroked your hand around his length, squeezing before you dragged it back up. He groaned in response, urging you to do more.
Before you know it, his cock laid fully erect, and… looked like a fucking weapon. The puzzle pieces finally clicked in your head, he was a fucking grower.
Your lips part in shock, and all he does is smile. He slides his cock against your sticky folds, gathering up your arousal to coat his length.
“Why are you so quiet now? Hm?” He prodded, pressing his tip against your entrance. Seungcheol continued the action, sliding his cock through your slick folds, making sure it caught at your puckered entrance.
“Ah– didn’t– I didn’t expect that.” You mumbled out, squirming as he continued to rub his tip on your entrance.
“You didn’t? Seungcheol hummed, tilting his head as he dragged his cock through your folds, purposefully tapping the tip on your clit.
You gasp, your legs squeezing his sides from the direct pressure on your sensitive clit. Seungcheol does it again, and again until you finally sputter out helplessly.
“No– no I didn’t.” You scrambled to say, your mind already stirring with pleasure. You helplessly pushed your hips up, and he stopped the attention on your clit.
He tutted, spreading your legs wider with his thighs, and used his thumbs to expose your dripping pussy.
“Look at this greedy thing… Soaking wet and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.” He mused, his thumb rubbing next to where you really need him.
You bite your lower lip, trying to restrain yourself from saying or doing anything crazy. You wanted to be good for him.
“Does your pussy want my dick?” Seungcheol pushed his thumb inside, pressing on your walls.
A sharp moan escaped your lips, your thighs twitching at the sudden touch. Seungcheol used his thumb to open you wider, holding the head of his cock against your fluttering hole.
“Answer me.” Seungcheol said firmly, his thumb insistently rubbing on a spot that makes your words catch in your throat.
“Yes– god- please. Seungcheol, I want it.” You gasped out.
“Want what? Use your words, I know you’re a smart girl.”
A dark blush grew on your cheeks, still squirming as his thumb rubbed against your gummy walls.
“I want… your cock, please.” You begged pliantly.
He groaned at your words, kissing you deeply before removing his thumb.
He broke the kiss to press his forehead against yours, and slowly pushed himself in. The stretch burned, making you clamp around him, a strangled gasp escaping your lips. He kissed your noises away, trying to distract you.
He pulled away to latch his lips against your nipple, making your arch unexpectedly into his mouth. His free hand pinched the other hardened peak, and took the chance to slide a couple inches deeper.
“Relax for me, promise, I’ll make you feel good.” He murmured, capturing your lips once again in a hazy tangle.
Every small thrust Seungcheol made, created your body to go rigid, your lips parting in a ghost of a moan.
“Doing okay?” Seungcheol asked with attentive eyes, his hands sliding along your body appreciatively.
You managed to nod, flushing under his stare.
His control was slipping slightly, from the way you were gripping onto him so tightly whenever he moved, Seungcheol couldn’t take it anymore.
With a bit of his cock left, he filled you up to the hilt, a gasp yanking from your lips. You felt so full, the wind was knocked out of you, and you can feel each vein throbbing against your velvet walls.
Seungcheol rolled his hips, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. He kissed your neck, his hands stroking along your frame. The pleasure is already building up in your stomach, and your skin burned hot when he started whispering sweet praises into your ear.
“Fuck- you feel so good.” Seungcheol groaned, slowly dragging his cock along your fluttering walls.
His hands roamed on your body, his lips met your jaw as he continued the relentless grinding. With his experimental rolls, he found a spot that made you gasp and clench around him. An immediate smirk grew on his face as he deliberately rolled his hips into that spot.
“Right here? Does it feel good?” Seungcheol pulled back, continuing to rut his hips into that spot. He watched your face contort blissfully with pleasure.
“Ah- yes– fuck, Seungcheol!” You sobbed out as he dragged his cock back before slamming back in, hitting even deeper.
Your pussy gushed with arousal around his length, his hands holding you by your hips and his thumbs dug into your bladder. Your back arched as the pleasure struck you like a lightning bolt, your vision going bleak.
You immediately clamped around him at the pressure, making him groan lowly. He pounded into you a bit faster, pulling you down on his cock quicker.
“Fuck, your pussy is sucking on my cock so greedily.” Seungcheol grimaced, trying to hold himself back.
“Do you need more, hm? Can you take more, baby?” He pulled back before slamming in deeper, and grinding the head of his cock against your g-spot.
A sharp cry yanked from your lips, his thumbs returning the pressure on your bladder. He simply rolled his hips against that spot incessantly.
“Poor baby can’t even speak, can you?” He leaned down, his lips hovering over yours. Seungcheol massaged your stomach again, feeling you clamp down on his cock desperately.
He smirked, crashing his lips against yours as he picked up the pace. Fucking you with renewed energy that has you shifting up the bed.
Pleasure struck your body hard, your clit throbbing painfully as he pressed on your bladder harder.
“C-close-” Is all you can croak out, your brain long gone due to the sheer pleasure fogging your senses.
That one word is the only thing Seungcheol needs before he fucked you precisely into the same spot, making you shout and moan his name. His free hand pinching your clit, making you clamp even tighter around his girthy cock. His other hand stayed flat, applying pressure on your bladder.
“Y’ gonna squirt for me? Show me, baby, show how good I’m making you feel.” Seungcheol punctuated his words with his thrusts, the heel of his palm digging straight into your bladder, making you sob out.
That was all it took, and you squirted with a shout. Your juices flooding down your thighs and jumping to your stomach. Seungcheol’s thrusts were getting sloppy at how tight you were sucking onto him, wet squelching noises filling the room. Tears of pleasure streaking down your perfect makeup as you arching into his chest. Seungcheol grunted as you desperately milked his cock, but he held back, trying to lengthen your orgasm.
Once you were shaking and squealing after every shallow thrust, he pulled out and crashed his lips against yours. His tongue felt hot as it dragged along yours, you helplessly stuck your tongue back to reciprocate, still floating from the post orgasm.
Your brain was lightheaded as Seungcheol took away your breath with the kiss, and as he swallowed each pant and plea from your plush lips. Seungcheol manhandled your limp body and flipped you onto all fours with ease.
“Tell me if it's too much, ‘kay? Gonna fuck you stupid. Gonna show you who really owns this pussy. Sounds good?” Seungcheol spread your legs with his knees, and tugged your ass cheeks apart to reveal your puffy, swollen pussy.
He spanked your clit with his fingers. You jolt at the sensation, a shaky cry escaping your lips. The pain made your core drip at the sting, the rush of adrenaline made your skin feel staticky. You dreamt of this, his roughness and experience, making you tip over the edge, feeling absolutely wrecked.
“Ngh- please-” You pant, burying your face into the pillows that smell like his cologne and scalp. You helplessly pushed up your hips and he groaned, harshly rubbing on your clit.
“You want that, huh?” He smirked, continuing to press cruelly on your clit. You're too orgasm-dazed, but you know you need him inside again. You weakly can imagine the way his cock dragged against your fluttery walls, your cunt dripping and gaping around nothing.
You nod erratically into the pillows with incoherent mumbles, pushing up your hips desperately. He groped the round of your ass, rutting his cock into your folds and gathered slick once again. After whining impatiently and rolling your hips back, he laughed and complied.
He aligned his cock back with your entrance, and pushed back in with one full thrust.
A sharp sob yanked out from your chest, your body arching to accommodate his length.
“Fuck… look at you, so greedy still. Even made you come twice and you're still as fucking tight.” He pulled back, thrusting in an inch each time. He pulled out further, and harshly thrusted back in, earning a whine from you.
“Trust me, baby, I’ll make you beg me to stop.” Those words made you groan, nodding absently at that promise.
All he does is chuckle, gripping onto your hips so tight, you’re sure it’ll bruise. At first he moved slowly, searching for a spot that’ll make you gasp. He leaned over, kissing your exposed neck, down the column of your spine. When he rutted his hips deeper, a sharp, guttural moan escaped you, your body arching back onto his desperately.
“Ngh– fuck– there, Seungcheol.” You rasped out, hands digging into the bedsheets.
“I got you, baby.” He placed open-mouthed kisses down your back. He started picking up the pace, and he pulled out to slam straight into the spot that makes you see stars.
At some point, each thrust was straight at that toe-curling spot. Your vision went bleak from the pleasure, then a sharp cry coming from your lips as he spanked your right cheek.
The tingling sensation amplifying the way his hips slapped against your ass with each thrust. His hand soothed over the blooming red spot, “Too much?” He checked in.
You shook your head, babbling something incoherent afterwards, too lost in the pleasure. He groaned, kneading your plush ass before fucking you faster.
“Too fucked out to respond, you’re so cute.” Seungcheol mumbled, more to himself, as his hands glided along your body appreciatively.
A sharp whine escaped your lips, your body arching like a cat as you buried your face into his pillows.
Your sobs are muffled against the pillow, but he can make out: “‘m coming- ‘m close–!”
He wrapped his arm around your neck, lifting you up slightly in a chokehold. His bicep flexed around your head, holding you up right and higher to pound into you deeper.
He grunted behind his bitten lip, giving you more.
“Come on baby, come for me.” He huffed, pounding into you harder, deeper.
Your lips part, in a ghost of a moan, your body going taut before your legs slightly give up.
You start shaking when he doesn’t pull out, instead his free hand wrapped around your torso, pulling you flush against his chest. He tightens his chokehold around your head, your cheeks being squished by his muscles.
You swear you see heaven when he briefly adjusted the pressure to your throat. Your pussy spasming, and dripping like a fucking faucet.
“Shit– baby, you’re so fucking messy.” He grimaced, using his other free hand to hook under your knee.
Stars prick your vision at how deep he’s going, the overstimulation bringing you close to another impending orgasm. Your sloppy cunt took his cock like it was meant for him, the wet squelching noises filling the room along with the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin. You clamped around his cock helplessly, gasping his name like a prayer and clutching onto his bicep.
Tears brink your glazed over eyes, his teeth sinking down onto your shoulder, insinuating his upcoming orgasm.
“Don’t hold back baby,” He rasped out, fucking into deep spots, you never knew could be reached in sex, in this new position.
You let out a pitiful sob, throwing your head back against his shoulder and he groaned as your tight heat gushed around him. He continued to thrust deeper, chasing his orgasm with intensity.
Your body shook, your head blank as all you can think about is how his cock is destroying you in half.
He finally came with a grunt, his teeth digging into your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. His release painted your walls white with the ropes of cum, as he filled you to the brim.
He let you down slowly and carefully, pulling out once he finished coming.
Your brain was foggy, but you felt how he kissed your cheek tenderly before leaving the bed, making the mattress shift under the loss of his weight.
Seungcheol came back with a warm, wet towel, and adjusted you on your back. He comfortably set a pillow under your head and lower back.
“Hey, are you doing okay? Was I too rough?” He cupped your face, wiping away the tears on his cheek.
All you did was nod, your throat felt stripped after screaming from pure pleasure. You can see a smile growing on his lips, and he settled between your legs, wiping away the mixture of liquids.
“Just you wait– gonna do something.” He murmured, more to himself because you’re already dozing off.
—
You wake up in new sheets, new clothes, and… a new warmth that doesn’t come from the blanket.
It’s Seungcheol.
The weight of his arm draped over you is comforting, and it’s something you could get used to. Your eyes fluttered back shut, relishing the morning sun on your face.
Seungcheol shifted beside you, his arm on your waist moved up, and he pulled you in closer.
“Sore?” He asked, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Yeah… really sore.” You let out a weak laugh, and when you flutter your eyes open again, you’re met with a sulking Seungcheol.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, showering kisses all over your face in compensation.
“No– I… I really liked it. Like feeling… spent.” You admitted, and he wished you didn’t.
“Baby, why…” He whined as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
You kind of wondered what Seungcheol would be like after sex, and you're more than thankful he’s clingy.
“It’s the truth.” You mumbled, stroking his brown locks.
“Okay, as long as you don’t lie to me.” He pulled back to look you in your eyes.
You smiled automatically at the sight of him, and he physically softened, returning you with a gummy smile.
He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, “Hey, thanks for letting… me be your first.”
The admission was quiet, hesitant almost, but he looked shy more than anything.
“Oh. That…” The same smile stuck on your face, and you cupped his puffed up cheeks with a tenderness he didn’t expect. His eyes slightly widening when he met your sweet, crinkled at the corner, eyes.
“I wouldn’t want anyone else to be my first.” You murmured, brushing your finger over his eyebrow.
“Well, I’m honored.” He grinned, kissing the corner of your lips, then the corner of your eye.
You can now admit, that sex with Seungcheol is fucking heavenly, but only you can say that the morning after, is even better.
a/n2: thank you for finishing this fic!!! hopefully you can taste my blood sweat and tears in it.... i'm also so thankful to the positive feedback i got on my teaser, it really motivated me to write. so thank you guys for being so supportive! sorry if i missed anyone in the taglist!! its not a personal thing... this was all stressful for me lmfao so please... cut me some slack.
Summary: You throw caution to the wind after a charged encounter with a magnetic stranger at a resort. Following him to his room for a one night stand. What unfolds, however, leaves you hoping it won’t end on just that.
Word count: 11.5k
Genres/warnings: smut, pwp (literally porn with very little plot), making out in a public place (hot tub) with some grinding, sexual tension (obviously), stranger sex, one night stand, Seungcheol is kinda flirty and bold but also not a dickhead, reader is an overthinker, implied strangers to lovers (because you have to bag a man like him!), reader gets emotional after sex and cries. ah, yes, metric system keeps jumping because sometimes miles sound better than meters... I feel like this section is absolutely useless for this specific fic lol.
Smut warnings: Minors DNI, Seungcheol is a total consent king (but also nasty), bodily fluids (arousal, obviously), dom!Cheol, big dick!Cheol, he has plenty pubic hair in this one (srry not srry I just suddenly got turned on by that idea and had to include), light breast/nipple play, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, piv sex (they use condoms, hurray!), multiple rounds, multiple poses, rough sex, lazy sex, dirty talk, some degradation, deepthroating (with some gagging and choking and tearing up), cum eating, Seungcheol loves to mark, kinda overstimulation (cuz well, multiple orgasms), praise kink, pet names. I think I totally forgot something…
A/N: this idea was born per anon request which I kept adding to and adding to it (hence it might’ve turned kinda repetitive at some point but then again it’s sex, it’s not exactly much different) and that’s why it took me so long to complete (besides the fact that I kept getting sidetracked to work on other stories). also, what a freaking monstrosity of a pwp🫣 blame it all on Seungcheol and being so hot all the time. the sexiness of his 30s is very fcking dangerous i must say! as always, i hope you enjoy your read, will be happy to see your comments, tags or if you’re shy you’re always welcome to express yourself anonymously in my ask box ᙏ̤̫
If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.
Masterlist.
You slip into the water, the quiet slosh a welcome sound after hours cooped up in your air-conditioned room. The resort pool glitters under the moonlight, cool and inviting against the lingering heat of the day. It’s late, the usual splashing families long gone, leaving just you, a few other residents and the gentle hum of the pool filter. You float on your back, staring up at the star-dusted sky which is dimmed by the lights of the resort, letting the water cradle you. Peace.
Then you feel it. That prickle on the back of your neck, the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze. You roll onto your stomach, treading water, and scan the poolside lounge chairs. There, half-hidden in the shadow of a potted palm, is him. The guy from breakfast yesterday, the one with the intense dark eyes that seemed to follow you as you piled fruit onto your plate. And the day before that, lingering near the pool bar while you sunbathed. Tall, broad-shouldered beneath a simple t-shirt, with that gorgeous face—big, soulful eyes framed by long dark lashes and thick brows, surprisingly plush lips set in a strong jaw. Handsome in a way that feels solid, capable. Like he could easily lift you, pin you, whatever he wanted. The thought sends a warm shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the water.
He doesn’t look away when you catch him. Just holds your gaze, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt to his head. Not creepy. You find it intriguing. A little thrilling. You hold his look for a beat, letting a small, knowing smile touch your lips before deliberately turning away, diving under the surface. The cool water rushes over your heated skin. Yeah, his attention strokes the ego. Especially when you resurface a few meters away, glance back and he’s still watching, a lazy, appreciative curve now playing on those lips.
You see him everywhere after that. Catching his eye over coffee cups at the bustling breakfast buffet, his gaze lingering a fraction too long. Passing him on the path to the beach, a shared, fleeting look that crackles in the humid air. He’s always there, a quiet, attractive presence you’ve started unconsciously searching for. The attention is a constant, low thrum under the surface of your holiday relaxation.
The heat of the afternoon sun gives way to the softer warmth of early evening. Seeking something more soothing than the cool pool, you head towards the secluded hot tub tucked away near a screen of lush tropical plants. Steam rises invitingly from the bubbling water. Perfectly empty. You shed your light cover-up, leaving just your swimsuit, and slip into the deliciously hot water with a sigh. Bliss. The jets massage your tired muscles, the steam curling around your face.
You’ve barely closed your eyes when you hear the soft splash of someone else entering the water. Already preparing to feel the disappointment of disturbed solitude you open your eyes again just to see if whoever joined you is tolerable enough to stay. But it’s him. Of course. He settles on the opposite bench, the hot tub suddenly feeling much smaller. Water laps around his broad chest. His dark hair is slightly damp, clinging to his forehead. Those big eyes fix on you again, but this time, there’s no pretense of looking away.
“Seems like we have similar taste in relaxation spots,” he says, his voice a deep rumble that resonates pleasantly in the steamy air. It’s smooth, confident.
“Looks like,” you reply, your own voice sounding slightly breathless even to you. You adjust your position, sending ripples across the surface between you. “It’s the best one. Always quiet.”
“Quiet is nice,” he agrees, a slow smile spreading across his face. It lights up his features, making him even more disarmingly handsome. “Especially for unwinding. Or... getting acquainted.” He leans forward slightly, resting his arms on the tiled edge. “I’m Seungcheol.”
You offer him a smile and your own name in return. The space between you feels silently charged, thick with the steam and something else entirely.
The conversation flows easily, surprisingly natural despite the simmering tension. You talk about the resort, the food, the awful humidity, your lives back at your hometowns. His eyes never really leave yours, or sometimes drift lower, appreciative, unhurried. The heat of the water sinks into your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth spreading through you under his unwavering attention. He laughs at something you say, a rich, genuine sound, and shifts closer, ostensibly to hear you better over the bubbling jets. His knee brushes yours underwater. Neither of you pulls away.
His gaze drops to your mouth. “You have a really nice smile.”
The compliment, however basic, delivered in that low voice, feels like a physical touch. “Thanks,” you murmur, your heart pounding against your ribs. The air crackles. The few inches of bubbling water between you might as well be a mile. “You're not so bad yourself, Seungcheol.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He moves, closing the distance smoothly. One large hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. His skin is hot, damp and this sensation sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Not so bad, huh?” he repeats, a playful challenge in his eyes that’s quickly overtaken by pure heat. “Let’s see about that.”
His lips meet yours. It’s not exactly tentative, he only searches your eyes for half a second to see that you want it. The kiss is confident, searching, immediately deep. A jolt of pure electricity shoots straight through you and your lungs refuse to cooperate at first. You take a choked breath against his mouth, your hands flying up, one tangling in the damp hair at his nape, the other gripping his solid shoulder. He tastes faintly of chlorine and mint, and something that you can only describe as him. The kiss deepens, turning hungry. His other arm wraps around your waist, hauling you effortlessly off your seat and onto his lap, straddling him. The jets churn violently around you.
The hot water sloshes as you grind against him. The thin barrier of your swimwear does nothing to hide the hard ridge of his growing erection pressing against your core, or the way your own body pulses in response. His hands are everywhere—sliding up your back beneath the water, fingers tracing the edge of your swimsuit top, palming the curve of your ass, pulling you harder against him. Your own hands explore the expanse of his chest, his shoulders, the damp skin of his neck. Soft moans escape you, muffled against his mouth, lost in the sound of the bubbling water. He groans, low and guttural, when you roll your hips, seeking more friction. His lips leave yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. You arch into him, gasping, your fingers tightening in his hair.
You whimper, burying your face in his neck, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of him mixed with steam. His hands slide lower, under the edge of your bikini bottoms, fingers brushing against the slick heat there. You gasp, pushing yourself harder against his touch, against the hard length of him. It’s frantic, messy, the water making everything extra challenging but impossibly erotic. You’re teetering on the edge though it keeps, ironically, slipping away from you, the world narrowed down to the feel of him, the sounds you’re both making, the churning water…
“Hey, is this thing on? Looks steamy over there!” A loud, cheerful male voice, startlingly close, cuts through the haze of pleasure like a bucket of ice water.
You freeze. Seungcheol goes rigid against you. His hand stills instantly beneath the water, but he doesn’t pull it away completely. His head whips around towards the path leading to the hot tub. You follow his gaze, your heart hammering against your ribs. Two figures are silhouetted against the resort lights, approaching.
“Shit,” mutters under his breath, low and urgent. His eyes snap back to yours, dark and dilated with arousal and sudden frustration. The spell is shattered, replaced by a jarring wave of exposure. He pulls his hand from your swimsuit, his touch lingering for a fraction of a second, a silent apology and promise. He shifts his body subtly, creating a sliver of space between you, trying to make the scene look less like what it was: two strangers moments away from combusting in a public hot tub. You hastily remove yourself from his lap.
The newcomers—a couple laughing together—reach the edge. “Mind if we join?” the man asks, already stepping in, oblivious to the crackling tension he just interrupted.
“Not at all,” Seungcheol manages, his voice rough but surprisingly calm. He throws you a look—intense, frustrated, simmering with the heat that hasn't dissipated, only been banked. He leans close, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and sending a new shiver down your spine despite the warm water. “Room 312,” he murmurs, the words barely audible over the renewed bubbling and the newcomers’ chatter. “Top floor, west wing. In an hour. Don’t make me wait. Please.”
He doesn’t wait for your answer, just gives your thigh a final, firm squeeze under the water, a silent anchor point, then smoothly pulls himself out of the tub in one fluid motion. Water streams down his body as he grabs his towel, not even bothering to dry off, just wrapping it loosely around his hips. He throws one last searing glance your way before turning and walking swiftly down the path, disappearing into the shadowy foliage without a backward glance at the oblivious newcomers now settling into the water.
You’re left sitting in the suddenly too-crowded tub, your body humming with unmet need, the ghost of his hands and lips imprinted on your skin. The water feels tepid now. The laughter of the other couple jars your nerves. An hour. Room 312. Top floor, west wing. Your heart kicks against your ribs again, a frantic, exhilarating rhythm. The decision feels inevitable. You take a deep, shaky breath, the scent of chlorine and tropical blooms suddenly sharp in your nostrils, and start counting down the seconds.
The steam from the hot tub still clings to your skin like a phantom caress as you stumble back towards your own resort room, the gravel path crunching unnaturally loud under your sandals. Every nerve ending feels electrified, raw, and hyper-aware. The taste of him lingers on your lips. The imprint of his large hands on your hips burns beneath the thin fabric of your bikini. And his words, low and desperate in your ear, echo like a strangely pleading command you have no intention of disobeying: Room 312. Top floor, west wing. In an hour. Don’t make me wait. Please.
An hour. It stretches before you like a lifetime and a blink simultaneously.
Inside your cool, impersonal room, the silence is jarring. You lock the door, leaning your forehead against the smooth wood, trying to catch your breath that keeps hitching in your chest. Your reflection in the full-length mirror startles you—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide and dark with a mixture of lingering arousal and dawning panic. What are you thinking? He’s a stranger! The thought crashes through the haze of desire, sharp and cold. You barely know his last name, let alone anything substantial. This is reckless, potentially dangerous, the kind of thing you read about in cautionary tales.
But then the memory floods back: the confident pressure of his lips, the possessive squeeze of his hand, the pure, unadulterated heat in his eyes that promised oblivion. The way your body responded instantly, arching into his touch, grinding against him with a desperation that shocked you. The ache between your legs, momentarily soothed by the churning water but now throbbing back to life, persistent and undeniable. It wasn’t just lust, though that was a roaring fire. It was a connection, intense and immediate, crackling in the humid air between you since that first locked gaze by the moonlit pool.
You pace the small room, the plush carpet muffling your frantic steps. Stranger danger wars with stranger sex fantasy. Your sensible side screams retreat. Your body, humming with anticipation, screams go. You glance at the clock. Forty five minutes.
Shower. You need a shower. To wash off the chlorine, the steam, the feeling of his skin against yours. Or maybe just to stall. The water is lukewarm, a feeble attempt to cool the internal furnace. You scrub mechanically, your mind racing. What if he’s not what he seems? What if it’s awkward? What if you change your mind halfway through? What if you don’t change your mind and it’s incredible? The last thought sends another jolt of heat straight to your core.
Drying off, you face the mirror again, the panic subsiding slightly, replaced by a fluttery, nervous excitement. You’re going. The decision settles, warm and heavy in your stomach. You want this. You want him. The reckless abandon of it thrills you almost as much as the memory of his touch.
Now, what to wear? The simple sundress you packed—light blue cotton, spaghetti straps, falling just above the knee. It’s innocent enough for walking through the resort corridors, easy to slip off. But is it too innocent? Too try-hard? You rifle through your suitcase. A silky camisole? Too obvious. Jeans? Absolutely not. The sundress it is. Underneath... You hesitate, holding a simple cotton brief. No. You reach for the one piece of lingerie you brought on a whim, delicate black lace bikini bottoms, barely there. Too much? The critical voice pipes up again. He’ll just take it off anyway. But the thought of him seeing it, his big hands peeling it down your legs... You pull them on. The lace feels foreign and exciting against your skin. No bra. The dress is forgiving enough, and the thought of his hands, his mouth, finding you bare beneath the thin cotton sends another shiver through you. Definitely too much. But you leave it. This is your secret, your small rebellion against your own inner voice.
You check the mirror once more. Hair slightly damp, falling loose around your shoulders. Minimal makeup reapplied—just a touch of gloss on your still-sensitive lips. The flush on your cheeks is genuine. You look... eager. Vulnerable. Ready. Your heart hammers against your ribs like a trapped bird.
Five minutes. You grab your keycard, take a deep, shaky breath, and step out into the softly lit hallway. The walk to the west wing elevator feels endless. Every guest you pass seems to look at you knowingly. The elevator ride to the top floor is agonizingly slow, the mirrored walls reflecting your nervous fidgeting. The plush carpet of the top-floor corridor swallows the sound of your footsteps. Room 312. It looms at the end of the hall. You pause, hand raised to knock, your pulse roaring in your ears. Last chance to turn back.
Before your knuckles can connect, the door swings open.
He fills the doorway, backlit by the warm lamplight inside. Changed out of his swim trunks into low-slung grey sweatpants that cling to the powerful lines of his hips and thighs, and nothing else. Your breath catches. The poolside glimpses, the hot tub proximity—none of it prepared you for the sheer impact of him like this, half-dressed and waiting. His torso is a sculpted landscape of muscle—broad, defined shoulders tapering to a narrower, incredibly taut waist. The planes of his chest are smooth, his lower abdomen dusted with just the faintest hint of dark hair leading down under the waistband of his pants. His arms are thick with muscle, veins subtly tracing his forearms. His dark hair is towel-dried, slightly tousled. And his eyes... those big, dark eyes lock onto yours, intense, searching, simmering with the same heat from the tub, but tempered now with a watchful stillness.
“Hey,” he says, short greeting a low rumble in his chest. His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sundress, the bare shoulders, the nervous energy vibrating off you. A slow, appreciative smile touches his lips, but his eyes remain serious, focused. “You came.”
“Told you I would,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. You never told him that, what are you even saying? You try very hard not to fiddle with your hands and leave them unmoving at your sides to hide the anxiety that’s been festering in you for the past hour. The proximity, the sheer maleness of him, is overwhelming. The nervous flutters intensify, mixed with a fresh wave of pure desire.
He doesn’t point out your words, just steps back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
The room is spacious, a luxury suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the moonlit ocean. A large bed dominates the space, neatly made but looking suddenly, profoundly significant. The air carries a faint, clean scent—soap, maybe cedar—mixed with the undeniable, warm scent of him.
He closes the door softly behind you, the click of the lock echoing in the sudden quiet. You stand awkwardly just inside, the confident woman from the hot tub replaced by this jittery version. He doesn't immediately move towards you. Instead, he leans back against the door, studying you, his gaze traveling over your face, down your neck, lingering on the thin straps of your dress. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation and your own racing thoughts.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, deeper with concern. The question is simple, but the weight behind it is immense. It’s not perfunctory. He’s genuinely checking. His intense gaze holds yours, waiting, giving you space. “Being here? After the tub... things got intense fast. I need to know you're still good. That this,” he gestures loosely between you, “is what you want. Right now. No pressure. None at all.” His eyes are unwavering, open. “You can say no. You can leave. Right now. Just tell me.”
His directness, the absolute seriousness with which he asks, cuts through your nervous haze. It’s the opposite of the demanding stranger persona your anxiety had conjured. And it loosens the knot of tension in your chest.
You take a shaky breath, meeting his gaze. The desire is still there, a live wire, but the fear is receding, replaced by a growing certainty. “I’m... nervous,” you admit, the honesty surprising you. “But I’m good. I want to be here. I want…” You trail off, heat flooding your cheeks again. I want you. The words hang unspoken but felt.
He pushes off the door, closing the small distance between you in two slow strides. He stops just before touching you, his presence enveloping. “Nervous is okay,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration you feel in your bones. “Tell me if anything feels not okay. At any point. Promise me.” It's not a request; it's a non-negotiable term.
“I promise,” you whisper.
His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, giving you time to pull away. His knuckles brush your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends sparks skittering across your skin. “You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck exposed by the sundress. “This dress…” His thumb strokes your cheekbone, mirroring his touch in the hot tub, but gentler now. “Can I take it off you?”
The question, so blunt yet so considerate, steals your breath. You nod, unable to speak. His fingers find the thin straps of your sundress. He eases them down your shoulders with agonizing slowness, his gaze fixed on the revealed skin. The soft cotton pools at your waist, then falls completely, puddling around your ankles on the plush carpet. You stand before him in just the delicate black lace bikini bottoms, suddenly exposed under the warm lamplight.
His breath hitches, a soft, audible intake. His gaze roams over you, hungry, appreciative, but still controlled. “Fuck,” he breathes, the word thick with awe. “Look at you.” His eyes linger on the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the lace hugging your hips. “Perfect.” His hand returns to your cheek, then slides slowly down your neck, over your collarbone, coming to rest lightly on the curve of your breast. His touch is warm, possessive, yet infinitely patient. “Still good?”
“More than good,” you breathe, the nervousness melting under the heat of his admiration and his touch. Your hands lift almost of their own accord, drawn to the solid wall of his chest. Your palms flatten against warm, smooth skin, feeling the powerful beat of his heart beneath. The contrast between his hard muscle and the softness of his skin is intoxicating.
He leans down, his lips finding yours again. This kiss is different from the hungry clash in the tub. It’s slower, deeper, a rediscovery. His tongue slides against yours, tasting, exploring. His hand cups your breast fully, his thumb circling your nipple, teasing it into a hard peak. A soft moan escapes you, swallowed by his mouth. Your fingers curl against his chest, nails scraping lightly.
He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, returning to the sensitive spot just above your collarbone he’d discovered earlier. He sucks gently, then soothes it with his tongue, sending shivers down your spine. One arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The hard ridge of his erection presses insistently against your lower belly, even through the fabric of his sweatpants. The evidence of his desire is thrilling.
His free hand drifts lower, fingertips tracing the top edge of your lace panties, dipping just beneath. “These are a surprise,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice husky. “A very fucking good one.” His fingers slide lower, tracing the seam of you through the damp lace, finding the heat and slickness waiting there. You gasp, pushing your hips forward against his hand, seeking more pressure. “So wet already, princess,” he groans, his fingers applying delicious friction. “Just for me?”
The sudden endearment sends a jolt through you. “Yes,” you whimper, your head falling back as he adds a second finger, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. “Just for you.”
He eases his hand away, eliciting a soft sound of protest from you. Before you can process it, his hands are on your hips, turning you gently. You face the large bed now. His hands slide down to your waistband. “Lift your foot,” he instructs softly. You comply, and he carefully peels the lace down one leg, then the other, letting them fall. He guides you back until your knees hit the edge of the mattress. “Sit.”
You turn and sink onto the cool duvet. He stands before you, his eyes dark pools of desire as he drinks in the sight of you completely bare. The intensity is almost too much. Then, without breaking eye contact, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pushes them down, along with his boxer briefs, in one smooth motion.
Your breath stops.
He is magnificent. Powerfully built everywhere—thick thighs corded with muscle, a firm, sculpted ass, the defined V-cut leading down from his hips. And his cock... thick, long, already fully erect, curving slightly upwards from a neat nest of dark, coarse hair. The contrast is striking—the smooth expanse of his chest and stomach giving way to this thatch of dark curls framing his impressive erection. You usually prefer smooth, but the raw masculinity of it, the primal contrast, sends a jolt of pure, unexpected desire straight through you. You can’t tear your eyes away.
He sees your stare, a slow, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “See something you like?” His voice is thick with amusement and pride.
“You're... yes,” you breathe, the honesty raw in your voice despite the fact that words are miserably failing you at the moment. The sheer size is intimidating and thrilling all at once. “You’re… incredible.”
He steps closer, his cock bobbing slightly. He places one knee on the bed between your legs, then the other, kneeling over you, caging you in. His hands frame your face. “You’re the incredible one,” he counters, his thumb brushing your bottom lip and your gaze darts up to meet his. “You sure you’re ready for this?” His eyes search yours again, the question layered. Ready for him? Ready for the intensity he promises?
Your answer is to lean forward and press a kiss to his abdomen, just above his navel. Then lower, tracing a short path with your lips towards the dark trail. You feel him tense, a sharp intake of breath. You look up at him, meeting his heated gaze. “Show me what you can do,” you whisper.
A groan rumbles deep in his chest. He shifts back slightly, giving you space. “Fuck yes. But first…” He guides you gently to lie back on the bed. “Let me taste you.”
He moves down your body with deliberate slowness, kissing his way down your sternum, over the swell of your stomach. He nips gently at your hip bone, then spreads your thighs apart with firm hands. He pauses, looking up at you from between your legs, his eyes holding yours, asking permission one final time. You nod, biting your lip. His gaze drops, focusing on you with an intensity that makes you tremble. Then he lowers his head.
The first touch of his tongue is a revelation. Slow, broad strokes from bottom to top, savoring you. He groans, the sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “So sweet,” he murmurs, his breath hot. Then he zeroes in, his tongue circling your clit with firm, focused pressure, flicking over the swollen bud, trying different methods until he finds the one that works best for you. Your back arches off the bed, a mewl tearing from your throat. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he devours you. He alternates between broad, lapping strokes and pinpoint flicks, building the pressure relentlessly. One hand slides down, his thumb pressing rhythmically against your entrance while his tongue works your clit. Then, a thick finger slides inside you, curling upwards, finding that sweet spot instantly.
“Oh god! Seungcheol!” You writhe, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, holding him to you. He adds a second finger, stretching you gently, his tongue circling your clit. The combination is overwhelming—the wet heat of his mouth, the skilled thrust and curl of his fingers, the pressure building like a tidal wave. He's relentless, attuned to every gasp, every twitch of your body. “Yes! Right there! Don’t stop!”
“Come for me, princess,” he rasps against you, his voice thick and muffled. “Let go. I've got you.” His tongue lashes your clit faster, his fingers pump harder, curling perfectly. The coil snaps. Pleasure explodes through you, white-hot and shattering, radiating out from your core in pulsing waves. Your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out, body bowing off the bed, lost in the sheer, blinding ecstasy he wrings from you.
He gentles his touch as the tremors subside, lapping softly, easing you down. He presses a final, lingering kiss to your inner thigh before crawling back up your body. He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His cock, rock-hard and leaking, presses against your stomach. “Fuck, that was beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with satisfaction and renewed hunger. “You’re so fucking responsive. Looks like no one fucked you properly in a while.”
You’re still trembling, floating on the aftershocks, but the sight of him above you, the feel of his hard length against you, reignites the fire. “I need you,” you gasp, reaching between you to wrap your hand around him. He hisses, his hips jerking forward into your touch. He’s impossibly hard, velvety smooth skin over the hot girth of him. “Inside. Now.”
He kisses you again, hard and promising. “Condom,” he breathes against your mouth. He leans over to the nightstand, fumbling slightly, ripping open a packet with his teeth. You watch, mesmerized, as he rolls it on with efficient, slightly shaky hands. The sight of him sheathing that thick length is intensely erotic.
He settles back between your thighs, his weight braced on his forearms on either side of your head. The broad head of his cock nudges against your slick entrance. He holds your gaze, his eyes burning into yours. “Ready?” he asks, the word strained. “Tell me.”
“Ready,” you breathe, lifting your hips to meet him. “Please.”
He pushes forward slowly, inexorably. There’s a moment of intense pressure, a delicious stretch as your body yields to accommodate his size. You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. He pauses, fully seated but not moving, letting you adjust. “You okay?” His voice is tight with the effort of holding still.
“Okay,” you gasp, the fullness incredible, overwhelming. “Move. Please, Seungcheol.”
He begins to move, slow, deep thrusts at first, withdrawing almost completely before sinking back in. The friction is exquisite, the stretch perfect. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, watching your reactions. “Feel so good,” he groans, his breath coming faster. “So tight. Fucking perfect.” He drops his head, his lips finding yours, his tongue licking into your mouth with wet sounds mixed with your breathing. His pace gradually increases, his thrusts becoming deeper, more powerful. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the firm muscles of his ass, pulling him deeper still. The slap of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with your gasps and his guttural groans.
His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again, rubbing firm circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation is almost too much. “Look at you,” he rasps, his voice rough. “Taking me so well. My perfect little fuckdoll.” The slight degradation, the possessiveness in his tone, sends a fresh jolt of heat through you, coiling your muscles tighter.
“Harder,” you beg, arching your back. “Don't stop!”
He growls, a purely animal sound, and obliges. His thrusts become harder, faster, pistoning into you with a force that steals your breath. The bed creaks in protest. He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly he's hitting that deep, sweet spot with every plunge. Stars burst behind your eyelids. "There! Oh god, Seungcheol, right there!" you scream, your body tightening around him like a vise.
"Come on, princess," he commands, his voice ragged. "Come on my cock. Now." His thumb presses harder, his thrusts become brutal, perfectly angled. The command, the relentless stimulation, tips you over the edge again. Your orgasm crashes over you, even more intense than the first, a wave of pure, mindless pleasure that rips a scream from your throat. Your inner walls clench rhythmically around him, milking him.
He curses, a low, drawn-out groan. "Fuck! That's it. Squeeze me just like that." He drives into you a few more times, hard and deep, then buries himself to the hilt with a final, shuddering thrust. His body tenses, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he finds his own release, pulsing deep inside you. He collapses onto his forearms, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you gasping, trembling, slick with sweat.
He stays buried inside you for long moments, catching his breath, pressing soft, almost reverent kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your forehead. “Jesus,” he finally breathes, his voice wrecked. “You’re... fucking unreal.”
He eases out of you carefully, disposing of the condom. Then he gathers you against him, pulling you onto your sides facing each other, your bodies still humming. His arms wrap around you, strong and secure. One big hand strokes your hair, the other rests on your hip. “Alright?” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple. “That was... intense.”
“Intense is an understatement,” you manage, snuggling closer into the solid warmth of his chest, listening to the rapid thud of his heart slowing down. “But yeah. Alright. More than alright.” You trace the smooth skin over his pectoral muscle. “You’re... you’re really good at that.”
Seungcheol chuckles, a low, satisfied rumble, then kisses the top of your head. His hand drifts down, cupping your ass, pulling you tighter against his softening cock and you can feel the warm wetness of your release between your thighs even more like that.
The tremors from your climax are still rippling through you, a sweet, fading echo that leaves your muscles liquid and weak. A profound, sated exhaustion is already seeping into your bones, a heavy warmth that makes your limbs feel like they are filled with sand. When his lips find yours again, the kiss is different—slower, hungrier, but tinged with the same shared fatigue. It tastes of salt of sweat and him, already a familiar, intoxicating flavor. His hands move over your body with possessiveness that is both thrilling and daunting, mapping your spent form as if assessing its limits for what comes next.
“Round two,” he murmurs against your mouth, the words a dark, thrilling promise, though his voice is even more ragged now, stripped raw and breathless. He rolls off you, the loss of his weight and heat a sudden chill. He sits up on the edge of the bed, his broad back to you, and you see the muscles there tremble faintly with the aftermath of his own release. He takes a deep, shuddering breath before turning to look at you over his shoulder. His eyes are black with intent, but the lids are heavy. “Turn over. On your knees.”
The command is direct, but it lands differently now. A fresh wave of heat, liquid and urgent, pools low in your belly, but it’s followed immediately by a deep, internal tremor of fatigue. Already? your body seems to cry out. You feel fucked out, overstimulated after just two orgasms, every nerve ending raw and singing. Pushing yourself up is an effort. Your arms shake, your core muscles protesting as you awkwardly get onto your hands and knees, presenting yourself to him. The position is profoundly vulnerable, and the awareness of his gaze burning into you, taking in the sight of your well-used, sensitive flesh, makes you shudder and clench with a mixture of anticipation and sheer, overwhelming sensitivity.
“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, his voice thick with awe and a lust that seems to override his own tiredness. His hand comes down, not in a slap, but in a firm, possessive grip on one cheek, squeezing, kneading the flesh. You flinch, the sensation almost too much on your sensitized skin. “All mine for the night.” He leans forward, and you feel the hot, wet stroke of his tongue, lapping up the evidence of your release from your inner thighs. The obscene, sloppy sound he makes vibrates through your oversensitive core, and you drawl a throaty moan, a jolt of pleasure-pain shooting through you. “So fucking sweet.”
You gasp, your arms trembling violently now, struggling to hold yourself up. The mix of reverence and filth in his act is dizzying. He’s worshiping and defiling you all at once, and your body, though exhausted, responds to his filthy devotion with a fresh, aching throb of need.
You hear the tear of another foil packet, his movements slightly slower, less efficient this time. The rustle as he sheathes himself again seems louder in the heavy, post-coital silence. Then his hands are on your hips, his grip firm, almost bruising, holding you in place. The broad, sheathed head of his cock nudges against your tender entrance, teasing, circling, smearing your wetness. The contact is electric, almost too intense.
“Tell me you want it,” he demands, his voice a low, evidently tired growl against your ear as he leans over you, covering your body with his. His chest is slick with sweat as it presses against your back.
“I want it,” you pant, the words a breathless struggle. You push your hips back against him, the movement feeling sluggish in your exhaustion, but the need is still there, persistent and insatiable. “Please, Seungcheol. I need it.”
“Beg for it,” he insists, nipping at the shell of your ear. “Tell me how much you need this cock.”
The vulgarity, the sheer nastiness of his words, sends a final, desperate jolt straight to your core. “I need it,” you whimper, your voice breaking with fatigue and want. “I need your cock. Please, fuck me. I need you to fuck me hard.”
With a grunt of approval that seems to come from the depths of his being, he pushes forward. There’s no slow easing this time, but the thrust is not as brutally swift as before. He drives into you in one long, steady motion, burying himself to the hilt in the deep, claiming angle only this position allows. The force of it is breathtaking, a choked cry ripped from your throat at the overwhelming fullness, the delicious stretch around him. You are so full, so thoroughly possessed.
“God, yes,” you moan, your head dropping between your shoulders, your spine arching.
He sets a punishing pace, but it is a tired pace still, the rhythm of it born of muscle memory and stubborn will rather than boundless energy. He pulls out almost completely before slamming back into you, each thrust a profound jolt that shakes your entire weary body. The sound is obscenely loud—the wet, sloppy slap of skin on skin, the creak of the bedsprings, his guttural, breathless groans, your high-pitched, overstimulated mewls. He leans back, his hands locked on your hips, using them as leverage to piston into you with a relentless, driving force that you feel is costing him as much as it is you.
“You take me so fucking good,” he rasps, his voice strained and hoarse with the effort. “So deep like this. Can you feel it? Can you feel how deep I am inside you?” Every word is pushed out on a labored breath.
“Y-yes!” you cry out, your fingers clutching weakly at the rumpled sheets, your body rocking helplessly with his movements. Each thrust hits a spot so deep and sensitive it borders on painful, a blinding pleasure that your exhausted system can barely process. “Right there! Oh god, don't stop!”
He doesn’t. His pace is unwavering, a testament to his stamina, but you can feel the fine tremor in his thighs where they press against yours with every slap of flesh against flesh, the sheen of new sweat on his skin. One hand leaves your hip and slides around your front, fingers finding your oversensitive, swollen clit. The touch is almost too much, and you jolt, arms giving out, a sob catching in your throat. He rubs rough, frantic circles that match the rhythm of his thrusts, the dual assault pushing your screaming nerves towards another shattering peak.
“You gonna come again?” he grunts, the question a breathless challenge. “Gonna come all over my cock while I fuck you like this? Do it. Cum for me. Now.”
The command, the relentless stimulation amidst the crushing fatigue—it’s too much. Your orgasm crashes over you, a violent, convulsing wave that is as much a release from tension as it is pleasure. You scream his name into the mattress, the sound muffled, your body bowing and shaking as your inner muscles clamp down on him, milking his length for what it’s worth. You feel him pulse inside you in response, a hard, sharp throb.
But he doesn’t stop. He rides out your climax, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic, chasing his own. The room is a cacophony of spent sex—your sobbing, exhausted breaths, his animalistic, tired grunts, the sopping sound of your cunt taking the pounding, the wet, rhythmic slapping that seems to grow louder and louder as you both lose the strength to care.
Bang. Bang. BANG.
A sudden, furious pounding on the wall from the adjacent room cuts through the noise. A muffled, angry shout follows. “Keep it down in there, for Christ’s sake! Some of us are trying to sleep!”
Seungcheol freezes, buried deep inside you. For a second, there is silence, save for both of you panting, chests heaving. You heave a breath of relief thinking you can finally put your frying nerve endings to rest. Then, a slow, wicked, breathless chuckle rumbles in his chest. He leans over you again, his lips at your ear, his breath hot and ragged.
“Oops,” he whispers, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He gives a slow, deliberate, utterly exhausting roll of his hips, making you whimper. “We’re being too loud, princess.” He does it again, a lazy, deep thrust that feels like it reaches your soul because the moan that leaves you comes exactly from there. “Think we should be quieter?”
Before you can answer, he slams into you again, hard, a direct contradiction to his question. A broken, tired cry escapes you. He does it again. And again, and again, each thrust a monumental effort.
“Answer me, pretty,” he demands, punctuating each word with a sharp, deep, weary thrust. “Should we be quieter?”
“N-no!” you manage to sob, the last of your energy going into pushing back against him. “Don’t stop! Fuck me, please!”
He laughs, a low, vicious sound of pure, exhausted delight. “That’s my girl.” He covers your mouth with his hand, muffling your sounds. “Then I’ll do exactly what my sweet princess is asking of me. But you’ll have to be quiet for me. We don’t want anyone banging on our door next time, do we? So can you be quiet?” He sets a final, brutal, fast pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more focused, fueled by a last reserve of strength. The only sounds are the wet slap of flesh, the bed hammering against the wall, and his ragged, stifled breathing. You try to stifle your cries against his palm, your body trembling with the struggle of staying quiet under such an intense, final assault.
He’s relentless, driving into you with a single-minded focus. You feel the tension coiling in him, the telltale tightening of his fingers on your hip, the way his whole body strains. With a final, gut-deep groan that he stifles against your shoulder, he pours himself into you, his body shuddering violently with the force of his release, a complete and total expenditure.
Seungcheol collapses over you, both of you spent, slick with sweat, and utterly demolished. His weight is a crushing, comforting pressure. He is heavy, boneless, and so are you. He removes his hand from your mouth, replacing it with his lips as soon as you turn your head to the side, kissing your shoulder blade softly, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your skin.
After a long moment, he carefully, slowly, with obvious effort, pulls out and disposes of the condom. He returns a moment later with a damp, cool towel, moving with a weary tenderness. He gently cleans between your thighs, the act starkly contrasting the animalistic way he just fucked you. He helps you turn over onto your back. Your legs feel like they don't belong to you, your entire body humming with a deep, sated, absolute exhaustion.
But the look in his eyes, as he kneels on the bed between your legs, is still dark with hunger, though it’s now blurred by fatigue. His cock is already half-hard again, a testament to his insane stamina, thick and heavy against his thigh. The sight sends a fresh, aching throb through your oversensitive core, a pulse of pure need that feels separate from your body’s desperate plea for rest. It is daunting. The thought of moving, of taking control of your body once again, feels like an impossible task.
“Your turn on top,” he says, his voice a hoarse, broken scrape. He lies back against the pillows with a heavy sigh, his hands going behind his head, putting himself on display for you. He is a magnificent feast for the eyes—all hard muscle, dark trail of hair leading and bushing around his cock, and rampant, male hunger—but you can see the weariness in the lines of his face, the slow rise and fall of his chest. “Ride me. I want to watch your pretty tits while you bounce on my cock, wanna see you come undone.”
The command is irresistible, but your body screams in protest. A soft, pathetic whimper escapes you. “Seungcheol... I’m so tired,” you breathe, the admission feeling both vulnerable and necessary. When you made a decision to follow your little stranger sex fantasy you didn’t think it would turn into this multiple round thing of your pussy getting absolutely destroyed. You thought that you’d get one decent round at best and go back to your room. And now here you are, your muscles feel like water, your core aches with a pleasant but deep soreness. “I don’t know if I can.”
His expression softens a fraction, the intense hunger in his eyes shifting into something more patient, more coaxing. He reaches out, his hand finding yours, lacing your fingers together. His grip is strong, but his skin is warm, comforting. “I know, baby. I know you are. I am too.” The pet name makes something in your chest squeeze tightly. He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “But just for a little while. Just show me. Let me see you. You don’t have to do all the work.” His thumb strokes your palm. “Come here.”
His gentleness undoes you. It coaxes a second wind from somewhere deep within your spent reserves. You nod, a slow, hesitant movement. Crawling over him is a monumental effort. Every muscle protests. You straddle his hips, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his powerful thighs. Your hands splay across the hard, sweaty planes of his chest for balance, and you feel the frantic, tired beat of his heart beneath your palm. He guides himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, dark and demanding but also incredibly patient.
You sink down onto him slowly, achingly slowly, taking him inch by exquisite, overwhelming inch. A low, mutual moan of effort and pleasure escapes you both at the feeling of being filled and enveloped so completely this way. Once he’s fully sheathed, you pause, your body trembling from the strain of holding the position, adjusting to the deep, stretching fullness that is now a familiar, welcome ache. If this is going to be just a resort fling, you think, it’s going to be the one you’ll remember for the rest of your life and brag about to all of your friends until they are sick of hearing the story.
His hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs drawing slow, soothing circles on your skin. “Move,” he commands, but his voice is now a rough, encouraging whisper. “Just a little. Show me how much you like it.”
You begin to move, a slow, hesitant, rolling grind of your hips. It’s not the energetic bounce of fantasy; it’s a tired, sensual undulation. The angle is different, allowing you to control the depth, the friction. You rise up with a shaky, trembling effort until just the tip remains inside you, then sink back down, taking him all the way with a heavy, satisfying sigh. His eyes flutter closed for a second, a low, appreciative groan rumbling in his chest. Then his hands come up to fondle with your breasts, massaging the undersides, rolling and lightly tugging on your pebbled nipples, and making you moan louder than you should. You throw your head back, eyes rolling into your skull from pleasure.
“Eyes on me, pretty,” he grits out when he notices you’re not looking at him. It makes you snap your head back and meet his gaze only to find it burning with intensity that belies his exhaustion. “I want to see your face when you cum.”
You try to increase your pace, but it’s a feeble, bouncing motion, your thighs burning with the effort. Your hands brace on his chest, your nails digging into his skin for purchase. The sounds are different now—softer, wetter, the slick, tired sound of your bodies joining over and over, mixed with your breathy, exhausted moans and his gruff, whispered encouragements.
“Yeah, just like that,” he groans, his own hips lifting slightly to meet your downward strokes, taking some of the burden from your weary muscles. His hands tighten on your hips, helping you move, guiding you onto him. “Fuck, you look so good on my cock. So fucking perfect.”
You feel another orgasm building, a slow, deep coiling in your belly, different from the sharp, frantic peaks before. This one is a slow, rising tide, built on exhaustion and overstimulation and the profound intimacy of his unwavering gaze. You’re so close, teetering on the edge of something vast and warm. He sees it on your face, in the way your movements become even more languid, more focused.
“Play with your clit,” he orders, his voice tight but soft. “Make yourself cum. I want to watch you fall apart.”
You obey, one hand sliding between your bodies with a tired sigh, your fingers finding your swollen, hypersensitive bud. The touch is almost too much, but it’s the final key. With a soft, broken cry, you shatter, a slow, deep, rolling orgasm that feels like it drains the very last dregs of your energy. Your inner muscles clench around him in slow, rhythmic pulses, your body slumping forward onto his chest as you ride out the long, gentle waves of pleasure that draws an orgasm from him as well and you feel his cum fill you in rapid bursts. But you’re too fucked out to care that he just came inside you without a condom. You’re on a pill anyways.
He holds you through it, his arms wrapping around you, his hips still moving in tiny, gentle circles, prolonging the sensation. When the last tremor subsides, leaving you completely boneless, he gently rolls you over onto your side, slipping out of you. He spoons behind you, pulling you tight against his chest, both of you slick and trembling and utterly spent. He nuzzles into your hair, his breathing slowly evening out.
“You're incredible,” he breathes, the words slurred with impending sleep. He holds you tighter, a full-body embrace that feels like both a claim and a shelter. One hand rests possessively on your hip. “Round three... after a nap,” he mumbles, his voice fading.
You don’t know how long you sleep. It’s a deep, black, dreamless void, a complete systems shutdown for your utterly spent body and mind. Consciousness returns not with a jolt, but as a slow, warm tide. The first thing you’re aware of is the weight. A heavy, solid arm draped across your waist, anchoring you to the bed. The second is the heat. The press of a powerful, sweat-damp chest against your back, the solid line of his body curled around yours, fitting against you like a second skin. The third is the soft, even puff of his breath against the nape of your neck.
You are still exhausted, a deep, cellular weariness that makes the idea of moving seem impossible. But beneath that, something else is stirring. A low, familiar hum of awareness. The scent of him—sex, sweat, skin—is everywhere, intoxicating even in your semi-conscious state. The memory of what you did, what he did to you, plays in a hazy loop behind your eyelids.
You shift slightly, a tiny, experimental movement, and a soft, contented sound rumbles in his chest behind you, much like a purr. His arm tightens around you, pulling you infinitesimally closer. His hips press forward, and you feel him, thick and already half-hard again, nestled against the curve of your backside. A fresh, aching throb answers deep in your own core, a pulse of pure need that feels separate from your body’s fatigue. It’s a stubborn ember refusing to be extinguished.
He stirs, his lips brushing your shoulder blade. “You awake?” His voice is gravelly with sleep, deeper and even more rough than before.
“Barely,” you murmur, your own voice a sleep-rasped whisper. You turn in his arms, a slow, languid movement that feels like swimming through honey. Facing him, you see his eyes are half-lidded, dark pools in the dim room. The intensity is still there, but it’s softened by sleep, by unguarded tenderness. He looks younger and gentler like this, and the sight makes your chest ache. Not that he looks particularly rough any other time you can recall seeing him around the resort. But there’s something special about the fact that he’s so comfortable with showing his softer, vulnerable side to a practical stranger. And that it happened to be you.
His hand comes up, his knuckles brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. The touch is infinitely gentle. “Feel okay?”
You nod, nuzzling into his touch. “Sore,” you admit quietly. “In the best way.”
A slow, sleepy smirk touches his lips. “Good.” His thumb traces the line of your bottom lip. His gaze drops to your mouth, and the air in the room shifts, thickening once more. The tenderness is still there, but it’s being rapidly overtaken by a renewed, hungry focus. The sight of his eyes darkening, the feel of him hardening fully against your thigh, banishes the last vestiges of your sleepiness, replacing it with a different kind of heaviness—a liquid, anticipatory warmth.
The idea, the want, forms fully in your mind. You want to taste him. You want to swallow his sleep-rough groans. You want to prove your own hunger can match his, even now.
Without breaking eye contact, you slowly push against his chest. He lets himself be guided onto his back, his head sinking into the pillow, his eyes watching you with curious, dark intensity. The sheet pools around his hips, putting his magnificent body on display once more—the hard planes of his stomach, the thatch of dark curls, his cock standing thick and eager against his belly.
You move down the bed, positioning yourself between his powerful, spread thighs. The perspective is new, intimidating. He is so much larger than you like this, all muscle and male power laid out before you. You can see the faint tremors of fatigue still in his quadriceps, the slow, deep rise and fall of his chest.
You look up at him, meeting his heated gaze. His expression is a mix of awe and stark, ravenous hunger. He has given so much, taken so much. Now, you will take this.
“My turn,” you whisper, your voice stronger now, laced with a newfound, brazen intent.
A sharp, approving groan escapes him. “Fuck yes,” he breathes, his hands coming up to rest behind his head again, surrendering to your control, his biceps flexing with the movement.
You don’t start slow. You’re both past slow. You lean forward and take the broad, velvety head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the flared crown, tasting the distinct, musky, sleep-warm flavor of him. He jerks beneath you, a guttural, broken “Fuck!” bursting from his lips, the sound raw and startled.
Emboldened, you sink down, taking as much of him as you can. He’s big, stretching your jaw, the thick length hitting the back of your throat. You gag instantly, a reflexive, convulsive choke, tears springing to your eyes. You pull back, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips to him.
“Easy, princess,” he rasps, his voice strained with concern, though his hands remain fisted behind his head, not on you, giving you control. His entire body is tensed, a statue of held-back need.
You shake your head, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyes burning. “Don’t be easy,” you gasp, your voice hoarse with the effort, with desire. You look him dead in the eye, your own vision blurred with unshed tears. “Use me. Use my mouth. I want you to fuck my throat. Use me to your heart’s content.”
Your words are the final key to his restraint. A raw, animalistic sound tears from him, something between a groan and a growl. His hands leave his hair and gently, but with undeniable firmness, tangle in yours. “You’re sure?” he grunts, every muscle in his body taut and quivering with the Herculean effort of holding back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The concern, amidst the filth of what you’re asking for, unravels you. “Please,” you beg, holding his shaft with one hand and trailing kisses and broad licks along the underside of him. “I want it. I want to feel you lose control. I want all of it.”
That’s all the permission he needs. His control shatters. He guides you back onto his cock, not forcing, but leading, feeding himself into your willing mouth. This time, when you gag, he doesn’t pull back. He holds you there, his hands a steady, gentle pressure in your hair, letting you adjust to the overwhelming feeling of him stretching your throat, the primal panic of choking on it. Tears stream freely down your cheeks, dripping onto his thighs. The sensation is a dizzying mix of slight suffocation and intense, dirty arousal, a complete surrender. You think you can cum from just that.
He begins to move, a slow, shallow, experimental thrust of his hips. The sounds are obscene—wet, gagging, choked breaths from you, his ragged, praise-filled groans from above. “God, your mouth,” he chokes out, his voice wrecked, awe-struck. "So warm, so good. So fucking good for me. Taking me so deep.”
He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming deeper, more rhythmic, building a filthy, wet cadence. You relax your throat, giving yourself over to him completely, letting him use you for his pleasure. Your own hands move between your own legs, fingers frantically circling your oversensitive, swollen clit, the degradation and the sheer intimacy of the act pushing you towards another shocking, dry peak. Your body bows, a silent scream caught in your throat around his length as your muscles clench around him.
He’s lost in it, his head thrown back against the pillows, the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief. His abs are clenched, his hips moving with a piston-like rhythm that is both brutal and perfectly controlled. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice a strangled, broken thing. “So close. Gonna cum down that pretty throat. Gonna fill you up.”
You redouble your efforts, taking him all the way, your nose pressed into the coarse curls at his base. You hum around him, the vibration wringing a shattered shout from him.
With a final, powerful thrust, he holds himself deep, and you feel his release pulsing hot and bitter down your constricted throat. You swallow convulsively, again and again, taking everything he gives you, until he’s utterly spent, his body going completely limp, a profound shudder wracking his frame.
He gently, carefully, pulls you off, his cock slipping from your bruised lips with a soft, wet pop. You collapse forward, your forehead resting on his muscular thigh, gasping for ragged, grateful lungfuls of air. Your face is a mess of tears, saliva, and him. You are wrecked.
In an instant he is moving. He gathers you into his arms immediately, pulling you against his heaving, sweat-slick chest. He doesn't seem to care about the mess. He presses kisses to your hair, your forehead, your tear-stained, salty cheeks, murmuring soft, incoherent praises into your skin. His own voice trembling, his heart hammering a wild, slowing rhythm against your ear. He holds you tighter, his embrace fierce and protective. “You okay? Talk to me. Was that too much?” The vulnerability in his question is stark.
You shake your head, nuzzling into the warm skin of his neck, your arms wrapping around his broad back. You feel hollowed out, purified, and completely his. “It was perfect,” you murmur, your voice raw and abraded. “You’re perfect.”
He laughs softly, a sound of pure, sated, astonished wonder. “You’re crazy,” he states and it’s filled with so much affection your heart squeezes tightly. He scoops you up effortlessly, manhandling you to stay tucked to his side and pulls the tangled sheets over both of you. He spoons around you again, his body a solid, warm fortress against your back. His hand rests over your heart, feeling its slowing beat.
“Sleep,” he commands, his lips whispering against your shoulder, then briefly reaches out to turn off the nightstand light. This time, it is a gentle order. “I’ve got you.”
You smile in the darkness, your body humming with a deep, sated, absolute contentment. You are already halfway to oblivion, safe in the circle of his arms. “Sure, try and stop me,” you whisper, but the words are a dream, lost to the deep and well-earned peace that claims you both.
The peace of sleep is a shallow pool this time, and you both drift in and out of its warm edges. True, deep rest feels like a distant country, unreachable from the heightened, sex-saturated plane you now inhabit. His arm is still a heavy, welcome weight across your waist, his body a furnace at your back. You float in a hazy limbo, aware of the dull, pleasant ache between your legs, the salt-and-sex scent on the sheets, the steady, strong beat of his heart against your spine.
You shift, a minute adjustment, and his hold tightens instinctively. A low, sleep-blurred sound vibrates against your back. His hips press forward, and the hard, insistent girth of him, already half-ready again, nestles more firmly against the curve of your backside. A soft, answering throb of need pulses deep within you, a quiet but persistent echo of the chaos that came before. It’s a want that doesn’t require acrobatics or screaming passion. It’s a simple, profound need for closeness, for the feeling of him inside you, even if you’re both too wrecked to move.
You press back against him, a slow, languid roll of your hips that is more suggestion than motion. It’s all the language either of you has energy for
He understands. A hum of approval rumbles in his chest. His hand, which had been splayed possessively on your stomach, drifts down. His fingers are warm and slightly rough as they slide down to your entrance, finding you still slick, still swollen and impossibly sensitive from earlier. You gasp softly at the contact, your body arching back into his.
“Still so wet,” he murmurs, his voice thick and blurred with sleep, the words mumbled into the nape of your neck. “Even now. Even after all that.” His touch is not seeking to incite a frenzy, but to confirm a connection. One thick finger slides into you with an effortless ease that makes you whimper. It’s not a thrust, but a presence, a gentle claiming. “This still mine?”
“Yours,” you breathe out, the word a sigh.
He withdraws his finger, and you hear the soft, fumbling rustle of another foil packet. His movements are slow, clumsy with exhaustion. The tear of the packet is loud in the quiet room. He sheathes himself with a tired, unrushed motion. Then his arm is back around you, pulling you tight against him. He guides himself to your entrance, the broad head nudging against you, and with a single, slow, rolling thrust of his hips, he sinks into you from behind.
You both let out a simultaneous, shuddering groan. It’s not a sound of frantic passion anymore, but of deep, profound relief. The feeling of him filling you this way, in the spooning position, is incredibly intimate. It’s lazy and deep, a connection that requires almost no effort. He doesn’t move immediately, just stays buried to the hilt, his body molded to yours, his breath warm on your shoulder.
“Okay?” he slurs, his lips moving against your skin.
“More than okay,” you whisper, pushing back against him, wanting to feel him even deeper.
He begins to move, but it’s nothing like before. There is no pounding rhythm, no frantic slapping of skin. His thrusts are slow, deep, and languid, a gentle rocking of his hips that rocks your entire body with it. It’s a lazy, luxurious fuck, all about the sensation of fullness and connection rather than the frantic race towards a finish line. The sounds are soft: the wet, slick slide of your joined bodies, his deep, quiet groans, your breathy sighs. His hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb idly circling your nipple, not to tease it to a peak, but simply to hold you, to feel you.
It’s nasty in its own way—the sheer familiarity and repetitiveness of it by now, the way he can be buried inside you with such casual, sleepy possessiveness after just several rounds spent together. It’s filthy in its tenderness. You feel yourself coiling slowly, a warm, lazy build of pleasure that spreads through your exhausted limbs like honey. There are no screams, no commands. Just the slow, inexorable climb, fed by each deep, rolling stroke.
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a sleep-rough vibration against your back. “Let go. Just let it happen.”
His words, so soft and encouraging, are your undoing. Your orgasm washes over you not as a crashing wave, but as a warm, rising tide. It’s a full-body shudder, a series of soft, internal flutters that milk his length, drawing a long, low groan from him. He follows you over, his own release a quiet, pulsing warmth deep inside you, his hips stuttering to a halt as he buries himself as deep as he can go.
For long minutes, you both lie there, still joined, breathing in ragged unison. The world has narrowed to this bed, to the feel of his chest rising and falling against your back, to the weight of his arm around you.
Eventually, with a soft sigh, he pulls out and deals with the condom yet again. You expect him to collapse back into sleep, but instead, you feel him shift and leave the bed. You make a small sound of protest at the loss of his heat, but he murmurs, “Shhh, baby, I’ve got you.”
He returns a moment later with a fresh, warm, damp towel. This, somehow, feels more intimate than anything else that has happened. Gently, with a tenderness that makes your throat tight, he cleans you. He wipes your mixed releases between your thighs, over your stomach, the care in his touch so profound it borders on reverence. He is meticulous, wiping away the evidence of your shared pleasure with a focus that speaks to you of deep, inherent respect for the partner, be it one night stand or something committed. You just watch him and know it’s true.
Once he’s done, he drops the cloth aside and pulls the duvet over both of you. He gathers you back into his arms, facing him this time. His eyes are heavy-lidded with exhaustion, but they search yours in the dim light coming through the window. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek.
“You’re staying,” he says. It’s not a question, but there’s a vulnerability in his tone that asks for confirmation anyway.
“Yes,” you whisper, nuzzling into his palm. “If you’ll have me.”
A slow, tired, but genuine smile touches his lips. “Try and leave,” he jokes softly, but his eyes are serious. He takes a deep breath, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “And… all of that. Everything we did. It was… it was still good? For you? You tell me if anything ever isn’t. Even now. Even after.”
The question, coming after such raw, animalistic intimacy, after such tender aftercare, unravels you completely. A sob catches in your throat, not of sadness, but of overwhelming emotion. He’s checking in. After he’s owned every part of you, after you’ve begged him to use your throat, he is still ensuring your consent, your comfort. It is the most heartwarming, devastatingly caring thing anyone has ever done.
“Seungcheol,” you breathe, your eyes welling up. “It was perfect. Everything was perfect. You’re perfect.”
He lets out a breath, as if he’d been holding it—and you suppose he was,—and pulls you tightly against him, tucking your head under his chin. He holds you like that for a long time, just breathing you in, his hands making slow, soothing circles on your back.
“Get some sleep,” he murmurs finally, his own voice already getting heavier with drowsiness. “Proper sleep this time.”
You nod against his chest, snuggling into his solid warmth. Just as you’re drifting off, on the very edge of consciousness, his voice rumbles again, a low, sleep-slurred promise.
“Gonna make you cum over breakfast,” he mumbles, his words barely intelligible. “While you eat your fruit. My fingers inside you… gonna be so lazy and good… and then take you on a proper date.”
The filthy, tender promise hangs in the air, a final gift before sleep claims him entirely. A slow smile spreads across your face in the dark. You are staying the night. Of course you are. And the morning, you know with absolute certainty, will be just as perfect.
*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!
A/N2: this fucking text took me ALL FKING DAY to read through and edit and I’m tired and it’s late where I am and I hope to go to bed asap. My brain is officially fried and frayed and everything else, I can’t comprehend words anymore to save my life or whatever they say in this case. Even with the volume of it I don’t think it’s the filthiest thing I could’ve produced but I think it’s nasty enough for the first huge thirst trap that this is. Also I can’t write Seungcheol without attaching strings in the end, I just can’t. It’s unfathomable to imagine letting go of such man after THIS! Anyways hope you liked reading this monstrosity ᐢ ᴗ . ᴗ ᐢ
⊹ overview - pairing: professor!seungcheol x student!reader
genre: college au · SMUT
themes: power dynamics, secrecy, obsessive attention, quiet yearning, subtle domination
cw: sexual content (MDNI), fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, breeding kink (?), cum on body, suggestive language, emotional tension, professor-student dynamics (fictional and, most importantly, consensual)
minors do not interact!
summary: you were just a student with curiosity but he noticed more. every glance and touch pulls you into something forbidden.
from kai: i think i spent the last 10 hours trying to write this. that hugo boss pic of him destroyed whatever sanity i had left.
now playing: wRoNg - zayn malik
it’s late on a wednesday night when you find yourself still on campus. the rain had started while you were tucked away in the library, headphones in, half-reading, half-dozing. by the time you looked up, the halls were nearly empty, shadows stretching long under the fluorescent lights.
you clutch your notebook against your chest, deciding to wait it out, maybe wander until the storm softens. that’s when you notice it. his lecture hall door open, a faint yellow glow spilling into the hallway.
professor choi seungcheol.
the name alone is enough to make every head in the room snap up. there’s something about him that doesn’t feel real. the easy way he shrugs his coat off, the crisp shirts rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms, the watch that glints when he writes across the board. he speaks clearly, measured. when he leans against the desk, arms crossed, voice low and smooth, even the air seems to still.
girls whisper about him in every corner of campus. they trade stories: how someone tried to slip their number into his briefcase, how another lingered after class just a little too long. the endings are always the same: he rejects them politely, without a crack in his smile. sorry, that’s inappropriate. please focus on your studies. he makes it sound final, untouchable.
and that's exactly what makes his kindness a torment. because with you it's different. one day, you dare to raise your hand to answer a complex question, your trembling voice echoing in the silent room. and he doesn't just agree, but his eyes light up with genuine interest.
“excellent point,” he says, your name coming out as a soft note from his mouth. “a truly sharp insight.” it's always like this: a precise praise for an answer, a slight nod of approval when you debate a colleague, a smile that seems reserved just for you.
these fragments of recognition are like crumbs you avidly collect even knowing they keep you hungry. he rewards you for being exactly what he asks: a brilliant and dedicated student. and the thin line between being the best student and being just another girl who desires him dissolves more and more.
so you learn to admire from a distance. you don’t linger. you don’t dare. you sit in the middle rows and watch him command a room with ease, pretending your pulse doesn’t spike when his gaze sweeps briefly over yours.
it should stay like that.
you hesitate. you could just walk past.
instead, your knuckles tap against the frame.
“come in,” his voice calls, smooth as ever.
he’s there behind his desk, tie loosened, hair a little mussed like he’s been running his hand through it. glasses balanced low on his nose. it’s enough to steal your breath.
“still on campus?” he asks, glancing up.
“yeah,” you murmur, stepping inside. “i was studying. waiting for the rain to stop.”
he hums, leaning back in his chair. “dedicated. most students would’ve left hours ago.”
you laugh nervously, lifting your notebook. “actually, i… uh… had a question about the reading. thought maybe you’d…”
his mouth quirks. “always so studious.”
his gaze lingers as you flip open your notes and suddenly you’re hyperaware of every move. how you tuck your hair behind your ear, how your pen wobbles in your grip.
you stumble through your question, words tumbling out too fast. but he listens patiently, chin propped against his hand. when you trail off, he leans forward, voice softer now.
“you’ve got the right idea,” he says, eyes scanning over the notes angled between you. “but you’re overcomplicating it. it’s a simple cause-and-effect.”
you nod quickly, chewing your lip, scribbling down his words even though you’ll probably remember them. it’s easier to focus on the page than the steady weight of his gaze.
“do you… want me to show you?” he asks after a pause.
your head snaps up. “show me?”
he smiles, small and reassuring, like he’s done a thousand times in class when students hesitate. “the maps. i’ve got a few in my office that make this period easier to understand. visual context.” he gestures vaguely, as if what he really means lies somewhere deeper. “unless you’d rather figure it out on your own.”
“no… i mean, yes, i’d like to see.” you sound a little too eager, but he only nods, pushing himself to his feet.
you follow him out, footsteps echoing against the empty hallway. the storm outside thrums against the windows, a steady drumbeat that makes the silence between you sharper.
he unlocks his office door and nudges it open with his shoulder. the room is smaller than you imagined, lined with books and folders. he flicks on the lamp at his desk, the light warm against the dark night outside.
“make yourself comfortable,” he says, moving toward a cabinet in the corner. he pulls open a drawer, flipping through rolled maps until he finds the one he wants.
you hover near the desk, fingers brushing over the polished wood, over the stacks of neatly arranged essays. it feels too intimate, standing here where he spends his nights.
“here,” he says, unrolling a large sheet across the desk. his sleeve brushes your arm as he smooths the edges. “see? the borders shift here. people forget how quickly things changed.”
you lean closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around you. he traces a line on the map with one finger, his voice low, calm, explaining.
you try to follow the geography, the dates, but it’s hard when your focus keeps slipping to the way his hand dwarfs the paper. the way his profile looks under the lamplight, strong and impossibly close.
he glances at you, catching you staring. not in a way that scolds. more curious, almost amused.
“does that make more sense?”
you nod, too quickly. “yeah. it… does.”
“good.” he says, but he doesn’t move back. instead, he stays angled toward you, leaning one hand on the desk, effectively caging you between his body and the edge of the map. his tone is still easy, still warm, but there’s something else threading beneath it now.
“you’re quieter than usual,” he observes. “am i making you nervous?”
your throat tightens. “no… i mean…”
his mouth curves slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “don’t worry. i don’t mind. you focus better when you’re quiet.”
his hand lingers near yours, fingers drumming softly against the desk. a casual rhythm, like he isn’t aware of how close he is.
“you’ve been keeping up with the material better than most,” he says, almost to himself. “sometimes i think you’re the only one actually listening in there.”
you laugh quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “maybe i’m just better at pretending.”
his eyes flick to you, sharp, amused. “hm. i don’t think so.” he leans a little closer, voice dropping in volume though the room is empty. “you don’t pretend well. i’d notice.”
your pulse skips, the words threading too fine a line between casual observation and something heavier. you focus on the map again, nodding like you’re still following his explanation.
“right here,” he continues, fingertip tracing another line across the faded paper. “this is where everything shifts. it’s subtle, but once you see it, you can’t unsee it.”
your eyes follow the curve of his finger, but your awareness is elsewhere. how close he’s standing now, the heat radiating off his body, the low timbre of his voice.
you swallow. “do you… stay this late often?”
he huffs a small laugh, rolling his sleeves higher on his forearms. “more than i should. grading, prep, answering questions like this.” his gaze slides to you again. “not that i mind.”
the way he says it... it shouldn’t mean anything. it probably doesn’t. still, your stomach twists, tight and restless.
“students don’t usually come by after hours,” he adds, tone thoughtful. “you’re the first this semester.”
“really?”
he nods once. “most prefer to email. less… personal.”
your breath catches at that word. personal.
for a moment, the only sound is the rain hammering against the window, the distant growl of thunder.
then he moves. not away, closer. he shifts behind you, reaching across the desk as if to adjust the edge of the map. the motion is innocent, practical, but his chest nearly brushes your back, his arm stretching over your shoulder. you stiffen at the proximity, every nerve alive.
“see here?” his voice is right at your ear now, lower than before, smooth as velvet.
you nod, unable to find words.
his hand rests flat on the desk beside yours, and suddenly you’re boxed in, his body a wall of warmth at your back. you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing but his closeness is anything but casual.
“most people overlook things like this,” he says, tracing a line on the map with deliberate care. “but you… you notice.”
you bite your lip. “i just… pay attention.”
"you have a different kind of focus," he says, stopping beside you again. "the kind most people lack. it's rare."
you laugh softly, hiding the tension in your throat. “maybe that makes me… weird?”
he watches you for a moment, as if weighing something invisible. his gaze isn’t harsh or imposing, just methodical.
you fiddle with your pen, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear again and he notices.
“not weird,” he corrects smoothly. “different. interesting. the kind of student who sticks in your mind.”
he moves around the desk, reaching into a neat stack of papers. “here,” he says, pulling out a folded copy of the map and holding it toward you. “thought you might like your own.”
you blink, surprised, and take it carefully. “oh… thank you, professor.” your fingers brush his briefly and you immediately pull back, heart hammering.
“don’t mention it.” he replies smoothly, a small smile tugging at his lips. his eyes linger on you just a second longer than necessary.
you fold the map again and tuck it into your notebook. suddenly aware of how quiet the office feels, how the storm outside presses against the windows. he leans back slightly against the edge of the desk, arms crossed loosely, watching you as if he’s taking note of every subtle movement. “sometimes staying a little longer… pays off.” he says, voice low, almost teasing.
you feel it then, that subtle shift in the air. the warmth closer, the way his gaze seems to weigh you, to test the space between you. it’s still polite but… something has changed. there’s a spark in his eyes now, something that hints at curiosity beyond the map, beyond the lesson.
he tilts his head slightly, as if giving you the chance to respond. “i like seeing students who go the extra mile,” he continues, tone casual. “ones who don’t leave just because it’s late. shows… determination.”
you flush, unsure if it’s pride or the way he’s studying you. noting the flush on your cheeks, the way your hands grip the notebook. “i just… wanted to understand better.” you murmur.
“of course.” he says softly, stepping a little closer under the guise of adjusting a paper on the desk.
you open your mouth to thank him again. to retreat into the safety of student-and-professor formalities, but he speaks first. his voice a low murmur that seems to vibrate right through you.
“you know,” he starts, his eyes dropping to the map between you before returning to your face, “i saw you in the library. before you came here.”
your breath hitches. “you… you did?”
he gives a single nod, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “headphones on, completely lost in your own world. you were biting the end of your pen.” he mimics the gesture subtly with his own thumb. “it’s a habit of yours, i’ve noticed. you do it in class when you’re concentrating hard.”
the admission is so intimate, so observant. he hasn’t moved an inch but he’s somehow closer than ever.
you feel the need to break the tension, to laugh it off and say something about the reading. but the words die in your throat as he straightens up.
all traces of the reassuring professor vanish. his posture changes, becomes more dominant, more… real. the casual lean is gone, replaced by a straight-backed confidence that makes the small office feel even smaller.
he lets out a soft sigh and runs a hand through his hair again, making it even more deliciously mussed. when he looks at you, his smile is different. more knowing and utterly breathtaking.
“let’s stop this.” he says, his voice losing its academic polish and gaining an honest edge.
your eyes widen. “stop… what, professor?”
“this,” he gestures between the two of you and the forgotten map. “the pretense. you’re a bright woman. you didn’t come to me just for a history lesson on a wednesday night in a storm.” he takes a purposeful step forward. “and i didn’t bring you in here just to be a good professor.”
“i brought you in here,” professor choi continues, his gaze dropping to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes, “because from the moment you tapped on that door, looking all flushed and hesitant... i knew i wouldn’t be able to focus on another damn thing until i found out if the curiosity i see in your eyes in class is just for my subject…” he pauses, his voice dropping to a low, visceral rumble, “…or if it’s for me.”
the air vanishes completely from your lungs. every piece of gossip, every campus whisper, every story of polite rejection. all of it incinerated by the sight of him. not professor choi. just seungcheol.
your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can hear it. you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. what are you even supposed to say? 'no, of course not'?
he sees the hesitation and pure want in your eyes. it's all the answer he needs.
“that's what i thought.” he whispers, his voice dropping lower. then, he closes the distance between you.
it's not a jerky or violent movement. it's inevitable. his hand comes up and for a second you think he'll cup your cheek. but he doesn't. his fingers just trace the shape of your jaw in the air, a hair's breadth from your skin. the heat coming off his hand is a phantom touch, a promise of something more.
“the other girls...” he says, his voice low with the gravity of a historian examining a primary source, “they didn't come for the history. they came for the story they could tell about themselves. the professor they conquered.” he takes a step that closes the distance between your worlds. “but you... i see in the margins of your essays. the questions you ask that the textbooks don't answer. you don't want to conquer anything. you want to understand.”
his hand comes down, not on you but on the one white-knuckling the notebook against your chest. his fingers wrap around yours and the hardcover feels suddenly flimsy and insignificant.
he gently pries the notebook from your grip and lets it fall to the desk, forgotten amongst the parchment and papers. your personal space is gone. you are enveloped by him, by his essence. coffee, old paper and that woody cologne that now just smells like man.
he tilts his head, his lips dangerously close to your ear. and the next words aren't a whisper, they're a rough confession.
“i spent the last thirty minutes in that lecture hall just staring at the door, hoping you’d be brave enough to knock.”
your body shudders. his arm locks around your waist, pulling you flush against him. no more doubt. the desk hits your back and he steps into the space between your legs. his body a warm, solid wall.
the bridge of his nose brushes your temple. his breath is hot against your skin.
“so show me,” professor choi demands. his voice a mix of an order and a plea, as his free hand finally tangles in your hair. not with force but with possession. “show me all that curiosity was worth it.”
that raw need in his eyes breaks you. the fear of crossing the line burns away under his touch. he’s laid himself bare and you’re not about to let him regret it.
a new courage hits your blood. you don’t just let him hold you. you lean in.
your hands come up. one presses flat against his shirt, right over his racing heart. it’s just as wild as yours. the other slides into the hair at the back of his neck. he shudders hard against you, a low groan tearing from his throat.
“this what you wanted, professor?” you whisper, your mouth a breath from his. you’re not a student anymore. you’re his equal.
hunger drowns the shock in his eyes.
so you close the last bit of space.
you kiss him.
it’s not a questioning kiss. it’s an answer. it’s a confession. it’s every stolen moment of admiration, every whispered fantasy given form. your mouth moves against his with a certainty that leaves no room for doubt. showing him with every shift of your lips that yes, the curiosity was always for him. only him.
his mouth crashes into yours like he’s been starving for this. tongue sliding against yours, tasting every breath you give him. you can’t keep from moaning into it, from letting him devour you until you’re dizzy.
his hands are anything but idle. one grips the edge of the desk behind you, anchoring himself as his other drags down your side, rough through the fabric of your shirt until he finds the curve of your hip. he squeezes hard, like he needs proof you’re real under his hands.
when you gasp against his lips, he doesn’t slow. he takes the opportunity, deepening the kiss, swallowing every sound you make until you’re left trembling against him.
the sharp edge of the desk digs into the back of your thighs when he nudges you up onto it. the movement is decisive, the kind that tells you he’s not asking. your notebook and the scattered papers crumple beneath you.
“fuck…” he mutters against your mouth, almost like it slips out before he can control it. his lips trail hot down your jaw, nipping at the tender skin of your neck. “you know how many times i’ve imagined you right here? spread out on my desk?” his teeth graze over your pulse point before he sucks lightly, leaving heat in his wake.
your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate for balance. he’s everywhere. his breath, his weight, his words filling every corner of your body.
his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, dragging upward slowly, knuckles brushing over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “i shoudn’t be doing this. tell me to stop.” he says, voice low, but it doesn’t sound like a question. it sounds like a challenge.
you don’t. you can’t.
your silence is all the permission he needs.
he pulls your shirt over your head in one swift movement, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. his eyes darken at the sight of your bra, his hand immediately cupping you over the fabric, thumb circling until your back arches into him.
“fuck, look at you...” he groans, kissing across the top of your chest. his teeth catch the strap of your bra, tugging it down with his mouth, slow and filthy.
your breath hitches when he finally takes one nipple between his lips, tongue flicking and sucking until you’re gasping, grinding helplessly against his thigh pressed between your legs.
he pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, lips wet, eyes dark. his hand skims lower, dragging down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your skirt. he pauses, thumb dipping just under it, not moving further. “what do you want from me?” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, the weight of his stare making your skin burn.
your chest heaves, words tumbling out on a shaky breath. “i want you. please, professor c—”
“seungcheol,” he interrupts. “call me by my name here.”
his mouth leaves your chest reluctantly, lips dragging up until he’s at your ear again. his breath is hot, controlled, but you can feel the restraint in it.
“keep quiet,” he murmurs, barely more than a breath against your skin. “someone could still be around.”
you nod quickly but the sound that escapes you when his hand finally pops the button of your skirt betrays you. his palm presses down over the damp heat of your panties through the fabric and you clamp your teeth on your lip to keep from moaning too loud.
he notices. of course he does. his mouth brushes your jaw, voice low and rough. “that’s it. keep it in for me.”
the zipper comes down slow, torturous, and then his fingers are inside, brushing over your soaked panties. he exhales sharply, a quiet curse under his breath. “already this wet?”
you shift helplessly on the desk, thighs parting wider as he hikes your skirt up, exposing you. his knuckles trace the thin line of lace, teasing, before he curls two fingers under the fabric and pushes it aside.
the first touch of his fingers on your bare cunt makes your whole body jolt. you grab his arm on instinct, nails pressing into his sleeve as his thumb finds your clit and circles deliberately, steady pressure that has you trembling almost immediately.
“so sensitive,” he whispers against your temple, his lips ghosting your skin with every word. “been holding this in for a while, haven’t you?”
you bite down harder on your lip, a muffled whimper escaping despite yourself. he doesn’t give you relief. if anything, he slows down. drawing lazy circles over your clit until your hips lift off the desk in search of more.
he chuckles low, breathy, but it’s gone in an instant when he pushes a finger inside you. your jaw falls open, no sound coming out, just a sharp gasp of air as your walls clench tight around him.
he watches your face, completely focused. his thumb never leaving your clit while his finger curls inside you. “that’s it. just like that.” he mutters, voice still low, more to himself than to you.
when he adds a second finger, stretching you, the wet sound of it fills the office, obscene against the storm hammering outside. you slap a hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that wants to break free, your other hand fisting his shirt so tight you’re sure you’ll wrinkle it beyond saving.
he leans down, lips brushing your ear again, and whispers, “good girl.”
your body shudders at the quiet praise, at the rhythm of his fingers thrusting deep, curling just right. his pace builds with a precision that makes your thighs tremble, his thumb rubbing tight circles until your stomach knots, your whole body teetering on the edge.
he feels it. he must, because his pace grows more insistent, fingers moving harder, faster, the wet slap of it filling the small space. he murmurs against your skin, almost inaudible, “come for me. let me feel you.”
your walls flutter around his fingers, your body begging for release, but you force yourself to push his wrist back, breath ragged against his neck.
“wait,” your voice is barely a whisper, shaky but clear. “i don’t want to just… i want to feel you.”
he freezes for a moment, chest rising hard against yours. his eyes search your face before his jaw tightens.
he pulls his fingers from you slow. your body clenches at the loss, your slick dripping over his knuckles. he wipes it against your thigh, rough, as if to mark you.
then his hand are on your shoulder, turning you around before pressing you forward. your chest meets the cool wood of his desk. papers scatter beneath you, some sliding to the floor but you don’t care.
his body crowds behind yours, the heat of him burning through your back. he grips your hip firmly, dragging you toward the edge of the desk, until you’re arched just the way he wants.
“stay down.” he murmurs, voice rough but low, just for you. his palm presses gently between your shoulder blades, holding you there.
you whimper into the crook of your arm, muffling the sound when you feel the blunt press of his cock through his trousers against your ass. the friction is enough to make your eyes roll back.
he exhales harshly through his nose, grinding once, slow and heavy, like he’s savoring the tension. “you have no idea how long i’ve thought about this.” his hand squeezes your ass, thumb dragging down to spread you open just enough for him to see the mess between your thighs.
the sharp sound of his zipper being pulled down makes your whole body tense in anticipation.
you tilt your head just enough to catch his gaze over your shoulder, your voice wrecked but firm. “please. i need you, seungcheol.”
his expression breaks into something almost feral, restraint hanging by a thread. he strokes himself once, the wet tip of his cock dragging deliberately over your folds, coating himself in you.
“so wet i don’t even need to prep you more...” he whispers, pushing just the head in before pulling back. your body jerks with the tease, nails digging into the wood of the desk.
“don’t tease.” you hiss, barely audible, and he smirks against the nape of your neck.
then, with one steady thrust, he pushes inside. slow but unrelenting, every inch stretching you until he bottoms out. your mouth falls open in a strangled cry, muffled quickly into the crook of your arm.
“fuck,” he growls low, his forehead pressing briefly between your shoulders as if to ground himself. “so tight.”
he draws back almost all the way, then slams forward again, the desk creaking under the force. one hand stays locked on your hip, the other dragging up your spine, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back just enough.
“keep quiet,” he breathes harshly against your ear, punctuating his words with another sharp thrust. “or someone’s gonna hear who you really belong to right now.”
his thrusts start deep, each one driving the desk forward a fraction across the floor. you bite into your forearm to muffle the sounds spilling from your throat, but the way he hits that spot inside you makes it nearly impossible to stay quiet.
his grip on your hip is bruising, dragging you back into him with every snap of his hips. the wet slap of skin against skin fills the office, obscene and loud enough that your heart stutters in fear someone might hear.
his hand leaves your hair and slips over your mouth, palm covering you, his chest heavy against your back. “shhh,” he mutters, breathless, almost broken himself. “be good for me. just take it.”
your eyes flutter shut as he fucks you harder, deeper, angling his hips until you’re seeing stars. every time he pulls out, you clench around nothing, desperate. and then he’s slamming back inside, making you whimper into his hand.
the pace builds. rough, relentless. his teeth graze the curve of your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you jolt, a strangled moan caught under his palm.
“fuck, you feel unreal,” he grits out, voice cracked with the effort of holding back. “so tight around me...” his words cut off into a groan when you clench down, walls fluttering desperately around his cock.
your body trembles, slick dripping down your thighs, the messy sounds filling the room as he drives into you from behind. you can’t hold it anymore. the pressure spirals tight, unbearable.
you arch against him, nails raking over the wood of the desk. “i’m...” you try to speak, but it comes out broken, muffled under his hand. your body is screaming for release.
he feels it, the way you’re pulsing around him. and his thrusts only get rougher, harder, fucking you into the desk like he wants to tear you apart and put you back together.
the coil inside you snaps. your orgasm crashes through you in violent waves, your whole body shaking under his weight. you moan into his hand, muffled, desperate, as your walls clamp down on him so tight it nearly drags him over the edge too.
“that’s it,” he growls low against your ear, hips stuttering but never slowing. “cum for me. soak my cock.”
you collapse against the desk, body trembling, thighs shaking as the aftershocks roll through you. he keeps moving, chasing his own release, pounding into you even as you whimper from the overstimulation.
his hips slam forward once more, deep. and you can feel the way he’s trembling against you, his chest flush to your back, every muscle in his body tight with the effort of holding on.
you’re still shaking, your body sensitive from your orgasm, but you can feel it. he’s close, so close, his cock twitching inside you, his thrusts erratic.
“inside,” you whisper, voice broken and muffled into your arm. “please, inside me.”
his breath stutters, a sharp groan ripping from his chest, like your words just shattered whatever control he had left. his grip on your hip tightens almost painfully, and for a moment you think he’ll give in.
but then he pulls out, rough and sudden. fisting his cock in his hand as he spills across your lower back and the desk in hot, messy streaks.
“fuck—” he gasps, chest heaving, forehead pressed to your shoulder as his release shakes through him.
you whimper at the emptiness, at how desperately you wanted to feel him stay inside.
he laughs, breathless, brushing his lips against your ear. “you know i can’t do that,” he murmurs, voice wrecked but teasing, “not here, not now.”
his hand slides down your side, soothing, grounding after the roughness. “you’d ruin me if i did.”
the air between you is hot and heavy, the scent of sex clinging to the room. he leans back just enough to look at you, still bent over the desk, your skin marked with his fingerprints, your body trembling.
“don’t look at me like that,” he says softly, playful despite the rasp in his voice. “i barely managed to pull out as it is.”
he exhales slow, shaky, like he’s coming back to himself and the first thing he does is grab a handful of tissues from the corner of his desk. gently, almost reverent, he wipes over your skin, cleaning the mess he left behind. his touch is careful, different now. soothing where minutes ago he was all rough edges and urgency.
“sorry,” he murmurs, voice low, thumb brushing lightly over your hipbone. “shouldn’t have lost it like that.”
you shake your head, still catching your breath and he gives you a small smile before helping tug your skirt back down, smoothing the fabric as if it might erase the evidence.
he straightens his shirt next, tucking it back into his trousers, then turns to fix your hair with his fingers, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. it’s almost absurd. how soft he is now, compared to the way he just fucked you into the desk.
you’re both nearly done recomposing yourselves when
knock knock.
“professor? you still in there?”
your heart drops to your stomach. you freeze, wide-eyed, while he instantly schools his expression into calm.
“yeah,” he calls back, steady, like nothing’s wrong. “just finishing up.”
there’s a pause outside the door, then footsteps recede down the hall.
he lets out a quiet laugh, though his hand is still resting firm at your waist, grounding you. “close call.”
once everything looks presentable, he hesitates at the door, glancing back at you. his voice dips, softer. “wait a few minutes before you leave. don’t want anyone to start guessing.”
you nod, still catching your breath and he leans in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. it’s nothing like the frantic heat from before, this one is sweet.
when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “i don’t want this to just… stay here,” he admits, voice low, honest. “let me take you out. somewhere that isn’t… a desk.”
the corner of his mouth quirks, eyes crinkling as he steals another kiss, softer this time. “deal?”
you can’t help but smile, warmth curling in your chest.
“deal.”
the handle clicks, the world rushing back in as he steps out, leaving you alone in the heavy silence of the office. heart racing, lips tingling, the promise of something dangerous and thrilling lingering in the air, like the start of a secret you’re suddenly desperate to keep.
