#scoups drabbles

[imhalfplastic]

extra credit

⊹ 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.

[cherryberrycheol]

Mile High Club | Choi Seungcheol | 🔞

Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

Summary: You and Seungcheol have been dating for a few years now. On your anniversary he takes you on a small trip to Jeju to celebrate your relationship milestone. But while on the flight you get particularly bored.

Word count: 3.8k

Genres/warnings: smut; idol!Seungcheol x non-idol!reader, established relationship, mentions of slight discomfort from being recognised by fans, Kkuma makes an appearance, reader is a total menace in disguise.

Smut warnings: Minors DNI, dom!cheol x kinda brat!reader, public sex, mile high club, fingering, piv sex (unproteeecteeed agaaain), quickie, rough sex, risk of getting caught, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, clit stim, multiple orgasms (2f, 1m), a couple of ass slaps/pats, dacryphylia (if you squint).

A/N: hi everyoneee👋 I have reached a new milestone sometime last week: 500 followers. thank you everyone, it means so much to me, really.🩵 been thinking for a long time what kind of text i want to give you all as a gift (so long i’m soon reaching 600 lol). until i stumbled upon this and remembered i actually had an idea like this myself long before i started this blog. so i sat down and wrote this little text. as always, please enjoy, and your feedback is always welcome in all forms you’re comfortable with (comments, tags, anon), requests are open ᙏ̤̫

If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.

Masterlist.

The first thing you register is a persistent, gentle pressure on your shoulder, nudging you from the depths of warm, comfortable sleep. You groan, swatting blindly at the source of the disturbance, only for your hand to connect with the firm, familiar muscle of Seungcheol’s arm.

“Come on, baby, time to get up,” his voice is a low, sleep-rough rumble that would normally be a welcome sound, but not when it’s ripping you away from a perfectly good dream.

You peel one eye open, squinting in the dim light filtering through the blinds. “It’s still dark out,” you mumble, your voice groggy with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Time to get ready for our little trip,” he says, his tone infuriatingly cheerful for the ungodly hour and you almost want to punch him for being a smartass so early in the morning. He finally succeeds in rolling you onto your back, and you blink up at him, his form a dark silhouette against the faint glow from the window. Before you can formulate another protest, a whirlwind of white fur launches herself onto the bed. Kkuma, seemingly vibrating with energy that defies the early morning, runs a tight circle across you before planting her front paws on your chest and licking your chin with enthusiastic, wet swipes. You laugh and hide your face under the blanket until she relents.

“See? Even Kkuma’s ready,” Seungcheol chuckles, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “I already walked her. I think she knows something’s up now.”

You sigh, surrendering to the inevitable. You sit up, pushing the duvet away as a shiver runs through you. “Okay, okay. I’m up. What’s the plan?”

Seungcheol stands, looking down at you with a fond, excited glint in his eyes. “You have fifteen minutes to get ready. Just the essentials in your backpack. We’ll pack the main suitcase together.”

The words take a full second to process in your sleep-addled brain. “Fifteen minutes?!” you exclaim, now fully awake. The shock is a cold splash of water. “Is this some sort of low-budget NaNa Tour?! Why fifteen minutes? Our flight isn’t for hours!”

He just winks, a gesture that is both endearing and immensely frustrating. “Trust me, princess. Fifteen minutes.” With that, he turns and leaves the room, presumably to start packing downstairs like he always does, Kkuma trotting happily at his heels.

You stare at the empty doorway for a moment before scrambling out of bed. The next fifteen minutes are a frantic blur. You take a shower so quick the water barely has time to warm up properly, then you dash around your walk-in closet, pulling a comfortable pair of sweats, a soft t-shirt, and a hoodie. You throw your toiletries and a change of underwear into your backpack, your mind racing. What essentials did he mean? Charger, wallet, passport, a book? You zip the bag shut, your heart still pounding from the rush, and hurry downstairs, carrying a scarce change of clothes to add to the suitcase.

It’s 6:37 AM as you watch Seungcheol in the hallway, calmly zipping up a medium-sized suitcase. He looks impeccably casual yet stylish, as always, in a matching set of grey sweatpants and a hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low over his brow.

“We have so much time,” you grumble, leaning against the doorframe. “The flight’s at 10:30. You made me rush for nothing.”

He straightens up and pulls you into a loose hug, his Aventus Creed cologne enveloping you, a scent that is so intrinsically him it makes your irritation soften at the edges. “I like to be early. And you look cute when you’re all flustered and rushed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Ready to go?”

The next hour passes in a more leisurely fashion. You drop a confused but excited Kkuma off at his parents’ house, receiving a promise of extra treats and walks from his mother. Then, you’re off to the airport, the city slowly waking up around you as Seungcheol navigates the early morning traffic in his G-Wagen. The familiar, solid hum of the car is soothing, and you find yourself relaxing, the initial annoyance replaced by a budding excitement for the trip.

At the airport, he parks in a long-term lot, and the moment you step out of the car, the dynamic shifts. He pulls two black face masks from his pocket, handing one to you. “Just in case,” he says, his voice slightly muffled as he puts his on.

You follow suit, though you can’t help but think it’s a little futile. Even with half his face covered, everything about him screams Choi Seungcheol—the confident set of his broad shoulders, the way he carries himself, the intense, dark eyes that seem to see everything, and of course, the distinct, expensive scent of his cologne that seems to create an invisible bubble around him, or rather, leave a trail to follow. To your trained eye, he’s an obvious target.

Inside, the airport is already bustling. You spend some time at a convenience store, buying an assortment of snacks for the flight—some sweet, some salty, just the way you both like them. Then, he guides you towards the VIP lounge, a quiet, secluded haven away from the main crowds.

You find a comfortable corner with two plush armchairs, and for a while, it’s peaceful. You sip on a cup of tea while he has a coffee, and he launches into a detailed recap of his latest League of Legends session with Wonwoo. You listen, interjecting with playful jabs about his gaming skills just to see him pout and start arguing, enjoying the normalcy of the moment. It’s in the middle of a sentence about a particularly clever in-game manoeuvre that you feel him tense up beside you. His words trail off into silence, his body going still and alert.

Your eyes immediately dart around the room, your own senses heightening. It doesn’t take long to spot the source of his tension: a group of four girls sitting on a sofa on the opposite side of the lounge. They’re trying to be discreet, but their excited, hushed whispers and the frequent, darting glances in your direction are a dead giveaway. Carats. They aren’t filming, and they aren’t approaching, but their focused, star-struck attention is a palpable force, making the comfortable lounge suddenly feel exposed and uncomfortable. You instinctively sink deeper into your baggy hoodie and pull the mask back on, wishing you could become one with the chair.

Seungcheol places a calming hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, just for you. “I’ll handle it.”

Before you can say anything, he stands up and, with surprising casualness, walks over to them. You watch, your heart in your throat, as he approaches their group. They visibly startle, then their postures shift into ones of shocked delight. He talks to them in low, hushed tones, his posture relaxed and friendly. You see him gesture back towards you, and the girls glance over, their expressions turning apologetic and understanding. He signs a few things for them—photo cards and simple pieces of paper, from the looks of it—and after a few more words and a small, respectful bow from both sides, he makes his way back to you.

He slides back into his seat with a quiet sigh, then turns to you with a wink. “They’re Carats, flying to Jeju for a holiday,” he confirms, his voice low. “I asked them nicely to respect our privacy and not spread anything online. They promised they wouldn’t bother us. Everything’s dealt with.”

The rest of your wait passes in a calm, if slightly more restrained, manner. You’re both hyper-aware of the occasional glance, but the girls keep their word, eventually becoming engrossed in their own conversation. You and Seungcheol refrain from any public displays of affection, the easy intimacy from before replaced by a careful, conscious distance that feels both necessary and strangely isolating.

Boarding is a smooth, efficient process. Settled in the spacious seats of the business class cabin, you feel some of the tension finally leave your shoulders so you both have your masks off. You watch the other passengers file in with an impassive gaze, the hum of the aircraft’s engines a soothing background noise. As the plane taxis onto the runway and accelerates into a powerful takeoff, your hand finds Seungcheol’s, your fingers lacing together naturally. The pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom, announcing a smooth flight and an estimated landing in Jeju in about an hour.

Once the seatbelt sign pings off, you settle more comfortably into your seat, retrieving your phone. You scroll through your downloaded audiobooks, trying to find one that sparks your interest. A fantasy epic? Too convoluted. A thriller? Too stressful. A romance? You glance at the man beside you... somehow, it feels redundant. You start one, only to abandon it five minutes in, the narrator’s voice failing to hold your attention. You try another with the same result. A restless, itchy boredom begins to set in, the kind that makes your skin feel too tight.

Your dear boyfriend, on the other hand, seems perfectly content. He’s scrolling through his phone, his expression placid, one earbud in as he listens to music. The contrast between his calm and your growing restlessness is stark. Your eyes set on his side profile, tracing the strong line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his long lashes brush his cheeks when he blinks. You start a staring contest of sorts, just to try and unnerve him, to transfer some of your restless energy onto him.

Seungcheol doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in whatever is on his screen. Then, finally, he feels the weight of your gaze, the intensity of it like a physical touch burning into the side of his pretty face. He looks up from his phone and turns his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. One eyebrow quirks up, a silent question.

You just shrug, a smug, knowing smirk playing on your lips.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes, the question in them deepening. You give him a loaded look, communicating a world of intention with just your gaze. You throw a quick, deliberate glance in the general direction of the bathroom at the front of the cabin, then bring your eyes back to his, nodding your head almost imperceptibly.

His eyebrows rise to his hairline in comical surprise, his eyes widening. But you can see it, the exact moment the dangerous idea takes root—the way his pupils dilate, swallowing the warm brown of his irises, the slight, quick intake of breath.

“What do you say?” you murmur finally, your voice a low whisper barely audible over the engine's drone, breaking the silent, charged conversation. The thought is thrilling, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to your core. It’s something you haven’t tried before, a line you haven’t crossed.

Seungcheol glances around subtly, his idol instincts kicking in as he assesses the situation. The flight attendants are preparing the drink cart at the galley. Most passengers are dozing, reading, or watching their screens. You can tell he’s not fully on board with the idea yet, the risk warring with the temptation in his eyes. But you have just the strategy to tip the scales.

You lean closer to his ear, pretending to just rest your chin on his shoulder in an affectionate, sleepy gesture. Your hand, meanwhile, slips to his thick thigh clad in soft sweats, brushing softly over the fabric, up and down the solid muscle. Your lips are close to his ear as you quietly describe, in explicit, filthy detail, all the things you want him to do to you in the cramped, impersonal space. You whisper about the time limit, the risk of being discovered, the thrill of staying quiet under the constant, low hum of public awareness.

As you describe it all, your hand slips higher, under the hem of his hoodie, finding the hot, smooth skin of his abdomen. You trace feather-light touches just below his navel, where you know he’s unbearably sensitive, listening to his breath catch, feeling the muscles jump and tighten under your teasing fingertips. Your own body reacts violently to his reactions, hot, pooling warmth gathering low in your belly, and you feel your pussy flutter, growing damp with anticipation.

Your gaze drops to his lap, to where you can see the growing, unmistakable bulge beginning to tent the soft fabric of his sweatpants. That’s when you stop your teasing ministrations, pulling your hand away as if burned.

“I think I need to use the bathroom, baby. I’ll be right back,” you tell him in a deliberately neutral, innocent tone as you straighten up and stand up. You lean down, and give him an absolutely unnecessary peck on his puckered lips while he glares at you, before putting your mask back on and sashaying down the aisle towards the bathroom, putting a little extra sway in your hips, knowing full well you’ve just riled him up to a painfully hard boner.

You slip into the small bathroom, locking the door behind you with a soft click. The space is indeed cramped, all cold metal and plastic, humming with the vibration of the plane. You lean against the sink, your heart hammering against your ribs, a triumphant, wicked smile spreading on your face. You don’t have to wait long.

Not even three minutes later, there’s a soft, urgent knock, followed immediately by the door handle being tried. You unlock it, and he’s slipping into the tiny, crammed space, his body crowding you back instantly. He locks the door behind him with an urgent, definitive snap, and then a little reversal happens. You’re the one who’s pinned to the said door, his larger body caging you in, his eyes blazing with dark, possessive flames.

“Such a fucking tease,” he hisses, his voice a low, gravelly growl as he yanks down his mask that he put back on to get here, then yours. Before you can retort, his lips are on yours in a harsh, urgent kiss that steals your breath. It’s all teeth and desperate hunger. While his mouth devours yours, his hands are already working, fumbling with the waistband of your sweats and your underwear, pulling them down to your knees in one rough, efficient movement.

Seungcheol doesn’t waste time. He begins to finger your already wet cunt with two skilled fingers, curling them inside you, while kissing and biting your lower lip, and pressing you close to his body with his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. All the while, he’s whispering a stream of dirty degradations against your lips, his voice husky and thick with desire. “This what you wanted, you needy little slut? Making me fuck you on a plane, in this filthy little bathroom? You get off on the risk, don’t you?”

It’s all too much—the crude words, the expert touch of his fingers, the hard press of his body, the illicit location. Your climax crashes over you suddenly, a sharp, intense wave that has your eyes rolling back. A high-pitched whimper tries to escape your throat, but he shuts you up with another bruising, consuming kiss, swallowing the sound. He feels you convulse around his fingers, satisfied, dark chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Satisfied with your slickness, he manhandles you with frantic urgency, turning you around and bending you over the small, cold sink. The position is awkward, your back arched, your cheek pressed against the cool mirror. You hear the rustle of fabric as he tugs his sweats and briefs down just enough to have his cock springing free, thick and heavy and painfully hard.

He gives it a couple of rough, quick pumps, pressing the blunt, leaking head of him against your wet folds and swiping through your arousal to collect it for lubrication, but also to tease you, to draw out the moment. You take the bait immediately, pushing your hips backwards in a desperate, pleading motion, a broken whisper leaving your lips. “Cheol, please... fuck me already, we don’t have time.”

Which gains you a sharp, stinging slap on your ass. You gasp, the sound loud in the confined space, the mix of pain and pleasure sending another jolt through your oversensitive system.

“So impatient,” he mutters, and then he’s pushing inside, not in a slow, teasing slide, but in one single, relentless thrust that steals the air from your lungs. You clasp your hand over your mouth, whining and keening quietly into your own palm as your pussy clenches around the sudden, delicious intrusion, the feeling of being split open by him so familiar yet so electrifying in this context. You hear him breathing heavily behind you, his eyebrows probably cinched together in concentration as he mutters more filth. “Fuck, you’re so tight... taking me so well, my greedy girl.”

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, quickly beginning to thrust in and out, setting a punishing, frantic rhythm, pounding into you with reckless abandon. His hands are grabbing at your hips and ass, kneading the soft flesh, gripping it for purchase as he drives into you. You’re certain there will be bruises later on, dark fingerprints you’ll trace in the hotel mirror with a secret thrill.

The confined space fills with the wet, rhythmic sound of slapping skin, his ragged grunts, and your own muffled, choked-off moans. Your vision swims, the sterile white of the bathroom blurring as your brain begins to fog with pleasure you’re unable to express freely. Tears of overwhelming sensation run down your cheeks instead as you try to brace yourself against the sink, one hand white-knuckled on the cold porcelain while the other remains firmly clamped over your mouth.

Suddenly, the door handle gives a single, sharp rattle behind you.

The two of you freeze instantly, a perfect, petrified tableau. Seungcheol whips his head to look at the door, his entire body tensing. Your blood turns to ice in your veins, both your and his hearts hammering in a frantic, synchronized panic. Another rattle, more insistent this time, occurs, and you hold your breath, your body coiled tight with fear.

And yet, in some wicked, treacherous corner of your mind, the danger sends another bolt of excitement straight to your core. Your inner walls flutter around Seungcheol’s still-hard cock in a sudden, involuntary spasm. It has him hissing a sharp, guttural curse as his hips buckle forward involuntarily in response, plunging his hard length deeper still, hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

Whoever is on the other side of the door curses loudly enough for you to hear, a male voice, gruff and annoyed. You hear something about “stupid people unable to hold their shit for a fucking hour”. The sound of his footsteps retreating. It has Seungcheol snickering quietly, a breathless, adrenaline-fueled sound, before he returns his attention to you once again, the brief interruption only having spurred him on.

“He heard that, you little devil,” he whispers, his voice thick with a mixture of awe and lust. “You clenched around me when he was right there, baby. Someone likes the thought of being caught so much, huh? Didn’t think I got myself such a little whore, hmm.”

After that, there’s no more restraint. Seungcheol is fucking you into oblivion with renewed urgency and need, spurred on by the adrenaline rush. His thrusts become harder, deeper, more frantic. He’s whispering a continuous stream of filth and praise and degradations all at once as his hand comes around your hip, his fingers finding your swollen, oversensitive clit, rubbing rough, tight circles.

It’s this final, overwhelming stimulation that has you shattering. You cum hard around his cock, a silent, screaming orgasm that rips through you, your inner walls clamping down on his thick length in a series of violent, milking spasms. Your body trembles violently, held upright only by his arm around your waist and your own weakening grip on the sink. You cry and sob, unable to make a sound.

Seungcheol follows you just a few ragged thrusts after, spilling deep inside you with a low, guttural groan, his body slumping over yours, his pulsing release warmth flooding your core. He stays like that for a moment, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath in the humid, sex-filled air.

When he finally pulls out, leaving you feeling empty and already beginning to drip, he turns you around gently. He reaches for a paper towel, but then seems to change his mind, a wicked, possessive glint in his dark, satisfied eyes. He cleans himself up quickly and tucks his now softening cock back into his briefs, pulling up his sweats in place. Then, before you can even protest properly, he simply pulls your panties and sweats back into place for you—not without a final, playful pat on your ass.

“A needy slut like you deserves to carry my cum in her cunt for the rest of the flight,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low, dominant register that makes your knees weak. He presses a surprisingly soft, tender kiss to your swollen lips. “Don’t you think, princess?”

He freshens himself up quickly, then checks the corridor. With a final, smouldering look, he puts his mask back on and slips out first. You wait a full minute, your legs feeling like wobbly jelly, your entire body humming with the aftermath of your reckless sexcapade. You smooth down your clothes, run a hand through your dishevelled hair, and take a steadying breath before pulling the mask on, unlocking the door and making your way back to your seat on unsteady legs.

As you sink back into the plush seat, you take a sneaky look around. An elderly woman a few rows ahead stares at you with a knowing, slightly disapproving look over the rim of her glasses before turning back to her book. Your face flushes with heat for a brief moment. Yes, some of the passengers certainly figured out what you were up to. It doesn’t help that you’re acutely aware of the slickness filling your cunt and soaking your underwear, the sensation is filthy but you can’t do anything about it.

But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when you’re so thoroughly, completely fucked out you’d probably purr if you could. A deep, languid contentment settles in your bones, the previous boredom a distant memory. Especially since Seungcheol, now the picture of calm innocence again, has his arm around your shoulders, tucking you securely into his side. He presses a series of loving, gentle kisses to your hair and nuzzles his face against the crown of your head—all care and affectionate praise, his voice soft as he whispers, “My perfect baby, you did so well. Love you,” like he didn’t just have a frantic, degrading quickie with you in the airplane bathroom ten thousand kilometres in the air.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!

Masterlist.

[cherrybr4t]

𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝘁 — 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗶 𝘀𝗲𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗼𝗹 (+18, mdni) masterlist

ABOUT.

you’re back from college, and seungcheol starts to realise you’re no longer the bratty little 18 year old anymore — and has trouble accepting that he’s not protective of you just because he thinks of himself as an ‘older brother figure’ in your life.

PAIRING.

seungcheol x reader (fem)

GENRE/TAGS & WARNINGS.

rich!seungcheol and rich!reader, age gap (cheol is older by 6 years), childhood friend! cheol, smut with plot, mentions of older brother mingyu (reader), cheol suffers from jealousy! denial! possessiveness! friends to lovers au <3 one-sided pining!

i — red lips and red wine (7/2)

ii — new year, same me (5/3)

iii —

iv —

CHAPTER RELEASE DATE:

to be updated on my page regularly!

comment/send an ask to be added into the taglist 🤍

[seungcheorry]

"you better stop looking at me like that if you don't want me to kiss you", seungcheol says, staring at your eyes because he doesn't trust himself to look at your lips.

but you do, so your gaze travels from his eyes to his plump lips once again, a faint sign of a smirk on your face, as you knew this moment was coming soon.

you knew it since the day you noticed him looking at you with heart eyes on a gathering, across the restaurant table. you knew it since the day he opened his door - and his arms - for you when you weren't feeling okay, the friendship line getting a bit blurred with the way he cuddled you that night.

oh, and he too! seungcheol knew it since the day you rolled your eyes when he told you about his last date, or the day you held his arm a bit too tight while walking home together. he definitely knew it too the day you came to his place to help him around because he was sick, making him food and doing his laundry.

that's all what friends do, right? but maybe that's not what you two are anymore. and maybe that's why you tell him-

"i won't. so kiss me."

[hanniescookie]

👣 bigger than the whole sky - csc

—⁠☆ and i've got a lot to pine about, i've got a lot to live without, i'm never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, what should've been you.

pairing - choi seungcheol x f!reader

genre/warnings - non idol au, angst, hurt/comfort, husband cheol, mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage, lots of crying and hugging, anxiety, skinship, use of petnames, may be triggering for some so refrain from reading

wc - 893

A/N - posting after a while and here's my first seungcheol drabble that made me shed tears :( inspired by taylor swift's bigger than the whole sky, give the song a listen 🫶🏻

Your eyes shoot open to face the white ceiling illuminated by little stars in the dark of your daughter’s room. Fragments of your fresh dream dance in front of your vision, filling your heart with insurmountable grief.

Tears stream out your eyes as you look around the whole room—a newly bought and decorated cot sitting right beside you, toys and plushies scattered around the floor, even the wall was adorned with small shelves filled with baby books and decor.

All of it for what? For you to lose your child before she even saw the light of this world?

The whole place seems like it has been touched by sadness, and you can't help but curl into yourself on the floor, a sob ripping your throat apart.

You're not sure how long you stay there, wailing like a kid. You only come back to your senses when you feel strong arms pull you up in a familiar embrace. You can't help but snuggle into your husband's chest, letting him hold you while you sob your grief out of your system.

He doesn't say anything save for an ‘it’s okay, i’m here’ twice. You tilt your head up to look in his tired eyes, your own filling with tears once again. “I saw her in my dream.”

Seungcheol smiles albeit there's no happiness to it. It's laced with sadness, and something akin to bitterness. “I'm sure she's pretty like you.”

You shake your head, your fists curling into his shirt to ground your spinning self. “She looks just like you.”

His smile broadens only a little, and his hand comes to cradle your face, slowly wiping your tears with a thumb.

“She was a baby, maybe two months old?” You continue, your voice shaky and heavy but still much more grounded than before. He hums, listening to you while softly threading his fingers in your hair.

You point to the cot beside you. “She was sleeping here and she was smiling. She was waving her hands in the air like…like she wanted me to pick her up. But I just…stood there like a statue. I couldn't touch her.”

“Then she started crying,” you look in his eyes, trying to keep your tears at bay but failing miserably. “And I woke up.”

“Cheol,” you call out in a cracking voice when you feel like he has nothing to say. He hums, smiling for you while his hand rubs soothing cirles on your lower back.

“I wanted to hold her. I wanted to…ugh we planned so much. Where did I go wrong? Why did we have to loose her?”

Your words stab the fragile muscle in Seungcheol’s chest, twisting and turning the dagger till it bled and stained him. He collects you in his arms till you're flush against his chest, pressing a featherlight kiss on your head. “Don't say that, baby.”

“It's not your fault,” he says, softly rubbing your back to calm you down. “It's never yout fault. It's just an unfortunate thing that happened to us, but if we cry, we'll make our daughter sad. She'll want her mom to be happy, yeah?”

You nod fervently against him, as if the mere action would lead you to believe his words. You do, you really do, but it's hard to be happy when you've just lost such a precious part of your life.

He pulls away to look at you, kissing your forehead. “She's looking at us right now, and frowning. Can you hear her scold us?”

You can't help the small smile that finds your lips despite the ache in your chest. “I can hear her. She's saying ‘daddy is too much of a coward for not crying.’”

Seungcheol’s smile widens at first, then dims a little before completely extinguishing off his face. You know he's strong, always stronger than you. You know he's pretending to be okay just so he can collect you from the bedroom floor of your daughter everytime you sleep here. But you also know that he's hurting, and you'd rather hurt together then let him suffer alone.

You hold his face in your hands, thumb softly caressing his cheekbone. “Cheol, just because I carried her doesn't mean you're hurting any less. You're allowed to be sad too.”

He sniffs, shaking his head as if he's trying to erase his possible tears, but before he knows, they're falling down his cheeks. You sigh, letting your tears fall too as your arms wrap tightly around him.

“I miss her,” he mutters in a gruff voice, stuffing his face in your shoulder while still rubbing your back to comfort you. You nod, closing your eyes. “I miss her too.”

Seungcheol looks at you, once again smiling sadly but more hopefully. “And I'm sure she misses us too.”

“Do you think she's lonely up there?”

He shakes his head, instinctively wiping your tears. “I'm sure she's at a much better place. And she'll keep coming in your dreams to lessen your hurt.”

You smile wholeheartedly for the first time in a few days. “I hope so.”

And she does. You see your daughter in your dreams often and you feel like she's growing up with you. Everytime you see her, she's a bit older than before, and you narrate all your dreams to Seungcheol who listens and tells you to give his daughter all his love.

[nerdycheol]

hi rae :)))

could i sweetly request seungcheol x f!reader. like domestic. like "a day in their lives" or something like that would do. fluff please. and if you could, "non idol" au please?

id understand if you couldn't.

thank you for your time <3

Soft Hours || C.S.C

genre: fluff wc: 330

It was like a routine with Seungcheol.

Every weekend, without fail, you’d end up like this — sitting cross-legged on the couch, both of you with matching face masks that smelled like watermelon or honey or whatever new sheet masks you’d picked up that week.

Seungcheol always let you pick. He’d grumble about the “fruity ones” but still sit between your legs, eyes closed as you pressed the cold sheet onto his face with careful fingers. He’d scrunch his nose, trying not to laugh whenever your fingers tickled under his chin.

“Hold still, Cheol,” you’d scold, gently smoothing it down. “You’re gonna wrinkle it.”

“I’m already wrinkly,” he jokes, peeking one eye open. “It’s called experience.”

You press his forehead lightly. “It’s called old man.”

He gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is disrespect. In my own house.”

“Our house,” you correct.

He hums, pleased, and leans back into you. “Yeah. Our house.”

By the time the masks are on both your faces, the movie’s already halfway through, but neither of you really pay attention. Seungcheol’s arm always drapes lazily across your thigh, fingers drawing random shapes on your skin. Sometimes he hums quietly to the background music; sometimes he talks over the movie to ask if the mask’s still sitting right.

Eventually, when the timer goes off, he tugs his off first, looking at you with that ridiculous damp, glowy face. He grins, eyes all crinkly.

“Still pretty?” he asks.

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, peeling yours off too.

“C’mere,” he says, wiping his face lazily with the towel before pulling you closer by your waist. “Gotta moisturize my favorite face.”

“You just want an excuse to touch me.”

“Always,” he murmurs, tapping cream onto your cheeks, “I’m a man of habit.”

And honestly — you didn’t mind the habit one bit.

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[mametchiii]

[500]

The walk back home is only 10 minutes long, but Seungcheol insists it’s longer than it seems. Though it technically is a fair statement to make when he was in bed only 45 minutes before.

His movements are slow and sluggish, and you’d be fooled with the way he begrudgingly held onto bags of groceries if it weren’t for the fact that he was the one who followed you out of the house by his own initiative.

“You expect me to stay at home alone, lying down alone, on a cold, sad bed?”

You glare at him, then sigh. It’s not the first time you’re hearing him complain about matters this trivial — though he claims that it’s only what it seems like to you.

Seungcheol slings the bag in his left hand over his right shoulder, and takes another one from you. 

He pouts, glancing at you – who simply refuses to look even in his general direction – then walks impossibly closer until both of your arms are touching.

“Y/N…” he whines, but you decide to have a little fun with him instead; play him like a violin then cut his strings.

You speed up a few paces but it only takes Seungcheol two long strides to catch up with you again.

“Nice try.” His voice is taunting, and he bends over to meet your gaze right in front of your face with his eyebrows knitted together.

Chafed at his petulant whining, you click your tongue and bump your shoulder to his chest which still looms over you. 

Seungcheol holds the elevator door, allowing you to enter first before he clicks the ‘7th storey’ button. The two of you ride in silence, save for the hum of the elevator shaft.

Seungcheol thinks to himself that you’re getting a little bit of a kick out of this entire situation. Wrong. Gravely mistaken, even – you’re thoroughly enjoying it, prolonging his suffering like a sadistic matriarch. And you both know he’s enjoying it too (though, maybe a little too much).

The lift doors open and you dig your keys out of your pocket, handing Seungcheol the bag you’re holding. 

For a while, the air seems neutral. It’s quiet and smells like nostalgia.

You swing the door open and Seungcheol makes a beeline for the kitchen island after kicking his shoes off into a mess by the front door.

Entering after him, you toe off your shoes quietly and place both pairs neatly back onto the shoe rack, dusting your hands off before standing upright to lock the door.

And the moment you turn around to join him in the kitchen, Seungcheol strikes with a carefully curated plan: He sweeps you off your feet, and suddenly you’re in his arms bridal style as he begins peppering your face with kisses, working his way down to your jawline.

“Choi Seungcheol!”

He plants a kiss on your lips, and you give your best attempt at a scowl but do poorly at hiding the way your lips curl upward.

His face lights up, beaming like a victor.

“Not this time, pretty.”

You slap his chest and kiss him back with the tease of heat, before you pull away, hands cupping his cheeks.

“Only 15 minutes!”

[jeonghunny]

— weighted blanket, choi seungcheol.

fluff | 410

seungcheol guessed that you had probably fallen asleep on the couch while catching up on your show when it became suspiciously quiet outside and he doesn’t hear your footsteps approaching the bedroom.

after a few more minutes of waiting, he push the blanket off himself and swing his legs over the edge of the bed to put on his slippers before padding softly over to where you were.

his guess was right.

there you were, sleeping soundly on the couch, using the armrest as a pillow. he notices that the small blanket you were using to keep yourself warm had fallen onto the floor and he quickly bends down to pick it up then dusts it off. he was about to throw the blanket back over you but he got a better idea.

folding the blanket up and leaving them on the armrest near your feet, he quietly moves closer to you before gently dropping his body onto yours. he feels a sense of warmth spreading across his entire being when your arms automatically come up to wrap around him like it’s a reflex.

he starts peppering light kisses all over your face until you begin to stir awake under him.

“what are you doing?” you ask groggily as you struggle to open your eyes.

seungcheol places one more kiss to the corner of your lips, “kissing you.”

you let out a soft chuckle, “i mean what are you doing on top of me?”

he snuggles his face into your neck then tightens his arms around you, “your blanket fell onto the floor.”

“and…?” you run a hand through his fluffy, messy hair.

“and i didn’t want you to get cold,” he tells you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

you push him back slightly with a laugh, “you couldn’t just place my blanket back over me?”

“are you saying you’d rather use that small, thin blanket over me? your personal, weighted blanket?” a pout immediately takes over his face, clearly offended.

you throw your arms around his neck to pull him back down and your lips meet his in a soft kiss.

“of course not,” your hands move to cup his cheeks and you see his face lights up. “nothing beats my warm, beefy boyfriend providing me with comfort and keeping me toasty.”

he lowers himself to bury his face into your neck, placing a kiss there. “good. because i have no intention of getting up.”